Beyond by Graham McNamee Page B

beating hard.
    I stare at the glowing red numbers on my alarm clock. Just past two in the morning.
    What woke me? Thought I heard something.
    I listen to the stillness of the house. Dad’s off on night patrol, so there’s not even his snoring down the hall to break the quiet.
    I wait a few silent heartbeats. I’ve been so hyperalert, jumping at every little creak. Such a wreck.
    But there’s nothing now. So I sink back onto my pillow and close my eyes.
    Then I hear it again. Sounds like … scratching?
    Where’s that coming from? I listen hard.
    It seems so close. Leaning over, I flick on my bedside lamp. I look around.
    Scratching, as if there’s a cat at my door trying to get in.
    Hazy from sleep, I swing out of bed, getting unsteadily to my feet.
    Whatever it is, it’s louder now. And it’s coming from … where? I look down.
    From the floor?
    I stand right over the spot.
    Something’s scraping at the hardwood from underneath. We’ve had mice before. But this sounds like something bigger than a mouse.
    Am I really awake? Feels like I’m half in a dream.
    I crouch down. The scratching stops.
    I hold my breath, listening.
    The floor creaks under me. Then I catch the slightest movement, just inches from my toes. What’s that? A loose board?
    I stare at the spot. There it is again—one of the floorboards shifts the tiniest bit. I freeze, unblinking. What the hell?
    It’s like the foot-long board is bulging out—
    creeeee
    —rising upward—
    eeeeeee
    —squealing as it pulls up on its nails.
    I’m paralyzed, watching that board come out all the way. Then it topples on its side, leaving a hole in the floor.
    I can’t be seeing this. I should back away. Go get Mom. Just go.
    But I don’t. It’s like I’m caught in some kind of dream, keeping me here. Slowly, I lean forward to peer into that gap.
    So dark down there, where the light barely reaches—
    An eye stares back at me. Pressed to the hole.
    Screaming, I fall back. I scramble away till I hit the wall.
    Wake up! Now!
    That’s not real. Not real.
    I’m shivering so bad I can’t stand.
    Across the floor I see something move in the gap. Reaching up. Fingers. Muddy fingers, crawling like spider legs. Feeling around the edges of the hole. Searching.
    Not real! Go away! Wake up!
    There’s a cracking sound beside me as my bedroom door opens. I let out another half scream before I see Mom.
    “Jane, what’s wrong?”
    My throat feels choked tight. Takes me a moment before I can speak.
    “Jane?”
    “S-something’s down there.”
    I point to the hole in the floor.
    But it’s gone. The board is back in place. Everything looks the same as always.
    “What is going on in here?”
    “It—it was scratching underneath the floor. And then …”
    She waits for me to finish, but I can’t.
    “What, Jane? Is it mice again? Is that it?”
    “Didn’t you hear anything?”
    “Yeah. You screaming the walls down. Scared the life out of me. What’s this about?”
    I stare at the spot where those fingers came crawling out. Mom’s waiting for an answer.
    “Maybe it was mice. And maybe a nightmare too.”
    Mom shivers, hugging herself. “It’s freezing in here. You have the window open?”
    “No. Must be a draft,” I mumble.
    Mom heaves a tired sigh, shaking her head. “If it’s mice, we’ll set some traps out tomorrow. Come sleep with me. You can keep me warm.” She reaches out and takes my hand, helping me up. “With your dad on night shift it gets chilly under the sheets.”
    As she leads me out, I shoot a glance over my shoulder. But the floor is back to normal.
    All in my head, I try telling myself. Like those waking dreams Lexi told me about. Please let it be that.
    “Your father always squeaks when I push my cold feet up against him in bed,” Mom tells me.
    “The constable squeaks?”
    “Like a startled mouse.”
    Mom sits down on her bed, blinking her sleepy eyes at me. “After what’s happened, I’d be surprised if you weren’t having