Whatever After #4: Dream On (2 page)

I
’m woken up by a loud creak.

I jump up in bed.

I twist to look at my alarm clock—it’s eleven fifty-five at night. Crumbs. We weren’t supposed to sleep for that long. We were just supposed to take a catnap!

I hear another creak. I look over at the trundle bed to see if Robin is still sleeping.

The trundle is bed is empty.

Huh?

Where is she?

I didn’t imagine the sleepover, did I? Was it a dream? Was Robin really here?

I spot her orange leather bag on the floor.

Nope, she definitely
was
here and still is. But where?

Maybe she’s hiding somewhere under the blankets? Jonah always used to hide under blankets during games of hide-and-seek. I jump out of my bed and toss her covers onto the floor.

Nope. No Robin.

Hmm.

Oh! My door is wide open. I definitely closed it before we went to sleep. Robin must be in the bathroom. I’m sure she’ll be back any minute.

I’ll just wait.

I sit on the edge of my bed.

I twiddle my thumbs.

And wait.

Still waiting.

She is taking an awful long time in the bathroom. I should make sure she’s okay. I tiptoe out into the hall. The bathroom door is open and the light is off. She is not in the bathroom.

“Robin?” I whisper.

There’s no answer.

“Robin!” I whisper again, although this time it’s a little louder and not really a whisper.

Jonah’s door flies opens. “Did you call me?” He’s wearing Superman pajamas and holding some sort of electronic game in his hand.

“No,” I tell him. “What are you doing up?”

“I was playing Karate Crocs. It’s a new game about crocodiles that do karate.”
CREAK.
“Did you hear that?” Jonah asks me, looking down the stairs. “That came from the basement.”

It
did
sound like it came from the basement.

“I can’t find Robin,” I tell him. Could Robin be in the basement?

CREAK
. That also came from the basement.

Why would Robin be in the basement? She wouldn’t be! She’s not in the basement! Then why am I starting to panic?

“I think she’s in the basement,” Jonah says.

Great.

I carefully climb down the two flights of stairs with Jonah close behind me.

When I open the basement door I hear another creak.

“Robin?” I call out. “Are you there?”

I hurry down the steps and spot her right away. She’s walking around the room in her pajamas with a glazed expression on her face.

“Robin, is everything okay?” I ask. “What are you doing? Did you forget something down here?”

She doesn’t answer. She just continues walking in a circle.

“Is she sleepwalking?” I wonder out loud.

Jonah rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “Don’t sleepwalkers keep their arms out? Like zombies? Maybe she’s a zombie.”

“Robin is not a zombie,” I say. Though she does look a bit like a zombie.

“Maybe she turns into a zombie only at night,” Jonah says. “And that’s why you never knew.”

“She does
not
turn into a zombie at night!” I insist. Still, shivers spread from my back to my fingers. “Robin, you’re creeping us out! Talk to me!”

Instead of answering, Robin bumps right into the mirror.

The magic mirror.

I hear a low hissing sound.
Sssssssssss.

Oh no oh no oh no. The mirror is waking up.

Robin takes a step back.

I reach for her even though she’s freaking me out. But it’s too late.

She bumps into the mirror again.

My whole body tenses as a warm purple light radiates from the mirror. If Robin hits the mirror one more time, it is going to suck her up and take her into a fairy tale. I CANNOT let that happen. I have to stop it!

“Maryrose, are you there?” I cry. “Are you listening? Please don’t take my new best friend! STOP, ROBIN, STOP!”

I reach out to grab on to her again, but she steps forward and out of my grasp. It’s too late.

Robin bumps into the mirror a third time.

First her reflection starts to swirl like it’s been caught in a washing machine.

No, no, no!

Then the mirror turns into a vacuum, pulling Robin toward it. Finally, I manage to get a grip on her wrist.

“No! Don’t go!” I shout. I feel like I can’t breathe.

Jonah is holding on to the banister. I grab on to him with one hand, and on to Robin’s wrist with the other. But it’s like I’m playing tug-of-war and losing. Robin’s right foot disappears inside the mirror first. Then her whole leg. Then half her face disappears inside.

It’s too hard to hold on! I let go of her wrist, and the rest of Robin gets slurped by the mirror.

Getting my best friend swallowed into a fairy tale was so NOT part of my sleepover plan.

“Come on,” I urge Jonah. “We have to go, too. We can’t leave her alone in there. She’s not even awake!”

Not that we have a choice. The mirror is already tugging us by our socks.

Speaking of socks, Jonah’s have holes in them. I can see both his big toes. Why hasn’t he thrown those out?

“Awesome! Let’s go!” my brother calls out. His eyes are lit up with excitement. Unlike me, Jonah is always up for an adventure. But normally I’m excited about going into the mirror, too. I want to see more of the stories come to life. I want to find out the truth about Maryrose. Just not TONIGHT. It’s sleepover night! Robin will never be allowed to come over again if she’s poisoned by a witch or turned into a mouse while she’s visiting my house.

“Where do you think we’re gonna go?” Jonah asks. “
Jack and the Beanstalk
?”

“Why do you always think we’re going to
Jack and the Beanstalk
?”

“Don’t you want to meet a giant?” he asks, and lets go of the banister.

Before I can tell him that no, I do not, the mirror gives us a massive tug and we both get sucked inside.

G
oing through the mirror never hurts. It feels like you’re walking through air or an open door.

When we find our balance we realize we’re on the ground floor of a stone tower. There’s a spiral staircase that starts beside us and winds its way up and around the inside of the tower for at least fifteen flights, maybe more. There are a few round windows letting sunlight stream in.

On the floor there are piles and piles of copper pots, different sized plates, drinking glasses, and cutlery. So. Many. Piles. It’s like we’re in a garage where people keep their extra stuff.

It’s damp in here, like a bathroom after a shower. And it smells sweet and kind of floral. Like the time Jonah dropped Mom’s perfume bottle on the floor. Mom was not happy.

“What fairy tale are we in?” Jonah asks me.

Hmm. We’re in a tower … which fairy tale is in a tower? Oh! “I bet we’re in
Rapunzel
!”

I spot Robin standing on the other side of the room. Her arms are by her side and she’s blinking, clearly confused.

“Are you okay?” I ask her.

“Abby? Am I dreaming?” she asks.

“Not exactly,” I say.

“Where are we?”

“Um, it’s kind of a funny story.” I stall. I guess I have to explain.

“I woke up and you weren’t in your bed,” I tell her. “We followed you to the basement and —”

“I thought you were a zombie,” Jonah says, holding his arms out rigidly. “It was awesome.”

Robin covers her face with her hands and groans. “I can’t believe I sleepwalked!”

I was right! She
was
sleepwalking.

“You sleepwalked all the way down two flights of stairs?” I cry. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Yes! I haven’t done it in years,” she explains. “My mom would never have let me sleep over if she thought I was still doing it … and I promised her that I told you and your mom just in case. This is so embarrassing.” She looks around. “But where are we? Is this a room in your house?”

“No. See, when you went into our basement, you —”

“I wonder where those stairs go,” Jonah remarks, cutting me off and running to the first step.

“Wait, Jonah, hold on!” I call out. “We need a plan! We don’t want to scare Rapunzel!”

“We don’t know for sure we’re in
Rapunzel
!” he says, already climbing. “Maybe it’s
Jack and the Beanstalk
!”

My brother is obsessed.

“No. I’m pretty sure it’s
Rapunzel
!” I call. But Robin is on Jonah’s heels, and they are already a few flights up. “Where are you going?” I yell.

“To the top!” they both shout back. You’d think Robin and Jonah were the ones related.

“I’m coming! Be careful!” I’ve just realized that the stairs have no railing. I follow my brother and Robin up anyway.

So. Many. Stairs. They’re stone and partly worn away. I bet they’d hurt to fall on. Good thing Robin isn’t still sleepwalking.

“Don’t say anything to Rapunzel until I get there!” I call up to Jonah. I steady myself against the wall.

“Who’s Rapunzel again?” Jonah asks.

“The one with the long hair. She hangs it out the side window and the prince climbs it like a ladder!” My nana used to read the fairy tales to both Jonah and me when we were younger. I paid attention 95 percent of the time. My brother paid attention 5 percent of the time.

“I don’t understand,” Robin says. “What does this have to do with Rapunzel?”

“That’s what I was trying to explain,” I huff as I continue to climb. “You see, we have this mirror in our basement, and this fairy, Maryrose, she kind of —”

“Someone named Maryrose lives in your basement?” Robin asks.

“Well, sort of.” Huff, huff. I can’t talk and climb at the same time. “I’ll explain when we get there,” I say, even though I am not entirely sure where
there
is.

It’s getting hot. This place could really use an air conditioner.

“ ’Kay!” Robin calls. “I’m almost at the top!”

“Be careful!” I warn. I’ve been through the mirror three times already, so I know the drill. But Robin is a novice.

“Hello,” I hear Robin say in a friendly voice as she reaches the last stair and disappears from view.

Where did she go? Who is she talking to?

“Who is she saying hello to?” I ask Jonah, since he’s closer to the threshold than I am. “Who’s there?”

“I don’t know yet,” he replies, and then he disappears from view, too. “What’s that?” I hear him ask.

What’s what? Argh! I need to know what’s going on. I push myself up the last few stairs until I’m finally — huff, huff — at the top.

I step into a bright attic. There’s a small cot covered in a lumpy blanket near the wall. It actually looks more like a burlap sack than a blanket—I feel bad for whoever has to sleep there. Above me, there’s a large skylight in the low ceiling, and the sun is pouring in. In the back of the room a woman is sitting on a bench in front of some sort of contraption. It looks a little like a violin. It has a bunch of strings. And a wheel.

The woman is wearing black pants and a loose black blouse. She looks about Mom’s age — no, older than Mom. But younger than Nana. Her hair is a mix of blond and gray and is cut short. She is definitely
not
Rapunzel. She’s smiling, but her eyes look flat and dull.

I join Robin and Jonah in the center of the room.

“Which one of you is the princess?” the woman asks. Her fake smile broadens. It looks less natural the wider it gets, like when the wolf smiles in
Little Red Riding Hood
.

We’re not in
Little Red Riding Hood
, are we?

No. I don’t see any fangs. Or fur.

“Neither of us is a princess.” I’m careful to keep my tone even. I wish I knew whether this woman was a nice character or a villain. My mind races. I guess I could just ask her. “What’s your name?”

The woman glares at us. “What’s
your
name?” she barks back.

Her very bad manners point to villain. I put my arm around Jonah.

“I’m Robin, and this is Abby and Jonah,” Robin says, her voice bouncy. She’s still excited about being in a strange tower, I guess.

The woman looks back and forth between us, clearly confused about what to do. Her confusion makes me relax a little, because villains usually have a clear idea of their own sinister plans.

“I’m … Lottie,” she finally says.

I think back to all the fairy tales my nana used to read me. I don’t remember any Lottie. But sometimes the characters’ names are different in real life — make that mirror life — than they are in the original stories.

Robin points to the violin-like contraption. “What is that?”

Is it a harp? A cello? A wheelbarrow?

Why is it glowing?

All those threads … Is it making a scarf? Is it a sewing machine? What’s that pointy part that looks like a needle?

Sewing … needles …

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” I shriek. “We’re in
Sleeping Beauty
!”

Yes! The contraption is one of those old-fashioned spinning wheels! It makes yarn or threads or something like that. This is definitely Sleeping Beauty’s fairy tale. Hurray! I love that story.

Robin is walking toward the sewing contraption.

“Robin,” I say.

She keeps walking. She does not notice my warning tone.

“Robin, stop!” I yell.

She spins around and bumps the back of her arm into the pointy part. It pricks her right in the elbow.

She grimaces.

I cringe. “Are you okay?” I have a bad feeling about this.

“That stung,” Robin says. She yawns. “I think it’s bleeding. What time is it? It’s so bright in here. Why am I so tired?”

Oh, no.

If she’s tired that could mean …

Robin spots the cot and stumbles toward it. She kind of trips over the edge and flops onto her back. “I’m going to take a nap,” she mumbles, her eyes already half shut.

Within a second her eyes are closed completely and she’s breathing heavily. She’s fast asleep.

In the story of
Sleeping Beauty
, the princess pricks her finger and falls asleep for a hundred years.

Now Robin pricked her elbow and fell asleep on a lumpy burlap sack.

Oh my goodness. My heart pounds against my chest. This is bad. Really bad.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am pretty sure Robin just pricked herself right into a sleeping spell.