Night Terrors

by Helen Harper

  ‘Christ, Zoe,’ Bron whistles. ‘You don’t do things by halves, do you?’

  There’s a snort. I glance over and see Esme coiling the rope round one arm. I must look astonished because she rolls her eyes. ‘A useless dreamweaver has got to be better than no dreamweaver at all,’ she mutters.

  I stagger to my feet as a man appears from behind them. He’s wearing a dark, severely-cut suit; there’s a sense of wiry strength concealed beneath it, despite his apparent lack of muscles. I look into a pair of cold eyes and recognise his voice immediately as that of the first Department speaker.

  ‘I think we need to talk.’

  Chapter Eight

  I always wished for this, but it’s almost turning into more a nightmare than a dream.

  Eminem

  I smile pleasantly at the three Department stooges. They’ve taken me to one of the dark rooms underneath the ugly building which the Mayor used to call his own. I could have disapparated and avoided this meeting but that would imply guilt. I need them to think I’m harmless. Frankly, until I get a handle on my dreamweaving abilities, I am pretty much harmless.

  As far as I can tell, there is no hierarchy. Although the creepy man who first addressed the crowd is present, he doesn’t appear to receive any deference from the other two. Interesting. I’m sure there has to be some sort of power structure or the Department wouldn’t be able to function. Whatever it is, it’s not clear here. They all wear similar suits and hairstyles and look like identikit thugs. For all I know, they might be related. And despite their much-vaunted positions, none of them appears particularly intelligent. They strike me as the kind of people who are used to getting their own way through force and intimidation rather than smarts.

  ‘Who are you?’

  I do my best to appear innocent. I tuck a loose curl behind my ear and lick my lips, classic signs of nerves. I can’t afford to come across as cocky. ‘Zoe. My name’s Zoe.’

  He leans forward. ‘Why don’t you tell us exactly what was going on with that monster, Zoe?’

  I swallow. ‘Well, I saw it appear out of nowhere. I didn’t think, I just knew that if I didn’t do something then it could kill us all.’ I shake my head as if I’m flabbergasted at my own actions. ‘I can’t believe it happened. Where did it come from? It seemed to be returning to the Badlands.’ I look anxious. ‘Is it related to the sleep paralysis? I’ve got a friend who has been suffering really badly. I wish I could do something to help her.’

  I knit my hands together. I’m speaking just a tinge too fast, another technique to make them think I’m intimidated and thoroughly cowed. Help me, I project. Help the poor weak female who’s happy to bow to your superior majesty. ‘You’re from the Department. You must know what I can do.’

  I think I’ve done a fairly good job of changing the subject but they aren’t having any of it. Maybe they’re shrewder than I gave them credit for.

  The man to the right fixes me with a hard stare. ‘How did you get the dragon to drop you? Our weapons had no effect on it and yet you did it come damage.’

  Uh-oh. I widen my eyes. ‘Did I hurt it? It was so big that I didn’t think that my weight could do anything. I tried to punch it a few times but mostly I was just trying to hang on. I am so lucky that I landed in the river.’ I shudder. ‘If I had hit the ground…’

  There’s a sharp knock at the door. The man in the middle holds up his hand to stall me and gets up to open it. When I see who’s there, my heart sinks. Kevin. He’s the last person I want to see right now.

  He walks in and looks at me. He seems far too young to be involved with the Department but he did work quite happily for the Mayor, despite having a thing for Ashley. I wonder how I can let him know that she can only be missing because the Deaprtment’s done something to her. Then I wonder whether he knows that and is part of the plan. Nausea rises in my stomach again.

  ‘She’s the one I was telling you about,’ Kevin says. ‘She freed the night mares. She led them through the damn town as if they were docile lambs. I know Ashley; I’ve known her for years. If there’s any chance she’s a dreamweaver, I’d know about it.’ He points at me. ‘She’s the one you’re looking for.’

  Damn and double damn. While there might be a heroic intention behind Kevin’s words, namely to get Ashley back, he’s not exactly helping matters. I’d sacrifice myself in an instant if it meant I could help Ashley but admitting that I’m the dreamweaver is playing right into their hands. There’s no telling what they’d be capable of if they could harness my so-called skills.

  I stand up, knocking my chair over and backing away until I feel the tender bruises on my spine pressing against the wall.

  ‘D…Dreamweaver?’ I stammer. ‘That’s not me. I’m just good with animals, that’s all.’

  All three of the Department’s men fold their arms. If there was a competition for who could provide the most penetrating stare, these three would tie for first place.

  ‘Bullshit. And that’s not all that’s weird about her!’ Kevin bursts out. ‘She only started showing up here a few months ago. Who does that? Everyone else began apparating when they were teenagers. She’s obviously different from the rest of us.’

  I hadn’t thought it possible, but the Department men’s eyes grow even colder. ‘The woman Yevgeny saw during the day fits her description,’ one of them murmurs.

  I think quickly. ‘I was here during the day but that’s only because I work nights! I had to get time off to come here for your meeting. If I really was the dreamweaver, wouldn’t I have stayed away?’

  ‘If you work nights, then what do you do?’

  Shit. I should have thought this through more carefully. ‘Emergency veterinary assistant,’ I lie. I give a desperate, albeit pointed, look. ‘I told you I was good with animals.’

  The man in the middle turns to Kevin. ‘Who is she close to?’

  Kevin’s jaw works; I can see he’s worried about bringing anyone else to the Department’s attention. See what you’ve done, I think. By getting yourself involved and pointing your finger, you’re making things worse for everyone. ‘Esme,’ he grunts eventually. ‘She runs the shop.’

  ‘The coma bitch.’

  Kevin nods. I have to force myself not to visibly stiffen at his derogatory misogyny.

  ‘Perfect. Anyone else?’

  ‘Bron. And Dante. Although Dante’s almost never here. I’ve not seen him for days.’

  They exchange glances. Dante’s name obviously isn’t new to them. That’s hardly surprising; he did used to work for the Mayor. It doesn’t stop the chill from spreading through me, though.

  ‘Find them and bring them to the Bubble.’ The middle man smiles nastily. ‘We’re going to try a little experiment.’

  ***

  ‘Look,’ I say, as we cross the threshold and pass into the myriad of white doors which represent the gateways to the slumbering minds. ‘I agree with Kevin when he says Ashley’s not the dreamweaver but I’m not either. I don’t believe that there is a dreamweaver. It’s all myth and supposition.’

  They don’t deign to give me an answer. Instead, they march me down the seemingly endless corridor until they stop in front of a door, apparently at random.

  There’s a clatter of footsteps from behind us. I turn and see both Esme and Bron being pushed in our direction. Neither of them look happy.

  ‘Leave us alone! Haven’t you screwed enough with me?’ Esme protests. ‘You’ve already destroyed my shop.’ She receives a shove in the small of her back.

  Bron snarls. ‘Don’t touch her!’

  ‘Tough guy. Whatchoo gonna do about it?’

  I give Bron a minute shake of my head. This isn’t the time for heroics; we have to play along. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll get a clue about where Ashley is. The only sign I have that Bron has understood is faint tightening of his lips. He’s definitely not happy. I hope I’m doing the right thing.

  Esme stares past us, her mouth dropping open. ‘What the hell is that?’


  None of the Department men turn but Bron and I do. When I see what she’s looking at, I do a double-take. Amid the doors, there are three which stand out glaringly. Instead of the normal glossy white facades, these ones are black. I had thought that only the exit to the Bubble was that colour.

  I swallow. ‘Oh my God,’ I whisper. ‘Is that normal?’

  ‘No.’ Bron sounds just as horrified as I feel. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  You can fake a lot of emotions, especially when you spend a lifetime watching people and picking up on tiny details, but surprise is one of the hardest to get right. Judging by the sudden stillness from the Department thugs, they know this. Despite my concern over the doors, satisfaction settles deep in my chest. In theory, the dreamweaver would already know about this development. The fact that I obviously didn’t will swing it in my favour. Of course, it also points to the fact that I’m bloody useless. What would make a white door turn black?

  ‘You said you’d been coming in to the Bubble,’ I remind Bron. ‘This is definitely the first time you’ve noticed this?’

  The first Department creep interrupts. ‘The others are deeper inside the Bubble.’

  My mouth goes dry. ‘Others?’ I step back, narrowly avoiding colliding with Esme. ‘The sleep paralysis,’ I whisper, stunned. ‘Those are the people who’re being affected.’ No doubt it’s also the people whose good dreams are being inexplicably turned into nightmares. I bet that if I found the doors to both Archie the taxi driver’s and my zumba friend’s heads, they’d both be black too. My stomach churns. What about Rawlins and the others I’ve apparated into tonight? Will their doors still be black or have they returned to white?

  The Department guy is oblivious to my confusion. ‘Just so. Why do you we think we are so keen to find the dreamweaver? It’s a fungus. Before long, every mind will be infected.’

  ‘The dreamweaver can stop it?’

  He laughs without humour. ‘No. The dreamweaver is causing it.’

  I feel sick. Could he be right? When he mentioned it during the aborted meeting, I assumed it was a tactic to goad us but now he seems to believe it. Everything I’ve seen suggests the ‘fungus’ is coming from the Badlands. I’m sure of it ‒ almost.

  I keep my mouth shut and scan his face, searching for a fleeting expression that will tell me otherwise. He remains studiously bland.

  ‘You said you didn’t think there was a dreamweaver.’ He points at the doors. ‘That’s how I know there is one. And we’re about to find out if it’s you.’ He pushes open the white door in front of us and beckons us in. I suck in a breath and follow him on shaky legs.

  We find ourselves on a high clifftop. The wind gusts round us at an alarming pace. What is below us isn’t clear because, less than a foot from the cliff’s edge, there’s a swirling fog that obscures the rest of the landscape.

  ‘Mark Bootley. Thirty-two years old. Recurring dreams of dying.’

  I turn round and watch as a pyjama-wearing man appears. He walks right up to the very edge of the cliff and spreads out his arms.

  ‘You know,’ the Department man continues, ‘as irritating as the mayor of your zone was, he did know how to keep good records. Mr Bootley here does this every single night. The result is always the same. He jumps off the cliff and goes splat.’ He leans in towards me and lowers his voice to a dangerous whisper. ‘Save him.’

  ‘What?’ I shake my head in dismay. ‘I can’t do that. Besides, he’s not a Traveller. He’s not going to die. To him this is just a dream.’

  ‘You’re right. He won’t die. But your two friends will.’ He jerks his head and Esme and Bron are shoved forward. Their faces are pale. ‘Save Mark Bootley or we will boot them off the cliff.’ He smiles. ‘See what I did there?’

  I don’t smile back. He’s not bluffing, he’ll actually do this. The Mayor had few qualms about killing people and clearly the Department has even fewer.

  ‘This is beyond stupid,’ Bron scoffs, although I can hear a quaver in his voice. ‘We’ll just disapparate out.’

  Oh no.

  ‘You will.’ The Department goon cocks his head towards Esme. ‘She won’t.’

  He’s right; Esme is trapped here. She’s strung up to a bunch of machines somewhere in a hospital. For her, there’s no escape. She can’t wake herself up and, if she dies here, she’ll die in real life. That’s the way it goes for Travellers.

  ‘Disapparate,’ he tells me nastily, ‘and we’ll throw her off.’

  ‘We should have tried this with the other one,’ one of the others mutters.

  He means Ashley. For a moment, I wonder why they didn’t do the same with her. She’s closer to Esme than I am and it would have proved that she is nothing more than a normal Traveller. Then it hits me: they’re still convinced that Ashley is the dreamweaver. They didn’t do this stupid experiment on her because they didn’t think they needed to. And that means they don’t believe that the dreamweaver is me.

  Regardless of Kevin’s allegations, this is about nothing more than flexing their muscles and using every intimidation tool they can think of. My mind whirls through the possibilities open to me to get us out of this unscathed. Every option is a gamble.

  Judging by the pristine white door to Mark Bootley’s dreams, he’s been unaffected by either the sleep paralysis or the stalking nightmares. In theory, I probably can stop him from leaping off the cliff by changing his dream but that would place a big neon sign dreamweaver sign over my head.

  The thing is, these Department guys really aren’t as clever as they think they are. There’s one very obvious loophole that they’ve forgotten. I ignore Esme and Bron’s taut expressions and roll up my sleeves. I hope this works.

  I step over gingerly to Mark Bootley. It’s imperative that he remains oblivious to my presence; if he even looks at me then the game will be up. Other Travellers can use the Bubble to see into people’s dreams but they’re invisible bystanders. I’m not. Not always anyway.

  I close my eyes and reach over. Just as his foot lifts and he prepares to jump, I try to pinch the flesh on his hand. It’s not only me who can perform this trick; almost any Traveller can pinch any outlier and they’ll wake up. It’ll stop Mr Bootley from leaping to his dream death ‒ and prove absolutely nothing to the Department thugs.

  Unfortunately for me, I’ve been too circumspect. Before I even brush his skin, he springs up into the air. I reach out but he somersaults away and into a perfect swan dive. A second later he’s gone. Shit.

  I turn round, flinging a wide-eyed stare at the watching brigade. ‘I tried! I tried the only thing I could think of!’

  The first Department man rolls his eyes as the light around us dims. Then we’re back in the corridor and staring at the closed door of Mark Bootley’s mind.

  He clicks his tongue and adjusts his cuffs. ‘Well, that was a waste of time.’

  I swallow hard. I failed completely. If the Department remains intent on taking my inability to save him out on Esme, I’m not sure what I can do. The cliff dream may have vanished from our grasp but there are plenty of other doors.

  The Department man starts walking away. He’s going to let us off. ‘Wait!’ I call out, emboldened by my close shave. ‘Where’s Ashley? She’s not the dreamweaver either! Do an experiment like this on her and you’ll see.’

  Esme throws me a dirty look. I can’t blame her; I don’t imagine she wants to be threatened with death every time the Department decides to accuse someone.

  The other Department men don’t react, they just fall in behind the first one and march towards the exit, their footsteps echoing. A few minutes later Bron, Esme and I are alone.

  Bron lets out a shaky breath. ‘That was a smart move, Zoe. I didn’t think we were going to make it out of there.’

  ‘I almost screwed up,’ I admit. ‘When he jumped, I lunged for him without thinking about it. If I’d caught him…’

  Bron runs a hand through his hair. ‘We got lucky.’ His voice
is grim. ‘Very lucky.’

  ‘You could have just told them the truth,’ Esme says. ‘Then Ashley wouldn’t be in danger. And they might leave the rest of us alone.’

  Guilt cripples me and I drop my head.

  Bron scowls. ‘She can’t do that. They’ll take her and break her. They’ll use her and in the end we’ll all be worse off.’

  I shake my head. ‘Maybe Esme’s right. I’m sure they’ve got Ashley. And that first guy said that the sleep paralysis was being caused by the dreamweaver. I was sure it was the Badlands but what if he’s right?’

  ‘I think you’d know if it was you doing it,’ Bron says drily.

  Esme has gone very still. ‘Why do you think it’s the Badlands?’

  I quickly run through my experiences. Her jaw clenches. ‘That’s very, very bad.’

  ‘I know they’ve encroached into the town before. Bron mentioned it. Were you here then?’

  ‘No. But I’ve heard enough from old-timers who were around.’ She bites her lip. ‘The dragon. It makes sense now. Damn it.’ She twists her fingers into knots.

  Anxiety ripples through me. ‘What?’

  ‘The Department is only interested in this zone because they want the dreamweaver.’ The reluctance in Esme’s tone is palpable. ‘The Mayor made sure that they could live perfectly happily without us so they’ll drop us in a heartbeat if the Badlands continue causing problems. You can’t give yourself up. You’re the only person who can stop the fungus. Whatever it is.’

  ‘But how? What am I supposed to do?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ she snaps. ‘You’re the dreamweaver. You work it out.’ She turns on her heel and stalks off. My shoulders droop.

  Bron touches my arm. ‘She’s been under a lot of stress lately.’

  ‘She’s not the only one,’ I mutter.

  He pats my arm sympathetically but it doesn’t make me feel better. ‘We need to focus on finding Ashley. Dante’s a tracker. He should be here. He can do it.’