Rachel Stanton and The Darkest Night

CHAPTER 8: THE SPROUNDS

8. THE SPROUNDS

WHEN I WOKE UP ONE NIGHT, I found my hair untidy, and I thought I had combed my hair before I went to sleep. It’s not real, I assured myself. But I had a few reasons for it to be real. First was my hair being untidy—maybe I was just like possessed by a demon that was why it became like that. Second, I could really feel the wind that struck my face when the two lightnings collide. And third, the voices came to me solidly.

When breakfast came, I was totally bothered with all the dreams I had. They kept popping inside my head. I tried to keep them out every time, but forgetting them was not that easy as what I had known.

I looked wary, I thought. Even my mom had noticed it. And that was why she asked me what was wrong. “Nothing,” I just whispered. She nodded once and ate her food now. They were all done when I began to take the first spoonful of steak. And then I quickly darted into my room with my head looking down at my feet.

My hands were crossed between my legs. I held my right leg with my left hand and my right hand to my left leg. My chin rested on my knees. I thought about the dream. Come here, Rachel. Embrace your death, because, right now, you’re going to have it.

It was a moment later when I hopped off my bed and headed for my phone. I quickly dialed Jared’s number, and, after a few seconds, Jared’s voice finally spoke.

“Hello?” I said, my voice slightly trembling.

“Rachel?” he whispered. “Why did call?”

I sighed deep and paused. I wasn’t sure exactly what to tell him. Should I tell him all about my dreams? Should I tell him even though it was hard for him to believe me? Should I just talk to him with a different subject? What?

But instead of contemplating all these, I had found the right words already. “I have to tell you something.”

I bit my lower lip, thinking.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked, his voice turning eerie now. “Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me.” It was almost a whisper. I was abruptly confused now. I didn’t know what to say exactly to him.

“Jared,” I murmured, “if I tell you something unbelievable,”—I cleared my throat loudly—“would you still listen?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Oh, because I had a crazy dream and they felt so real. It’s been showing up to me for a week already. And it seems like I was out of my bed and they were happening in reality. But can dreams be true?”

I waited him to respond. Just then, I heard him chuckle over the phone. “What?” He barked, but not so loudly. I thought he wanted me to repeat it again, but he suddenly spoke and I was totally cut off. “Maybe you were sleep-walking that time.”

“No,” I said quickly. “I mean, they were actually real. Last week when I fell asleep, that dream showed up. And it’s not going to stop now.”

“You having a nightmare?”

“I think so. But I can’t be sure. It’s real, I guess, and I do think it’s not a nightmare.”

“So you’re trying to convince me that it’s not a dream?”

I nodded, but then I realized I was talking to him in the phone. “Yeah,” I muttered softly. “If you could just experience the thing I am telling you.”

He sighed. “I can’t believe directly into your story. But I could help you with that. Now, don’t be afraid.”

I allowed his words to flow down my spine like a torrent. For a moment, he repeated the last words again. “Don’t be afraid.” I suddenly felt relief in my chest. “It will come to an end. Don’t be afraid.”