1.

In my dream, I’m running through mud, my pale nightgown flapping. I can hear the splat splat splat of my bare feet as they slap the soft, wet ground.

I run through puddles of cold water, and I can feel the cold even though I’m completely aware that I’m dreaming. I know that the whispers I hear are the leaves on the trees shivering in a stiff, warm wind.

I feel the wind on my face, and I hear the whispers all around behind the splat splat of my bare feet, kicking up the mud, sending it splashing like waves on both sides of me.

I see the crescent moon in the purple sky above the shimmering trees. It looks like a sideways smile, and it reminds me of the silver moon pendant on the chain around my neck.

The moon seems so close in my dream, as if I could reach up and squeeze my hand around it. But I can’t slow down to grab the moon. I’m being chased. And I know if I turn around, I’ll see it.

And even though I know that, I can’t keep from turning back. In my dreams, I’m never in control. I can’t do what I’d like to do.

I’m running barefoot in the wet mud under the low, leafy tree branches. I’m scared. I know that I’m scared. And that I have good reason.

Because when I turn around … when I take a quick, shuddering glance behind me … the wolf is there. The black wolf of my dreams.

It grunts and snarls as it trots silently behind me. It lowers its head as if preparing to attack. The black fur on its back bristles. And once again, I see its eyes. Blue like mine. The black wolf has my eyes.

I have black hair and blue eyes, and I’m dreaming about a wolf with black fur and blue eyes. And I tell myself in my dream that I’m not crazy. People have nightmares. People have the same dream over and over.

But most people don’t dream of animals with their eyes. And why does it make me so frightened? I’m asleep but I can feel the butterfly flitting of my heartbeats.

I gaze at the wolf. Our blue eyes meet and lock on one another. Its long snout quivers. Thick white drool oozes from the sides of its mouth. The black wolf bares its teeth and utters a low menacing growl from deep in its throat that sounds like choking, like someone spewing.

I want to look away. But the eyes hold me, paralyze me.

And suddenly, I am the wolf.

I am the wolf. I am the black wolf.

In my dream, I become the wolf, staring, my eyes locked on the other wolf.

We attack. We wrestle. We snarl and rage and spit and drool. We bite and claw and bump heads and tear at each other.

I am fierce. I am exploding with anger. Exploding.

I wake up screaming. I try to leap out of bed. Tangled in the bedsheet, I tumble to the floor. Land with a soft thud on my side.

I’m panting. My heart skipping up and down in my chest. I blink several times, blinking the dream away. Forcing away the lingering pictures, the face of the wolf … the anger … the blue eyes.

I’m in my room. Silvery moonlight floods in through the open window.

“Hey,” I mutter, still shaking away the frightening images. “Hey. Another nightmare. A nightmare. That’s all.”

A voice from across the bedroom startles me. “What’s wrong?”

My sister Sophie sits up. Sophie and I share the room. Sophie’s eyes catch the moonlight from the window. She has blue eyes, too.

“Another nightmare,” I tell her, still shaky.

“You had your wolf dream again?” She crosses the room to me and places a warm hand on my shoulder.

I nod. “Yes. Again.”

She gazes over my shoulder and her eyes go wide. Her mouth drops open. She steps past me and leans over my bed.

“Emmy? Why are your sheets all torn and shredded?”

Copyright © 2016 by Parachute Publishing, LLC.