Free Bad Dreams by R.L. Stine

filled Maggie with cold dread.
    This was what that girl had felt like when she got tangled in the covers. Miranda. The girl who died in Maggie’s bed.
    She was tangled, tangled in the bedsheets. And then she was stabbed.
    With a sigh, Maggie clicked her seat belt open and let it slide away from her shoulders.
    Why can’t I stop thinking about Miranda?
    Justin reached for her.
    â€œWait,” Maggie said, pulling her face away.
    â€œHuh? What’s wrong?”
    She didn’t want to tell him. “Nothing,” she said. “It’s just—so cramped in here.”
    Justin uttered an annoyed sigh. He sat back in his seat and stared straight ahead in angry silence. Finally he turned back to her. “There’s a nice big tree over there,” he said. “We could sit under it.”
    She hesitated. “I’m really sorry. My mind—It’s somewhere else.”
    Justin sighed again. “Mags, what’s wrong?” he asked finally. “All of a sudden—”
    â€œIt’s that dream again,” she confessed.
    â€œThe dream?” Justin’s face knotted in confusion. “What dream?”
    â€œRemember I told you about a nightmare I had? A girl with blond hair, I couldn’t see her face …”
    Justin’s face remained blank.
    â€œI tried to put it out of my mind,” Maggie rushed on. “But then I had the dream again, and this time the girl was stabbed, in my bed.”
    â€œIn your dream,” Justin corrected her.
    â€œRight,” said Maggie. “That’s what I thought. It was just a dream. But guess what I found out from my neighbors? The last people who lived in our house—their daughter was murdered. In bed. In
my
bed.”
    â€œWeird,” Justin muttered. “Who was she?”
    â€œHer name was Miranda Heifer. Did you know her? Did you ever hear about the murder?”
    â€œMiranda Heifer?” He thought for a moment. “No. Never heard of her.”
    Justin’s expression brightened. “Well, that explains why you’re having nightmares.”
    â€œNo. Don’t you see?” Maggie said impatiently. “I had the nightmares
before
I knew about the dead girl.”
    â€œHuh?” Justin reacted with surprise.
    â€œThe real estate guy didn’t tell us,” Maggie continued. “And I started dreaming about the murder my first night in that old canopy bed. There’s no way I could have known about it, Justin. No way. So it must be something—you know—supernatural.”
    Justin narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
    â€œYou know, like the bed remembers the murder and it’s trying to transmit it to me, to warn me, to—
something!”
    Justin ran his hand through his dark, wavy hair. “Mags,” he said, rolling his eyes scornfully. “The
bed
remembers? The
bed?
Earth calling Maggie. Earth calling Maggie …”
    â€œI know, I know. It sounds dumb. But can youthink of a better explanation?” Maggie demanded earnestly. “Why am I having this dream?”
    â€œMaggie,” Justin said, sounding more than a little annoyed. “Dreams are always mixed up and crazy.”
    â€œWell, I think this one means something,” Maggie replied heatedly. “I think Miranda is trying to tell me something. I think she’s trying to warn me about something.”
    Justin gaped at her. He let out a high-pitched giggle. “From the grave?”
    Maggie nodded solemnly. “From the grave.”
    Maggie cupped her hand at the perfect angle, cutting deep into the water with each stroke. She was swimming beautifully. She could feel it.
    She wasn’t surprised when she pulled her head up at the end of the race and saw she had finished first—by half a lap.
    Behind her, the water churned. The other two swimmers, Andrea and Tiffany, swam neck and neck, battling it out for second.
    Hanging on to the edge of the pool,