Poltergeist Read Online Free PDF Page B

expelling the milk forcefully all over the table. She started toward the boy, but suddenly out of the corner of her eye, thought she saw a spoon in the dish rack bend. She gasped, dropped her towel. The milk spilled over Dana’s pants.
    “Hey!” she yelled.
    Robbie threw up his hands. “It’s not my mess.”
    Dana jumped up from the table. “Thanks a lot, jerko—I’ve got class in twenty minutes.”
    “Mom!” yelled Robbie.
    “Give me that glass before you cut yourself.”
    Robbie handed Diane the broken glass, then seized the opportunity. “Late for school, Mom, gotta run.” He charged out the door and slammed it behind him.
    Leaving Diane alone with Carol Anne, who was busy fine-tuning the snow on the screen, and Dana, who ran upstairs to change pants.
    “Sweetheart,” Diane proded Carol Anne, “what did you mean last night when you said, ‘They’re here’?”
    “The TV people.” She continued gazing into the static.
    “But what do you mean, honey? What TV people?”
    Carol Anne looked quizzically at her mother for a second, as if searching for something, then turned back to the television and studied the dots.
    Doris Melnick called a half hour later, to give Diane the name and number of Dr. Bremer. The Specialist.
    “But the thing is,” said Doris, “you’ve got to go see him right now, or else you’ve got to wait six weeks—I mean, the man is booked solid, but I just talked to his secretary and they had a cancellation this morning. This morning . I mean, is that an omen, or what?”
    Diane didn’t believe in omens, as such, but she did believe in opportunities, taken and missed. And she didn’t relish the idea of waiting around through six more weeks of Carol Anne’s conversations with channel zero—not to mention the previous day’s screaming episode.
    “Okay, where do I sign up?” she responded after a moment’s consideration.
    Doris gave her directions to the office building, and two hours later Diane found herself sitting in a tastefully decorated reception room with Carol Anne, staring nervously at carpeted walls while Muzak fed out a selection of tunes like “Mr. Sandman,” “Dream, Dream, Dream,” and “Tossin’ and Turnin’ All Night.” The stenciled letters on the door read:
    CARL BREMER, M.D., Ph.D.
SLEEP DISORDERS
    After about five minutes, the intercom on the receptionist’s desk buzzed discreetly, whereupon the receptionist told Diane the doctor would see them now. Diane and Carol Anne stood, and then entered the main office.
    Dr. Bremer rose to meet them.
    “How do you do? I’m Dr. Bremer. You must be Mrs. Freeling . . . and you must be Carol Anne.” He smiled, shook hands with them both. He was much younger than Diane had expected; she was a bit taken aback. Carol Anne looked sheepishly at the floor.
    “Yes, I . . . how do you do?”
    They went through the standard formalities and pleasantries; then Dr. Bremer soon came right to the point. “And now—how may I help you?”
    “Well. My daughter started sleepwalking several weeks ago, and it seems to be getting worse. It started out, we’d wake up in the morning and find her sleeping in the bathtub, of all places. Once we found her in the front room in a daze, tearing all the leaves off the Ficus. But mostly, it’s the television. She just sits in front of the set, tuned to white noise, talking to it. Then there’s the strange dreams she’s been having, and then yesterday we found her in front of the TV screaming bloody murder; I swear, it took an hour to calm her down and then when she woke up after her nap she didn’t remember a thing.” Diane sat back in her chair with an almost audible “whew.” That had all just come pouring out—it had been building up in her more than she’d realized.
    Dr. Bremer smiled reassuringly. “First of all, Mrs. Freeling, stop worrying so much. This isn’t such an uncommon problem, and it isn’t all that serious, most likely.”
    “What do you mean, ‘most