in the pillow?” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Yeah, I remember. I heard something too. I thought you were doing it. Wasn’t it you?”
Matt shook his head slowly and firmly and, together, they walked across the room to the window. Standing side by side, they stared out past the big oak tree and the picket fence to the beginning of the forest. The sun was almost down and long shadows stretched out across the lawn. Long empty shadows.
“It sounded like a dog,” Courtney said.
Matt felt a shiver run up the back of his neck. “A dog?” he said. “Yeah, I guess that is what it sounded like.”
The shadows grew longer. A squirrel ran down one side of the oak tree and back up the other. Nothing else happened. Matt went back to his room.
Fifteen
A HUGE, ALMOST FULL moon climbed slowly across the sky, turning the lawn to silver and the trees to black velvet silhouettes. On that particular night Matt spent a lot of time keeping track of the moon’s slow, stately progress because dreams kept waking him up. Nightmares, actually, one after another.
The first nightmare was about being lost in what seemed to be the basement of the Palace or else the lair of some enormous underground monster. Amelia was in the dream and Matt was desperately trying to follow her, but she wouldn’t wait for him. She kept getting farther and farther away and Matt kept stumbling over what seemed to be the bodies of animals. Cold, clammy bodies, covered with bristly fur, that felt and smelled dead, except that some of them squirmed and squealed when he touched them.
Something was following him. A huge, shapeless blob was getting closer and closer, reaching out to wrap him in long, smothering tentacles. Something wound around his throat and he woke with a start, only to find that the strangling tentacle was the tangled bedsheet and the whole underground horror story had been only a dream.
And as if that weren’t bad enough, an entirely different nightmare was waiting for him when he finally got back to sleep. This time he was in a courtroom with a judge and jury. There were chains on his hands and feet and the judge was shaking his finger and saying that Matthew Hamilton was guilty of having divorced parents and a brother who was in juvenile hall. Matt was crying and trying to tell the jury that it wasn’t his fault because he hadn’t meant to do it.
One of the jurors seemed to be a dog, a shaggy dog with sad, brown eyes. Matt could tell that the dog wanted to forgive him, but when it tried to say “not guilty,” the other jurors hit and kicked it until it ran away yelping. Then the judge dragged Matt out of the courtroom and threw him into a tiny, dark room. His arms were flailing, pounding on the walls of the cell—when he woke up.
He was awake then, but even with both eyes wide open the nightmare hangovers kept flickering through his mind, until at last he got out of bed and went to the window.
Outside in the fading moonlight, nothing moved. The oak tree’s black velvet leaves hung still and silent, and pale shadows lay limply on the silvery lawn. And beyond the yard the tall, slender pine trees marched away, rank after rank after rank…
Marching ranks—like an endless file of soldiers. Alexander’s soldiers advancing on the Persian army, or maybe the Greeks. Slipping down off the window seat, Matt lifted the lid, dug out a helmet and, a little farther down, a shield. A helmet and shield he’d made himself out of cardboard and glued-on Velcro and decorated with authentic designs he’d copied from the M volume of the encyclopedia. M for Macedonia.
Slapping the helmet on his head, he dug deeper, looking for the sword, but he couldn’t find it in the dim light. Where was his Alexander the Great scimitar? He hadn’t used it lately, but it had to be there somewhere—if only it hadn’t been so dark.
He was on the way back from turning on the light when he happened to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. A glimpse of
Matt shook his head slowly and firmly and, together, they walked across the room to the window. Standing side by side, they stared out past the big oak tree and the picket fence to the beginning of the forest. The sun was almost down and long shadows stretched out across the lawn. Long empty shadows.
“It sounded like a dog,” Courtney said.
Matt felt a shiver run up the back of his neck. “A dog?” he said. “Yeah, I guess that is what it sounded like.”
The shadows grew longer. A squirrel ran down one side of the oak tree and back up the other. Nothing else happened. Matt went back to his room.
Fifteen
A HUGE, ALMOST FULL moon climbed slowly across the sky, turning the lawn to silver and the trees to black velvet silhouettes. On that particular night Matt spent a lot of time keeping track of the moon’s slow, stately progress because dreams kept waking him up. Nightmares, actually, one after another.
The first nightmare was about being lost in what seemed to be the basement of the Palace or else the lair of some enormous underground monster. Amelia was in the dream and Matt was desperately trying to follow her, but she wouldn’t wait for him. She kept getting farther and farther away and Matt kept stumbling over what seemed to be the bodies of animals. Cold, clammy bodies, covered with bristly fur, that felt and smelled dead, except that some of them squirmed and squealed when he touched them.
Something was following him. A huge, shapeless blob was getting closer and closer, reaching out to wrap him in long, smothering tentacles. Something wound around his throat and he woke with a start, only to find that the strangling tentacle was the tangled bedsheet and the whole underground horror story had been only a dream.
And as if that weren’t bad enough, an entirely different nightmare was waiting for him when he finally got back to sleep. This time he was in a courtroom with a judge and jury. There were chains on his hands and feet and the judge was shaking his finger and saying that Matthew Hamilton was guilty of having divorced parents and a brother who was in juvenile hall. Matt was crying and trying to tell the jury that it wasn’t his fault because he hadn’t meant to do it.
One of the jurors seemed to be a dog, a shaggy dog with sad, brown eyes. Matt could tell that the dog wanted to forgive him, but when it tried to say “not guilty,” the other jurors hit and kicked it until it ran away yelping. Then the judge dragged Matt out of the courtroom and threw him into a tiny, dark room. His arms were flailing, pounding on the walls of the cell—when he woke up.
He was awake then, but even with both eyes wide open the nightmare hangovers kept flickering through his mind, until at last he got out of bed and went to the window.
Outside in the fading moonlight, nothing moved. The oak tree’s black velvet leaves hung still and silent, and pale shadows lay limply on the silvery lawn. And beyond the yard the tall, slender pine trees marched away, rank after rank after rank…
Marching ranks—like an endless file of soldiers. Alexander’s soldiers advancing on the Persian army, or maybe the Greeks. Slipping down off the window seat, Matt lifted the lid, dug out a helmet and, a little farther down, a shield. A helmet and shield he’d made himself out of cardboard and glued-on Velcro and decorated with authentic designs he’d copied from the M volume of the encyclopedia. M for Macedonia.
Slapping the helmet on his head, he dug deeper, looking for the sword, but he couldn’t find it in the dim light. Where was his Alexander the Great scimitar? He hadn’t used it lately, but it had to be there somewhere—if only it hadn’t been so dark.
He was on the way back from turning on the light when he happened to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. A glimpse of
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