Blue Streak

Creepy.

I was alone. The house was shaped like my childhood home: kitchen at the back, bar-type counter making a half-wall between the kitchen and the adjacent den. I turned off lights in the kitchen, leaving one shining above. I looked up. The light was bright, cold. I turned it off. The refrigerator door was open, so I closed it.

I walked into the next room, where—unlike like my old home—a large roll-top desk dominated the space. The roll-top was see-through, made of smoky glass. Inside was a pile of candy canes. One of my favorites. I wondered if I could open the desk without bothering anyone else in the house. But—were there other people in the house? I opened the desk, trying to be quiet, and took a candy cane.

Behind me was a bed I hadn't noticed before. I lay down and unwrapped my candy cane. It was a good one—none of that sharp aftertaste. I heard footsteps. My parents were here!

They walked in, said hello, and leaned against the desk.

I held up the candy cane and said, "Thanks. The only bummer is that now I have to get up again and brush my teeth."

My dad said, "Maybe not," and smiled. I was glad because I felt kind of tired suddenly. I didn't want to get up.

We chatted a bit, just little pleasantries. I was feeling more and more drowsy. Then my dad said, "I saw Meg Carter today."

"Really?" I said. "How was she?"

"She was good." He looked at my mom. "Especially when—"

"—it was her time to turn blue," said the woman, and she pulled a squirt gun out of her pocket and shot me in the neck with a hard stream of blue liquid. Then she morphed in front of my eyes into a stranger...with fangs and eyes that were black from lid to lid.

"I got her," she said, and looked at the thing that had imitated my dad. It started morphing, too, but just kept changing and changing and changing, like it couldn't decide what to be.

My neck stung where she'd shot me, but it wasn't wet. The liquid had gone right through my skin. And I couldn't move.

I was being drugged. I was being knocked out.

I was petrified.

The things just watched me. Who were they? What were they?

I was slipping under. Struggling to keep my eyes open, barely able to feel my arms, I realized suddenly that I was dreaming. I reached out to touch my husband David so he could wake me up. I grabbed his finger. I forced out his name, slurring, but trying over and over again: "David. Help. Help. David. David. Wake up. David!"

Then I woke up.

David wasn't beside me.

the end