If Aurora could redo it, she’d never have left her scarf drooped over the heater. The house was small, snug, and it was home. It was all her fault she no longer had it. Just one little careless act had led to the whole house being up in flames. Now the incident haunted her dreams.
She came home as usual, kicking off her boots in the hall, and then unraveled the scarf—it was red—from her neck and tossed it, not caring where it landed. She was glad to be home after a long day at work (which was at a clothing store) and let the warmth of indoors envelop her with a sigh. The rest of the evening was spent on dinner and television, and she’d fallen asleep on the couch earlier than usual.
The scarf had landed on the space heater that ran perpetually during the colder months, and near that space heater were curtains for the window, and near those were other flammable items tossed about. So it wasn’t just one careless act but a multitude, and a lot of the reason the place went up in flames had to do with poor housekeeping, but it was the scarf that served as the catalyst.
The scarf caught fire first, then it spread up to the curtains, and from there the whole house filled with smoke and blaze, and Aurora was still asleep on the couch. It was lucky she started coughing, because it woke her. Otherwise, who knows how long she would’ve lasted. The fire was too big by then to try and contain or stop, and she was overheating and coughing and disoriented from falling asleep on the couch instead of her bed. She got up, hacking, and squinted around, trying to see through the wavering heat mirages and smoke. Her lungs filled with gook and it became difficult to breathe. She crawled her way on her elbows past the ablaze television display and made her way painstakingly to the kitchen, where cooking cloths, oven mitts, and other items were already scorched beyond recognition. Aurora got off her elbows and knees and looked for a possible escape route. The kitchen window was no good because there were too many flames around it. Panicked, she ran to the front door, but that was on fire too, smoldering with crackling licks of it, far too hot to touch.
She couldn’t scream. Her throat wouldn’t let her.
She tried the door and immediately jumped back in alarm. The door handle was far too hot to touch, and she felt nauseated looking down at her hands. She shook them around as if that would do anything, but she was too far gone to be logical. The house didn’t have an upstairs, so she ran into her bedroom down the hall, hoping the fire hadn’t spread that far. But it had.
She ducked through her doorway, thankfully not up in flames, and encountered even more walls of fire between herself and the window. Coughing, she backed back into the hall, covering her mouth with her sleeve. She batted at the air as if that would clear it, but the effort was too little too late. The smoke was already affecting her lungs. Breathing hurt, inhaling was scratchy and uneven, and exhaling became a chore. She suddenly found herself very aware of her own panting and of the heat all through her body. She took one inhale and then croaked out a single word.
“Help,” she managed to say.
The scenery warped, and not in the way that fire creates mirages. The air cleared in a single spot in the hall, and out of that clean, safe space walked a woman with long blonde hair wearing clothing not of Aurora’s time or place. The smoke immediately refilled the space, and the woman put her arm up to cover her own face. She didn’t introduce herself, only pointed down the hall toward the front door. Aurora couldn’t get the words out to tell the woman she’d already tried that, and wound up behind her being yanked by the arm.
When they reached the door, the woman didn’t bother trying the doorknob. Instead, she raised her leg and kicked, over and over, until the bolts on the door gave way. Then she shouldered her way through it, still dragging Aurora behind her. It didn’t appear the woman got even the slightest bit singed by all this, but Aurora was glad for the help. It was help she hadn’t had when the house burnt down for real.
For real?
As she stepped outside and jogged behind the woman, Aurora became aware of all the differences between this time and the last time she’d been inside the burning house. The route she’d taken to get free of the flames had been different, for one thing, and the last time she hadn’t had any help. The start of the fire and the falling asleep on the couch were the same, but the littler details betrayed the fact that it wasn’t the same fire, or at least hadn’t happened in the same way.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“I am Akki,” said the woman once they were safely away from the burning house. “Slayer of Nightmares. And I’m sorry, but I cannot change a memory.”
“So I’m dreaming?” It felt too real to be a dream. The heat was too hot. The smoke in Aurora’s lungs still pained her when she spoke. “It doesn’t feel like a drea—what’s wrong with your neck?!”
Akki brought a hand up to cover her rotting flesh. “Nothing contagious.”
“That’s not why I asked.”
“You are dreaming.” Akki blew over Aurora’s disturbance about her neck and the subject was dropped. “But dreams formed from memories are stronger than those that happen on their own. The most I could do was provide an escape route. I couldn’t change what happened, nor could you.”
“So if it was just some random fire, not based on a memory, I could’ve stopped it?”
“Yes.”
They stood there a long moment. Aurora turned back to face her home burning down. “So there’s nothing you can do?”
“No. It already happened, did it not?”
“It did. And it was all my fault. If I hadn’t been so careless. If I hadn’t tossed my stupid scarf on that stupid heater, and maybe if the heater wasn’t going all the time then nothing bad would’ve happened.”
“There’s not much to do about it now, though.”
“I know. But I wish there were.”
“Be careful using that word.”
“What word?”
“Never mind.” Akki didn’t explain herself and switched subjects. “Much like I can’t fix the fire, there’s not much else I can do here. Apologies, but I’m out of my scope.”
“Your scope? Slayer of Nightmares scope?”
“Yes. This is no nightmare, as nightmarish as it is. It’s a memory and those I can’t change. More than that, I won’t change them. It would cause too much damage to the dreamer.”
“A moral and a practical reason, then.” Aurora sighed. “Nothing to be done then. Can’t change the past.”
“But you are breathing easier now,” said Akki.
“I am. The truth is, this happened when I was just out of college. It’s been a few years. I thought that was why the details didn’t match up, but really it was just dreams being dreams. It’s so weird being in a dream and knowing it is one. How do you manage that?”
“It comes with the territory.”
Aurora sat down on the ground and focused on her breathing. It was a technique her therapist had taught her to calm down, and if there was nothing to be done about the memory, she could at least breathe easier through it. She counted to five on her inhales and to seven on her exhales, pausing slightly between them.
“We’re out of danger and the nightmare has yet to end,” said Akki.
“I sat here for a while when it really happened. The EMT didn’t arrive until the rest of the house collapsed. Guess it’s the same in dream-land.”
“I call it the dreamscape,” said Akki.
“Either way.” It was at that moment that Aurora noticed Akki carried a sword. The detail had been glossed over in the rush to get out of the house. “Is that what you slay nightmares with?”
“Sometimes. Other times it’s like this, without a monster to strike.”
Aurora looked at her burning house. “I feel like I’m the monster.”
Akki laid a hand on her shoulder. Aurora shrugged it off.
“Do you have a home in the waking world now?” asked Akki. She pointed at the house. “Besides this one, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” said Aurora snidely. The tone left as soon as it arrived. “Yes. But it’s not the same. This was the house I grew up in. The apartment I’m living in now isn’t nearly the same. It’s smaller, really cramped, and I’m on the second floor so I hear my neighbors above me.”
“Perhaps that resentment is why this event still haunts you.”
Aurora didn’t have a response for that.
“Only a theory.” Akki sat on the ground beside her. The way she sat was more formal, on her haunches with a straight back, unlike Aurora’s cross-legged position. “And I suppose in this case, theories don’t mean much.”
“No,” said Aurora. “They don’t.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No. There isn’t. You said so yourself.”
The silence stretched for eons. With no way to help, Akki became statuesque, a formally posed meditation on uselessness.
“For the record,” said Aurora. “I wish you could help.”
“Be careful with that word.”
“What? Wish?”
“Yes. One who hunts me listens for it, and if she hears it, that’s when she strikes. I imagine the only reason she’s not here yet is this is the dreamscape, a place of the mind, and the mind is the only space she cannot enter.”
“Then why are you worried? I mean, if she can’t be here anyway.”
“Habit, I suppose. A good habit, in this case.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Most don’t. Most aren’t hunted by her, and can use their language as they please.”
Aurora stared back at her burning house. The roof had collapsed inwardly, and the walls were aflame and roasting. The blaze cast long shadows in the night. Ambulance sirens sounded and drew nearer.
“I suppose that’s the sound of help arriving.” Akki turned her head to face the noise.
“Arriving too late,” said Aurora.
“You have your life, in any case.”
Aurora sighed. It took effort not to punch Akki in the face. Sometimes, forcibly looking on the bright side made things worse. Aurora wanted to wallow.
“I hope fortune treats you well from now on.” Akki got up off the ground and bowed. The red lights of the ambulance cast her visage in a harsh way, and the gruesomeness of her neck became highlighted. “Apologies for not being of service sooner.”
“Whatever.”
There was nothing more to say, and the sirens punctuated Akki’s exit.
Once she was gone, Aurora wept as she’d done when the fire happened for real.