Chapter 6-Birute's POV

I jolt up, throwing the sheets off. Deep breaths, one, two, three. I’ve woken up like this for the past few years, ever since that first nightmare. Come on, God, can’t you let me sleep in peace?

Shivering in this damn, freezing house, I down the glass of water and pull on my gray, woolen robe. Time for a cup of midnight tea. It won’t help me sleep, but it might destress me.

Insomnia: the inability to fall asleep. I guess I’m not an insomniac then, because I can fall asleep after 5 minutes. It’s staying asleep that’s the problem. I was getting better, but I guess moving out on my own triggered them back to full intensity; they haven’t been this bad since my parents’ car accident. Then again, that stupid home invasion last night probably didn’t help. Uncle’s right, I shouldn’t be out here alone.

The kettle is whistling, but all I can do is slump over the stove. I’m too tired to even lift the stupid teapot! These nightmares have to end. They have to, or I’ll go crazy!

No dose of peppermint tea or audiobook-guided meditations will cure me. Believe me, I’ve tried. Uncle even dragged me to a priest and cognitive therapy, but my dreams won’t fade. Best case scenario, I’ll be able to shove them to the back of my mind during work. But they always come back. Always at night.

Normal people have unique dreams every night. Mine haven’t changed in the last decade, since I became an orphan. Uncle seemed to keep them at bay for a while just through his presence and divine interventions, he’d call them: he’d give me a rosary to hang over my bed, or read from the Bible every night. Nothing worked. The cognitive therapy sessions never put a damper on them, either, and after a while I learned to fake feeling good. Uncle couldn’t protect me completely. I guess this cottage won’t, either.

Last night’s nightmare was especially vivid- crystalline sharp, like a digital tv screen.

“Do we really have to go, Mama?” I whine, cradling my stuffed pink bunny. I’m eight years old, on a sudden road trip with her and Daddy.

Mama looks around anxiously. “Yes, sweetheart, we really do. Remember, it’ll be fun! Think of this as an adventure! Look, here comes daddy now!”

We’re all in the minivan as Daddy takes the toll way. They’re muttering something between themselves, a private discussion I’m not involved in. But I strain to hear, leaning in. Something about the Knights and darkness spreading and magic shrinking away. I hear a bit about Nene’s legends, and now I want to chime in and tell them all she shared with me. I’m a big girl, I can help!

Even though I’m content in the back seat, I know I’m not supposed to be here. I wasn’t here when it happened; wait, what happened? This feels so familiar!

My parents’ screams, the clang and bends and crashes of metal, and I’m flying out of the windshield in a whirl of color and a splash of scarlett. A tophat lies on the ground, and I see blood trickling towards it in a delicate pool.

I hate dreaming.

***

My job interview is in twenty-two minutes. The van had better run!

I dig through all the boxes, of course finding my clothes in the last box I open my room. The cardboard flaps fly open as I yank out a navy-blue blouse and black, knee-length skirt. Of course, they’re both wrinkled. Where are my pantyhose?! I shaved, I can go without those. I yank my unbrushed, frizzy hair into a low ponytail before I enjoy the first blatant sign of my lovely little spooky companion: my fingertips barely touch my comb when it flies off my dresser, clattering to the floor. No no no, this can’t be happening! Wherever I go, it follows me!

No, I tell myself, hushing my anxiety. My thoughts, miraculously, calm down as my breath evens out, and I remember my mantra: you didn’t see anything. Nothing happened. I accidentally knocked the brush down. Uncle used to say ghosts can’t harm me as long as I wear his crucifix, and I automatically reach for it only to remember I lost it during the move.

It doesn’t matter. Poltergeists are real. But weird stuff can’t bother me today. Time to go. I bolt out the door.

***

Being a barista is a rush.

I yank out two glasses at a time, balancing one tray on my shoulder while filling up another shot for a customer. My first day here, and the men are already hooting and whistling. Seriously dudes, get a life! But it’s all part of the job. Happy customers. Better paycheck. Professional boundaries. The flirting is harmless, I just have to get used to it. If I do this right, bartending will make me big bucks, which is all I need right now. A handsome distraction would be nice, too. Anything to make the time fly by faster.

“You’re a natural with that speed, Birute,” my manager says.

“Thanks,” I smile back. I like this rush. The bartending life is one I could get used to.

“See ya tomorrow!”

“At ten pm sharp!” I reply politely. And right now, I’m actually happy. Mostly happy, a teensy bit proud and excited. My first-day-went well-vibes are way up and in that one moment, I forgot myself. I forgot to stay calm and centered. The shot glass, the one way across the room from me, flies across the countertop, almost hitting the stranger before shattering on the floor in an ear splitting way that even a crowded bar can’t hide. I’m done, I know it- the manager must have seen it happen, he was too close not to!

“Woah! Everyone breaks a glass here, don’t sweat it,” my manager assures me. I’m too relieved he didn’t see it to even respond verbally. I shovel the shards onto the dustpan so fast I stir up the dust mites.

Yup, it happened again. My poltergeist moved in with me.

***

The wind slams into me as soon as I leave the threshold. For a minute, it almost wrestles the keys from my hands! Funny, there definitely wasn’t supposed to be any 70 mph tornadoes! It almost knocks me down twice, and I barely make it to my car 6 feet in front of me. Wrapping myself up in Mom’s jacket, I clutch my purse to my chest as I stomp my way towards shelter.

Too bad the wind has other ideas. I yelp as it buffs me again, smashing me into some dude. I brace myself for cement, but instead a pair of strong arms envelops me.

“Well, look what the wind dragged in.”

I look up into the coldest, ice-gray eyes I’ve ever seen. Their unnatural sheen, almost silver, makes the man look part feline as he stares unblinkingly down at me. Too bad- other than the eyes, he’d be pretty cute, despite his dad bod.

“Haha yeah, just feel that wind! Kinda strong tonight.” Kind of strong tonight? Come on girl, that’s weak even for me! “Um, you caught me. You can let go now.”

“Oh, sorry!” He doesn’t look remotely sorry. He looks hungry. I’ve seen plenty of interested gentlemen in my day, but rarely one who looks ready to chew me up and swallow me whole; he never takes his eyes off of me while dusting invisible dirt off my waist and skirt.