I sat up, screaming so hard my throat hurt.

I opened my eyes to darkness. I could hardly breathe. Where was I? In a coffin? A tomb? An empty grave?

Soft material covered my legs, but my eyes couldn't adjust to my surroundings. I figured I must be wrapped in a burial shroud.

My heart was throbbing. My skin perspiring. My mouth dry.

Flashing, bloodred numbers caught my eye: Two fifteen A.M.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn't lying in an unknown coffin in Dullsville's cemetery but rather in my own bed.

Was I as safe as I thought? Maybe this was all part of my nightmare. My fingers shaking, I switched on my Edward Scissorhands lamp and ran to my dresser mirror. I closed my eyes, anticipating what I might not see. When I opened them, my ghostlike reflection stared back. I pulled my bed-head hair away from my shoulders and examined my neck.

My bedroom door flung open and my dad appeared in the doorway, sporting flannel boxers, a Lakers T-shirt, and messy hair. "What's wrong?" he asked, more annoyed than worried.

"Uh, nothing," I replied, startled. I dropped my hair and stepped away from the mirror.

"What happened?" my mom asked, barging in.

"I heard a scream," Billy Boy said, nosing his way behind them, his tired eyes heavy.

"I'm sorry I woke you guys. I just had a bad dream," I confessed.

"You?" my father asked, raising his eyebrow. "I thought you loved bad dreams."

"I know. Can you believe it?" I asked, my heart still racing. "Who knew?"

"What was it about? You ran out of black lipstick?" Billy Boy teased.

"Yes. And I found a new one in your dresser drawer."

"Dad!" Billy Boy hollered, ready to pummel me.

"Now I know I'm not dreaming," I said, and playfully tousled my brother's hair.

"All right. Enough excitement for tonight. Let's all go back to sleep," my dad ordered, putting his arm around my brother as they left the room.