“57 . . . 58 . . . 59 . . . 60 . . . Ready or not, here I come!” I call out, my voice echoing through the old mill. I hop down from the tire swing that is “home base” and dash for the ladder that leads to the loft. Abbie doesn’t know that I peeked. On number 10, I snuck a look and saw her tiptoeing up the ladder. Abbie always wins at hide and seek—which isn’t all that fair considering she’s thirteen, six years older—but this time I have the advantage. And if I win, she has to buy me a package of Swedish Fish on the way home.
I check in the usual corners of the loft and then see an old tarp that has been thrown over a couple of crates. The fabric shifts ever so slightly, as if someone were adjusting their position under it. I smile. “I’m going to find you, Abbie!” I call, already feeling triumph swelling in my chest. I dash for the tarp and pull it away with a smile, only to be greeted by the hiss of a mangy stray cat. It swipes at me and I jump back, almost stumbling to the ground.
A high-pitched giggle echoes from below. I look over the loft railing to see Abbie sprinting for the tire swing.
“Hey!” I shout.
I jog for the ladder, knowing I’ll never catch her in time. She jumps onto the tire with a laugh. “Safe,” she calls. “I’m home safe.”
“No fair!” I shout as I climb down the ladder. “You doubled back. That’s not fair!”
She twirls in the tire swing, leaning back so she’s almost upside-down, with her hair draping behind her, touching the ground. She smirks. “You wouldn’t have known I doubled back if you weren’t peeking, cheater.”
“I didn’t peek,” I say, but my ears burn hot. I’ve never been a good liar.
Abbie laughs, twirling in the swing. “Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater,” she sings.
I scowl at her.
“Oh come on,” she says, waving me over. “I’ll give you a push on the swing before we head home. I won’t even make you clear the table for me after dinner, even though you lost.”
I can’t really argue with that. Our brother, Sage, would have never let me out of a chore if he’d been here to win. I jog over to the swing to join her. Only when I get to it, she isn’t there. The swing rocks back and forth ever so slightly, but it’s empty.
“Abbie,” I call, spinning around. “Abbie, where are you?”
She doesn’t answer.
A little trill of fear tickles up my spine. “This isn’t funny. Where did you go?” I turn back toward the tire swing, but now it’s gone as well. As if it vanished into thin air. “What the . . . ?” I try to call out to my sister again, but suddenly I can’t remember her name. I frantically whirl around, looking for her. But then I am not sure who it was I was looking for in the first place. And then the walls of the mill start to fade away around me, as if disintegrating. What is happening? Where am I?
Who am I?
The floor under my feet vanishes and I begin to fall . . .
I startle awake, blinking my eyes and taking in my surroundings: pale stone walls and floor, and a heavy, ancient-looking wooden door stands closed in front of me. The room is lit only by a single lit torch beside the door. It almost feels as though I am inside a castle, or a palace, if that were possible. Is that possible? Where am I? I was looking for someone . . . Someone I wanted safe back at home . . .
And then all I can recall is the sensation of falling through empty space.
There’s an itch on my back. Right between my shoulder blades. The itch moves lower. About an inch. The sensation reminds me of a spider.
I hate spiders.
I tense at the recollection and try to jump from my chair, but nothing happens.
I try to raise my hands to scratch at my back. My arms won’t move.
I look down to find that my forearms have been engulfed by the armrests of my chair. My arms have sunk into them as if the armrests were made of Jell-O—and then solidified like rubber. I try to yank free, harder now. I use my feet and try to push myself out. All I manage is to almost topple myself forward, chair and all. I steady it before I fall.
I am stuck. I am trapped.
The itch burns now like an insect bite.
I shout for help. Screaming at the top of my lungs, while fighting to free myself from the grip of the chair.
I scream until I can’t remember why I was screaming in the first place.
My voice falls away. This chair is so comfortable, why would I want to get up?
I close my eyes and slip back into my dream.
I’m falling once more through empty space.