The first thing I notice when I start to awake is the cold. I’m shivering and lying in what feels like ice. Underneath me, the mattress is exceptionally hard. It’s when I open my eyes I realize this must be a dream. I’m looking up and all I can see is the sky and tree branches above me, and there is most definitely not a mattress underneath me.
While sitting up, my hand sinks into the cold snow beneath me. I look around and see a large rock and hear moving water in the distance. It comes as no surprise to me my imagination has conjured up a location similar to what I was reading in the journal. There aren’t any beautiful flowers or smells, it appears to be winter here now; the ground is covered in snow. Inhaling deeply, my throat feels the effects of the freezing air, which smells like winter. I wonder how my mind transformed the world from the journal into this winter wonderland? Even without the flowers, I can see the beauty of this place. Trees stretch overhead, reaching toward the sky, their branches free of leaves.
Gingerly, I get to my feet and spin in a circle, the ground squishing beneath my slippers as I turn. Using my hands to dust off my butt, I feel my pajamas are slightly damp from lying in the snow for who knows how long. I reach up and feel my long blonde hair, slightly damp from laying in the snow.
It appears to be morning in my dream. I see the sun rising in what must be the east. Which direction should I go in this dream world? I decide to head over to what must be the large rock the writer sat atop while writing the first part of the journal. It’s covered in snow and it takes some effort to get up it, my fingers aching as I claw my way up, but eventually, I can stand on it and look around.
All I see are trees, most without their leaves. In the distance, I see trees that are still green. They remind me of the Christmas tree I just helped to decorate at my parents’ house.
Getting down is tricky as well, as I try not to slip on the wet surface. The snow on the rock and the smooth soles of my slippers don’t help give me any grip to keep from falling. Eventually, I’m able to make it down and decide to walk along the river. Maybe I’ll come to a town or something else interesting.
I’ve covered some distance when I notice how dry my throat is. I desperately need a drink. The stream is the only source of water I’ve seen besides the snow. Remembering reading somewhere you shouldn’t try to eat or drink snow directly, I decide the river is probably my best bet. Thankfully, my pajamas have dried in the time I’ve been walking, so at least I can dry my hands off afterward, maybe warm them in my armpits. I’m not sure what the cold temperature will do to my hands, but I don’t see another source of water nearby either.
Thankfully, I fell asleep with my slippers on, otherwise my feet would probably have frostbite by now. Who am I kidding? This is a dream. In the dream world, anything can happen, right? But I couldn’t have dreamed up any better clothes than what I went to bed in?
I use my foot to clear the snow away from a spot close to the river. I don’t want to end up with my knees freezing and more wet than they will be sinking down onto the slightly muddy ground to drink.
I take a minute to gather my long hair and pull it around my shoulder. Carefully, I bend down, using my hands to scoop up water and try to keep as much in my hands as possible when I bring them to my mouth. The water is freezing, as I expected with the melting snow. But it glides down my throat and quenches my thirst. I repeat the process a few more times before feeling sated and ready to continue my walk.
When I go to stand, I hear a branch snap nearby. Quickly, I stand up and look around, trying to find the reason for the noise. I’m almost back to where I started in my rotation when I spot it. There is a set of angry-looking eyes on a very large gray wolf.
I take a sharp breath, my lungs protesting against the cold air. The wolf comes closer to me, slowly stalking me, its prey. My heart feels like it’s pounding out of my chest.
Slowly, I back away, keeping my eye on the wolf as I carefully make my way, following the river in the direction I was heading. I do my best to keep my breaths calm and steady. When the wolf snaps its jaws, licks his lips, and gets close enough to where I can hear a low growl emanating from him, I take off at a run.
Running in my slippers is difficult and I stumble a few times because of their bulk. Thankfully, they stay on my feet. The adrenaline from my fright and now my run have warmed me substantially.
I haven’t gone far when I see a small cottage off in the distance. My arms pump and my feet pound the ground. I run faster than I ever have to make it to the house. Praying that someone is there to let me in, I slam into the door and start pounding and yelling, “Help! Someone, please! There’s a wolf out here! Please help me!”
The wolf is getting closer. I can hear his growling getting louder, closer. Reaching for the doorknob, I realize I should have tried to open the door before alerting all the predators in the forest. My hand clasps around the cold knob, I quickly turn it, and the door opens. I run inside and slam the door closed behind me, locking it. I hear the wolf gnashing his teeth and growling outside.
Taking deep breaths, I turn and examine my surroundings. It’s a small, two-room cottage. I see the area where the meals are prepared, a small table, probably for a couple or a very small family, and a sitting area. Across from me is what I assume must be the bedroom. The door is closed.
“Hello? Who’s there?” An elderly female voice coming from what I believe to be the bedroom calls. “Amber, is that you?”
Slowly, I creep to the door and press my ear to the wood, trying to listen for anyone else on the other side. My heart is beating out of my chest. Scratching at the front door and a howl make me turn my head to look back.
“Amber, honey, have you finally come? I’ve been waiting ages for you,” the elderly voice says.
I gently grasp the doorknob and turn it as I reply, “I’m so sorry to intrude. My name is Callie.”
The elderly woman stares at me from her bed when I enter the room. “You’re not my Amber. What are you doing in my house?” She’s frightened, and rightfully so. I’m a stranger and I’ve just blasted my way into her home.
“My name is Call—”
“You already said that,” she states. “Now tell me what you’re doing in my house?” One, two, three breaths I take before I answer her. I can imagine how startled I would be if some stranger just barged into my house while I was sleeping soundly in my bed. I would be terrified.
“I’m not sure.” Another howl from the wolf and I can visibly see her shudder in her bed. “I woke up in the middle of the woods. I was walking along a stream, or is it a river? I can never remember what makes it one or the other.” I’m nervous, rambling. Clearing my throat, I continue slower, “A wolf started chasing me. I saw your house and ran as fast as I could to outrun the wolf. I’m so sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll get out of here as soon as the wolf is gone.”
“The wolf is never far away,” she states ominously and turns back over, pulling her blankets over her head. I turn and go back into the other room.
I draw back the curtain and peer through the window. From here, I can see the wolf still stands at the door. He turns toward me and I quickly drop the curtain, backing away.
I hope she doesn’t mind but, I don’t want to go anywhere until the wolf leaves. There is a large bookcase in one corner, so I pick a book at random and take a seat on the couch. I hope the woman from the bed won’t mind me reading one of her books. Engrossed in the story, I don’t notice the scratching at the door and the howling has stopped.
Sometime later, I hear the woman in the other room get out of bed and go to what must be the bathroom. A few minutes after that, she slowly opens the door, looking around the small cottage. I remain seated, not wanting to startle her more than I did when I burst my way into her cottage.
“I didn’t dream you up,” she says before coming the rest of the way into the room. She moves over to the kitchen area and pulls out different food items, dishes, and the makings for tea. “Would you care for a drink?”
“Yes please,” I stand and return the book I borrowed to the shelf. “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed one of your books.”
“No, dear, help yourself.”
As I sit at the table in front of the place she has set for me, she gives me a small smile.
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself, dear?” Her tone has shifted dramatically from the snappy way she spoke earlier. I finally get a good look at her. She’s shorter than me, overweight in that wonderful huggable grandmotherly way, and her curly gray hair is tucked behind her ears, round glasses perched low on her nose.
“I am so sorry I intruded into your home. I didn’t know where else to run.”
“Where are you from, dear?” she inquires as she pours my tea.
“Wyoming.” Her eyes, which had been focused on pouring the tea, quickly rise to mine.
“W-w-wy-oming?” she stutters.
“Yes, ma’am, born and raised.” In my mind, I’m trying to make sense of her odd behavior. Really, in this dream world, in my head, I know the names of the states. Especially the one I grew up in. And I wonder why this woman in my dreams doesn’t know them as well.
“You need to go,” she says, a panicked tone edging into her voice. “Now!”
Quickly I stand, looking around the room, frightened she is going to come at me with one of the knives on the counter nearby.
“I’m sorry I intruded.” I slowly back my way toward the door, keeping my eye on her. This woman went from nice grandma to serial killer creepy really quickly.
Both of us jerk our heads toward the door at the sound of sleigh bells.
“Merde,” she breaths.