Marysvale (23 page)

The day again grew darker; the earlier
storm was rebuilding for another onslaught. After a long time of
trying to avoid it, I finally accepted my fate and, with a great
sense of trepidation, slowly walked home.

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.

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.