The dream

 

I was almost certain that I was dreaming.

            The first hint came when I found I was in a poorly lit black hall with no recollection of how I got there. The walls seemed to be carved from some black stone that reflected the poor light and multiplied it so I could just see. The surface was so smooth I could see my reflection.

            But the reflection was wrong.

            The luminous eyes were the same dark blue, almost twilight colored, that I saw in the mirror everyday, but they were slanted in a strange fashion that made them appear cruel. My usually pale skin was like ivory now, without a line or wrinkle in an almost ageless fashion. My full lips usually so sweet were curved in a smile that held none of the childish innocence I took for granted.

            And I wore a white dress.

            It wasn’t even a simple dress from my imagination. It was the kind of dress I wouldn’t even look at, let alone dream up.

            It was old-fashioned looking with a low neckline and a wide skirt that emphasized how tiny my waist was. The chest was tight, but the skirt was so wide in real life I would have tripped over the hem about a second after I put it on. The long sleeves had been cut down the side all the way from the shoulder, but were attached with a thin band at the wrist.

            It was a beautiful dress, but what the hell was I doing in it?

            My bare feet echoed strangely in the empty place, almost as if the hall were a lot wider than it looked. The black stone was cool against my feet, but still comfortable.

            I just wanted to reach the climax of the dream and wake up. There was something creepy about this place and its loneliness.

            As I crept slowly down the hall I heard a noise. It sounded like a soft footfall repeated a thousand times due to the echoes. The outline of a rectangle formed in the golden color of candlelight. There was a closed door up ahead. And behind the door there was real light.

            Then the music started. It began as a soft hum in the background, but gradually got louder. It was the sweet notes of a piano. The melody was sweet and soft. It would have been a lullaby if not for the lively edge. I could almost see the notes weaving around my head.

            It was a song like none other. And one I would never forget.

            I walked towards the door drawn more to the sweet music than the prospect of normal light. I saw that the door was made of the same black stone, but it must have been thin because it moved when I leaned against it. And then I was inside.

            The room was a perfect circle and made of the same black stone as the hall and door. A grand piano dominated the space in the dead center of the room. Pieces of marble artwork were scattered around the room. They were wonderfully sculpted and would probably sell for hundreds of thousands at any auction. A thick white carpet replaced the black floor here and the piano was bleached bone-white.

            And playing the piano was the most gorgeous guy I had ever seen. It was a face I forgot the features to immediately when I looked down. I couldn’t have named a single feature or even eye color. The face was too perfect to be described, as other faces would be. That was just the word that kept popping up for a description.

            Perfection.

            The only thing that really registered to my brain was shockingly pale skin and thick black hair, cut to the jaw line. He was also only about a year older than me. And I could read the emotions on his face when he turned towards me. 

            There was shock as if he hadn’t been expecting me, and then he seemed to recognize me as his brilliant eyes raked over my body. I realized he was in black pants, a black sweater turtleneck, and soft black boots. We matched in the sense of being opposites. I looked up to his face quick enough to catch the joy and excitement in his eyes.

            But he quickly masked that and held out a slender fingered hand to me. I walked over to where he now stood between the bench and the piano keys. I realized he was taller than I had thought. I only came up to his shoulder.

I took the proffered hand and was surprised by how cold it was. He held my own hand while he walked around the bench so he stood next to me. His movements were so graceful, even when he stood still before me. And he did stand still. He seemed to be drinking in my very presence.

And I’m unashamed to say I was doing the same. Who cared if this was a dream? I could enjoy it while I was working it all through.

“Would you like to dance?” His voice was soft, controlled and so beautiful I could hardly stand it.

I was so distracted by his voice I didn’t register what he’d said. But then I understood. I realized the music had started up again. I nodded mutely while trying to commit his voice to memory. That was pointless.

Instead I listened to the music. I didn’t question where it was coming from or who was playing it. This was a dream after all. The music matched this gorgeous guy. It was so sweet I thought I might start to cry.

I felt his firm hand grasp my waist and then we were twirling. It was a kind of dancing that belonged in the same century as the dress I wore, but it was amazing fun all the same. I even found myself laughing with sheer joy at the moment.

And then it all came crashing down.

The guy opened his mouth and revealed canine teeth larger than should be possible. They even fit on him. His embrace became restraints against my frantic struggles. His mouth twisted into the same smile I had seen on my reflection in the black hall. It was so cruel and completely merciless. He leaned his exposed teeth down to my bare throat.

And then there was the worst pain I had ever felt. It felt almost as if my very blood was boiling in my veins. I couldn’t breath, couldn’t even think. It spread through my body turning my muscles to water and my bones to rubber. I couldn’t stand. He was supporting all my weight, even as he drained the blood from my body. I felt darkness coming and welcomed it to escape the pain.

I woke up screaming at the top of my lungs.

I muffled the cry instantly when I realized what it was: a cry of fear.

When had I, Jessica Summers, ever been afraid of anything? I was the daredevil. I was the person everyone came to for advice. I was the girl with the best grades in school (not because I sucked up, but because I am smart). I was slender, blonde, and pretty. Everyone wanted to be my friend and guys were constantly vying for my attention. I was never scared. I was always confident.

But then another point came to my attention. What the hell was I doing dreaming about vampires?

Sure I loved watching scary movies, but I hadn’t seen anything recently. And none of the books I’d read brought vampires to mind. The dream had come out of nowhere. But that didn’t make any sense either.

Dreams were just your subconscious trying to work out all of the issues in your life. They had to come from somewhere, and they were usually recent problems. I’m pretty sure that if I had a vampire problem I would know about it.