Page 12 of Dreamscape Therapies

When I look back up, the mountain has moved. Closer than it was before.

An entire avalanche comes rolling down the slope in complete silence.

Not snow. Yarn.

Massive tumbling waves of tangled skeins bouncing over each other in impossible colors. Chunky knit blankets folded inside the chaos like ocean waves.

I scream as loud as I can. I try to ski away, but my knitted skis begin unraveling beneath my feet. One stitch pops loose, then another, then another, until the entire left ski explodes into a trail of red yarn behind me.

The avalanche gains speed. Huge pastel balls of yarn bounce past my head like boulders. A scarf wraps around my arm and yanks me sideways into a drift so deep I sink in all the way to my chest.

The yarn is warm.

Somehow that's the worst part.

I'm being suffocated by warm, freshly-dried-laundry yarn.

I fight upward, watching as the avalanche swallows ski lifts, pine trees, and entire cabins beneath layers of knitted chaos.

Then I see them.

At the bottom of the mountain stands an old lady, knitting calmly while the avalanche pours directly from their needles.

CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.

Every stitch made adds more yarn to the disaster.

I yell, begging them to stop, but my mouth is full of loose wool fibers.

Their head turns slowly toward me.

"You dropped a stitch," they say in that strange, echoey voice. "You should have fixed it when you had the chance."

Chapter Six

Jay

Someone is keeping him awake. I felt them at the edge of Vincent’s dream. It wasn’t clear; not enough to see a face, but they were definitely there.

Watching.

Stalking.

Keeping Vincent’s mind from falling too deeply into REM sleep.

What I can’t understand is why. Why would anyone turn someone’s dreams into yarn-filled nightmares?

And why Vincent?

He has a weird-as-hell enemy out there, and I don’t think he even realizes it.

I sip my coffee, cringing at the lukewarm liquid. The bitterness seems appropriate as I scroll through another forum post written by someone named BogMommy79.

Rain taps against the windows and my desk lamps cast harsh shadows across the room, illuminating the million browser tabs open on my laptop.

Sleep disorders.

Dream parasites.