Unnoticed by either staff or guests, a thin, silvery grey mist slid into the lobby of the building, up the carpeted stairway, and down the hall. It moved slower now, seeming to pause at the door of each room. It was coming, just as it had done so many times, and always when she was alone. She tried to scream but her vocal cords were paralyzed, like the rest of her body.
Sara-Lyn Jones sat bolt upright in her bed, eyes snapping wide open, heart pounding in terror, her body bathed in a cold sweat. Fearfully, she looked around the room. Everything appeared normal. Nothing appeared to be out of place.
She knew she’d been dreaming again, but it was always the same dream. This had been going on for months now, disturbing her rest until she was unable to function properly at work, or anywhere else. She was totally exhausted, losing weight, and dozing off at the most inopportune times. Finally, in despair, she had checked into a rest home for rest and therapy, hoping to rid herself of this recurring nightmare and regain her sanity and some semblance of her former energy and drive. In actual fact, she needed to regain control of her life.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“You’ll suffer burn-out before you reach thirty! Slow down and live, for Pete’s sake!”
“I’m not interested in living for Pete’s sake, Marianne,” Sara told her roommate, as she dressed for another evening out. “I’m living for my sake and I plan to live life to the fullest.”
That night the dreams had started. And it was always the same dream. The first time she had not thought much of it. It happened again several nights later, when Marianne had gone home for the weekend. Sara was in the apartment alone. She had decided to take Marianne’s advice and get some rest. So after watching some old horror movie on television, she went to bed. One early night out of her busy social schedule wouldn’t mean much.
As she slept, the dream crept upon her. Her subconscious mind watched as a mist, like a streak of liquid silver, squeezed in beneath the lobby door of her apartment building. It hung, like clinging ivy, around the name plates beside the door buzzers. Then it floated into the elevator shaft and floated up to the third floor. Sliding purposefully along the hallway, it stopped and swept silently into the apartment, and then into Sara’s bedroom. She felt a smooth coolness on her cheek, like the gentle caress of icy fingers.
Sara woke up suddenly, with fear flooding over her like a cold shower. She had the uneasy feeling that someone, or something, had been in her room. Hesitantly, picking up a high-heeled shoe to use as a weapon, she got up and searched the room. Nothing. It was the same in the rest of the apartment. There was no sign of any disturbance. Everything was locked up tight, just as it had been when she went to bed. She checked Marianne’s room to make sure that she had not cut her weekend short and returned early, but her room was empty.
