Anne sat straight up in bed, gasping for air. That awful dream, the same one as before? Barely a week had gone by since the first one. She’d finally started falling asleep without being afraid of it coming back. As soon as she’d let her guard down, she was right back there.
“You sound as crazy as Gemaw,” she whispered, rubbing her eyes. “Talking to yourself isn’t much better.”
She dumped her pajamas in the hamper again on her way to the shower. Getting up two hours early had gotten her through the day the first time, but she didn’t want this to become a habit.
She’d heard about recurring dreams somewhere, but she’d never had one. Why did it have to be a nightmare coming back? Why not a good dream?
Anne thought about her grandmother as she scrubbed and tried to steam the awful scenes an
