Velli

My neck grazes against my captor’s fingers. They’re slender, boneless, and as solid as tombstones. His walk, because he’s not running, despite the impossible speed we’re going, is mechanical. He swings his arms too high and too low for him to be human. And of course, I experience the consequences of taking a stroll with the slender man in the black suit. The world distorts and blurs into smudges. Whatever body part exists beneath my eyes, it throbs and pulses and wants to escape. My flesh stretches like this slim man in a suit. I am Play-Doh, and I feel children’s fingers going into my skin to stretch it. I don’t resist him, though. It’s better than death.

Against my will, the man in the suit lets me go. I let my momentum keep me rolling until inertia’s left me and I must face the reality of what’s out there. An owlish creature with hairy wings and flaming red eyes snaps at the slight man twice while flying by. The slight man swings two rubbery and rough arms in the flying thing’s direction. The creature dodges both times then sets its fiery eyes on me. Both monsters come for me. One from the air, the other from the ground.

I sprint. The flying thing squawks. Dead leaves burst under the fancy man’s feet. Deeper into the forest is my only option. Form and technique in my running abandon me, and the necessity to propel every part of my body forward is my only drive. My exhausted limbs flail forward on their own. The only thing my brain knows is the pain inflaming my lungs. Behind me, the sound of bodies colliding brings no solace.

Even my pursuers’ silence does not get me to stop moving. I afford myself a glance to make sure they’re gone then keep moving. I’m not safe nor alone in these woods.

Large barren oak trees surround me. Their leafless branches all extend to one another. They’re holding hands as they surround me. They’re only trees, shaky trees without wind. I’ve done this before. I wish I could sprint, but all I have left is a jog. I do it.

Between the spaces of the trees come more leshies. Old men with the bodies of trees and beards made of moss. Some rub their ribs of bark or massage their mossy beards as they watch me. It’s a condescending, loveless gaze. Old men watching a horse race that they didn’t care to bet on.

Wrong sport, Velli. This isn’t a horse race, this is a car race. Everyone’s there to see you crash.

There are too many of them. I can’t run from their gaze; they come from behind every tree to observe me. One squats down and reaches one finger out to poke me. Another reaches a big hand to pet me like I’m an animal.

My only solace in the disrespect is the leshies are quiet. However, the shaky trees will not allow me that. They speak in my own voice; “Old Soul! I’m coming for you!”

I’ve never liked my voice, and it’s awful hearing it now, a mega speaker broadcasting my shame and maybe a location to the whole woods. I raise my head to speak to the trees and beg for them to quiet down or to leave me alone. There’s a unanimous giggle from all of them before I utter a word. They know what they’re doing. Cruelty is the fun part.

The trees mock, and the leshies prod me and put their car-sized hands in my face, trapping me in a maze.

“Old Soul! Old Soul! I need you to swear now!” the trees mock my begging tone.

There is one part of the forest where the moon’s ugly green light is less. The leshies don’t wander there, and the trees do not giggle in unison. I head that direction. The closer I get, the less I can see in front of me.

“You’re not even the real Grim Reaper! You’re not even the real Grim Reaper! You’re not even the real Grim Reaper!” the trees mock and go into an eternal giggle until I can’t hear them anymore.

I’m weightless. I’m falling, and there’s nothing to grab onto. I don’t realize I land on something as solid as rocks. It’s not rocks. The moon’s glow from above lights the room. It’s gold, so much gold and other treasures. I’m not safe. I don’t trust it. I scramble around. I don’t believe these riches are unguarded. And I’m right. A large snake rests right in front of me. I freeze. It’s blind—or rather, it has no eyes. Yet its thick, leathery black skin tells me it’s a snake. I focus on it, trying to determine if it senses me.

It’s so big. Is it an anaconda?

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No, Velli, you’re in your own nightmares. Think bigger.

A basilisk maybe?

Worse than a basilisk.

No, it’s a giant snake. It’s a basilisk. Yes, it’s thick. It’s as thick as a human body.

Velli…

I let my gaze travel up the body of the snake.

It’s not a snake. It’s a dragon. To witness the dragon’s whole body is an unpleasant experience that makes me understand—

How insignificant you are, how easy it would be for you to be stepped on and forgotten, how this whole idea was stupid and your destiny here is death?

It’s a dragon bigger than an elephant, bigger than a giant. Perhaps a whale would be more accurate—a whale with feet the size of cars, feet made to stomp, tear, and pounce on what it wants to eat. Dragons as beautiful creatures in fairy tales don’t describe this one. This one is made for war. Each scale is as thick as a bank safe, thick with layers upon layers.

This pile of treasure means I’m in its lair. Perhaps thousands of pieces of gold lie under and around me as well as statues that are too realistic to imagine that they are anything but humans turned to gold. The light from up above causes the gold pieces to glow. Toys, trinkets, and other objects that exude value stay in the pile of treasure. And leprechauns?

The leprechauns don’t seem to care about the dragon. In the stereotypical green hats, white shirts, black ties, and green jackets, they appear to be grown men with orange-red beards that are the size of children. One, chubbier and with pale skin and brown teeth, passes a golden chalice to another, who puts it in a bag right under the dragon’s nose.

Neither the chubby leprechaun nor his companion, skinnier and with a peg leg, show the necessary fear the occasion demands. They hoist the dragon’s treasures with gleeful whispers. I can escape. I need to escape. I leap and land silently behind a set of sixteen golden rings with words in a sort of cursive written inside them. Seven of them are small and look like they weren’t made for human fingers. One ring, in particular, calls me personally without saying my name.

Another leap, and I’m right behind a kind of Rubik’s Cube, a configuration cube of sorts, black and gold and marked with ancient designs. I resist the urge to solve it and leap again.

I land above two children’s dolls. One in a white dress, red ponytails, and an ugly, lipstick-drenched smile. Beside it lies a much larger doll in a sharp brown jacket, with blond hair and dead blue eyes. Thankfully, none of these call me.

“Ugly things,” I whisper.

A tiny hand grabs my ankle from behind. I almost scream and turn around. It feels like time stops. A tiny redheaded boy holds my ankle—no, a redheaded doll dressed like a child.

“Careful how you talk about my girls.” It moves its mouth up and down in a way that my brain can’t process. Words should not be able to come out of his mouth.

Both dolls, his girls, blink their eyes open. The plastic makes a skin-crawling popping sound as they do. They swear at me in whispers and ever-increasing volume and mock my looks and outfit.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, please quiet down,” I beg.

“Hey, boyos,” the redheaded one calls, imitating an Irish accent. “Looks like someone’s trying to take your prize.”

“No, I’m shhh—”

The dragon shakes its shoulder blade, still asleep.

“Thank you, Chuck,” one leprechaun says.

Each echo in the cave could be the one that awakens the beast. “Aye, boyo, what do you want me treasure for?”

“I don’t want your treasure,” I blurt. “I’m just leaving.”

“Well, get to leaving, then, before the dragon…” He pauses and stares at the sleeping beast, eyes full of mischief, not rightful fear. “Wakes up,” he says just above a whisper.

The dragon stirs, this time doing a snakelike wiggle, its whole body activating.

“I’m leaving,” I tell it.

“No, you’re not.” The blond doll grabs onto my ankles.

The others follow. All three tiny hands hold onto my legs.

“Run, boyo! You’ve got to run!” the skinnier leprechaun says and runs toward the dragon. It steps on gold without a care. Louder and still louder. It commands attention with each step. The dragon’s eyes open. More hands come from the ground. Tiny, babyish, and strong hands grab onto every part of my feet and ankles. The dolls cackle. The leprechauns belly laugh. We’re all going to die, and they laugh.

The dragon wakes and roars, shaking the room. With more effort than necessary, he raises one rhino-sized foot and stomps on the leprechaun in front of him. No one laughs anymore. Silence possesses the room. The dolls’ hands fall away from me. The somberness of the room gives me a tinge of hope that I can escape.

The leprechaun and I make eye contact across the room. He studies me.

“Oh, yah think ya safe, do you?” he asks.

Behind him, the dragon extends its full maw, releasing a stench similar to cooked flesh. His mouth looks like a cave itself except, in a horrible trade, there is no darkness, only teeth and a lapping tongue. The dragon bites down on the leprechaun and shakes him from side to side. It’s not a fight. The leprechaun acts like he’s on a roller coaster as his legs separate from his upper body.

“Hey, boyo!” he cries. “I’m not worried because I’m either immortal or a figment of your imagination. You’re mortal, though. I can smell it in your words. Run, boyo, run!”

I like him.

The dragon tosses the leprechaun up in the air, and his body twirls in circles. The beast wants to cook his meal. A ball of white fire forms in his throat and bursts out.

It pushes me away, and I whirl out of the cave, pure energy carrying me. I don’t stop moving even on the ground. I crawl with all the speed I can muster until my crawl turns into a two-legged gallop. I won’t stop moving. It’s all a blur, everything around me and in front of me.

Then I’m forced to stop as I enter a bright-yellow room.