I know I had a bad dream that night. Big, creepy-crawling monsters setting fire to my hair and wild, mythological birds chasing after me in fields that offered no way out. It was a premonition that would darken my morning and, sure enough, when I opened my eyes the next day, the first thing I saw was the lead player in my nasty dream.
“Get up and get dressed,” Grandma Edna said. “We’re going to Beaufort.”
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