Chapter 3

                                    

                                          
"Meghan, Meghan, do you hear me? I said that breakfast is ready." I wake up to the sound of Roselyn's voice filling the dream I am trying not to wake from. She is right on the dot. It is six in the morning and still dark outside, but breakfast is ready and waiting as it does every morning at the exact same time. Although the delicious smell of bacon and eggs wafts through my room, I rub the sleep from my eyes and pull the cover over my head a little bit tighter, willing myself to go back to sleep. It is as if I think I can turn Roselyn off, but let's be honest, this is Roselyn and she is eighty-nine years old, and if she says breakfast is ready, you better be sitting at the table. "I know you hear me." Her voice isn't as bad as fingernails running across the chalkboard, but it is almost there. 
"I'm coming," the words come out automatically after years of constantly being disturbed from rest. Rest which I no doubt really need, I think as my feet hit the bare hardwood floor. The cold floor seems to give me a little jolt which gets me moving. I slide on my fuzzy socks that I grab from my nightstand and stand up slowly; anything fast will send me crashing to the bed. I am half sleep after all. 
"Well, it's getting cold. You're already late." 
"It's Saturday." I start to make my way down the stairs, trying really hard to avoid tripping. My left eye is still adjusting to the brightness of all the lights downstairs. "I can't be late on Saturday." Roselyn has a notion of turning on all the lights in the house when she feels 'the presence'. I brace myself as I sit at the table, knowing an explanation is coming.
"I felt it," Roselyn says as she pours herself a cup of coffee. She adds heavy cream and a little sugar as her eyes dart my way. "The presence. It's back. I can feel it in my very bones. The chill of it kept me up all night." She can go on forever into infinity talking about the presence and what she thinks is evil coming for the both of us. I've heard this story before but I never know what or who the presence is. 
"Maybe it was just the change in weather." My words hang in the air as if they were never said.
"It was them. They've come back." Roselyn sips her coffee and sits back in her chair. Her eyes focus on me. "What do you think about all this?"
I repeat, "It was probably just the change in weather," because there is no way in hell that I'm telling Roselyn that I felt something cold last night. I take a bite of bacon and wait to see how far she will take the conversation. I never know one day to the next. I used to wonder if she is me in the future because of some mental illness that is inherited, but not after last night. 
"One day, it's going to happen to you, and then you will believe me." She sips her coffee. "So, what do you have planned today?"
Just that quick, the conversation changes. The stress I was feeling lifts slightly as it always did when Roselyn decides to be normal or, at the very least, her impression of normal. I can think of so many times as a child I had wished for her to be just like every other grandmother, mother or aunt... It didn't matter which she chose because I just wanted normal. I didn't want to hear about the cold feeling and how 'they' were coming for me. I was afraid for so long that before I went to sleep, I looked under my bed, in my closet, and out the window to make sure no one was coming. I even had a knife that I had stolen from the kitchen hidden under my pillow. 
"Are you okay?" Roselyn asks, her eyes narrowing in on me. I can see her mind racing before my very eyes, trying to determine what was wrong with me and if 'they' were in fact coming. 
The words stumble out of my mouth, tumbling really because I don't want her to ask a direct question again. I'm not sure how long I can keep the truth from her about what happened the other night; I'm still not sure myself. "I'm fine." I start eating the eggs on my plate because she will assume everything is okay as long as I'm eating. That's the one thing about Roselyn: nothing can be wrong as long as the food disappears. I look up at her just to make sure she takes the bait, and when I realize she does, I sit my fork to the side and take a swallow of orange juice. She's reading over one of her books and will no doubt be lost for the next hour or so. I grab the dishes and start cleaning up while she sits engrossed in her book before heading upstairs to shower and change.
"I'll be back before dark." I notice that Roselyn doesn't bother to look up from her book. Her nod is enough for me. I swipe the keys from the hook as I walk out the door.
The car seems to be waiting for me. It sits on the side of the house and would've collected spider webs if it weren't for me driving it. The light pink color doesn't exactly fit my personality, but it has grown on me. It is in no way fancy, but it gets me where I need to go. The Bug and I have become great friends, and I can tell it was nothing to mess with in its prime. I take a deep breath as I turn the key, and realize I'm becoming more like Roselyn because for some reason, all I can think about is the cold feeling from the night before.