Chapter 132: “The Edge of Dreamland”
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As she listened, a chill of apprehension crept up her spine, urging her to reject his proposition immediately. Yet, a powerful urge rose from the depths of her heart, difficult to ignore.
What horrors, she wondered, lurked in that recurring nightmare that had haunted her nights for over a decade? Beyond the confines of the locked room, out on the street she last beheld with her own eyes eleven years prior… What specters awaited her?
Almost involuntarily, she took a deep, steadying breath and let her eyes drift to the nearby window. A haunting shade of deep crimson painted the windowpane, barring her view of the outside world—the very window she had recoiled from on the day of that fateful inferno eleven years prior. In this dreamscape, the external world was bathed in a tumultuous glow, nearly impossible to make out. Even the adjacent living area remained a veiled mystery, nothing more than a dim shadow through the open door.
These dreams, she mused, were echoes of her past experiences and memories. She had been trapped in this very room all those years ago. Could she, after such a long time, finally muster the courage to step beyond its threshold?
“Is it really possible for someone to navigate within their own dreams?” Shirley murmured, mostly to herself. “I can’t even imagine what awaits me beyond… A vast void, perhaps?”
“Dreams,” Duncan began, his voice emanating from near the doorway, “are mirrors into our subconscious. Often, the subconscious mind clings to nuances and details that our conscious selves overlook or forget. That ray of sunlight or the fleeting shadow from the window, ambient noises, or deeply ingrained memories, they shape and influence your dreams. There might be hints within these subtleties.”
He paused, giving her a reassuring look, “However, the choice is yours. If you choose not to delve deeper, I’ll respect that decision. I promise, while I’m present, the nightmares won’t advance. Rest assured, tomorrow will dawn clear and bright.”
Contemplating, Shirley lightly nibbled on her lip. After what felt like hours, she finally voiced her decision, “I want to venture out. I need to see.”
“Very well,” Duncan nodded appreciatively, making room for her at the entrance. “I’ll accompany you.”
Him, a being of the void, a wandering calamity, extending an offer to walk beside her—by all means, this should have instilled terror in her. However, for reasons unbeknownst to the girl, Shirley felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Amidst the oppressive gloom of her relentless nightmare, a soft glow of hope had ignited, alleviating her fears, even if just slightly.
“Have I lost my sanity?” she pondered, feeling the weight of sharing her existence with a malevolent deity.
Duncan and Shirley emerged side by side, carefully stepping from the cozy confines of the room onto the worn floorboards of the living room. This space, even in its hazed state, was unmistakably reminiscent of Shirley’s younger days. Accompanying them was Dog, a formidable dark hound with an almost palpable sense of unease. He moved with heightened awareness, his eyes darting around to survey the area and his ears twitching at the slightest noise. Every so often, he’d tilt his head as if straining to catch distant sounds, ensuring nothing caught them off guard from the streets beyond.
Observing his unusual behavior, Shirley asked, half amused, “Dog, what’s gotten into you?”
Dog glanced her way, his voice deep and somber. “I’m on guard. As we delve further into this dream, we tread on grounds not anchored by your concrete memories. Instead, this space will be shaped by the abstract and the unknown—creations of your subconscious fears and imaginings. And when fear reigns supreme, it often manifests itself in… well, hostile entities.”
A hint of amazement crept into Shirley’s eyes. “You know all of this, Dog?”
He offered a modest nod, remarking, “Only the basics. After all, I am a bona fide shadow demon.”
While Shirley and Dog exchanged words, Duncan was deeply engrossed in examining the room. The air was thick, suffused with an intangible smokiness. Various relics from the past occupied the room: a vintage wooden rack stood against one wall, and adjacent to it were a table and chairs showing signs of age and wear. Duncan’s eyes were drawn to an antique clock that hung precariously on the wall, its hands flitting aimlessly like wisps of smoke in a dance of disorder.
Prominent against the backdrop of the room were the deep gashes marring the wooden floor, undeniable evidence of Dog’s turbulent entry years ago. What struck Duncan, however, was the absence of any other signs of the calamity—no blood stains, charred remnants, or traces of the catastrophe that was said to have occurred. In Shirley’s mind, it seemed the inferno was limited to the world outside their home.
Soon, their journey brought them to the threshold of the front door. It was in a state of disrepair, reduced to a skeletal frame with shattered planks, undoubtedly another testament to Dog’s formidable strength.
Beyond it lay the street, cloaked in the fiery red haze of the all-consuming blaze. However, just as they were poised to step out, Shirley froze, seemingly anchored to the spot. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing the true nature of her innermost fears.
“Shirley?” Dog’s voice held a note of concern as he observed her evident distress.
Engrossed in her own dread, Shirley barely registered Dog’s voice. The crimson mist beyond seemed to morph and twist, conjuring visions of her parents, who had ventured out and never returned. The mere thought of what might have befallen them paralyzed her with terror.
Amidst her turmoil, a distant, haunting sound echoed through the silence—the chilling clink of chains.
Taking the initiative, Dog strode ahead a few steps, momentarily sticking his snout beyond the doorframe to survey the scene outside before retreating.
“Shirley, it’s alright,” the dark hound reassured her with an undertone of playful humor, “If there’s something ominous out there, my empty eye sockets aren’t catching it.”
Shirley cast a slightly bemused glance at the hollows where Dog’s eyes should have been and replied softly, “Thank you, Dog.”
Drawing upon newfound courage, she tentatively set foot outside, stepping onto the very street she had last trodden eleven years prior. The atmosphere outside was thick with a misty haze, punctuated by an eerie, dark crimson. Through this veil, the silhouettes of houses and dim outlines of street lamps were discernible. The road beneath her feet seemed to ripple as if moved by an invisible current.
The remnants of once-sturdy buildings loomed ahead, their charred remains trembling and swaying in the enveloping mist like wraiths trapped in time. The skeletal structures, dyed in shades of black and deep red, seemed to flutter and flicker like ethereal flames. Now and then, distant crackling sounds punctuated the silence, evoking the terrifying memories of flames raging and consuming all in their path. The air was thick with floating embers, ash, and the unmistakable stench of burnt decay.
Duncan studied their surroundings, his brow creased in concentration. Signs of the massive inferno were everywhere: the ground was littered with ash, pockets of soot darkened the corners, and odd, melted remnants provided irrefutable evidence of the fiery devastation. Yet, despite the overwhelming scene, Duncan’s trained eye found no hint of the sun fragments they sought. But he quickly reasoned that this wasn’t unexpected. They were, after all, navigating the landscape of Shirley’s dream—a distorted reflection of her past memories and fears, not a genuine revisit of the tragic events from eleven years ago.
Determined to forge ahead, Duncan accompanied Shirley as they ventured deeper into the charred maze of her subconscious. However, after only a few paces, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.
Concerned, Shirley inquired, “Is everything alright, Mr. Duncan?”
Duncan, his face inscrutable, gestured for silence, seemingly trying to tune into a distant, almost imperceptible sound. Moments later, he was drawn to a peculiar mound of ash by the roadside. Upon closer inspection, the ashy heap appeared eerily human-like—a contorted mass with discernible darkened fragments and smoldering embers. A chilling realization hit them; this mound bore a haunting resemblance to a person in a fetal position.
Leaning down, Duncan tuned in more closely to the mound. A barely audible whisper emerged, filled with pain and despair, “… I… don’t want to die…”
The revelation was jarring. Duncan’s usual composed facade wavered for a brief moment. Standing just a step behind, Shirley too picked up on the haunting whisper. Her reaction was visceral and candid, “What the hell is this?!” Realizing her outburst, she hastily tried to rephrase, “I mean, this is… deeply unsettling…”
“…You know, I actually appreciated the candor of your earlier outburst,” Duncan admitted, the corner of his mouth curving into a hint of a smile. The unexpected and disconcerting whisper from the ashes had undoubtedly taken him aback. However, Shirley’s spontaneous exclamation had momentarily distracted him from the spine-chilling experience. But as he regained his composure, his attention was drawn back to the multiple ash mounds lining the street.
As the wind shifted, a chorus of hushed voices wafted toward them. The muffled cries that melded with the wisps of ash and floating embers seemed to be echoing from another world.
“I don’t want to perish…” “Please, assist me…” “I need to return home…” “Is there anyone who can save me…”
A chill coursed through their veins, its cold grip squeezing their hearts. Instinctively, Shirley drew closer to Duncan, her body rigid with anxiety. Though she had faced tangible foes, including battling cultists with the aid of a demon-hunting canine companion, the intangible nature of these voices and the aura of foreboding they conveyed was a different challenge altogether.
Moreover, the environment they were immersed in was borne from her deepest fears. And as the age-old adage goes, oftentimes, the most daunting adversary is the one that resides within one’s soul.
Yet, as Shirley grappled with her growing apprehension, a gnawing doubt surfaced: was this truly a product of her own nightmares? Could this just be a figment of her imagination? The disembodied pleas seemed foreign to her, completely detached from her personal experiences or even her wildest fears. These were not the echoes of memories she had suppressed or the grim fantasies of her subconscious mind.
Almost intuitively, she sought Duncan’s gaze, searching for some clarity or reassurance. To her surprise, Duncan was already studying her intently, his penetrating gaze filled with both concern and contemplation.
“I’m beginning to suspect,” Duncan murmured, his voice resonating with a gravity that belied his usual calm demeanor, “that this is more than just a mere dream.”
Awww Dog
props to that one commenter who guessed it a couple chapters back