The Dream Inside the Darkness. Read online

The Dream Inside

  The Darkness

  Angela K. Crandall

  Angela K. Crandall

  Copyright by Angela K. Crandall

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  2013 First Edition

  Summary: As Jessie prepares to graduate and move forward with a degree in Paranormal Psychology, his haunting past rears its ugly head and weaves him through the web of time until he must question absolutely everything about his current reality.

  Author can be contacted at: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Angela-Crandall-Author/488599124590758

  This book is dedicated to Roxanne Roberts whom taught me the joys of reading, and writing without limits.

  Special thanks to: Natasha House, Dale Williams and Toni Kerr. Without your combined efforts this book would not be possible.

  Desperate to figure it all out Jessie still can't grasp what happened. Nothing seems right. Why was he here?

  A scattered labyrinth of trees stand before him, dark clouds swarming in the sky above, a quick rumble of thunder, lightning flickers, and then the wind picks up. Trees sway by an unseen force, gaining his attention. Animals flee their homes to escape danger only to vanish as he walks catching glimpses of rabbits, deer, and squirrels scurrying into the darkness.

  Everything surrounding this vast world has crumbled into the past. It's twisting turning reversing back to a time of distorted perfection that ruptured.

  Drip drops of rain cling to his yellow slicker, the red boots protecting his feet are now covered in globs of mud. There is no clear way to travel, only the cold wind whipping his face. Jessie collapses onto a stump, spongy with sopping wet moss, exhausted.

  Trees slump off to one side, and Jessie catches a glimpse of gleaming white vapor behind him. Glancing over his shoulder he thinks he can see a path. Turning around in that direction he gets up on his feet drawn towards the strange specter yet a sense of despair runs through his body. Closing his eyes, clearing his mind from all thoughts of fear he walks towards it not knowing where he is specifically headed he approaches the beckoning light.

  Fallen branches scrape against his legs while he avoids the Poison Ivy standing in his way. Jessie takes his handkerchief out of his pocket to clean his face. "Well, I guess I have a way to go!" he says, taking a moment to view the area covered with weeds, shrubs, rocks and un-identified litter.

  Everything is getting wetter by the minute. The rain has been pouring down in sheets since waking up here. The plants and vegetation are no longer soaking it up forming small pools beneath them. He keeps moving. Grabbing for an apple out of his pack munching, he briskly trots into the darkness. He had seen the animals flee, but it is still bizarre not to hear birds chirping, or wildlife about. A bit unnerving to Jessie who remembered spending a lot of time in the woods while playing on his grandparents' property.

  After wandering for quite a while following the light in what he felt were circles, a clearing in the trees appears that looks familiar. Nostalgia seizes him, adrenalin pumps throughout his body as he sprints forward. A white building beginning to emerge in front of him, rushing towards it, his jaw drops. A large home materializes.

  A mansion covered in moss with an overgrown garden of Yellow Goldenrod and Turtle Heads displaying red, pink, and white blossoms, Michaelmas daisy of pinks and purples, and False Sunflowers fill the yard. A gorgeous display of colors for the time of year that brings rain and sleet mixes.

  A Willow tree stands next to the structure. A swing sways violently from the branch. Jessie laughs. Grandfather always did have a swing on that branch for children. He would say to Jessie and his sister, "Fly high, higher than the sky and touch Heaven, then back down to Earth again my loves." Warmth begins to fill his chest. He smiles breathing in the strong aroma of earth, rain, and flowers feeling renewed. A sense of accomplishment fills him. This is not the little cottage I grew up in, but somehow it must be, or why would the swing still be here?

  He shakes off the confusion and races up the wide porch that leads to the front door and then peers in to get a better look. Furniture and shelves are covered with white sheets, as if no one has been here in years. "I wonder if the door is locked." He pushes on it yet it doesn't budge.

  Then the handle turns mysteriously by itself, opening into a large room. Glancing at what must be a sitting room, he looks down at an oriental rug beneath his feet. Floorboards creak as he puts down his pack. He begins to uncover the furniture in the place. A lot of it looks as if it had been moved from the cottage. A low whistling sound bounces off the walls and he scans the abode puzzled.

  A kitchen is off to the right of the sitting room, and between the two a stairway leads to the upper level. Jessie starts searching the accommodations in the mansion curious if any bedrooms were downstairs at all, or maybe a sunroom? He couldn't recall if there had been.

  The elaborate layout had always been grandfather's style even when he had the cabin. It irritated his grandmother who preferred to keep things simple, yet elegant.

  A door off of the sitting room catches his eye. Sauntering over to pull the door open, the room reveals a large canopy bed where his grandfather and grandmother had slept. Next to the bed is an oak dresser with a washbasin on top of it along with soap and towels. It was as if the items were waiting for someone to come and stay, when the rest of the house seemed to be covered in drop cloths for protection.

  Resting on the bed, he realizes how grown up he has become since he'd been here.

  What had happened? He recalls memories, stories told in the dead of night that no one could escape from the grown-up things his mother didn't want him or his sister to know about, but they'd overheard the whispers.

  Above him a candle floats, wax dripping onto his shoes, distraught by it he jumps out of the way. The white candle passes in front of him and stops off to the side. Jessie hides his face in his hands wanting to ignore the spook.

  Images in his mind fade in and out like the candle flickers, a burning cottage, children running out onto the lawn crying, underlying screams of people unknown to him, as a young one swimming inside his self.

  Standing up he follows the burning embers near the winding staircase. He climbs the steep stairs. Once on the landing he looks down at his feet. There lay a blue book titled Nursery Rhymes. Picking it up to thumb through it, his sister's name is scrawled in purple crayon inside the cover. Lucy? He sticks it in his back pocket. "I might as well explore here," he says in an expressionless sort of way, like all hope inside of him is gone.

  An odd looking hallway the walls are forest green. Why forest green?

  Indentations along the walls resemble doorways of rooms that may have been blocked off. In these nooks stand bookshelves with decor such as flowers in vases, pictures of family, plants, and quotes of framed inspirational speech.

  Ah, probably just a distraction to make me avoid the domain. He could almost certainly push in the shelves, or pull them out to uncover a hidden door. "OK, here it goes," he says, forcefully pushing the first bookshelf, but it didn't move an inch! Then he pulls at it still nothing happens.

  Silently he continues until reaching the end of the corridor feeling frustration kick in. Tears form in his eyes. He starts to cry, madly tearing at his hair sinking to the floor running his
hands over his dirty jeans.

  "Whoa," says Jessie, seeing a spirit floating above him; a ghostly girl with dark hair and pale skin rushes towards him.

  "Shh! I am not going to harm you. I must show you," she says.

  Turning in the corner at the end of the hallway Jessie follows her lead. A few feet ahead of him is a brass door. "I don't recall this being here?"

  She motions for him to open it, and he does so with shaky hands, his eyes, catching a small amount of light shining through tiny square windows.

  Rainbows made from the colored windowpanes hit the walls. Faint shadows of small hands appear on the glass. Whose hands are they?

  Backing up, shocked by their appearance he covers his face, bumping into the wall behind him. Once stopped he gradually moves his hands away panning the room for clues, reasons, or significance; an answer to the question hanging in his mind.

  Under the window lay a sink filled with grime, filth, rust, and what would have been a toothbrush beside an old metal tube of paste. In the corner, a bathtub sits half full. Floating on top are six rubber duckies, now faded gray. The smell of mildew and death hang in the air.

  Stepping into the enclosure his foot hits a sticky wet substance slipping. He tries to steady himself, but can no longer control his body feeling something pushing him down. Jerking, trying to keep upright he falls to the ground in slow motion.

  An animal lay decaying splattered in blood. No evidence presence of what had accomplished such a task. Perhaps it was a coyote looking for a meal, but then why would it be left with innards sprawled out, a furry mess? Why was the blood still fresh when the rest of its body appeared to be breaking down?

  Turning around he seeks the spirit he came with, shivers travel down his back. Images of children getting ready for play, then bed, dance throughout the room unaware of the present.

  He crawls to the archway of the tiny bathroom studying the figures before him.

  Deja'vu hits him like a hammer. Memories pour into him; young, timid, and shy... he had been here. When, he could not recall, but this was a happy place once. Placing his arm against his nose to mask the stench he realizes he can't stay much longer due to the smell. It was just too much to handle besides nothing could be done about the rotting animal at this time. He had no way to remove it.

  I'll just call for my guide; see if I can get her to come back; if not traveling on my own will have to do. Traipsing towards the exit he glances back only to cringe. Misery left unexplained, but the ability to shake if off must take hold. Placing his hands on the doorframe leaning against it, he calls for the mysterious women.

  Little by little she begins to appear as a bright light, one you're told of as a child. Bracing himself against the doorway he had just exited, fear fills him, just waiting to see what she might do.

  He watches as big blossoms swarm the threshold with weeds of thorns and tangled roses. Thousands of species bright reds, oranges, pinks, purples, and ghastly black roses climb the ceiling. Behind him lay nothingness, black oblivion, a dark tunnel. Only one way forward as if it were the yellow brick road and he was Dorothy.

  Follow the path. Running through the corridor flowers materialize with his movement in a pattern: Amaryllis, Anemone, Lavender, Rhododendron, and Marigolds. It was as if they had sprouted right out of the carpet. It was one of those classes, but which one?