House of Fallen Trees by Gina Ranalli

nightmare. It was real.”
   It had been real, hadn’t it?
   Her eyes went immediately to the mural above the bed. It was just as it had been when she’d first entered the room with Rory. The ceiling around it was perfectly intact with only a few thin cracks to show its age.
   “But…”
   It couldn’t have been a dream. It had been so terrifying. She’d never had a dream even remotely like it.
   “Come on,” Saul said. “Let’s get you up.”
   He helped her into a sitting position and she winced at the pain in her shoulder. She knew she’d have a bruise there come tomorrow.
   “What was the dream about?”
   It was Rory, standing at the foot of the bed, surprising her. She hadn’t even known he was in the room with them.
   “I…” She began. “It was…”
   Saul, sensing her reluctance, said, “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
   And she didn’t want to. How could she? They probably already thought she was insane.
   When Saul assisted her to her feet and suggested she sit on the bed, she eyed the mural once more and refused. “I’m okay,” she said. “I can stand.”
   “Are you sure?”
   She nodded. “I could probably use some aspirin though. My head is killing me.”
   “I’ll get it,” Rory said and disappeared into the bathroom.
   She looked again at the mural with suspicion—a look which Saul caught.
   “It’s kind of creepy, isn’t it?” he asked. “Painting your wife above your bed?”
   “Yeah,” she replied slowly. “Creepy.”
   Her heart was finally beginning to return to its normal pace when Rory returned from the bathroom with two ibuprofen tablets and a small glass of water, which she accepted gratefully.
   Then a thought occurred to her. “How long was I…uh…asleep for?” she asked Rory.
   He glanced at his watch. “Not long. Half an hour maybe.”
   “Half an hour,” she repeated. “Odd.”
   “What’s odd about it?” he asked.
   “I’m a bona fide insomniac. I’m never able to fall asleep in half an hour, much less enter a deep dream state.”
   Rory looked skeptical. “Well, this time I guess you did.”
   “Maybe the fresh air cured you,” Saul added, offering a smile. “It’s been known to do that, you know.”
   “Maybe,” Karen said, handing the glass back to Rory. She did her best to return Saul’s smile, but she was very much aware of Mrs. Storm hovering over them all and though she resisted glancing upward again, she couldn’t help but wonder if the painted woman in the cream-colored dress was also smiling.

 
    CHAPTER ELEVEN

     
    Drinks forgotten, the three of them trudged down the stairs while outside darkness was quickly descending. It seemed that within a matter of minutes, the day had grown sullen and windy. The sound of trees swaying and lashing against each other could be heard in every room they entered.
   “I hope we don’t lose power,” Rory said when they’d returned to the living room, an absolutely enormous space with a stone fireplace large enough to burn an entire armchair without taking it apart.
   A pale floral patterned divan sat beneath the front bay windows while a matching lounger rested next to the fireplace. A single end table, carved out of a huge hunk of driftwood stood in a far corner, an antique oil lamp atop it. Other than these few items, the immense room remained empty.
   “Most of the other stuff was beyond saving,” Rory said, sitting down on the divan. “Moths or other bugs had gotten into it.”
   “Mice too,” Saul said, yawning. “Nesting inside the guts of the furniture.”
   Karen felt a twinge of alarm. “The beds upstairs?”
   Rory waved away her distress. “All the mattresses and bedding are new, don’t worry. The rest of the beds are original though.” He stopped, tilted his head