Disoriented, I sit up and nudge Matteo’s calico off my pillow. With a grunt and a stiff push, I ease out of bed and pull open the curtain. A hint of morning flushes pale shadows from the woods. With my canvas apron wrapped tight, I pull on the sweater by the door and slide
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A luminous nymph dashes from the darkening woods, leaping barefoot from log to rock. Her silver hair glows, reflecting the light of the two bright moons above. Her pale, web-like dress snags on a branch as she streaks by. A path of blood follows her as she bolts through the brush.
She is no spirit.
“What are you doing?” whispers Joe.
“Sleeping. Until you kicked me.”
“You’re a messed up sleeper, then.”
“Huh?”
“You keep playing footsie and stuff.”
“Gross. I’d never play footsie with a dude. Go back to sleep.”
“What kind of socks are you wearing?”
“Socks? Are you stoned? It’s like forty degrees in here.
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