Night Terrors by Helen Harper

spending a lot of time asleep.
     
     
     

Chapter Six
     
    Dreams have only one owner at a time. That’s why dreamers are lonely.
    Erma Bombeck
     
    When I get home, I fire off an urgent email to Dante, explaining what’s happening. Not only do I need someone else to know what’s going on, I also require him to come and find me in time. Based on our last conversation, I guess that even though he can’t apparate into our dreamlands zone, he can still track me through others’ dreams. Just when I think I’m getting an understanding of how all this Travelling malarkey works, something else comes along to change what I think I know. The rules seem to be almost as nebulous as dreams themselves.
    Despite everything, I still have to be at the Dreamlands town square for the Department’s meeting. The enormity of everything I have to worry about threatens to overwhelm me. It doesn’t get better when I flick on the television and see on the news that the problem of sleep paralysis is affecting all corners of the country. Numerous experts give advice but nobody can suggest a reason for the sudden affliction. The Minister for Health is due to make a statement in the next couple of hours. I hope that it’s going to reassure, rather than panic.
    I check my watch. It’s already late afternoon. It’s less than four hours since I woke up from my cat nap but, while I have no way of knowing whether Rawlins has taken my advice and has gone to sleep, I need to go under again to find out. I need to see this for myself.
    I sit cross-legged on my sofa and try to relax. I’m no meditation expert but I know the basics. I centre myself and concentrate on loosening up. Then I lie down and close my eyes. Come on, Zoe. Sleep.
    My ears prickle. I hold my breath, praying that I’m in Rawlins’ subconscious and not the Dreamlands. When I open my eyes and register the small, darkened room, my skin tingles. There’s a lump in the middle of the bed and the faintest chink of light coming from the window.
    I tiptoe over and peek out. It’s still daytime. I feel a flicker of satisfaction; of course Rawlins would invest in black-out curtains when she has to work nights so often. I’m in the right place. I drop the curtains back into place and peer at the sleeping figure. It’s definitely her. The severe hairstyle she normally sports has been abandoned and her hair spreads out across her pillow. Her face is far less severe in sleep.
    If landing inside people’s dreams is strange and uncomfortable, being in a dream that’s taking place inside someone’s bedroom is even worse. I’m an intruder in almost every sense of the word - but it’s not like I have much choice.
    With the edges of dream and reality blurred, I’m forced to clench and unclench my hands several times to stop them from shaking. I just about have my tremors under control when the bedroom door opens.
    The first thing I see is a naked foot. From the thick, curling hair sprinkling over the toes, it’s obviously male. I bite down hard on my lip as the figure steps inside. Whoever he is, he’s wearing a long ceremonial robe with a hood covering his face. When the door shuts and I hear him pull the fabric away, I strain to make out his features. Right now, with the lack of light, he’s nothing more than a dark shape.
    He moves towards Rawlins’ bed. I hear heavy breathing, monotonous and regular. It’s just a dream, I remind myself, a dream that’s straddling everything I know to be real – but still a dream. In the real world, I might be a weakling who can barely clamber over a wooden fence without falling flat on my face. Here, however, I’m the dreamweaver, whatever that means. So when the man reaches out to touch Rawlins’ body, I launch myself at him.
    He staggers backwards as I collide with him and the pair of us crash against the far wall. He grunts in pain.
    ‘Get out of here!’ I yell. I swing my arm round and slap him across the face. His skin is icy cold,