Bad Dreams Read Free

screamed.
    Without realizing it, she had clamped her hands over her eyes. Trembling all over, she slowly removed them—and stared at Gus, standing shaken but unhurt, on the sidewalk.
    The poor dog, she realized, must have yelped in fear—not pain.
    The truck had stopped several yards ahead. The driver leaned out, his round face red with fury. “Get that stupid mutt on a leash!” he bellowed.
    â€œSorry,” Maggie called. But when the truck took off, she let out a whoop of joy.
    â€œOh, Gus! You’re okay! You’re okay!” She fell to her knees, her arms thrown open wide. “Gus! Come here, boy!”
    Gus came trotting over obediently. She threw her long arms around the dog’s graying head and hugged him tightly. “Sure,” she murmured,
“now
you’re obedient.”
    Gus waited patiently until Maggie finally let him go. This time she kept a firm grip on his collar.
    Panting with his mouth open, the dog looked as if he were smiling. Maggie kissed the top of Gus’s head.
    I couldn’t bear another death in the family, she thought grimly. I just couldn’t bear it.
    Maggie led Gus back to the house and in through the front door. She bumped into a moving man coming the other way.
    â€œWatch it!” he muttered rudely.
    As soon as Maggie let Gus go free, the old dog took off, sniffing everywhere, exploring the new house. He ran into the living room, where Andrea was relaxing on the Travers’s white-and-gray-striped sofa. The sofa looked lost in the empty room.
    In the kitchen, Mrs. Travers was scrubbing away at the soot and dust and grime on the stovetop. Mrs. Travers could be spacey about a lot of things, but when it came to dirt, she was focused—a cleaning machine.
    She waved a yellow-rubber-gloved hand at Maggie and Andrea. “Well,” she said, “I think I’ve made some important archaeological discoveries in the kitchen. We’ve got about ten layers of dirt in here!”
    Maggie gazed at her sister, whose features weretight with unhappiness. “Andrea,” she said gently, “why don’t we start setting up our rooms? We’ll probably feel better when we’ve got our own stuff in them.”
    â€œI doubt it,” Andrea grumbled. But she trudged upstairs after Maggie.
    â€œNow, don’t get discouraged about how it looks,” their mom called after them. “It just needs a little dusting. I’ll be up there as soon as I finish in the kitchen.”
    It was going to take more than dusting to make this place livable, Maggie thought. The wallpaper in the hall was supposed to be white with a rose pattern. But the paper had yellowed and was peeling, and the roses looked as if they had died.
    She turned right at the top of the stairs. Their bedrooms were at the end of the hall. She led the way and turned right into the room she had chosen while Andrea turned left into hers.
    â€œWhoa!” Maggie uttered a low cry and stopped in the doorway.
    There it stood.
    A beautiful, old-fashioned four-poster canopy bed.
    Dark, polished wood. And with a pink canopy on top.
    â€œOh, my goodness!” Maggie whispered. She blinked. As if to make sure the bed was real, she crossed the room and sat down on it.
    â€œUnbelievable,” she said softly. The previous owners had left the bed behind!
    But why? Why did they leave the bed and nothing else?
    What a mystery.
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding!” Andrea exclaimed from the doorway. She had heard Maggie’s delighted cries.
    Maggie stood up and gestured to the bed, grinning. “Can you believe it?”
    Andrea was circling the bed now, her mouth open. She ran her hands down the old wooden posts. “How could they leave this?”
    Maggie shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe they didn’t like it anymore.”
    Even as she said it, the explanation seemed silly. How could
anyone
not like this bed?
    â€œIt’s