After the storm

A Chapter by Jay Boone

Damia Falkan a young boy, who earlier in the day way brutally attacked during a visit to the beach, his head bruised from a vicious blow. falls into a deep sleep. He dreams vividly.

Chapter 5

Damia dreamt that night. Deep, colour drenched dreams.

He was so tired when he had trudged upstairs to his room. And his head still hurt, the bruise behind his ear throbbed as he washed his face. Though the cool water did help ease the dull ache, there was a ringing sound in his ears that wouldn’t go away. Damia looked out of his bedroom window, he could see the trees outside, their branches bending wildly by the gale, like they were wrestling with an invisible foe, leaves ripped away by the wind. He jumped with fright every time there was a clatter of thunder. Where was Keef? He thought, as he changed into his pajamas. He slipped into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin, listening out for his brother’s footsteps on the stairs.

But he was so tired he fell into a deep sleep almost immediately, in spite of the storm that rattled the windows of his room. And now he dreamed.

The pulsating flashes of lightning became part of his dream.

He became so light he found himself floating above his bed. He was faintly aware that he was dreaming. He felt warm and safe. The storm no longer frightened him.

The lightning through his bedroom window cast enormous shapes on the walls, shadows of the models of spaceships, he had made with Keef.

Keef had helped him hang the models from the ceiling. The lightning shadows seemed to bring them to life. He didn’t feel frightened at all. It was a nice dream he decided and he let it continue.

He looked down at himself lying peacefully on the bed, he knew he was dreaming but it felt so real.

Though he was floating near the ceiling, he could see in minute detail, the beads of sweat that formed on his brow that glistened like tiny pearls, lit by the lightning. He could hear the gentle rhythm of his own breath, could see his own eyeballs fluttering under his eyelids. He looked down at himself, fascinated. He could even see each individual strand of his eyelashes flickering as he slept.

He hovered above himself weightless. But it was like he was floating in a viscous pale-blue, glowing liquid; he could feel his hair swaying around his face. Then he realised, in his dream, he was under water.

He started to slowly swim. The dream changed. He was no longer in his room but under the sea. He could see fronds of Kelp surrounding him, richly golden, as rippling beams of sunlight fanned down from the surface of the sea. The light was gently undulated by the waves above him, as it illuminated the fronds of seaweed, highlighting it in infinite shades of umber, gold and warm brown.

He still felt safe in his dream, not like the terrifying nightmares he had been having since he was very young. He could sense if a dream was bad, or even if it was going to turn bad. He had learned to recognise the nightmare and wake himself up. But this was a good dream so he kept gently moving his arms and legs, swimming in the thick pale dream liquid.

Then the kelp parted. He saw the face of a young girl appear from between the fronds. Her long, deep brown hair swaying in the current, forming a mane around her face.

She looked serene, her eyes closed, peaceful.

She was beautiful he thought. And with a short inhaled ‘huh’ breath, Damia felt a gentle flutter, like a small bird in his chest, the air from its wings tickling his throat as he gazed at her.

He never noticed girls at school. He wasn’t interested in their games and hated it when they teased him about his shyness.

But the girl in his dream was different. Damia had never seen anyone like her before.

And she looked so tranquil. He could see with such clarity, small bubbles coming from her nostrils. He stared transfixed. He could see his own reflection in every tiny bubble.

Then the girl’s eyes snapped open, startled Damia. He could see so clearly. Not like the muddy, swirling, partly formed images that usually filled his dreams. In this dream he could see every pore of her skin, every individual strand of her hair in highlight.

Then she smiled. Damia’s heart bounced against his ribcage. She smiled at him!

He could see her pupils dilate, her mouth widen even more, in a broad heart-stopping grin. But it was her beautiful pale eyes that stunned him. Her eyes seemed unnervingly familiar though. Then the sleeping Damia jolted in his bed. His body became heavy again, seemed to drop into the soft mattress. He realised that she had Grelin eyes. Grelin eyes, like the man on the beach. He felt a tense grip of fear around his chest now, as the memory of the day started to seep into his consciousness. But he didn’t wake up and the girl still smiled at him, made it seem ok. Then Damia felt a surge of sorrow, as the current seemed to pull her away from him. He wanted her to stay; he wanted to keep looking at her. It felt nice. But as the current became stronger and colder, her face started to twitch as the swaying kelp gradually engulfed her. Then her mouth suddenly formed a jagged gash, her lips became taut against her teeth her mouth open like a silent scream. Her eyes pleading as she drifted away.

Damia wanted to help her, but she moved further away into the densely waving seaweed. He wanted the dream to stop now. He tried to wake himself up. Looking down at himself lying on the bed he could see himself squirming, his legs kicking off the sheets, his sweat drenched hair plastered to his forehead.

He tried to shout to wake himself, but of course he was under water so no sound came out. Just a stream of bubbles that made him panic more.

The girl in the dream had gone now. Swallowed up by the kelp. The bright sunlight that filtered down from the surface was gone too. Now it was dark in the dream. Dark save the intense flashes of light. Flashes of lightning from a storm above the sea. The light that penetrated the dark cold water lit the seaweed in shades of grey and graphite. The once warm and undulating kelp now looked like flashing bands of steel in the cold harsh light. Now Damia felt frightened but couldn’t wake up. Suddenly the girl’s arm thrust out from the kelp, her fingers like a claw. At first Damia was pleased, he thought she would come close again. But something was wrong. He wanted to wake up but couldn’t. Then he realised the kelp had changed. The soft tender fronds had changed, they had become as hard as steel. Now they were razor sharp blades that were thrashed and twisted by the current of the storm that raged above.

Then one of the kelp blades cut her arm, he could see her arm flinch with pain.

He tried to call out. He tried to swim towards her, to help her, even though he was frightened. But he couldn’t move. His limbs had crystallised like marble. He felt trapped in a stone body, felt helpless.

Then the seaweed blades flexed and rippled, as the storm got worse. The blades cut her arm again and again, he saw her arm spasm in agony, fingers tensed and twitched. Then blood from her wounds swirled around Damia. He cried salt tears that mixed with seawater, mingled with her blood, he desperately wanted to help her but couldn’t.

Suddenly the dream changed.

It was winter, Damia much younger. The sleeping boy felt cloying despair. It was the dream he always had. It was starting again. The recurring dream he hated the most.

He knew what was coming; the dream was always the same. He knew he couldn’t stop it unless he woke himself up.

Damia was so young he was strapped in his pushchair. The dream was about a day out he had with his family. A Christmas fair on Corf Common. He was only about four but could remember it vividly and it haunted his dreams ever since. There was a grotto at the fair. It was empty as it was the end of the day. Most stalls had been packed up or were about to be. Damia’s dad had pushed his pram into the grotto; he thought Damia would like to see it, while he chatted to a work colleague. The Grotto was full of dusty ancient wooden models all garishly painted. But Damia didn’t like them. He didn’t like them at all. He didn’t like the gaudy painted dummies of elves and goblins with their rictus smiles and chipped paint. He didn’t like the yellow-toothed clown with threadbare orange hair and arms that flopped like a disjointed monkey.

The dummies seemed to move as flashing lights blinked in the darkened tent that smelled of dirt and the sickly sweet smell of trampled grass and candy floss trodden into the ground by the crowds that packed in there earlier. He didn’t like the musty smell of old decaying Hessian screens that blacked out the pale winter light. And he was alone in there. He didn’t like that one little bit. So he started to sniffle and thrash against the straps of his pushchair. He called out to his dad but he didn’t hear. He was too far away, Damia was alone there. The sleeping Damia knew he was dreaming, but he tried to undo the straps of his pushchair in his dream, but his fingers were useless, they felt limp as they fumbled with the clasp, his hands kept slipping off the plastic, couldn’t grip properly. He wanted the dream to stop but it didn’t. He knew what came next. There was an old barrel organ that the stallholder had restored ‘Come see the laughing jolly sailor’ it said on a faded handwritten sign. It had a wooden automaton of an old time sailor, with a frayed blue uniform and jaunty sailor hat. But Damia hated the sailors face, its beady eyes, rosy cheeks and his pipe that jutted out of his flapping mouth. Then the barrel organ started up in the dream just like it did on that day at the fair. The lolling sailor dummy jolted in time to the music at the same time a crackly old recording of screeching laughter played while the dummy’s mouth snapped open and shut in time to the music. Damia hated it. He hated the staring eyes and hideous cackling laughter frightened him. But it wouldn’t stop, and he couldn’t wake up…he couldn’t wake up…please make it stop… before, before…. but it didn’t stop. The barrel organ played louder and louder the wheezing instrument with missing notes played a ghastly, off key shanty and the jolly sailor span and bucked faster, his flapping mouth laughing more and more, lolling towards the trapped Damia. The sailors fat belly bucking beneath his frayed moth eaten suit made it split, showing his woodworm ridden body. His rosy face with his little pipe that was stuck to his lip that wobbled as the toothless mouth worked open and shut with a dusty clacking sound.

The music reached an ear-splitting crescendo. The ghastly sailor spinning and bucking frenzied until it broke free of the organ, arms outstretched it flopped onto Damia in his pushchair suffocating him. He tried to push it off but couldn’t. His arms were like lead. The grotesque dummy’s face was so close to Damias.

So close he could smell a smell of rotten wood and mouldy cloth. But even though the dummy had broken free from the machine it kept on laughing, like it was alive, its snapping mouth came closer and closer to Damia. He felt terror at the thought the dummy would bite his face; the dummy’s throaty, wheezing laugh seemed to mock him as it moved closer. Then the sailors face changed, it melted into the face of the girl, as the grotto vanished from his dream, morphed into a grainy full sized model of his own room, like it was a film set, made of flimsy cardboard. But something was wrong. The girl was wheezing and coughing and now she was standing in his room at the foot of his bed. She swayed and coughed a rattling guttural cough that seemed wrong, like it came from someone else; Damia winced when he noticed flecks of blood on her chin. But he didn’t mind because she was pretty and he liked looking at her. But she wasn’t smiling any more; her smile had vanished, made him feel uneasy. Now she stared at him with narrow eyes. Then her mouth opened into a cruel slit, jagged stained teeth that looked like….that looked like….the same stained, shark fin teeth of the man on the beach. Then Damia realised he was awake. Terror slammed through his body at the realisation. As his mind fought to take in what his sleep blurred eyes could see in the pale moonlit room. It wasn’t the girl he could see. He could see the man from the beach. It was real, it was the same man. And he really was in his room. He could smell the man’s sweat, the damp rain soaked smell of his hair and rasping breath as he swayed silently about three feet away from him. But he was confused, why was he in his room, why was he wearing his bothers shirt? Maybe it was still a dream? The man lurched towards Damia.

Damia could see the club in his hand; the one Keef had taken from him. Damia was terrified. The scream that was locked in his throat during his dream finally escaped into the silent room. His scream caused the man to hesitate, he staggered again, the club dropped from his limp fingers, the sound of it clattering on the floor seemed to jolt him from semi-consciousness, he bent to pick up the club again, just as Damia’s father and brother burst into the room. The Grelin staggered, head lolling, clutching his chest in pain, reaching out to the terrified boy with his other hand, coughing blood bubbles from his mouth.

‘No!’ shouted the man with cracked voice who stood in the doorway. The Grelin swung round nearly made him lose his balance, sprawl to the floor. He could see with disbelieving eyes. The sight of the boy’s father unlocking fragmented memories like looking at painful images through broken glass. He knew this man. Why do I know this man? Its impossible…he thought, his mind reeling.

‘Jylor!’ gasped the man in exchanged recognition ‘It…Its impossible’ he whispered almost in unison as the Grelin thought the same.

And Keef glanced at his dad confused. Confused and scared because he could see the recognition between the two.