Dream Catcher

Atlantis Blakes

A/N: NOT MEANT AS AN OFFENSE TO NATIVE AMERICANS. It's based of a nightmare I had.

The gray spectral cloud seemed to smother the moon with its ghastly appearance. As it slowly covered the natural satellite's silver glow, the old Indian footpath dimmed until it was barely visible. Now the only luminescence was the occasional glimmer of midnight dew supplied by a rare ray of light that seeped through the thundercloud above.

Logan tread the ancient path carefully, his feet creating a rhythm all their own. He and his mother had recently moved to Spirit Ridge a few days ago and Logan hadn't made a friend yet. Something about the students at Spirit Ridge High was particularly mysterious. Most of the almost infinitesimal population was Native American; therefore, he didn't exactly fit in.

The sun was sinking in the western distance and Logan wanted to hurry home to clean his new abode before his mother arrived. Ahead of him he could see five figures. As he neared their position he realized that they were several of the boys he had met at school earlier that day, though their countenances were not visible, making their identities unknown.

The five acted as though they were searching for something. They would look in the trees and point at some object hidden there, showing it to the others, who would nod and continue their search.

Logan, hoping for a friendly conversation, casually greeted them. None of the boys answered. They merely proceeded in their pursuit. Frustrated at the cold shoulder they were giving him, Logan looked where one was pointing. He shuddered in horror.

There, lying stiffly on the ground was a human body. Pale and cold the corpse showed no sign of pain or violent death. On the contrary, it seemed the female body was only sleeping, dreaming somewhere beyond time and space, beyond the here and now.

Logan took a step back, his entire body in an uncontrollable, unceasing tremor. Behind him he felt himself bump into one of the youths. He turned with a tumor of anxiety swelling in his fearful chest.

The Native American turned only to reveal and appalling fanged face. The face exploded with the roar of a great lion, as though calling for the strength of his brethren. Then the entire forest surrounding the footpath thundered with the howls of these powerful beasts.

The creature swiped at Logan's heart but he leapt out of the course of its prodigious, dagger-like claws. The animal continued its fit of rage still however, and the others gathered around with ravenous, hungry glares in their eyes. In several moments they would have encircled Logan, but at this realization, the boy fled.

His heart beat wildly; behind him he could hear leaves crunching beneath the feet of the beasts. Logan ran as fast as he could but it seemed the animals had taken on the legs of some great equine. No matter his speed, Logan's capture was inevitable.

He felt something grasp his left foot and with that fell to the ground. Just ahead of him he could see what looked like an authentic Indian tribe. The last thing his ears perceived was the violent beating of drums. This, however, eventually molded itself into thunderous silence and the tribe into darkness.

Treacherous visions floated into Logan's mind. Dreams of things he had never conceived. He could vividly see before him a brave hunter, and Indian mother with her child, and old shaman healing the sick. After these visions passed Logan saw a beast, wolf-like in appearance but with a long, slimy, spotted lizard's tail. Its red glowing eyes seemed of something beyond this world... something Satanic and horrific, seeking to prey on the innocent.

In his mind, Logan could see what seemed a tangled web. After a moment, he figured that it was an old Native American dream catcher. What haunted him still, though, was his sight of those stone-cold, wicked eyes behind the leather strings of the relic.

Suddenly, the animal behind the leather string bounded forward and the dream catcher zoomed toward Logan as a net hurls toward a fish or a jar engulfs a butterfly.

Words, a voice never before heard by the boy before, entered his mind, those spoken by an old Indian man hundreds of years before. "There is a world where dreams and nightmares fade to nothing but whispers... where day and light do not exist save for the fire that eternally burns its inhabitants."

As the indigenous voice faded away, Logan realized he was fading, too.

Mrs. Sadler turned the light switch in the kitchen. Her son, Logan, was nowhere to be found. She noticed his bedroom light was off. Assuming he was sleeping, she walked to the door and said softly, "Sweet dreams, Logan." Unnoticed by her, however, was the evil red glow of eyes in the window and the gentle beat of drums in the wind...