I follow them into a small clearing that we use to grow cold-weather crops — deep green lettuces, sweet onions, and strong garlic, mostly. Tiny shoots of green peek out of the dirt in orderly rows. Something’s amiss in one section of the field. The sprouts have vanished and the soil is mounded. A deep growl from the chaotic dirt pile stops me. I back off and gather three of my fellow students — muscular boys with shovels and pitchforks.
We run back to the area, where a pack of fifteen mangy wild dogs, fur matted with blood and moist, mud-like slime, are fighting over the rumpled body of some poor creature. We rush the mongrels, swinging our tools and shouting. All but one of the dogs scatters into the woods. The remaining scruffy animal hunches down, teeth bared, staring straight at me with angry, cataract-ridden eyes. I discover viscerally that I can see its mind; this is similar to my ability with the green beings. Whereas my green friends send benevolent images, this dog mind is blank but very hungry. It wants me next.
One of the boys yells and swings at the animal, his shovel hitting it squarely in the head. The dog yelps — its pain and unbridled fear searing through my skull. It falls on its side and the other boys pummel it to a messy, furry pulp. While gulping air and bending with their hands on their knees, the boys examine the pack’s victim. They freeze. Will, the largest, boldest of the boys looks at me with a mixture of horror and pity — an image that is all too clear in this relentless replay in my mind.
I run forward although Will tries to hold me back. I’ve spent the last ten years trying to forget the sight before me and yet it still plagues these damn dreams. I wish I could find an herb that erases the memory and lets me sleep peacefully. Shine doesn’t help. On the precious earth is the most woeful thing imaginable burned permanently in my mind. My mother’s splayed on the ground, dirt wetted to mud by her blood. Her face is flawless — her expression serene, happy. The remainder of her body is unrecognizable and indescribable. Her favorite blue dress is shredded and mucky with dog spit, blood, and fur. It seems the dogs were playing with it before we arrived.
I can’t scream, cry, or move. I drop to my knees and stare although I see nothing. Father arrives with Samuel and several other men. The sound of my father sobbing pulls me from my paralysis. I walk over to her, close her eyes, and stroke her blonde curls. This is where the dream deviates from the ones I have had at least weekly for my adult life. I turn from my poor mother to see another dog in the woods. This animal does not appear like the others. My little green friends are standing next to it, stroking its thick grey fur. Its eyes are wise, not wild. I realize it is not a dog but a wolf. I see an image of sorrow and security in my mind. The wolf is standing over a dog with its paw firmly on its back. The green ones are telling me that this will not happen again and that they are sorry. I’m the garden tender now. No time for grief. Your mother is proud of you and carry on … for all of us.
The dream continues to surprise me. Usually, I find myself standing with my father and aunts at the base of the peach tree where my mother is being buried. This time, I am at the tree, alone. The wolf stands next to me, nudging me forward. Someone lanky and black is sitting in the shade of the tree — Fromer the god.
“Hello Amy. Sit with me.”
“What are you doing here? Is this still a dream?”
“Yes, it is. I’m sorry to say I was there the day your mother died.”
I’d like to feel angry, but this is some strange manifestation of mindfulness that apparently prohibits my ability to murder a god. I try to speak but only a weak squeak spills out.
“Your mother loved you very much and didn’t want to leave. However, she was killed by the very same beings that want to do harm to you father, husband, and daughter.”
“Dogs want to kill us? I suppose you mean something controlling the dogs? If you were there, why didn’t you stop the animals or their masters? Are you communicating with me in my sleep? Like the little ones in the forest? If so, why’d you choose such a horrific place to visit? This is not real.”
Fromer picked a peach and took a bite, juice running down his glossy chin. “The dogs weren’t what they seemed. They were indeed possessed by something you will encounter again in the future. As for saving your mother, I can’t interfere in events. I’d have saved her if I could. This dream’s real for you. Yes, I am sending you a message. This is not a horrific place. This tree is where the body of your mother is resting and it underscores the importance of the events that are unfurling. Your mother is part of this, although I can’t explain how.” He savors another bite.
“Mister Fromer. I couldn’t think life could get worse. Then you appeared. You have brought nothing but wickedness to my life. Look at what is happening to my home. Wenn and father are gone. And now Eliza. Why?”
Fromer finishes his peach and throws the pit into a patch of daisies. “Whether I had appeared to you and your father or not, the same events would have happened. I’m here to reinforce rather than coerce. Listen to and trust Theo. He knows what to do, even though the answer is unclear to him right now. Eliza, Wenn, and your father are still alive and well. Follow Theo and be strong.” The wolf appears next to Fromer’s greyish arm. Fromer scratches it behind its right ear and the scene fades.
I awake wrapped in a scratchy blanket next to a small campfire. The smell of horses permeates everything. I’m wiping crud from my eyes when I hear Theo. “How’re you feeling Amy? You passed out on the horse and were out while we’ve been riding all day. I’m glad to see you.”
“Where are we?” I groan. My throat is constricted and searing with pain.
“We are about 50 miles east, up in the mountains. I have some horrible news. The town’s gone.”
“I know. Bets told me that part of the town was destroyed. But it sounded like most folks survived the onslaught.”
“No Amy. This happened after you talked with her. These things — animals I’d never seen before, with thick brown skin, horns and huge mouths — came in. They were relentless. They used their humongous jaws to rip everything apart. They-they ate anyone they found. The outsiders came back after that and burned the entire village to the ground.” His eyes are hollow.
I’m still dreaming. There’s no such thing as giant monsters that eat towns. Of course, I’ve accepted the little ones in the forest my entire life without question. I realize that Fromer indeed visited me in my sleep and that there’s still hope for my family. Unfortunately, for the remainder of the town, my extended family and friends, and any semblance of my life, there’s no hope. I imagine poor Felicia searching the rubble for Eliza and me and then being consumed by a demon. “Theo, who’s with us? What are we going to do?”
“Samuel, English, and Bets made it back. We rode to Millsboro to warn the townsfolk there of the second attack. Word had spread that you were to blame, so they turned us away.”
“Do you believe them?”
Theo pauses to think about his response. “Sort of. Amy, the bastards were definitely looking for something in the armory. They weren’t happy to just get Liza. They came back for something, and that something, I think, was you. Not that you’re bad, mind you. They want you because you’re special and we’re here to protect you.”
I’m dubious about my companions. Samuel is my father’s cousin. He’s kin and also the best hunter I know. I guess he might stay with me through concern. However, we’ve never been close. I wonder why he didn’t stay with his remaining family in Millsboro. Bets barely tolerates my existence. English is a gifted tracker and outdoorsman but a stranger to me. He’s a few years older and enigmatic. I’ve never seen him smile.