I believe the TCP concept belongs to Kielle and Laersyn. All other concepts and characters belong to me. If anyone wants to archive this, just drop me a line to tell me where. You don’t have to ask -- just tell. :-) Send comments if you like: greyharper@yahoo.com. Some readers might find this story to be a little scary, so read at your own risk.

The clearest image, though, was the one of the smile on the holy man's face as he handed her back to her parents. There were a lot of teeth in that smile. A very great lot of teeth.

"May all your dreams come true, Annie," he told her.

And even though her parents had explained many times that she couldn't have been thinking in words at that age, she vividly remembered bursting into tears and hearing the word "no" sound over and over in her mind. No no no! All silent.

Even at that age she knew what dreams were. Dreams came when she was asleep. Dreams were what happened when no one could pick her up into safe, warm arms and save her.

She grew. Not very fast, or very well. She was afraid of the sunlight. She felt too exposed when it was shining all around her. She was afraid of the outdoors. The outdoors were full of things that couldn't fit indoors. She was afraid of teachers, of other children. None of them understood.

By the time she was six she'd convinced her parents to cover all the windows in her room. When they were uncovered she frequently woke up screaming at the top of her lungs, clutching her blankets over her head, pointing frantically at the window when her mother or father came running to save her. "A BAD MAN!" she'd scream. "In the window! In the WINDOW!"

He was always gone by the time her parents came, so at last they covered the windows, and things were better for a time.

When she was seven she glimpsed a movie in which a monster from outer space hid underneath a child's bed and caught his ankle as he stepped to the floor. Her father saw her watching it and laughed at her pale face, promising her a dozen times in a hundred words that it wasn't *real*, that somebody had just dreamed it up for the movie. Then he got impatient when she only shook her head mutely, unable to speak, and he told her he was tired of her fear and he wanted her to go straight to bed.

That night the bed moved, shifting with a warning groan. She could hear the slither of something damp and thick on the floor. An odor of wet rot found her nose. It took her parents nearly two endless minutes to come to her room once she started screaming, and then they scolded her for waking them and swore up and down on God's name that there was no monster under her bed. She finally stopped crying and they left the door open to reassure her, but she didn't sleep again that night.

Or the next.

Or the one after that.

Eventually sleep caught up with her, deeply enough that even dreams couldn't wake her. She slept the night through and woke for the first time refreshed, believing for a very short while that the world was finally safe. Her father smiled at her cheerfulness that day. Her mother ruffled her hair and made her chocolate chip cookies to nibble after school.

At night the dreams came back, and this time she huddled underneath her sheets and didn't let herself scream.

Time passed. The dreams didn't. In the darkness she heard the clicking of claws against the door. Sometimes a grunt in a shadowed corner, or even worse, a low and ugly laugh. The breathing of a large creature so close that she knew if she opened her eyes it would be staring into her face. The whispering sound of scales across carpet. The smells were worse, sometimes so thick that she couldn't breathe past them. She kept her eyes closed tightly to save herself at least from the sights.

At some point when she was curled into a tight ball beneath sheets that were too thin, she rationalized that they couldn't hurt her. They wouldn't dare. The dreams couldn't destroy the dreamer, the creator.

When she dared to think it they touched her for the first time, cold and alien flesh lightly brushing at an exposed ankle, and she buried her shriek in the pillow and tried to think of nothing at all.

They grew stronger. She grew more frightened. Her parents grew alternately more worried and less tolerant. What was the matter with her? Why did she never speak louder than a whisper? Why did she *still* have nightmares after all this time? She was too pale, too thin, too quiet. All her teachers were concerned. One even suggested schizophrenia.

She broke into tears and told them that the priest had so many teeth...surely more teeth than any holy man should have. Hadn't they seen that? Didn't they remember?

That night she was sent to bed early. They'd learned that such a punishment was more effective than any other for her. She knew that somewhere in the house they spoke in low voices, making gestures, maybe crying, or even picking up the phone to call a "doctor" who would "just talk to you, honey, that's all."

Was that for the best? The doctor might know how to make her stop dreaming. He could make them stop.

Something bumped in her closet. Again. It sounded like a puppy fumbling and tumbling around her shoes. She knew better.

If the doctor couldn't stop the dreams he could lock her up. Put her somewhere without other people. She still believed -- hoped, anyway, that they wouldn't hurt her. But they kept *growing*, getting more *real*, and sometimes she wondered, on the darkest nights she found herself thinking, fearing that maybe these dreams didn't care about her at all. Maybe she was just the source. Maybe they just wanted her to make them real.

And then they wouldn't be dreams anymore.

The "puppy" whimpered. She didn't fall for it. If she stepped off the bed the tentacle would close around her ankle or the fingers would stroke the back of her neck or the heavy, stinking breath would caress her ear. They worked together. They loved nothing more than her fear.

Yes. The doctor. She needed to see the doctor.

The whimper became louder. In her mind she saw a smile and teeth.

"Honey." Her father. "We want to talk to you."

She wouldn't get off the bed. Not at night. Not even with her father there. "Are you sending me to the doctor?"

He looked around her room while he spoke to her. "I know you don't really want to go see a shrink, Annie, but your mother and I have been talking..."

"Yes, sweetie," Mother put in from the hallway. "We want you to see someone who can help you."

The puppy whimpered again very quietly. Her heart pounded a little harder. Normally they made no sound whenever someone else was in the room. "I...want to see someone."

Her father smiled and walked into the room despite the darkness. She could still see the white of his teeth. "I'm glad to hear that. Your teacher gave us the number of someone she said was really good. We can call him in the morning, first thing. Maybe even get you an appointment tomorrow. Would you like that?"

She wanted to cry in relief. One more night. Just one. "Please," she said. "It's wonderful."

A louder whimper. Then a soft growl.

"I should go to sleep," she whispered, wide-eyed, willing them to not hear the sounds. "I should...you said I was supposed to..."

Her father turned his head. "What's that noise?"

"Nothing..."

"No, I heard a noise. I'm sure I did."

"It's nothing, Daddy." Her whisper was growing fainter. The puppy had stopped whimpering entirely, but its growl was still soft and unthreatening. "Please, Daddy, go to bed."

"What is it, Ron?" her mother asked. "It sounds like an animal."

"No!" she said, but her father was walking toward the closet, ignoring her protests. "Daddy, don't!"

"Have you got an animal in here?" he asked sternly as his hand closed over the doorknob. "You know how your mother feels about that, Annie."

"It's not a, an animal...it's a...it's..." She was on the edge of the bed, staring at the long distance between her and her father. "Don't open the door! Don't!"

His hand slid from the knob and he gave her an impatient look. "Annie, this isn't that nonsense again...you just agreed to get help, hon. You can stop talking about all that now. There's nothing dangerous in this room, unless you snuck in some sort of wild animal."

"Where would she have gotten one?" her mother pointed out.

Her father started to speak again. She listened with all her strength, hearing his interruption a moment before he did.

Click. Click. Click.

Claws against a door.

Click. Click. Click.

"That's it." He turned. "I'm trying to be understanding, Annie, but if you're using this imagination of yours to cover sneaking an animal in here..."

She lunged off the bed, screaming in her brain just like she had when she was a baby. No no no! All in her head where it did no good at all. Something brushed her ankle. Another touched her neck. Shadows waved at the corners of her eyes. Real. Real enough not to need her anymore. May all your dreams come true, Annie.

"No no no!" she screamed out loud, finally.

But her father had already opened the door.

Story ©2001 by the author. This story is protected by the TCP
Warehouse. Do not archive or MST without the author's direct permission.