A little peek for subscribers…

Chapter 6

Peter Barton woke with a jolt, heart racing, forehead clammy. He glanced around. It was ok, he was ok, he was in his front room. The fire had burned low and a few embers glowed in the grate. He must have dozed off with a book again.

The dreams had startled him awake as usual, but then they were not quite the same tonight. He focused on long, slow breaths and rolled his shoulders. What had been different tonight? He tried to remember but the dream was already slipping away. The images had been the same; wings in the darkness. It was just a different feeling, almost as though the little beasts were feeling happy, or confident even. What was that about? 

A terrible thought ran through his head and his heart quickened. Were they gone!? Leaping out of his chair, he knocked his reading table over as he dashed to the spare room. Unlocking the door, he peered inside. Everything looked normal. He walked to the chest and unlocked it slowly. His hands trembled slightly and he reminded himself that there was nothing to fear, if the chest was still locked, they were still here.

He lifted the heavy wooden lid and scrutinized the glass box inside. It was still there. He reached out to check the lock. It was still in place. Of course it was. What was he thinking? It was just a dream, just the beasts trying to trick him into releasing them as usual. He closed and locked the chest. He didn’t want to spend more time here than he had to, not that he could see anything. The glass box revealed nothing to his eyes but still, it was better to stay away from this room and its contents. Once, many years ago, he discovered that a full moon made it possible to glimpse them briefly. What a shock that had given him. He shook his head and locked the door behind him. 

Filling the kettle, he wondered again at the emotion of the dream. Did it mean anything? Likely not. There had been many variations of dream over the past forty-five years but usually the sensation was the same, usually it was that horrid pleading, a begging for freedom, and a warning that he would never find peace whilst he had them. Why would that change? 

Another thought struck him. Was it possible that she was finally coming to collect them? His hand shook slightly at the thought of her and he forced himself to breathe deeply as he reached for the teabags. He dreaded her visits but if he could finally be free of them, free of these blasted dreams then he would welcome her warmly. What he wouldn’t give for a good night's sleep. 

In his bedroom, he placed his tea on the nightstand and glanced at the mirror. An old man stared back. When had that happened? It had all started with her of course. He shuddered again at the thought of Cora. He wished he had never met her. The things he had done, terrible things! And for what? He scowled at his reflection and climbed into bed. He was too old for this, it had been too long. He picked up his book and sighed. Maybe this new dream was a sign? Dare he hope? Perhaps it would finally end. He glanced at the clock, only eleven pm, still a long way to go until morning.

He would read, he would drink tea, he would dream. There were always the dreams but maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t last too much longer. For the first time in years, Peter allowed himself to feel the smallest morsel of hope.