Dreamcatcher

She walks alone, her bare feet slapping on the wet cobble stones, her breath pluming in the cold. On her back is a leather rucksack filled with jars.

The city sleeps fitfully tonight.

She reaches a soot-stained townhouse and nods to herself, pausing for only a moment before snapping her fingers. The front door opens. She steps inside.

In the attic bedroom she finds a boy no older than six, twisted in the sheets, dreaming with a frown on his face.

No, he murmurs. No, no, no.

She works quickly, touching his forehead and entering his mind, deftly navigating the labyrinth of his subconscious. When she finds the nightmare it is feeding on the shadows in his heart, and it does not hear her approach, not at first.

She sets upon it with a net of velvet darkness. The nightmare raises its pale face, glistening and featureless, until its mouth opens in a silent scream.

~

The boy is quiet now, his face relaxed. She closes the lid of the jar, watching the nightmare writhe inside.

The jar is placed in her rucksack.

She rubs her eyes and leaves the room; there is still much work to be done tonight.