Steven Harper - Nightmare

On a stone bench sat a figure with her back turned to Kendi. She wore a half-cloak with the hood drawn over her hair. Dorna. Kendi smiled and strode toward her. Abruptly she twisted around on the bench. Kendi hissed and backed up a step.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

Kendi stared. It wasn’t Dorna at all. The woman on the bench was old, with wild white hair and snaggle teeth. She even had a wart on her nose like a fairy tale witch.

"Sorry," Kendi stammered. "I was looking for someone else."

"You’re intruding in my garden," the old woman screeched. "Get the fuck out of my garden!"

"Hey, it’s all right," Kendi said, still backing away. "You don’t have to freak. I was just leaving."

"Get out!" howled the woman. "Get him, boys!"

Kendi wondered who she was talking to. Then a rosebush lunged for him. Thorns raked across Kendi’s arm, tearing his shirt and leaving a set of white-hot scratches along his skin. Ivy twirled around his feet and ankles. Kendi turned and ran, tearing up the green vines and losing a shoe in the process. Another thorny bush scored his cheek. The grass lengthened and threatened to trip him. He dove for the gate, fear clutching his stomach.

"That’s right," cackled the woman behind him. "Run from Zelda and her garden. Get out, you little shit!"

Kendi shoved the gate open and fled, bleeding and trailing bits of ivy. He ran until his legs ached and his lungs threatened to burst. When he finally stopped, he was back in the Outback. His clothes had vanished, but his arm and cheek were still bleeding.

"All life," he muttered. "What a bitch." It wasn’t as if he had trespassed on purpose. He had thought she was Dorna. Obviously his tracking needed a little work, but that didn’t mean the old lady-Zelda, she’d said her name was-had to shape her garden to attack him like that.

His arm and cheek hurt like hell. Kendi stared down at the scratches, willing them to disappear. His body was whole and unharmed. It was so and would be so … now .

Blood continued to flow. It dripped from his face down to his shoulder. Kendi was pretty sure that his body was bleeding as it lay on his bed in his room. Psychosomatic wounds, Ara called them. Whatever harm the Dream body encountered was usually visited on the solid one. Some Silent could overcome this, but not many. Kendi, obviously, wasn’t one of them yet. Maybe he should leave the Dream and get some medical-

A wave of nausea washed over him. Kendi staggered, regained his balance. What the hell? he thought. Then he felt it, a …disturbance. He couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. It was as if someone had just dropped something disgusting into a pool of water and Kendi could feel the ripples. He turned toward the feeling. A bad taste rose in his mouth and he spat. What was going on?

Curious despite the discomfort, Kendi trotted against the ripples, following them to their source. As he moved, the Outback faded again, this time with little effort on Kendi’s part. That meant, he knew, that a very strong mind was at work, one that could easily shake off Kendi’s puny attempt to hold onto his desert. An archway stood before him in the middle of a featureless plain. The disturbance was on the other side of the arch. Kendi stepped through.

He found himself in a giant living room. A hodge-podge of furniture-fainting couches, end tables, a variety of chairs and sofas, and low bookshelves-stood on a crazy quilt of mismatched rugs and carpets. Kendi came to an instant halt and almost cried out. On one of the sofas lay a woman. She was blond and middle-aged, with plump arms and a heavy chest. A gold medallion hung between her breasts. Chains that seemed to have sprouted from the couch itself held her down. Blood from a dozen dripping cuts and slashes covered her body, and she made faint mewling noises. Standing over her with his back to Kendi was a tall man. As Kendi watched in frozen horror, he made a swift slash with the knife. There was a snapping noise. The woman cried out, but only weakly, as one of her fingers dropped to the cushions. The man caught it up and held it like a pencil. Kendi still couldn’t move. With deliberate care, the man wrote 14 in blood on the woman’s forehead. The woman convulsed once, then went still.

"Shit!" Kendi gasped.

The man dropped the finger and spun. He was wearing a hat with a wide brim that was pulled low. Kendi couldn’t see his face. Before Kendi could react, the man lunged.

Kendi backpedaled, fear humming through his veins. The brim of the hat cast a shadow that hid most of the man’s face, but Kendi could see his mouth twisted into an animal snarl. Kendi whirled and dashed for the arch. Abruptly the arch snapped shut. Kendi slammed into a solid wall. Dazed, he felt hard hands grab his shoulders. They spun him around and a hard blow drove Kendi to his knees. Blood dripped from his nose, mingling with the blood from the cuts on his cheek. All Kendi could see was a pair of shins in front of him. One of them drew back to deliver a kick. Kendi drove himself forward, slamming into the man. Surprised, the man went over backward with a grunt. Kendi scrambled over him. He caught a blurred glimpse of the woman’s bloody corpse on the sofa.

Then the room came to life. The rug he was standing on ripped itself out from under him and Kendi flew sprawling into a pile of cushions. Instantly they molded themselves around him, piling about him and suffocating him. Kendi clawed at them ineffectually and wished for a knife, glittering and sharp. In that moment, he had one in his hand. Kendi cut and slashed until the stuffing flew and he came free, though he was still on the floor.

The man loomed over him. Kendi lashed out with the knife. The man leaped back. A table rushed at Kendi like a battering ram. Kendi ducked, and it slid over him. While he was still underneath it, Kendi stood up and flung the table at the man. It caught him squarely in the chest. Without looking to see more, Kendi dove for one of the windows. It shattered around him. Flying glass slashed his face and forearms as he landed on hard, flat ground, but Kendi scarcely noticed. He had to get out of the Dream, get back to his body, but he needed time to concentrate. Should he take the time now or try to get away?

The man appeared at the window, face still in shadow. He was holding a needle gun. Kendi shut his eyes and yanked his thoughts together.

If it be in my best interested and in the best interest of all life everywhere, he pleaded, let me leave the Dream.

The gun went off with a phut. Kendi braced himself for pain and felt none. He opened his eyes and found himself on his own bed in his own room. Pain scored his face, arms, and most of the rest of his body. He tried to sit up, but the room spun dizzily and he fell back. Blood stained his pillow and blanket and slicked his hands. Kendi felt dazed, as if he were only half there. He should call someone for help. But who? The room darkened around him.

"Baran," Kendi croaked. "Baran, call Mother Ara. Emergency!"

The computer connected the call and a moment later Mother Ara’s face appeared on Kendi’s white wall. Her eyes widened when she saw the blood. "Kendi! What-?"

He passed out.

The ceiling was made of beige tile. That wasn’t right. The ceiling was supposed to be white plaster. Kendi blinked, trying to figure out why it looked wrong. He put up a hand and saw it was swathed in soft bandages. Other bandages covered parts of his face and upper body. He was lying on a bed, but it wasn’t his own. How had he gotten here? He tried to sit up. A gentle hand came down on his shoulder to stop him, and Kendi looked up into Mother Ara’s concerned face.