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Wham!
“You can’t run from us!” the dolls shrieked. There were so many of them. “We’ll get that necklace back!”
The dolls swarmed toward him, their button eyes glaring.
“No, stay away!” Jamal screamed.
One grabbed at his arm, another grabbed his leg, and another reached for his neck—and the skull necklace. The doll grasped the heavy chain, pulling it and strangling him.
“No, please…let me go,” Jamal gasped. “I’ll give you anything.”
Suddenly, a dark, skeletal shadow with a top hat stretched over Jamal, who was writhing on the floor.
“That necklace belongs to me.” Dr. Facilier’s voice reverberated through the emporium. “You can’t escape from my friends on the other side—”
Jamal woke with a start, struggling for breath. He blinked at the bright sunlight streaming through his window. He looked down. His sheets were damp with sweat and tangled around his arms and legs. The skull necklace was twisted around his neck, partially choking him.
That explained it.
“It was only a dream,” he whispered to himself. His throat felt raw, like something really had choked him. “It wasn’t real. Just a terrible nightmare.”
But the details had been so vivid. The terrifying dolls chasing him through the shop and attacking him. The shadow stretching over him. Dr. Facilier’s voice. Even stranger, the dream didn’t fade like other dreams did when he awoke. It remained sharp in his mind.
He sat up in bed, untwisting the damp sheets from his body. He glanced over at his brother’s bed to see if Malik had witnessed his night terror. But it was empty. He felt a rush of relief. That was a small miracle. The last thing he needed was to get teased by his brother on top of everything else.
Jamal could hear the shower running in the bathroom across the hall. Malik must have already gotten up for school.
He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “Oh, no,” he whispered. He was running late.
He jumped up and dove for the closet, where he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror on the door. His face looked haunted. Dark circles framed his eyes. His skin looked clammy. The skull necklace dangled from his neck on the heavy chain.
The eye sockets on the skull were dark—it wasn’t glowing. In fact, it had stopped glowing the second he’d stepped outside of Dr. Facilier’s shop. Jamal frowned at it.
“Why does he want you so badly?” he said to its reflection.
Suddenly, the bedroom door flew open. “Why does who want what?”
Jamal jerked around, his eyes falling on Malik, who was wrapped in a towel. His hair was still damp from the shower. He ran his hand through it, shaking off a spray of water.
“Uh, nothing,” Jamal said, quickly pulling on a shirt and tucking the necklace underneath it so it was hidden from view. It was moments like that when he missed having his own room at their old house, before the hurricane flooded it.
“Okay, weirdo,” Malik said with a roll of his eyes. He paraded to the closet. “But don’t make me late for school. It’s a big day, remember?”
Jamal frowned at his brother while he grabbed more clothes. “Big day?”
“What, are you living under a rock or something?” Malik said, shaking his head. He pulled on a T-shirt. “The election results?”
“Oh, right,” Jamal said. The week before, their class had voted for the next year’s class officers. His brother had run for president, of course. Homemade posters featuring Malik’s grinning face had been plastered along every school hallway for the past month.
Jamal didn’t bother running, not even for something less important, like class secretary or treasurer. Nobody at school knew he existed, let alone would be willing to vote for him in an election.
“I’m sure you’ll win,” Jamal added, trying to force himself to sound happy for his brother. But it came out sounding sullen.
Oblivious, Malik cracked a cocky grin and pointed at his own reflection, like a politician. Both brothers stared into the mirror. Their reflections were side by side. They looked the same—they were identical twins, after all. Except Jamal looked glum, while Malik beamed.
“Yup,” he agreed. “And then you’ll have to call me Mr. President.”
* * *
