Weaveworld

3

At two-fifty in the morning Cal woke from a dream which – though it resembled the terrors of previous nights – was in several significant ways different. For one thing, he’d not been alone on Venus Mountain; he’d had the company of de Bono. Together they’d fled the creature that came after them, into the same maze of alleyways that would lead – had the dream proceeded in its usual fashion – to the yard behind the Laschenski house. But it didn’t. Somewhere in the alley he and de Bono were parted, and Cal, completely disoriented, took a route that led him into another street entirely.

There, the sense of pursuit waned, only to be replaced by a fresh anxiety. He was no longer the quarry, his dream-self knew, because the creature had gone after de Bono, leaving him in the role of helpless observer. The street seemed to be full of hiding places – doorways and garden walls – where it might wait, stoking its fires. But he’d misunderstood, once again. It had no need to hide. There it was now, crossing the intersection at the end of the street. Not a single pursuer this time, but two. One was human; a slouching shadowy form. The other – gigantic, as tall as a house, a cloud in which a furnace roared. He started to edge back towards the alleyway from which he’d stepped, moving slowly so as not to attract the monster or its companion’s attention. A foolish hope. The refuge he sought had been sealed up, and as his fingers scrabbled at the brick the creature looked his way.

It had already devoured de Bono: he saw his friend’s ashes in the cloud whose flame sight was on him.

I don’t want to burn! he yelled, but the fire was coming at him –

Please God!

Before it struck him he flung himself up out of sleep.

Geraldine was not with him tonight; he lay in the middle of the bed, trembling from gut to pores, until he was certain movement wouldn’t make him vomit, then he got up, went to the window, and drew the curtains aside.

Chariot Street was perfectly quiet; the same icy hush that would be city-wide at this hour. Snow had begun to fall; its idling descent hypnotic. But the sight of neither street nor snow nor lamplight reassured him. There was a reason why the terrors that came in sleep were different tonight: because they weren’t just in dreams any longer. He knew this without any trace of doubt. That somewhere near, in a street like this – all lamp light and peace – his nightmares were coming true.