Chapter 11

I wondered how much she had been drinking, not that it mattered.

“I’m seeing things, scary things.” My voice sounded hollow, I closed my eyes but thought I felt something crawling on my leg and brushed furiously at my calve. Nothing was there.

“What are you seeing?” she asked, leaning close to me. “Look at me,” she said slowly. “Anson, look at me.”

I swallowed hard and did, as she demanded. Aunt Cyn had a way of looking at you that made you feel like she was on the inside of your eyeballs. I hated it, over the years I realized it was her way of seeing things.

My eyes began to burn, I wanted to blink, but felt her energy practically prying my eyes wide, willing me not to blink. It had gotten quiet, I couldn’t hear the music, couldn’t tell if it was day or night. I felt weightless, like I was slipping away from the ground. It reminded me of when I would be on the verge of falling asleep, I would feel like I was falling and jerk awake before hitting bottom.