“What do you want?” I asked, trying to say something to stop her from coming at me.
She opened her mouth then and began to scream—her words came out rapid fire, shrill and furious. It made it impossible to understand, but what little I did pick up wasn’t a language that I knew.
“I don’t know what you want! I can’t understand you!” I told her, but that only made her angrier.
Her wails grew louder, echoing through my skull, and then she extended her hands toward me. Her fingers were long and the nails were yellowed, and somehow I knew that if she got me, she’d never let me go.
I turned to run away from her, but the ground fell out from under me. There was nothing to grab on to, no matter how I tried to reach out, and I tumbled down into a bottomless pit of blackness.
Then, just as I felt my body slam into the hard ground, I opened my eyes and sat up.
Panting heavily, I realized with great relief that it was only a dream. I was safe in my own bed, but I couldn’t seem to stop my trembling and slow the panicked racing of my heart.
The room was dark, with the only light coming in from the hall and spilling in through the narrow gaps between the strings of beads. Still, I could make out the familiar shapes of my room, and after the nightmare that felt all too vivid and intense, I took comfort in taking inventory of the normal things in my room that weren’t screaming banshees.
Posters adorned my half of the room, covering the narrow bits of paneling that weren’t covered by windows. I only had one full-size poster, tacked up on the side of the closet, of David Bowie. The rest were smaller ones, like a tour poster for the Cure, ticket stubs for Aliens, and a flier for the sideshow from a state fair last summer.
Books were stacked to the brim on my nightstand. I kept as many as I could, but eventually, Mom would make me part ways with them to make room for new ones. My stereo and cassette tapes were stacked on the small vanity at the end of my mom’s bed next to the closet-size bathroom.
Across from my bed was Mom’s own narrow twin bed, neatly made the way it always was. Her half of the room was much cleaner and more organized than mine, but she had extra scarves and jewelry hanging from tacks above the window, since she’d run out of room everywhere else.
After we’d gotten back from the police station and delivered what little news we had to my mom, I’d finished helping set up, and then I’d snuck back to my trailer to take a quick nap. I couldn’t have gotten more than a couple hours of sleep last night at Gabe’s house, since we’d stayed up so late talking.
My mom had made the curtains from dark upholstery fabric and black lace, making them almost impenetrable to light, and I peeled them back from the windows. The sun had almost completely set, which meant that I’d overslept.
I swore, then hurried to get ready. The AC had gone out in the trailer, so my mom and Gideon had put a window air conditioner in the dining room. It stayed in place with duct tape, bungee cords, and a hope and a prayer.
I’d only just turned it on when I came inside, so it had been crazy hot and I’d stripped down to a tank top and panties to sleep in. Now I hurried to pull on a light dress. The carnival would be opening soon, and though I didn’t perform in any shows or run any stands, I worked hard as a gopher for everyone else.
I flicked on the vanity light and grabbed my makeup from the drawer and quickly put on eyeliner and mascara, finishing it off with scarlet lipstick that popped against the caramel tone of my skin.
Then I noticed the scrap of paper with Della Jane’s number was tacked to the top of the mirror, with one of Blossom’s necklaces dangling over it. Blossom kept most of her stuff in her own trailer, but since she spent so much time here, some of it ended up left behind.
But that’s not what made my gaze stop short. I’d left Della Jane’s number on the table in the kitchen, and Blossom’s necklace hadn’t been in here at all.
Mom must’ve come in and put it up here. Strange that I hadn’t woken up when she came in, but I had been very sleepy.…
I tried to shrug it off, and on impulse, I grabbed Blossom’s necklace and dropped it over my head. There was no time to worry about anything else, or even think about the nightmare that still left me feeling jumpy. I had to see if my mom needed any help.
As soon as I stepped out of the Winnebago, with the door creaking shut behind me, I heard the sound of the carnival. The music came from the midway—happy-go-lucky circus tunes from speakers set up along the booths—but mixed with that, I could hear laughter and talking. It was already under way, which meant I was very late.
Gathering my skirt, I dashed toward the carnival. The fairgrounds hadn’t felt so far away earlier when I’d been helping out with the museum and my mother’s booth, but as I dodged between trailers and nearly ran into Betty, it seemed to be miles away.
I couldn’t remember where the gate was that kept our motorhomes fenced off from the carnival. I ended up finding a gap in the chain link where it had been cut and slid through it and ran to my mom’s tent.
Her tent was small—only big enough for three chairs and a tiny table. The fabric was a dark violet that shimmered, even in the fading twilight. Fortune Teller was painted on the sign above the door, along with several mystical-looking symbols that really meant nothing.
There was another sign, pinned to the curtain that served as a door, with the words Mystic Lyanka—Sees All, Knows All. It featured a fairly nice painting of my mom that Gideon had done years ago. She’d been younger then, so her skin had been smoother, her eyes brighter, her smile wider. But even in the painting, there was an air of mystery about her.