Despite the Darkness #5

Continues immediately after his dream...

He shot up in bed. Jan had long ago learned to cope with the suddenness of her partner waking in bed and simply turned over with a groggy curse exiting her lips. The feeling of warmth and comfort was suddenly stolen from him by a breeze of frozen air. He searched the room for an open door or window… none were. He got up and went into the front of the haus. Immediately he saw the front door wide open. Then a quick look to Isaiah’s bed chilled him more than any breeze could – it was empty, the covers thrown off. A vice was spun tight around his heart and his lungs longed for a breath that refused to come. The door frame opened up to a halogen lit blanket of snow that was pristine in nearly every direction. He gripped the door jam and leaned out, spying a series of footsteps that went down the stairs and then turned left.

He held back the urge to shout his name, it’d wake Jan and this would be his fault somehow. Instead he slipped back into the bedroom and from years of practice working early mornings he dressed in the dark. Jan shifted once when he stubbed his toe looking for his shoe. She rose up a bit and gave a low growl.

“Isaiah’s outside,” he said hastily. He was out the door and outside before he could hear her ask groggily for him to repeat himself.

The moon was at its zenith and the clouds seemed to content to part and let it shine down on the world below. The tracks led away from the cabin and then turned at the tree line that started at the end of the play field. Beyond in the darkness a creek bubbled cheerfully. The footsteps came to a large depression of snow. It looked like Isaiah had knelt down and then his trail continued. He started to follow but a second set of prints caught his eyes and he stopped so suddenly he slipped. In a fall worthy of the Keystone Coppers, he fell backwards into the snow.

“Isaiah,” he yelled, mixing call and curse.  He then got up and took a moment to brush himself and then find undisturbed tracks, he wondered what it was that was now walking beside Isaiah. The prints were small and at the base of them was a hoof. A goat? Pig? Sheep? A touch of warmth surprised him at that final thought and a soft bleat further ahead flushed him with adrenaline. His training kicked in and instead of freezing, he bottled the flush of energy up, pushed any conscious thought off to the side and instead focused on the trail. He started slowly but was soon haphazardly sprinting alongside the trail. The tracks curved with the woods which now turned back towards the buildings and then across a wide treeless gap that must have been the service road up to the dam. He heard a soft bleat across the way, this time in the trees as they grew closer in on this side of town.

He spied Isaiah trudging through the snow, blazing a trail beside a white lamb that effortlessly traveled over the snow. “Isaiah,” he called and the boy turned around. He was smiling broadly until he saw his father’s stern face. He took a hold of Isaiah’s shoulders, partly to make sure he was real and partly to hold him in place. “What in the world are you doing out here?”

“I had a dream dad.”

I had a dream dad, the words echoed and seemed to call back to a distant memory. He brushed snow out of his son’s hair and tried to soften his countenance, trying to find the right mix between disappointment and love.

“Your mother is going to kill us, let’s go.”

“We have to follow him dad,” he motioned towards the waiting lamb who eyed both of us politely. “The wall, dad.”

“The wall?” His dream nagged at him.

“We have to keep going.” He turned to move closer to the lamb but a hand stopped his progress.

“What did you see in your dream Isaiah?”

“There was a man standing in front of a door, he was painting it with blood. Then there was a man walking around a city.”

“Then a man in a boat,” he offered, but Isaiah looked confused. “You didn’t see that?”

“No.”

He held still. There were two thoughts fighting for supremacy; one took the form of his wife you glared back at him, cutting him with her gaze; the other was the lamb who simply looked back at him.

“Listen Isaiah, when I was your age I had strange dreams too, o.k.? I thought they were real, but I had to grow up.” The wind swept between them and he noticed the thin layers he was wearing were not enough to keep out the wind. “Your mom is going to be worried sick about you, ok? We need to go back, let’s go.”

Isaiah now seemed to struggle with his own thoughts. His eyes were downcast and his breaths came slowly. “The man painting his doorway with blood was great grandpa…”

“Isaiah…” He took a step away from his son, time slowed and a well of emotions suddenly strained against their restraints, “…how would you know that?”

“He was making his home safe. The man walking the wall is you; you’re making this place safe.” Isaiah spoke in a far-off voice that was sure and absolute.

I had a dream dad. The two thoughts were wrestling for control of not just his mind but his heart as well now. The first was large and powerful, hidden in shadow, but he could see well enough that it was his father. The other was a smaller man whose eyes were bright and looking back intently even as he dodged and paired the attacks of the other. There was a howl somewhere off in the woods. It lingered in the cold, crisp air but his mind grasped onto it and it changed into the scream. He closed his eyes and the world became pitch black and bitterly cold.

He jumped suddenly, a wet nose nuzzling his hand. Through the trees he could see the backside of the buildings, they were on the other side of town and going forward was the same as going backwards.

“Come on… we need to get back.” He then started forward.

I don't know Isaiah's "The man walking the wall is you; you’re making this place safe." feels heavy handed or forced - but he's also kind a weird kid. Thanks for reading Russian Bot Net and the rest of you.