Winter Moon

presence, in the house of joy, the palace of peace, the kingdom of enlightenment. All that she had to do was let it in, open a door within herself and let it in, let it in, open herself to inconceivable joy, paradise, paradise, paradise, surrender to pleasure and happiness. She wanted it, she really did oh-so-eagerly want it, because life was hard when it didn't have to be But some stubborn part of her resisted the gift, some teful and proud part of her complex self.
        She sensed frustration of him who wished to give this gift, the iver in the darkness, felt frustration and maybe anger, she said, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.
        Now the gift-joy, peace, love, pleasure-was thrust on her with tremendous force, brutal and unrelenting ressure, until she felt she would be crushed by it. The darkness around her acquired weight, as if she lay deep in a fathomless sea, though it was far heavier and thicker than water, surrounding her, smothing, crushing. Must submit, useless to resist, let it in, submission was peace, submission was joy, paradise, paradise. Refusal to submit would mean pain beyond anything she could imagine, despair and agony as only hose in hell knew it, so she must submit, open the door within herself, let it in, accept, be at peace.
        Hammering Dn her soul, ramming and pounding, fierce and irresistible hammering, hammering: Let it in, let it in, in, In… IT… IN.
        Suddenly she found the secret door within herself, pathway to joy, gate to peace eternal. She seized the knob, twisted, heard the latch click, pulled inward, shaking with anticipation. Through the slowly widening crack: a glimpse of the Giver.
        Glistening and dark. Writhing and quick. Hiss of triumph. Coldness at the threshold. Slam the door, slam the door, slam the door, slamthedoor-..
        Heather exploded from sleep, cast back the covers, rolled out of bed onto her feet in one fluid and frantic movement. Her booming heart kept knocking the breath out of her as she tried to inhale. A dream..Only a dream. But no dream in her experience had ever been so intense.
        Maybe the thing beyond the door had followed her out of sleep into the real world. Crazy thought. Couldn't shake it.
        Wheezing thinly, she fumbled with the nightstand lamp, found the switch. The light revealed no nightmare creatures. Just Jack. Asleep on his stomach, head turned away from her, snoring softly. She managed to draw a breath, though her heart continued to pound. She was damp with sweat and couldn't stop shivering.
        Jesus. Not wanting to wake Jack, Heather switched off the lamp-and twitched as darkness fell around her. She sat on the edge of the bed, intending to perch there until her heart stopped racing and the shakes passed, then pull a robe over her pajamas and go downstairs to read until morning. According to the luminous green numbers on the digital alarm clock, it was 3:09 A.M but she was not going to be able to get back to sleep. No way. She might be unable to sleep even tomorrow night. She remembered the glistening, writhing, half-seen presence on the threshold and the bitter cold that flowed from it. The touch of it was still within her, a lingering chill. Disgusting. She felt contaminated, dirty inside, where she could never wash the corruption away.
        Deciding that she needed a hot shower, she got up from the bed.
        Disgust swiftly ripened into nausea. In the dark bathroom she was racked by dry heaves at left a bitter taste. After turning on the light only enough to find the bottle of mouthwash, she rinsed away the bitterness. In the dark again, she repeatedly bathed her face in handfuls of cold water. She sat on the edge of the tub. She dried her face on a towel. As she waited for calm to return, she tried to figure out why a mere dream could have had such a powerful effect on her, but there was no understanding.
        In a few minutes, when she'd regained her composure, she quietly returned to the bedroom. Jack was still snoring softly. Her robe was draped over the back of a Queen Anne chair. She picked it up, slipped out of the room, and eased the door shut behind her.
        In the hall, she pulled on the robe and belted it. Although she'd intended to go downstairs, brew a pot of coffee, and read, she turned instead toward Toby's room at the end of the hall. Try as she might, Heather was unable to extinguish completely the fear from the nightmare, and her simmering anxiety began to