Beyond Nightmares and Old Letters

Beyond Nightmares

Ciarans, ever since they came to being, could manipulate the vulnerable minds. Thousands of years ago, people sought their help to ease their grief, to forget pain, and to drown in beautiful fantasies. Like a drug, the ciarans were a necessity for many. But when the mist appeared, and they were trapped in the forest, with their existence threatened along with every living thing, everyone knew they were fighting a quiet war. And they knew they all had to do their part to protect the Snow King.

And ciarans were given the task they rarely took since their existence.

They were asked to use their abilities to bring nightmares.

Every month, the Guardian of the Mist would make an opening for the ciarans.

As beings that could take any form they willed their minds to, the ciarans, disguised as shadows, would enter the human village beyond the mist so they could be with the vulnerable humans in their sleep.

Nix looked ahead, feeling nothing as he waited. Their leader was talking to the Guardian of the Mist, Wren. The other ciarans were ready, some a little excited about their monthly vacation and their newly created worlds, others feeling remorseful. He knew because they would talk about the old times, the days when they healed, not torment; when they brought peace, not sorrow.

Sometimes, he would wonder what it would be like if they could just give everyone a good dream. What if they could just erase the mist from their minds and memories? He wondered if it would make it go away. But he never told anyone about his thoughts. Everyone did not know what the mist could do. What havoc it would cause if they were blind to it.

Finally, the Guardian of the Mist stepped closer to the mist and lifted his hands. Just a tiny opening for the ciarans was enough. As the mist rose, their dark cloaks dropped on the ground in a heap as they assumed the form of a shadow, slithering over the snow.

As they crossed, invisible hands tried to reach out to them. Some of them were humans and others were creatures like him. Voices called out to them. Visions of beautiful places from the past were flashed before their eyes.

The first time they realized that the mist could do the things they could, they were surprised. It was how it trapped souls inside. Illusion was its weapon. That's why the ciarans were just one of the very few who could survive it. They knew illusions better than anyone else.

Barely a breath, Nix and the others, like the many months and years before, spread out into the village the very moment they crossed.

The ciarans could visit any household they wanted. There was no rule. The only rule was to bring nightmares.

He would usually pick the same houses, give them the same nightmares, and go home. But tonight, he felt he wanted to do something different. He felt bored doing the same thing over and over again, month after month.

And so he stopped in the middle of a narrow path between two stone houses. He looked to the right where a family of five lived. He knew where the mother and father slept, where their children lay. He could tell, even just by standing outside, the positions they would assume in bed. One would be sprawled on his back, the other would be lying on her side. One child would be under the bed where his toys were.

And for years, he gave that family the same nightmare. Devastation in the village—burning houses and explosions, crying children, and even monsters with the sharpest fangs and claws.

He could go inside that house again, then the one two blocks away. He could do the same thing he did for years, month after month.

But tonight, he turned to the left. He had always ignored houses with flowers on the windowsill for reasons he could not tell. This time, however, he was curious. And he grew even more curious as he entered the house, slipping through the crack between the door and the ground.