by Kasey Endsley

Created on: November 29, 2008

Dreams are a portal into the subconscience mind. Or so, I have been told. Dreams enable you to see things that you normally couldn't. And In the morning, you wake up and go about your daily life.

"It's okay," I whisper to the group gathered around me. "We take our leave at sundown."

All of the humans in the pitiful group are staring at me, latched onto my every word. The boy of spiders whom I recognized at Demetri sits in his own corner of the small, derilict shack; no one likes him much. To the rest of the humans, he is simply another form of the death dealers. What they don't know is that we all owe him our lives.

The blare of an alarm goes off. I blink, looking around the room for a clock, even know I know there is none there. And then, I am awake. I am in my room again. There are no death dealers, and there are no monsters. I am me, and I am safe.

Horror dreams were what I expected. Once, as a child, a part of my dream resulted in my ankle getting caught in a bundle of barbed wire, and it hurt dearly in my mind. When I woke up, I found a small, red ring around the same ankle in my dream. Coincidence, I thought, wondering how it had appeared. I suppose from that day I should have realized it was not a coincidence.

When night comes again, I think nothing of my dream the night before. My routine is followed as usual, and I tuck myself into bed, feeling slighly tired, pleased from a good day.

As soon as I close my eyes, I am back.

"We missed you," Says Demetri wickedly. I blink, settling into the dream as people always do, for when you dream, you know everything that is happening. The other humans - I recognize a few of them, see their names flash in my mind - seem relieved to see me. Turning to look out the window, I see that night has fallen. It is time to relocate; the death dealers are always tracking.

"Come with me," I whisper to the others, automatically taking charge. Out of reflex from this world I know but have never been to, I put my hand up to cover my nose and mouth.

It's a shame I cannot shield my eyes.

The streets are covered in carnage. No bones remaine of the innocent lifes claimed, just blood and bits of skin. The skies are the color of dusty red, casting a horrid dark, red glow on the entire area. The smell can't be gaurded against, and the scent of decayed carcasses assault my nose. The other humans also shield their noses; however, Demetri seems to relish the scent, the taste of the air stifled with blood on his tounge.

A think shriek comes

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