The Haunted Heart: Winter by Josh Lanyon

familiar, even
comforting. The only light came from the open bedroom door and the
darkness was soothing and restful.
    I closed my eyes.
     
    * * * * *
     
    I woke to a sound like the Crack of
Doom.
    I tried to pry my eyes open.
    Earthquake? Tornado? Demolition Derby?
    No.
    Snoring.
    The kind of snoring probably not heard since
the last woolly mammoth entered the deep freeze.
    I sat up, dislodging what appeared to be a
couple of small silver balls, which jingled merrily down the sweep
of olive brown blankets till they hit the floor and, still tinkling
with holiday cheer, rolled away under the coffee table.
    Kirk, sprawled uncomfortably in a
tangerine-hued “easy chair” that looked anything but easy, sat up
with a snort. He peered at me through the gloom.
    “Er, sorry. I think I was sleeping on your
jingle bells,” I said.
    He cleared his throat a couple of times and
got out a scratchy, “You okay?”
    “Disappointed Santa didn’t bring me a fire
engine. Otherwise fine.”
    Kirk didn’t say anything, and some quality
in his silence, raised prickles of unease on the back of my
neck.
    “And how are you?” I asked politely.
    “Fine.”
    “What time is it?” I shoved the blankets
back and another silver ball rolled down the slide of bedding, it’s
jingle muffled by the folds. “What the heck?” I found my cell
phone. 11:57.
    “It’s practically noon!” I told Kirk. “I
slept twelve hours.”
    “Monday.”
    “Sorry?” I began to think the trouble I was
having reading Kirk’s expression had nothing to do with the poor
light.
    “It’s noon on Monday. You’ve been sleeping —
mostly — for thirty-six hours.”
    “ What ?”
    “Check the date on your phone.”
    After a moment, I looked down at the screen
on my phone. Monday, February 13, 11:58. “That’s weird. I haven’t
been sleeping more than a couple of hours at a time.”
    Yeah. It was a lot weirder than
oversleeping. That was more like a coma. Or catatonia. Or the first
day of summer vacation.
    Kirk tossed aside the blanket he’d been
using, and rose. I saw that he was dressed in jeans and a corduroy
shirt.
    “I don’t understand.” I knew from the way he
was acting there was something more at work here than me
oversleeping. Mostly I was grateful that whatever had happened, he
hadn’t phoned my parents.
    “Let’s go get something to eat.”
    “Go out?”
    “Yeah. Let’s go get breakfast.”
    “Well…but wait a minute. I have to shower. I
have to brush my teeth.” My mouth felt like a moldy carpet and I
urgently had to pee. “Is the mirror — where’s the mirror?”
    “The mirror’s in the shed on the east wing,
wrapped in a tarp. Not that it makes any difference.”
    I was getting more confused by the moment.
“How did you move it by yourself?”
    “Using the tarp and a rope tied to my
truck.”
    “Okay,” I said slowly. “Just let me wash up
and change my clothes.”
    “You can wash up down here.”
    “Now you’re starting to weird me out.”
    “I think it’s better if we stick
together.”
    A cold sinking feeling washed through me.
“Look, I know I was — I know I lost it last — Saturday night. But
I’m okay. I’m not going to jump out a window or anything. Really.”
Now I was worried that maybe he had reported my breakdown to
my parents. Were they on their way to Connecticut? Was Dr. Kirsch
going to show up any second with his trusty hypodermic needle?
    Kirk was shaking his head. “This isn’t
anything to do with that. At least, not directly. I hope. Either
way, I think we need to get off the premises where we can talk
freely.”
    I opened my mouth, closed it. Opened it
again to say, “All at once I feel better. You sound crazier than
me.”
    “If you’re going to wash, go wash. We don’t
have a lot of time.”
    I wasn’t in the shower long enough for the
water to heat, and I made do with rubbing toothpaste over my teeth
with my finger. Kirk was tossing his keys impatiently when I left
the bathroom.
    I