I had finally broken free of the black abyss of either unconsciousness or heavy sleep. Stretching, I sat up on the bed, a small bed. There was a chill in the air and a small stove in the corner with heat and light emanating from it. “I’m…at home.” I stated confused. “How am I at home? Unless…Sleepwalker?” I called into the dimly lit room.
Black smoke curled around me, wispy and thin between my fingers. A violent wind encircled me, knitting the smoke into a cloaked figure. Long skeletal fingers stretched across my jaw. "Genevieve." The screechy voice still chilled my spine.
I swallowed, "Sleepwalker.” My heart drummed in my chest while I gained my nerve. “I want answers. What are you and how do you know my mother?”
He shook his head. “I’m surprised. You are only hours from Dunver and you expect my answers. Tsk, tsk, Genevieve. Tell me all that you know of your mother.”
“Her name might be Alia Pallas. She might have hummed a tune to me when I was an infant. She might be dark-skinned. Do you notice a theme here?”
“Genevieve, you are too adept at discouraging yourself. Perhaps…” He paused. He almost looked remorseful. “You have to piece it together.” He snapped his fingers.
“Piece wha-” My question turned to a surprised yelp as I floated up through the floorboards above the ground. As I neared the ceiling, I dropped onto the carpet of the library. Once I stood, I finally noticed that my foot didn’t ache at all. Wriggling my toes in the plush rug, I stared at the towering wooden shelves.
“Jenny,” A calm voice said, followed by a gentle thump. “How’s the arm?”
I turned around and discovered…me.
A book rested in Jenny’s lap. Her hair trailed down to her front; I had forgotten how long it was but a few weeks ago. Her eyes ticked along the page in front of her until she smiled up at the tall lean man. “Professor Jerref, hello. My arm is attached.” While her manner was polite and cautious, her voice was soft and sweet. “How are you?”
“Do I really sound like that?” I wondered, listening to my own voice.
He chuckled at her response, a bit of a wheeze. “I’m well. Thank you. Ah, still reading about Greek Mythology, I see. Had I talked to you first, perhaps you’d be interested in the psychology of dreams.” He mused regretfully.
“Is that what you teach?” She asked, peeking down at her book hopefully.
“Well, you know. Eyes might be windows to the soul, but dreams are torches into the deepest darkest corners of the mind.” His long fingers stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“Sleepwalker, this happened less than a month ago! Why am I reliving this?” I called into the ceiling. Clenching my teeth, I stomped my foot. I muttered, “Maybe, I need to reassess the scene.” Begrudgingly, I turned my attention back to the scene before me.
“Then perhaps you could help me understand my dreams. I told you about the Sleepwalker, right? He’s unnaturally tall and he wears a dark cloak.”
“Does he carry a scythe with him?” Professor Jerref queried, folding his hands. “He could very well be the embodiment of death in your dreams,” He proposed.
“He has told me that he is often mistaken for death. He did not show up in my dreams until the professors arrived. I believe him to be something…supernatural.”
Professor Jerref nodded. “Interesting thoughts. Maybe he is not death, merely pain. If he is often mistaken for death, the two are probably not unrelated.”
YOU ARE READING
Sleepwalker
FantasyBook one. I'd spent my entire life without a mother. But, when professors come to my father's inn, a cloaked figure known only as Sleepwalker begins to torment me with thoughts of her. When these dreams become too malicious, my father sends me off t...
