this revelation.
Go back to sleep, warned the logical part of my brain. You can figure this out tomorrow. Preferably with someone sane to bounce ideas off of.
Good luck with that, the much stronger, irrational part of my brain fired back.
3:00 AM glowed bright green on the alarm clock. I yanked the rumpled comforter over the mashed pillows, to give the appearance of someone beneath. This was the only time that I wouldn't have a parent or someone else hovering over me. As unsafe as it seemed to go out in the middle of the night, I had to check it out.
I knew it was a stupid idea. I didn't care.
Rummaging through my disorganized dresser, I pulled out an old black sweatshirt and dark gray pants. Once I had changed out of the school clothes I'd never bothered to take off, I straightened my spine and assessed my physical state. The jitters and nerves had subsided, for the most part. My blood could have been replaced by gallons of Gatorade.
I stopped only for a moment at the french doors, sliding one side open as quietly as possible. I winced when the hinge squeaked a little. But all was silent upstairs. Without another thought, I slipped into the summer night.
Outside, the darkness was all-encompassing and heavy. The buzzing insects combined with the rush of far-off cars on the expressway. Night music. I had only rarely heard it before, through opened windows and on car rides home.
It felt like my world alone, free and dangerous. Once I passed the end of our driveway, it was like a different planet. My footsteps sounded unbearably loud, making me extremely alert. Every shadow seemed to move and breath.
The streets were empty of both people and traffic. Cars rested in driveways. Dark houses stood as silent monuments, silhouettes against the flat sheet of gray clouds. I made my way on the sidewalk, as swiftly as I could. I kept switching to the edge of lawn grass, trying to quiet my deafening footsteps.
Mosquitoes dive-bombed every bare spot of my skin. I swatted my neck, momentarily distracted by another sting. Stupid itchy bites.
The yellow glow of headlights crested a hill in the distance. Panicking, I dove behind a row of scrubby, unkempt bushes. It wasn't thick protection; it was like having a shield full of holes. If the car drove close enough, I'd easily be visible.
My heart beat hard and uneven, and the burning feeling I'd felt in McPherson's office started up on my scalp, like a sunburn. It took everything to keep still, as a wave of my earlier anxiety came back.
Please, please don't let me get caught, I begged soundlessly. I'm so close.
Sanitarium Road, the dirt road on which the orphanage resided, was mere minutes away. The grinding of the car's motor crept closer. Was it my imagination or was the driver slowing down? I thought I heard the squeal of breaks.
I dug my fingers into the dirt on either side of me, and held my breath. You can't see me.
The lone car rolled past my hiding spot and was gone. I stayed in place, still breathing heavily. Still waiting. But I was alone on the road again. The driver hadn't spotted me.
Crouching up from my hiding spot, I brushed dried grass and dirt off my pants and untangled my hair from the spines on the bushes. Sweat trickled off my forehead and I wiped my sweatshirt sleeve across my brow.
I no longer took my sweet time strolling the street. I ran as fast as I could.
The Dexter Orphanage seemed different when I arrived. I couldn't put my finger on the reason why, exactly. But the front of the building, rising out of the dark like a nightmare, seemed more solid. Even with its broken windows and caving roof, it was sturdier. Stronger.
The wrought iron gate gave way. An instantly familiar groan issued from its century-old hinges. A shiver rippled through me, in no way related to the temperature.
A new sign reading SOLD stuck out of the ground on a post. Just last year, whoever had owned it had set up a haunted house. I wondered if the new owners would continue that
Go back to sleep, warned the logical part of my brain. You can figure this out tomorrow. Preferably with someone sane to bounce ideas off of.
Good luck with that, the much stronger, irrational part of my brain fired back.
3:00 AM glowed bright green on the alarm clock. I yanked the rumpled comforter over the mashed pillows, to give the appearance of someone beneath. This was the only time that I wouldn't have a parent or someone else hovering over me. As unsafe as it seemed to go out in the middle of the night, I had to check it out.
I knew it was a stupid idea. I didn't care.
Rummaging through my disorganized dresser, I pulled out an old black sweatshirt and dark gray pants. Once I had changed out of the school clothes I'd never bothered to take off, I straightened my spine and assessed my physical state. The jitters and nerves had subsided, for the most part. My blood could have been replaced by gallons of Gatorade.
I stopped only for a moment at the french doors, sliding one side open as quietly as possible. I winced when the hinge squeaked a little. But all was silent upstairs. Without another thought, I slipped into the summer night.
Outside, the darkness was all-encompassing and heavy. The buzzing insects combined with the rush of far-off cars on the expressway. Night music. I had only rarely heard it before, through opened windows and on car rides home.
It felt like my world alone, free and dangerous. Once I passed the end of our driveway, it was like a different planet. My footsteps sounded unbearably loud, making me extremely alert. Every shadow seemed to move and breath.
The streets were empty of both people and traffic. Cars rested in driveways. Dark houses stood as silent monuments, silhouettes against the flat sheet of gray clouds. I made my way on the sidewalk, as swiftly as I could. I kept switching to the edge of lawn grass, trying to quiet my deafening footsteps.
Mosquitoes dive-bombed every bare spot of my skin. I swatted my neck, momentarily distracted by another sting. Stupid itchy bites.
The yellow glow of headlights crested a hill in the distance. Panicking, I dove behind a row of scrubby, unkempt bushes. It wasn't thick protection; it was like having a shield full of holes. If the car drove close enough, I'd easily be visible.
My heart beat hard and uneven, and the burning feeling I'd felt in McPherson's office started up on my scalp, like a sunburn. It took everything to keep still, as a wave of my earlier anxiety came back.
Please, please don't let me get caught, I begged soundlessly. I'm so close.
Sanitarium Road, the dirt road on which the orphanage resided, was mere minutes away. The grinding of the car's motor crept closer. Was it my imagination or was the driver slowing down? I thought I heard the squeal of breaks.
I dug my fingers into the dirt on either side of me, and held my breath. You can't see me.
The lone car rolled past my hiding spot and was gone. I stayed in place, still breathing heavily. Still waiting. But I was alone on the road again. The driver hadn't spotted me.
Crouching up from my hiding spot, I brushed dried grass and dirt off my pants and untangled my hair from the spines on the bushes. Sweat trickled off my forehead and I wiped my sweatshirt sleeve across my brow.
I no longer took my sweet time strolling the street. I ran as fast as I could.
The Dexter Orphanage seemed different when I arrived. I couldn't put my finger on the reason why, exactly. But the front of the building, rising out of the dark like a nightmare, seemed more solid. Even with its broken windows and caving roof, it was sturdier. Stronger.
The wrought iron gate gave way. An instantly familiar groan issued from its century-old hinges. A shiver rippled through me, in no way related to the temperature.
A new sign reading SOLD stuck out of the ground on a post. Just last year, whoever had owned it had set up a haunted house. I wondered if the new owners would continue that
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