“We must evacuate!” Ojiichan warned. “Evacuate or die!”
For just a moment, there was no reaction. I trembled, not knowing what to expect. I silently implored them to listen to my grandfather.
Instead, they laughed. Not as if he had told a joke, but as if he was the joke. Worse still…
Doctor Holloway! Can we please swim in your pool?” The boy looked about nine, and a couple of multicolored beach towels flapped over his shoulder as he came running toward Denise, who was about to pull a lawnmower’s cord. With him was a slightly younger girl, an inflatable swim ring encircling her waist
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Nadia had slept three nights in the house she’d inherited from her grandmother, and every night she had the same dream. Nightmare, really. She heard crying coming from the attic, and when she went to investigate, she found a three-foot-tall Japanese woman trapped in a wooden crate. Then the dream shifted,
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Fear constricted Tara’s throat and sent her heart racing as the plane’s turbulence intensified. Passengers gasped and objects rattled in the overhead bins.
Ironic that she would die here, thrown into the very mountain peaks she spent her entire graduate thesis studying.
“Why me?” She swallowed as more turbulence rocked her.
They come to me for the dreams—bubbles of florescent light that pop behind their eyelids and reveal an elsewhere. They don’t even care where they go. They just don’t want to be here.
I understand. With Earth a hair’s breadth away from total annihilation due to alien laser beams, I get the need…
The place stank of dreams. Shattered dreams, stale dreams, rancid dreams. And nightmares. I tasted them all the moment I arrived. It was a stagnant sort of taste, like cold porridge served with moldy bread, as though nothing fresh had been dreamed there in ages. Not that I’ve eaten porridge. But I have
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Dr. Jacob Martin stood on the prow of The Cloudscuttler, leaning on the rigging and watching the thick stratocumulus clouds pass under the ship’s hull. The fog rolled away in every direction like folded sails, broken only by the occasional towering formation.
Yes. This is where he was meant to be.
It’s the same every night.
I wake up in a house not my own, in a dark bedroom, and through a doorway, I hear the sound of someone screaming.
Then there’s always silence.
The first couple of nights I chalked it up to a recurring nightmare of some kind, especially because once I closed my eyes,
Archie peered out from the small tent as the sun began to rise. The propane heater did little to break the cold as he and Lily huddled among a mound of sleeping bags and blankets, staring through the small window.
Their equipment was spread around the floor of the tent. Flashlights lay between them.
I climb higher.
Sweat drips off my forehead, and I look down. Bad choice. My vision blurs, and the clouds below me start spinning.
“Daylin!”
Shut up, Dexter. You’re going to make me fall off this cliff.
After I blink a few times, the clouds are still again. I look up the cliff,
Lucy landed on the cottage roof and folded her gossamer wings. She clasped her hands together and gazed at the sliver of moon shining like a scimitar above the quiet village. Tonight was her first solo mission. After months of training, she would fight the darkness and earn her Weaver name.
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I think I’ve found him.
Once the awful dream fades enough for me to breathe freely, I search the skies and spot the blue star in minutes. Every night since I left home has disappointed me, but tonight…
Tonight, I think I’ve actually found him.
Surrounded by scattered trees, I wriggle out of my scratchy wrap
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