Hacking the Sun - The Re-Remake

Chapter 20 Wherever The Devil Roams 1/2

Disturbed by the depths of a fever dream, Jessica sat up in a hot sweat, panting. The tip of her skull felt weighed down, wary from rest or lack thereof. Perhaps it was the encumbrance of a sleeping bag, or the hard floor. The sight of Beth and her friends drowning in a circle of fire did nothing to help.

The dark carried nothing but snores. Tip-toeing on concrete, she found her goggles and inspected the state of her friends. Shannon was fast asleep, snug on the couch. Valerie too. She walked over to Danielle, who seemed much nicer asleep than awake in her rocking chair. She couldn't believe they were dancing earlier. She couldn't believe they danced. Already, it felt like nights ago.

Something humiliated the quiet of the room, however. Goggles off, she observed a pale slight from the entrance. Enticed by the wind lull, she sauntered closer and found the cellar door open. Midnight held a mystery, so, sacrificing the makeshift generator, she returned her soles and put on her shoes. Then she made her way to the inviting night light, where a portrait played before her eyes.

Sensations and scenery hallucinated her thoughts, luring her back into a dreamer's mindset. Dampness in the air infused a chill abnormal for Summertime. Nevertheless, she stepped softly into the woods, motivated by the moon's glow. Though not bright, it coated the dark threads of bark with a glossy layer of blue, like an earthly sea that held a mirror to the heavens. She had dreams like this before but could never remember how they ended.

Curious impulse led her further, through azure leaves and black woods, until she laid eyes on snowfall. Snowfall lent credence, and she accepted a stroll into the dreamscape. When she tried to catch the flakes, they fell through her palms.

"This can't be real," she whispered and banged her head with a first. Nothing.

Stranger still, shadows crept and burrowed themselves in the nooks. There was no explaining the movement if it was real. If they were ghosts, she wanted to meet them. Perhaps they'd explain her visions, or at least explain the afterlife. Otherwise, the wandering was pointless. Perhaps fatigue, perhaps suppression of her other self had finally locked her mind into a shell of mourning. But if a dream could bring sweet relief, she was ready to follow it into the abyss.

On and on, her feet made no prints on the gathering snow. When she finally stopped, she stood near the precipice of a clearing where moon and shadow intermingled, where Heaven brought its light and Earth its dark. Then and there, her eyes leveled to a specter in the middle, a lone figure in a burly black coat.

Fearing evanescence, environed by terrible visions, Jessica stared at a head of long, gray hair. "That's not you," she whispered. The burning in her throat was poignant.

The head slowly turned.

Jessica's heart shot up into her throat. Quivering, she turned around and ran, not a single look back.

This is not a dream.

She ran with all the energy in her legs, despite the strain and the tug of tears pulling back. But nothing could surmount the pain of memory as she fled the illusion.

This is not a dream.

She stopped near the end of jagged woodland then bent over to catch her breath. Subtle relief poured from the tree line ahead, where the distant lanterns of the Woodsmen burned. Their mild resonance was the border of reality, while curiosity carried her gaze backward

Wilderness had its waltz under the moonlight; pale pockets crested between pillars of bark, and the boughs seemingly parted on the glow's behalf. Trees and their twisted forms curtailed into a macabre cover on the night portrait. But that portrait was smeared, overpowered by a soundless beam from the canopy.