Original title that was too long for Wattpad: in which there are two conundrums and an inordinate number of troubling dreams

So uh... hi? My executive dysfunction punched me in the gut about this poor book. I'm still here, do not fear! In for a penny, etcetera.

Point out any typos you find, I've done minimal editing on this bad boy because I wanted to post it. I just finished writing. (The intro, aside from this sentence, is 69 words.)

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That night, in my sleeping bag next to Wybie's bed, I dreamed of the well.

I dreamed of jumping without fear. I dreamed of falling, stagnant air rushing by, the smell of wet stone and sparse algae, then the muted sensation of plunging into cold water. I dreamed of letting myself sink like a rock, down, down, to the dirt floor, and seeing in the endless dark a tiny, shimmery, metallic sliver.

I woke up shivering and hugged my doll as tightly as I could. Wybie, sleeping like a log as usual, did not wake up when I wiggled out of the sleeping bag and padded on my cold feet downstairs. Grandma did not acknowledge me when I slipped past her in the sitting room. I put on my coat and my shoes and ventured into the grey garden.

Walks had always been good for clearing my head. I tried to think about my dream, but it was fading fast and all I remembered was the feeling of falling, and a glimmer of- Candle? Glass? Cat's eye? No, the dream was gone.

But speaking of cat's eye, a set of blue ones approached me ahead. I expected the cat to walk past me, partly because I didn't quite feel real yet and also because, well, cat. But it gave the doll in my arms a long, stern look, then turned on a dime and fell into step beside me.

"What was that glare for, then?"

The cat said nothing, but twitched its ear as though it might have if it was able.

Logically I knew the garden wasn't very big, but in the mist and the dawn light it felt enormous. The cobblestones became... rounder, smoother, less defined as I went, and after some time it didn't even look like the same pathway.

I paused.

Grey sky, grey on all sides, not my cobblestones, and the cat giving me a disconcerting stare.

"Again with that. What are you not saying, my feline friend?"

"I have every intent to tell you."

I nearly dropped the doll. "You-"

"Yes, I spoke, am speaking, and will continue to. I am certain that an actor such as yourself can understand the importance of prolonged emphatic silence."

The cat was sitting, now, and I hadn't even been aware that cats had expressions other than disinterest but the cat was very much affecting something closer to brisk disappointment. I felt rather sheepish under it.

But, not sheepish enough to cease being an idiot. "What on earth."

The cat rolled its eyes. "Surely this is not the strangest thing that has happened to you today."

"Of course it is!" I spluttered. "I've only been awake for a few minutes, a talking cat is significantly stranger than anything else I've encountered!"

"Really. Then perhaps you'll be able to tell me where you are," said the cat.

I stared at it for a moment, because what, because I'm in the garden of my cousin's house, obviously, where did you think YOU were, but when I looked back to the path, I gasped into the stillness of the mist and it echoed back at me from the gaping well.

I looked at the cat. It looked back. I looked at the well. The well, too, even though it didn't quite make sense, looked back.

"See?" said the cat.

"Jump in," said the doll.

~~~

For the second time, I woke up shivering. I pulled the doll out of my sleeping bag and threw it at the far wall. It hit the plaster with a thump and dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Its stitched mouth smiled at the ceiling.

I stood and rolled up my sleeping bag, putting it back on the top shelf of Wybie's closet where it lived when I wasn't using it. Wybie snored loudly. Part of me wanted to wake him and share my dream, or simply curl up next to him like we did during thunderstorms when we were little, but no matter how shaken I was I knew what I had to do.

I picked up the doll. Grandma was not in the sitting room when I crossed it, and I put on my shoes and coat and marched to the well.

I dangled the doll above it, hesitating on account of the rational voice in me saying it was just a dream, but hey. I'm an actor. I know better than any other profitable occupation, except perhaps a psychologist, that the human mind is entirely capable of lying to its owner.

I dropped the doll into the well, and sprinted away before I could hear it hit the water.

~~~

When I got back to the Emporium I walked smack into a murder. Well, it wasn't actually a murder, but Mrs. D sure was acting the part.

"Y/N!" she exclaimed as I walked through the door. "Oh, oh, dearest darlin' little thing, you scared this old lady so bad!"

I met her halfway for a hug, squeezing tight and minding the baby bump. "You're not so old, Mrs. D." Then, as an afterthought, because I'd honestly quite forgotten our fight in the wake of everything, I added, "I'm sorry. For what I said to you."

Mrs. D squatted down rather awkwardly to hold me at arm's length and look into my eyes. "Dearie, I know you're hurtin', I understand. And- and ya don't need to tell me every little thing that happens to you, or that you feel or think, just be sure to lemme know when you're feeling your worst, okay? I was worried sick abou'cha. I thought you'd run off for good, or, or-"

"I was just at Wybie's," I said softly. "I'm sorry I didn't leave a note for you. Did you like my pancakes?"

Mrs. D made a laugh-sob noise, sniffled loudly, and kissed the top of my head as she stood. "I haven't even eaten 'em yet, kiddo. I know how much you like those things and I didn't want to start 'em without my favorite chef slash employee."

I giggled, then settled at the purchase counter as Mrs. D fluttered around collecting things. I kept offering to help but every time she whacked my shoulder and told me to sit down. Eventually I gave up and just watched her titter around between the upstairs cupboards and the counter, with two plates and two forks and two knives and one big bottle of syrup.

When she finally deemed everything worthy, she sat on the other side of the counter and cut up my pancakes into little bite-sized bits even though I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself, and we feasted on cold pancakes while the grey dawn slowly turned into the grey day and the grey people wandered the grey streets. Idly I wondered if the doll's clothes would eventually turn grey in the dark and wet and cold.

"Say, sweetie, where's that doll you've been carryin' round with ya?" said Mrs. D, and I choked on my orange juice.

"Um," I said, eloquently. "I lost it."

Mrs. D frowned in that concerned motherly way she did. "Sorry to hear that. You really liked that little darlin', yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I thought so with the way you was stickin' together like glue. Say, we could get you a new one, whaddaya think of that?"

"Yeah."

Mrs. D softened. "You look tired, dearie. I can mind the shop for a bit if you wanna go catch a few winks. Or you can just sit upstairs, read a book, look out the window, let yourself relax a little." Her expression crinkled at the edges with her smile. "You're the tensest kid I ever did see. Sometimes I can't even tell what age you're s'pose to be."

This struck a chord somewhere in my chest, but I couldn't identify it.

"I'd love that, Mrs. D. Thank you."

Mrs. D stood abruptly from the counter and collected my plate, furrowed her eyebrows a little when I didn't snag the last piece of pancake drifting in a lake of syrup. Then she sighed a little, like she didn't know what was happening but would play the role of cool aunt with seasoned grace. "You have a good rest, Y/N. You deserve it."

I smiled gently and squeezed her hand when she offered it. I pushed the rest of the things on the counter into her reach, stood, stretched, felt the food in my body, and for a moment everything was okay.

Then Mrs. D said, "I'll letcha know if that girl Coraline comes pokin' again," and everything was very rapidly the opposite of okay.

"C-Coraline?"

"Yeah! She came over yestahday evenin', kinda shy lookin' and askin' if you were around so she could see ya. I'm so proud of you, honey, already makin' friends with the kids around here-"

I hardly heard the rest of her proud parent monologue, the vast majority of my processing power just repeating the words poison oak came to see me over and over in flashing neon.

The first conundrum: What if she's mad at me? Did do something unforgivable? Oh, god, what if she already hates me? The second conundrum: Why does the thought of her being displeased with me make my heart hurt? I've known her for, like, two seconds. Must be something to do with Wybie and how weird he'd be around me if his other best friend hated me.

Yeah.

"Thanks for letting me know, I'll get back to her later. I'm gonna head up now."

Mrs. D halted her monologue to give me a kiss on the forehead before she put on her work apron and began bustling around the shop. I had a deep-rooted urge to help her, to not let her flutter around so much when she had a tiny person growing inside her, but I knew from experience that she was a force of nature and wouldn't be stopped.

So, I plodded upstairs on unreasonably tired feet. I shed my coat and hung it on the hook on the back of my door. I put on a pair of fuzzy socks. I thought of my brother, and smiled. I closed the curtains futilely against the daylight. I laid down.

Then, in my broom closet bedroom and my own rickety but familiar bed, I dreamed of the well.

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So many storylines to choose from! Do I explore Mrs. D? Y/N's brother? Demolish the fourth wall? Actually focus on Coraline like I'm supposed to? Oh, what to do!

Hopefully the next chapter won't take so long, yeah? Cross your fingers and don't get your hopes up, my loves. Seeya!