There is a dedication below the title.
This journal is dedicated to dream catchers. It’s written expressly for those who follow in my footsteps once I am gone.
The information I have to share is made up of two things: delight and dread. If you do not want to know what waits for you, please close this journal now. Don’t turn the page.
But if you have the stomach for it and the desire to fight against the worst of it, you may be better off knowing. Then again, it may haunt you for the rest of your life. Please consider this in all seriousness.
What you are about to read contains much more dread than delight.
I’m sorry to say I can’t make the decision for you. Nor can anyone else. You must do it alone. Please don’t put the responsibility on others’ shoulders. It will ruin them.
Whatever you decide, you are in for a long, hard ride. I bid you no regrets. Think about it. Have confidence in your decision, whatever you choose.
Good luck, friend.
Martha Stubin, Dream Catcher
Janie feels her stomach churning.
She slides the notebook off her lap.
Closes it.
Stares at the wall, barely able to breathe. Buries her head in her hands.
And then.
Slowly.
She picks up the notebook.
Puts it in the box.
Stacks the files on top of it.
And hides it deep in her closet.
3:33 a.m.
Janie’s falling at top speed. She looks down dizzily and Mr. Durbin is there, waiting for her to land. He’s laughing evilly, arms outstretched to catch her.
Before he can grab her, Janie swoops sideways and is sucked into
Center Street, pulled through the air to the park bench and deposited there. Mr. Durbin is gone.
Next to the bench, in her wheelchair, sits Martha Stubin.
“You have questions,” Miss Stubin barks.
Janie tries to catch her breath, alarmed. She grips the bench’s armrest.
“What’s going on?” she cries.
Miss Stubin’s gaze is vacant. A blood tear drips from the corner of her eye and slides slowly down her wrinkled cheek. But all she says is, “Let’s talk about your assignment.”
“But what about the green notebook?” Janie grows frantic.
“There is no green notebook.”
“But…Miss Stubin!”
Miss Stubin turns her face toward Janie and cackles.
Janie looks at the woman.
And then.
Miss Stubin transforms into Mr. Durbin. Slowly his face melts until all that remains is a hollow skull.
Janie gasps.
She breaks out into a cold sweat.
And wakes up, sitting straight up in bed and screaming.
Janie whips off her blankets and hops to her feet, turns on her light, and paces between the door and the bed, trying to calm down.
“That wasn’t real,” Janie tries to convince herself. “That wasn’t Miss
Stubin. It was a nightmare. It was just a nightmare. I didn’t try to go there.”
But now she is afraid to go to sleep.
Afraid to go back to Center Street again.
January 27, 2006
Janie’s mind is far away, inside the front cover of a green spiral notebook and dwelling on her nightmare. She walks down the school hallways in a daze, nearly bumping into Carrie between classes with
Bashful and Doc.
“Hey, Janers, wanna hang out tonight?”
“Sure.” Janie thinks. “Um, I mean, I can’t. Sorry.”
Carrie gives her an odd look. “You okay? You’re not gonna keel over, are you?”