My Dream

By Ava Romberg

This is based off a dream I had.



It is late at night in the small town. It is dark everywhere, except for one little shop, where the lights are still shining. Inside, half a dozen adults are finishing up their meal, while a young girl gets her hair cut. There is very little room in this town, and you can often find two businesses in the same building.

Then, when no one expects it, the door opens. In walks a woman. She is tall, and wearing a long black dress that no one had ever seen the likes of around here. Walking to the front, she reaches out her hand and speaks two words.

"The usual." Her voice is tired and lonely.

And although no one here knows who she is, much less her usual late night meal, the man behind the counter reaches down, and when he comes up, he has in his hands a salad and a small box. He sets them on the counter. Then he removes his uniform. Everyone watches as he walks out the door. Then he is gone. Taking them from the counter, the stranger sits down. As if something about her were repelling, all other customers hurriedly gulp down their food and leave. Now it is only the barber, the stranger, and the little girl. When she is done, the woman stands up. She tucks the empty salad bowl and the box into her dress, and steps through the door, just like the cook before her.

"And without even paying," mutters the barber. The girl just looks at him. She is still too young to understand. There are no visitors here. No one sets foot here unless it is their home. The barber continues to trim the little girl's hair, and her dark waves fall to the floor like autumn leaves in the wind.

Exactly one minute passes. Then an eerie noise rises up from the night. A terrible, frightened scream. Then the lights go out in the shop. The girl looks up, her eyes wide. She starts to cry. The barber tries to calm her, but he is shaking too. Eventually, someone calls the ambulance. The scream has stopped now, and the barber hears the sirens in the darkness outside their small refuge.

Outside, along the road out of town, the ambulance drivers find the body. They load it into the back of the car, even though they know there is no hope. Whatever had happened, it was fatal. Paying no attention to the intricately carved wooden box or shards of a ceramic salad bowl, they drive away. The next day, the hospital closed down and no living soul ever saw those ambulance drivers again.

Every year after that, for decades, the scream echoed again, just as the barber and the little girl had first heard it. It became a local holiday, and young boys and girls would stay up late into the night with their parents and join the circle of citizens holding hands around the spot where the scream had first been made, listening as it wailed. At first, locals thought it was a ghost. Then they figured it was naughty boys playing a joke. But, as the story spread, everyone came to believe what had really happened that night, long ago. For the first eight years or so, it scared them. They would form a hand holding circle only out of respect, and fear of what might happen if they didn't. But then the locals began bringing food and desert and music, and they started to enjoy and look forward to it. And then, one year, the scream never came.