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...sp;   I frowned, angry at this dream for tricking me again. When was I going to wake up, anyways? Was I in a coma or something. Glaring frustratedly down at my one souvenir, the card, I had an unmistakable urge to smash something. And so I did.

    A good half-hour later, with my alarm clock thoroughly destroyed, I was still glaring at the card. And that was when it occurred to me: the arrow wasn't pointing up. Being two-dimensional, that was the paper's attempt to direct me to the back of the card. Feeling sheepish, I turned it over.

    And it was two letters--only two of them, no more--that filled me with dread. Normally two letters wouldn't fill me with dread--two letters formed many useful words such as "it," "to," and "me." But this was none of those combinations of two letters, nay, this one was much more forboding. For these two letters signaled that this ridiculous nightmare wasn't over, and these two letters were: P.S.

Have a sudden urge to search under the card for the key...

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excerpt from The Screaming Boy   by dng

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