The Demon Inheritance

SIX

The dream does not take place in Croma, even after all the reading I did on that strange land from Dillan's notebooks for several days in a row. Even filled with information, I couldn't conjure even an imaginary glimpse of that place. The dream I'm living now, however, is very as lucid. It is somewhere else, not Croma. Somewhere on earth. Yet, somewhere of great pain and sorrow; I can taste the resentment in the air, and it's like taking poison into my lungs. I can't even find the decency to cough it out.

Something tells me I'm used to this place.

There is a dark hallway, a red light glinting against the window. The curtains look black in the inky depths of night time; the place looks damned, like one of the circles of Hell. I'm alone, wandering. There is a draft, although the windows are closed and there is no door. Probably some faulty in the wall. From above, fat droplets of water are falling to the ground, mere seconds between them. There's also a leak in the ceiling somewhere. I look for a light switch with my air, but find none. I blink in the darkness, holding back a shaky breath. Either there are no light switches, or I have no wind.

I wander into a room, where the flowing curtain waves me forward. Someone is singing. They sound familiar. The song unmistakingly "The Unforgiven" ; I couldn't miss those lyrics anywhere. My brow pinches, and I step deeper into the room. "Is there anyone in here?"

The singer stops abruptly. I glanced around the room, although my eyes were greeted by the pits of blackness replacing every object around me. A sudden cold rushed up my arms, sending them up in goosebumps. I attempted to warm them with my hands, glancing about for a source of light. The only source I could find was the red glint on the window, and the menacing stare of the moon outside. The shadows and the chill were getting to me. The further along I moved, the more bile lifted in my throat and I could taste the grief in the air. Under all that grief, however, was a pinch of hope.

"I could kill you, if I wanted to," I call in threat, afraid under the dominance in my tone. I don't want to dream about here! There is a shuffle followed by thuds. Someone rising up out of bed, their feet hitting the floor. "Who are you?" The menace in my tone slips. Fear, cool and icy, knotted on the inside of my throat.

Where was this place? Who was there? Was I going to kill my mother once again, under this poor excuse of a roof?

"Emma? Emma, are you awake?" It was Mary's voice, damp with concern. The same voice who had been singing. "You're up, Sis. Did you have those night terrors again? Are you recovered?"

"I'm never recovered," I answer without thinking, sticking my hands into a raggedy hoodie's pockets. I didn't even know I had those clothes on. "When did you get to my house?"

I can hardly see in this place, so I am surprised when her tense arms suddenly clasp around me. Mary isn't much of a hugger, either, so I have that going against my reasoning as well. I pat her knotted black curls with a hand. Half ignoring the embrace, I glance around. There is suddenly light. The place is ruined, speckles of light shining through cracked spaces in the wooden wall. It suddenly looks midday outside. The curtain stops flowing, lying still over the spider web-pattern cracks on the window. The bed is rough with yellow splotches over it, and the blankets are all just worn, crackly towels. Cobwebs litter the walls, as does the dust. For a moment, I wonder why my home looks so ruined. Then, I realised I have never seen this house before in my life. It isn't the home I grew up in. It's somewhere completely different. Although it's strange, I can still see the woods of Millton outside - familiar, trees whispering branch-to-branch just on the other side of the window.

"Emma," says my best friend, "This is our home. We came here after the accident. Don't you remember?"

***