Shoreview, Jordansberg: A Collection of Short Stories

Dead Dreams

He looked for a brief second at his reflection in the window. His eyes focused back on the rain drops on the window. It started to rain once he passed by the sign that said, Welcome to Section 2. He had never been to Section 2. A man coughed a couple seats away from him. He sat alone on the coach bus on his way to visit a friend in Section 1. He was a young man in his early 20's, dressed mostly in black with a mysterious air about him. He watched the landscapes fly by, the whole bus was eerily silent. Lana Del Rey's "Honeymoon" played on repeat in his ears. The song oddly fit the mood.

The bus pulled up to a terminal. Some of the people on the bus got off to stretch their legs. He figured to do the same though the ride hadn't been long. The air was brisk. The rain had turned to an unusual heavy fog. There were few people around. Something far off, straight ahead, caught his attention. A figure was coming his way. The only figure, suddenly, in sight. It was a young woman. She appeared to be in off white sheets with blood red lips. Everything that was left behind her as she moved closer seemed to grow dark. He was confused as she continued to come closer. A beautiful young woman with strangely dead eyes. It seemed she had something in her palms which she was outstretching towards him. Before she could reach him he turned around, his back to her.

The bus was gone. There was only silence and fog. Oddly, he was only mildly confused, but not frightened. But he didn't dare turn back around, though it felt like something stood over his shoulders. He walked into the road and looked down the long street. Nothing in sight. The people had vanished and he was alone. Nothing stood behind him as he looked around. The terminal remained dead and empty. He swallowed. He suddenly felt like something or someone was beckoning to him. He turned back around and looked across the fog. He barely made her out but the young woman in the sheets was there. Then he realized for the first time that she was floating this whole time. She stared back at him but soon moved then vanished. He had nothing else to do and didn't know what to do. He followed her. The fog seemed to get colder as he walked to where she once floated. But he kept walking without a sense of direction.

"Do you dream often?" He heard a voice whisper. Rapidly, he looked around having no idea where the voice came from. And he was able to make it out over his headphones still playing the song. It was as if he felt that question. And what an odd question. Of course he dreamt often, many people do. But he didn't hear the voice again so he continued to walk.

She appeared again. Floating in the middle of the street. Her arm outstretched, pointing to a window in a house. He moved closer to her. She continued to stare at him with those dead eyes and bloody red lips, pointing to the window. He stopped a few feet away from her and looked to where she was pointing. The house was a dull grey. The window she pointed to was dark. All the lights were off he noticed. He looked back at her but she was gone. He looked back at the window, puzzled, but went for the front door. When he reached the door he turned the knob and it was unlocked. The door swung slowly all the way open. A long, dark hallway faced him. He slowly shut the door and inched his way down the hall. Something faint at the end was becoming larger and clearer. A family portrait. Pictured was a man, woman, a younger girl around eleven and... her. The floating young woman. She had the same dead eyes in the photo. She didn't look particularly happy. And then slowly she vanished from the picture. He backed up but by then she was gone. A heavy presence came from his right. He turned that way without any hurry. A urn on a high end table faced him. He looked it over and tried to read the small plaque in the darkness. There read a name and dates. But his eyes wandered up and there on the wall was a picture of the young woman with the dead eyes. Her lips were deadly pale instead of blood red. The beckoning came again. He slowly turned around and looked up. The darkest, seeming never to end, staircase stood in front of him. The steps led up to complete darkness. He had to go up.

"Do you dream often?" He heard again but louder. He paused on the first step. It was the same voice. He swallowed. It was colder this way. Hesitantly he climbed the stairs. The darkness consumed him. The steps continued. Eventually he reached a landing. Left. A door was there. He felt as if that door was trying to tell him something. He went to and opened it. A flood of light from the window cast down in the middle of the floor. A young girl of about eleven laid in that light on the floor in a pool of blood. Her hand was laid on a gapping wound in her stomach. Her eyes laid upon him. He hesitated to move closer and she watched him all the same, with those similar dead eyes.
"Do you dream often?" She asked. And he then understood. Does he dream like this often.
"Yes," he answered calmly. He flew out of the room. A strong force took him back, back down the stairs, through the dark hall, out into the fog, to the terminal...

He looked straight ahead at the seat in front of him. People were lingering about. The bus was still at the terminal and him in his seat. He stood up and rushed from the bus. The fog was gone but it was pouring rain. He ran. He had to save the young girl. He ran in the direction he recalled. Lana Del Rey's words, "Dreaming away your life," sung in his ears. His feet splashed in the puddles on the sidewalks. He remembered the directions well. And then there stood the same dark, grey house. He exhaled and ran to it. The door was unlocked like he figured and everything inside looked the same. The dark hall, the eerie family portrait. The urn and dead eyed girl photo. The staircase wasn't as dark as before but he bounded up them. The same door on the left was closed. He opened it slow. The room looked all the same. The window casting the grey light on the floor. The same young girl laid there in a pool of blood. Her wound showed and her hand clenched on it. Her sweaty face was staring up at him in pain. Her eyes were pleading.
"Your sister came to me in my dream. I'm here to help you. Everything will be okay," the young man voiced as he slowly stepped closer. But the air felt too cold and the atmosphere changed. Things were different. He watched the young girl's face begin to change. Her eyes no longer pleaded but instead held amusement. And slowly she pulled off a bloody mouthed, Cheshire grin. Too wide for this young girl's face. Panic that was never once there set in and she continued to grin as her mouth dripped blood.
"Do you dream often?" She asked again in a deep, dark voice.
Dreaming away your life.
The young girl continued to bleed and grin as he felt a heavy and damned presence linger over his shoulders.