Short Stories

A Nightmare (WestAllen)

I hear the sound of two knocks on my door. The tension the sound makes wakes me up even though it is two in the morning. I walk towards the door as I yawn heavily and stretch my arms. I open the door slowly until I see the face in the dark.

"Barry?" I whispered. I knew it was Barry. I'm living with him for almost seven years that I am able to identify if the knock is his or Dad's. Barry quickly knocks twice while Dad likes to knock more than three times with the cocky rhythm. He still thinks I am his baby girl and I don't like it when he does that. I'm sixteen. I'm almost an adult.

"Iris." Barry says my name desolately, and hiccups once. I cannot see his face clearly because it's dark, but his mental condition right now is very obvious. He is crying.

I let him in and close the door. "What's wrong, Bar?" I tenderly ask, looking at his back. He doesn't look me back.

"I－" He starts. "I had a nightmare." He hiccups again. I can tell he is rather sobbing than just crying because his voice is so dry and I can hear his sniffle.

It is not that rare for him having nightmares. He used to have them when he started living in our house. He used to dream about that night. That night his mom was killed by something －someone－ impossible. According to him, it looked like a ball of lightening and he saw it killing her. He doesn't know what that thing or who that murderer was, but he still has this flashback, especially, in his dreams. I believe in him even though it doesn't seem real. I try to believe in him.

He finally turns his face to me. I see his tears sliding through his cheeks, and his snot makes his face even messier that I understand why he refused to face me. He is embarrassed.

"Did you dreamed about that?" I ask, knowing this could barely calm him down.

"Yeah," he mumbles as he wipes his tears with his right palm. "But it was not like what I used to dream."

"What do you mean?" I frown as I lead him to sit on the corner of my bed. I sit beside him, staring at his face full of fear. I feel it's the kind that he's never experienced before. It is the different kind of fear than his memory, I guess.

He breathes in, heavily. "It was the same night, the same situation, the same man in the yellow," He starts to inhale again. "But it wasn't my mom." He says, and looks at me with his tired reddened eyes.

There is a pause. I try to look away but his eyes won't let mine go.

"He tried to kill you and Joe." He finally says it.

I am shocked. I know it isn't real and it's just his dream but... why? Does this mean that he just truly cares about us for being his family? Does his fear in the past threaten him with his lives right now? But why now?

"I woke up when he circled around you and I couldn'tー" He starts to cry again. I wrap his back and allow him to lean on my shoulder. It is more uncomfortable than ever since he instantly grew taller than me during this whole year.

"You are awake now. You are okay. I am here, Barry." I whisper into his ear. I want him to relax although I know he can't. "It was just a bad dream." I say.

"Yeah." He says with his weakest voice ever. I still feel his head on my shoulder. I know he is aghast more than I am.

"Do you want to drink something? I can get you milk or water and some cookies." I say, pretending to be cheerful to make him smile a little, hopefully. I quickly stand up and head towards the kitchen.

But Barry holds my arm tightly then I cannot move. I turn to him to see his stiffen face.

"No. Stay." He says and pulls his hand away as he realizes that he grips my arm too tight. It hurts a little. "I'm fine." He mumbles.