Mirabel's Dream

That night I lay in bed and listened to the howling winter wind. It rattled icy treetop limbs, and the sound of branches tinkling against each other brought to my mind the image of a skeleton sitting at a piano, tickling the ivories.

When I think about it now, it wasn't music I was hearing, but rather the quaking of the skeleton's restless bones. Or maybe it was me who was restless, as I lay there half awake, and half already dreaming, being lulled into slumber by the cold February night.

My drowsy mind transformed the skeleton from piano-man-sized into a smaller figure; the bones sounded delicate, clinking like glass, belonging to a little girl. About my age, perhaps—I was nine at the time—although she looked smaller. And she looked cold; her osseous form was freezing, crystalline, and somehow she still had lips—pale blue—and silky brown hair that waved about her head as though floating in water. She was wearing winter boots, and that's all.

A fresh memory from the day penetrated my slipping-into-dream-time; suddenly my older sister Margie appeared, sitting on a stump beside a crackling fire out by the pond.

We had gone skating there that day, and over steaming mugs of hot chocolate from a thermos my sister began her tale.

Our conversation echoed in the dreamy scene of my ethereal mind.

When I close my eyes, I can still imagine it now:

You know there was a girl who used to skate here. Like, in the olden days when Mom and Dad were only kids. But she doesn't anymore.

She watches me expectantly, knowing I will ask, Why not? Did she grow up and not like it anymore?

No. She didn't grow up. She died. Fell through the ice.

My eyes widen in horror.

That's so sad. Wasn't anyone with her to help get her out?

No. She came by herself. And when she didn't turn up for dinner her family came looking for her. But they never found her. All that they could find was her boots. There was a hole in the ice so they knew that's where she was--trapped underneath, drowned.

That's awful, I whisper.

I know. But that's not even the worst part.

I don't ask; I only stare at my sister, waiting.

You see, that girl is still under the ice. And at night sometimes you hear her calling out her own name: Haaaaannnnnaaaaahhhhh, Haaannnaaaaaaaaahh...

I shiver on my stump, and say, That's not true! You're just trying to scare me.

I swear Mirabel, I'm not lying, Margie claims, opening her eyes wide with a look of innocence, and holding her hand up in the air beside her face, as though taking an oath.

I narrow my eyes, unsure of whether or not to believe her. She goes on.

They say if you follow the call of that voice, it will lead you to where her body lies. And if you find her, she will rise up and cling to you, like a drowning person, trying to save herself. She will suck your breath from you, stealing your warmth trying to make it her own. And then you will fall through the ice, and join her in the frigid grave.

~

The voice of my sister reverberated through me as I lay in bed, remembering, lost in the realm of my unconscious.

Then the image of us swirled into a puff of smoke, and faded to reveal a new scene. Even today, it is clear in my mind:

There I am, lying in my bed.

The night wind continues to sing its melancholy wail, and the trees bend and sway so as to not break under the strain of the sky's mournful lament. And then the quality of the howling wind transforms into a higher-pitched yearning, and the feeling takes shape into the word,

Hhhaaaaaaannnnnnaaaaaahhhhhh...

I try to shut my ears against the voice, but I can't block it out. Then my feet are on the floor and I am walking, leaving my room, moving down the stairs, and out the front door wearing nothing but my flannel night gown.

I don't feel the cold, even as my bare feet step into the snow.

Hhhaaaaannnnnnaaaaaahhhhhhhhh...

The wind beckons me, and I seem to float into the forest, following the path away from my house where my parents and Margie sleep peacefully inside. I move into the darkness, towards the frozen pond.

Haaannnnnaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

The voice is louder now, as I near the shoreline. I know I shouldn't be here alone, but the feeling that compels me is too strong to ignore.

I notice a pair of figure skates beside me, and I pull them on easily, knowing they belong to somebody else; I just can't remember who. Then I glide out onto the pond, towards a lumpy shape a few meters away, dark grey in the dimness of night. The image coalesces into a pair of boots, then I remember they must belong to Hannah.

HHAAANNNAAAAHHHHHHHHH

The name is clear now, and very close. I am standing at a place where the snow has blown off the icy surface of the pond, and I can see down into the black depths of what lies beneath.

The ice is like ebony glass, clear, and yet the epitome of darkness. I stare transfixed, expectantly, because I know something is about to emerge. Then, way down, a small blurry circle of white reveals itself, and it's like seeing the moon through the clouds on an overcast night. It grows bigger, and brighter, rising up from the depths, coming into view.

Then the round circle is just beneath the glassy ice, and I am down on my knees, my face only a foot away. Two slits on the pale circle open up, and they are eyes, black and hollow, haunted and entrancing. The circle is now a face, with pale blue lips that open in the shape of an O, and I hear a huge gasp of wind, an urgent sucking, and feel my lungs suddenly compress as though I just fell from a tree and landed flat on my back. I can't breathe. I can't move; on hands and knees, I am as frozen as the pond around me, except for the pounding of my frantic heart.

Then the hard ice in front of me is gone, and there's nothing between me and the black water with this empty girl, who is trying to fill herself with my life essence. I feel an echo of her fear, and her anger at being cheated of her own breath. Her dead eyes flash for a moment, and she shares with me a momentary image of her desperate, slow-motion underwater flailing, tiny fists pounding uselessly at the underside of the ice.

And then her skinny arms reach up, and she wraps her translucent fingers around the back of my head, pulling herself up while forcing my head downwards, towards her own. Our lips meet in a chilling kiss, and my cheeks go cold, and then her frosty touch spreads over my entire body—I am immobilized, numb.

Then I am looking up. I am floating, still unable to breathe. I realize I am under the ice now, which has re-solidified above me. Above us, for beside me floats Hannah, her silky hair waving. She is smiling now, holding my hand, with the faintest hint of pink in her white cheeks. I know this touch of heat is what she stole from me.

I can't breathe, and I know I won't last much longer. Even my heart beat has slowed now, and I can't feel any part of my body.

My vision fades to black.

~

I sprung awake in my bed, jolting up into a sitting position faster than a jack-in-the-box, gasping, my hands at my throat. The room around me was still, and I heaved with relieved panting, taking precious air into my body once more. My hair and my nightgown were drenched, and I wondered how I could have been sweating through a dream in which I froze to death.

The wind had stopped howling, and the room around me was dark and still. Everything seemed to be as it should be once again; my room looked exactly the way it did when I first closed my eyes an hour or two before.

Except there was something by the door that wasn't there before. I recognized it and my heart thumped harshly. A lumpy shape, dark grey in the dimness of night. Surrounding them was a small puddle of water.

Hannah's boots.