Thirteen
After Mom and Dad have gone to bed, I get dressed and open a doorway. I know exactly what the inside of the tattoo artist’s living room looks like, so I focus on that as I walk into the darkness. As light appears, I hurry forward, but I’ve barely left the faerie paths when I feel myself falling, spinning, twisting. I grasp desperately at the air as my body is flung about by an invisible force and a banshee screech wails in my ears. When my surroundings have finally become a slowly swaying landscape rather than a topsy-turvy jumble, I realize I’m hanging upside down.
“What … what the freak?” I gasp.
The screeching stops, and a voice behind me says, “Well, I’m glad to see my intruder alarm is working.” An invisible force swings me the right way up and deposits me on top of the co
