Roger sat listlessly, tryig to focus on his calculus assignment, but without much success. He understood the general concept, but he was too tired to concentrate on anything properly, and it didn’t help that the questions were so abstract. For a supposedly world-class school, one would think they could think of more inspiring problems than something probably output by a random number generator.

At last, the final bell rang. His teacher looked up from a stack of paperwork. “Okay, see you all Monday. Make sure to look at the entire assignment before then so you can ask me questions if there’s anything you’re unclear on. Have a good weekend.”

Roger packed his pens and books away, stood up, stretched, and joined the general flow of students out of the classroom and into the corridor with his locker.

“Hey, Abercrombie,” said a girl with a long French braid. Celia Wheatcroft, one of three girls from his year jockeying for the position of The Most Popular. “Me and some friends are going into the city, we’re thinking a movie and maybe laser tag. You want in?”

“Sorry, I can’t,” Roger said. “I’ve got a shift tonight. Thanks for offering, though.”

She clicked her tongue. “You can’t cancel?”

“Not a chance,” he said, which was true: he needed the money. “My boss hates it when I ask coworkers to take my shifts,” he added, which was not true.

“Jeez. You should find a better job.”

“I’ve been looking. The last two places offered half minimum wage under the table, and no OH&S.”

“That sucks. Well, see you round sometime, then,” she said, and walked off.

Roger heaved a sigh, got everything he needed, and set out to the sports oval.

The sun was shining, high in the clear blue sky, only a few errant clouds scattered on the horizon. All around him were red brick facades and well-tended gardens. Saint Aquinas’ Academy was one of the most prestigious schools in the city, regularly winning state and national contests in every field. It also had some of the most extensive grounds.

It had associations with a number of sporting clubs throughout the city. Enrolment came with free membership at all of them, so students often spent their time at pools or ice rinks, but some students preferred the attached grass oval, especially the younger years. On Thursdays and Fridays, it was booked by the junior girl’s soccer club.

Roger was there early, with enough time to find a bench and set out his homework before the team had changed into their sports uniforms and assembled. He smiled and winked at his little sister; she waved back, oblivious to the blonde-brunette beside her who followed her gaze.

“Alright, maggots, listen up,” the captain said in a deadpan voice, a girl with very long legs and an impressive volume of curly black hair. Lucia Blanks, known to her friends as Lucy, who seemed to be in every club at once.

Roger tuned them out to focus on his homework, only occasionally looking up to check on Charlotte. He’d knocked over half of the assignment when he heard footsteps approaching. He looked up. Julia Martin, class wallflower, outsider to every social circle and probable serious bullying victim who someone should really be looking out for.

“,” she said.

“Martin,” Roger greeted with a nod. They weren’t exactly friends, but they knew each other by name and face and he’d never picked on her. “Did you want something?”

“I, uh,” she said, not making eye contact for more than a moment. “Um. Can I, talk to you?”

He made an effort not to wince. She’d always seemed nice enough, but it was difficult talking with someone who stuttered so badly and verbalised commas in such wrong places. “Yeah?”

She looked around. The soccer team was running drills, and a few scattered students were walking or sitting around the edges of the field. “Um. Could, could we. Not. It’s sort of, private? Could we, go somewhere else?”

He looked from her to the soccer field. He knew Charlotte didn’t actually need him there at all times, but he also knew that she liked it. Family can be annoying, but it’s nice to know that they care. “What’s it about?”

“It’s … weird. I don’t … it’s maybe nothing but, maybe important? I think?” She wringed her hands.

He exhaled and stood up, making a point to leave his bag on the table, so it was clear that he’d be right back. “In one of the group study rooms?”

“Y-yeah.”

She fell into step half a pace behind him, scurrying to keep up with his long stride. She didn’t say anything as he led the way to one of the school buildings, found a staff member, and borrowed the key for a private room.

It was smaller than a classroom, just large enough for a round table with eight chairs, with wide glass windows looking out onto the grounds and into the library. Martin hesitated awkwardly and took a seat, straightening her skirt to avoid looking at him as he sat opposite her.

“So?” he prompted. “What is it?”

“Um.” She fidgeted. She sat with her head tilted forward, so that strands of her long hair fell in front of her face. It made it hard to read her expression. “I kind of, don’t know how to say it.”

There was a long pause.

“Can you just say something?” Roger asked. “I don’t mean to be impatient, but …”

“Oh – sorry. Uh. Th-that was your, sister, wasn’t it? Outside?”

“Is this about her?”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Well – sort of. Maybe. I don’t … uh …”

“Start with any part,” he said. “Seriously, anything. What do you have to do with her? She’s never mentioned anything about you to me.”

Martin took a deep breath, shut her eyes, exhaled. She opened her eyes again, but still didn’t meet his. “When she was little, did she ever, get night terrors? Not just nightmares, real … night, terrors,” she finished lamely.

He blinked. He hadn’t expected that. “I thought nobody except me remembered that,” he said, “and I’ve never told anyone. She did, when she was four. Who told you that?”

“Well … you did,” she said. “In a, dream.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I see. I’m not superstitious, but sure, that’s an interesting coincidence.”

“I. I don’t think so. I’m not … I think it, wasn’t really a dream.”

Roger sat back. “What do you mean?”

“Can I, tell you something? I’m a lucid dreamer,” she said, and she finally looked up and met his eyes, her hair falling away from her face. “I’ve always loved my dreams, because they’re this sort of magical personal adventure. I can make myself be faster and stronger and not have this stupid stutter. I can be, whoever I want. And I remember my dreams. I keep a dream journal that I fill in every morning. I type them up onto my computer every so often.

“But, lately, they’ve changed. It’s, weird. They’re more real. Um, usually dreams aren’t very persistent, you know? If you go out of a room, it often won’t be there if you go back. But lately, they have been. And the people in them are, more … fleshed-out. But … do you remember anything of your, dreams?”

“Nothing specific,” he said.

“Uh, well, most of the people from, these dreams are … you’re always there, and so is your sister, and a few others. I think … I know it’s crazy, but … I think we’re having a shared dream.”

“Human souls don’t get transported to the dream realm when we sleep,” he said, trying to be kind but firm. “They’re just neural noise, inside our own heads.”

“I know,” said Martin. She tilted her head, breaking eye contact, and her hair fell forward again. “But, it just … how did I know, about your sister’s, night terrors?”

He thought. “She might have mentioned it to someone. It could be sheer coincidence and you just dreamt it. They’re not all that uncommon. What are they, five percent of the population?”

She wringed her hands again. “I know. But there’s, something else. About the dreams. There’ve been other changes. As a lucid dreamer, I used to be able to will myself to not be hurt, or to succeed at anything I really wanted. I can’t any more. And I … my dreams were always different to each other. They’d have their own little story arcs, you know? And they still are, but now there’s a pattern. Two or three of the people, there are always real-life people in the dreams now when there weren’t before, two or three go bad. They mess something up, and they cause a catastrophe. We have to run for it, and we always wind up in this sort of shrine room. There’s a girl in there, with insect wings. I call her Wasp Girl. We talk for a bit, then we fight, and she kills us.”

“People change as they get older,” he said. “You’ve started getting nightmares, is all.”

She shook her head. “I’ve had nightmares, before. Or, my mind tried to. There’ve been monsters. But I could choose what happened in my dreams, so I could just make myself be fast enough to get away and find a weapon. And they all … felt, a certain way. I could tell that they weren’t real, so they had no power. But, Wasp Girl …”

She reached into her bag, pulled out a sketchbook, and opened it to a photorealistic sketch of a young girl in a white gown with diaphanous wings growing from her back. She had lidded eyes, like she was either bone tired or bored out of her mind.

“Nice artwork.”

“It’s not mine,” Martin said, blushing. “I described it to my sister, she likes, she likes drawing. Um. And, last night … normally, I don’t talk about dreams, or it breaks suspension of disbelief and I wake up. But when I saw her, and we talked, she said she wasn’t a nightmare, and … I think she was telling the truth.”

“Let’s sum up. There’s some sort of nightmare-like girl haunting your dreams, and you think I’m sharing them with you.”

“Well … I don’t think you, have, exactly. I think it isn’t my dream. I think it’s, your sister’s.” He gave her a sharp look; she ducked her head but pressed on. “Except for me, everyone is, connected to her. You’re always there. Most of the others are, kids from her year level. I think they’re her friends. I see her – your – mother, sometimes. Um, her name’s April, isn’t it? And … there’s one last thing. At the end of each dream, in the shrine, your sister’s always there. She gets a bad headache, and faints. Wasp Girl kills everyone except her.”

Roger opened his mouth to object, but shut it again without saying anything. Like most people, he had seen plenty of movies in which someone claimed to have seen a monster or some other threat, their parents or the townsfolk assumed they were just telling stories, and so then they were completely unprepared when the monster struck. While still in primary school, he’d resolved that if ever it happened to him, he wouldn’t be that stupid; he would at least take basic precautions, just in case.

“She has been sleeping badly lately,” he admitted. “So have I, for that matter. Well … let’s test this theory. Right now, I’ll tell you half of a secret that I’ve never told anyone. Tonight, in the dream, come and find me, and get me to tell you the other half. Repeat it to me tomorrow, and that’ll be proof that you’re not just imagining things.”

“Really?” she said, looking up and meeting his gaze for a moment. “W-what sort of secret?”

“When I was a kid, I came up with an action hero character,” he said. “He was about as good as any character written by a nine-year-old, and I knew that even at the time, so I never told anyone anything about him. His first name was Antonio. With that, you should be able to convince me to tell you his surname. Tell me it tomorrow, and I’ll believe that something’s up.”

“I,” she said, blushing. “Um. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. But, if it does turn out that you’re right, what could we actually do about it? Get Charlotte a prescription for sleeping tablets?”

Martin fidgeted. “I don’t, think that would be a good idea. Not everyone is in every dream, and I think it’s because our sleep patterns don’t quite line up. Most of us are in school together, so we sleep at about the same times, and most of us are in most dreams. But if she takes pills, then her patterns will change, and we won’t get into her dream any more.

“If it really is a shared dream, then that means Wasp Girl can affect, the real world. I don’t know for sure, but I think she wants to affect it, in a bigger way, and I think, she has to use the shrine, to do it. Um, I said I couldn’t do whatever I, wanted, as a lucid dreamer any more, but I can do a bit, and one thing is that I think I don’t just wake up; I can force the dream to end, for everyone. So far, I’ve interrupted Wasp Girl every time, by ending the dream at the last moment. So if I can’t get into the dream, then she’ll be able to finish her plan. I don’t know what it might be, but … she’s evil.”

“Then what should we do about it?”

“Um. I think we have to kill her, in the dream, to stop her for good, but she’s stronger than me, even with me being a lucid dreamer. She’s like a reality warper. I can’t win, no matter how much I try, even if I bring weapons. Still, she has to have a weakness. Do you …”

She reached into the sketchbook and pulled out a sheaf of papers.

“This is a print-out of a few of the dreams, that I typed up. Would you mind, reading them? Maybe you’ll be able to think of something I haven’t tried yet. I-if you don’t want, that’s fine, I just …” She trailed off.

He took the papers, skimmed a few lines and flipped through to see how many there were. “I’ve got homework to do, but this doesn’t look like too much to read. Give me your phone number, and I’ll read this on the bus home and give you a call if anything jumps out at me?”

“Uh –” She stuttered, reached for her bag, and banged her funny bone against the edge of the table. “Ow. Um. Uh. Yeah. That’s sensible.” They exchanged phones and entered their details. “T-thank you.”

“No worries.” He looked back down at the dream diary. “If nothing else, at least you’re lucky you have interesting dreams.”

“Yeah,” she said unconvincingly. “Lucky.”