Ever since I was little, I've always thought I don't dream. I rarely ever saw dreams, and they never stuck around for long. But nightmares? Nightmares were a frequent visitor. I still remember some of them. One of them, I still see every once in a while.
I was still a kid when I first saw it. It was a dark, dark night in a dark, dark forest. I remember walking barefoot through the snow. I had a small lantern with me, however unhelpful it was, and nothing but my little night dress on my shoulders. I was wandering aimlessly, searching for something. Or… no, that's not quite right.
I was hiding from something. Maybe from someone. I never figured that part out, I was too scared to look back.
The forest was big and dense. Lots of snow- did I mention that already? But it wasn't snowing, the sky was very, very clear. Only I couldn't see a thing. The trees were tall and lanky, and their branches reached way up high. Even if I squinted, I couldn't see anything. Only the trees, the snow, and little old me with my little old lamp. Sometimes, it even felt like the branches were reaching for me. Those are the times where I'd stop walking and start running, until I calmed down again.
I would wander like this. Cold. Alone. Dark. But no matter where I went, I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was watching me. Or someone. So, I kept walking. I walked until my feet went numb from the coarse ground under the snow. Until my knees and hands were bruised from running and falling and getting up again. Until I couldn't breathe from how cold the air was. And every time without fail, just as I would think I can't go on any longer, I would find that place.
It was a lake. A beautiful, frozen lake in the middle of the forest. The ice was perfectly smooth and clear as a mirror. I could see myself, and the trees, and the sky. It was always full of stars, and two full moons, whiter than even the snow, watched over it all.
And then I'd look up, and it would all vanish. None of the stars were there. The moons had gone out. I couldn't see them, but I knew they were still there. Hiding, just as dark as the sky around them. Pure black. So of course, I would look back at the lake, wondering where it all had disappeared to.
Every time, the lake would crack under my feet. Imagine how scary that would be, this white web of small cracks that spread around me without end. So, I tried to run again. But with every step I took, there were more and more cracks. Then just as it looked like I got back to shore, the ice would break under me and I would fall in.
But no water caught me. I fell, and fell, and kept falling. If I looked up, I could see the lake growing farther and farther away from me. I wanted to swim up but I'd just end up flailing in the air, falling ever lower, ever deeper…
And then I hit something - a soft floor, almost like a mattress. I was still holding my lamp tightly, even though I couldn't see anything except for my own hands and my dress. I put my hand down on the floor and tried to stand up. The floor gave out under me.
Hmm. Gave out… That's not the right word. It writhed under me. I felt it slip out from between my fingers and wriggle under my feet. I would bring the lantern closer to take a look. That's when I saw that it wasn't really soft at all. It was alive.
I looked down and saw thousands of little insects. I looked up and saw millions of them looking back at me.
All at once, they all flocked to my lamp. I swatted them all away, tried to run, but everywhere I went I only found more of them. The walls, the floor, even a ceiling that wasn't there before - I couldn't look anywhere without feeling them come closer with every step I took.
Something bit me. Some times it was a spider, other times - a fly or an ant. I yelped and started rubbing the place where it hurt, on my wrist. Only a few seconds later would I realize I dropped the lamp to do it. I rushed after it, looking for that little bit of light that I had.
Every time, I found it on the floor, right beside the longest centipede I'd ever seen. And then the centipede would crawl inside, and… poof. No more light. No more lamp.
I felt them. Thousands of little legs, skittering along my skin. Buzzing in my ears. Crawling in my hair, on my neck, on my face. I closed my eyes, and they started biting on the eyelids. I pursed my lips, and they started slithering into my nose.
I screamed, and the centipede crawled into my mouth.
I woke up crying the first time it happened. I was eight, maybe nine years old at the time. I got off my bed and took my stuffed toy with me. It was a little bantam guar named Delyn. I lost him a year later, when a couple of kids took him from me and burned him. I came home crying that day. But of course, that's a different story.
But both times, the first people I came to were my parents. We weren't exactly rich, but we had a house to our name, and I had my own room separate from theirs. That wasn't enough to keep me from waking them up with my sobbing, though. Not that night, not any other.
Mom was always the first to notice me standing at the door. She always smiled a little when she saw me in a way that calmed me down like nothing else did. She turned over and nudged my dad. "Your daughter had another nightmare, dear," she'd say. It was a little game of theirs every time I caused trouble. 'Your daughter' found the saw and cut a hole in the table. 'Your daughter' picked out all the meat from her stew and won't eat it. 'Your daughter' set one of the boys at the academy on fire.
Well, maybe not that last one. Mom always scolded me for those, because she knew dad wouldn't.
At first, he'd just grumble something in response and then keep sleeping. Mom was a much lighter sleeper than him. It always took a couple of nudges to get him to get out of bed. By the time he'd be up, I was already standing in front of him.
"What's wrong, Saya?" He'd ask in that calm voice of his, tiredness showing through just a little. It was a low and gravelly voice, with a slight rumble to it that made him sound very intimidating every time he spoke, regardless of what he said. Or so everyone told me. I always thought his voice sounded soft and a little fuzzy, like his beard.
"I had a bad dream…" I'd tell him as he picked me up and sat me down on his lap. I'd tell him all about it, everything I could remember. Some nights I'd even start making stuff up halfway through just to have an excuse to stay with him for longer. When I got a bit older, he told me he always noticed when I started doing that. He never told me what gave it away.
He was usually half-asleep by the time I was done. He only noticed because of the silence, I think. Finally, he'd ask me if I was still afraid. I always told him "No". Not because it was always true - sometimes I would be shaking like a leaf in his lap and still give him the same answer. But that little half-smile he got every time I said it, the proud look in his eye and the way he ruffled my hair every time - it made that little lie worth it, I think.
And then he'd set me down on the floor again to scurry back to my room and go back to sleep. Truth be told, I'd just toss and turn for a while before going back to their room. Mom would tell me years later how she'd watch me with one eye, pretending not to notice me close the door and try to crawl under the blanket with them. Still, I'd always wake up back in my room. We all pretended not to notice.
That was a long, long time ago.
I still have nightmares. I couldn't tell you where one starts and where another begins. They blend together after a few years. Sometimes I'm even lucky enough to forget one completely. That is, until the night comes and reminds me exactly what I've forgotten, down to the smallest detail.
Those nights, I wake up in cold sweat. I don't scream anymore, but even a gasp is loud enough for her to notice. "What's wrong, Saya?" She asks me in that calm voice of hers, tiredness showing through just a little. I can see the comforting half-smile on her lips as she moves her black hair out of her face. I can't help but smile back every time.
"It's nothing. Just a bad dream," I say. I don't tell her the details. She doesn't need to know. "Is it time for my watch?"
She doesn't notice the change of topic. If she does, she doesn't tell. "Not yet," she says. Sometimes it's even true.
I don't argue. All I say is a quiet "Okay", followed by an even quieter "Thank you" that I'm not sure she'll even hear as I fumble to turn around and face away from what's left of our campfire. If I'm lucky, I manage to drift off before the sun rises. It's not a big deal if I don't. I'll make sure she doesn't notice either way.
Ever since I was little, I've always thought I don't dream, but nightmares were frequent visitors. I grew up hoping they would go away, but they never did. They just grew up with me. But I grew up, too. So these days, I'm not really afraid of them anymore.
After all, I know I won't be alone when I wake up.