So the power was out. Maybe nearby areas had been hit by the same devastation he’d witnessed on the screens back in the Thirteenth.
Based on what little he could see, he no longer had any doubt this was Reality Prime, and that this was his very own house. Just to make absolutely sure, he made his way back to the stairs and went up them to his room, feeling carefully along the wall in the dark. Every bit of furniture, the blankets on the bed, the wall decorations—everything was exactly as he last remembered seeing them.
He felt a little disappointed. Deep down he’d been hoping to find his family here, even though he knew it was a long shot. Jane had taken them, but then Frazier had said they’d disappeared. Tick had hoped the same thing might have happened to them as what had happened to him. He’d hoped they had been sent back home too.
Bad thoughts drifted through his mind, images of all the terrible things their vanishing from Jane’s captors might mean.
To get his mind off it, he knelt down on the floor and reached under his mattress. After feeling about, he found what he’d been looking for and pulled it out, then sat on the bed. Though he couldn’t see it very well in the pale light coming through the window, he knew every detail of the object anyway. His Journal of Curious Letters.
Yes. Unless this was a Reality that had split from Prime very recently, he at least knew he was in the right place. But what in the world was he supposed to do now?
He set the book on the table by his bed and kicked up his legs onto the bed, not bothering to take off his shoes. He lay back onto his pillow, hands clasped behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. Odd-shaped shadows from the moonlight slanted from corner to corner, dark and menacing. He closed his eyes.
Sleep. Could he really sleep despite all the terrible things going on that very instant? He didn’t know, but he needed it for sure. Surprising himself, he relaxed, feeling the first trickles of sleep edge his mind.
A minute passed. Two. The darkness was deep. No sound except a slight breeze pushing branches against the outside of the house. Something smelled good, like the fresh scent of laundry detergent and dryer sheets. All of it seemed to pull him down into the bed, as comfortable as he ever remembered being. Almost feeling guilty, he sank into the welcome pool of slumber.
Ooooooohhhhhhhhhnnnnnnnnnnn . . .
This time the sound came from the hallway right outside his room, a miserably haunted, ghostly moan. Tick shot up in bed, his feet swinging to the floor. A silver-blue light glowed through the space under the door.
So much for sleep.
Chapter
26
~
Many Faces
He heard the sound again. Then again. And again. Each time it was only a few seconds apart. The moan had such a creepy, deathly feel to it that prickles of goose bumps shot up all over his body, and he felt like every hair on his head reached for the ceiling. This was a new kind of terror—something very different from the constant worry of being killed or hurt, something he’d almost become accustomed to.
No, this was like a real-life ghost story. He was in a horror movie.
He quietly stood up and walked over to the window, carefully stepping on the non-creaking spots of his bedroom floor. He looked through the glass, wondering if he’d have the courage to jump out. The moon cast its pale glow on the yard outside, making the trees look dark blue and creating shadows in which he could imagine every monster from his every nightmare hiding, waiting.
Ooooooohhhhhhhhhnnnnnnnnnnn . . .
Tick turned around to face the door. His mind felt hollowed out. How had it come to this? An hour ago he’d been in the middle of a desert in the Thirteenth Reality, watching Mistress Jane destroy an entire world. Now he was back in his house, in the dark, staring at a sheet of silver-blue light panning across his floor. He saw that it wavered with flashes and glimmers of shadow as though the source of the light was a gigantic TV out in the hallway, showing an old black-and-white film.
He didn’t want to face whatever was out there. He turned back to the window and unlatched the lock. After pulling up the window, he unhooked the screen. He stuck his head out to look at the ground twenty feet below. If he could land in that clump of bushes . . .
Behind him, the moan took on a different pitch, stuttered. Then something sounded almost like a cough, followed by an odd crackle. Tick couldn’t help but look back at this new noise.
Tendrils of bright white electricity danced around the doorknob, sparking and zigzagging like small bolts of lightning. It had a charged sound to it, like the monster-making machines in the old Frankenstein movies. There were dozens of small sparks casting flashes of light all over the room.