Free Night Shade by Helen Harper

Two nights ago, I had no human contact but I ended up in the forest; I have scratches on my legs to prove it. Last night, however, the last person I touched was my mother and I ended up in the forest again. Followed by the place that Bron called the Dreamlands, where I drank beer. Now I have a hangover. Obviously whatever physical experiences I have when I dream manifest themselves into reality.
    I think about the Dreamlands and the way people there interacted with me in a way that neither Hartman nor the postman had. Lilith aside, the others all seemed to recognise the dream quality. Was it possible that they were experiencing the same thing as me? It does make a kind of sense; it would be beyond belief to imagine I’m unique.
    The pattern of where I end up when I fall asleep doesn’t fit. Maybe I didn’t end up in my mother’s dream because she was a family member? But why didn’t I end up in Rawlins’ dream? I stand back and examine my diagram thoughtfully. It’s a shame I’m not more of an artist.
    I abandon my chart and turn to the internet, searching for ways to prevent dreams. I scroll through various pages and websites, reading about remedies ranging from chewing mustard seeds to lavender oil on your pillow to hard drugs. Then something catches my eye. I grab the phone and dial.
    ‘Mum?’ I say as soon as she answers. ‘I need to ask you a quick question.’
    Her voice is sleepy and I realise it’s barely seven o’clock on a Sunday morning. I must have woken her up. ‘Zoe? What’s wrong?’
    Damn it. I’ve worried her now. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. I just wanted to ask you if you still had the present Aunt Brenda gave you last year.’
    ‘Huh?’
    ‘The one she brought back from America. The dream-catcher.’
    ‘Oh. That thing. Zoe, what on earth is this about?’
    ‘Do you still have it?’ I persist.
    ‘Yes, it’s hanging up on my window. What’s going on?’
    ‘Nothing,’ I quickly say. ‘Go back to sleep.’
    I hang up. So maybe dream-catchers work after all. I think about Rawlins. Phoning up a police officer to ask them if they own a Native American craft piece is definitely weird but I dig out her number and call.
    ‘This is Sergeant Rawlins.’ Unlike my mother, she sounds wide awake. At least that’s something.
    ‘Hi, it’s Zoe Lydon.’
    ‘What’s wrong?’
    ‘Er, nothing. I just ... um, do you have a dream-catcher?’
    ‘What?’
    I wince. ‘You know, one of those circles with the string and the feathers?’
    ‘I know what a dream-catcher is, Ms Lydon. What I don’t know is why you’re calling me up first thing in the morning to ask me such a personal question.’
    It could be worse. It wasn’t like I was asking her to describe her underwear drawer. ‘Please,’ I say. ‘I know it sounds strange but it’s, um, research I’m conducting for my work. There aren’t many people these days who I can ask.’
    Rawlins, thankfully, seems to buy my explanation. ‘Then the answer is no, I do not own a dream-catcher.’ Disappointed, I’m about to thank her for her time when she continues. ‘I’m not sure how much good one would do me anyway. I rarely see my bed these days.’
    I freeze. ‘You’re on night shift?’
    ‘Twelve till twelve,’ she says. ‘Yesterday, today and tomorrow. Government cutbacks.’
    I make a noise that hopefully suggests commiseration and hang up. I didn’t share my mother’s dreams because of the dream-catcher and I didn’t share Sergeant Rawlins’ dreams because she didn’t sleep.
    I swivel round and stare at the diagram. I think I’m starting to understand what’s going on, even if I don’t have the faintest idea as to why.
    ***
    I ’m desperate to get back to the Dreamlands and find Ashley again. I’m certain she’ll provide me with more answers. But, thanks to my enforced solitude, I’m no longer as trusting as I used to be. I want to test my theories first before I trust a stranger who may not even be real. So I decide to