Every night it is the same dream. It starts with my standing in front of a 3-story brick home at dusk. I look up to the window to the right of the entryway and see a soft yellow glow getting brighter, until I see a figure at the window holding a shiny metal candle holder with a white burning candle. The flame raises and I see a face – it’s my grandmother (who has been dead for 25 years now.) She smiles and beckons me with her other hand.
I go to the front door and try to open it. It’s locked. I ring the doorbell and wait.
I hear a click and the door swings in but I don’t see who opens it.
Suddenly I get a sharp shove from behind and I stumble into the total darkness. The door slams shut, its boom echoing off the walls.
I yell, “Grandma!” My voice also echoes.
I hear a moan in my right ear and want to scream – and do.
Running forward on impulse, I trip and fall flat.
I hear Grandma’s voice above me and look up. She is there with the candle and says, “Follow me, Lisa. You need to get out of here.” She looks the same as she did 25 years ago except she’s wearing a long white nightdress.
I follow her upstairs, the candle lighting the way. I ask her, “How are you here, Grandma?”
“They let us help sometimes. Hurry, you don’t have much time.”
She glides more quickly now. She continues to the third floor and then heads for the attic stairs. In the attic is a door leading to a small balcony. The door opens of its own volition as we reach it. Soon we are standing on the balcony, looking at the full moon.
“Jump,” she says.
I hear something large and moaning clumping behind us.
Caught between terrors, I jump. And wake up.
It’s been six months now of having the dream. I’m tired.
Tonight will be different.
Tonight I will sprout wings.
Fandango is the host of Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge.