That night, I dreamt I was lying in bed when I heard my name whispered. At first, I shuffled under the sheets, but when the voice sounded as though someone had stood someplace inside my room, I reached through cool darkness and found a beaded lamp string. I yanked it and the room illuminated, and my eyes zigzagged from the foot of my bed, to my closet door, the window behind my nightstand, and rested on the dark bathroom doorway. I threw my covers off, slid my feet into a pair of house shoes, and crept into the bathroom. One thing I always thought was creepy about it was that there were two ways into it. The first was the door from the guestroom I used whenever I visited, and second was a guestroom where a bed remained neat and crisp as—to my recollection—it had never been used. I slinked past the sink and shower, turned a corner, and skulked along a tub to the other door. I inched it opened, peeked inside. The room was dim, and past the bed at its opposite corner, I could see the hallway that led to my room. I crept across the room to the door, peeked into the hallway and saw how my bedroom door was closed.
‘Sebastian…’
I snapped my head toward the top of the staircase just down the hall. Once I’d slinked to the bottom, even in my dream I knew where I was headed next. The grandfather clock hiding in the shadows read 3:30am, and I froze there awhile, studying its brass pendulum which swung with each tock behind a glass.
‘Sebastian…’
I wheeled toward the marble corridor and slipped into its darkness, each step echoing to both ends of the passage and back, forcing me to peek over my shoulder. While I slinked, I reminded myself many times that the footsteps I heard and the shadows I saw within a mirror was only me. I cut through the dining room nonetheless which was just as dark when I heard my name coming from the den as well as a bit of light. When I reached the doorway, I found neither the fireplace lit nor a lamp illuminated. The light came from the moon’s reflection off the bluish snow outside the huge window. The yard was a sight to behold, but not half as much as the person who stood back turned along the rear. I didn’t say a word, only tiptoed to the piano stool and played. The ballad was slow and soft like a watching snow fall outside a window. I had never performed it before, but the feel of it made me believe it could’ve been something Francesca danced to. No matter where I was or how many people were around, songs this calm and tranquil transported me out of the present and into the seats of a dark empty auditorium where I would watch Francesca in secret as she practiced her twists and leaps alone on the stage. These were the sorts of songs she’d loved to dance to, and had it not been for me, she’d still be around to dance this very night. But while I sat in the darkness and fingered the keys beside the window, the person outside the glass neither danced nor moved at all. Without light, I played as well as any could, yet the person outside refused to move. Suddenly however, it angered me, and I played hard and faster, fingertips stabbing the keys. But the person refused to budge. So barreled through the ballad, and after the person did not move, I belted the keys with my fist and shot on my feet, knocking the stool to the hardwood behind me. I yelled toward the glass, telling the person I’d played well and it was her fault if she couldn’t dance. I shrieked some time longer until the person turned around. I seized the side of the piano to keep from falling, gathered myself, and then inched toward the glass all but pressing my nose into it.
The person I peered at was Francesca.
She stood here, smile on her face, hands clasped in front. I said her name, and she nodded. She wore a white dress and matching cape around her shoulders. She was truly an angel. Suddenly though, she lifted a hand high in the air as though to say goodbye… goodbye forever. Afterward, she turned and walked toward the woods, and I shouted her name and banged on the glass but she was already making her way into the trees. With a though to dash out the rear door, I wheeled and darted across the den toward the kitchen doorway but saw it wasn’t there! I halted. Only a solid wall stood there and same for the dining room doorway. Wall panels occupied both spots as though a doorway had never existed at all. I raced back to the window and saw Francesca’s silhouette walking through the trees. I hollered her name and hoped she’d at least stop and glance behind at me one last time but she kept going. My mind raced and my heart sank as I began to believe this may be the final time I’d ever see her. I battered the glass hoping to shatter it to pieces but it held tight. On the mantle sat a large brass candleholder. I snatched it, held it like a club, and swung it against the glass but it didn’t break. Before long, I went wild, throwing anything I could at the window: a fireplace poker, kindling, Christmas ornaments, music folders, and pillows. When these didn’t work, I peered about the room until I saw the piano stool lying on its side. I scurried over and picked it up, backed away, and aimed it at the window like a battering ram. I shouted her name once more and sprinted toward the glass. I had in fact seen the silhouette within the tree turn around but it was too late because in slow motion, I crashed with the stool through the glass and shattered it into millions of pieces. Glass particles splashed my face and rained down over my head and back, but just before I hit the snow, I sprung from my bed sheets damp with sweat.
Minutes later, I slipped into a robe, marched downstairs to the den, and drew the heavy curtains over the den window. This was the second Francesca dream I’d had in two days, and I felt like my mind was drifting from reality. If loving someone and losing them makes you hear voices, burn breakfast, and chase imaginary ballerinas through the woods—let alone witness them plummet to the snow outside your window—then perhaps my uncle was right about staying away from relationships and committing only to your life’s work and passion, not to other people. He did himself a favor and went away, and after I’d stared at the curtain a while, I believed it may’ve been time for me to do the same. Except since I had no gas, no money, and no place to go for that matter, I simply stayed out of the den. I spent the day shoveling the driveway, mopping the floors, washing and ironing clothes, and reading my music books determined not to think about Francesca or the window. In fact, as the day rolled on, I caught myself smirking, thinking more and more of the episode out in the woods alone as something to laugh and joke about and not something to carry about like worn baggage.
That evening nonetheless, the microwave beeped, and I opened the door and wrapped a towel around yet another bubbling bowl of leftover macaroni and cheese. I picked up my dinner and a biography of Bach I’d borrowed from my uncle’s library earlier and carried it into the den. With my elbow, I flipped on the light and stood in the doorway. The room was quiet and the curtain was still closed. I sat on the piano stool, steadying the bowl with my right hand and flipping the pages of my book on the music stand with my left. The dining room table offered more space, but I was convinced that reading about famous composer at the piano was ideal just in case I was hit with a sudden case of inspiration and needed to express whatever brimmed inside me at once. Atop the piano laid a few sheets of paper. I reached for this, felt the hole in the headings, and recognized them as the music I’d found yesterday pinned to the tree. I started to glance at the curtain again before I could I tossed the paper over the piano top and sighed.
After a creamy bite or two of macaroni, I sat it along with the book atop the piano, breathed, and played a song I thought was an original from my heart but, as I played, realized was only fragments of the pieces I’d flung over the piano but in a somewhat different way. So I stopped, rubbed my eyes temples awhile, and when my eyes drifted toward the curtain, I shook my head and began playing again. For some time, the music I made sounded fresh and new, but once my ear examined what I was doing again, I realized the same springtime-like rhythm and melody was still there.
I slammed my fists against the keys.
Suddenly however, the curtains began to sway and swing. Frozen stiff, swallowed and watched, breathing only enough to remain conscience. Before long, at the sight of it, my mind raced: is something or something coming through the glass? Is the glass still there? I’m I really seeing this or have I indeed lost my marbles? I bit my lip, leaned toward the curtain expecting the unexpected. I reached out for the fabric, but as I did, a warm current of air breathed past my hand. And when I peered along the base of the wall beneath the piano, I saw a long black vent.
I sighed. The heat was on.
I’d never noticed the vent before because I’d never closed the curtain. Nonetheless, I reached down and slapped the lid over the vent after I came to my senses, I lit the fireplace instead.
An hour later, I found myself hunched over the piano keys, arms folded tight, shoulders shivering from an icy draft which crawled up my back. The fire had exhausted to a heap of glowing embers which left the den veiled in shadows. I yawned, sat there a minute when I heard yelping outside the window. The draw string to pull the curtain back dangled within arm’s reach but I let it alone, determined not to allow my imagination to send me over the edge. Hence I rose to my feet, doused the fireplace with sand, and toddled out the kitchen doorway with a half eaten bowl of macaroni and cheese. As I scraped remnants of my dinner into the trash, I heard a bark somewhere in the rear yard. I sighed, peered at the waste can. The plastic bag was almost full, so I pulled the drawstrings tight and heaved the bag toward the rear door. To prove to myself once and for all that I was only hearing things, I’d to haul the trash to the receptacle behind the estate. I tied-up the bag, towed it to the rear door bypassing a closet packed with spare jackets, and arrived at the door where shoved my feet partway into the shoes. I glanced through its window, ambled out onto the frozen walkway and stood there, bag dangling from my fingertips, hearing nothing.
I smiled. As I’d thought—it was only my imagination.
I trudged to the can, flipped the bag inside. Going forward, I decided to consider all strange noises and dreams—and even love itself—works of the imagination perhaps as my uncle had.
Suddenly, a bark echo resonated behind me, and when I turned, through the trees where the hallow laid, I saw the silhouette of a large wolf pounce in the snow as though it retrieved a ball and then returned it to someone behind some trees. But after a moment, the wolf returned into my view and sat, staring in one direction. Then a cloaked figure marched through the snow as thought it intended to pass it but paused to stroke its head. Out of the blue however, the figure glanced in the direction of the estate, and I slipped into the shadows beside the receptacle, pinned my back against the brick wall.
Could that be?
No way…
She couldn’t be real…
But if that’s the case, why am I hiding?
I peered into the trees again and saw her straighten-up and then continue her trek across the clearing until she was all but out of the view. I pushed away from the wall as if to yell something, but without thought, I pressed my feet all the way into my shoes and sprinted toward the trees which bordered the rear yard. Halfway there however, their tops swayed a tad as though an elevated breeze breathed though them. Just then I remembered wore neither a jacket nor hat. But I was approaching the trunk where the sheet music was pinned. When I raced past however, I ran my hand over the hole just to make certain I wasn’t imaging it. But when I felt the divot in the bark where the twigs where crammed, I raced faster, weaving through the bald pines, ducking under the bowed branches, leaping over roots until I reached the small field of snow encased by trees and shadows. I tiptoed into the clearing a few paces. Neither the lady nor the wolf left prints in the snow. I glanced back through the trees at my uncle’s estate. Every window was dark except for the den which was a straight shot through the trees. From the receptacle outside, I’d seen the wolf race from left to right, so I darted across the hollow, and into the trees along what seemed to be a trail of sorts through the forest. I rubbed my hands together as though I wanted sparks to fly out and then slapped my fingers over my ears. Shoulders shivering, I felt like I was trapped in the freezer. While I raced along the trail nonetheless, the idea that she perhaps had not come this way began to dawn on me, and I slowed to a walk. Had anyone come this way, there would been tracks of some kind as no one earth could walk atop eight inches of snow without disturbing it in some way. Before long, my head felt like I was balancing a dumbbell on it, so I stopped and hunched over, digging my hands into pockets. I caught my breath, peeked ahead. About twenty yards down, the trail curved around a snow covered boulder then dipped into what seemed to be a riverbed with an identical forested incline its opposite side. I trekked to the bolder, dropped to one knee and blew warm breath into my fists. Bits of snowflakes drifted off the boulder and crept up the back of my neck, but given swaying trees across the trail, the stone appeared to shield me from a gust tunneling down the trail which was more than I could ask fore way out here. After a minute or two however, the swaying trees settled and the wind tunnel seemed to slow to a murmuring draft. I scanned my surroundings. Bald trees sprouted on both sides of the trail and served as gateway to a forested abyss in both directions. I pressed my forearm into the boulder and climbed on my feet, heels squishing the waterlogged souls of my shoes. Suddenly however, a bark echoed on the opposite side of the boulder deep within the valley ahead. I trudged through the shin-deep snow to the forest side of the boulder and peeked.
The lady…
The trail meandered down to a frozen pond where she stood peering out over it and holding a wool sack. She wore a brown clock and a greenish ankle-length dress filled with patches. Beside her, the wolf played, swaging its bushy tail, testing the ice with its paw. I dug my fingertips into the snowy stone and ducked my head, staying low in case a breeze arrived that could alert the wolf of my presence. Seconds passed, and I peeked at her again and saw her take her feet out of a pair a slippers. The wolf settled thereafter and sat on the shore. Bare foot nonetheless, the lady threw the sack over her shoulder and stepped out onto the icy pond. She appeared as though she was strolling along a sandy beach, digging her feet into the snow, leaving a trail of footprints to the center of the pond where she dropped the sack. She panned the trees of the opposite bank, rolling one of her sleeves to the elbow, and then started on the stalks of my bank, and I ducked behind the boulder, sliding frozen fists into my pockets. After awhile, I stood and peered again. She’d stooped down, both knees on the ice, dress spread around her. She slid the sack a few feet away, bent forward onto all four and placed an ear only inches from the surface.
What was she planning to do?
I couldn’t even imagine what. The only thing I could do was lean against the boulder and observe. From the shore, the wolf began yelping at her, wagging its tail again, shuffled toward the edge of the pond. The lady then lifted her head a bit and placed a finger her lips, and then wolf settled once more. Suddenly, she balled her hand into a fist and pressed her knuckles square against the icy surface. Her forearm stood vertical while her elbow reached into the air.
She listened.
Suddenly however, in one swift motion, her fist and forearm punctured the surface. I slapped numb fingers over my mouth to cork the words I all but bellowed. Given the time of year, the pond’s ice had to be at least four or so inches of solidness. So how could she drill her arm through it like that?? Just as I tried to regain composure nevertheless, I watched her snatch her arm from the hole along with a small geyser spraying out onto the frozen surface. I almost stepped out from behind the boulder before I watched her place a squirmy bass into the sack. Though I’d witnessed the event clear as day, I clutched the stone to keep from creeping closer, snow falling inside my shirt. Several steps away from her first hole, she eyed a section of ice and climbed on her feet. She crept to it and then dropped to her knees drilling her entire arm through the surface and yanked out another bass and laid it on the ice. Eyes following the bare ice as though she was watching a mouse zigzag across it, she stood and took a step in the direction she faced. Once her eyes settled however, she crept to the area where her eyes had landed punctured the ice with little effort and snatched out another fish once more. I watched her repeat this at least a half dozen more times. Afterward, she placed the fish in the wool sack and tied its neck into a knot. While she tiptoed back to the bank, I peered at the face beneath the cloak and tried to catch a glimpse of her hair color, lips, or anything else that better showed me how she looked. But I saw nothing. The stepped up onto the bank and petted the wolf that sprung to its feet and began sniffing and licking her hand. She wiped the bottom of her feet before she slid them back into her slippers and then tapped the side of the wolf’s belly and watched it leap onto the ice and sprint clear across the pond to the opposite bank. The animal didn’t stop until it crested the next hill where it scampered off tail and sniffed the base of tress. The woman ambled to the center of the pond where she stopped to lift the sack over her shoulder and then continued to the opposite bank. When she reached the peak of the next hill, she pat her thigh, and the wolf raced out of brush and continued alongside her along a trail.
My eyes were glued to their backs as I crept out from behind the stone and scuttled down the hill to the bank. I examined the trail of bare feet which crossed the ice and swallowed, never mind the field of broken ice they led past. I lowered myself down to the bank, sat, and rested my feet on the ice. Bit by bit, I stood, set to grab the bank in case it began to crack. I placed a foot in front of the other listening as I placed my toe into the ice. I then crept out a few paces and bounced up and down—the ice sheet was firm. I figured if I curved a yard or two around the holes in the ice I wouldn’t step into any of the areas she may have weakened. I glanced at the crest of the next hill and for some odd reason expected her to be standing there watching me, wondering why I was following her. But nothing stood up there but swaying trees. By now, she was perhaps long gone.
Soon, I circled around the first hole. I could see some of its icy inner wall and wondered how thick the ice was where I stepped.
No worries, Sebastian—the ice was thick enough. This was only a lady who could punch holes clear through it. I peered at the hole, bit my lip. I had to see how deep it was. I may never get another opportunity to know for certain, besides, it’s only a peek. So I curved a bit tighter while I rounded the next hole. I was only a couple steps away and I still could not see the water at its base. I kicked a piece of ice and tossed it into the hole. By the sound of the splash, the water seemed more than six or so inches beneath the surface. I inched closer and soon stood face to face with the chasm. Snowflakes from wintry breezes had already begun to seal the hole. Suddenly, a faint bark echoed over the hill and sounded too distant to follow. I but was determined catch-up and at least see where she lived, besides, I was about halfway across already. I backed away from the hole and continued my trek. I kept my eyes on the opposite back though shouldn’t have as my foot plunged into a snow-covered and broke through the thin ice at its base.
“Aggh!!”
I laid on my back with one leg straight down in the pond and my other leg horizontal on the surface. The icy water below stabbed every side of my submerged limb up to my thigh. Teeth chattering, I eyed the trees on the bank ahead as I tried to shuffle away from the hole. The stalks hung over the edge and swayed back and forth over the ice as though they threatened to crash down on the pond before me. They seemed disturbed, angered… perhaps because I’d seen what I had. I dug both elbows into the ice and tried to pull my leg free but when I heard what sounded like an old wooden door creaking open, I held still. Somewhere behind me, the ice was cracking. I hadn’t much time. I had to pry my leg out except it felt as though a wooden plank had been nailed to the back of it as I couldn’t bend it. At this point, I’d perhaps have to hop from tree to tree on the way back to the estate. With all my strength nonetheless, I pushed against the ice and tried to pull it from beneath the surface. Out of the blue however, a five foot section of ice which encircled me collapsed, and I plummeted into a cold wet darkness, fully submerged. I kicked hard toward the surface and emerged from the frigidness seeing nothing but a starry sky as though it was a lid of an ice-walled cylinder. I reached for the rim of the hole but even without wet hand it was too slick to grip.
“Somebody, help me!!”
I flailed my arms and kicked, trying to keep my head above the surface.
“Somebody..!”
One of my legs having stiffened and refused my requests to move, I sank below. My other leg neared complete stiffness, as well, hence with only the strength of my arms, I managed to see the stars one last time before a current drew me under the ice. The water was black and thus could not be seen through though I was face to face with the underside of the ice, the current dragging my forehead against it.
Bang!
The noise sounded like a car crash. Or was it my heart beating in my ears.
Bang!
The air in my lungs and cheeks was perhaps what kept me pinned to the ice as I moved. But I was beginning to feel sleepy. Just then, my lip muscles gave and I felt the air empty from me. I could not tell if I was choking—my neck and spine were numb. I was weightless like a baby in her mother’s womb. But instead of being born, I was being ushered into the hands of death.
BANG!
At present, it was like I could feel the grip of death’s hand tight around my neck. I must’ve been and the bottom of the pond because I could feel it pulling me vertically down into the sea floor where… there was light?
No, I don’t want to go down there, I want to go upward. I pulled myself free from the hand.
BANG!
But two seized me this time. They grabbed the front of my shift and slammed me so hard against the pond floor that a crashed through it face first. Before I black out however, I glimpsed at the new world—it was white, colder than the water, and smelled like fish.