Not tonight, not ever !
She tried to kill the thought as she approached the playground. Â It quieted, falling back into the denied darkness of her subconscious, but it would not die. Â It hung on, whimpering in the darkness where she could still hear it.
That crazy music, ebbing and swelling, and the sound of muffled laughter, distorted into something horrible.
It was Her voice, beautiful and frighteningly familiar, singing some nonsense hopscotch song, one of many in her repertoire. Â Then she spoke to Shannon.
âWhy did you let him do it, Mommy? Â Where were you when he took me away? Â Why didnât you stop him?â Â The voice, Aliciaâs voice, came from inside the playground, and from somewhere within her own head.
Alicia ?
It canât be her , she thought coldly. Â Thereâs no way itâs her, sheâs dead .
You donât know that, they never found her body . Â You donât know sheâs dead .
Shannon ran toward the playground, stumbling through ankle-high grass and clumps of stinging thistles. Â The music, the laughter, the screams of terror that she recognized only vaguely as her own, expanded. Â The jumble of noise pulsed between her temples.
â Alicia !â
She passed a large wooden sign, Feral Park, and as she ran beneath the sign at the entrance that proclaimed The Playground of Dreams , the noise popped like a bubble and was gone. Â Her momentum and the adrenaline pumping through her body carried her on. Â She ran through to the heart of the playground, dodging obstacles, ducking one low-hanging rope bridge strung between a pair of wooden towers. Â Her feet tangled in the cover of old graying wood chips and she landed, sprawled out in the sandbox a few feet away.
She lay there for a minute, not hurt, but physically and emotionally drained.
What the hell just happened to me ?
She didnât understand the specifics, but the basics were clear enough. Â She was having a walking nightmare; she was losing her mind.
When she felt she could trust her legs, she rose and brushed the dust from her jeans. Â She remained as still as possible, silent, listening for the music, the laughter, or the voice, but the silence endured. Â She looked around, eyes and senses wide open, but in the toy-crowded playground it was impossible to know if she were truly alone. Â There were too many shadows, too many cubbyholes, too many hiding places.
Behind her a rusty swing squeaked, nudged by the wind, or perhaps an unseen hand. Â To her left, old wood groaned as if being relieved of some unseen burden. Â Something moved in front of her. Â A shadow that hadnât been there a few seconds earlier snaked across the wood-chip covered ground toward her. Â She stumbled away from it in horror, and something grabbed her from behind.
Hey lady ! Â A soft young voice, faint but clear, as if someone had come unnoticed behind her and whispered in her ear.
Shannon spun around, a startled shriek escaping her lips. Â She tasted fear, thick and salty, in the back of her throat. Â She could feel, worse, could hear, the increasing tempo of her heart. Â It pulsed irregularly, echoed by a pounding behind her eyes.
No one was there.
Something touched her ankle.
She jerked away, striking something hidden in the darkness with her temple. Â The low ringing sound suggested it was metal, but the ringing may have only been in her head. Â For a second the playground was gone, and she was alone with the pain and a frightening sense of surrealism. Â Then the laughter started, like a white noise broadcast in the tender gray meat between her ears. Â It grew, its volume increasing like a radio that has been turned from one to ten, bringing her back to herself. Â She opened her eyes and looked up into the dirty face of a young boy. Â He was laughing too, but no sound came from his wide-stretched mouth. Â It was in