Free The Nightmare Inflictor by Ginna Moran

1. CURSED
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    It’s been four days since I last inflicted a nightmare and if I don’t do it tonight, my father will start questioning why. I don’t want him to know how conflicted I am by inducing fear into others. How it makes me feel like a monster. He’d tell me that I don’t have a choice, that I have to do it to survive. Nightmares give me the sustenance I need. If only I had another option.
    I glance at the printout Roxanne, the Creature Council’s assistant, gave me a week ago. It’s a list of volunteers eager to experience the torment of a nightmare inflictor. I never understood why some people like to be scared, thrill-seekers and horror junkies, but what they don’t understand is I’m their worst nightmare. I never fail. My nightmare inflicting will haunt them forever.
    The first name on the page is Elizabeth Whitney. She’s a banshee from California, and here for another week.  I wish the council would tell me more about the volunteers, like why they’re here and why they volunteered, but all I get is the name, creature, and guest apartment number. Does it really matter? You’re not looking to be their friends. I push the thought away. It’s best to forget the dreamers anyway so I don’t obsess over their dreams once they’re gone.
    I slip from my room and rush to the lobby before I have a chance to sense my best friend, Alyssa Callaghan, asleep across the hall from my dorm room. She’s given me an open invitation to inflict nightmares on her if I need to, but I can’t bring myself to do it. She’d be my last resort.
    Warm air hits my face when I step from the building. The grounds are pristine and thriving with vegetation and life despite the dry weather. The forest nymphs that tend to our compound use their magic to keep our gardens flourishing. Everything’s always in season here.
    I turn right at the corner of the building and head in the direction of the guest apartments. It’s a large, concrete building with a flower painting on one of the walls. It’s two stories high with twenty-four rooms with private bathrooms and a lobby with a flat screen television and a few bookcases of books and magazines.
    I open the opaque glass door and glide into the brightly lit lobby. The television hums lowly, accidentally left on, and cool air embraces me. Most of the apartments are empty, but I sense four people sleeping in various rooms.
    Elizabeth’s room is the third door on the right in the hallway. Hunger burns in my stomach as I glide to her door. I touch my fingers to her doorknob, twisting it open, and soundlessly enter, clicking the door closed behind me.
    A tiny beam of fluorescent light from the crack under the door creeps across the floor of the dark room. It’s pointing toward the bed, guiding my way to the dreamer. Elizabeth sleeps on her stomach with her arm and leg draped over the edge of the twin bed. She has a mass of blue curls that spill over her yellow pillow and I brush my fingers through them. Turning her over, I study the freckles that sprinkle across her nose and cheeks, and then press my fingers to her temples. The world shifts and my stomach drops as I invade her head.
    Spinning around on the balls of my feet, I gaze at a beautiful garden. Blooming hydrangeas stand six feet tall and yellow rose bushes line a small block wall. The scent of roses encircles me as a warm breeze blows my white hair behind me.  This dream is magical and beautiful, and I can’t wait to destroy it.
    I plant my boots on the soft soil next to blooming, vibrant pink cyclamen. I run my fingers over the blossoming flowers and the petals sprinkle to the ground as the plant dies from my touch. I step forward and brush my fingers along the roses and then smack the hydrangeas with my palm, turning everything into rotting mush. I suck in breath after breath of the delectable nightmare, tasting honey and vanilla with every swallow.
    Dark clouds roll over the sunny sky and thunder