It feels like I blink and it’s bedtime.

Probably because I spent all of dinner watching the phone from the corner of my eye. Waiting for it to ring. Trying to think up some sort of excuse to unplug it again.

It never rang.

That was worse.

The waiting was much worse. I kept expecting Jessica to mention that I’d been having someone prank-call the house. I bet she was waiting for the phone to ring just so she could prove that I was up to no good.

The fact that it doesn’t ring probably only confirms her suspicions. She probably thinks that I called the prank off. That she was right.

Even though she is terribly wrong.

I know Rachel didn’t just decide to leave me alone for good.

She’s biding her time.

She’s making me sweat.

She probably even knows that in doing nothing, she’s distancing me from the only person who might have believed me, even though it was a very small chance to begin with.

At least it had been a chance.

Now I sit in my pajamas and try to focus on the cartoon on my bedroom TV, but I can’t. My body is exhausted, but my brain is in overdrive. The show I’m watching is set to low volume, just barely a hum. Background noise. Normally my parents don’t let me have the TV on this late. But it’s Friday night and it’s not like I have to be up early to go to a theme park tomorrow or anything.

For once, though, that anger is the furthest thing from my mind. It’s hard to be angry at Rachel when I’m currently terrified of her.

If anything, I’m actually a little angry at myself for letting this all happen.

I close my eyes and settle farther back into my pillows.

And that’s when I hear it.

A rushing sound.

Faint, but near.

Like a running river.

I open my eyes

and yelp in shock.

Water spills from the top drawer of my nightstand like a waterfall.

I leap out of my bed, the sheets dangerously tangling my feet, and I suddenly remember waking up wrapped in seaweed. Only this isn’t a dream. This is real. This is real. The water is freezing cold around my bare ankles, and it rushes so fast it’s already covered the entire floor of my bedroom. I panic. I try to open the nightstand drawer, but it’s jammed, and water continues to pour from it at increasing speed.

For a moment, I just stand there in shock.

Then I realize the water is now rising past my ankles. Shock turns to action, and I turn and slosh my way toward my bedroom door. I have to get out of here. I have to get my parents. I have to—

My door is locked.

I twist the handle, but it doesn’t budge.

Panic rises like ice water in my chest while the actual ice water rises up past my shins. Why isn’t it seeping out from the crack below my door?

It’s like I’ve been sealed in.

Trapped.

I bang my fists on the door, but there’s no response.

I yell out for my parents. Scream for Jessica.

For someone, anyone, to help.

I hear only the rushing water in response.

They don’t hear me. Or worse, they hear me, but they don’t want to help.

They probably think it’s better this way.

I deserve it.

My fists hurt from pounding on the door, and the water rises to my knees, and I turn from the doorway and make my way to the window, pushing aside floating toys and teddy bears. My fingers are purpling from the cold, and they shake so hard I can barely grasp the windowsill.

I try to open it.

Just like the door, it won’t budge.

I cry out in defeat and slam my fists against the window, fully intending to break it and leap out if I have to, because the water has hit my waist and it is freezing cold. So cold. I can barely breathe it’s so cold. But the window doesn’t break. The glass is like steel.

I grab one of my trophies and slam it hard against the window.

It bounces off like a rubber ball, sending a shock of pain up my arm. I drop it, and it splashes in the water that’s now to my chest. Tears run down my cheeks as I pound at the window, hoping that someone will look up and see me, a girl with water rising about her and panic on her face. Someone passes, walking their dog.

They look up to me and wave, then continue on.

No.

I turn from the window. Make my way toward the door one last time.

I have to open it.

I have to get out of here.

Keeping my hands up above the water because I don’t want them to freeze off, I half swim, half slosh my way to the door.

Something wraps around my ankles.

Drags

me

under.

I have just enough time to yelp before I go down and water closes around me, so shockingly cold that my vision goes white for a split second before bleeding back in.

I struggle numbly against whatever is wrapped around my feet. I can just make it out in the flickering gloom.

Seaweed.

I kick my feet and wave my arms, but I can’t rise up, can’t get above the water that’s now almost to the ceiling. My lungs scream and burn with hunger for air, but I can’t get free. Can’t get out.

I see the ceiling fan submerge, my entire room filled completely with water, and I know I’m doomed.

Toys and dolls float slowly around me. Suspended in freezing, clear water.

I can’t feel my feet anymore. I can’t feel my hands.

All I feel is the pain in my chest as the water presses in and the last of my oxygen gives out.

The light fades.

My lungs scream.

My mouth wants to open, but I keep it squeezed shut, keep it from letting in any more water even as tiny bubbles escape from my nose.

My room goes dark.

Save for countless white eyes burning in the blackness.

The countless bodies of the drowned.

I open my mouth and scream as they race toward me, scream as water fills my lungs, scream as the last bit of life leaves me.

And I jolt up in bed with a gasp.

My lungs burn and my skin is soaked with sweat. But I am alone, and my room is dry, and the cartoons on the TV babble along mindlessly.

My heart races so fast I fear it might actually shoot out of my chest.

Did that just happen?

I can’t stay here. There’s no way I’ll fall asleep again. I no longer feel safe. Maybe the sofa, or maybe I’ll even do what I haven’t done since I was a little kid and try to sleep in my parents’ room. I just know I can’t stay in this room a second longer.

Rachel is everywhere.

When I sidle out of bed, my feet land on paper.

I look down.

Rachel’s sketchbook is open on the ground by my bed. To a new page.

A blank, waterlogged page.

Blank, save for three menacing words scrawled in thick black ink.