THE PEASANT, THE PEA & THE GHOST
T
by CAROL SCHEINA
he hallucinations began on the sixteenth night. From her resting place twenty mattresses high, Tania felt herself rolling closer and closer to the point where softness ended and empty air began. Her body was teetering on the edge of an abyss, she was falling to the cold, marble floor, her chest flattening with the impact, her last breath rushing out… Tania jerked up, safe in the middle of the bed, high on her tower of mattresses. “It’s not real,” she whispered. “Not real.” “I am real,” the ghostly voice whispered back, as it had for the past nights. “You will never be a princess. Roll out of the bed. Do it now. End this.” Tania closed her eyes and pulled a pillow over her ears. “Not real,” she continued to whisper, even as the voice repeated its refrain all night long. The pillow failed to muffle the sound.
*** The next morning, as servants poured tea and spread a napkin over her lap, Tania focused on sitting straight and proper. 27
