Dream Spinner
Crimson eyes glowered down at me from a stone ceiling. I glimpsed a bulbous, black form with yellow spots. A faint, flickering glow, perhaps from torchlight, would not allow me to make out many details — but what I saw was enough to drive a whimper from my lips and freeze my blood. I struggled to tear free, but whatever unseen forces locked me in place would not give way.
The gleaming eyes cut into me like razors, promising an agony-filled death. The huge bulk shifted, a ripple running along it — perhaps legs uncoiling. Then a pale mist shot down into my face and I was choking.
I lurched forward in my rocking chair, gasping for breath. The nightmare had been so vivid that my old heart fluttered and my hands shook.
My wife Geldra strode from the kitchen and approached me with an annoyed look. “Dreaming again, you old fool?” Her sagging face twisted with contempt. “You’re like a little boy. Why don’t you grow a backbone, Mouse?”
“My name’s not Mouse. Don’t call me that.”
Hands on her hips, Geldra leaned over me, her face smug. “What’s your name, then?”
It seemed I could almost recall a name from long ago when I was young. But my memory was worn out now, battered and foggy from years of Geldra’s revisionist belittling. “Mouse is what you call me,” I said. “But I wasn’t always named that. I had a real name once.”
She threw back her head, her laugher reeking with mockery. “You were a Mouse then, you’re a Mouse now, and you’ll be a Mouse on your death bed.”
