A Dream Within a Dream

"Cherries of the night are riper, Than the cherries pluckt at noon, Gather to your fairy piper, When he pipes his magic tune!"

Washed out yellow and faded grey-blue spun around Sarah in a blur. The sound of small bells twinkled through the air, and she slowly realized a man, tall and wiry, danced around her. He wore a motley of yellow and blue, the diamond pattern outlined with tarnished silver and gold thread. He was also the source of the noise, the tiny bells hidden within his clothes emphasizing every minute movement. His hair was a wild shock of white-blond, sticking up above the half mask he wore, decorated to match his outfit.

"Merry, Merry, Take a cherry; Mine are sounder, Mine are rounder, Mine are sweeter, For the eater, Under the moon. And you'll be fairies soon!"

"What are you talking about?" Sarah asked, turning to follow his tumbling.

"In the cherry pluckt at night, With the dew of summer swelling, There's a juice of pure delight, Cool, dark, sweet, divinely smelling."

"I don't understand—"

"Merry, Merry, Take a cherry; Mine are sounder, Mine are rounder, Mine are sweeter, For the eater, In the moonlight. And you'll be fairies quite!"

"Nonsense." Sarah turned away from the crazy man in disgust—

—only to suck in a sharp breath as she gazed down the sandy hill where she stood. A dusty orange sun illuminated shadow-infested paths winding up to a towering castle. It looked exactly how she remembered; a little dull and a whole lot intimidating. Except she knew beauty lay hidden within those lackluster walls, along with enough danger to make her stomach twist at once again standing before the Labyrinth.

Noticing he no longer held Sarah's attention, the dancing fool rolled to his feet next to her. "Turn back, Sarah," he said, no laughter in his voice now.

A chill of foreboding crawled up her spine, but the response sprang to her lips. They were her words, the right words. The words she had to say.

"I can't."

"Turn back before it's too late…"

Sarah woke up with a crick in her neck, no feeling in her left arm, and no recollection of her dream. With a groan, she pushed up off the couch, wringing out her hand to get the blood flowing again. As pain needled through her fingers, she shuffled upstairs to the bedroom, eyes neatly avoiding the large, heavily gilded mirror hanging on the wall. A glance toward the unmade bed made her frown, then a sigh passed through her lips; she had sleepwalked to the living room.

Good thing it was just downstairs. She wouldn't be surprised if she wandered out the front door one of these days.

With another sigh, Sarah stretched, grimacing as her shoulder and back popped. "That'll teach me to fall asleep on the couch," she grumbled, shimmying into scruffy jean shorts and a dark blue tank top.

Today, she would attempt to tackle the jungle of her backyard. A cool, early morning breeze danced lightly through the house, but held a hint of dampness, promising more miserable heat later in the day. Sarah stomped downstairs, securing her hair in a messy ponytail, and surveyed the backyard. She considered hiring someone to come rip everything out and cover it in concrete…

Can't do that. You have to keep busy, remember?

She pulled on a pair of work gloves, then waded through the dense growth, once a beautiful garden. The honeysuckle pouring over the edge of the cobblestone wall scented the air thickly, overriding the odor of dead leaves decomposing under the weeds. Sarah made a plan of attack and began working.

An hour later, she slowly pushed to her feet, wiped sweat-slicked wisps of hair from her forehead with the back of her wrist, and surveyed her progress. A fair portion of dandelions, creeping charlie, and thistles were cleared. Looking around, she thought she might be able to have a decent amount done before dinner.

A rare grin touched her lips. It felt good to be doing something productive again. She'd spent too much time in the last year wallowing in a lethargic grey mist. Now, Sarah tilted her chin up and let the sun sprinkle warmth over her face. She took a deep breath, smelled dark earth, sweet honey, and the crush of living things. Her knees and back ached, she was sweaty and dirty, but she felt alive again.

A glitter of rainbow color sparkled at the corner of her eye. Opalescent wings clattered in the thick air, and Sarah's heart skipped a beat.

The tiny creature zipped in front of her, and her muscles loosened as a wry smile tipped her mouth. The dragonfly hovered before her, darted toward the bright orange honeysuckle, then disappeared.

"Get that imagination in check," she chided herself. "The only magic here is how everything managed to stay alive despite the neglect."

After lunch, the men she'd called to trim back the branches closest to the house arrived. She made a pitcher of lemonade and offered it to the three of them. They smiled and thanked her, finished their job and left. Starved for human contact, Sarah grabbed her purse and drove into town. She wandered around the hardware store, looking at things she didn't really need until a salesman approached her. He was an elderly gentleman, and after chatting with him for awhile, Sarah learned he was also the owner of the small store. Sarah took her time as he went over the pros and cons of each air conditioning unit with her.

"Now, will you be using this for one room or several?" he asked, followed by, "How big is the space you're wanting to cool?"

She gave him a rough estimate of the size of her bedroom, then decided maybe she should buy one for the living room as well. She may only be in the house for another month, but at least she could be comfortable. The kind man suggested the Kenmore, and Sarah nodded in agreement.

"Won't even know it's runnin'," he told her.

Sarah pulled out her credit card.

"We can drive these out and install them for you, if you like."

"That would be perfect," Sarah said, gratefully. It meant that much less time spent in the house alone.

Because night fell and the shadows crept closer. Even the spindly halogen lights were hard-pressed to keep them at bay. Determined to ignore them, Sarah resolutely crawled into bed with her laptop. She wrote some emails, forwarded a silly poem to her brother, and browsed through a few news pages. When her eyes began drooping, Sarah snapped the computer closed. She curled onto her side, her back to the window, and welcomed the abyss of sleep stretching out before her.

She wasn't sure what woke her; an odd sound, the sudden change in temperature…Sarah opened her eyes, straining to see in the thick darkness—

Awareness jolted through Sarah. The light next to her bed was off. She was certain she'd fallen asleep with its warm glow surrounding her. She didn't like sleeping in the dark; hadn't really been fond of it since…well, for awhile now.

A gust of wind battered the house. The trees hissed in irritation. A branch scratch, scratch, scratched against the window—

No, she'd had those trimmed today.

Every muscle in her body seized with fear. A warm breeze touched her bare shoulder and carried the crisp scent of rain, shoving aside the cool, processed air of the unit humming quietly along.

And the scratch, scratch, scratch came again.

It sounded like fingernails against metal mesh.

Ridiculous. Just roll over and look!

Her body, though, was caught in the childhood belief the Big Bad wouldn't get her if she remained as still as possible. Taking a deep breath, Sarah shoved the feeling aside and forced herself onto her back. Slowly, she let her head fall to the side.

Darkness choked the room. It splashed over her eyes like an ink stain, slipped into her mouth and down her throat, gagging her. Ribbons of it caught at her wrists and ankles. Before she could make a sound, she was bound in place, blind and mute…but able to hear the slow drag of fingernails over the screen. The flimsy mesh fell from its frame. A heavy object thunked against the floor…took a dragging step. Toward her.

"Sarah…I'm on your one step…"

Fear quivered through her limbs as her brain and body came to a stalemate—remain still, or struggle in the hope of getting free?

That voice…

"Sarah…I'm on your two step…"

Every fiber of her being recognized that voice…

"Sarah…I'm on your three step…"

Jake. Her husband.

Her dead husband.

"Sarah…I'm on your four step…"

It sounded like him…if he'd been smoking, or stranded in the desert without water…

"Sarah…I'm at your bedroom door…"

The temperature in the room dropped. Icy hands traced a revolting path up her leg. Sarah's heart nearly exploded in her chest. She could hear her frightened whimpers as she cringed from the touch.

"Sarah…I'm at your bedside…"

The voice choked off. Something smacked wetly. Sarah's stomach rolled, and she was grateful she couldn't see anything. Whatever stood over her, whatever ran its clammy finger down her arm, making her skin want to crawl right off her bones, wasn't Jake.

It couldn't be.

A mucid sound oozed through the room. Sarah struggled against her bonds. Oh, God, whatever hovered above her sounded like it wanted to eat her! Ice trailed over her stomach. She envisioned bony fingers digging into the soft flesh of her abdomen to pull out her guts.

"Sarah…"

She wheezed helplessly.

"I've got you!"

Hands locked around her throat. Cold, slimy fingers squeezed the air from her.

Sarah screamed and bolted upright. She threw herself from bed, landing hard on the floor. Her elbow connected with wood at the precise angle to make the side of her arm numb all the way up to her pinky. The back of her head collided with the nightstand. Dazed, Sarah blinked pinpoints of brilliance from her eyes. Her gaze darted to the bed as she gathered herself to run before that thing could touch her again.

Instead, she froze in place.

The room was…empty.

Moonlight touched the walls, the floor, and the furniture with its silvery glow. Sarah scooted toward the bed and cautiously looked over at the window. It was closed. Relief breathed out of her as she rose to her feet—

—and screamed as something grabbed her ankles. She lurched backward, frantically extricating herself from…

The terrifying cotton sheet.

Sarah gasped out a shaky laugh. A dream; it had all been a dream. She'd been thrashing in her sleep, and the covers had twisted around her. There wasn't anyone in the room. Her subconscious was balking at shadows. The clock next to the bed flashed twelve-thirteen, which explained why her light was off. With a sigh, Sarah unwound the sheet from her legs, shook it out, and spread it over the bed. She crawled under the covers, determined to get a good night's—

Thump.

She was wide awake. She had to be. So she only imagined—

Thump.

—the soft noise coming from somewhere in the house…floating up the stairs…whispering down the hall—

Thump. Thump.

—creeping toward her bedroom.

Sarah flicked on the lamp. She scrambled out of bed, unsure if fear or anger fueled her actions. Whatever was keeping her from sleep was going to die, though. Slowly. Painfully. She rummaged around in the closet until she found Jake's old baseball bat, then rested it over her shoulder as she stalked toward the door.

"The wind is knocking something against the house," she said, slowly stepping into the hall. Investigating the noise was a Bad Idea; she should lock herself in her room and call the police. "And when it turns out to be the sump pump? They'll think you're crazy…crazier."

Besides, her cell phone was in her purse…in the kitchen.

Bare toes grazed the cool wood of the first stair, then Sarah carefully eased her weight onto it. She skipped the next step, knowing it would creak. Near the middle of the staircase, she paused, casting a glance over her shoulder. The light from her bedroom spilled into the hall, a narrow band of gold beckoning her back with its promise of safety…

As quietly as she could, Sarah tiptoed down the remainder of the stairs and toward the living room. Bat held over her shoulder, ready to take a swing at anything that so much as twitched, she peered around the corner. The couch and chair were blocky outlines in the dark, the entertainment center was a large black void against the wall, and the bookshelves were looming sentries.

Cautiously, Sarah slipped along the wall to her right, blindly reaching for the light. It clicked on softly, the shadows jumped back…and Sarah stared.

Books were scattered all over the living room. Sarah's brow creased as she walked around, picking the books up and absently reading the titles; The People of the Sea. Celtic Twilight. The Kiltartan History.

"What in the world…?"

She stood in the middle of the room, clutching the volumes to her chest with one arm. It was as though someone had been searching for something, or a child had thrown a tantrum at not finding the right bedtime story. Other than the books, nothing was disturbed…except for her portfolio, laying open with her sketches fanned in a circle, and one laying in the center.

The first drawing she'd ever done of the Goblin King.

Cabinet doors slammed shut in the kitchen. Sarah's heart slammed into her chest. Her pulse punched against the thin skin under her jaw. She let the books tumble to the floor and raised the bat over her head with both hands. Fear made her grip slippery, her eyes wide, her gut cold. She took a tentative step toward the kitchen.

A blinding flash of light. A flurry of noise outside. Childish giggles skittered around the corner.

The French doors burst open. Glass exploded from the panes. The nightmare was beginning again—

Sarah bolted upright in bed.

No…not in bed. She looked around, confused and disoriented.

She was outside, standing in the middle of a tree-lined street. Not her street, though. One she didn't recognize because she couldn't see any familiar landmarks through the darkness. Clouds rolled thickly across the sky, the moon merely a fuzzy patch of white. The air was heavy and humid, and dense ribbons of fog swirled around her.

She'd sleepwalked again.

Sarah rubbed her arms and drew in a deep breath, taking a quick physical inventory to make sure she wasn't hurt. A sharp pain in her heel meant she'd stepped on something during her somnambulistic episode, but other than that she was fine. She still wore the shorts and tank top she'd gone to bed in, but it wasn't cold enough for her to freeze to death, and it wasn't raining.

Yet.

She didn't know where she was, but she couldn't have gone too far. How far could I walk in…in…She closed her eyes briefly and shook her heads. She had no idea what time it was. She could have wandered around for two minutes or two hours; she could be a few blocks from home, or a few miles.

When had the dream started? When had it ended? Had there been two dreams, and had she really woken up between them? Or had it been one long nightmare?

Sarah shivered and rubbed her arms again. Continuing down the street, she wished she had—

She cut the thought short and smiled grimly. Careful what words you choose. You never know who may be listening…

At twenty-seven, Sarah might have been the only person who could honestly say she hadn't made a wish in twelve years. She didn't throw pennies in fountains or wells, she blew out birthday cakes with a blank mind. She turned away from falling stars, and she avoided toadstool rings or circular patches of too-green grass. Sarah knew the terrifying power of a wish.

A glitter in the fog at the corner of her vision caught her attention. She swore she saw a flash of grey-brown disappearing around a tree.

A leaf blowing, her mind insisted.

Except the air was still, as though holding its breath. Sarah's next step was slower than the last. She swallowed the fear creeping up her throat and dropped her gaze to the dewy sidewalk.

You're exhausted, and your subconscious has been running wild all night. Stop scaring yourself and get back to the—

A shimmer of white-gold flashed in the trees across the street. Sarah came to a jerky halt. Logic immediately asserted itself; it could be…it was…But she knew very few things could mimic that color.

Her stomach lurched.

"Irrational," she insisted. "It's been twelve years, and you haven't seen hide nor hair of them…of him. You're being completely irra—"

A shuffling noise, like small feet moving swiftly through dry grass. Everything came sharply into focus as an instinct deep inside of Sarah screamed danger! She spun around, eyes wide, heart renewing its attempts to crawl up her throat and out of her mouth.

Nothing.

She couldn't be dreaming again…right? She thought about pinching herself, but it wouldn't help. Her dreams were always so real—not now, but always. At least, since she'd come home from…there.

Sarah paused at an intersection, squinting at the street sign above her. Willow Lane. Relief swept through her. She was only a few blocks from the house. She stepped from the curb, thoughts of her plush couch and warm tea swirling around in her head.

And maybe—

A brilliant light pierced blindingly through the fog and surrounded Sarah. The horrible sound of metal grinding against metal rent through the air. White pain ripped through Sarah's vision as red agony exploded through her body. Someone screamed; she could hear it faintly, as though it came from the end of a very long tunnel.

Great. First the haunted house, now the alien abduction.

It was the last thought she had before the numbing blackness consumed her.

ooOOOooOOOoo

He had time…was running out of time…couldn't remember what time it was. Couldn't remember where it would happen, or when he was supposed to look. He'd spent so long waiting, he almost forgot what he waited for. He couldn't think straight, see straight. Dream straight. His dreams were crooked and the present was the past, so he must have gone back farther to get here early. The man with the talking bird told him if he went forward, he should go down since he was already pointed in that direction…No. Wait. That wasn't quite right…

He had to concentrate. His didn't know where he was, or how he'd gotten there. Here. Backward or forward. Time was on it side. Upside down. Topsy-turvy, tumbling over, folding in half again and again.

A single flame showed him the way back to the here and now—or was it the then and there?—and it was what he'd searched so long for. He'd imagined it would blaze with fierce determination like before, burn passionately at the height of its mortal existence. But its light was faint and ethereal. Smaller than it should be. The time looked right, but she was barely strong enough to hold the dark cold at bay. He needed to know the time. If he was too late, he'd have suffered through the nightmare too many times for naught…

Something must have happened that he hadn't predicted. Couldn't have predicted. It wasn't supposed to happen like this, not this time. Panic gripped him as the flame wavered. Urgency whispered through him, but he wasn't quick enough.

The flame guttered until it was nothing but a dying ember. He helplessly watched as his only chance slowly faded. His soul fractured, his heart wept. He let loose a cry of anguish, a prayer of desperation.

A wish.

Desperately cutting through the darkness on wings of gold and silver, it beat back the cold and enfolded the fading glow before it was completely snuffed.

The universe froze. Time paused for a breath, a heartbeat. Not long.

Long enough.

She flickered weakly back to life.

Relief was the last thing he felt before being yanked back into the horror of his reality.


A/N: The jester quotes "Cherry-Time," by Robert Graves.

Chapter title: "Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow—You are not wrong, who deem, That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away, In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem, Is but a dream within a dream…" A Dream Within a Dream, Edgar Allan Poe