Chapter One: Nightmares and Visitors
The thing Sarah Williams liked most about herself was that she was a fighter. She never gave up. She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't given something her one hundred percent—and usually her efforts resulted in success. So, when her best friend, Matt Lowery, had dared her into a Guinness chugging contest, she was happy to oblige. She may have already been a little drunk, otherwise she would have balked about spending six dollars on a Guinness only to chug it down.
"You know you can't win," Matt said. He licked his lips and looked at the foamy drink. He was really hamming it up for the rest of their friends. He looked at Tasha Milo and Deidre Hart, the other members of their group, and added, "You guys wanna take bets?"
"No, this is too amusing. I don't want to miss a minute of the action," Tasha said, flipping curly blonde hair away from her eyes and shaking her head. "I can't believe you're going to do it, Sarah. What a waste!"
"You don't want to bet 'cause you're always broke," Matt answered, before Sarah could reply. He turned back to her. "Ready?"
"Bring it, Lowery."
"Oh, it's been brought." Matt laughed. The sound unraveled a little at the end; he was pretty drunk, too. "On three, okay? One…two…" He grabbed the glass and begun chugging.
"Cheat!" Sarah squealed, and then went for it. The drink was thick and delicious, but she could feel it hit her insides like a brick. She kept going—that fighter inside her wouldn't let her back out now. Tasha and Deidre were squealing encouragement, although the cheering was hard to hear over the ear-piercingly loud music in the Irish-themed pub.
Sarah put down her empty glass a few seconds before Matt and laughed in triumph. "I won!" She paused and groaned, clutching her stomach. "And I feel like I ate an elephant. Does beer expand?"
"Guinness isn't beer—it's the world's most perfect food." Matt had a foam mustache. "Want to try again?"
"No!"
Deidre laughed. "You both have mustaches!"
Matt and Sarah looked at each other and grinned. At the same time, their tongues licked up the foam from their upper lips, like mirror images. And then they froze and there it was again, that weird half-moment filled with potential. Sarah felt, even in this crowded pub, surrounded by her friends, filled with alcohol, this was a moment that could change everything. If she reached out and touched Matt, she knew that something between them would change. She knew it with every fiber of her being.
The moment hung longer than it should have and she let it pass. The next thing she knew, Deidre was checking her cellphone and sighing about how her boyfriend had sent her another text message and how she really should get back home. They began shuffling around for money and the moment was gone without a hint that it had ever been, except Sarah knew. There were times like that in her life where it seemed she could see her path bisect in front of her and she instinctually knew if she acted a certain way, her life would change.
The very first time she'd felt like that had been with him. When he had held out a clear crystal and promised her everything.
Sarah shook her head, pulled out a twenty, and added it to the pile at the center of the table. Outside, they all hugged each other. She only hesitated a moment before she hugged Matt. They were friends, she reminded herself. His hug was completely platonic. She was being silly.
When she moved a step away, she stuck her hands in her pockets and said, "We should do this again."
They all agreed and made tentative plans for next week. "Maybe not beer this time," Tasha said. "I'm trying to watch my figure. What about sushi?"
"Sushi sounds good! Derek doesn't like sushi, so I can never go with him," Deidre said.
"Sushi, next week," Sarah agreed. They said their goodbyes. Deidre and Matt would share a cab to the riverside area. Tasha would get another and head to the Westside, the wealthier district. Sarah watched her friends walk away with a warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She felt content. She didn't even feel that niggling bit of jealousy towards Tasha anymore. The buxom blonde was an actress and her career was beginning to do pretty well. Sarah had given up her thoughts of acting long ago—she just didn't have the talent or patience for it—and had instead devoted herself to another craft. She wrote—so far, mostly short stories and articles that had been published in a slew of magazines. However, she was working on a book. Short stories didn't pay all the bills, though, and she supplemented her income by working part-time at a clothing store.
Deidre and Matt were about as ordinary as Sarah was. Deidre was a nurse and Matt was a graphic designer.
"Come on feet," she muttered and walked the short distance to her studio apartment. It was in a revitalized area which, at one time, had been warehouses. Now, the warehouses had been transformed into chic, bohemian apartments.
The wind was picking up when Sarah arrived at her building. There was cold moisture on the air; a tell-tale sign of a fall storm. She huddled further into her jacket as she opened the door to her apartment building and went into the large, commercial elevator up to her apartment. The landing was small, just big enough for two people to stand side-by-side. She opened her door and stepped into her apartment, locking it behind her, and tossing her clothes onto the floor as she made for the bathroom. She was suddenly exhausted and all she wanted to do was brush her teeth and go to bed. How late was it? Twelve? One?
When she stepped out of the bathroom, she opened the fridge and retrieved the pitcher of cold water she kept. She filled a cup and paused. She'd heard something. Cocking her ear, she listened carefully. It sounded like the walls were chortling and giggling. She put the pitcher back and went to the futon. She put the cup on the side table and said to the air, "Okay guys, I know I smell like booze and cheap perfume, but that's because of the pub. I'm really tired. I don't mind if you want to visit, but don't wake me up, okay?"
The chortling reduced in volume, which she took as a good sign. The goblins liked to visit her. Sometimes, she'd wake up to find them piled about her apartment in little, sleeping heaps. They liked to play Twenty Questions, watch bad soap operas on TV, and go through her sock drawer. Some people might have thought of them as a nuisance—like baby-sitting a bunch of toddlers—but Sarah liked them. They were mischievous, fun, and they made her feel young—like there was still that spark of magic in her world.
Not that I'm old, Sarah thought, clicking the futon into its bed position. Twenty-seven next March… Boy, was she tired. Beer always made her sleepy after a while.
She retrieved her blanket and pillow, threw them onto the futon, and collapsed happily. She was asleep before she knew it and soon after that, she began to dream.
She was in a throne room that was oddly familiar and yet different. Something was different. Wasn't the throne room from her memories stark, stony, with a pit for goblins to play in and a marble throne that looked like it hurt to sit in? But here she saw oil lamps hanging from hooks on the wall, giving off a soft glow. Under her feet was a large rug that encompassed most of the room. Along one wall were giant windows that swept from floor to ceiling—right now, the view outside was dark, but she could see a full moon hung in the sky and surrounded by stars. The throne had its back to the window and it was made out of polished, ebony wood with scarlet cushioning.
She looked around and she felt like she was two people: her dream-self and her normal-self. Her dream-self seemed to be in charge of her movements, yet she could reason with all the knowledge and functionality of her normal, waking self. She wandered around the room, looking every way—looking for someone. Who was she looking for? Well, who else could inhabit a throne room like this? How many kings did she know? It could only be one person and she hadn't dreamed about him in a very long time…
Suddenly, the dream winked. That was the only word she could give it. It was like a video that had suddenly jumped. One moment she was looking around the throne room, the next moment she was looking at a man with dark hair and handsome features, but a horribly cruel smile.
Crueler than any smile he ever gave me, Sarah thought. Who is this man?
Her dream-self seemed to know, because she was backing away, frightened. The back of her legs hit the throne and she fell into it. The man smirked, cornering her, unless she vaulted over the armrests and made a dash for the door. Sarah's muscles bunched, preparing to leap to the side.
"And this story ends as a tragedy," the man said. He drew out a beautiful sword from his scabbard. Sarah watched the movement, aghast and afraid. The sword had an intricately curving hand guard that looked like stylized wind spiraling around. There was a jewel in the hilt, carved in a shape that she strained to identify.
Her dream-self was shuddering in fear, paralyzed by it. "No…" she whispered, watching the man draw back. "NO!"
He plunged the sword into her, impaling her. Pain erupted through her and she arched her back instinctually, feeling the sword exit the opposite side. She heard the dull thunk as the sword embedded into the throne.
Sarah awoke with a gasp and her hands immediately went to her chest, where the sword had sliced through her heart. She pulled up her shirt, checking her skin. The dream had been so life-like, the pain so intense, that she half expected the wound to be there. Instead, her fingers skipped over unmarred flesh.
"Oh god," she said, her voice hitching in a sob. "Oh god, that was horrible." She drew her knees up and rested her sweaty, cold forehead against them. She shuddered a little, and it took many long minutes before the terror of the dream began to dissipate. Only then could she think about it.
She could still feel the echoes of pain. What a nightmare! But just that, she reminded herself, just a nightmare. She would have taken a dream of him—a dream of remembered glances, unanswered questions, and frustrated riddles—over a dream where she was run through by a sword.
The sword. She frowned, feeling the movement against her knees. The sword had been so detailed. She could still see the cold steel, the sweeping ornamentation of the hand guard, and the blood-red jewel. Suddenly, something clicked in her mind and she realized what the jewel had been carved as. Inverted horns in a semblance of a triangle. She'd seen such a shape before, but it had been a pendant and it had hung around his neck.
But, the man in my dream didn't look like… Her thoughts were cut-off by a whispering sound. She had been focusing so much on her dream that she hadn't looked around the apartment but now she did. Her apartment was jam-packed with goblins and they were all looking at her.
Shivers ran up and down Sarah's spine. This is creepy, she thought.
As far as Sarah could tell, goblins never looked the same. Even in this room, where there had to be at least fifty of them—probably more, since some where balanced on others' shoulders—no two goblins looked alike. Some were skinny, others stout; some wore makeshift hats out of things like pots or colanders; some had warty skin and some had smooth skin; some had green-colored skin, some had brown-colored skin, and some had blue-colored skin. She slowly scanned the room and opened her mouth to ask them what they all wanted, but the words died in her throat. They were looking at her so intensely; she really wished they'd stop. She felt self-conscious. She felt like touching her face and making sure everything was still there. She also felt like telling them to go away so she could try sleeping again.
There was a small space around her futon, as if they didn't want to come too close to her. Slowly, one goblin, who was a very small fellow with a sauce pan for a hat and pants made out of burlap and skin the color of stagnant water, came forward. He had something hidden behind his back. He jumped onto the sofa table and drew forward what he was hiding.
Sarah gasped. It was a perfect crystal. The goblin had to hold it in two hands. He offered it to her. It caught the light coming in from the window and sparkled.
Sarah thought, It's a crystal. Nothing more.
In Sarah's mind she heard a voice from her memories say in a silky tone: "But if you turn it this way and look into it, it will show you your dreams."
Oooh, cliffhanger! :) I got this idea while working on my own work and just HAD to try it out. This is my first fanfic, I admit. The exercise gets a lot of creative juices flowing. I think I will update soon, no worries. -CQ