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was a useless endeavor. The sand was too
quick, too deep. It was dragging me
down sucking me in, forcing its way up to
my nose and into my mouth.
But if I thought I had it bad, well, that was
nothing compared to the girl. Not only was
she sinking up to her neck, but a whole team
of alligators had appeared out of nowhere.
Their powerful, crunching jaws yawning
open and snapping shut as though it was a
warm-up, as though they were preparing to
devour her.
I freed my hand of the muck and lurched
toward her. Urging her to lean toward me, to
take hold if she could. I tried to smile, tried
to nod in encouragement, to give her a reas-
on to fight, to not give up until we d ex-
hausted every last resource. Watching as she
thrust her body toward mine, the alligators
charging, snapping, chomping on air, hoping
to soon replace it with pieces of her.
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And then, just when she was near, just
when our fingers met and she d grabbed
ahold of me, a searing hot flame tore through
her flesh, giving me no choice but to let go.
I couldn t help it it just sort of
happened it was a reflex it wasn t my
fault! And when I tried to reach her again, it
was too late.
She was gone.
The gators had claimed her.
My throat cleared. The scream, finally un-
corked, rang out all around until I grew
hoarse and it played itself out. And I was just
about to renew it, hoping someone would
hear me, help me, when I opened my eyes
and saw everything had changed once again.
The rain had stopped.
The quicksand was gone.
And I found myself standing on a patch of
freshly mown grass, getting ridiculed loudly
by a small group of teens for having just
screamed my head off.
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I shrank back, shrank back into myself, in-
to the shadows so they could no longer see
me, though I could see them. Taking a quick
look around, I did what I could to assess the
new situation I found myself in. Remember-
ing what Satchel had said, that no matter
what happened, I had to stick with it, it was
the only way the message could be sent.
I was in a park. A park after dark, which
meant the little kids had already vacated,
were already at home, safely tucked into
their beds, while a gang of unruly teenagers
took over, littering the sandbox with cigar-
ette butts, and making rude drawings all over
the slide.
The kind of teens I never wanted to be al-
ways did my best to avoid taking great
pains to keep a wide distance between us
whenever I d see them lurking in my old
neighborhood on my way home from school.
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The kind of teens that made trouble,
listened to no one, flaunted authority, as
my mom would ve said.
The kind of teens that pretty much
wrecked it for all of the others.
And even though I knew it was my job to
find a way to fit in, to blend, all I really
wanted was to sit this one out.
I cowered in the dark, huddled up next to
the bathrooms, hoping that unfortunate
scream of mine was enough to scare them
off.
For a while anyway, it worked.
Until the big four-wheel-drive with no
driver flipped on its brights and tried to mow
us all down.
I ran.
We all did.
Though we didn t get very far. Unlike the
last dream, in this one, my feet didn t so
much sink as stick. The freshly mowed grass
turning into a goopy, green, superglued mess
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that held fast to the bottoms of our shoes, re-
fusing to release us, refusing to free us. Even
the ones who d stepped out of their shoes
were no better off they d merely replaced
the soles of their shoes with the soles of their
feet.
All I could do, all any of us could do, was
stare helplessly into the truck s headlights as
it ran us all down.
At the moment of impact, there was an
amazing flash of bright light, and the next
thing I knew, I was in Paris, a city I d always
wanted to visit. But instead of sightseeing
and riding the elevator to the top of the Eiffel
Tower, I was drowning in the River Seine
along with a group of loitering teenagers.
Then, the next thing I knew, I was in
Brazil, only instead of spending a nice day
baking in the sun, I was being roasted for
real a young girl, two boys, and me going
up in flames on a Rio de Janeiro beach.
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I suffered through nightmares in all of the
most exotic places. Places I d always wanted
to visit. Then just as I began longing for
home, my wish was granted. I found myself
in school my old school standing in front
of my old class. And when I gazed down at
myself, wondering what they were all point-
ing and laughing about, well, that s when I
realized I d forgotten to dress.
I froze, figuring I d die right there on the
spot of complete mortification but then a
second later I found myself wearing a cute
purple dress I definitely approved of, while
sitting at a desk in that very same class. Con-
centrating hard on the paper before
me part of a very important, grade-making
test unable to read, much less answer, even
one single question, all of the words swim-
ming before me in a big, foggy blur.
I raised my hand, about to ask if I could
get a new test, explain that there was
something wrong with the one that I
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had when I saw that my teacher wore the
face of a clown, and the body of a black wid-
ow spider. Her eight legs and arms trapping
me in her web, gazing upon me as though I
was dinner.
I screamed.
I railed.
I fought as hard as I could but it didn t do
the slightest bit of good.
I was devoured by insects.
I was buried alive.
I was chased by knife-wielding zombies
who snacked on my brains.
Every scene was different but, in the end,
it was all the same thing. Every time a night-
mare ended, a new one jumped into its place.
It was one assault after another one terrify-
ing experience quickly followed by the next.
Some were normal fears some were out-
rageous but all of them penetrated to the
deepest part of me.
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I d died once in real life but as long as I
was up on that stage, I d die many more
times, in much worse ways.
And the worst part was, there was nothing
I could do to stop it. Nothing I could do to
make it go away.
All I could do was go with it.
Blend in.
Act my little heart out and let the dreamer
decide when to say when.
So completely terrified by the circum-
stances, it took me a while to realize there
was no actual dreamer.
The last five scenes had starred only me.
But no matter how hard I screamed no
matter how hard I fought to break character,
to wake up no matter how much I risked
Satchel s good opinion of me it didn t do
the least bit of good.
The nightmares continued to loop.
The projector continued to whir.
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And each new scene I was thrust into was
far worse than the one that went before.
I was trapped.
Stuck in an eternal dance.
Living the never-ending story of all the
worst nightmares known to man.
17
Whatever hold Satchel had held over me was
long gone. He d gotten exactly what he
wanted controlling me was no longer
necessary.
I was stranded.
Alone.
Trapped in the web of his horrifying
dreamweave. The irony being that with my
free will fully restored, I had no way to exer-
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