Ella ran and she knew that if she stopped, she would die. Her chestnut brown hair whipped across her vision as she looked behind her to see if it had gained on her. Heart pounding not just in her chest, but the intense rhythm vibrated in her throat. She may just vomit. Fear spurned her on. Her foot snagged and in an instant, she was sprawled on the ground, hands gripping the dirt, whatever air she had left forced out of her. Whispers, low and eerie, surrounded her on all sides. In through your nose, out through your mouth, she repeated the mantra, one her Sensi would often remind her of in their training sessions. But this was different. She wasn’t in the safety of the dojo- she was in the woods running for her life, sweat glistened on her forehead.
“Little, Windsor,” the voice was old and gravely like footsteps on stone, dragging and slow. A shiver slithered down Ella’s spine and goose flesh raised on her arms. Hoisting herself up, and nearly losing her footing again, she raced down the path. Fog enveloped the trees, moonlight casting an eerie glow illuminating her path to salvation. The whispers intensified, filling her ears entirely. She swatted at the air around her as if that would clear the specters, she knew were there but couldn’t see. “Come now, little Windsor,” the voice felt on top of her now, the scent of death and decay hitting her nostrils. She turned seeking the source but finding none.
Ella switched paths darting behind the closest tree, her hands covered her mouth attempting to muffle her rough panting. There was no way it couldn’t hear her heartbeat. In through your nose. Ella tried to calmly release the breath out of her mouth and through her hands, steading her heart. She stole a glance around, there had to be something to arm herself with. She looked down at her hands but couldn’t see them. Why couldn’t she see her hands? A new panic began to unfold. Wait, she thought. I’m dreaming. I must be dreaming.
Ella hadn’t always been able to control her dreams, but within the last year, it was a talent of hers that she’d discovered, and it was one that she enjoyed, you know, when her dreams weren’t trying to kill her. Whether it was breathing underwater or flying, she didn’t have a preference and enjoyed the control. If she was dreaming, all she would have to do was wake up to be free of the nightmare.
Come on, Ella, wake up, she thought. She pinched her arm, pain momentarily flaring, but she was still in the dream. Damnit.
The bark from the tree dug deep into her back as she tried to meld into it. Snapping from behind her shield jarred her attention. She had to move. She would wake up eventually, right? If she couldn’t force herself awake, all she had to do was hang on a little longer.
What she really needed was a weapon. Ella dropped her hand to her side and imagined a dagger. Instantly, she felt the weight of something appear in her hand and she gripped it tightly. Looking down she tried to make out its appearance, but in the dreamscape, all she could see was the outline. Good enough. Without a look back she pushed off the tree and ran. Hard. I need to find a way out, she thought. Towards the end of a path, Ella could make out the faintest glow of a light. It wasn’t the moon, which was above, but had a warm gleam to it. That’s where she needed to go. She could feel it. If only she could get there. Arms pumping hard at her side, dagger in hand, Ella’s pace matched the beats of her heart. Fly, she thought. Ella’s feet began to lift off the ground and hope bloomed in her chest.
“There you are,” the nightmare rasped, and a cold, bony touch gripped her ankle. Her body was violently pulled backwards, and she hit the ground with lethal force, coughing with the impact. Pain coated her entire body. Dreams weren’t supposed to hurt. Why did hers hurt? The dagger slipped from her hand and clattered in the dirt and billowing shadows descended upon her. The scream that erupted from her throat didn’t feel human.
It looked like a walking shadow with the outline never forming a solid line. Hovering above her, edges constantly moving. The skull was cloaked in a hood and the moonlight glinted off the skeletal face, eye sockets filled with a dull, luminous red. Its mouth hung open as if its jaw wasn’t quite attached with razor sharp teeth lining both top and bottom of the bone. Raising a shadow arm, its blackness took the form of spindled outstretched fingers.
Ella scrambled back and prayed for her dagger. The whispering of the woods continued in a crescendo around her. She couldn’t make out any of the words, but as it intensified, it was all she could do to not plug her ears.
Movement to her left caught her eye and she snapped her head to catch sight of it. Please don’t let it be another one, please. A figure stood in between the trees, this one more solid than the nightmare before her and it didn’t have that fuzzy quality the rest of the dream world had. Something on its back caught the light of the moon and for a split second it looked like a sword.
“Your bones will taste sweet,” the nightmare rasped, Ella’s attention jolting back to the terror in front of her. It was close enough now that she could feel its breath on her stinking of the same decay from what she could only imagine was its last meal. Ella glanced back at the figure, pleading with her eyes for help. She hadn’t produced that figure like she had the dagger, but it was gone. She was on her own. Bile rose in the back of her throat. She felt around in the darkness scrambling to find the dagger that had fallen on impact. Finally, after agonizing seconds, she reached the hilt and gripped it tight as the nightmare loomed over her. Quickly and unceremoniously, she slashed out with the dagger willing it to make contact. The specter shrieked like nails on a chalkboard as the dagger hit its mark on the bottom part of its jaw.
“You will pay,” it hissed, “I will gnaw on your bones while you live taking pieces of you while you watch.” It slashed its now taloned hand towards her. Ella lifted her arm to block the blow and instant searing, burning pain raced through her arm. She looked down at the blood welling there. The nightmare breathed in deeply and Ella swore she could make out a smile on its face. “Ahh, yes, the sweet, sweet liquid.” It salivated and she watched as putrid liquid fell out of its mouth.
“Get away from me!” Ella screamed, slashing the dagger in front of her again.
“You will be most delicious,” it hissed and lowered its mouth to her arm where the blood pooled.
“No!” Ella screamed.
“Ella, get up!” a voice from far away called.
“No!” She screamed again.
“Ella! Get up, you’re going to be late!” Ella’s mother’s voice called through the bedroom door.
Ella Windsor jolted awake, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She was drenched in sweat, tangled in her bedsheets, and gasping for breath as the remnants of the nightmarish vision still haunted her mind. It took her a moment to realize she was no longer dreaming, and that she was safely in her bed. She could still feel the breath on her, and the smell remained in her nostrils.
Now, in her dimly lit bedroom, Ella's trembling hand instinctively went to her forearm. Slowly and with a trembling hand she traced the spot where the figure had cut her in the dream. Panic and shock flooded her as she felt a warm, sticky wetness. Pulling her hand away, in the pale early morning light filtering through her curtains, was the unmistakable glint of blood. Fresh panic surged through her veins as she fumbled for the bedside lamp and switched it on. Her heart raced even faster as she saw the deep gash on her forearm, the same spot where she had been wounded in the nightmare. It couldn't be real. It couldn't be possible. Dreams were just that, dreams. You couldn’t get hurt in your dreams, but that wasn’t true, was it? Her arm was proof of that. Ella looked around her room as if the four walls would have the answer.
“Ella!” Her mother called again.
“Yeah?” It came out in a whisper, and she cleared her throat, her voice raw. She tried again, “Yeah?”
“Let’s get moving!”
“Ok!” She called back with a shaking and raw voice. Was it raw from screaming? Had she been screaming in her sleep? Wouldn’t her mom or Ian have heard her and come to wake her up? She doubted her stepdad, Brian, would have intervened, but Ian, her twin, and her mom surely would have.
Ella tried to steady her breathing, her mind racing with fear and confusion. How had a wound from her dream appeared on her body? She had heard of lucid dreams, which is what she did every time she controlled them to fly or even drawing the dagger to her, but this was something entirely different—a nightmare that had left a physical mark.
Ella shifted in bed and touched something cold against her skin under the covers. Screaming, she retracted her legs up to her chest, clutching her knees to her like a child.
Pounding feet flooded the stairs outside of her door and without warning, the door burst open, overhead light flipping on.
“What? What is it? Are you ok?” Her mother’s voice was panicked. Meredith Windsor was the epitome of a type A, well put together, everything needs to be perfect, working mom. Her brown hair, the same as Ella’s, was curled to perfection, clothing pressed, and makeup flawless. She worked at a legal firm and looked every bit the part. Her serious features now contorted in worry.
Ella cleared her throat and looked around the room settling on her mother. Nothing moved under her covers. If it had been a nightmare, it wouldn’t have fit under them or anywhere in her room for that matter. Get a grip, she told herself.
“Yeah, sorry, Mom. Spider,” she tried to chuckle.
“Jesus Christ,” her mom shook her head, “get up. You’re already going to be late. I’ve been calling you for a half hour now.” Meredith shook her head at her daughter and closed her door, annoyance apparent.
Gradually returning her focus to her covers; her gaze fixated on them as if they concealed a snake ready to strike. Slowly, with a shaky breath, she inched her hand towards her comforter. The arm she extended was now a dried mass and, in the light, not only was it blood, but she could make out bits of dirt on her forearm as well. Before she lost her resolve, she flipped the blanket back preparing for a new attack. Fear coursed through her and settled in her stomach when she saw what lay there. She almost wished it had been a snake, or worse a spider. There, laying delicately between her sheets was a small dagger. The hilt was brown with thin leather cord spiraling intricately around it in a crisscross pattern, and the blade sported thick, black residue. Ella cautiously reached for it, as if touching it would trigger the nightmare and gripped the handle, feeling the familiar weight she had experienced when she created it in her dream. It was the same one. How was that possible?
