Nightmares

Flashes of red and blue along with a wailing siren comes onto the scene as Fern struggles to remain conscious. As she fights to keep her eyes open looks ahead towards the tree line. Flashes, sirens, and voices fading into the background. Every time she drifts to unconsciousness, she fights it back. Every time she swears she sees a figure; a man in a grey cloak; with pale skin, a black masquerade mask over his eyes, and carries what looks like a gnarly branch, with a blade attached. Ragged wings came from his back and dead branches grew out of his head.

The man stands still as paramedics, officers, and rescuers scramble to free her and treat her injuries. Voices in the background telling orders blending into the sound of sirens. Voices pleading for her to stay awake fades as her eyes close. The last image she sees is the man beckoning her. Fades to black, with red and blue still flashing through her eyelids.

The screech of metal rolling, sharply turning on pavement. Crashing against metal repeats in her mind. Just as it happens, how she remembers it. Wailing sirens fades to a consistent beeping. Upon waking, in her minds eyes red and blue replaced by pure white. Fern finds herself in a hospital room surrounded by white walls instead of twisted metal.

In her peripheral vision sees the green light which pulses up and down with her heartbeat. As her mind focuses feels a slight pressure on her right hand, index. Lifting her hand sees an electronic pulse clip. Her left arm hooked up to an IV.

Sitting up she orients herself and a wince at pain in his shoulder, supported by an arm sling. Fern also feels bandages pulling at her hair; bring her hands to her head feels a large gauze on her left temple. A hint of a headache prickling behind her eyes. Like a broken film in black and white images of the man flashes in behind her mind’s eye. Other figures in monochromatic images flash too fast to see, but feels they are dark and horrific.

What are they? Who are they? Fern’s thoughts run like a blur.

“Fern?” grabbing her attention she sees her mother at the door. Greying hair in a disheveled bun, eyes welling up with tears and looking tired, and her hands holding a cup of coffee. Hastily placed down on a table to envelop her daughter in her arms. Fern returning the gesture careful not to disrupt the lines.

“Mom. I’m okay.”

“Oh, wait a minute,” her mother says holding her at arm’s length. “Let me get the doctor” She scrambles out of the room to collide into the doctor making his rounds. Two doctors arrive; the one her mother ran into her regular physician, Doctor Friseur. Short stature, but strong build. He smiles and greets her.

“Good to finally see you awake. How are you feeling circumstances besides?”

“Fine, I guess.” Her voice felt dry. Doctor Frissar introduces her to Doctor Conrad, a neurologist asked to consult on her case.

“A neurologist? How bad were my injuries?”

“Not too bad considering the extent of the damage. You have bruising throughout your body, scratches, and a sprained shoulder. You also suffered from a concussion which required lot of monitoring.” The neurologist explains. “We gave you an MRI to see the extent of the damage.” Taking out some scans from a folder holding them up to the light. “See that you gained a minor concussion to your frontal lobe; but thankfully it didn’t seem to effect frontal lobe function. We did do extensive monitoring since you were unconscious by doing regular checks for brain activities.”

Her mind stopped like a record player

“We should do another scan since you are awake. Just to see how much it approved and…”

“Wait, how long was I out?”

“You were in a coma for almost two weeks.”

“Two weeks, it doesn’t feel like it was that long.”

“Well, it is hard to explain, but most patient aren’t aware of how long they are in a coma. In your case being in a coma was a good thing for you. Your body went through so much during the accident and a coma allowed you to heal. You also didn’t suffer a major head injury in the initial trauma. It may be too early to tell to what extent this effects your body, but your doctor and I will provide a plan to get you back on your feet.”

“Wait what? I feel fine.”

“Maybe you do now Fern.” Her doctor begins to explain. “What a person goes through during a coma differs from person to person; one thing is certain is that you been laying down for a prolonged amount of time. There are the injuries sustained from the accident especially the concussion and sprained shoulder. A common problem with patients believes it or not is tiredness; you should take it easy on yourself and gradually move around more as your body gets used to moving around again. You will need some physical therapy for your shoulder and like Doctor Conrad explained we should monitor your concussion.”

“How much longer will my stay in the hospital be?”

“Hmm, well so far you have healed well. We will let you rest for now, but later take another x-ray of your shoulder and MRI. Depending on the results you might return home in a couple of days. Perhaps upon your leave we can review a treatment with a physical therapist.”

All the talk about treatments and the uncertainty of the endgame disheartens Fern more. Flashes of the moment of the collision sounds in her head. Unfortunately, the driver’s face will never be known to her. They escaped and most likely unscathed.

“This isn’t fair.” She whispers to herself. Her mother, sitting at the edge of the bed puts an arm around her shoulders. The reality hit her hard, and tears rolling down her cheeks. Doctor Conrad comes to her other side in a comforting voice, “We understand this is a lot to process, but I assure you Doctor Frissar and I will help you through this. One step at a time.

*****

Later in the evening, she lays exhausted from the stress. Told to rest she just stares at the ceiling, unsure if she could rest. A question she asked Doctor Conrad rolls around in her mind. Asking about the possibility of dreams while comatose. The Doctor’s answer was straight forwards. There is no data to support that claim; although some patients have claimed otherwise. Sometimes, people are somewhat aware of what is around them. He explained to her then. The human mind is complex. When he inquires why Fern asked that specifically, she simply stated curiosity. Unsure if she should divulge the fact stems from seeing images in her head before waking.

She had heard once from a medical article or maybe a documentary about comatose patients having dreams or what they heard playing out scenarios their heads. That thought further uneased her. After all what sounds twisted her ‘hallucinations’ into vivid mono-chromatic imagery; rolling by in her mind’s eye like broken film.

The first night of REM sleep the grey-cloak man reappears behind her eyes. Wandering in the hospital halls—only the halls lit. Everything before and after in darkness. Dispite no physical source of the light, however, overhead came the iridescent buzzing. Actually, as she walks, unhindered by IVs notice only halls; no waiting rooms, cafeteria, or reception areas. Occasionally she saw into rooms.

The first one, hers, but no bed or equipment, just darkness. A grey void with a tight rope when she stands in the doorway saw a figure looking away from her. Even from behind there was something that look familiar. Her height, her hair style, her clothes. The woman half-way across stood wobblily. The goal to the other side, unknown. The individual struggles nearly falling. Trying to take control tries to re-adjusts but fails. During her efforts makes a three fourth turn of her head, a bit of her face can be seen and a crack on her left temple similar to the one on her forehead.

By instincts Fern places a hand to her left temple, letting out a gasp. A bit of white light shone through like cracks in porcelain. The girl on the rope tilts her head more and Fern finally sees her profile. Stun to see a duplicate of her face, but the colors of her face and eyes appearing washed out.

“You are still broken.” She whispers, slipping and falling into oblivion. Falling sensation jolts her awake, body trembling.

Part two

Fern jolts up awake almost every other night; three A.M. every time she wakes. Getting out of bed to make calming tea; still replays the dream in her head. Most nights it was her porcelain double she would be in different rooms. Either in her own house or her mother’s house; where she currently stays while healing. It been a couple weeks discharged from the hospital. Taking it easy and recently told she is clear from danger from the concussion. Still going to physical therapy for her shoulder.

Other times the dream is with the guy; standing in doorways or sitting on park benches at the edge of a cemetery. No matter what scenes within the dream would switch like a back drop. Some with scenes playing out and others she is alone. Playing out like old films, fraying at the edges; stopping mid-way like it was stuck in the player.

Often, seeing him at funerals. The ones she went to at a young age about eight. One of her grandmother’s funeral, an elderly Uncle, young cousin, and even a fellow student. All playing out almost how she can remember it. Except for one thing Fern is sure she never seen him there before; at the parlor in a corner or by the casket, at the church, or even at the grave plot. At the site of a deadly crash that now bears a cross of said student one of many crosses and ten miles from her crash.

The worse part of having nightmares is they never leave. Certain images replay in her mind’s eye hours after waking up. Shaking her head of those ideas takes a long sip of her chamomile tea. Breathing in the scent closing her eyes. Hearing footsteps opens her eyes and saw him standing in the opening of the kitchen. Startled back knocking the cup over; shattering on the floor. In a blink of the eye, he is gone.

Replaced by her mother startled as well. “I’m sorry did I startled you?” “Fern?”

“Uh- “she begins picking up the ceramic. “No, I thought I saw someone else.”

The mother’s brow furrows, what her daughter could mean by that. No one else was here. Her mouth forms a thin line. Fern looking up at her mother’s face knows she wasn’t convinced.

“No one, I meant I was imagining things.” Oh, that doesn’t sound like I’m crazy. Fern thought immediately. “It’s why I’m up in the first place.”

“Are you having nightmares?”

“It’s nothing.”

Hands on hips now. “Broken teacups aren’t nothing.”

“They are normal nightmares, just stressed perhaps. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“If they are continuing like this, should you consider some of the therapists your doctor suggested?”

Fern’s eyebrows furrow now. Finally mopping up the tea. “Therapist for what? I was in an accident. A lot of people get…never mind.”

*****

Fern goes about her routine looking through shelves of a bookstore. Locals gossip about her bandages. The police have no leads of who did the hit and run and she has no reliable memory of what happened. People still speculate who might have done it; people that frequently been caught drinking and driving. It was tiring to hear about being the center of the gossip everyone trying to be a detective for the sake of gossip. Worse of all is not knowing who is the culprit.

Zig-zagging between aisles putting books in a bag. Deep into one of the science fiction aisles, one of her favorite topics. At one point she meanders to the psychology sections. A sector she hardly gave a thought to and visit. Absently she grabs a book not intending to buy it, but to look at it. There were a lot of self-help and faith books. Not against the idea of religion or spirituality, but never cared for the self-hep books that were the same idea of positivity.

Why did she come into this aisle? She often explored the fantasy and classic sections. None of which were even near this section. Fern pauses a moment; she didn’t recall when she left the science fiction section. She shakes her head to clear the fog, another on and off problem lately. Sighing, she was hoping getting back to her routine would feel normal. A forced task that sizzled out. Perhaps, she thought, she just strayed to a different section.

Turning the corner comes face to face with a new waking nightmare. A man, overly tall that when standing must bend his neck ninety degrees. Most of the time he was seen standing or sitting in the corner, just staring at her. He never said a word. It should have worried her that she wasn’t fazed at the site. For a moment she thought she felt… and heard…heavy breathing.

From behind her, nobody there, maybe they were on the other side of the shelf. She hopefully thought pushing the books aside, no one. In a corner opposite to where she stood, was the man with the scythe. Fern couldn’t admit to herself what he might be. The man fades away. Heading to his location notices this is the furthest corner of the bookstore. It was the new age section. Books about Paganism, witch craft, and haunted tales. Tarot decks and tarot books and a lot of new age type media.

A corner she rarely bothered with; not superstitious never found interest of the paranormal. Eyes skimming the books found a lot of books like self-hep books but more of the mind set type one. Projection and horoscopes lined the shelves with tarot and runes. They reminded her of a classmate that was into this. Still lives in town; they weren’t friends but they still spoke to each other. She was always fascinated with the spirit world. Fern’s eyes fell upon books about spirits, reaching her hand towards one, but retracts it.

Nope, we aren’t resorting to that. She thought. I don’t need a therapist or an exorcist. I’m not insane. I’m just stressed. Her eyes wander down the row; a book about dreams catches her eyes. Again, she resists the urges to take it. What would looking up their meaning do? It won’t change anything. As far as she was concerned, they were just nightmares a simple explanation of dealing with this trauma, almost a month ago, they will go away.

Fern takes a glance at the man, the glided to a corner still staring at her. Yeah, they will go away.

Her curiosity got the best of her, flipping through pages. Girl on tight rope? Scary tall man? Too specific, no this book just explains symbolism, but perhaps. No, forget it. Should she keep a journal. Placing the book back spies other book spines reading; spirit world, opening your third eye, stories of spirits. Recalling the former classmate again; she wrote about it, obsessed about it, was teased for it. Called a witch because her mother practiced tarot.

The mother did readings during busy tourist days…upsetting the older generation and the priest. “Comatose patients are in between life and death.” She heard that once before, “they say you can’t dream while comatose, but patients claim they did. Perhaps they weren’t dreams. Perhaps they temporarily entered the spirit world.” Yes, she did recall on one of those shows about the human mind debating about this stuff. Occasionally there is a news story of someone that died of cardiac arrest coming back claiming they saw angels. People in surgery having out of body experiences.

At this point she wasn’t sure what to believe those images were, but does it matter, they still scared her.

“Ma’am?”

She startles at a tap of her shoulder.

“Sorry ma’am,” said a young man in a uniform. “I didn’t mean to startle you just thought you were struggling to pick a book.”

Fern looks down with book in hand.

“Oh, I was just looking.”

“Looking for anything in particular?”

“Well, nothing really I just I guess I was just curious.”

“I see, well I can help you with some beginner books.” He suggests glancing at the cover. “That is a useful book, it provides the most basics and common symbolism in dreams.”

“That is helpful, thanks, but I will look on my own.”

“No problems I will be stocking over there if you need anything.” The man leaves, Fern looks over to find him on the other end of the section stocking books. Unbeknownst to him the tall guy, now squatted in the corner was there staring at him and then looking ahead. Several other souls joined him; a grey Irish Wolf Hound laid by the man’s feet. Fern looks at the book in hand and contemplates something.

Maybe, well she doesn’t know what is going on; psychosis or paranormal. Did the accident affected her so emotionally she is seeing things to cope? That wouldn’t make sense to cope with images like that. Perhaps her accident jogged out some hidden ability. Was she really going to accept any explanation? Looking back at the shelves she resolved her decision. Ignoring it won’t work and understanding something might reveal something. Bringer her hoard to the counter purchases the book of dreams and some journals. One for her dreams and the other for anything else. Perhaps, it best to at least try to understand her dreams.

Later that night she has another restless dream. Going down hallways after hallway trying to find an end. Every hallway was long and appears never ending. Sooner or later, she gets to the end where another corner materializes and leads to another hall. The walls are unfamiliar, but she felt this was supposed to be her house. All the pictures were blank, blacked out for some reason.

Her dream self knew this wasn’t normal. No matter what she kept walking a looming thought that she shouldn’t. Fern always felt there was someone behind her, but resists the urge to look back. She did not know why but she felt something—not to look upon.

A familiar feeling her dream self wasn’t aware of. The dream version of Fern only mildly aware or why she feels it, but not that she resides in a dream. Fern is viewing this directly through her eyes. Silence surrounds them. The halls lit up by the unseen lights; buzzing like florescent bulbs. Spot light only on her a vast darkness before her. Now open doorways appear and she looks in—pure darkness inside.

Soon those rooms show monochromic scenes. Bizarre landscapes that go on beyond the border of the rooms. A wavy grave yard with uneven tombstones; winding paths weaving in and out of the rows. Another features a tower on wheels; lots of odd-looking weapons and contraptions moving this way and that. A room with aquariums ‘sized tanks inside, but you couldn’t see in them. The tops of them clamps shut with chains and locks. The tanks shaking and water spilled out. Many rooms had odd displays and Fern never sets foot into either one of them.

She couldn’t explain it, but somehow knew there was nothing in there for her. Fern just knew she had to keep going. Even as she went to another corner; the tall man and the dog stood in the corner before the turn. The man looking past her shoulder at whatever lurked behind her.

“She IsN’t lOst, yEt.” She heard from the air. The man’s lips did not move and the dog’s only response is a growl also towards what follows. The feeling distance itself, but follows on. Somehow that was an ease.

White lights change, in a flash to red and blue lights. A SCREECH and clash of metal sounds from inside her head, yet she still attempts to muffle the noise. The corridor turns violently into a vertical angle and she lands face first into the area of her accident. There was no car, just the ruts in the road where her vehicle rolled over and the tires of the rescue vehicles. Looking towards the highway saw the twisted metal of the metal rail. Flashes of red and blue still fills the air; the only colors of this dreamscape. Trees all dead and the grass black and white.

The ground beneath her cracks and falls to black except for a line beneath her. Fern finds herself in another scene; the film has moved again. Over head the spotlight shines, but dimmer and the edge of light even closer. Fern struggles to stay balanced, but somehow stays upright the workings of a dream no doubt. From out the shadow came a foot wearing ballet flats like the one’s trapeze wear.

Follows comes the knee and the other foot follows behind. Perfectly balance is the figure who slowly creeps into the light. Slowly as she creeps into the light reveals herself. White knee-high socks, then a sundress; black with floral patterns. Her dark-blonde hair loosely tied back with a ribbon brushing the shoulders. A giant bow tied to the top of her head. Her porcelain white skin like a dolls’ broken at the temple with light shining through it. The crack not as pronounce still resembles her scar.

Fern still suffering the occasional headache already consulted with the neurologist and obtained another MRI, everything normal. Occasional headaches just a normal but unfortunate side effect. For the first time Fern is face to face with her porcelain double-her washed out grey eyes stared back at her. Empty. Still wobbly Fern manages better balance, perhaps focusing on ‘herself’ made it easier to concentrate.

“You are still broken.” Her voice says, but in a broken tone like when a music box is out of tune, flat.

“How am I broken? I am healed according to the doctors.”

“The medical doctors aren’t wrong, but only right by means of physical. What of your mind? What of your emotions?”

“I am fine.”

“And yet, you are talking to me. Your broken self.” Her step falters for a moment. “Are you going to let me balance here forever?” Her stance faltering once more. Fern feeling a pull in the same direction.

“It is normal to have nightmares.”

“Is it normal to have nightmares in the waking hours. You wake every day at the witching hour. You think that is normal? Even if I am a nightmare, is there not a cause? How long do you want me to stay like this?” The tirade triggers something, the light flickers between red, blue, and back to white again. Over and over the light flickers. And the double and herself clutches at their foreheads.

“I don’t know what to do. I just want the hauntings to stop.”

“I thought you said nothing was wrong?” Tone a hint of sarcasm.

I-I don’t know anymore.” Her balances falters one foot now maintaining balance. Bending her other leg slightly restores the balance to an extent. Her double not doing as well.

“You a waken too soon, not healed. In your mind. Stuck. We are stuck.”

“How are ‘we’ stuck? It is a dream.” The tight rope wobbles.

“A dream manifested of fear and loss of control. Fear of not knowing the culprit, but know whomever continues their life as is. Waking dreams is fear bleeding into reality. Forcing a normalcy just to forget. Putting up an act. Pretending we don’t exist.”

Fern and herself regains balance. The images all flooding to her mind. The longer she went on, the more she ignored them the more came. It was in the back in her head something she knew to be true or a plausible truth.

“This dream is more than a dream. Am I having visions?”

“In a way yes.” Her voice still flat starts to sound a bit like her now. “But it’s not that simple. I am only yourself. Perhaps I am a reflection but the man, the dogs, and Death. They may not. I cannot answer all your questions, but I can tell you one thing—you need to wake up.”

The double maintain perfect balance takes the long stick over her shoulder and swings hard. Fern falls into the abyss. Screaming.

Part three

Fern awaken tangled in a blanket on her bedroom floor. Shaken, she stands and looks over at the clock. The green, glowing digits blinking three am.

Knock-knock-knock. “Fern?” Her mother’s muffled voice seeps through the door. “Are you alright?”

On the other side her mother waits for a reply, silence. Reaching for the knob—it turns finally her daughter looks up at her tears welling in her eyes. Almost falling back at the force of the embrace stands silent as her daughter sobs.

“I have another nightmare. I can’t—I just can’t anymore. I dread sleeping, I can’t sleep, I am tired from waking up early.” Eyes tearing up as well her mother stands firm and silent. A light touch to her shoulder as her daughter continues. “I knew, I’m sorry I ignore yours and the doctors’ advice. I just didn’t want to feel crazy. I am afraid what a therapist or anyone else thought if I told my dreams, what I see awake. What if something is wrong with me?”

Her mother spoke up. “Nothing is wrong with you.”

“It’s just doesn’t seem fair. The person that ran into me probably had less injuries if at all. Less damage to their car. No consequences. I know I should get over it, but I can’t.”

“I don’t blame you honey. It is the way it is though. I know it isn’t what you want to hear, but you will have to work on forgiving at least eventually. You don’t owe anyone forgiveness right now. Just heal now.”

“I think,” She reflects on this. “I need help.”

“We will call one of the therapists later this morning.” An awkward pause. “Since we are already up how about I make some tea and if you want we will talk or perhaps you can try to sleep a bit later.”

*****

A couple more weeks past and a couple of months since the accident has passed. Fern got out of another therapy session. They started out at three days a week. Progress was slow going, Fern still refrained from spilling everything. Especially her waking dreams and the books she read. She was worried of being thrown in some type of padded cell. He did an analysis on her and diagnosed her with acute stress disorder. She only talked about the accident.

She told him about how unfair it seems that the person wouldn’t stand trial. She wonders if they even cared since they never admitted to it. The doctor contemplated that while there was no way to be certain there was a slight possibility that if the driver was impaired perhaps, they do not recall it. Still, that hardly eased her mind.

Her doctor reminds her at times how normal it was to feel anger for something like that. He instructed her firmly that type of anger was useless. He gave her some exercises to help cope with the emotions. Meditative exercises as well as journal keeping. The therapist even offered medicine at least to help calm her mind for sleep.

It would be half way through the month when she finally told them about the dream. It wasn’t asked of her they were doing their usual chat while playing chess. It was a method he used to keep it casual. Maybe the conversation came to it or maybe she blurted it out, hard to tell. He paused mid-way to setting a knight down when she started this. The chess game continued. She went on in detail about some of the dreams.

She began in the hospital telling details she could remember, still quite a lot to remember. Fern spoke virtually uninterrupted, the doctor only stopping her for a question or two. Never appearing to judge her or the admittance of the spiritual books.

His only statement was this- “Sounds like your subconscious manifesting in a way to process the trauma. Perhaps lack of sleep created a domino effect of worsening Nightmares.”

The therapist also encouraged her if she wanted to keep a journal of her dreams. If she ever desires to share more.

It’s a month after she starts her therapy sessions. Nightmares still occurs, but fewer and far between. That was a good sign. She continues to write them down, even dreams that weren’t bad, but had a certain theme to them. They were still in black and white, but lighter and occasionally had a pop of color. She no longer went through long hallways though and while she occasionally found herself in different scenes or looking into rooms with scenes, they were at least pleasant.

Even scenes of being in a cemetery didn’t seem so dark. Now, she experiences them as a third party seeing a younger self with her family visiting a family member; it changes the scenery from a scary vision to a bittersweet memory. The Grim still shows up in her dreams. Sitting at a bench with their scythe resting besides, them; the scythe handle made of Ash.

Fern read the books she bought and many others; ash was a tree that way back in Viking’s time were seen as the tree of life. In Viking myth, the Yggdrasil tree was commonly depicted as ash or oak both long lasting. A juxtaposition if she ever saw one. She no longer saw him in her waking life, but did saw the man, but the dog more often and further away. Perhaps it was a sign of healing or perhaps she just got used to them.

That was a mystery she hasn’t yet solved, while her nightmares were less the visions remained, but usually images of people that passed. The fact she would still dream of Death was strange of all certainly they had no means of hanging around. In one of these dreams, she mustered the courage to sit by them, getting the feeling he could answer the questions.

In her current dream she sat with Death; still masked whittling a piece of wood.

“Why?”

“Why I hung around?” He spoke in a livelier voice than she expected. “I can’t explain that entirely. I never intended for our paths to cross especially after the accident.”

Turning towards them asks, “So I saw you and it wasn’t a dream. But wasn’t that what I been dealing with, nightmare? That is why I been going to therapy.” He halts carving for a moment, looking at her with painted eyes, replies,

“No, you did and still have nightmares, but sometimes well I think she said it before they were your fears manifesting, but they gotten great enough that they bled into reality. Yes, some of us was a dream like the girl that looks like you. She is the broken part of you balancing between realities.” Death continues carving the Oak piece.

“I think I understand.” She recalls what she was told a month ago. “So, what I’m psychic?”

“You were at a brink of death that day, not dead, but holding on.” He explains while examine the carving starting to take shape. “However, even then my presence was needed, but I did not know you saw me until you stared at me for so long. I thought to beckon you. You choose otherwise. But, to choose life you had to heal and your body went into what medics call a coma. Alive, but drifting in your mind. A lot of the times people even in that state don’t get as far as the spirit realm though just a few and fewer choose to return. Maybe it triggered something in you. Maybe something already there or maybe it wasn’t. I do not know that much I just know once your eyes are open to something you cannot close them.”

Fern ponders this, looking about the park they were in. Mostly a light grey, but some green tints in the grass and the water fountain babbled with gold glowing water. There were people about, but they never seen to notice them and their facial features blurred out.

“Am I having a type of vision then. Did my new ‘sight’ trigger nightmares?”

“I am not sure myself that is not my expertise, but I know enough. Your trauma triggered the nightmares, but perhaps your new sight also triggers your waking dreams. After all, why dream of me? Perhaps you did because you saw me. You saw me in the hospital that day, but your sight was fresh and so was your trauma. I suppose in circumstances of the place you probably would have seen me anyways. I did not intend to see you that day it is merely my common stop. I guide many souls’ humans and animals. You still see the man do you and the dog?”

“Yes.”

“He is one of many. Why you dreamt him up? Perhaps he is a vision. He will be one of many. Your sight will not fade even when your nightmares cease. He is a type of spirit attracted to trauma and because you see beyond reality, I suppose he crept into your dreams.”

“Is that why I see him less?”

“Yes, he got bored. There are many like him and they will either be hindrance or helpers to you. Different types of spirits, but even the good you shouldn’t provoke. Learn how to use your sight the way you are learning to cope.”

“I did saw you, but when I saw you in my dreams were those you?”

Death, delicately carving some finer details.

“Some were like the ones in your memories. I did not mean to scare you, it can’t be help. I was there then too, but you did not see then. I suppose I was trying to show you something.”

“Do you know these spirits.”

“To a degree my realm is theirs as well and I pass many of them. The dog, is a guide to the spirit realm I suppose that is why he hung around. You will have to learn to live with this gift. It is all else I can tell you.”

He fades away, leaving the sculpture behind. A raven which also had a role in lore. The ravens of Odin, bearers of messengers between the worlds including the spirit realm. They were tied to many myths worldwide as well including symbols of death. Awakening, begins her usual new routine of recording her dreams. It was her new normal she supposed. However, slowly some of her normal life returns such as strolling past the shops. In one window she did a double-take of a wooden figurine like the one carved in her dream.

Entering the establishment chimes of little bells tolled. It was a new age shop. She still wasn’t superstitious at least in the types about good and bad luck, but her experiences made her re think somethings to. She recognized the woman behind the counter as a former classmate who when looking up excitedly leapt over the counter and bounded to her.

“Oh Fern, how have you been, I haven’t seen you since graduation.”

“I am fine, you and your mother run this shop.”

“Yes, oh how may I help you?”

“Well, for starters how much for that wooden raven in the window.

The End