Lije Clay
You have a dream, and in the dream you're in my brain. Welcome to a strange, alien frontier.
Lije Clay is a science fiction author with a background in Emergency Medicine. You can find his work on Royal Road and coming soon on Amazon, but if you're like him you want a taste of what you're getting into before you dive in. Check out a short story based on a dream below.Join the Light Readers email group for updates (the letter icon above). If you want to be a part of what he does, he's on Buy Me a Coffee as well. Well, let's be real, you'll actually be buying him a book...
Secrets in the AtticbyLije Clay
You have a dream, and in the dream you live in a house much like you live in a house or an apartment while awake, only this house is in feudal Japan and it had kept its feudal attributes into modern times. Things you wouldn’t typically see in a traditional oriental home were also present. You are simultaneously in a past and present state of Japan.
In this home lived not only your immediate family, but much of your extended family. You wonder who made the rules for family member status. Why is your mother and father and brother and sister your immediate family until you get married, or until they do, and then afterwards they’re extended family? They become outside and other. Excluded, and you are excluded from them. Where does this division come from? Is separation natural and necessary for growth? It feels sad and restrictive but you’re not sure of a better way to do it. In any case, this family seemed to have stayed together. There was still the understanding of immediate and extended members, but the geographical separation had not taken place and perhaps never would. You think about the fact that the definition of family was different in the past and still is in some places in the world. It was a broader term that encompassed a larger number of people and seemed to be made of stronger stuff. Now, being a mother or a father is in the way, and having children is a moral dilemma or a sacrifice that can’t be made for the sake of careers and pleasures. On the other hand, you wonder if careers and pleasures may not be made better or more meaningful with children. Maybe moral dilemmas aren’t quite as prickly with a little being you’re responsible for running around.
The issue with your dream family, and in particular your house, was that there was something off about the attic. There was a vague, uncomfortable feeling when you thought about it that left you with the sort of spooky vibe you really kind of like. There’s something in the next room or in the shadows, maybe even under the bed but you’re safe under the covers. You’re watching a scary movie but you’re not in it. But that’s where things diverge. You become extended family, if you will. Because the people in the house don’t feel this way. There is something in the attic and they are terrified. They do not speak of it and rush past the doors as if the devil himself might reach out and snatch them inside; put them in a box with their worst fears. But they don’t leave, because it’s home. And you are there, but you are also observing. You’re family, but you’re other and outside as well. There’s a level of separation between you and whatever or whoever is up in the attic making creaking noises in the still, silent night.Eventually, a member of the family, extended or immediate status unknown, had business in the attic. No one should have had business in the attic. Business should be done downstairs where the Prince of the Air isn’t around. The family member with poor business acumen creeps up the stairs to the second floor. They tip toe onto the landing. Slip around the corner with back against the wall. Ahead the hallway, beyond the attic door, within Beelzebub himself secreted in dark damnation. They hurry down the hallway towards the door. Just as they reach it, it bursts open and something unknowable and unseeable occurs in the threshold, cloaked in the Deceiver’s perjuring shadows. You can watch no longer. You slam the door shut, pushing up whatever had begun to step down. You speak hurriedly in fluent Japanese.
“Kuso!”
English CC: “Crap!”
“Korega okiteru!”
ECC: “This is happening!”
“Hayaku! Kodomo tachi o totte!”
ECC: “Quick! Get the kids!”
With no delay, you and an indeterminant number of other family members rush to facilitate the security of the two children with you. Here, horror film problem-solving takes place which makes total sense in the dream. It is decided the best place to safeguard the little ones is in another part of the attic supposedly not resided in by Satan, Lord of the Lake of Fire. At this point, I remind you that this is, in fact, a dream.
Reportedly this other part of the attic was blocked off from the sections where fallen Lucifer made his abode. You make enquiries but the exact layout of the attic cannot be confirmed because the architect was not close enough family to be included in the houses’ permanent living arrangements. In any event, the attic had multiple entrances and divisions so you take the choice to hide the children in a small, forgotten nook.
Now, one of the children is your sister’s son and the other is a blur that could be a product of your own flesh, but the waters of family relationships have begun to muddy. Your sister’s son screams as you shut the door. You whip it back open to find the boy crying, his right leg discolored and shriveling before your eyes. The whole bottom half is one giant mass of a bruise like someone had given him a dying Congestive Heart Failure patient’s weeping limb in place of his own. You pull him and the muddy, blur child to safety as fast as you can. A form rises up out of the insulation where the children were standing like Baphomet coming to consume the sacrifices laid before him.
“Kuso!”
ECC: “Crap!”
You try to slam the door shut but the insulation devil catches it just in time and slipped right out of the attic and into the family hallway.
It was not the Adversary. It wasn’t even one being. It was a man, a woman, and a child. A family unit. The man wore traditional Japanese garb but carried a very modern pistol and looked in no mood to be tested. But you are in no mood to let him have his way either. You leap forward and grab him. His sumo skills are worthy but have clearly been dulled by his trust in modern weaponry and you begin to get the better of him. You recall twisting his arm almost to the point where the pistol is aimed at his own head, and then, just like that, you are somewhere else. You are some one else even.
You had been observing and participating simultaneously and now your POV has changed, not to mention the location of the scene. In fact, it wasn’t even the same scene. It was a different page on the script entirely. You are a bald man, and you are the one who put the family in the attic years ago. There was a reason. You can’t remember what it was, but you know it wasn’t wholly malicious. It was at least understandable depending on your point of view, even if it wasn’t the action that everyone might’ve taken given the mysterious and difficult circumstances. Yes, there may have been a very good reason. You wonder if this is what it’s like being on two sides of a conflict. Imagine being able to understand an argument from the two genuine perspectives at the same time. What a strange feeling that would be. To experience the feelings and live the history of your opponent. Even if you could see they were still wrong, how different might your communication be with them? You wonder if you might feel more compassion if you had to carry the weight of their life for a moment. You think of the old saying about walking in someone else’s shoes and you’re not sure you can understand the idea better than that. Perhaps communication, conflict even, should first include a couple of minutes where we take each other’s shoes off, get a good look at the feet of our opponent, then try to put those shoes on. After that, you can decide whether they’re the Devil or not and maybe that would be fair.
The bald man who you are and are watching had run away from the house. Maybe moments ago, maybe years. Now he is in a seaside village at night celebrating some festival or another. You/he are/is entertaining. You tell exciting stories and jokes that have your fellows doubling over with laughter. You feel their pleasure and enjoy being appreciated for your efforts.
But then, without warning, the good feelings drop away, and you see your expression fall. You see what your eyes see. At the edge of the firelight outside the village stands a man. The father from the attic, carrying his pistol. He stands there and you hope he agrees to try your shoes on. He stands and stares at you.When you awake you remember the fear of retribution, even for doing something you’re not entirely sure was wrong. Maybe the man carried around a pistol before he was put in the attic. Maybe he was a bully with his gun. Maybe he chose who got to be part of the family in the house and who didn’t. Maybe he was Satan. Or maybe he was an uncomfortable problem whose shoes and feet were too hard to look at or painful to wear. The attic is a good place for uncomfortable memories. You’re not sure about it all, so you put on your shoes and go to the park to walk it out.