Dreamcatcher (ONC 2020)

3

It's common knowledge. Dreamcatchers are selfish, arrogant, and only care about themselves.

But there was a time when I used to think otherwise. After all, my dad was a dreamcatcher—and I don't think I could ever think of him in the same way he thought about himself.

We would both sit at the edge of my squeaky bed in the evening, well after the sun was hidden behind the growing number of skyscrapers in the west. I was the tender age of nine—and Dad? Well, Dad always came home with a smile, with calloused hands filled to the brim with those awful cardboard boxes. And even though all his features were perpetually laden with fatigue, his amber eyes never failed to twinkle with joy.

He was the Dad of before.

"So, dreamcatchers..." Dad would say, "they're like... vampires. And ghosts. And serial killers." He paused, then added, "And Santa Claus, in a way? All mixed into one." His voice was a broken feather—cracked around the edges, but soft, nonetheless.

"They'll come into your house at night when you're asleep, stand at the edge of your bed, and—" He lunged toward me, fingers outstretched to tickle my belly— "suck up your dreams!

I giggled, shrinking away from him in an attempt to escape. "Dad, Stop it! I'm too old for tickles, remember?"

Dad smiled in response; I could see his dimples peeking out at me. He drew his hands away, giving me some precious time to catch my breath and contain my laughter. It was starting to become uncomfortably hot in the room—despite the breeze coming from the window—and beads of sweat began to crawl across my forehead.

I exhaled one last laugh, then asked him, "But aren't you a dreamcatcher, Dad? You're not a vampire-slash-ghost-slash-serial-killer-slash-Santa! Why would you ever say that?"

Dad didn't answer the question. He said good night, tucked me in, then walked away and closed the door behind him, leaving me alone with the stifling heat of summer and the mocking face of the moon outside the window.

✺✺✺

I take off the leash and collar from Bailee's neck and stuff them both into my pockets. My hair's tied back into a tail and my hood is pulled up over my face. Bailee takes the hint and turns serious, staring intently at every move I make. I try not to make my fear evident, but I know Bailee can smell every bit of it.

I guess this is a dreamcatching mission now.

It's a shame I didn't bring my backpack. A throb of resentment pulses through me at the thought of it lying carelessly on my bed. All the empty jars, feathers, sand orbs... just sitting there, useless.

But there's no time to dwell on things that can't be helped. I check over both of us again, making sure there's nothing that would make our identities distinguishable—lest we get caught. Take deep breaths, Dakota, I tell myself. Stop stalling and get on with it. It's now—or it's never.

I beckon Bailee with a tilt of my head and start sprinting toward the apartment building, making sure to keep my steps light and quick so that I can move as fast as possible with the least amount of sound. My senses, which were previously subdued and muddled with worries, are now alert and clear.

I inhale sharply, letting the crisp night air clear up my thoughts. I'm just going to go into the building and get a glimpse of what happened. Even though the dreamcatcher is probably long gone—dissipated into the frigid night air—curiosity still burns through me.

It's been so long since I've met someone like me.

We approach the stairs that snake around the right side of the apartment wall. I quickly make my way up, with Bailee trailing along close behind. The magenta light came from somewhere up on the fourth floor, if I remember correctly. Hopefully, the dreamcatcher left a trace of their presence somewhere...