NeverSeen

Chapter 1:

Good Morning

~an excerpt

I awoke with a start, panting into my wet pillow. My sheets were in the worst shape I’d seen in ages, and that was saying something. I was drenched in sweat and very cold, despite the gentle touch of just-cool-enough, fresh, spring air coming in through my bedroom window. It wasn’t yet dawn. Threads of cool, pale moonlight drifted through my curtain, unconcerned with my current mental state. I sat on the edge of my bed, shivering uncontrollably and hyperventilating. Well practiced in the art of breath control, I forced myself to slow down, altering my short, shallow gasps into elongated, enriching sighs. I stared at my sorry reflection in the portrait mirror on my dresser, which was as frustrated and disturbed as I was. Yet another night with an hour short on sleep. I had to get this out of my head.

My secret notebook emerged for the fourth night in a row from my dresser and was opened up embarrassingly on my desk in front of the window. My window was the perfect size for me. It had space enough to see the skyline but was small enough that you could go quite unnoticed behind the curtains as you contemplated the deep mysteries of the ages. But not tonight or for many past nights for me. I brushed last night’s drawings of leaves and birds and creatures of lore and magic to the side and poured my horrifying nightmare onto the rapidly decreasing supply of blank sheets in my notebook.

Every detail, every sensation was stripped to the bone and laid bare on those precious pages of my uppermost privacy and secrecy.

This notebook cradled my sanity. It was my dreamlog. It contained every strange dream I could recall; as such, it was volume twelve of my dreamlog series. Yeah, I had weird dreams a lot. But they weren’t just weird. They were much more than that. And that was why this dream in particular was that much more terrifying to my sensitive little heart.

I didn’t tell anyone about my secret notebook of dreams, with the exception of my best friend, Sameela O’Klurn. We looked out for each other and kept each other’s secrets. She was the only person who knew I had a history of night terrors, but even then, I told her as little as I could. Sometimes the less you know, the safer you’ll be if someone starts snooping.

Besides her, I had never told anyone else why I looked so tired and acted so jumpy sometimes, but I knew Ashleeka had figured me out a long time ago. Ashleeka is my seven-year-old sister, but she has wisdom beyond her years. She has an uncanny ability of perception and philosophy that blows my mind every day. But hardly anyone knows about it because she rarely speaks. To anyone—even her parents. She mostly talks to me and that’s it. My name is Emmaline O’Meern.