Chapter Eleven
Another Day Begins
Niam found himself in a glade in the middle of a dense forest. A riot of ferns rose from the matted floor up to his knees, and thick tangles of vines spider-webbed between the long, moss covered trunks that rose to form a green ceiling far above. As he stood and looked around, he knew this was only a dream, and he also knew where he was—the farthest edge of Siler’s Gorge, just beyond the lake, where it overflowed into a part of the valley that was intermittently swampy, depending upon the time of year. Sunlight poured down through a break in the canopy above, but all around the forest guarded its secrets, reaching up and putting out whatever light that tried to push its way to the ground. Overhead, the susurration of a slow breeze pushed languidly through the greenery. Other than that, all was quiet, and this was odd. Normally, shade-loving animals made a crescendo of whirrs, chirrups, cheeps, and croaks.
From ahead, a scream cut the air. He peered into the darkness and saw Sarah’s form running headlong into the deepening gloom. He knew this was a dream, but . . . something was different. Sarah screamed again in terror and Niam, sprang forward. His feet pummeled the ground as he tore through the thick foliage carpeting the forest floor. Trees blurred by as he rushed into the deepening gloom.
Ahead of him, Sarah’s figure plunged headlong and terrified, like a ghost driven into shadow by the rising sun. Soon, Niam’s breaths tore at his lungs, burning his chest and scouring his throat.
The hot ache was different. It hurt. He had never felt pain in a dream before.
Nimbly, he plunged forward. Moonflower vines tore at his shins as his legs ripped through long, thorny tendrils. More pain lanced along his shins where the vines’ thorns cut his flesh.
A cold river of fear pushed its way into his mind. If he could feel pain in a dream, what else might be able to happen to him? But the realization that Sarah was pulling ahead of him pushed that thought away. Her head whipped around and her eyes seemed to focus on him.
She shrieked again in terror.
Niam ran harder, but Sarah still inched away from him. This is just a dream, Niam frantically told himself. This is just a dream and I’ll wake up in the morning like always. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself even harder. He ran so swiftly that his legs threatened to spill him to the ground. Desperately, he tried to call out, but his lips wouldn’t move, his throat remained stubbornly still. What was she afraid of? Again, he opened his mouth to call out to her, to tell her it was just him, her little brother, that he was coming. But no sound came out.
Sarah let out another scream, one that was low, that came from a place of abject terror. It was a primal sound. A dying sound. Niam felt a sulphurous lump suddenly fill his stomach. The skin on the back of his neck stood up and the air began to grow thicker and darker somehow, palpably colder. He felt as if someone had opened a door to winter and its frosty drafts were wafting through and encircling him. As he tore through the snaggling vines his shin struck a low branch hidden among the ferns. A loud snap followed, and Niam went sprawling onto his stomach. The smell of the loamy earth filled his nostrils.
WAAAATCHH, the Voice that he knew all too well whispered into his head. LIIIISTEN. As Niam instinctively struggled to catch his breath and prepared to rise, he was hit by another wave of nausea.
No, something worse than nausea.
Almost immediately, Niam heard the sound of approaching footsteps. As he quickly turned his head, a sense of something vile and oily washed over him. A covered figure emerged into view. Niam’s stomach gave a sharp lurch as the figure drew closer, dressed in dark robes, which trailed behind like a garment of angry snakes.
The sight terrified him, and Niam lay there, stunned. He shrank into himself, a drying worm in salt. His arms and legs trembled uncontrollably. He knew he should get up, but he couldn’t. His arms, like his throat, were now frozen. Fear coursed through him, and the wave of sickness grew even stronger. Wake up, wake up, oh sweet Lord, wake me up PLEEAASE, he prayed. But the nausea hit harder, carrying with it the essence of decaying birds and frogs, of fruit that had sat out far too long, of the final vomit that came out of diseased dogs just before they died.
And still, the figure drew closer.
Niam tried to press himself back into the dirt, to bury himself in the loam beneath his back where he couldn’t be seen . . . would never be seen. Oh Sarah, I’m so sorry Sarah! The menacing stranger was now almost on top of him. He looked up in terror, expecting to see a demonic face with eyes alight with the fires of insanity, but the menacing stranger’s features were hidden.
Help me! Niam’s mind shouted in panic. The oily waters enveloped him. Darkness washed around him, and there was nothing now but the growing, unbearable sickness.
Sarah screamed again.
*
And in the darkness, there was this and only this—
The Voice.
REMEEEMBER