Terrified of what may or may not be out there, she again considered the possibility this was only a dream. This has to be a dream. Everything about this place did not seem real to Rhiannon.
“This can’t be real,” she panted. “I mean, falling from the sky—being somewhere one minute and then somewhere else seconds later . . . healing like this.”
Rhiannon caressed her upper arm. She wanted it to be a dream, but the pain and fear was real.
“If this isn’t a dream . . . then where is everyone?” The only person around was the one back by the town. She stopped and huffed. “Or was it?”
Rhiannon questioned whether the person was real or simply a figment of her imagination.
“Wait, the horses!”
Her voice echoed and she cowered, scrunching her face.
“Right,” she added in a softer tone, “the horses . . . with wings.” She exhaled and continued forward. “Okay, this is definitely a dream.” So, I just need to figure out how to wake myself up.
The air was colder and more chaotic, blowing swiftly from the cliffs as the heavy scent of salt filled her nose. Dusk produced darkened hues, wrapping them tightly around her. Her stomach continued to twist and turn as a heaviness filled her chest. She gasped for air. I need to wake up. I need to get the heck outta here. Her pace quickened.
Rhiannon’s apprehension was confirmed as low growls echoed behind her. She turned, but still nothing was there. The snarls became louder. She peered through the murky shadows and a faint creature sprinted from the west in her direction. She narrowed her eyes, focusing even harder on the figure. What is that?
A small, black figure bounced like a ball in the distance, in sync with a thunderous pounding. The figure, growing in size as it approached Rhiannon, had a red glow emanating along the top of its body. Growls erupted from the fast-moving creature as its footsteps ricocheted along the ground. Rhiannon stumbled backward, and she twisted around. The pain from her blistered feet were masked by the fact she did not want to come face to face with the large creature heading straight for her.
She raced over to the cliffs, tripping and tumbling to the ground, rolling and landing on her side. The sharpness of the rocks dug into her body and blood developed along the fresh cuts. Struggling to regain her footing, she jerked around to discover the creature was closing in on her. Her eyes widened and her face was pale as she stared, frozen on the ground.
A large four-legged animal, with glowing red eyes, came into focus. The snarling and growling made her think it was a dog, or maybe a wolf. Either way, she was not going to stick around to find out. All the pain faded throughout her body, and she sprinted away, her pulse pounding in her throat and chest.
She halted a few inches from the cliffs. Leaning over the edge, Rhiannon peered through tiny slits in her eyes and stared at the darkness below. The sound of water sloshing against the side of the cliff filled her ears. Movement below the fog danced in unison to the crashing waves. The ocean below was not as far down as she feared, but without being able to see clearly, Rhiannon worried if it was safe to jump.
The growls and footsteps stopped. She turned to find a set of red eyes stalking through the darkness, inching closer. The last bit of light in the sky disappeared and the enormous wolf—with thick, black fur—tightened its gaze, leaving only a thin red line of light radiating from its intense stare. Its mouth cracked and its upper lip curled, exposing two rows of razor-sharp teeth. Its eyes met hers and it snarled. A thick mucus dripped from its black tongue as the animal ran it across its teeth.
She kept eye contact, shuffling backward closer to the cliff. Rocks and dirt fell as Rhiannon reached the edge. Her heels hung over the side and her arms flung out, trying to balance herself. Her mind bounced back and forth—jump and hope for the best or be killed by the prowling creature. She closed her eyes and, with all her strength and willpower, forced her body to fall back. The fear inside disappeared as the sensation of falling took over.
Time slowed as Rhiannon fell to the unknown below. Her body tensed and a tingling feeling raced throughout her torso, bouncing up and down in her stomach and chest. The strange warmth was both exciting and terrifying at the same time. Hoping this would snap her out of the nightmare, she screamed, continuing to fall. Her cries faded as her inner voice took over. This is it! The panic of falling turned to sadness and distress. She was about to die. This was not a dream, and she had jumped to her death.
Wind surrounded her and she squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for impact. She took in one last breath and crashed through the water below. Her body stopped deep beneath the surface, and she gasped in agony, swallowing a mouthful of saltwater. The freezing, bitter liquid burned her throat. Pain swelled throughout her body as the frigid water cut through her like razor blades. Continuing to gasp in pain, she gulped in more water—no longer able to breathe. She thrashed, sinking further below the surface. Unable to move her numb legs, she pushed her arms frantically through the dense water, fighting against the ocean’s pull. Her body sank like a heavy rock. Her arms grew weak and darkness surrounded her as she became motionless. The last bit of oxygen flowed from her mouth as water filled her lungs. With her eyes open, and her body still, she drifted deeper into the depths.
Darkness.
Rhiannon was dying—again.
A rush of water pushed past her and swirled around, turning her limp body in the opposite direction. A faint and blurry blue object moved rapidly through the water, circling around her again. But then it was gone. She feared she imagined it. Rhiannon closed her eyes and waited. Death was close.
A swift and hard nudge came from underneath her lifeless body, forcing her through the water. Her body soared upward and the ocean’s tight hold pressed against her skin. Her head broke through the surface of the water.
***
Rhiannon shot up from a deep sleep and gasped for air as water spewed from her mouth. Desperately taking in more air, she whipped her head from side to side as lightning lit up her bedroom. Rain pounded against the window and thunder roared viciously outside. She twisted herself sideways, reaching for the small lamp on her nightstand. Rhiannon leaned over, resting her face in her hands, and sighed in relief. She was home.
“I knew it was a dream,” she mumbled into her palms, trying to catch her breath. “Man, that felt so—”
Water trickled down her face, sliding along her fingers resting against her cheeks. Moving her hands upward, her hair was drenched, dripping down her back and along her arms. Tossing her head around, she noticed her sheets and pajamas were soaked. She scrambled to grab the damp blanket laying across her legs, finally tossing it to the side. Her panicked expression turned to confusion as she spotted a dark stain on her bed next to her pillow. It was blood.
Rhiannon stared blankly down at her arm—the sleeve also covered in blood. She ran and turned on the overhead light, hurrying to the full-length mirror hanging behind her bedroom door. Pulling up the bloody, wet sleeve, she revealed a large cut across her upper arm. It was not bleeding, but the evidence of an injury was clear. The cut had fleshy dead skin stretching away from the center and freshly clotted blood covering the exposed part of the wound.
“No. Freakin’. Way!” she exclaimed, pulling down her sleeve.
She walked back over to her bed and sat down. Cradling her arm, she gawked around her empty room.
“What the hell just happened?”
Chapter 2
More than a Dream
Rhiannon Llewellyn was not a typical fifteen-year-old girl. She was homeschooled and lived over an hour from the closest town in a small two-story house along a dirt road in the back country. She was a homebody and spent most of her time alone. She could count on both hands how many times she left the house since they moved here eight years ago. She did not mind the isolation, though. She embraced it. The solitude and confinement allowed her the mental freedom to get lost in a good book, focus on her studies, or escape into the wildness of M
other Nature just outside her front door. Rhiannon was surely an old soul.
She could not remember much before moving into this house with her aunt. In fact, she did not remember anything before the age of seven. Rhiannon was curious about her life before this place, but she never really asked any questions. She was content not knowing, because she always considered this place home. She knew nothing else.
Her mind would periodically wander, though, and she would think about her life before her memories dwindled. She wondered what her mother looked like and who her father was. What happened to them? Why could she not, despite trying, remember anything about them? What happened to make her subconscious erase her whole life before she moved here? She often wanted to talk to her aunt about these questions, but she chose not to, because she feared the truth might upset her.
Her past was something she thought about frequently over the years. Rhiannon always sensed, even though she valued her independence, she was missing something in her life. A piece of her was lost. No matter what she did to fill the void, she was always left wanting more. However, this did not slow her down or interfere with her life in any way. Rhiannon was destined for greatness. She had specific plans for her future and rarely veered off track from the goals she set for herself. Her mind was active, intuitive, focused, and sharp—never deviating from facts, clear-cut truths, and a rational mindset. And yet, she paced back and forth through her room, pondering the idea she might be crazy.
***
The dream was real, very real. But was it a dream? Waking up in her own bed made Rhiannon think it was, in fact, just a dream. It had to be a dream. The reassurance was not comforting at all, especially since a nervous ache filled her gut and the physical evidence on her body, and bed, made her question this conclusion and her sanity.
Her stomach rumbled and she held back the urge to throw up again—a common reoccurrence lately. She needed a distraction. Rushing to the closet, she undressed and threw her clothes into the laundry basket. She changed into a clean pair of pajamas and turned to face the mirror again. Ignoring the dry blood along her forehead, she became lost in thought, replaying every part of the unusual dream. She had vivid and realistic dreams before, but nothing like this. This was definitely different. She never woke up feeling like she had experienced what just happened, remembering every detail—not to mention the injuries left behind. This one did not feel like a dream, but more like a memory.
She closed her eyes, the memories flooding her senses and the images falling from her subconscious. The sweet aroma of the fully bloomed flowers swaying back and forth in the meadow tickled her nose. The wind twisted and turned the branches of the trees, making them sound like waves crashing against the shoreline. A cool breeze, and the warmth of the sun, caressed her skin. The contradicting temperatures sent chills up her back and she shivered. Raising her arms, she folded them against her chest and hugged herself. A hint of dirt wafted past her nose, followed by the faint metallic odor of blood. Rhiannon opened her eyes and stepped back, rubbing her finger under her nose and trying to alleviate the smell.
Her heart raced, beating loudly in her ears. Images of blood and darkness flashed before her eyes. She turned as growling came from behind her, echoing off the walls as shadows from the trees outside danced throughout her room. Rhiannon tried to catch her breath but found herself hyperventilating as more memories filled her mind. Glowing red eyes raced after her and she stumbled back. Fumbling to the floor, she moaned as the sharp rocks cut into her feet. Her body curled into a fetal position and pain smacked into her as she crashed through the icy water. She lay frozen in terror, gasping for air as her lungs filled with water. She was drowning again.
A burst of lightning lit up her room as thunder clapped outside. Rhiannon flung herself out of her lifeless demeanor and sprang back onto her feet.
She turned, gazing frantically around the room as she slowly exhaled. “Calm down.”
Contemplating whether or not she should wake her aunt, Rhiannon sat on her bed and weighed the possible outcomes. Maybe her aunt would be able to help explain what was going on with her, or maybe her aunt might agree with her and think Rhiannon was crazy.
Annoyed with herself, she admitted, “Really? You’re going to wake her up because you had a bad dream?”
She shook her head and lowered it into her palms, resting her elbows against her upper legs.
The storm dwindled outside as the rain trickled against the window, and the lightning brightened the sky in the distance. A gentle roar from the thunder filled the room as she sat on the bed, her mind questioning her sanity again. But something was telling her she was not crazy. There has to be a reasonable explanation.
“Right?” she sighed, falling backwards onto her bed. “I mean, clearly something happened. The proof is right . . .”
Her pajamas were wet again. She groaned and pushed herself up, making fists and tapping them together.
She removed her shirt. “I’m too tired to deal with this crap right now.”
Wiping the remaining dried blood from her arm and forehead, Rhiannon nonchalantly tossed the shirt on the floor, kicking it away from her. Reaching for a blanket draped over the brass footboard, she flung it over her shoulders and wrapped it around her body. She sulked over to an oversized chair in the corner of her room and fell into it, curling up and closing her eyes. I’ll deal with this tomorrow.
***
Two knocks tapped on the outside of her bedroom door and Rhiannon startled awake. The mid-afternoon sun beamed through the windows and illuminated the room. She squinted, scanning the room as another set of louder knocks came from the door. Groggy, she tried to speak, but she was too slow. The door clicked, followed by another knock as it swung open.
A thin woman with a bubbly voice entered the room. “Rhiannon? Are you okay? It’s almost two . . .”
She searched the room at the sight of an empty bed.
Spotting Rhiannon in the chair, she raised an eyebrow. “What’re you doing over there?”
The woman stepped closer to the bed, her raised eyebrows pinching together. A dark red stain came into view. She stopped and aimed her baffled expression over at Rhiannon.
“What happened?”
Rhiannon shifted in the chair and sat up. I’m pretty sure I died last night––twice.
Avoiding eye contact with her aunt, she cleared her throat. “I—I honestly have n-no idea.”
Her aunt’s hand grasped her hips. “What do you—How did—What?” She huffed and dropped her arms. “W-what do you mean you have no idea?”
Still groggy, Rhiannon grasped the blanket wrapped around her and pushed herself off the chair. She sauntered over to her closet in silence, keeping her eyes on the ground. She picked the other shirt up off the floor and slid open the closet door. Her aunt rotated on her heels, and her stern scowl followed her. Rhiannon pulled out a dry, blood-covered shirt from the laundry basket and dropped the other wrinkly shirt into it. She faced her aunt and gestured for her to take the pajama top.
“What’s this?” her aunt asked.
Rhiannon did not answer. She tilted her head and gestured again, lifting the shirt higher. Her aunt rolled her eyes and let out a long-winded groan. She snatched the shirt from her niece’s hand and unraveled it. Her breath shuddered as she held up the shirt and stared at the stain.
Rhiannon waited for a reaction, but her aunt fixated on the shirt with a blank expression. She pondered what to say next, a logical explanation—a hint of truth, but with a reasonable conclusion. But she was unable to verbally express the insane situation without sounding crazy, so she remained quiet.
“Is this blood?” her aunt asked.
Rhiannon shrugged her shoulders, pressing her lips flat. Attempting to respond to the question, she paused as her aunt rushed over to her bed and rubbed her hand across the stain.
“It is blood!” She inspected the rest of the bed. “And why is your bed all wet?”
Rhiannon chuckled. She probably thinks I peed myself.
“Why are you laughing?” her aunt exclaimed. “What the heck is going on, Rhiannon? Are you hurt? Why is your bed wet? What’s going on?”
Her aunt would never believe the story about the dream, but Rhiannon had to tell her something. Her aunt’s puzzled expression and high-pitched tone made her uncomfortable and unable to focus on a rational, and plausible, description of her night, so she started with the facts.
“Before you freak out, I woke up last night with my shirt and bed covered in blood. I’m pretty sure it’s mine, but—”
“You’re pretty sure it’s yours?”
The woman wiped her hand on the dirty shirt and threw it on the floor. Closing her eyes, she ran both hands through her black hair, grasping both sides of her head and then running her fingers along her neck.
Rhiannon waited to continue.
Her aunt met her waiting gaze, both sets of deep blue eyes beaming back at the other. “How does someone get covered in blood and not know where it came from?”
“Okay, I know it’s mine. It’s—it’s my blood. I—I just don’t know how to explain how it got there.”
Stepping in front of Rhiannon, she grasped both her wrists. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”
Surprised by the question, Rhiannon flinched. “No! Of course not!”
Her aunt released her tight grip and let out a deep breath.
Rhiannon continued, “No, I promise, Aunt K. Why would you think that? No, it’s nothing like that. I—I woke up last night from a dream and realized I was all wet. Soaked, in fact. Then, I noticed the stain. When I looked around to see if I was bleeding, I saw the blood on my shirt. I’m not sure what happened, but I promise, I went to bed last night like normal and woke up to all this.” She paused, pointing at her bed. Then, pulling down one side of the blanket wrapped around her arm, she added, “Oh . . . and this.”
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