Blearily looking up and seeing the red sun painted in the middle of my ceiling, thoughts of the past made their way to the front of my mind while the fuzziness of sleep went away. The nightmare was different…
I only ever remember being cold and lonely. Dad’s stories chased the darkness away. The stars made me feel safe and the hidden constellations made me feel less alone while he would sit beside me until I fell asleep.
He had done this for two years. Up until I got medication to help with insomnia and dull the last remnants of my dreams.
I would still wake up cold, only a little refreshed. Blood pressure meds had been given for the chill, yet they couldn’t give a stronger dose due to risks for heart failure. They had never helped to begin with, so I stopped taking them years ago. That left only the light sleep aid.
This all made me terrified of sleeping anywhere else, even if I never have nightmares during the day. They only come when the sun goes away. That was why he painted me a sun. Even if it didn’t stop the nightmares, they stopped being so daunting.
Eventually he taught me how to turn the adventures he told into songs without any lyrics. It was how I even got into music in the first place. He got the idea of making the tune feel alien yet still force you to bob your head along. He explained that it would replicate the impressions and make me feel better about them. He would always say that it was the music of my soul and now it’s what I record, hoping to turn more bad memories into good ones.
He had always been my hero and now I must be my own.
Unable to stop the soft sob from escaping, I quickly wiped my eyes and breathed in and out. There was no reason to cry right now, not when I had only an hour or so to get ready.
Yet focusing on the red circle in the center of my ceiling brought the thought of my dreams back. This time felt different.
I had started to feel safer in my sleep. Not exactly relaxed, not without Dad, but I was right. This time, the cold is there, and I ache, but there is something else. Indignation. Rage and acceptance for something that was lost. Taken. However, the feeling is muted like it’s not even mine. And that stumped me more than anything about this.
I must have sat there for thirty minutes with my brows knit together, practically glaring at my own lap after sitting up. I had hoped to reveal more of the fading emotions and memories I struggled to keep together. The cold had faded some time ago, but the feeling of my back being soaked persisted, even if it was completely dry. What had snapped me out of my staring contest with blanket-covered legs was the alarm on my phone going off with the loudest song I had created to date. Something mixing electronic screams and a ton of dubstep.
Someone wanted me to create what I thought a digital death would sound like, and so I got some kind of song that could be put in a forest with a loudspeaker and scare the shit out of some hikers. Makes a great alarm even if I only ever wake up right before the sun shows itself over the valley.
Deciding I wouldn’t make any more progress unravelling why I felt different, I practically dragged myself out of the fluffy prison. Attentively touching the rug my bed sat atop of, I buried my sole in the white shaggy fur before going to my closet.
Once I had solved my nudeness, I stepped out and looked into the standing mirror. With a pair of thick white thigh highs, jean shorts that covered the skin left by the socks, a warm yellow t-shirt that hung loosely to the right while the front had “Suck It Bitches” bolded in red with a cartoonish middle finger up. I probably would get some dirty looks, but the teachers had quite literally given up trying to do anything like give write-ups or expel me. Mom can be quite persuasive when it comes to business.
The whole outfit was accented by a denim jacket that practically swallowed me and an ash-brown fleece scarf that had been one of Dads, Heather obviously getting the other. The jacket was black, the embroidery golden while a red sparrow was etched on the front right pocket. In cursive on the back, like some biker jacket, was another message from Dad in red, “May Your Journey Be Endless and Grand. A Story Told on The Tapestry of Stars.” He never explained this one to me, but I always thought he was talking about my room walls. Already fraying at the sleeves, far too long for my arms, due to anxious fiddling and a decade of use, it had been a present for my eighth birthday, two years after the nightmares had started.
He didn’t know how much I would grow so he fit it for him. The jacket had comforted me on so many occasions, it eventually became my good luck charm. Today could use a bit of luck.
Like a ritual, hair was brushed, makeup applied with a thin eye liner accent. Red lipstick to highlight while I added a bit of gold dust to the red of my hair and eyelashes. The confidence I wanted to show began to take shape and by the time I had my hair in a low ponytail, bangs and framing strands free to sway about my front, the second alarm on my phone went off. Looking at my perfect face coldly staring back was always something of a sight.
With a light shake of the head, I put on a pair of boots I grabbed from a whole wall of them that had been in my closet. All for different moods and vibes. A pair of red fur lined black boots that came halfway up the shins. The laces were golden like my jacket’s trim and a pair I had just about punched another person for. I would have if Dad didn’t step in and pay the man to let me buy them. Just another of the many gifts he left behind.
Once they were strapped tightly, I stood and collected the laptop after sliding it into a book bag that was all ash-brown leather and silver metal. It had about twenty different charms dangling off one corner, from figures to a black and gold omamori I got on our vacation to Japan for my twelfth birthday. From top to bottom, the entire bag was covered in stickers. Even more so than both the PC and laptop. The bag was something I had always taken with me on our vacations, and it happened to collect a few every new location we visited.
Keys and phone came next, though Mom would be taking Heather and Sammy, I always drove the bike me and Gramps fixed up two years ago. It wasn’t supposed to even work but that man is a genius. The only family left on Dad’s side. We offered him a place in our home, which included several smaller houses that went unused farther down the path towards the highway. Sadly he turned us down.
The old man has been travelling since his wife’s death all over the US, so it was a shock when he pulled up with a rust bucket of a bike in the back of a truck. Words passed between him and Dad about how I had been wanting to drive to school, and Grandpa wanting to spend more time with the grandkids. Two months later after a ton of studying and work from all three of us, we had a working Honda NR750. It was probably more expensive than buying a newer bike. However driving that race bike, after repainting it midnight purple with glowing teal RGB highlights, has been some of the most fun I have in a day. Grandpa actually smacked Dad when he made a joke about wanting one for himself.
I really hope he isn’t drinking himself to death somewhere. Sammy could really use his company after so long. Trying not to sigh after that thought, like it always makes me do, is hard, but I manage.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Heading out of my room and seeing a slightly less prepared Heather made me smirk a bit, seeing her not dolled up was as rare as it was for her to say she was wrong. Of course I received a glare as a reward, but I didn’t bother with her.
By the time I was walking into the large living room, Sammy was kicking his legs back and forth on the couch as he waited for Mom to get ready. The moment he spotted me though, all bets were off, vaulting over the couch and grabbed the bottom edges of my Jacket, granted they reached a third down my thighs even after I grew into it. Dad was tall, as tall as a six-foot seven bronze man could be.
“Bea Bea Bea Bea—" he began incessantly tugging and swaying on the loosely hanging, unzipped jacket. Obviously, I wasn’t too annoyed by it, but I had some face to keep.
“Damnit, once is enough you brat,” I poked his forehead hard enough to make him stop and hold the point I poked all the while he just pouted at me. “Go on, or I’ll tell Mom where all Trixie’s snacks keep going.”
Almost on cue, the kid looked up at me with wide eyes and about as animated as someone imitating anime could get, he spoke, “Gasp! You wouldn’t dare! You give her more than me anyway!”
And that left me only smirking as I quirked an eyebrow, the boy more than used to my slightly dangerous gaze and even being able to tell when I was annoyed or not. A skill only Dad was able to pick up.
“GAH! Fine!” he pouted as I took a step towards the door only for him to practically throw himself in my way, “Wait! That bird we saw yesterday. It was at my window yesterday. Do you think it could be someone’s pet?” He word vomited at me after I stopped. It took only a few extra seconds to figure out what he had said, but the way he bounced on the balls of his feet made his excitement obvious.
I felt it was a bit weird, the sparrow had to have been a super rare bird, but if one was hanging around the house, why not more. The look in his eyes said he wouldn’t be satisfied with coincidence though. So I thought back to Dad’s stories. Even with the sadness it brought, I let a smirk play on my lips.
Crouching next to Sam who in turn dropped to his knees and looked at me as if I was about to tell him the secrets of the world. I just couldn’t help but compare him to my scared self. Dad’s stories were scary at first, but they always carried some message hidden between the lines.
“Dad used to tell me stories at bedtime, when I was about your age actually,” I spoke looking up at the ceiling a little and then looking at him perk up at even the slightest mention of dad made me carry on, “I used to have nightmares every single night. I’m not sure where he got the idea from, but he would always say that fantasy waits at the edge of reality. He would spin grand tales of adventure, but he would only ever talk about one place that had no name. A land covered in snow with no darkness whatsoever. A—"
“How can there be no darkness…” He asks the smart question but just giving him a look that says be quiet makes him lose momentum.
Clearing my throat, I made sure he wasn’t about to interrupt again before I continued. “As I was saying. A sky where only the sun watches down on a land so vast that endlessness is quantifiable, and eternity is but hours. Trees with crowns of red and stalks of bone. With rabbits that have the mightiest of roars but the plants even more deadly than some predators. A place so dangerous that not even the strongest survive.” Taking a breath and looking at the boy, he was on the edge of his metaphorical seat, and filled with questions.
Not giving him a chance and making sure he understood to wait with a pointed stare, the story grew longer, “What we call giant is but an ant to fantasy. Our tallest mountain couldn’t eclipse their tallest hill. Here reality is nowhere to be found for it is outside of it all. And occasionally people get lost in this place and the one in the sky watches but does nothing to help.
“There are three beings who live in this fantasy that have titles in a language of emotions, energies, and other things a human can’t comprehend. The Watcher who gazes from the sky purging all darkness from the land while being the only light. The Seeker who hunts those that wander and lose their way only to become monstrosities they themselves fear. Finally, The Guide, a sparrow of red feathers of blood, cascading into the darkness it stole to protect those from the Watcher’s interest and allow the lost to find where the land of ice ends,” I watched him look confused the longer I spoke, but when he connected the dots, it was like he lit up and had been told the worlds craziest secret.
I couldn’t blame him, the sparrow we had seen yesterday was most likely the one Dad always talked about. At least it’s species was. He obviously based the Guide on the bird even if I had never seen one until yesterday. It had always been my favorite of the three even if the Watcher had been a close second.
I was about to continue, but it seemed our audience had enough as Mom cleared her throat looking between Sam and I. Heather looked like she wanted me to continue but Mom was clearly annoyed I was ‘talking about my nightmares to get attention’ again. She always thought I was just saying I was scared irrationally and that it was better to think of something else. Especially since I could never really remember what my dreams were about. Sam was a bit sad, but he stood and gave me a hug before he walked to mom to get his thick puffy winter jacket on.
“Beatrix, how many times have I told you to keep your dad’s stories to yourself. You don’t need to be giving Sam any of your ‘nightmares’. You know just how terrifying they can be. I mean telling your six-year-old daughter to journey across that wonderful place where every step leaves a trail of blood… I’d have divorced him if he wasn’t such a good father in other ways,” Mom practically grumbled at me like she had to go through this song and dance more than she would have liked.
That was a fair assumption. I had found out at the age of ten that she really did threaten a divorce if he kept telling me those stories. When I told her it helped, she said I didn’t know what was helping and threw a fit. That battle had never been won until I was twelve. Six whole years after the nightmares started, and got an actual sleep aid, what I take now. He did stop coming every night when I turned eight and got prescribed other medications for the symptoms that my nightmares were caused by, though that never stopped anything and only made me feel weirder.
“Buuut Mooom,” was all Sam got out, dragging me out of my thoughts, before Mom gave the boy a look that left no argument before the two were off towards the exit, heading for the garage that while attached to the house, had no entrance from inside. Heather spared a look at me, a hint of something other than obnoxiousness in it, but she was gone before I could say anything.
I wasn’t upset with mom… She was somewhat right after all. Dad’s stories had always been terrifying. No one truly comes back from Fantasy. Fantasy was the name I gave the world, even if Dad made it clear it had a name, it just wasn’t supposed to be known. After years of hearing about it though, I felt drawn to Fantasy. Flowers with thorny petals and stems of jewels. Patches of deep pools where all the shadows fled after the Watcher purged the land of darkness. And so many other mysterious yet dangerous things.
I just about missed the door shutting behind Heather by the time I snapped out of my thoughts. A habit as old as time for me. Dad was the same, always staring off into space. With a grunt of effort, I stood up and headed for the exit as well, zipping the jacket to my chest as I went.
Mom was already driving off by the time I walked into the chilly morning mountain air of fall. Also the last month I could ride my bike without ice ruining the mood.
Walking into the garage that had room for three cars but only held two and a bike, I quickly grabbed the sleek helmet off the handle and slid it on. Visor raised up as I get everything ready. I’d have to redo my hair but tucking my ponytail in my jacket always solved some of the problem. The helmet itself was a bright red with black trim. The eye protection shaded and practically perfect for bright days and long drives under the sun.
I took a long look at Dad’s car covered by a tarp as was my usual ritual, before I buttoned the sleeves up, so they weren’t bunched up at my wrists, and mounted my metal steed. The moment the engine started, and the machine came to life was always the best. Glancing at the car once more, I let out a long sigh, hoping it would be my last today, though I knew it wouldn’t be. A final grunt after I put the visor down, and I began to roll out of the garage, letting the automatic doors close.
“Wish me luck Dad… I’ll go claim our Fantasy for the both of us. Just you watch,” and with a loud roar of power brought back to life from the 1990’s, I took off down the mountain. I almost missed the red sparrow staring down at me from atop the house before it took off as well. Today was the start of school. The last chance to find the girl who haunts my past with a form veiled by shadows. Yet even if I don’t remember what it was, I know we made a promise to meet again.
With those thoughts on my mind, I sped up again, wondering if I could pick up a burger before school if I hurried, the visage of grand mountains at my back while my jacket and scarf flapped in the wind from what little I left unzipped.