Authors: Helen Harper
As silently as I can, I open the wardrobe door a fraction. Light pours in. I blink and open it a little further. I can see my bedspread and part of the far wall. So far so normal.
The Chairman is sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at me with his large green eyes. He purrs, stretches and stands up. I give him a small smile. ‘Were you guarding me?’ I ask. He meows in response and I scratch him under the chin. ‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him. ‘I know I promised I wouldn’t do that again.’ He butts his head against me. I sigh. Is talking to your cat a sign of madness? Because dreams that are so vivid they seem real certainly are.
I look at the bedside clock. It’s later than I thought and I don’t want to miss him. Unless there’s another parcel for me – which is unlikely – the postman will simply push any post through the letterbox. If I don’t have any letters today, it’ll be even harder to get hold of him.
I swallow the last vestiges of my fear and go down to the front door. When I don’t see anything through the spyhole I think I’m too late but barely a minute later the postman’s red van appears around the corner.
I start unbolting, leaving only the main lock still fastened. The postman disappears out of view as he leaves the van and goes to the neighbour on my left. I hold my breath, hoping there will be a letter for me today. The prospect of standing on my porch and calling after him is about as appealing as stripping naked and running through the town square with a tea cosy on my head. Fortunately my luck holds and he emerges from behind the oak tree and walks down my path. I wait until he’s a few feet away before I open the final lock and stick my head out of the door.
He’s obviously surprised, pausing in mid step and blinking at me. He recovers quickly though and waves a single brown envelope in the air. I feel a flicker of trepidation but I force myself to focus on his face instead. Rather than the tired visage I saw in my dream, he appears relaxed and more youthful. He’s clearly none the worse for wear. I open the door fully and try to stay calm.
‘Good morning!’
I move my mouth into the shape of a smile. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine and dandy.’
‘Did you sleep well?’
He gives me a funny look. ‘Um, yes, thank you. Just the one letter for you today.’
‘No nightmares?’ I persist.
‘Nightmares?’ He scratches his neck. ‘No, I never dream. Why? Do I look tired?’
I shake my head. ‘You look fine. It’s just, er, I had a bad nightmare last night. About letters.’
‘Oh, yes?’ His voice is flat. He’s completely uninterested in what I’m saying. It’s hardly surprising; hearing about people’s dreams never makes for scintillating conversation unless you’re Sigmund Freud. Or me, of course.
He passes me the letter and I spot a sudden crafty light in his eyes. ‘If you’re having bad dreams though, perhaps I can come round tonight and help you with them.’ He licks his lips, stroking his thumb slowly across his jaw.
‘No, thanks!’ I squeak, horrified, and hurriedly step back and slam the door shut.
I bolt all the locks, ignoring the sound of him chuckling to himself on the other side of the door. I don’t breathe out and relax until I hear his footsteps retreat.
I’ve been clutching the letter so tightly that it’s scrunched up. I smooth it out. It’s not the long-awaited tax letter, merely some gumpf from the local council. It doesn’t even have my name on it.
I sit on the bottom stair, staring thoughtfully at the locked door. As far as the postman is concerned, nothing strange at all happened last night. He seemed to be telling the truth when he said he never dreamt, though laboratory studies have proven that everyone dreams; it’s just that ninety-five per cent of us don’t remember them.
I touch my cheek. It’s still a bit tender so I’ve got more than mere memory to help jog my brain into action.
I think about the postman’s dream. All those letters were drowning him, attacking him. I have a theory. If it’s wrong, it proves nothing. But if it’s right... I nod my head decisively.
It doesn’t take long to get hold of Rawlins. I’d thought about contacting Hartman first but for some reason I trust her brusqueness more than his affability.
‘Have you remembered something else?’ she asks, her voice even more clipped on the phone than it is in person.
‘No.’ I pause. ‘I’m calling about another matter.’
‘Go on.’
I draw in a breath. ‘I know you think I’m nuts but I need you to hear me out.’
‘I don’t think that, Ms Lydon.’
I’m sure she does. I let it go though. ‘I think my postman is hoarding mail. Taking the letters and then not delivering them. He’s probably keeping them in his house.’
She’s silent for a moment. ‘If that’s the case,’ she finally begins, ‘you should probably contact Royal Mail.’
‘I’m not making it up. It’s a serious matter, you know. People rely on their post.’ As soon as I say the words, I wonder whether that’s true. How much has been replaced by the internet? I don’t give up, however. ‘I think you should check it out.’
‘We can’t chase up every–’
‘Please.’ I keep my voice as level and friendly as I can.
‘We’re really very busy.’
‘You don’t think that someone stealing mail is important?’
‘We’re investigating a mysterious death, Ms Lydon. Or perhaps you had forgotten that?’
‘I thought,’ I say softly, ‘that believing he died from anything other than natural causes would be a flight of fancy.’
Sergeant Rawlins sighs. ‘I’ll look into it but I can’t promise it’ll be this week.’
That’s the best I’m going to get. I withdraw while the going is still good. ‘Thank you,’ I tell her. I mean it.
This whole world is wild at heart and weird on top.
David Lynch
––––––––
O
n Wednesday, Constable Hartman touched my arm and I dreamt of him. On Thursday, it was the postman. Today I’ve been free from all human contact and I’m expecting a normal night’s sleep. So when my ears prickle again, I feel a jolt of shock even through my unconscious state.
This time, I’m in a forest. It’s dark and spooky and, unlike the previous two hallucinations or dreams or whatever you want to call them, it’s cold: there are goose bumps on my arms. I’m wearing the same holey old T-shirt I put on to go to bed. It might reach down to my knees but it offers scant protection against the frigid air.
I wrap my arms round my body and look around my surroundings. Again, I feel ... normal. Despite my nervousness about where I am, I’m not about to pass out or hyperventilate.
The trees are massive. They tower over me, looming and menacing. The canopy above is so dense that I can’t make out whether there’s a sky. There’s certainly no light; I can barely see more than a few feet in front. I shiver and turn round to check behind me. More trees.
I step carefully over to the nearest one. I can feel sticks and stones underneath my bare feet so I rise onto my toes to avoid splinters or cuts. Then I frown. If I ended up with a splinter here, would it exist back in the real world? I mull that over, then eventually reach down and pluck a blade of long grass which I tuck behind one ear. It seems like a more sensible way to test the idea than actually hurting myself.
I press my palms against the tree trunk. It also feels strangely cold. I sniff, getting a whiff of earthy pine with something unpleasant underlying it. Something rotten and dead. I wrinkle my nose and back away.
That’s when I hear it – a loud snort from somewhere to my right. I swing round and catch sight of two narrowed eyes about waist height glaring at me from beyond the gloom, luminous and yellow, shining like distant lamps. They are definitely eyes though – the pupils are slitted and, as I stare at them, they vanish for an instant as the creature blinks. There’s another snort, followed this time by a cloud of misty breath.
I start backing away slowly. Unfortunately, the thing watching me doesn’t seem to like this idea and moves towards me. Even though I can only make out its eyes, I can hear it moving through the undergrowth. Its feet make hard, clipped sounds on the ground, like hooves.
I stop. It stops too.
As I click my tongue, encouraging it to come closer, I wonder whose mind conjured this up. I no longer believe I’m the creator of any of these visions. As ridiculous as it seems, I’m confident that what I see is what
others
dream. I only have a small sample size to go by, but the dreams seem to be dependent on who touched me last.
Maybe I’m not in a human’s dream this time. Maybe it’s the Chairman’s. I gaze thoughtfully at the gleaming eyes. Is this what a cat would dream about? Very possibly.
‘Here, kitty,’ I call.
If this is Chairman Meow’s dream, I want to see him. I crouch down to coax him out from where he is hiding. There’s a sudden growl, and the creature suddenly charges forward. It gets close enough for me to see snapping jaws and a shaggy mane before common sense kicks in and I spin round and sprint. It’s not the smartest thing to do – now I’m making myself look like prey – but the alternative is staying where I am and getting chomped.
With no clue as to what sort of beast it is, and therefore no understanding of its speed or stamina, I have to use my wits. I streak left, ignoring the pain as brambles and thorns scratch my bare legs, then I swing round a tree and change direction. I continue zigzagging but the creature continues to thunder after me.
Secure in the knowledge that I’m safely asleep at home, I don’t feel a surge of adrenaline or panic. I remember my damp hair after the first dream and the cut on my cheek after the second, so I want to avoid serious injury if I can, but there’s no way this thing could kill me.
My mind works calmly through the options. I could climb a tree, but I didn’t like the cold feeling of the first one. I could keep zigzagging and wait for the creature to get bored and go in search of another plaything. Surely the Chairman’s cue to show up would be about now? I’m curious to see what will happen when he does. I’ll get an insight into the animal kingdom that no one has ever had before. I feel a frisson of excitement that’s slightly tempered by the knowledge that I won’t be able to tell anyone the truth about what cats dream.
Before I can make a decision, I see something on the forest floor and swerve to avoid it. Three seconds later there’s an agonised screech and a heavy thump. Although I keep running for several more feet, it doesn’t take a genius to work out that I’m no longer being chased. I stop and turn round.
There’s a dark shape on the ground, thrashing loudly and making an odd high-pitched sound that can only be from pain. Gingerly, I take a few steps forward.
The creature is no longer paying me any attention. Its movements are becoming wilder and more frantic. I take another step. It’s difficult to be sure because of the writhing, but it looks like some kind of horse. It’s not any horse I’ve ever seen in real life, though. Its coat is black but I glimpse ruby-red hooves as they kick against the ground. There’s something around its head and I bend down to look more closely. When I work out what it is, I straighten up, then I bend down again just to be sure. It’s definitely what I thought it was: a single, spiralled horn rising from its forehead, looking both beautiful and deadly. This isn’t a horse at all. It’s a damned unicorn.
I move behind its head so I’m not in danger of getting spiked. The creature is still ignoring me but its movements are growing less frenetic. I kneel down and gently touch its mane. It jerks away as if frightened so I try again. The unicorn huffs. ‘There, boy,’ I soothe.
It snarls and I almost fall backwards. Its muzzle twists towards me and its jaws open to reveal a row of sharp white molars that look as if they’ve been chiselled into points. It wouldn’t be much fun to be bitten by those.
‘There, girl,’ I try.
The unicorn relaxes a little. From the way its gums keep drawing back over its teeth, it is still keen to take a chunk out of me but it’s in pain and that is keeping it at bay. I reach out again for its mane, more boldly this time, and stroke it several times. Each touch calms it down, until it stops whining and writhing. Its breathing is heavy and laboured and its yellow eyes are half-closed.
I take advantage of the situation and try to work out what’s wrong. When it moves its legs slightly, I see the trap. Steel jaws encase the unicorn’s forelock and blood is seeping from the wickedly serrated edges.
‘Poor thing,’ I say softly. It lets out a whimper in response. ‘I’m going to have a look at your leg,’ I tell it. ‘It would be nice if you didn’t try to eat me or kick me. I know I’m no virgin so there will be no laying of your pretty head in my lap. But that doesn’t mean I’m suitable as a midnight snack. Okay?’
The unicorn flicks its tail. Taking that as tacit agreement, I step round its supine body and kneel down by the trap. It’s a lethal looking thing. I chew my lip. I don’t want to make things worse by trying to remove it but I can’t leave the poor animal like this, whether it’s a dream unicorn with a dream wound or not.
I grit my teeth and touch the jaws of the trap. The unicorn screeches. ‘I barely brushed it,’ I say, exasperated. ‘If you want me to help you, you’re going to have to quieten down. I can’t do with all the screaming.’
I look it in the eyes. It blinks at me and I’m sure I see a flicker of resigned acceptance. I nod briskly. ‘Now, this is going to hurt a lot but once the trap’s off, you’ll feel a whole lot better. I’m going to do this on a count of three.’ I grip both sides of the encircling trap. ‘One, two...’ Without waiting for three, I jerk as forcefully as I can manage and yank the steel jaws apart.
The unicorn screeches again but manages to pull away, freeing its leg. It lies there panting for a moment or two, then staggers up. I snap the trap shut again to prevent any other creatures getting caught in it and toss it to the side. I frown at the unicorn’s wound and look upwards. Now it’s upright and I can see it clearly, I realise it’s really not that big, more the size of a small pony than a horse.
‘I need to clean your wound,’ I tell it. ‘Is there a stream or a river or something nearby?’
The unicorn snickers, dropping its head. It nuzzles my hair for a brief moment then draws back. I start getting back to my feet just as it turns and darts away.