Chapter 3 - Dreams Bleeding Into Reality

Just a few more steps, Andy told herself. Just a little further. 

Her heart was pounding as she pushed herself further. 

What's happening? 

Andy couldn't figure out what was wrong, but the more she pushed her legs to move, the more she felt like she was trying to run through a thick layer of jello. 

She knew she was at the quarry, running up the big hill, but everything felt off. The sky was purple, and the air was eerily still. 

"Andy, help!" she heard a cry coming from the bottom of the quarry, from the water. 

No. She knew before she made it to the top of the ridge. She would see the boy in the water again. 

"Andy, help!" the voice cried again. The water was finally in view. "Help!" 

Andy gasped. This time, the body floating in the water wasn't the boy at all.

It was her mother, with a murky red shadow spreading out around her head.

Andy's eyes snapped open. She was back in her childhood bedroom, at Honey's house.

It was just a nightmare, Andy thought. Just a dream. 

She sat up, and reached for the water bottle she kept by her bed. 

Empty. Damn it. 

Her phone lit up with a text. 

Charlie. She couldn't believe he still had the same number. 

Hey! Sorry for the late text. I thought you would want to know we're calling off the search effort for the night. Nothing yet. Some of us are coming back in the morning. Are you doing okay? 

Andy rubbed her eyes, considering whether or not she wanted to reply. But Charlie had been kind to her. He even gave her a ride home so she didn't have to run back. 

"Was that Charlie?" Honey had asked. 

"Yeah. He saw me running and offered me a ride," Andy brushed off the question in her grandmother's eyes. "I was feeling really tired today, pushed myself too hard in the beginning."

"If you say so," said Honey, and she wandered off in her nightgown. Andy loved that about Honey. She never pushed. 

Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks again. Andy hit send before she could change her mind. 

Typing bubbles appeared on the screen. He must have been waiting for her response. 

I didn't know you were back in town. Maybe we could grab a drink sometime? 

I am not getting into that right now, Andy thought. She put her phone down. 

She was still feeling shaky after her nightmare, so she grabbed her water bottle and wandered down to the kitchen. She left the lights off and used her hand to guide herself along the wall. 

She filled her water bottle to the brim and took a few deep gulps before refilling it. 

There was originally a window over the kitchen sink looking into the backyard, but Honey and Jimbo added a big living room to the back of the house when they moved in. They left the window so Honey could keep an eye on her four kids while she was cooking or doing the dishes. 

Andy dropped her water bottle with a clang. 

When she looked up and through the living room to the window into the back yard, she saw a figure hovering next to the shed. A figure wearing a long white dress. 

She ran into the living room to get a closer look, but by the time she reached the back window, the figure was gone. 

I'm not getting enough sleep, Andy thought. She hurried back up the stairs and lied awake for a long time before finally drifting off again.

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"Are you sure this is necessary?" Honey asked the bank teller, Janet. It was the third time they'd had to do this. 

"Yes, it is." Janet spoke with such authority. Andy was grateful. She knew Honey would listen to her. "Now, I'm ordering new checks for you. They should arrive by the end of the week. Is that okay?" 

"Is it possible to have the checks sent to the bank?" Andy asked. "We think Martha stole them out of Honey's mailbox last time."

"That's a felony offense," said Janet.

"We know," said Andy. 

Janet lowered her voice, leaning forward over her desk. "You could press charges."

"We don't want to do all that," said Honey with a little laugh. It broke Andy's heart. 

"I can't believe she'd just take an old woman's checkbook out of her mailbox like that." Janet shook her head. 

"Well, that was last time. She took them from our house this time," said Andy. 

Janet gasped. 

"Don't worry. We're getting the locks changed today," said Andy. She'd grown so accustomed to the madness. She forgot how shocking it could be to other people.

"You know, I went to high school with Martha?" said Janet.

Andy didn't know that, but she wasn't surprised. Everyone knew everyone in this small town. 

"I just can't imagine her acting this way. Is she on drugs?" Janet asked. 

"Yup," said Andy, bracing herself for the pitying look she knew was coming. It was Appalachia. Everyone had a Martha in their family. Not everyone was unlucky enough for that person to be their mother.

"Such a shame," said Janet. "I had no idea."

Andy couldn't bear the awkward silence. 

"So where does Honey need to sign?" she asked. 

"Oh, right. Sorry, darlin'," said Janet. "Here and here." 

Andy allowed herself to drift away while Honey scribbled her name in looping cursive. She checked her phone. She didn't want to respond to Charlie's text about drinks. It sounded suspiciously close to a date. But she was wondering if they found anything at the quarry. 

An unknown number appeared on her phone. She was overwhelmed by a wave of panic. Could this have something to do with the boy? Did Martha finally do something to get herself arrested or killed? Had Andy's dream been some kind of premonition? 

"Excuse me," Andy said, and she ducked out of Janet's office. 

"Hello?" She couldn't keep the shakiness out of her voice when she answered.

"Hi, uh, Miss Johnson?" the voice said. 

"This is she," said Andy. 

"This is Carl."

Andy wracked her brain. Carl? Who's Carl?

"The, uh, locksmith," Carl continued. Andy almost smacked herself. So much panic over an appointment she had scheduled herself. "I'm a little early. I hope that's okay."

"We're just wrapping up some errands!" said Andy in her most cheerful voice. "We'll be right over."

"No problem at all, ma'am. I'll just wait in my truck."

Andy thanked Janet and hurried Honey back to the car. 

"The locksmith is already at the house," she explained. Luckily, everything in Mossy Creek was about a two-minute drive away, unlike New York, where it took forever to get anywhere. 

New York. The thought of the city brought tears to Andy's eyes. She forced them back down again as she pulled into Honey's driveway. 

"Hi, Carl!" Andy shot him a smile and a wave. "Sorry about that!" 

"No need to apologize," he said. He was an enormous man, as wide as he was tall. "What can I do for you young ladies today?" 

Honey giggled at that, which made Andy smile. 

"We are looking to change all the locks," sighed Andy.

"Easy enough," said Carl. "Can I take a look at them?" 

Andy set Honey up with her game shows, then gave Carl a tour of the house. 

When Honey wasn't listening, Andy made another request. 

"Do you think you could fix the lock on my bedroom door, too?" 

At some point in the house's long history, Andy's bedroom door had been forced open. Every time she looked at the splintered wood surrounding the deadbolt, she shivered. There was a story there, and something told her it wasn't a happy one. 

But it was hard for her to sleep without a lock on her door. Every night, she worried she'd wake up with Martha standing over her. 

"This must be a hundred years old," Carl said, marveling at the old lock. 

"Is there anything you can do?"

"Short of replacing the door frame, no," said Carl. "But I think I've got a lock attachment in my truck. If you install it yourself, I can throw it in for free."

"That's so generous of you. Thank you," said Andy. 

"It's nothing. All you need is a screwdriver."

Carl replaced the outdoor locks one by one. 

"You're all set," he said. "Anything else I can do for you?" 

"Nope. Thanks again, Carl," said Andy. "Honey, Carl's done!" 

"Oh good!" said Honey. "Let me grab my checkbook." 

Andy grimaced.

"You're gonna have to pay with cash, Honey." Had she forgotten the trip to the bank? Or was it just force of habit that made her reach for her checkbook? Andy was noticing more and more little instances like this, where Honey's mind just didn't seem quite as sharp as it used to be. It worried her. 

But worse than that, she felt guilty about not being able to pay for the locksmith herself. She just didn't have the money. 

"Are y'all selling the place?" Carl asked while Honey dug through her purse. 

"No," laughed Honey. "What would make you think that?"

"Most of my clients only change all their locks when they're moving," said Carl.

"Oh," said Andy. "I wish. We've had a family member with sticky fingers." 

Andy tried to make a joke out of it, but Carl saw straight through her. Again, Tennesseeans knew what she was talking about. 

"Let me get that lock from my van," he said. 

"We're doing the right thing," Andy said to Honey. "Think of it this way: by changing the locks, we're making it more difficult for Martha to keep stealing. We're no longer enabling her." 

What Andy wasn't saying was, if she get inside again, I'm calling the police, and I don't want to have to do that. 

"Here you go!" said Carl, and he handed Andy the lock. 

"And this is for you!" said Honey, as she slid a wad of cash into Carl's hand. 

"Thank you, ma'am. Do you two need anything else?" he asked.

"No, thank you!" said Honey, and she was already halfway back to the couch to watch her game shows. 

"Please call if you need anything," Carl said to Andy. Then, to her surprise, he pulled her into a hug. 

"I will," she said. She waved goodbye to him, then picked up the lock. It looked easy enough to install, as long as she could find a screwdriver. 

"Honey, do you have a screwdriver?" Andy called. 

"All the tools are in the shed," said Honey, not looking away from the TV. 

I should've asked him to put a lock on the shed, thought Andy. It drove her crazy that Honey left it unlocked all the time. She was always nervous that she'd find someone squatting inside. She threw open the door and flipped the light switch on before she could think about it too hard. 

There were shelves creating a little makeshift wall in the back, with a small room behind them. A perfect, human-sized hiding space. Andy lunged behind them, searching for any intruders. But the shed was empty. 

Once again, you're making something out of nothing, Andy. She scanned the shelves until she found an old toolkit. She blew off the dust and dug through it. The old phillips-head screwdriver looked like it hadn't been used in at least a few decades, but it would do. 

"Perfect," she whispered. After the way the wood had swollen and shifted over the years, she had to use her full body weight to pull the shed door closed. She turned back toward the house when something caught her eye. 

In the brambles surrounding the shed, a piece of torn white fabric swayed in the breeze. It was the same shade of white that the mysterious figure had been wearing last night.