Velli

  Moons stare down at me from a purple sky. They are white and puffy like the eyes of a giant spider. The ground is a cloudy mix of ephemeral gray and solid crystal-clear glass. Paradoxically, the floor I’m on is impossible to feel, and I can sit on it without falling through. I don’t risk movement on it and stay seated. Underneath lies empty black space.

  In front of me, holding hands and looking down at me is the Nightmare Couple. Draped in all black is Reloj, the Sandwoman. Her robes move like water flowing up and down her body, never taking a form, so it’s impossible to know her shape. The cloth never touches her picturesque face. She’s beautiful, with a slight bronze tan and bountiful lips covered in red lipstick. Her hair stretches down her back and flows with the slight breeze in the atmosphere I see but cannot feel. Reloj stands as still as a portrait.

  Duke, the Dream Snatcher, stands just as still. The only thing paler than his skin is his white beard. The wrinkles that stretch across his face tell me he’s much older than Reloj. His robes move in perfect synchronization with Reloj’s robes. They don’t speak to me. They hold each other’s hands and observe me in silence.

  Behind them is my consciousness, everything that’s easy to access in my head. It floats like smoke but spins like garbage in outer space. One image is of me eating dinner, a pizza. I had that less than an hour ago.

  The air vibrates with the number-one song playing in the world. I don’t like the song that much. I keep it on in the background sometimes. I detect no smell here, and I toy with my tongue to see if the sand on it is a residual of the Sandwoman’s attack or the nature of the dreamworld. I’m unsure. The sand’s bitter flavor will not evacuate my mouth.

  The image of my mom sleeping in her bed floats by, translucent and spinning.

  “Hello, Velli,” the Nightmare Couple says in unison.

  That gets my attention. I still have a plan to execute, so I turn on the acting skills. “Huh, uh, what? Yes.” I scramble backward from them.

  They step forward in perfect harmony with locked hands and matching stiff footsteps.

  “You don’t have to die.” The Sandwoman’s harsh voice holds authority uncommon for a woman her age.

  “But you might if you don’t give us the map to the Heirs’ castle,” the dream thief says.

  “The map… it’s gone. I have a photographic memory, so I just memorized it.”

  The two exchange glances, unsure if they can believe that. Going into someone’s subconscious poses a potential danger, even for the Nightmare Couple.

  “So, it would be in your subconscious…” they say together.

  “Oh, uh.” I stare at the gray translucent ground, pretending to consider everything. “Wait, wait, where am I?”

  “You’re in your outer consciousness, the first layer of the dream realm,” they say in unison.

  Then the Sandwoman takes over. “My body brought all of us here when you swallowed the sand my body is made of.”

  “Don’t bother trying to wake up,” the dream thief says. “Reloj will bury you in the sand again, and you’ll end up right back here. That could be bad for the psyche if done too many times.”

  “And we have nothing but time,” they say together with two perfectly measured grins slapped on their faces.

  “We just want you to let me in there,” the Sandwoman says, and they both point behind me.

  It’s a giant wall, and I do mean giant—taller than any of the giants I’ve seen before. The top of it is imperceptible. It’s made of statues welded perfectly together with no space between them. Statues of me in the same pose—a scared child in the fetal position, head down. I’m wearing my childhood pajamas. It’s an exact replica right down to the footies.

  I leave the amazement to address the Nightmare Couple.

  “No… no,” I beg. “You have no idea what it cost me to get that map.”

  “And…” the Sandwoman adds.

  “We do not care.” The Dream Snatcher completes her sentence.

  “No!” I spit. “Maybe we can find a way for this to be mutually beneficial.”

  “No, we will be removing the memories. We can’t have the Heirs being attacked multiple times. They’ll beef up security.” Again, they speak in unison, and it’s freaking me out, the randomness of sentences, the inflection, all the same.

  “So, what do I get out of this?”

  “Just,” the dream thief starts.

  “Life,” the Sandwoman finishes.

  “That’s not good enough.” I will myself awake.

  It works. I gasp on my bed and try to sit up. The Sandwoman’s on top of me. Angry and annoyed, she presses down on my chest and seals her mouth against mine. Sand rushes into me. I scream, genuinely. I use every muscle to resist her. I’m a wiggling worm on top of the bed. My throat. My mouth. Drool and sand pour out from both sides.

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  I’m brought right back to the dream realm in front of them. On the outside, I’m terrified, and I heave sand that isn’t there. My body burns from sand that doesn’t exist rubbing on me. I curse them, then I beg, but on the inside, my heart smiles.

  Five more times of that should convince them they aren’t being set up. Five more times of forcing myself to wake up and be buried beneath the sand. Each time hurts in its own unique way, and I don’t believe I’ll ever forget this pain. I don’t have to fake watery eyes. I don’t even think I can, anyway. I don’t have to fake exhaustion. The only thing I have to fake is hopelessness for the fifth time.

  When I arrive back in the dreamworld once again, I let my body collapse face-first, and my mouth drools freely. Then, by simple willpower, I open the gate. I don’t look. I’ve done this before. As a child, I had telepathic therapists enter my subconscious when I first got my Weakness. The Sandwoman walks past my exhausted body without acknowledging me. As expected, the Dream Snatcher stays out to make sure I don’t try anything.

  Fate runs my subconscious, and as much as he enjoys torturing me, he salivates at the idea of torturing anyone else. Which, again, makes me wonder what he really is and his true nature, but that’s another topic. The Sandwoman walks through the gate. I feel it in my brain like an extra wrinkle has formed. Someone’s there. I smile now. I can’t stop. She’s trapped. I’ve won.

  Oh, she is given all of my secrets, high school crushes, the billing info for my mother in the hospital, my love for Dream, my goals and aspirations. However, in that haystack of information, there’s a needle, and it’s sharp.

  The gates slam shut with a resounding and a laugh that’s not mine, not Duke’s, and not Reloj’s.

  “Open the gates,” the Dream Snatcher commands and gives me a slight kick to my ribs.

  “I don’t control them now. They’re his.”

  Reloj screams like an animal.

  “Reloj!” the Dream Snatcher calls. He yanks me by my shirt and lifts me into the air. “Open the gates!”

  “I can’t.” Oh, I’m sure he hates seeing me grin like this.

  “Eeeehhhh!” Reloj screams again. “Duke, please, Duke, come quickly…” Her words trail off.

  Duke tosses me aside and runs to the gate. He punches the thing and grabs his hand in pain. His power is to make nightmares become real, and he can do some mild sneaking in the subconscious. He’s useless here.

  “Maybe try licking it.” I walk up behind him, joining him by the wall. My energy finally returns with the excellent change of pace.

  “What?” he yells.

  “Lick it.” I feign urgency and point at the wall. “Lick it if you want to get in and save your wife.”

  Without giving it a second thought, he does. He sticks out his fat pink tongue and licks the statue. First licking the one directly in front of him then climbing on top of it to lick the next one, he proceeds to dash to his left, like he just has to figure out some licking code.

  “Ah, ah, aha, ahhhhhhh!” Reloj screams. “Duke!” Reloj fights to get out.

  “I’m coming, my love!” he yells then turns to me, straddling another statue, prepared to give it a second lick. “Is this working?”

  “No, it’s about as effective as a punch or a kick or you doing anything at all—which is to say, it’s absolutely useless.”

  He leaps down and stomps toward me.

  I wave my hand to shoo him away. “Enough with the drama,” I command.

  “Wake up. Wake up now! When you wake up, she’ll be out of your body.” He spits as he talks.

  “No.”

  He sends a punch in my direction. I catch it easily and toss his hand back to him.

  “I am the Dream Snatcher, the greatest dream thief. I will make your nightmares flesh.”

  “And do what? Kill me? I’m not afraid to die. I knew the risk of tricking the Nightmare Couple into my consciousness. I’m willing to die for my dream. You two are the ones who seem so obsessed with living.”

  His jaw drops, then his mouth tightens. “What do you want?”

  “Break into the Heirs’ prison, and deliver me every prisoner on death row.”

  “That’s insane!”

  “Even for the legendary Dream Snatcher.”

  I would swear he physically swallows his pride as he opens his mouth to say yes, but instead, he only nods.

  “Then,” I say, “let her be tortured to death, or kill me, and she might die as well. Your choice.”

  His hand goes to his thick gray hair, and he listens for her screams again. Instead, he only hears a muffled noise. I imagine that does not help ease his mind.

  “Fine, if I have enough time to prepare—”

  “The Heirs will be upgrading their security soon because of my confrontation with Rose earlier. You’ll do this tonight.”

  He’s angry, beautifully angry. A long, displeased frown, choice words, and probably reasonable excuses leave his furious red face.

  “Don’t worry. I already have the plan for you to achieve victory. All you have to do is execute it. Imagine it, Duke—the dream thief pushes his power to the absolute limit for an impossible prison break. It will be legendary.”

  His expression remains unchanged as he mumbles with repressed hatred, “As you wish. Please, free her, and end her torture.”

  “I think I’ll wait for you to deliver what I want first.”

  The Dream Snatcher drops to one knee. “Please, we will both enter Cognomen Oaths with you. Just let her go now.”

  Now, why would I risk that? I’ve already won. Cognomen Oaths are powerful, but words are words. Words can be deceptive, and if he’s clever enough, he can ruin my whole plan. He doesn’t look me in the eye. He stares at the ground like a humble servant. This doesn’t seem as fun anymore.

  Fate tortures her in more ways than he could even torture me. In the real world, Fate struggles to become material and is burdened with transparency. Inside my subconscious, it is his domain. He decides how transparent or concrete the Sandwoman’s reality is. He decides the level of pain the Sandwoman’s skin can feel. He decides the temperature of the boiling water he will roast her in or if she is even worthy of having skin. He decides if her bones will weigh too much for her to stand or if her bones will become like a painful itch where the Sandwoman will want to remove them. The story “I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream” comes to mind.

  A transparent Dream in the background stares at me. She mouths, “And that’s why, Velli, you should always be kind.”

  “Dream Snatcher, swear by your name to give everything you have to free all the Heirs’ death row prisoners tonight and deliver them to me. Swear to take no vengeful action in any way against me. Then I will set her free if she promises to do me no harm as long as she lives.”

  The Dream Snatcher’s face fills with relief, and with precise annunciation, he swears.

  “Reloj!” I yell. “If you want to be free, swear by your name that when I wake up, you will not retaliate against me.”

  Muffled screams respond. The Dream Snatcher knows I cannot determine what that means. Today, I choose mercy. I wake up. This time, I don’t gasp for air. I’m cautious. Reloj slides off me, and she slithers sluglike out of my room as a blob made of sand.

  And now, I wait.

  Substack Link- For short stories of fantasy and horror that sometimes involve the characters from here

  https://iifinch.substack.com/

  Reddit Link- short stories here as well but you also get a bit more community.

  https://www.reddit.com/r/Finchink/