The Meltdown

Apr 6

At 4 AM, just as the grandfather clock chimed in the hall, Mrs. Starch shrieked from her room. “No! No! Noooooooo!”

One of her nightmares.

Mr. Starch’s painted eyes followed me, his stern brow and navy suit imposing as I stood listening and watching at the door.

Mrs. Starch’s little white head poked from the covers. She thrashed in the shadowed bed, screaming, yelling.

I honestly felt sorry for her, but I would not enter.

Rule #1 at Mrs. Starch’s house: never ever go into her room at night.

Going South