Just hold me tight and tell me you’ll miss me
While I’m alone and blue as can be
Dream a little dream of me
I wait a beat, trying to determine if I’m really awake or not. The song plays on, and I leap out of bed and race to the door, throwing it open and running to the stairs.
It’s freezing. It’s her.
I can see my breath, the icy tendrils weaving out of my mouth as I grip the banister and run down the stairs. I enter the sitting room and see the flames blazing in the fireplace.
“Mother!”
I run to the large chair seated in front of the fireplace. “Mother, I’m so—”
The smell hits me first—sweet and rotten at the same time.
My body recoils, falling onto the floor, my screams filling the space as I look at the skeleton sitting on the chair. Blonde hair grips the skull, and it wears a white, silky nightgown. Just like the one we buried her in.
I crawl away, my heart pounding. When I look again, the fire is gone, and so is the skeleton.
You are dreaming, Felix. Go back to bed in your dream, and you will probably wake up.
My feet carry me across the room, the air growing colder by the moment.
Ice begins forming on the walls, the furniture, and the windows. It consumes the space, racing from the borders where the walls meet the floor and closing in on me.
I dart up the stairs, making a beeline for my bedroom. My hand reaches for the doorknob, and pain explodes up my arm, bright and blinding. Like, I actually burned it.
I look down, and my hand is red and bubbling.
The ice crawls up the stairs, and I take off down the corridor, racing to my father’s room. The knob isn’t burning, so I run into the room, slamming the door behind me.
I run to my father lyingin his bed.
“Father. Father, there’s something wrong. I need—”
His body turns, revealing his face, and I’m met with pale skin and bloody eyes. “You’re weak, Felix. So weak. Just like her.”
I startle backward, falling on the floor with a thud.
“Felix.” My mother is under the bed, not her skeleton, but her. She’s frozen, icicles hanging from her blonde hair. I scream and crawl away as fast as I can, before slamming into the wall, and covering my eyes to cry.
“Don’t cry. I’m here.”
I look up and see her using her arms to army crawl across the floor. My father sits upright on the bed, pointing at her and laughing. Her hand reaches out and caresses my face. She’s cold. So cold.
“Don’t take them anymore,” she whispers.
“What?”
She shooshes me, her eyes turning toward the demented creature that my father has turned into. His laughter turns to coughing, and rose petals begin spewing from his mouth in colors of yellow, red, and coral.
“He’s listening,” my mother continues. “Don’t take them anymore.”
“Mommy…”
She sits on her knees and kisses my forehead, her cool lips sending chills down my back. “He’s coming. Don’t worry, my love.”
