Chapters 11-17 have been rewritten to improve story flow and pacing. [June 27, 2024]
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Son of a bitch.
Today of all days, soone has to co to my door?
Sohow I force my exhausted body off the couch. My bones protest as I stumble to the door, leaning heavily against the fra. Who the hell needs right now? I don't even know anyone in this town.
I'll feel bad if it's Mrs. Elkins, but anyone else needs to prepare themselves for the rage of a sick person.
I yank it open, ready to snap at whoever dared to disturb my misery. But there's no one there. My landing is empty. The stairway is empty. There's nothing, except the occasional person passing by on the street.
Great. Now I'm imagining things.
I step out, glancing both ways. Nothing. A shiver runs through , and it has nothing to do with my fever. Sothing feels off, but I can't put my finger on it.
Dark clouds loom overhead, heavy and ominous. That's odd. I could have sworn the forecast said clear skies all week. A storm would be just my luck. At least I don't have to go anywhere; my shopping's already done.
Sighing, I retreat back inside, locking the door behind . The click of the deadbolt does little to ease the uneasiness swirling in my gut. Collapsing onto the couch, I pull the blanket around my shoulders, trying to stave off the cold.
It doesn't help.
The frigid chill of my body cos from deep within, even as sweat beads on my forehead and upper lip.
I should take that Tylenol. I should eat more soup. I should do a lot of things, but all I can manage is to lay on the couch, staring blankly at the wall. Even the thought of reaching for the TV remote is too much.
Minutes tick by, or maybe it's hours. Ti is only a suggestion, my fever-addled brain struggling to keep up. The shadows in the room grow longer as the storm clouds block out the sun. I should turn on a light, but even the thought of moving feels like too much effort.
And then soone knocks on my door again.
This ti, I ignore it.
I'm too miserable to fake civility, anyway.
Sowhere in my haze, I find myself slipping, falling into a familiar landscape that has haunted my nights.
I'm in the forest again.
The air is heavy, full of oppressive heat that presses against my skin. It's strange, this sensation of being too hot when I know I'm shivering with fever in the waking world. The incongruity tugs at my mind, reminding that none of this is real.
But it feels real. The rough bark of the trees scrape at my balms. The damp earth squishes beneath my toes. It's all so vivid. So tangible.
Glancing down at myself, I can even feel and manipulate the thin white fabric of my nightgown—sothing I've never owned in my life. It clings to my skin, damp with sweat or dew, I can't tell which.
I'm barefoot. Twigs and leaves prick at my feet, but I barely feel the discomfort.
It's like my body and senses aren't fully connected.
One step forward. Then another.
The forest shifts around , trees bending and swaying in a non-existent breeze.
Shadows flicker between the trees, like dark ghosts in my vision.
There's sothing different this ti. A new elent that I can't quite place. It takes a mont to realize what it is—the sound of water. It's faint at first, a distant murmur that can be mistaken for the rustle of leaves. But as I strain my ears, it grows louder, clearer.
The gentle babble of water over rocks. The soft splash of tiny rapids. It's soothing, almost hypnotic, and draws deeper into the forest.
My feet follow of their own accord, following nature's music. The ground slopes beneath , leading into a shallow valley.
The trees are thicker here, blocking out the sky with broad foliage.
Even in the gloom, I can see a familiar glint.
Water.
It's a small stream, no more than a few feet wide. Crystalline waters run happily over a bed of white stones, reflecting the muted light filtering through the leaves.
I step closer, drawn to it.
It calls . Whispers secrets, words I can't quite hear. I can feel them, brushing against my skin, tickling my ears, at the edge of understanding.
Before I know it, I'm on my knees, sinking into mud as I reach into the water.
My fingers tremble, hovering above the surface, but sothing holds back.
A flicker of unease, a whisper of warning. There's sothing about this place, about this dream, that feels wrong.
It's too perfect.
Too alluring.
Like a trap.
I pull my hand back, cradling it against my chest. The stream darkens, its waters murky and uninviting. The forest around grows cold, green leaves now brown, falling to rot against the earth.
Shadows swallow light, turning an oasis into sothing awful.
The noises of the forest are gone, and only silence reigns in the absence.
The only thing I can hear is the pounding of my heartbeat, thudding just beneath my jaw, pounding in my chest.
The familiar dream has taken a sharp left into the realm of nightmares.
A flash of movent.
A glimpse of—sothing, darting in the darkness.
Eyes that glow, crimson and nacing.
I can't scream; no sound escapes my throat, even as it tears under the force of my terror.
A creature of shadow steps forward, a mass of darkness that seems to shrink before my eyes, coalescing into a solid form.
For a mont, it looks human, its hand reaching toward .
There's a chill, a winter's soft sigh in the breeze, and the scent of sothing putrid that has clapping my hands over my mouth as I gag.
And then it's gone.
The shadows.
The creature.
The nightmare forest.
All of it.
I'm blinking at my white popcorn ceiling, once again in my apartnt.
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