Doris tried to force her eyes to focus through the darkness as her thoughts fumbled with her location. She was in her bed, as her fingertips recognized the hand stitching of her mother"s quilt. The bed was in her bedroom. This she knew by the rattling heater register in the floor. That meant she was in Cranston, at home, in the same house in which she had spent her whole life.
But something was not right.
She leaned across the bed and reached for the lamp. As her weight shifted, so did the bed. The right side of the headboard dropped another two inches. Doris had to grip the mattress to save herself falling to the floor. She finally reached the lamp cord and bathed the room in a warm light. As her eyes adjusted, Doris tried to determine what was happening. One of the posts had sunk into
