Dream Sequence Blogfest

Woohoo, who doesn't love a blogfest? And, this one is brought to you by Amelia over at Good to Begin Well. As the title suggests, it requires a sequence of a dream from a novel. The scene I've chosen takes place at the beginning of my novel, Haven (no, it's not the first word of the novel).

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The scene plays out as if I’m watching a movie. You know that point in a dream where you suddenly realise it’s a dream. Well, since I’ve had it every night – for at least a week – I’m certain this isn’t real.

It’s always the same. I stand in a church. Don’t ask me why a church – I’m not religious, I’m not even sure if I’ve ever set foot inside one. Thin streamers of light drift down through the dirt-encrusted stained glass, making spider webs glisten high up in the rafters. The few pews that remain standing sag. The rest are kindling strewn across the floor.

I move down the aisle. The floorboards creak beneath my feet. Each step launches swooning billows of dust flying through the air. I can see it. A single mirror stands isolated at the far end. Believe me, I don’t want to be anywhere near it, but my feet have a mind of their own.

The mirror is not normal. Its surface casts no reflection. All I can see beneath the glass is a vast sea of jet-black nothingness, and yet, I know something is hiding there within the shadows. Something that waits for me, watching me. That’s what scares me most.

It’s silly to be scared. I know it’s only a dream, but there is something eerily familiar about all this. And a deep longing. I can’t resist its thrall.

A growl from within the darkness rattles the glass. It could be my stomach, but I doubt it. Then, those eyes appear. Blood red, with a gaze that tears straight through my soul. I’m frozen.

‘No escape.’ A voice that doesn’t resemble anything even remotely human growls.

A smell drifts past my nose and makes my mouth water. It smells something like cinnamon and honey, but I know it isn’t. My gaze dances around the room, coming to rest on a delicate golden chalice resting on an altar beside the mirror.

Reaching out, every nerve screams I must have it. Using my other hand, I try to stop myself. I don’t want it, I just have to tell my mutinous hand that. It won’t stop. I grip the smooth stem. It pulsates with warmth. The thick crimson liquid swirls within the bowl. Raising the cup to my mouth, my heart races as the warm liquid touches my lips.

‘No escape,’ the voice sneers in a low growl.

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So, that's my sequence. Stay tuned for more fun blogfests heading your way.