Risers and Dreamers (The Rose Cross Academy Book 1)

The Forest

Jeffrey Lacaille was lost, and so terribly so. Here, the mocking songs of birds made for eerie company.

Forever in every direction, looming trees grew in dark, thick clumps. Through a dense canopy, sunlight reached out towards him with long and pallid fingers. Hues of red and orange and gold in the leaves created an eye-wrenching canvas of distraction. He wanted to run—wanted to escape and find safety. Jeffrey knew he was somewhere he should not be. Barring his path, however, was a single pile of leaves.

He peered further into the forest to spot another pile of leaves a few paces from the one before him. He counted two more piles further into the trees, making four in total. Each pile lay still and unassuming, each hiding what was bound to be the body of some nightmare or another.

Demons—he was certain of it. They lay buried here, all waiting . . . waiting for him.

Trembling eyes trailed down to the pile at his feet. The leaves heaved without warning, a hand shooting out to latch on to his ankle. With a yell, he fell backwards on to his rear, tugging and kicking at the thing hidden under the pile in a frantic effort to free himself. Leaves stirred from the pile, becoming green and heart-shaped as they took flight. They assaulted him, blurring his vision as a dark shape rose from another of the leaf piles off in the forest.

Grey, bruised skin made up skinny legs with knobby knees. Where legs met torso, the body did not hold clues as to the being's gender—the thing was just a humanoid shell. At its side, hands with elongated fingers ending in long, pointed black fingernails twitched and jerked. Soon another grey-skinned figure rose, followed by another until three demons twitched in the darkening forest. As a single unit, the three demon's heads turned to Jeffrey as he struggled against the hand that held trapped.

Black holes bore into faces where the demon's eyes and mouths should have been. Eyeless, they easily picked Jeffrey out. As their grey bodies turned towards him the grip on his ankle tightened. Jeffrey's heart beat painfully in his chest as he kicked harder and harder at the thing holding him, yelling and screaming. No matter how hard he kicked, no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't find the strength to free himself.

The pile heaved again and a body sat up. A misshapen canvas of a face snapped around to him, a dark hole that marked its mouth widening into a silent scream. The grip on Jeffrey's ankle turned icy and burned his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut until he saw stars and screamed.

Jeffrey's eyes shot wide open into darkness and he took a great gasp of air. Blood thundered in his ears and his whole body shook with fright. Dampness on his brow told him he was sweating.

Seconds passed in a blur of terror as Jeffrey wheezed air back into his lungs and tried to make sense of his surroundings. Recognition slowly seeped back to him. He was lying on his side at the precipice of his bed frame on the verge of falling onto the floor. A large poster of his favourite rock band stared down at him where it hung tacked to the wall. Three men in their mid to late twenties posed ostentatiously with their guitars, their band name scrawled in bold letters at their feet.

A dream. Everything—the forest, the leaves, the demons—all a dream.

Jeffrey tried to calm himself with a few deep and laboured breaths, but the dream still plagued him. In his mind's eye he saw the creature's face turn towards him. Three black holes for eyes and a mouth plagued his sleepy memory. And that thing had touched him.

With a groan, he flexed his ankle. Jeffrey thought his skin still held the residual sting of a cold burn as he moved and tested his foot. The experience had been so vivid that the actions of the dream had translated into a physical sensation even after waking. These dreams, he knew, could let demons cross into the world where he lived.

Another steadying breath helped to calm his nerves and the stinging in his ankle. In the darkness of his room, he stretched out a leg and groaned as tense and weary muscles rebelled. He thought he must have been lying like this, teetering close to falling out of bed, for quite some time. His body protested as he stretched, and it was a chore to push away from the edge.

Yawning, Jeffrey tried to roll over, but was stopped by an unexpected mound underneath the sheets.

Something was in his bed!

The mound under his sheets pushed him back with such force that Jeffrey nearly tumbled off the edge of his bed. Muscles in his back clenched from the touch and his body seized. His eyes flew open—he wasn't alone! Something was definitely in the bed with him. Irrational thought told him that the thing in his bed was one of the things from his dream—a demon using him to break into the Waking World!

Adrenaline poured into his veins again as his heart dashed into a mad thunder in his ears. An inability to move froze him solid where he lay, once again perched at the edge of his bed. He thought any movement on his part might attract its attention. So he stayed still, the rock poster staring down at him almost laughing. He felt the bed move and sag, felt the covers tug at his shoulders.

There had to be a logical explanation! The small part of his reasoning that still functioned through the urge to get up and run assured him that he had indeed been dreaming and this was all just a part of his over-active imagination. Maybe the cat had crawled into bed with him, or his little brother! The youngster often did so when loud thunderstorms moved through the neighbourhood, or when he had a bad dream.

A bad dream, Jeffrey thought with ire. He licked his lips and turned his eyes without turning his head as if it were somehow possible to peer over his shoulder and through his own skull without moving. The bed shifted on occasion and the comforter pulled free from his shoulder. The thumping in his chest made his whole body vibrate. One leg was close to dangling off the edge of the bed, threatening to bring him to the floor with it. If he fell out of bed, the demon would certainly notice him.

Several minutes passed as Jeffrey lay stiff and still. An ache began to creep into his back from the strain of keeping his body in the odd position. Discomfort in his knotted muscles grew more painful and began to scream for attention. He needed to do something quick before his muscles lost their strength and dropped him into a sloppy pile on the floor. Gathering every ounce of courage he could find in his panic-stricken body, he rolled over to find an empty bed.

Not wholly convinced, Jeffrey leapt away in a furl of sheets and a comforter to plaster himself to the wall beside his rock poster. The bedroom door was closed and the power light from his desktop computer bathed the carpet in a soft blue glow. The corners of his room sat piled high with dirty clothes and school books. But nothing appeared to be undead, supernatural, or out of the ordinary.

Still suffering the after effects of panic, he slid sideways down the wall until a shaky hand found the bedside light. It clicked on and Jeffrey winced at the brightness. Weary and watery eyes peered about the room while a hand shielded them from the light. He surveyed his belongings with suspicion as he set out to inspect his room.

First, he approached the closet door, inspecting the mess of his closet which was filled to overflowing with clothing, miscellaneous items and a snowboard—nothing unusual or vaguely supernatural there either.

Next, Jeffrey hunted about the clutter in his room. Half-lidded but wary eyes found his study desk, computer, stereo system, and dresser all as they should be. Nothing in the room appeared out of place. But most important of all of his findings: there was no remnant of his nightmare lurking in the shadows.

Last, he approached the foot of his bed, keeping back a good distance as his racing heartbeat still warned him to be careful. Licking his lips, he crouched down on to his hands and knees and peered under the bed. Other than a few lost socks, a couple of piles of car magazines, and some dust bunnies, nothing hid underneath the bed.

"Just a dream," he said to himself with a sigh. He pushed his tired body back to its feet and walked over to the bedside table. Convinced his room was safe from anything abnormal or demonic, he relaxed. A yawn reminded him of the late hour, and that he had school tomorrow. Jeffrey clicked off the bedside light before crawling back under the covers and situating himself in the middle of his small single bed. Within a few minutes, he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, never noticing the dark bruise forming like boney fingers about his ankle.