Where Our Dreams Go

Andrews | Chapter 4

Thirty-two dreams by my last count. Thirty-two dreams in total that I've walked into, but never have I been physically pulled into one. I'm still reeling from it while I sail on an invisible current toward the centre of the plume. It doesn't help my nerves when there's the growing sound of screams bleeding in from whatever dream I'm about to enter, but I can't tell what they're saying. I breathe deeply and try to calm myself. Being consumed by fear never helps in any situation.

Over time, I've realised that no dream is the same, similar maybe, but they're always unique in their own way. It's the path to the dream that remains the same. As you step into the plume, it feels like you're being shrunk down to an impossible size. Becoming something close to a grain of sand, one of the many being thrown around in the spirits' plume. Only instead of being dragged along with the current, you fall into the eye of the storm. There's a dull roar from beyond the wall of debris around you as if hearing it from beneath the sea. That's where the current takes you, the one I'm currently a part of. It ushers you in toward its centre, to the dreams star core. That's where things get dicey.

An intense smell of burnt flesh reaches me with a flash of heat, so I know wherever I end up won't be pleasant. The screams are louder now, someone screaming a name. I blink and in front of me is a charred wooden door with flaking white paint. A couple of plastic hooks melted down the surface in coloured smears. Burnt material stuck to them from maybe a towel or dressing gown. There's a gold flat bolt lock around head height holding the door closed. I reach out for it and the door shudders under some kind of impact from the other side. The impact was so violent it makes me jump back a step. That's when the rest of the dream space falls into place and with it, the ugly bathroom I'm now locked in. Broken tiles with sea shells painted on them are scattered everywhere. The toilet seat has been half destroyed by the collapsed ceiling and there's a frightened child in the bathtub. Her bloodshot eyes staring between me and the door in fear. Poor thing doesn't know what to be more scared of. The door shudders again making the little girl flinch. I give her what I hope is a kind smile.

We have to be careful about interacting with elements of the dream. If a spirit's core is made aware in any way that they're in a dream. It could lead to the very thing we are trying to catch. My smile must have worked because the little girl reaches for my hand. Reaching back, her little hands can only hold a few of my fingers, but her grip is strong. She looks up at me with hope. I know she's not real and saving her means nothing, but that look in her eye and the tightness of her grip are enough. "Screw it, let's get you out of here."

I lift the girl up into my arms and walk into a space by the door. It opens away from this side, so my plan should work. The little girl wraps her arms around my neck and sobs quietly into my collarbone. Something slams into the door again and splinters the wood at the hinges. As quietly as I can, I slide the locked bolt away and another two I find near the top and bottom. We wait in a tense silence, praying that this reckless and stupid idea works.

Heavy footsteps shake the tiles on the floor right before a massive impact buckles the door completely. Whatever this thing is, it's not human. It tumbles through the door with burnt skin, but not freshly burnt. They look like extensive old burns, as if it's been bathing in lava. It's been stretched too tightly across its frame, revealing charred bone beneath and no muscle or fibers. Death wearing an old skin suit. It smells of rot and charred flesh, arms far too long for the skinny frame and in its hands a large potato sack stained with blood.

I don't give the thing any time to face me fully. Planting a heavy push kick into their spine. Its screeching sets my teeth to grinding as it tumbles into the bath tab through the glass shower screen. I sprint from the room and raging fire licking the corridor walls to my right sends me left.

I can hear the screaming again, but now I can hear what she's saying. A girl's name. Sarah. "Is that your mum calling for you?" I ask, trying to navigate whatever mansion I've been dropped into without being killed. I feel her nod against me. "Do we like your mum?" She nods again, more furiously. "Great, let's find your mum and get the hell out of here."