Page 12 of The Totally Typical Tale of Mappy McMapface (Ghostlight Falls #1)

Chapter eleven

Sheet-y Stationery

Mappy

I know that machine. I don’t know how I know it, but I know I do. That machine is pain. So much pain. The pain from that machine is one of the first things I can remember. Blinding light. Pain. Why would Miguel bring me here?

I take a step back. I need to get away from the machine. My head is pounding, and the only thing I know right now is that I need to leave.

“Mappy.” Miguel is holding a notebook and walking toward me. It looks like one of my notebooks, but why would my notebook be here? Why does it have notes for the machine? Why does Miguel have notes for the machine?

There’s no good answer. Nothing is making any sense. There is no good reason anyone would bring me here. I turn and run back to my house, swinging the bookcase shut just as Miguel reaches it. He pounds on the other side, yelling my name, but I just crumple to the ground, clutching my hair.

Nothing Miguel has said since the train tracks has made any sense. Why would he make up these stories? If he wants to leave, he can just go. He doesn’t need to make things so complicated.

But he knows about the machine. And where it is. And how to get to it. How does he know that?

I can’t believe that he would use it on me. He’s done nothing to give me any clue that he would do that. But I was in the machine before. Was whoever used it on me the first time kind, too? Did I fall for it then? Who put me in there?

Carter.

The name disappears as quickly as I think it, the sudden onslaught of pain making me nauseous. I should stop trying to figure this stuff out. Miguel isn’t who I thought he was. It’s probably best that I realized that now before I got even more attached.

I’ll just go back to how things were before. Everything was simpler. It was easier, and that’s always better. My headache starts to improve. Probably a sign that I’m headed in the right direction.

Suddenly very sleepy, I stand and make my way to bed.

It’s too early, but after the day I’ve had, I can’t stay awake any longer.

Without giving it too much thought, I grab the sweatshirt Miguel lent me when we first met, cuddling with it as I fall asleep.

It doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s just soft and smells nice.

Tomorrow will be better. It has to be.