Page 13 of Darkdream

“Nothing good,” she says with a scowl. “We met when I was a teenager, and back then my name was Eliza. I was trying to escape one bad man, and I made the mistake of running to a second one. He was a criminal: a drug dealer, a thief, a pimp. He forced me to take drugs, he raped me, he passed me around to his friends when I was too high to say no. In the end, I helped the police with their case and he was sent to prison, which is why he hates me. Why he wants to kill me now. I changed my name, but he found me anyway.”

I growl, low and menacing. Teenage Libra deserved better than she got. How could no one around her see how special she was? That she deserved to be treated with care?

She pauses and glances at me, as if considering what to say. “My friend Haven thinks that I have siren ancestry. As in the sirens from Greek myth. I know that sounds crazy, but she believes that there’s something about me that people find alluring, something I can’t even control. If she’s right, that could be why Evan was drawn to me in the first place. Why all my foster fathers saw me as an opportunity instead of a child. But that could only be true if sirens are real.” She shrugs, as if she’s embarrassed to even suggest the idea.

Why wouldn’t they be? All sorts of strange creatures exist in all sorts of strange realities. Humans can be so limited in their understanding of the universe.

“You may very well be part siren,” I tell her, stroking her hair. “I certainly find you alluring.” She grins and I smile back, wanting to do anything I can to keep that joy on her face. “What other forms of revenge would you bestow upon Evan, if you could?”

She purses her pillowy lips, thinking. “Nothing as bad as he deserves. As much as I’d like to, I couldn’t bring myself to kill him or torture him or anything. He’s the evil one, not me.”

I nod, slightly disappointed. She’s a good person, so I’m not surprised, but watching her unleash torture would be delightful.

“But you know what’s weird and kinda cliché?” she says. “Evan was always fully afraid of haunted houses, which is silly given how horrible he is. But yeah, the darkness, the creepy noises, the random dude jumping out with a chainsaw gave him the creeps. It’s not very creative, but I’d love to strand him in a freaky, spooky house.”

I raise an eyebrow at her. She’s right; a haunted house isn’t particularly inventive. But I have a feeling that between the two of us, we can come up with something downright terrifying.

“Let me do a little thinking,” I say. “In the meantime, you should wake up.”

CALLISTER

It doesn’t take me long to find Evan Dempsey in the dream world. I’m not here to harm him; I’ll save that pleasure for Libra. But I do want to know what frightens him. His current dream is banal, which won’t do. I dip into his mind, searching for a tendril of fear. It’s buried deep, a childhood terror, and I slowly bring it to the surface. I won’t control it; I want him to lead the way and show me his fears.

I dip into his mind, searching for a tendril of fear. It’s buried deep, a childhood terror, and I slowly bring it to the surface.

As I watch, everything shifts. The colors go sunny and bright, cheerful music suffuses the air, and the omnipresent scent of sugar wafts on the wind. There are vibrant tents and shining rides; it’s some sort of carnival. Children run wild, laughing and chewing on various sticky candies. In the midst of it all stands a shy little boy with black hair, holding fast to a woman’s hand.

Evan. He’s reverted to childhood in this dream. Excellent. Childhood fears are always delicious.

The woman, dark haired like Evan, takes him to the carousel. She ruffles his hair and kisses his cheek, and once he’s settled on his pony, she backs into the crowd. As I watch, she melts into the throng of people. Little Evan doesn’t notice; his face is filled with glee as the ride picks up speed. His mother vanishes from the dream, a quick poof! disappearance, and I understand.

She abandoned him as a child.

Not necessarily in this scenario; after all, this is a dream, not a memory. But however she left, this is the mark it made on him: a sudden, terrifying vanishing. I understand even more what haunts him now: fear of abandonment. And worse, a deep-seated hatred of women that hearkens back all the way to his mother. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Mrs. Dempsey bears more than a passing resemblance to Libra. Another woman who left him, at least in his eyes.

Libra’s looks are a draw, there’s no questioning that. But if she’s right and she bears siren heritage, then that would have had an additional effect on Evan. He would have found her irresistible and hated both her and himself for it.

This is all fascinating, and an interesting psychological insight into the man, but it’s not a nightmare. It’s just a sad carnival dream. Fortunately, carnivals have so much potential for fear.

I alter the scene slightly, letting the sky turn dark and the calliope music shift out of tune. Evan’s imagination takes over from there.

The crowds have completely dispersed, leaving the boy alone at the carnival. The carousel disappears, leaving him standing in the midst of decrepit buildings: a ramshackle funhouse, a seedy tunnel of love.

Evan looks around, obviously confused and searching for his mother, and that’s when it happens.

Clowns.

So many clowns.

An endless parade of them.

They come crawling out of the woodwork, literally moving on hands and knees as they creep toward the boy, sort of spidery in their movements. Allare misshapen and grotesquely out of proportion: too tall and thin as a wisp, or short and impossibly obese, with stubby arms and legs that move far faster than they should.

Young Evan cowers backward, shrinking in on himself as the clowns advance in a menacing horde.

One opens its mouth, unhinging its jaw like a snake, and lets out an awful, high-pitched cackle, a cross between a laugh and a shriek. The spotty moonlight reflects on the clown’s teeth, which have all been sharpened into fangs.

Evan whimpers and backpedals as fast as he can, but there’s nowhere to go but the funhouse. He spins and darts inside, the horde following fast. There’s a crash of glass as the mirrors break and then screams that slowly dwindle away.

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