Foresight

It was the face of the boy in her dream.

But that's not possible, right? It must be a freaky coincidence. Either that or she wasn't remembering her dream correctly. Maybe her mother would have an idea.
Stumbling down the stairs, Allison checked her watch. Noon? How on Earth had she slept so late? "Mom?" Her mother's face appeared around the corner. "Oh good, you're up. I was afraid I'd have to break out the old guitar and sing to you to wake you up. Hey, listen. Winnie is over at Kathy's, and I need you to go pick her and Kathy up and bring them back here. Kathy is spending the night so after you all get back, please start some laundry and clean your room." "But, mom-" But Mrs. Pickins had already disappeared into the kitchen, undoubtedly to mop the floor again, or something like that.
Allison hopped into her car, backed out of the driveway, drove down the cul-de-sac, around the corner, into another cul-de-sac, and pulled into Kathy's driveway. She rang the doorbell and Mrs. Haversand opened the door, crying. "What's wrong?" asked Allison, totally creeped out. "My nephew was just killed in a boating accident." Allison gaped. "Matt? Matt is your nephew?" "Yes," said Mrs. Haversand. "My sister's son."