Now they were both down in the mud. Jasmine wasn’t even thinking. Every ounce of her was just trying to protect herself and get away. She scratched and clawed at the bogeyman’s face, and as she did so, the mask came off and fell facedown into the mud.

  Now Jasmine could see the bogeyman’s face. Even in the dark, it was scarier than her worst nightmares.

  And the last sensation Jasmine felt was the cold burn of the wet grass on her legs as she was dragged away, through her backyard, through her front yard, down the sidewalk, and far, far away from her home. And the last thing Jasmine heard was her own chanting: “It’s just a dream, just a dream, just a dream. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

  EPILOGUE

  TEN YEARS LATER

  The family—a mother, father, a boy, and a girl—stood on the front porch of their new house, except it was really an old house, and no one had lived in it for many years. They were talking to the realtor, the woman who had helped them through the process of buying their new home.

  The realtor was trying to finish up the conversation so she could get to her next appointment. But she knew she had to give the family one last piece of information; it was the right thing to do. “Oh, did I mention?” she asked the family. “I’m sorry to say you’re going to need to clean out the basement yourselves.”

  “What do you mean?” the mother asked.

  “Well, there are some things stored down there,” the realtor answered slowly. “Not that much. But no company in town would agree to clean it out, no matter how much we offered. Very strange,” she added.

  The mother and father nodded patiently. They’d been looking for a house to buy for a long time now, and every house had one problem or another. They supposed this was no worse than any other random issue with a new house, like a leaky roof or a rickety staircase.

  “Oh, one more thing,” the realtor added. She was already holding her car keys in her hand, getting ready to leave the family in their new home.

  “What’s that?” the father asked.

  “You’ll probably want to consult with an expert exterminator,” she said casually. “I’m afraid there’s been a bit of an ongoing problem with bugs here. I thought we had gotten rid of all of them before we put the house up for sale, but this morning I noticed another one,” she added.

  The parents looked at each other, their eyebrows raised. The boy and girl looked at them. What was going on?

  “You mean an exterminator came but couldn’t get rid of the bugs?” the mother asked.

  “Yes,” the realtor said. “A few different exterminators came, actually. They claimed they had never seen this type of bug before, that it wasn’t a bug you usually saw in New Orleans. It’s a bit, um, bigger, than your average bug.”

  The realtor and the family stood in an awkward silence. The boy and girl just looked at their parents.

  “Don’t worry, guys,” the mother said. “Why don’t you go explore our new home?”

  The kids both ran off.

  “Let’s check out the basement,” the girl said to the boy. They were standing in the kitchen.

  “I don’t want to get bitten by bugs,” the boy said, a note of fear in his voice.

  “Come on, scaredy-cat,” the girl said. “We have to go down there eventually.”

  “Okay.” The boy sighed.

  A very bright fluorescent bulb illuminated their way down the stairs. When they got to the bottom, they looked around. There was a table with tools on it, and boxes stacked neatly against the walls. At the top of one of the stacks of boxes was a piece of carved red wood. It caught the girl’s eye.

  “Can you reach that?” the girl asked her brother.

  “I guess.” The boy sighed again, straining to get his hand up that high. He brought the wood down, and the two kids had a coughing fit because of the thick layer of dust that now filled the air. The boy put the piece of wood on a tool table, and more dust rose from it.

  The boy and girl stared at it. It wasn’t just a piece of wood. It was an old wooden mask, painted deep red, with a beaklike nose and a furrowed brow.

  “Cool!” the girl said. She held it right in front of her face and made it dance around a little, wiggling her hips. “I’m gonna show this to Mom and Dad. Maybe we can keep it. Hang it up somewhere. Our first decoration in our new house.”

  “I don’t know,” the boy said, covering his eyes with his hands. “It kinda creeps me out.”

  And that was when the boy’s eyes caught some movement in the nearest corner. He crouched down to get a better look. He wasn’t entirely sure, but it looked like a red bug with a body as big as a banana and wings as large as notebook paper was staring right back at him.

  “Mom, where does this go?” shouted twelve-year-old Beth Picard. She gripped a large cardboard box in her arms and stood inside the empty hallway of her new house.

  “What’s it say on the top?” Beth’s mom called back from the living room.

  Beth glanced down at the box. “ ‘Kitchen,’ ” she replied.

  “I’ll give you three guesses as to which room it belongs in,” Beth’s mom replied. “And the first two don’t count!”

  “Very funny, Mom,” Beth said as she headed to the kitchen and placed the box on top of two other boxes, forming yet another cardboard tower growing out of the kitchen floor.

  Beth and her mom were excited about moving into their new house. It had been built a few years ago and had only one set of previous owners. Even the paint on the walls still looked spotless. It felt like a fresh start for both of them.

  Beth’s mom had just started a new job. Beth was looking to make new friends and move on with her life, following . . . well, following whatever had come before—something she was not too clear about.

  Beth hurried back out to the moving truck they had rented, climbed up the metal ramp, and grabbed another box. As she headed down the long front walkway, past hedges and flowering trees, she was about to call to her mom again. Instead she stopped just outside the front door and glanced down at the label on the top of the box. It said BETH’S BEDROOM.

  Beth smiled as she walked into the house and headed up the stairs, proud of herself that she didn’t have to ask her mom about every box she carried in.

  Beth knew that her mom was a very organized person. At least that’s what her mom liked to say about herself. She had told Beth that when she packed up their stuff at their old house, she made sure to group every box according to room. Then she made a label for each box to take the guesswork out of the unpacking process.

  Beth took her mother’s word for the fact that she was organized. In fact Beth took her mom’s word for just about everything. For reasons she didn’t understand, Beth had trouble recalling the past. She searched her mind, trying to remember helping her mom pack up their old house, but could conjure no images of that or anything else from before. Beth couldn’t even recall what their old house looked like.

  More to wonder about, I guess, she thought as she stepped into her new bedroom and placed the box onto her bed.

  Turning around, Beth caught a glimpse of herself in a full-length mirror leaning against a bedroom wall. Sunlight streaming through the window highlighted the spattering of freckles on her face. She shook her head, sending her shoulder-length auburn hair whipping back and forth.

  As Beth was about to turn away and head back downstairs to grab another box, she caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror. In the glass she saw her reflection looking into another mirror, in which she saw herself looking into yet another mirror, and on and on, as if she were in a carnival fun house.

  What? she thought, peering into the mirror at the multiple versions of herself. She leaned in closer and saw all the images of herself in the many mirrors lean in as well. She shook her hair again, and strands of copper-colored waves flowed back and forth in each mirror image.

  Beth turned away and glanced back quickly, as if she was trying to catch herself, or trying to trick the mirror into going back to normal. Her mirror was still filled with multiple, endless images of herself, extending off into infinity.

  Deep into the mirror, way off in the reflected distance, Beth could see the tiniest image. But it wasn’t an image of Beth, and it wasn’t moving as Beth moved. It was of someone in a long white coat. The woman appeared nervous, looking back over her shoulder again and again. Beth leaned in even closer to the mirror, so that her nose was touching the glass. And that’s when the woman vanished from the reflection.

  Beth had had enough. She didn’t know if she was hallucinating or what, but it was time to get more boxes. When she turned away from the mirror, all of the other Beths turned with her—all except one who stood still, staring straight out. Beth squeezed her eyes shut tightly, then threw them open quickly. The multiple images were finally gone. The single reflection of Beth, staring wide-eyed at herself in her bedroom was all that remained.

  She drew a deep breath and sighed.

  “Beth!” her mother called up from the bottom of the stairs. “There’s someone here to see you, honey.”

  I need some sleep, Beth thought, turning away and heading out of her room. Just before she stepped out into the hallway, she whipped around quickly to make sure again that only one image filled the mirror. It did.

  A few moments later Beth came face-to-face with a girl her age, standing on the front steps.

  “Hi, I’m Chrissy Walters,” said the girl. “I’m your neighbor. I just stopped by to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

  Beth smiled and said hi back.

  Chrissy had short blond hair and two different-colored eyes—one blue and one hazel. Beth thought that was totally cool.

  “I’m Beth Picard,” said Beth. “And this is my mom.”

  “Nice to meet you,” said Chrissy. “I’ve lived in the house next door for about six months. Your place has been empty all that time. I’m so glad you moved in, especially because we’re the same age, I think.”

  “I just turned twelve yesterday,” said Beth.

  “Happy birthday!” said Chrissy. “I turned twelve a few weeks ago.”

  “Come into the kitchen, Chrissy,” said Beth’s mom. “We can’t offer you anything but a glass of water, but you’re welcome to sit on a packing crate.”

  Beth, Beth’s mom, and Chrissy all headed down the hall and into the large kitchen, where they found stacks of boxes, a few packing crates, and two glasses sitting on the counter.

  “We haven’t started unpacking yet,” explained Beth’s mom. “Just a glass for Beth and a glass for me. Here, let me get you one.” She popped open a cardboard box and unwrapped a water glass, then she filled all three glasses with water from the faucet.

  “So you only moved into your house recently?” Beth asked Chrissy.

  “Yeah, I know a few kids at school, but it’s nice to meet someone who lives just next door,” said Chrissy.

  “Where did you live before this?” Beth asked.

  “California,” replied Chrissy. “My mom’s job moves us around a lot. How about you? Where did you live before this?”

  “We lived . . . uh, we lived . . .” Beth stammered and then stopped short. She hit another brick wall in her memory. Try as she might, she could not come up with the name of the town she and her mom had just moved from.

  “Rockport.” Nancy jumped in. “About an hour from here. On the other side of the city.”

  “Oh, yeah, Rockport,” Beth agreed, although the name of the town meant nothing to her.

  “Did you forget where you’re from?” Chrissy asked, tilting her head curiously.

  “Beth was in an accident a few months ago, Chrissy,” Nancy explained. “Sometimes her memory is a bit fuzzy. But the doctors assured us that it will clear up with time. Right, honey?”

  “Right,” agreed Beth. “That’s it. My accident.” Though, in truth, Beth had no memory of having had an accident or seeing any doctors.

  Beth’s mom smiled at her and got up.

  “Well, I’ll leave you two girls to get to know each other better,” Nancy said. “I’ve got about a million boxes still to unpack. Nice to meet you, Chrissy.”

  “Nice to meet you, too, Ms. Picard,” said Chrissy.

  “So maybe we’ll be in the same class at school,” said Chrissy when Beth’s mom had left the kitchen. “That would be fun.”

  “Actually, my mom is going to homeschool me,” Beth explained. “She works the night shift doing medical research at the lab a few blocks from here four nights a week, but she teaches me before she leaves every evening.

  “Oh,” said Chrissy, unable to disguise the disappointment in her voice.

  “But we could hang out together every day when you get home from school and on weekends,” Beth added quickly.

  Chrissy smiled. “That’s great! So what kinda stuff do you like to do? I love reading, playing soccer, and watching movies.”

  “I like, um, all that stuff too!” Beth replied, not quite sure what she liked to do.

  “But you must spend a lot of time alone,” Chrissy added. “Especially at night, with your mom working and all. Is she okay leaving you alone?”

  “Actually, there’s going to be a babysitter who stays here every night,” Beth explained.

  “Is she cool?” Chrissy asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” said Beth. “My mom has to find someone now that we’ve moved. It’s a little immature, I know, to have a babysitter at our age, but since my mom works overnight, she doesn’t want me home alone all the time.”

  “That makes total sense,” said Chrissy. “I just hope your babysitter is cool, for your sake.”

  “I’m sure she will be,” said Beth. “My mom said I can help her choose the right babysitter. Anyway, I’m really glad you want to be my friend, Chrissy.”

  “Me too,” said Chrissy. “I gotta get home now. But maybe we can hang out tomorrow.”

  “Great,” said Beth.

  Both girls headed outside.

  “Bye!” said Beth, waving as Chrissy headed to her house.

  Beth’s mom stuck her head out the front door.

  “She seems like a very nice girl,” she said. “And it makes me happy that you’ll have a friend close to home. Now, young lady, back to the boxes!”

  Beth climbed into the moving truck and picked up another box. She started not to mind so much that she had trouble remembering the past. Here she was in a nice new house, with her mom, and she’d already made a new friend.

  Beth Picard was not thinking about the past. She had her sights set squarely on the future.

  ALMOST ONE YEAR LATER . . .

  Beth raced down the hall, pausing every few seconds to look back over her shoulder.

  She’s still after me, Beth thought, picking up her pace.

  It didn’t make logical sense, but the faster Beth ran, the closer the girl in the mirror at the end of the hallway came toward her. And everywhere Beth turned, the mirror and the girl in it followed. Beth stopped short, but the girl in the mirror kept running, getting closer and closer. Spinning back around, Beth found herself staring into a blank wall, as if the hallway she had just come down had vanished.

  Who is she . . . and why is she following me?

  A door suddenly appeared on her right. She yanked it open and sped through the doorway, slamming it behind her. Beth breathed a sigh of relief. But when she eyed the room she had just stepped into, she was faced with mirrors on every wall. Even the ceiling was totally covered in mirrors jutting out at every angle.

  And in each mirror she saw the girl. She knew the girl. That much was certain. But how? From where? Who was she?

  Suddenly, impossibly, one of the images of the girl popped out of a mirror in the ceiling and dropped feet first to floor in front of Beth. From this close, she recognized the girl. She looked exactly like her.

  What is going on?

  The girl said nothing but stared at Beth with a puzzled look on her face. Then she reached out suddenly, grabbed Beth’s arm, and said, “You’re coming with me!”

  “Nooo!” Beth screamed.

  When she stopped screaming, Beth realized that she was awake in her bed with her eyes wide open.

  It was just another dream, she thought, as her heart pounded away in her chest. Why do I keep having them?

  Rubbing her eyes and trying to shake the bad dream from her head, Beth climbed from her bed and walked to the bathroom. She had woken up only a few minutes before her alarm was about to go off. Soon it would be time to begin her daily homeschool lessons with her mom.

  Bad dreams aside, Beth was happy in her new life. In the year that had passed since she and her mom had moved into their house, Beth had become comfortable with her daily routine: school lessons in the morning, hanging out with Chrissy in the afternoon, homework in the evenings, and then bed when her mom went to work and Joan, the overnight babysitter, arrived. Life was pretty good.

  Especially because Beth and Chrissy had become great friends.

  But the best part of the past year was the fact that Beth’s memory problems seemed to have disappeared. She still couldn’t conjure up memories from before the move, but she tried not to dwell on that, especially because everything that had happened to her during the past year, down to the tiniest detail, remained sharp in her mind.

  She could remember the shapes of the snowflakes during the first snowfall at her new house and building a snowman with Chrissy. She remembered the day they painted her bedroom a shiny purple and the day she decided she hated it and then repainted it lime green.

  After breakfast that morning Beth and her mom settled down at the dining room table, books spread across its gleaming oak surface.

  “Ok, let’s go back to the chapter on Native American history,” said Beth’s mom, flipping open her book. “I think we left off with the evolution of the Cherokee Nation.”

  “Yup,” said Beth. “Right here in chapter five, the ‘Principal Chiefs of the Cherokee Nation.’ ”

  “What can you tell me about the leaders of the Cherokee Nation East?” Beth’s mom asked.

 

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