"Clean your room. You know my rule."

The children bowed their heads, forlorn as a result of their mother's scowl. "Yes, mum. There must always be a clear path from the door to the bed."

It wasn't much to ask for as far as the mother was concerned. It really was just for a matter of safety. But the children went about their chores, knowing the consequences if they didn't. Their mother's wrath was not something anyone wanted to wage war with—and she knew it. Smiling to herself, she left her children to tidy the messes that they called bedrooms.

Sunday afternoon bounded along and it was time for inspection. The son had everything in its place: books on the shelves, desk clear, laundry in the hamper, and the bed made. He had even vacuumed. The daughter… Well… The mess had been carefully stowed away in the cupboards and stacked in unstable piles. The laundry was pushed under the bed and the covers were pulled back to give the false impression of a made bed. The mother shook her head in dismay.

The low rumble barely registered in her subconscious. The small shakes of the bed were enough to pull her from her sleep.

"Great," she mumbled. "Gijs is having another asthma attack."

With a sudden jolt, the bed jumped across the floor and banged into the wall. The teddy bears and dolls tumbled through the air.

Her eyes flew open, able to see clearly in the darkened room. The roar filled the ears and the walls moved sideways. Beside her, her husband snorted.

"My god, he's still asleep!" She swung her arm out as hard as she could on the bucking bed and hit him in his stomach.

"What… What is—"

"It's an earthquake!"