I don’t know how it started. All I know that I’m dead.

Not physically but I’m heading to a grave of if I go back up those stairs.

It all started when I went to the basement of our new house.

I saw a window. In the basement.

And me, being the cat that got killed by curiosity, opened it.

And a leather bound book fell on the floor. I reached down to pick it up, you know, because that’s what you do, right?

I started when I saw the pictures.

It was obviously a little kid’s drawing.

And the writing above it chilled my blood.

“Do not fret, my dear reader, I know you name. Your name is Halli.”

The blood drawn face is my own.

It’s like I’m looking in a blood drawn mirror.

“Halli!” My husband shouts from stairs.

“I’m… I’m a little busy!”

“Ok! Come up when you can!”

“Mhm…”

I turn the page.

“Don’t worry, my dear, Halli.” The dairy reads.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

The next line is depicting my body.

In a ditch.

“Halli!”

I jump three feet in the air when Henry reaches around me for the dairy.

“Whatcha got?”

He sees my pale expression painted in blood on the page.

“Oh, sugar, honey, iced tea.” Is all he manages to get out.

The dairy drops to the ground.

“H-Henry…? Who owned this place before us?”

“I don’t know. I think some old couple…”

The silence surrounding us is deafening.

“Halli?”

“Yeah?”

“Wake up, Halli!”

“What?”

“Halli!”

I jerk awake.

We are still in our apartment.

Everything is fine.

Nothing is out of place.

“Finally! The truck is here.” Henry says as he peeks through the doorway.

“What?” The dream clings to me.

“You know, the truck? The one we rented to help us move?”

Memories of the past few weeks flood back.

“Oh, yeah. Is it too late to back out?”

“Of moving? Absolutely not! I didn’t want to anyways!”

I sigh in relief.

“But Halli?”

“Yes, Henry?”

“Where did you get the dairy? Did you put the paintings in it?”

My blood freezes.

He tosses me a leather bound journal.

The one from my dream.

THE END