The Dream Between Us

For a long moment, Lydia did not move.

The world beyond the stone wall felt impossibly still.

Not silent.

Still.

As if everything around her had paused to notice that she had arrived.

The air itself was different here.

Cooler.

Thicker.

It smelled of rain, moss, and something sweet she could not name… like crushed flowers and lightning.

Behind her, the town lay hidden beyond the hedges.

Ahead of her, the land unfolded in rolling silver fields beneath a sky far darker than it should have been.

The moon hung low and enormous.

Too large.

Too close.

Its pale light spilled across the landscape like milk.

Lydia’s heart pounded.

This was not the world she knew.

Not even close.

Something moved in the tall grass.

Lydia froze.

A creature stepped into the moonlight.

It stood as tall as a deer, but its body shimmered like starlight woven into fur. Its antlers curved upward in twisting branches hung with tiny glowing blossoms that opened and closed as it breathed.

Its eyes were bright gold.

Ancient.

It studied her.

Lydia barely dared breathe.

Then, just as quickly, it turned and bounded across the field, disappearing into the silver grass like smoke.

Her breath left her in a trembling exhale.

“What is this place?”

The question vanished into the wind.

No answer came.

Only the distant sound of something singing.

Not human.

Beautiful.

Haunting.

It seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Lydia wrapped her arms around herself and began walking.

The path was narrow and strange.

Sometimes it was dirt.

Sometimes cobblestone.

Sometimes moss.

Once, it became a ribbon of pale light stretching between clusters of black trees.

She had the distinct feeling that the path itself was changing beneath her feet.

Or perhaps leading her.

The farther she walked, the stranger the land became.

Trees with glass leaves chimed softly in the wind.

Flowers bloomed in impossible colors… midnight blue, silver, and deep glowing crimson.

Creatures darted through the underbrush:

foxes with feathered tails…

birds made of drifting light…

small horned creatures with luminous eyes…

Everything looked like something imagined.

Not made.

Imagined.

The thought unsettled her.

But not enough to turn back.

Clay was out there.

Somewhere.

And every step seemed to pull at something deep inside her chest.

A warmth.

A thread.

A feeling that she was moving closer to him.

After what felt like hours… or perhaps minutes; time seemed different here… the path opened into a clearing.

At the center stood a small cottage.

It was old and crooked, its stone chimney leaning slightly to one side. Ivy climbed the walls in thick green ropes, and a single lantern glowed softly beside the front door.

On the porch sat an old man.

He was snapping green beans into a metal bowl.

The steady snap… snap… snap was oddly comforting.

Lydia slowed.

He looked up.

His face was lined deeply with age, but his eyes were bright and strangely familiar.

As though he had been expecting her.

He smiled.

“Well now,” he said, as if greeting an old friend. “You look lost.”

Lydia let out a shaky laugh.

“I think that might be an understatement.”

The old man nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes. Usually is.”

He dropped another green bean into the bowl.

“Come sit.”

Lydia hesitated.

Something about him felt safe.

Not harmless.

Safe.

There was a difference.

She climbed the porch steps slowly and sat in the chair beside him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Only the steady rhythm of beans snapping in the bowl.

Finally, Lydia said, “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

The old man smiled.

“No one ever does at first.”

“At first?”

He set the bowl aside.

Then he turned to face her fully.

“You crossed a boundary tonight.”

Lydia swallowed.

“Yes.”

“Most people never notice the walls.”

The words sent a chill through her.

“What walls?”

He looked out across the moonlit field.

“The ones between worlds.”

Lydia stared.

Worlds.

Plural.

The old man rose slowly from his chair and disappeared inside the cottage.

A moment later, he returned holding a thick, weathered book.

Its cover was dark blue leather, edged in silver.

The title was embossed in faded gold.

THE BOOK OF DREAMS

He placed it carefully in Lydia’s hands.

The moment her fingers touched the cover, warmth spread through her palms.

Her breath caught.

“What is this?”

The old man smiled knowingly.

“Truth.”

Lydia opened the book.

The pages fluttered on their own, turning quickly as if moved by unseen fingers.

Words and images flashed past:

sleeping people,

floating cities,

impossible creatures,

shifting landscapes,

faces she almost recognized…

Then the pages stopped.

A single line stared back at her.

Dreamers who remain too long forget themselves.

Her pulse thundered.

“What does that mean?”

The old man’s expression softened.

“It means, child, that this place is not meant to be lived in.”

The world seemed to tilt.

“No.”

She shook her head.

“No, this is my home.”

He looked at her sadly.

“No,” he said gently. “It’s where you were left.”

The words hit her like ice.

“I don’t understand.”

“You live in flashes, don’t you?”

Her breath stopped.

The old man continued.

“One scene to the next. One day to another without memory of the hours between.”

Lydia’s hands tightened around the book.

How did he know that?

“How do you know that?”

“Because this is a dream world.”

The words landed like thunder.

Lydia stood so quickly the chair scraped across the porch.

“No.”

The old man did not move.

“This place is made of sleeping minds. Fragments. fears. desires. memories.”

Lydia’s breathing turned shallow.

“No.”

He met her eyes.

“And you have forgotten what sleep even is.”

Her vision blurred.

The words slammed into something buried deep inside her.

Flashes.

Moments.

Gaps.

Changing people.

Missing time.

Clay disappearing.

Her knees weakened.

The old man reached out, steadying her arm.

“Easy now.”

Lydia stared at the pages of the book.

Dream world.

Forgotten.

Left here.

Then suddenly…

Clay.

Her head snapped up.

“Clay.”

The old man’s face changed.

Recognition.

“Yes.”

Lydia stepped closer.

“Do you know where he is?”

The old man studied her.

Then nodded once.

“He moves between worlds.”

Tears sprang to her eyes.

“Then where did he go?”

The old man looked out beyond the fields.

“Farther than you’ve ever gone.”

Lydia’s voice trembled.

“I need to find him.”

His gaze returned to hers.

“Then you must cross more boundaries.”

A chill moved through her.

“Where?”

He pointed toward the distant horizon.

Far away, beyond the silver trees and rolling fields, stood something black against the moonlit sky.

A gate.

Tall.

Wrought iron.

Beautiful in a terrible kind of way.

Vines climbed its length.

Beyond it loomed the dark silhouette of an old building.

Lydia’s breath caught.

Something inside her pulled toward it.

Warm.

Painful.

Certain.

“That’s where he is,” she whispered.

The old man nodded.

“Yes.”

Her eyes filled.

“I’m going.”

He smiled softly.

“I know.”