John swallowed in his sleep. The boy went to the far wall of the hallway and bent over in the dark. John heard a splashing sound and the floor was doused with something wet and oily smelling. The boy looked at Lonetree with that horrible grin on his face. Then brightness filled the hallway and John flinched. He could see the flare of the match. John tried his best to swipe at the match, but the boy giggled as Lonetree’s hand passed through the flame. John knew he was helpless to stop what was happening. The boy raised his left eyebrow once more as he let the match fall though his fingers to the wooden floor. The whoosh of flame bit into the wood and held. It quickly crawled up the walls and engulfed the two doors the boy had locked moments before. The boy stared at John, who raised his arms to shield his face from the intense heat. The boy remained where he was, smiling, as if he wanted John to witness what he had done.
A feminine scream sounded in the hallway, from the far end of the house. Then suddenly John could see her. It was a woman of about thirty; her face bruised as badly as the boy’s had been. It had to be the child’s mother. She grabbed the boy and tried to reach for the door handle of her daughters’ room, but the flames licked at her dressing gown. She screamed in frustration and then turned and ran, holding the boy, into the flames and the smoke.
John could hear the screams of the two girls and the father as they started to burn to death.
As the flames traveled up his own legs, John placed his hands over his ears. He could not drown out the horrible screaming.
There was blessed silence. As John lowered his hand, the smell of smoke faded. He opened his eyes and saw that he was now standing on a small rise watching the snow being blown by a strong wind that carried not the smell of smoke and burning children, but the smell of forested hills. The sound was that of rain, which mixed with the snowflakes to produce a slush that penetrated the body with its cold. He felt that coldness sink deep into his soul, mingled with the relief of being out of the burning house. Looking around, he spotted the large, dark object in front of him, its skeletal ribs standing out against the blackness of early winter.
It was Summer Place, in the first stages of rising from the countryside. The house was not yet framed but the outer shell had been completed before the weather had turned. As he looked at the house, he felt it. It wasn’t evil, it had no dark intent; for now, it was just wood and nails. The moon broke through the clouds for the briefest of moments, showing the frame of the massive barn and the hole for the swimming pool. He even saw the deepest pit that would become the root cellar and subbasement. As he looked at these, he felt the first presence of something that made him afraid, as if he were staring into the bowels of hell itself. He looked away, not wanting to know the true depths of the basement and its root cellar.
He felt better when he focused on the house. Then he heard the sound of an engine. At first he couldn’t place the direction of the sound, but then he thought of his waking self and concentrated on what he knew. His gaze moved to where the front gate would eventually be built, and then beyond that to the road. It was hard to pick out because of the slushy snow that had accumulated, but he saw the carriage lights of two wagons as they came forward from the darkness beyond. They were large wagons, each drawn by six large horses.
For a reason John couldn’t fathom, he stepped back and stood behind one of the large trees that lined the property. He knew in his current state he was invisible, but for a reason he knew not, he didn’t want the occupants of the two wagons to see him. The first wagon looked to be fully loaded with wood that protruded from a large tarpaulin. The second looked to be covered, like an old wagon from the westerns John used to watch as a child. The second wagon maneuvered around the first and advanced toward the incomplete Summer Place. It stopped about where the kitchen would eventually be built and the driver, a person of large size, hopped down. He stepped into the framing of the house and then stopped. The area below flared to life with light. John could see that the man had lit a lantern and was moving it around. John froze as the large man seemed to stop and look up at the small rise where he was standing. Then after a moment he turned away. The moon above was once more covered with black clouds and the snow had vanished with it. Rain started coming down in earnest as the man below moved further into the house.
John took a cautious step out from behind the tree and watched for the man to return. Three men were unloading the first wagon, placing the wood under a makeshift shed at the front of the framed house. They seemed in a hurry to be on their way. Soon they had the wagon unloaded, and the three men climbed back in. Without speaking to the occupant of the second wagon, they turned and whipped the horses forward onto the dirt road fronting the property. The lantern attached to the wagon’s front slowly disappeared beyond the bend and the second wagon was left alone at Summer Place.
The large man came back into view, carrying something John couldn’t make out. Before he could recognize the object, someone stepped down from the covered back of the wagon. This person was smaller and was bundled against the cold and rain. And John knew immediately that this person, like the one before him, was looking right up at him. The figure stayed still a moment and then turned away when a banging was heard. John quickly stepped back against the tree as the smaller person turned back in his direction. The figure stood and watched the trees, and then finally turned away.
John took a deep breath and then found the first man. He had brought the object to the pit that would become the root cellar and the basement. It was a ladder. He pushed it over until the weight was greater on the dangling end and then secured it as best he could to the dirt surrounding the hole. The second figure walked up to the hole and then nodded. Then both turned back, out of the skeletal house, and returned to the wagon. They pulled someone out of the back. The smaller person was struggling, but the two men were far stronger and quickly brought her under control. John swallowed as he watched the scene play out. He knew in real life he never would have been able to see anything from this distance, but that was the advantage to Dream Walking; he could sometimes do the impossible.
As the two men maneuvered the woman, John could see bright red hair spilling from a woolen cap on her head. The larger man struck the woman hard and her struggling calmed somewhat. John wanted to call out to stop them, but he knew from past experience that either they wouldn’t hear him, or his call would be ignored. He was meant to see this, not prevent it.
They placed the woman down on the ground in front of the hole. She was wobbly from the blow she had just received and held on tightly to the leg of the smaller of the two men. The man brushed at the woman’s hand, but it held firm. Then the man punched at the woman’s hand and she finally let go. He pulled something from his coat and John knew exactly what it was. Before he could shout out, the gunshot reverberated through the valley. The small woman fell forward into the large hole. John screamed, knowing that, as in other dreams, his voice wouldn’t be heard. As his voice joined the echo of the gunshot, the small man turned and looked in his direction. John could see the blazing dark eyes underneath the hat as they searched the woods looking for the author of the scream. John closed his mouth, and fear seized him.