My mother being the hypochondriac she is, she abides by this rule and many others that she's laid down for herself and our family. But I've managed to keep a small secret from her for these 18 years now. I'm sure it wouldn't be a big deal if she found out, but then again, I've been wrong before.
Ever since I was little, I'd had...odd dreams. I'm not sure how I'd describe them. They're not fortune telling or anything, just simple dreams. They're liable to change, and that's to be expected.
They started when my mom brought home the new pillows for the month, barely keeping all of them from falling out of her tiny embrace. I was the last to claim mine, but I guess that was what fortune had in plan for me. That night, as I lay in bed with my new pillow, I had some strange thoughts, but shoved them to the back of my mind with more force than probably necessary as I punched the pillow to plump it up to make it more comfortable. I began to drift out of consciousness, the fingers of sleep reaching up to drag me into the depths of unconsciousness.
That's when the visits started.
I'm not sure how I knew where I was, or that I knew it was safe, but I did. It was a cozy little place that I woke up in. At least, I think that I was awake. Maybe it was just a dream. Anyway, I sat up and peered around, though the lighting was dim, it was enough to see that it was one of the only pieces of furniture in the room. This tuned me into the fact that it was indeed not my own room in which I had fallen asleep. The other piece of furniture was a large chair that had it's back towards me, but I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me it was occupied. Pushing back the heavy covers, I climb out of the bed and move slowly towards the chair, trying not to make any noise. As I grow closer, I realize the light source in the room is coming from a dimly lit fire in front of the chair. But it's burning low and there doesn't appear to be any wood to stoke it and bring it back to life.
My slow steps final bring me to the side of the chair, and, though I'm nervous about who is occupying it, I realize I'm not afraid. Looking down, I see a girl, not much older than I. She was wearing casual clothes, and was slouching in the chair casually, but her legs and arms were crossed tightly, and she jiggled her foot with apparent anxiousness.
"C-Can I help you?" I finally stutter after a few silent everlasting moments.
"Duh," she snorts, and uncrosses her arms to dig in her pockets for something. After another few heartbeats she fishes out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and holds it up. "Do you mind if I...?" her voice trails off and she shakes the box to replace her words. I shrug. It didn't matter; you couldn't get secondhand smoke from a dream, right? She nods approvingly and plucks one out with precision, then leads forward to light it from the dying embers in front of her. Taking a deep drag, she exhales and closes her eyes as a thin stream of smoke is emitted from her mouth.
"I need you to do something for me," she began, balancing the cigarette delicately between strangely pale fingers. I don't answer, but watch her expectantly, knowing somehow that she'll continue on with or without being prompted. "My brother. He doesn't know where I am. I need you to tell him."
I raise a confused eyebrow, and look around the room. "Where exactly is here?" I ask, and she shoots me a look that makes me feel like an ignorant child.
"He's looking in the wrong places. Tell him to search behind the bar on 4th Street, will you?" she takes another drag, and, shoves the cigarette towards me, motioning for me to try it.
I reach out and unwillingly pinch it between two fingers, and ask, "Who is your brother, though? What is going on here?" Putting it between my lips, I inhale and start to hack up a lung. The stranger smirks as she removes the cigarette from between my fingers and replaces it between her lips. She takes another puff before letting out a deep sigh.
"My brother is Arthur Reynolds. Goes by Artie. You'll find him at the local police department, probably looking like a he hasn't slept or showered for a couple of days." With that, the last of the embers died out, and I was left in total darkness. You know, the kind of darkness where you can feel it weighing down on your shoulders. I make my way slowly back into the bed, and hide under the covers. Somehow, I know that the girl isn't with me anymore, and I'm growing fearful of what could've taken her place. But I don't have a chance to find out, as sleep takes a forceful hold of me again.
Over the next few weeks that I slept on that pillow, I had more visits. Not from the same person. I used the information provided to tell those I was sent to what message I was given. It wasn't until the last few days of the month that I started to think I was being visited by the restless spirits who wanted redemption, or something.
When the time came for the pillows to be replaced, I decided not to throw this one out. I hid it in my closet, and, at least once a night, I try to sleep on it to see if there are any messages for me. I just hope that I keep falling asleep before I can find out what's creeping in that blackness.
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