The Boy with Sapphire Eyes

     Rosethorn was being tormented by a dead ghost.

     She didn’t understand why; she hadn’t done anything wrong! Rosethorn, 25, lived in Chicago, worked as an editor for a popular newspaper, and had two pet cats. Just another ordinary folk in a world full of ordinary people.

     So of course Rosethorn would be frightened and perplexed when a demon started haunting her dreams.

     The first night it happened, Rosethorn brushed it off as just another nightmare. She had had her fair share of those in the past. Rosethorn went about with her day, editing newspapers and spending time with her cats, Sophie and Yoyo. 

     What was the dream about? Well, it was actually quite disturbing. Rosethorn had been running down a damp, dark sewer tunnel, surrounded by darkness and searching out the light at the end of the tunnel. But no matter how far she got, or how fast she ran, Rosethorn could never catch up. She had been stuck in the tunnel.

     Then there was a voice. That of a young child. Rosethorn had turned around to see a little boy, around the age of 8 or 9, with wide blue sapphire eyes and dressed in a white and blue sailor outfit.

     “I’m lost.” The boy had said in an innocent, scared voice. “Can you help me find my mommy?”

     Rosethorn had smiled, picked him up, and promised that she would get the two of them out of the sewer tunnel and up into the city to search for his mama. But when she looked back up again, the light at the end of the tunnel was gone.

     Rosethorn was trapped in the tunnel, with a little boy crying for his mommy.

     “The shadows are approaching.” The little boy said, pointing to the encroaching darkness with a tiny, wobbly finger. 

     Rosethorn had been terrified. She ran as fast as she could blindly in any direction, but the shadows just kept coming. The little boy in her arms didn’t seem scared any longer, however.

     “I’m lost.” He said again, in a cute, innocent, yet slightly mocking voice. “Can you help me find my mommy?”

     Rosethorn glanced down at the child, only, to her shock, for him to blur and vanish into nothingness. She stopped, looking around for where the boy had gone.

     “I’m lost. Can you help me find my mommy? I’m lost. Can you help me find my mommy? I’m lost. Can you help me find my mommy?” Voices began to chant from the shadows, malice and glee rising through the undertones and gaining momentum. The shadows reached out, with their gnarly, black tendrils, and the last thing Rosethorn saw before she awoke with a startle was a pair of glowing narrowed red eyes, staring at her from the darkness.

     The next night, Rosethorn dreamt of winning the lottery. But when she came to collect the money, the boy was there again, saying the same phrase in that cute, innocent voice of his. 

     But Rosethorn knew better. Rosethorn had immediately figured out that it was highly unlikely that a person or thing from one dream would transcend into another, especially considering that the boy was a figure of her imagination, and not even anyone she knew.

     The next night, Rosethorn was planting roses when the boy came out of the rose bushes and asked for help.

     The night after that, Rosethorn dreamt of skydiving. But when she fell into a storm cloud, the boy was there again.

     The night leading up to the present day, Rosethorn was skiing on Mount Everest. But when an avalanche rained snow and ice down upon her, the boy was there again. Chanting.

     Asking.

     Terrifying the living daylights out of her.

     Rosethorn shuddered in the cold November breeze as she walked briskly through the crowded streets of Chicago on her way to work. Every night, she had a dream different to the one before. And on occasion, something she had been really focusing on lately would reappear one way or another in consecutive dreams. But those were things that Rosethorn knew and loved in real life. 

     The boy wasn’t real. The boy wasn’t someone from a story or show that Rosethorn had known. The boy shouldn’t have existed!

     Yet there he was. In her dreams. For five consecutive days. 

     Something was terribly wrong.

     Rosethorn had consulted her best friend Terra about her nightmarish dreams. Terra had told her that she was most likely hallucinating. After all, there was an unbreakable line between dreams and reality! What happens in her dreams stays in her dreams. The boy was just another figment of Rosethorn’s wild imagination, and he would fade with time.

     Rosethorn hoped that what Terra had said was true. She desperately prayed that it was.

     But all hopes came crashing down when Rosethorn took a shortcut through an alleyway to work and a small hand tugged gently on her coat.

     Rosethorn looked down, and sucked in a sharp breath. Her silvery gray eyes widened until you could barely see the white of her eyes. 

     Standing before her, next to a rotten dumpster, was the same little boy haunting her dreams. He had the exact same black hair, wide blue eyes, and sailor outfit. Those wide orbs were filled with the same fraud and mocking innocence and fear. 

     “You’re…” Rosethorn began to hyperventilate, staggering away from the boy. It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it can’t be real—

     “I’m lost.” The little boy whimpered. “Can you help me find my mommy?”

     An ear-piercing scream tore through the alleyway.

     From that day forward, Rosethorn Waters was never to be seen again. Her close friends and family were frantic, and the police conducted a thorough search. Eventually, they managed to pinpoint Rosethorn’s last known location to be an alleyway between Walter Street and 18th Ave. But there were no signs of a struggle. No signs of a murder, either.

     The only thing that was there was a soft black feather, lying on the ground where Rosethorn had vanished.