The Teeth of the Top Soil

Caleb Raken had not slept through the night in almost 6 years.

At forty-four, he was too old to blame it on nightmares.

Too old to blame it on monsters.

Yet every night was the same.

He'd wake sometime after two in the morning with his heart pounding and the memory already fading.

There was never a face.

Never a voice.

Never even a place.

Only eyes.

One green.

One blue.

Waiting for him in the dark.

For months he had convinced himself it was stress.

Overwork.

Loneliness.

Too much coffee.

Anything but the truth.

The dreams felt real.

Too real.

And lately they were getting closer.

He sat up in bed and rubbed his face.

Beaker was already awake.

The old shepherd mix stood by the bedroom door, tail wagging slowly.

Waiting for their nightly walk.

"Yeah, yeah," Caleb muttered. "Let's go."

Ten minutes later they were cutting through the woods behind his property.

A cold fog had settled in among the trees.

Beaker moved ahead as usual.

Then stopped.

Instantly.

The dog's ears flattened.

A low growl rolled from his chest.

Caleb froze.

"What?"

Beaker never growled.

Not at people.

Not at animals.

Not at anything.

The dog stared into the fog.

Caleb followed his gaze.

At first all he saw were trees.

Then he saw the shape.

A person.

Standing motionless between the pines.

His stomach dropped.

The figure was too far away to make out details.

A woman, maybe.

About his height.

Maybe a little shorter.

Just a dark silhouette against the mist.

She wasn't moving.

Wasn't approaching.

Wasn't leaving.

Just standing there.

Watching.

"Hello?"

The figure didn't respond.

The fog shifted.

For a brief second the moonlight struck where her face should have been.

And Caleb saw them.

One green eye.

One blue.

His blood turned to ice.

"No."

The word escaped before he realized he'd spoken.

Impossible.

Those were the eyes.

The same goddamn eyes.

The ones that had dragged him out of sleep night after night for years.

The ones he'd seen so many times he could draw them from memory.

Beaker backed up with a sharp whine.

Caleb felt his legs trying to do the same.

Every instinct screamed at him to leave.

Go home.

Lock the door.

Forget this.

Because if those eyes were standing thirty yards away in the woods...

then they had never been dreams.

The figure tilted her head slightly.

Almost curious.

Then the fog rolled between them.

Just for a second.

When it passed...

she was gone.

Not walking away.

Not running.

Gone.

Caleb stood rooted to the spot.

His pulse hammered in his ears.

The woods were silent.

Even the dog refused to move forward.

"What the hell..."

Beaker pulled at the leash.

Hard.

The strongest reaction Caleb had ever seen from him.

The dog wanted out.

Now.

For the first time in months Caleb agreed.

And for the rest of the night, sleep never came.

Because every time he closed his eyes...

he saw her standing in the fog.

Waiting.