Sleeper(s)

 

 

 

 

prologue

Suzie had a recurring dream. 

In it she was a little girl, no more than about eight. Her parents had taken her to a country park somewhere, all trees, rolling hills and looking-glass lakes. They were having a picnic by one of those lakes, the chequered blanket spread out on the grass, and Suzie was basking in the warmth of the late August sun. 

Her mum and dad were smiling, laughing. It was a good time, a good dream. Suzie ate and ate until she thought she might burst: sandwiches, sausage rolls (her absolute favourite), crisps; and then ice cream, chocolates, fancy buns with icing on them her mother had made. There were birds singing, and Suzie looked up at the sky to see some of them flapping overhead—a V-like formation, like the Red Arrows had flown in at that air display her folks had taken her to. 

Closer to the ground, a butterfly flew past, the oranges and blacks so rich it looked like it had just been painted into the scene. Suzie got up and chased it, her summer dress flapping in the breeze, vaguely hearing her parents’ calls from behind about not going too far. Suzie giggled as she ran after the butterfly, reaching out for it but never really coming close: it would dodge her grasp, zipping sideways or rising up just above her head, forcing her to jump—then it would dive-bomb and she’d miss it again. 

She lost it a couple of times, when it took a left turn into some foliage, but she soon found it again. Its colour was a dead giveaway against all the surrounding greens. After more chasing, Suzie eventually found the insect, which had settled on the outskirts of a meadow, near to some flowers. And, as Suzie drew nearer, her focus shifted from that butterfly to the even more colourful blooms. In fact, the butterfly flapped off and she barely even noticed its departure. 

Step by step, mesmerized, she approached—cocking her head, taking in the sight of those flowers: which were at once yellow and red and blue and... They were all kinds of colours at once it seemed, like they’d fallen with a shower and sprouted up at the base of a rainbow recently.

Suzie grinned; she’d never seen anything quite like them. Probably never would again. She just had to smell one, to see if the bouquet matched the spectacle in front of her. Suzie reached down, just as she’d reached out for that butterfly not so long ago—that creature so far from her mind now. The only thing she could see, the only thing she wanted to, was the tallest of the flowers. It was so pretty, so bright! The way the petals opened, perhaps even more as she bent down to smell it. 

The scent was strong, not quite overpowering but getting there. It was also as sweet as she imagined it would be. Suzie couldn’t resist; her hand was out before she could stop herself. And, suddenly, she’d plucked the largest flower from its nest and was bringing it up to her nose, to draw it even closer—to take in more of the smell and the colours (the ever-shifting colours?). 

That was when it happened. As she rose, taking the flower with her, she felt a sharp pain in her fingers. Suzie let out a loud ‘Ouch!’ then looked down to see what had happened. There were thorns on the stalk. She could have sworn they weren’t there before: she wouldn’t have grabbed hold of it if they had been. Thorns that ran the length of the stem, jutting out now like lethal spikes. There was no way at least one or two of them wouldn’t pierce her skin—and she saw now, as she examined the wound more intently, that they had indeed drawn blood. 

Frowning, Suzie lowered the flower from her face. Then the frown deepened as her brow knitted with anger. She threw the thing down, sticking her finger in her mouth and sucking at the same time. Suzie gazed at the monster that had had the audacity to look so welcoming, so attractive—that had lured her into its trap, like a fly in a spider’s web. Well, this was one fly who could fight back, because it was bigger, so much bigger than the spider. 

Suzie stamped on the flower, crushing it, grinding it into the earth until it was in pieces. But she didn’t stop there: she trampled on the rest of the bunch, its companions—co-conspirators—finally jumping up and down on their remains until she was satisfied there was nothing left. 

However, the plant now strewn at her feet would have the last laugh after all, it seemed. Suzie began to feel strange, odd... dizzy. Suzie shook her head. She had to get back to her mum and dad. They were important, clever people; they’d know what to do. This plant had obviously poisoned her and now she was going to die. Yes, she felt sure of it. 

I’m going to die, said a voice in her head.

No, you’re not, said another, altogether more comforting and less pessimistic voice.  

Run... I’ve got to try and run, retrace my steps and—

Suzie made to set off, but the sensation of moving made her feel sick. She had to do this, though, had to get back to her parents. 

Suzie took another step and it felt like she was walking on the moon—like those astronauts she’d seen on the TV. She’d always thought that looked kinda fun, yet this was anything but. It was like trying to walk through tar. 

The sound of those birds overhead had been replaced by something much louder, and she looked up, though it made her more disorientated to do so. The birds had changed into planes—not the Red Arrows, but similar—flying overhead. And somehow Suzie knew that they were watching her, watching everyone on the ground. No, they hadn’t transformed at all, because the real birds were lying scattered all around, as if they’d fallen from the sky in mid-flight.  

She stumbled a couple more steps, feeling like her stomach was rising up into her throat. If she could just actually be sick, it might help, but something was preventing this, keeping all that poison locked up inside her body where it could do the most damage. 

No, not poison. It was like a darkness, but a dark you could feel. Suzie realised that now, as it spread throughout her, from her fingertips, up her arm, into her core. She was blinking furiously, still attempting to make some headway with the running—and fully aware of the fact that she wasn’t even walking yet. 

Come on, got to get to Mum and... and Dad...  

But you’re so tired. Why don’t you just have a little nap first? You’ll feel much better afterwards. Promise. 

Suzie pitched forward, aware of the pain in her bare knees as they hit the ground. Her vision was blurring even more, the meadow in front of her becoming like a magic carpet ride she would take to dreamland—except she was already there, wasn’t she? Oh, this was so confusing, and she didn’t have the energy to try and work it out. 

Suzie yawned. The longest, loudest yawn she’d ever done. 

Her eyelids were so heavy now, but how could that be? How could you fall asleep when you were already dreaming? She remembered something they’d covered in school the previous Halloween. About a writer and one of his poems, about dreams within dreams, but she hadn’t really been paying attention and couldn’t for the life of her recall his name. 

It wasn’t important anyway; the darkness was reaching upwards, into her head: filling up her cheeks, and stuffing her brain full of cotton wool. She could see nothing now, except a murky gloom. But she could still hear the jets of those planes, which had replaced the—dead?—birds and their song. She could hear something just above that, too, the sound of familiar voices calling. 

Her parents, shouting out her name, closer, closer... searching when they hadn’t been able to find her. Their cries becoming frantic the louder and nearer they came. They were calling her name, demanding that she answer them. But she couldn’t; she was just too tired, and she knew already she was on the grass, laying there fast asleep. 

Knew also, sadly, that she would not be able to answer those calls for a long, long time.