A Night of Terrors
Sorcha settled into bed, her weight melting into the cool, soft sheets. The scent of star flowers mingled with the crisp autumn breeze, beckoning her to sleep. Soon, the familiar dream arrived, and the wisps returned. Though she tried to resist, their call was as alluring as a flame to a moth. Curiosity overwhelmed her, and she followed their whispers, the wisps playfully bouncing ahead, patiently waiting.
This time, the dream returned her to a familiar meadow. The place’s name hovered just out of reach in her memory, a tantalizing whisper. Flowers bloomed in every direction, their petals dancing in the breeze. A gentle brook meandered through the landscape, its waters accompanied by the distant chirping of crickets. The wisps flickered across the brook, anticipating Sorcha’s arrival, pacingbefore the woods. A prickling sensation crawled up her neck, making her hesitate. Cautiously, she stepped into the brook, the cool water lapping at her feet, and turned to look back. A chilling image met her gaze.
A Fomorian surged from the water, its twisted form dripping. Its milky white eyes, clouded and filmed like spoiled milk, held her captive. Its long gnarled limbs emerged from the depths, their blackened, webbed fingers clawing at the embankment. She watched in horror as it rose to its full height. Parts of its body looked waterlogged, its skin stretched tight and slick with rot. Where flesh had peeled away, scales gleamed faintly, catching the dim light. The creature looked as if caught between sea and land, life and death. And it was moving at an unnatural speed.
The Fomorian broke into a sprint, closing the distance in just a few steps. Terror seized Sorcha’s chest before her body could react. Then finally her body moved. She plunged into the forest, branches clawing at her arms, legs pumping until her lungs burned. Every heartbeat thundered in her ears, echoing the pounding footsteps
behind her. Panic began to creep over her again as the wisps darted around, calling her name with urgent whispers. It was impossibly dark and cold, as if she had been sucked into the vacuum of space. As she struggled to see, the little blue orbs illuminated a path deeper into the unknown. With no idea where she was or how far she had run, or what awaited her, it was her only choice. Taking a deep breath, she moved cautiously, each step light as her eyes darted between the trees. Every sound, or the lack of it, frayed her nerves. As she crept along the narrow path, threads of mist clung to her skin while the crack of splintering branches and the crunch of unseen footsteps echoed across the forest floor.
She stiffened, pressing her back against the rough bark of a tree. One trembling hand clamped hard over her mouth. The cold, damp earth bit at her bare feet, numbing her toes, but she didn’t dare move, As the footsteps that crept through the forest grew louder. They seemed to come from everywhere at once. A chorus of echoes tangled in the dark.
And then fingers locked around her throat in a vice grip. Cold and merciless, squeezing until spots burst across her vision. She clawed and kicked blindly at the shadow until his face broke through the blur and, in that instant; she stilled.
A twisted grin adorned his face. Eyes blazing like living fire as they locked onto hers. His voice came low and venomous as he hissed, “Found you.”
Before Sorcha could react, her head slammed into the tree. The impact ripped the air from her lungs, and in an instant the world went black.
She jolted awake. Her skull cracked against the cold stone floor. She gasped for air as the sheets enveloped her. Twisting around her limbs as she thrashed. Fighting against the invisible terror that had clawed its way out of her dream.
Chapter 22
Morning Light
The night was quiet, unnaturally still, a silence that should have brought peace, but only amplified Eirin’s unease. He’d hoped a walk in the cool air might calm the turmoil in his chest, a lingering effect of recent events.
Passing Sorcha’s house, however, he froze. Screams carried by the wind pierced the night. His heart hammered, a wave of heat washing over him as he sprinted to her door, pounding on it with desperate force. “Sorcha!” he yelled, but there was no answer. He tried the windows, searching for an opening. The screams continued, frantic and terrifying, sending panic through Eirin. His lungs tightened, fists clenched; he was ready to lash out at anything. Racing around the other side of the house, the screams grew louder. An open window offered an entry point. Without a second thought, he climbed through, landing silently inside.The room was dim, moonlight barely illuminating Sorcha, tangled in her sheets, thrashing wildly. Terror fueled her screams as she punched and kicked at the twisted bedding, her movements wild and uncoordinated.
“Sorcha,” Eirin called softly, approaching her carefully. “Sorcha, it’s okay. It’s Eirin.”
She didn’t hear him at first. Her fists were still swinging as she screamed. Eirin knelt beside her, gently gripping her shoulders.
“Sorcha, it’s me. It’s Eirin,” he said again. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
Her movements slowed as her wide eyes she finally saw him. For a moment, she stared at him as if he were a stranger, her chest heaving, her breaths coming in quick gasps.
“Eirin?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Confusion and terror rippled across her face. She pressed a shaking hand to her temple. “How?” She rubbed her eyes and then her head. “How did you get in here?”
Eirin’s gaze flicked to her hand as she pulled it away. There in the moonlight, red gleaming droplets spilled over the floor, running down her fingertips as they made contact with the floor.
“You’re hurt,” he whispered, helping her sit up. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Eirin reached for her, helping her to her feet, keeping a steadying hand on her arm as they made their way to the kitchen. Sorcha swayed slightly, still dazed, her fingers brushing her temple as though trying to piece together what had happened.
He guided her to her chair in front of the fire, grabbing a clean cloth, and a bowl of water. Eirin spoke over the bowl, the color pulsing a faint blue as it pulsed for a moment before fading. He dabbed the cloth in water and gently placed it on Sorcha’s forehead, wiping away the sweat. He worked his way down her arm and cleaned her hand before carefully washing the blood from her hair.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he explained quietly as he worked. “I went for a walk and heard you screaming. Whenyou didn’t answer the door, I found the open window and came in.”
Sorcha winced as the cloth touched her head, but she didn’t pull away. “I don’t remember,” she muttered, her voice distant. “It felt so real, Eirin. Like I was really there.”
Eirin finished cleaning the cut and grabbed a small bag of ice, wrapping it in a towel before handing it to her. “Hold this against your head,” he instructed.
As she did, Eirin turned on the kettle. He leaned against the counter, watching her carefully, his concern etched onto his face.
“You were sleeping when I found you. It must have been a dream,” he said softly, “but whatever it was, it must have been horrible.”
