IS
11

Some twelve hundred miles away, in the setting of a dark air-conditioned room, little Alley Stone was tossing in her sleep to the horrifying images of her father being stalked by a tall white monster; a cynical, smiling beast with such a disturbing aura of eccentricities, her small, frail body was nestled in a cocoon of sweat when the vision became too much and she wet the bed with the intensity of foreboding terror. “Daddy!” she screamed out, clutching at the sheets as if it were the very thing that would save her life, or possibly her father’s.

“Alley?” her mother sat up next to her, shocked and concerned. “Alley! What is it, honey?”

It was then that Corey became aware of the sheets on Alley’s side of the bed, soaked with sweat and urine. “Oh, my God!”, she said unconsciously, as she slid off the bed, clicked on the small lamp next to her, and began pulling the covers from her daughter’s wet, shaking body.

Shane was now standing in the doorway. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing Shane. Go back to bed!”

“But what’s she–-”

“Shane! Please!” Corey snapped back.

He started to leave, but remained just out of sight in the hallway, so that he could take in the mystery that was evolving in the room next to his.

“Alley honey, are you okay? Bad dream?”

At that very instant, Alley, with her back to her mother, looked back over her shoulder with wide and pleading eyes, practically convulsing in a state of unparalleled fear that forced a makeup of snot and tears across her face. She wanted to speak as badly as her mother wanted her to, but speech was a lost privilege for the moment.

Corey pulled her daughter close to her and began to rock back and forth, kissing the top of her daughter’s sweating head, and needing only the look on Alley’s face to tell her what she truly needed to know—that something had scared her little girl to the brink of shock.

Shane, convinced that he had missed a window of opportunity to experience any real excitement, retired back into his room, anticipating the day ahead.

Corey looked to the bright red digital numbers that displayed 4:32 from the clock next to the bed. She wished her husband was there with them. She missed his strength, and his insightful talent for comforting her in the most desperate of situations. She closed her eyes and could see his smiling face. As she felt her daughter’s body begin to gradually relax in her embrace, she smiled to herself, feeling that the worst had now passed, and that she could now dispose of, and wash away the remnants of what was a terrible, but soon to be forgotten moment in time.

But if she had only shared in this new and unexplored gift which had been bestowed upon her little girl, she would have known that this nightmare had only begun. That, insatiable as it was, the tip of the iceberg had only been scratched, relinquishing a whole new world of unimaginable just below its surface.

Corey washed her daughter off in the shower, and twelve minutes later she was busy changing the sheets, glancing over to little Alley who was curled up in a large chair, staring out the window as a shrimp boat made its way out to sea.

Being that it was still dark out, Corey could see Alley’s reflection in the glass; somber, and yet still spellbound to what she had experienced in a previous vision. The boat had no positive impact or any real emotional value to her. Not this morning, as her stare seemed to travel far past anything tangible.

A damp lock of hair had fallen free over the left side of Alleys’ face. Not even the fact that a whole great big white sandy beach would soon be at their disposal held any importance to her right now. Sea shells, sand castles, and even her new sunglasses meant nothing to Alley. She was worried for her Dad. She couldn’t stop thinking about him and the terrifying circumstances that seemed to engulf him. She hoped that it was a bad dream, and all bad dreams or nightmares eventually fade. She’d had them before, and knew they never seemed to stay with you after you woke. A partially clear scene will always falter to small bits and pieces, eventually becoming an almost impossible event to recall.

But this was different. The intensity of that very same vision seemed to sustain itself right into breakfast, making even the simplest of tasks complex or even intrusive.

“Alley!” her mother said, in a heightened tone.

Alley looked up from the table to replace everyone staring at her.

“Your Grandmother was trying to talk to you!” Corey stated, as her face changed from concern to alarm, once she saw that same fear lingering in Alley’s eyes.

Feeling overwhelmed and embarrassed by what had happened, those same eyes welled with tears, as she looked to her mother and choked out two very simple, but important words… “Call Dad.”

“Honey. Talk to me. Is this about the same dream you had earlier?”

Alley was at a loss. She had no idea where to begin to explain something she didn’t understand herself. She only knew one thing for certain. This seemed too real to be any normal dream. The fear she felt was substantiated by a vision that crossed over the boundaries of any normal imagination. She now felt herself wanting to escape from the focus that was drawn to her, and said with a calm voice, “I just wanted to make sure Dad’s okay.”

“Honey, I plan on calling your father after breakfast, okay? Are you all right?”

Alley nodded.

“We’ll all get a chance to talk to your dad. And you’ll see. Everything will be just fine!”

Alley nodded again, and then asked to be excused.

“Okay, but don’t go far!” Corey said as she sipped her coffee, and then looked to where Alley had been sitting. “Al! You barely touched your breakfast!” she shouted out, taking another sip, shaking her head, and then forcing a smile in the direction of her own parents.