I came to the same familiar cabin that I’d seen before in my dream. It was my home. The cabin sat in a thick grove of trees. The shade kept it cool in the summer, but also blocked out most of the sunlight. A rope was tied to a tree, a swing for me—one of my favorite things. Father hung it for me while Jane was there. We would take turns seeing who could get the highest; and in moments of insanity, we would both try it at the same time.
Poor Jane, I thought. She didn’t deserve to be yelled at. To be honest, I really can’t blame her; she was just keeping her promise. Supposing I would have done the same, I put it in my mind to say sorry when I saw her; that way we could go back to normal and be friends again.
I crept up the stairs to the cabin and entered. Women’s voices could be heard, strained and tense, just like in the other dreams. It was impossible to make out what they said. I made my way to the kitchen door and listened. They were talking about me.
I gulped and slowly pushed the door open.
The kitchen was dark, as there was only a small window to let in any light; and the sun had been completely hidden behind the heavy rain clouds that were about to burst.
“John! Where have you been? Your father is out looking for you right now,” chided Mother, her face stern, but relieved to see me. “You shouldn’t have been out in that storm.”
There was another woman with her whom I recognized to be my grandmother. Funny what your mind can conjure up in a dream, she looked like Sarah. In fact, I wondered if it were her, except she was older. They sat around the table with a lamp burning brightly on top.
“Jane was just here,” she announced, waiting for my reaction.
I said nothing.
“Do you have anything you want to say, John?”
I remained silent.
She sighed.
“Don’t be too hard on him,” said my grandmother. “He’ll understand someday.”
“Yes…but will it be too late?”
The floorboards on the back porch creaked and a dark shadow passed across the tiny window. Heavy footsteps slowly progressed until they stopped outside the back door.
“That must be your father,” said Mother.
My heart leapt in my chest. Here it comes, I thought, and I began to guess the exact words my father would use to chastise me.
The door didn’t open.
Mother got up and walked over to unlatch it.
My subconscious, the part that remembered past dreams, screamed, Back away! Don’t do it! Don’t open it! My younger self seemed oblivious, watching with dread for the moment when my father would materialize.
Mother reached for the latch and, as she did, there was a terrible explosion—the sound of the door being rent from its frame, breaking up into a shower of wood bits and deadly splinters. The force and the remainder of the planks collided with her body, knocking her back like a rag doll, through chairs and over the kitchen table, toppling the oil lamp and breaking it open. Flames spread from the burning river of oil, igniting door and table fragments, and mixing with the blood pouring from my mother’s body.
Standing in the fractured entryway was the hulking body of a huge Brean.
Its malevolent, red eyes locked on me, and it bellowed a deafening roar. Crashing into the house, it lunged toward me. Its stench was overpowering, even over the strong smell of smoke. My grandmother, recovering from her shock, screamed, “Run, John!” and she flung herself into the path of the charging monster.
Flames now licked the walls and ceiling. Dark, billowing clouds of black smoke filled the room, obscuring my view. A snarl from the monster, and a scream from my grandmother, rent the air. I stumbled backwards trying to escape. Red eyes and a shaggy head, now covered in blood, emerged from the billowing smoke. Immediately, the rest of its body followed, swirling the smoke behind it.
I continued my desperate, backwards escape through the kitchen door and into the front room. The monster crashed through the door, knocking it off its hinges. I tripped over something, a rug perhaps, and fell backwards, hitting my head on some unseen piece of furniture, and slumped to the floor. White bursts of stars momentarily filled my vision. Something warm trickled down my head. A haze of unconsciousness threatened to overtake me. The monster towered above—its mouth opened wide, revealing long, knifelike teeth, still dripping blood. It leaned forward, the source of the putrid breath only inches from me. I could see down its ghastly throat. The haze grew stronger and it became more difficult to see. I struggled to fight it off. Flames leapt up all around us, entombing the room in a burning oven.
The thundering boom of a musket shattered the air. A long gash split the monster’s face as the little lead ball streaked past and embedded in its massive shoulder. Blood spurted from the wound, spraying on me. It cried a terrible howl of pain and stumbled back. I began my slide into blackness. Strong arms lifted me…and the oblivion was complete.
Chapter Ten: Awakening
A sound drifted into my subconscious.
“John.”
Am I still dreaming? It was a voice I knew.
A gentle hand brushed the hair away from my cheek. “It’s okay; nothing’s going to get you. You’re just having a nightmare.”
A bad dream? My soul felt deep sorrow and pain. Not the joy that should have accompanied the realization that I was just dreaming.
“Hannah?”
Blearily, I rubbed my eyes open and was greeted, not by Hannah, but by Jane kneeling by my side. Confused, I sat up and saw Hannah still sleeping close by.
“I don’t understand…” Then, noticing the fading sunlight, I affirmed, “You stayed up this whole time?”
Her reply was that wonderful, but noticeably more tired, smile.
“But you’ve been up longer than both of us,” I protested.
“You two looked like you needed the rest—especially you.”
I smiled back. “Thank you.”
“You were talking in your sleep,” she said.
“Mmm.”
“It sounded awful.”
“It was. You were in it, but you were just a young girl. There was also a woman that looked like Sarah and another that was my mother. They were killed by a Brean.”
I stopped when my throat caught.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked softly.
I shook my head.
Jane stood and offered her hand. I took it and she pulled me up; but she didn’t let go. We simply stood there with my hand in hers. My heart raced. I wanted to take her in my arms, hold her tight, and apologize for treating her so badly in my dream.
She broke the grip with a blush and said, “I better go wake Hannah.”
That proved easier said than done.
I watched her approach the sleeping girl, bend down, and whisper, “Hannah, it’s time to go.”
A moan.
“Wake up,” coaxed Jane, shaking her gently.
“Just a little more time,” Hannah responded sleepily.
“No. The light is mostly gone,” said Jane, shaking her more forcefully.
No response.
Jane looked at me for help.
I walked over and retrieved my animal skin canteen, took a drink, then poured some over Hannah’s head.
“Stop it,” she shrieked, while flying up into a sitting position. “Was that necessary?” she continued, trying to muster the meanest scowl possible, through blinking eyes that hadn’t adjusted to being fully awake yet.
“Apparently, it was,” I said laughing.
I helped her up and she snapped, “I’m beginning to think Jane is right not to trust you.”
“It was her idea.”
“It was not!” exclaimed Jane defensively. “I only wanted your help in getting her up. I didn’t say she needed a bath.”
I pretended to sniff. “Well she does!”
Hannah hauled back with a bunched up fist and let it fly. I stepped out of the way. Her unchecked momentum knocked her off balance and she fell to the ground, which sent Jane
into a fit of laughter.
Hannah angrily hopped up to her feet. “That wasn’t fair! You moved!”
“What do you mean, it wasn’t fair? It was the only thing I could do. I wouldn’t hit you back.”
“But moving had the same effect!”
“Fine. Will it make you feel better if I let you hit me?”
“Yes.” And she did, quite hard, on my arm.
“Feel better?” I asked.
“No.”
She hit me again. “Now I feel better.”
“Ouch, what was that one for?
“One for the smell joke and one for moving out of the way—and you can count yourself lucky that I didn’t hit you a third time for pouring water on me.”
“Well, at least you’re awake,” I grumbled, rubbing my arm.
Jane, now in control of her laughter, announced, “If you two are quite finished, we should be on our way.” Then, muttering under her breath, she said, “Why must I be the only adult here?”
We managed to get off without further incident.
As the light faded, the huge forest trees swallowed us in an unwelcome blackness. I’d never really grown accustomed to the forest at night; it made me uneasy under the best of circumstances. However, the thought of what hunted us made the area downright unsettling. It must have had a worse effect on the girls, because I found them moving continually closer to me during our journey. I could open my vision and pierce the darkness, at least for a few miles; but they could see nothing but blackness and shadows, accompanied by the occasional creak and snapping of wood that forests tend to make.
“Are you sure we’re not lost?” asked Hannah in a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard.
“Quite sure,” I answered.
“I don’t see how.”
I didn’t answer.
Hannah didn’t let it go.
“How do you know?”
“I just do,” I replied, trying to sound as confident as possible.
“Well, at least we have plenty of food,” she mumbled.
The night progressed uneventfully, which surprised me a little; but then the whole plan was to evade any direct routes and thereby, hopefully, avoid any Brean.
At dawn of a clear and noticeably cooler day, we stopped.
Never once dozing off during the night, and exhausted from lack of sleep and travel, Jane half fell out of the saddle. Instantly, I leapt down and caught her. She was very light. I wanted to hold her longer, she felt good in my arms; but Hannah eyed me both with curiosity and suspicion. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was holding her sister, or because I moved so quickly. Either way, it made me uncomfortable. I set Jane on her feet, took out a blanket, laid it flat, and insisted she lie down. She did so, too weary to argue. Hannah looked tired as well. Though she had occasionally drifted off during the night, it couldn’t have been restful. I ordered her to lie next to her already sleeping sister.
She protested and offered to help with the horses, but I assured her it would give me something to do while keeping watch. Thanking me, she curled up next to Jane, and I covered them both with the remaining blankets.
After tending to the horses, I walked to the top of a small hill where I could see in all directions while keeping guard. As I watched the sleeping girls, I thought about all that had happened and how strange it all seemed. To be traveling to a town held hostage by mythical creatures just didn’t feel real, and my mind didn’t want to believe it. I would have been happy to disregard it all as pure fantasy, except for the nagging fact that I found myself in the middle of it, and with a scar to prove it. My emotions screamed at me to get away from this place, take Smoke with all his speed, and run without looking back. But as strongly as I desired that, a greater part of me felt drawn to reclaim the peace that had been taken from this beautiful place. I also knew I could never leave the three people who, in such a short time, had so completely won my heart. For hours, my mind wandered through the conversations I’d had with Sarah and what I knew about Marysvale; but mostly, I just thought about Jane.
Growing stiff from sitting, I got up and stretched. Studying my surroundings more carefully, I felt a jolt go through my body…I had been here before. This place, the trees, the hills, it was all familiar to me. I had seen it in my dream, I was sure of it.
It’s here, I thought. I know it.
I searched around and soon found the path from my dream. It was overgrown, but the remains were still visible. Tepidly, I followed it, afraid of where it could lead, but driven to find out. The tree where Jane had waited for me stood off to the left. Her ghostly image burned into my mind. The path twisted and wandered over a hill and out of sight. Slowly, drawn by some inner force, I followed it. My pulse quickened. The forest felt still, the air thick. Except for the rustling of ferns and undergrowth, everything was silent. As I progressed, the woods grew more dense. Despite the raining debris of autumn leaves, tall trees and a thick canopy of foliage blocked out the sun. Only a trickle of light filtered through the small gaps.
Through one last thicket, I emerged at my destination.
Shadows fell and enshrouded the hollowed, blackened remains of the cabin that had plagued my sleep. Burnt timbers rose out of the ground. The porch and front of the cabin were mostly still intact, but sagging from age and weather. Windows were shattered; vines and moss now covered the ruins. A dingy rope swing hung from a branch that had grown around the intruder over the years.
As in my dream, I crept up the stairs and onto the porch, though this time, I was more afraid of falling through the rickety floorboards than being discovered. No door remained—only rusty iron hinges that hung limply from the frame. Peering in, I was greeted with the pungent smell of damp and rotting wood. In the darkness, I could make out a stone fireplace in the center of the house, but not much else. I gingerly retreated and made my way to the back of the cabin. Stepping over large, charred logs, which littered the ground all around, I discovered that the fire had completely consumed this part of the structure. I located the kitchen, or where it had been. Under a thick layer of dirt, leaves, and twigs stood a small, black iron stove.
The memory of that heinous end flooded back to me in vivid detail. I scarcely dared to breathe in this hallowed place, fearful to disturb the slumbering images. Finally, with nothing left to see, I sat for a long while under the tree that still held my rope swing. I stared at what was left of the cabin—a broken home to fit with my broken memories.
A rustling of foliage caught my attention, and I turned to meet whatever fate greeted me. It was my best friend, Jane, here, in the tomb of a shattered life—a poignant reminder of what I’d lost. The emotions that had been locked away, hidden in the mysteries of my mind, hit me like a destructive force of nature. They tore my soul to pieces and flowed freely down my cheeks.
Jane sat down next to me, deep concern etched in her face.
Finally, when I could utter the words, I spoke, “It wasn’t a dream, was it?”
“No,” she said softly.
“Do you remember the last thing I said to you?”
She nodded slowly and said, “Yes. For a long time after it happened, I thought it was my fault—that sharing your secret had somehow caused it.”
“No,” I protested. “You did the right thing. I was the coward and you were brave. If there is blame, it is on my shoulders. ”
“Neither of us is to blame. The fault is with those that committed the massacre.”
“I’m so very sorry for what I said, for those last words spoken so long ago. I wanted to tell you then, but…Oh, Jane, will you forgive me? ” Tears sprang to my eyes once more and my body heaved in regret.
Her own cheeks now moist, Jane cradled my face in her warm hands and turned it, so I could stare into those amazingly deep and beautiful green eyes.
“We were only children,” she said softly. “Of course I forgive you. Many who depart under such circumstances never get a chance to repair the damage done. I’m glad we have that chance now.”
She slipped her hand into mine, and we sat without speaking for a long time.
Hesitantly, unsure if it was all right to break the silence, she finally asked, “How much do you remember?”
I told her about the dream.
“That day, everything changed for a lot of us: my mother was also killed, as were many other good people.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“I’m sorry for you. I’ve had years to grieve. After all this time, you are just learning what happened. Why do you suppose you didn’t remember before now?”
I thought a moment before replying, “I think maybe the trauma from seeing it all ensue, along with hitting my head, may have caused me to forget.”
“Sarah returned and buried your mother and grandmother,” she said. “We couldn’t find you or your father. We had hoped you survived, but never knew for sure.”
“My father told me that my mother died from an illness. Why do you think he said that?” I asked questioningly.
I wasn’t angry at him—I loved him very much; but I was curious why he hid the truth.
“I don’t know,” she replied thoughtfully. “Perhaps, since you didn’t remember, it was easier not to make you relive it again. Possibly, he wanted to wait for the right time, or until you got older.”
“Why didn’t Sarah tell me all this? Or you? After all, we shared everything—no secrets.”
She smiled. “That’s right, you remember. I wanted to tell you, but Sarah made me promise that I wouldn’t. She thought that since you didn’t remember anything it would work to your advantage and ours.”
“How would that help me?” I asked somewhat dubiously.
“She thought that since you didn’t know anything, it might be safer for you in town. You were so young then, and she didn’t think you’d ever been to Marysvale; or if you had, it’s been enough years that she doubted anyone will recognize you.”
“And why would that matter?”
She looked hopefully at me. “Because we don’t know who we can trust; and we think you know something that might be the key as to why all this happened.”
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