Dream's Locket

When I was a child, my mother spoke of those lost to Dream's Locket. Many flitted by there and forgot by morning, but those who remembered, who dreamed deeply enough, risked never making it back. 

I never truly listened. 

Golden spotlight shone against the lacquered floor, judges leaning forward in their chairs. A hush fell over the circular auditorium as I bowed, the audience gripping their armrests. Taking my seat at the leather piano bench, I let the music flow freely. A high pitched, repetitive melody lulled over the auditorium. Goosebumps sizzled over my arms. The circular movements of my hands on the piano were familiar, lifting and falling in perfect time with the music. The melody glided over the auditorium, the tips of the piano keys glowing gold as my fingers danced across them. The piano knew more of my secrets than any human did. My hidden dreams seeped into every crevice, my sorrow into every silence. It listened to me more than people, every day speaking the words that I could not. My piano at home contained the sweat from my fingertips, tears from lonely nights of practice, and blood from papercuts I received turning the pages too quickly. 

The keys bled into each other. My hands moved faster, faster, panic rising in my chest. No matter how quickly I played, the song always seemed several seconds behind. I had to play faster, or else–

The piano vanished. I plummeted into darkness. Warm air rushed up my arms,  warmth filling my body. My eyes widened. Something cold and wet gripped my hands behind my back, dragging me deeper, deeper into darkness. A scream slipped up my throat. My arms flailed against the grip. 

I jerked to a stop midair. Darkness wrapped me in a cocoon. Clenching every muscle, I took in deep breaths. With each breath, the pounding in my head steadily faded, and I heard the pounding of the piano keys easing back into a serenade. My chest ached, my fingers curling into the position they would be in at the start of the piece. Where I expected the sturdy weight of the keys, I found only emptiness. 

Where was I?

A lavender glow slid beneath my eyelids. Prying my eyes open, I squinted against the pale light. Prismatic fibers fluttered around me. The fibers twisted into silhouettes of people, each giving shocked expressions before the fibers scattered, out into a pastel pink sky. “Wait!” I stretched out a hand, my body twisting through the air. Refractions of glass shimmered below me, dozens of memories playing within the shards. I saw night after night of playing the piano, exhausted. In several, a toddler danced around the piano, and my eyebrows furrowed as I stopped playing. I could see my eyes twitch as the reflection turned to listen to my brother, watching him race a tiny toy car through the air. 

“Emma.” My little brother’s voice echoed around me, snapping my attention from the images. 

“Oliver?” My voice cracked, and I forced myself to take a deep breath, twisting my floating body back upright. “Where are you?”

“Here!” I looked up. Oliver’s round face, brown hair, and wide eyes made him look like an owl as he stared at me, spinning upside down. I reached up, pulling him down like a balloon. Easing him upright, I gently punched his shoulder. “You’ve got to be careful.” Fingers curling around mine, he squeezed gently. 

“Who is that?” He pointed in the distance. 

A tall man sent a tsunami of darkness towards the glass below, the images within twisting– the keys shattering into piercing glass, darkness creeping over until only the piano remained, the legs of the piano giving way to crush my brother. I gripped Oliver’s hand tightly, pulling him close. He looked at me curiously, then to the figure. 

Oliver’s head tilted. “Who are you?” He called.

The man looked over, a fanged smile slipping onto his face. “You don’t know who I am?” He rose upright, rising, growing until he towered above us, fangs glistening. His purple eyes gleamed as he stared into mine. “I am the puppeteer of dreams. I am a tsunami of nightmares. I am Zane, the king who shatters the cage of memory.” His long hair whipped behind him as he bent down, his breath wavering in the air. “I contort reality itself.” He bared his fangs. “And leave no gap behind.” 

Oliver stared at him. “Like a funhouse mirror?”

His face twisted, and he snatched Oliver from my grasp. Oliver squirmed in his hand. The screaming pierced my ears, high pitched as he reached out a hand. “EMMA!”

 Zane tightened his grip. Oliver wheezed. “I have no patience for games. I will use all of your energy to twist reality, until you are as feeble as the strands wandering here.”

I beat on his knee, screams ripping past my throat. “Let him go! That’s my brother!” 

Zane’s amethyst eyes stared at me as he tilted his head. “I think I’ll keep him here.”

Reality shattered. 

I bolted upright in my bed, my bedroom slowly easing back around me. I took deep breaths, wiping my forehead of the sweat that soaked it. I was out. I actually escaped Dream’s Locket.

My heart stopped. 

“Oliver!” The pit of my stomach churned. I poked my head out into the hallway. Oliver’s door was open, his lights out. I poked my head in, staring at the tangled sheets on the mattress. 

The house…wasn’t silent.

The soft, familiar plinks of an out-of-tune piano stabbed the air. As I crept into the living room, I saw my mom, eyes distant as she softly tinkered with the keys. She didn’t look up as I entered the living room.

“Mom...where’s Oliver at?”

She jerked at my voice. “Oliver?” Her eyebrows furrowed, her head tilting slightly as she turned her attention back to playing. “Is that the name of the boy across the street?”

Cold rushed up my body. My heart cantered in my chest, compressing tighter and tighter. “Nevermind.” Rushing back to my room, I fled to a corner, clinging my arms close to my body. Sweat rushed down my temple. Every breath seemed like it was coming in through a straw. My fingernails were squeezing red crescent marks into my arms, but I needed to squeeze something. 

“Not again.” My dad grumbled, emerging from his room with disheveled hair. Shadows filled under his eyes, likely from a lack of sleep from coming in from a late shift last night. As Dad stormed past Oliver’s room, I heard him pause. “When did we add posters to the guest room?” He shook his head, moving past. 

I took a deep breath. No one else was going to save Oliver. Only those who had entered Dream’s Locket before the person disappeared could remember them. If our own parents forgot Oliver, how would anyone else believe me? Who else would be willing to go?

Once my dad had moved on, I slipped into the office at the end of the hall, where a locket was hidden in a drawer, along with a pen and a notebook. My parents didn’t know I knew where it was. I slipped the objects out, holding the locket in one hand as the other flipped to the first empty page of the notebook. 

The only way to enter Dream’s Locket without falling asleep was to sacrifice some of your waking dreams. Frequent daydreams, hopes for the future, the pleasant thoughts flitting by. You would forget your passions and desires as swiftly as the waking world forgot people. The stronger the dream, the longer you could safely traverse the dream realm, and the longer the gateway home would remain open. 

I grasped the pen tightly in my hand, the golden glow illuminating my face. Hours of practice time flooded my mind. I remember my fingers slowly pressing the untuned keys, the repetitive spot working, musicality refinement, and the squeaky press of the pedal. Every day, something to work on. Every day, moving forward until the piano’s croaky voice sang properly.

Then starting all over again with each new piece. 

My other hand tightened over the locket, the metal jostling under the slightest weight. I had one chance. One chance to bring us home, or to roam in Dream’s Locket forever. 

Tears warmed my cheeks. I poured in my dreams of Julliard, the roars of standing ovations, the warm spotlight and the backing orchestra as my hands flew over a concerto. The pen wrote every dream across the page, every desire, until the locket in my hand burned the flesh of my palm. Still, I wrote. The golden light overflowed onto every square inch of the room, stretching into the hallway. The light grew brighter, grinding my teeth as I forced my other hand to keep writing through the pain. I splayed the hand holding the locket, the feeling of my arms falling to play fortissimo movements slowly pouring into the pen. The soft stroking of the keys during a quiet B part. The furious spree of vivace sonatas, the slow ostinato bass under a lilting melody, the rush of Flight of the Bumblebee, all buzzing into the pages. My entire future, my career plans, thousands of hours and dollars spewed into the pen.

Maybe it was destiny to be forgotten on this earth by those who never knew them. But while alive, my brother would be remembered and loved, even if it was the last thing I ever did. 

Glowing, golden strands burst from the locket. They danced through the air, weaving together until a portal my height tore the center of the room. The metal of the locket melded with my palm, and the clasp snapped off. I took a deep breath. The final gateway to Dream’s Locket hummed before me.

Warmth spread down my cheeks. I wiped my face and stared at my hands. Why was I crying? A hole stitched in my chest. I stifled a sob, wiping my eyes in vain as more tears fell. My heart squeezed tightly, and I grabbed a handful of tissues, stuffing them in my pocket. I could grieve later, as long as it took for a forgotten dream. Right now, Oliver needed me. 

“I will find you.” I swore, voice hitching. 

I stepped through the portal, becoming ripped from reality.