My legs are now exposed to the cool night air that blows in thru the open window. The sheet and light cotton blanket that had seemed so comfortable at...first, now lay in a tangled heap on the floor. I brush the damp hair off my forehead, trying to remember what the dream had been about and why it had awakened me. I was running I think....but from what....to where? Then I hear a noise....a rustle. It seems to be coming from the next room...the living room. I panic as I try to remember if I locked. "I want a book about how to make bombs so that I can blow up my little sister." "You have to be a good little boy to get any Christmas present at all," I told him. "And good little boys don't blow up their baby sisters." "If you don't give me a book about how to make bombs," he threatened, scowling at me now, "I'll get one from the Santa down the road and use it to blow you up as well as my little sister." "All right, time's up," I told him, pushing him off my knee. "He's not the real Santa!". More

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