Called

DARKNESS | 3

DARKNESS 3

As an observer, I watch my dream-self walk within the forest. The sun glares down, yet the dense canopy of leaves permits it no entry to dapple the ground. Tree limbs hang low, hang high, long, short, thick, thin, entwined, embracing their neighbours. With hands caressing the roughness of bark, her eyes search upward then ahead.

Sean!

Smiling, my dream-self moves deeper into the forest. Strewn leaves sigh a susurrant tune as the hem of her lemon dress teases their crisp edges. The only other sounds are the almost inaudible crunch of the ground beneath her feet, the barest of breaths as they pass her lips, and the faint rustle of foliage, no more than a whisper in the near-absence of wind.

Her tranquil features reflect her mood, as does her relaxed stance, and she moves with a grace I am incapable of when conscious.

Sean!

At a noise to her left, my dream-self turns, her head tilting as she peers ahead. With a new smile coating her lips, her steps become purposeful.

A bush shivers, almost imperceptibly, yet my dream-self spots it. She elevates to the balls of her feet, causing no disturbance to the quiet. Although her expression does little to reveal her emotions, the rise and fall of her chest hastens with each nearing step.

With obvious caution, she reaches the bush and pushes herself higher onto her toes. Whatever she discovers on the other side widens her eyes.

Unable to see through the eyes of my dream-self, I drift closer.

Once alongside, a glance to the left shows me her—my—profile: the small pointed tip of her nose, the deep blue of her irises, the blonde braid curving over her shoulder and tickling the modesty lace covering her small cleavage. Matching my pose to hers, I lean forward for a clearer view.

Upon seeing what she does, I give my attention back to her, study her reaction. There should be terror, fear, horror in her expression, but none of those are present. Her frown and biting of her lower lip portray only intrigue.

A creature claims the ground beyond the bush, its ever-changing appearance rendering it unidentifiable. Four legs are supported by four paws, a hunkered head holds a canine appearance, but in the midst of deformity, it alters as we watch. The body contorts, a low growl rumbles from it, and it moulds to resemble a new form as though shaped by an unseen hand. Fur becomes flesh, bones a new skeleton, the skull redeveloping until what we see is no longer animal ... but human.

The man remains on all fours, head hung, breathing laboured.

My dream-self takes a step back, her stance showing her attempt at stealth, followed by another. A third step brings her foot onto a stray twig.

The c***k resonates through the quiet, and the man’s shoulders tense. His head whips high.

When his eyes lock with my dream-self, he omits a rumbling growl.