My Sweet Annie

19

"I really need you to stop arguing," said Anabel as she handed me a steaming mug of chamomile tea. She stepped back from the couch and folded her arms. "You're making me feel like a weirdo."

I felt so unsteady that both hilarity and tears threatened at any moment—thank God, what came out was a laugh and not a sob. "You feel like a weirdo? You do?"

"I mean, yeah. I'm basically forcing my way into your house."

"You have a life and four cats and better things to do. You don't need to babysit the actual weirdo who's convinced that her house is possessed by..."

Ana sighed. She leaned down to pick up Porkie, who was still glued to her heels, and set the dog onto the couch. Then she sat at the other end, curling her leg up underneath her body and frowning at me. "First of all, if it's a house, it's haunted. Only people get possessed. People and dolls."

I cringed, thinking of the old doll I'd found in Gran's closet. "Not helping." Porkie wobbled toward me over the couch cushions, and her damp nose pressed into my hand.

"Secondly, I do not have a life," Ana continued.

"You don't have work or something?" I scrubbed Porkie's head and began to scratch her behind the ears.

"I do, but it's Sunday, and we're closed on Mondays. I work at the thrift store in Eldora." She smiled. "And thirdly, I already texted my neighbor. He's going to feed the feral beasts that live in my house. They'll be fine for one night and quite frankly, I'm not convinced that you will be fine."

I breathed the scent of the chamomile, glancing toward the dining room. I couldn't see the stairway from where we were sitting, and in any case, I could no longer feel whatever had been there. It had been a very clear presence, a sense that somebody was there in the room with me—just like I'd felt in Gran's bedroom earlier, only this time, I hadn't seen a figure. I'd just felt her there, watching me.

And then I'd felt her move toward me, unseen and overwhelming.

"Is there anything that would help you, Tabitha?" Ana asked, concern clear in her voice. "Do you want to call your brother?"

"I probably should," I said. "He'll want an updated hallucinogen report."

"What?"

I shook my head. I'd meant it as a joke, but it had fallen flat, and no wonder: I didn't feel like joking about all this. "He was just giving me shit earlier today when I told him what I'd seen. Asked me if I had done mushrooms or something."

"Ouch."

"No, it was the right thing to say at the time—typical little brother dickishness to make me laugh."

"I get that. Although, mine are all older, so I think it's just brotherly dickishness."

"How many do you have?"

"Three." She smiled, drawing Gran's green-and-orange afghan down off of the back of the couch and beginning to spread it out. "Do you want to watch a movie or something?"

"Are you serious?" I asked. I hated how small my voice sounded, but I felt small. I didn't know how she could be so normal, how she could still exist in a world where strange, unseen forces didn't try to bowl you over in the comfort of your own dining room. I didn't want to need her company, but I did. Desperately. There was no way I could stay in this house by myself. "You're really going to stay?"

"As long as you won't judge me for my breath, because I don't have a toothbrush," she said. "I'm serious. I'm not leaving you here by yourself. I'd offer to bring you to my place, but there's only one bed."