are more of them clinging to Jason’s arms, legs, and body, weighing him down.
The shapes and forms flow like shadows, and the tendrils begin to move, the fallen bodies they are attached to twitching when they should be locked in the rigor of death. The eyes of the corpses are the first to move. Opening, they all turn to stare at Jason, each gaze heavy with the weight of accusation and judgment. Arms and legs begin to shift, pulling and dragging shredded bodies through the doorway and open window toward where Jason curls against the back wall of the small structure. Mouths drop open and the words begin to spill out.
“Where were you?”
“You led us here.”
“You killed me.”
“Where were you?”
“Why did you let them kill me?”
“Where were you?”
Over and over the words tumble out, becoming a tidal wave as the bodies shamble and drag closer in a macabre parody of life, hands curling into talons that claw at Jason’s body. He may have fought them off at one point; I remember from the dreams of the boy before the man that it would have been his go-to reaction. It is obvious that time has worn him down, and there is no way for me to know how long he has been facing these things. Now he cowers, attempting to protect the core of his body, and sobs, a soundless scream of grief and sorrow.
I leap; I have no other choice. Jason had been my charge years ago, and his daughter has placed him back in my care. Dreamer gleams in the darkness of the building’s interior as it lashes out, an extension of my arm and my rage. I feel no resistance as Dreamer’s edge passes through the shadowed body of the nearest lamprey form. The shadow breaks apart and then re-forms, unwounded, and continues its puppetry of the bodies attacking Jason. I strike again, slicing through the ethereal form of a different target. Again, the creature is unharmed. I have gotten its attention, though. A single eyestalk erupts from the top of the form and turns the creature’s baleful gaze toward me.
Hissing laughter whispers in my ears. “You’ve no place here, Ronin. No place and no power.” The final words are snapped, as if bitten through teeth. Before I can respond, the heavy weight of a free tendril thuds into my chest and sends me sailing backward through an open window. I bounce twice, then skid through the rough grit of the sand. Muttering to myself, I turn Dreamer’s point down into the dirt and use my grip to steady my balance as I stand. Brushing myself off, I feel a pain in my chest and look down to see a tear across my fur, strands of stuffing sticking out. I swear under my breath.
“If Emily heard language like that from you, Mr. Bear, she would be incensed,” chastises a voice I have not heard in generations. Not since he had woken me.
I spin around, searching for the source of the voice. Only once I have completed a full turn do I catch sight of the speaker. His outer coat shifts along the spectrum from red to blue as he walks closer, while his shirt and trousers appear to be made of a silken material colored black as moonless night; the belt holding his coat closed still holds the numerous drawstring pouches that I remember carry the dust he blows into children’s eyes to send them to sleep. The pale skin of his face and neck are completely at odds with the desert we stand in, but it is obvious he is apart from it, as his dark hair refuses to be moved by the errant winds. In spite of my anger at being injured by a nightmare, I smile. “You are a welcome surprise, Sandman. With your help, I can vanquish these horrors and set Jason’s dreamscape to rights.”
V.
I feel the smile on my own face fade as the Sandman’s usually ready smile turns to one of sadness, and my eyes finally take in the apology within his own eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bear. You could fight the nightmares with all your strength and eventually they would destroy you. These nightmares are beyond even what my magic can overcome.”