Dream A Little Dream Of Me
Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"
Birds singin' in the sycamore trees, dream a little dream of me
The dream is so vivid. The house is dark and still and quiet. I walk through the living room towards the bedroom and pause for a moment. I can hear a gentle sobbing coming from the other side of the door. I turn the doorknob and enter the room.
There is a large ornate bed made of wrought iron in the center of the room and kneeling on the floor beside the bed curled into a tight ball is a girl. Her name is Angela but everyone calls her Angel although I'm not sure how I know that.
There is a thick chain running from her ankle to the leg of the bed.
"She won't let me leave." she says between sobs.
I move to her and begin to pull on the chain but to no avail.
"She made it too strong" Angela says "there's no way out."
"I'll be back" I tell her "I'll find a way to free you I promise."
"It doesn't matter" she tells me "it's only a dream. It's all just a dream."
I awake in my own bed with cold sweat covering my body. There is a melody from an old song running through my head but I can't seem to place it.
That morning I am walking through an unfamiliar neighborhood, pleasant and suburban with well manicured front yards and lawn mowers drowning out the delighted squeals of children at play. Halfway down the street I recognize the house from my dream.
I walk to the front door and ring the bell. A woman answers. She is dressed all in black and for a brief moment I get the notion that I am interrupting a wake. I can think of nothing to say to her, but she invites me in and I sit on the sofa as she goes to the kitchen to make tea.
I look around the living room and everywhere are pictures of Angela. There are flowers laid at the foot of what seems to be a shrine to the child, a table filled with photographs and votive candles and pictures of hands clasped in prayer with comforting passages from the bible.
On a shelf above sits an urn which holds Angela's dust.
The woman returns with a tray of tea and biscuits and sits across from me. She is in her forties and may have once been beautiful but pain and sorrow have aged her and worn her down and now she seems a frail and used up thing.
"There is no greater tragedy than a mother who out lives her child." she says, although I'm not sure if she is talking to me or to herself. "It was her kidneys you know, they just stopped working. It took so long for her to pass and she suffered so. I prayed for her every day. I still pray for her everyday, not a moment passes that my Angel isn't in my thoughts."
She stands up and motions for me to follow her. We walk down a short hall and enter Angela's bedroom.
"Everything is just the way she left it." the woman says in a far off voice. "All her stuffed animals and her toys and her phonograph. Such a silly thing for a child her age, but it was my mother's and she loved to play all the old records over and over again. It's been eight years since she passed and I've kept her room the same. It makes me feel as if she's closer this way."
I thank her for the tea and turn to leave. I still can think of nothing to say to the woman, and she seems to hardly notice me as I walk back down the hallway and out the front door. She is still standing in Angela's bedroom.
That night I return to the house but this time not in dream. I climb through a window, carefully balancing the can of gasoline I'd brought with me, and make my way up the stairs to the second floor. I begin walking quietly down a hallway until I come to a door. I open it and see the Angela's mother asleep in her bed.
I walk softly towards her and cover her mouth with my hand while my knife slips quickly across her throat. Her eyes open wide with horror for a brief second and then shut tightly. A gurgling sound dies against the palm of my hand and she is gone.
I walk back downstairs and into Angela's room and pour the gasoline on her bed and on her stuffed animals and splash more on the walls and floors. I take out my lighter and flick it twice, finally getting it to light.
I touch the flame to the bed and the room fills with smoke and fire.
"Sweet dreams Angel" I say softly "it's time to go."
I turn to leave and as I'm walking towards the front door I hear Angela's phonograph begin to play the melody that's been stuck in my head.
Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you, sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you But in your dreams whatever they may be, dream a little dream of me
End.
M.Stafford 2009
The author can be reached at smrtbmb@hotmail.com
