Page 128 of Cackle

The fire snuffs itself out.

Or maybe it was me. Maybe I extinguished it with my mind.

She snaps her fingers and the fire reignites.

“And you want to go back to being ordinary?” she asks me with a smug grin.

The piano begins to play. Badly. The keys scream.

“Stop,” I say.

“I’m not doing anything,” she says. “That’s all you, darling.”

“I meant, don’t tell me that I want to be ordinary,” I say. “That’s an . . . an oversimplification.”

“Is it now?” she asks.

“I just want to be happy,” I say, shouting over the piano.

“I know, pet. And I’m trying to help you. All I’ve ever done is try to help you. Have I not been a devoted friend?”

The harp is going now, too. The chandelier swings over our heads.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” she says, her grin widening. She gestures around the room. “You can’t go back now. It’s too late.”

“No, it isn’t,” I say. Everything stops. “I’m done with this, Sophie. I don’t want it. I’m done.”

The room goes still and quiet, except for the fire, which seems to be whispering secrets to itself.

I move to stand, to leave. To run if I have to.

“Sit,” Sophie says. “We’re having a discussion.”

“This isn’t a discussion!”

“You’re right,” she says, sighing. “A disagreement.”

We’re both distracted by the sound. A chair tipped over, and it tipped because Ralph has outgrown the space underneath it. He’s now roughly the size of a golden retriever.

I run.

I sprint out of the room and down the hall. I can hear my bones cracking awake.

“Annie,” Sophie calls. She’s following me. “Annie, stop this.”

Ralph’s following me, too. I hear his many footsteps.

My legs carry me to the right, toward the kitchen. I’ll leave through the kitchen door, the side entrance.

“You’re afraid of me,” she says.

“You’re chasing me!”

“Only because you’re running.” She speaks calmly from inside my head.

“Stop!” I tell her. My lungs seize up, my legs ache, but I go faster. I push harder. I blow into the kitchen. I’m almost there.

But it doesn’t matter, because here’s Ralph. Giant and fuzzy and fanged, blocking the kitchen door.