Chapter One
Last night I was at a party, and today I think I’m dead. I swear I’m not being dramatic. I didn’t drink and drive, or take any drugs, or make any decisions that were stupider than usual. The worst thing I did was sleep for more than twelve hours after I got home. I’m just saying that something doesn’t seem right.
I’m in bed and the shadows and reflections in my room are dulled and not quite right. I roll over to check my phone, but I must’ve left it at Marie’s house, so I have no idea what time it is or what type of weather this is supposed to be. My white flower wallpaper has dusty red shadows cast on it and when I pull back my curtain it’s raining ash. The sky is the colour of a dying rose and everything is quiet.
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Dad used to call our basement a rec room, until the couch that was down there grew black spots, and the corners of the walls cultivated white cotton. We threw the couch on the curb and somebody picked it up the next day. Mom was horrified and thought that they might dump it on our lawn as revenge or something, but they never did.
Down the street there’s another couch by the road, and a shabby Halloween decoration is seated on it. It’s one of those motion detecting skeletons and it reacts when I move past. Its head follows my movement, and its bony fingers and toes lift in irregular intervals, like when a dog dreams. Its shallow eye sockets are more sad than creepy. Everyone in this neighbourhood leaves their unwanted stuff outside of their homes, which earns us the label of ‘the bad side of town.’
I’m a few blocks away from my house when I get the distinct feeling that I’m being watched. I turn in a full circle to survey the scene but there’s no one there. The shadows of the trees are unusually long with crescent shapes repeating where the light breaks through, like during an eclipse. I can’t tell if it’s 8 o’clock in the morning or 8 at night. I walk faster, cutting across streets and through backyards, taking every shortcut I know.
Not one car drives by. No other people are