Moonheart by Charles De Lint Read Free Book Online Page B

martin or a weasel. A rank odor filled her nostrils, choking her. The creature opened a gaping mouth filled with long rows of yellow teeth and lunged at her.
    Screaming, Sara backed frantically, but there was no purchase for her feet. Freefalling, the brown-grey mist stuck to her like spiderwebs and she couldn't get away from the creature. The open jaws filled her sight. Its breath was hot on her face. She could feel the jaws closing on her, snapping shut, the teeth tearing into her face, crushing bone—
    She awoke, bolt upright in her bed, pulse pounding like a jackhammer, her nightgown plastered to her goosebumped skin. She stared wildly around her bedroom, needing the familiarity of it to bring her back down to earth. The moon shone through the latticework of her windows, throwing strange shadows across the floor and walls, but they were familiar shadows. She'd seen them a thousand times before. There was nothing hidden in them except for her furniture and her books and her guitars. No gape-jawed monsters. No Indian shamans with bear heads superimposed over their features. No bard/stags.
    She glanced at her nightstand and was glad that she'd left the painting in the Postman's Room. She wasn't quite ready to look at it just now. Then slowly, as her pulse steadied, she began to calm down. The rush of adrenaline drained away and she leaned weakly against the headboard for a long time before she felt ready to try closing her eyes again. She was lonely lying there in her big bed tonight and wished Stephan was with her.
    Stephan Greer was her last boyfriend, a dark-haired potter with solemn dark brown eyes and strong hands. They'd broken up in September because of an old argument that finally came to a head. Stephan wanted them to live together, and not in the House, while Sara wasn't quite ready for either that close a relationship or a move— at least not with him, or not just then. Patience hadn't been one of Stephan's strong points. Nor understanding, when she thought about it. She was probably better off without him, but right now none of that seemed to matter. She just wanted someone to hold her and say that everything was all right.
    She tried not to think of her dream, nor the weird connection it had with this afternoon's find, but it didn't do much good. She tossed and turned and thought a whole lot more about it all until she was too wide awake to lie in bed and try to sleep anymore. She turned on her bedside light and the latticework shadows fled. Propping up a pillow against the headboard, she thought some more, felt stifled, opened the window, which didn't help, and decided to go for a walk in the garden.
    She changed from her flannel nightgown into jeans and a sweater, dug up a pair of running shoes and a woolen jacket. Feeling well-prepared to meet whatever the November night might throw at her, she left her bedroom, her runners making squeechy noises on the hardwood floor of her workroom that the carpets of the sitting room and the halls outside swallowed.
    Passing the Firecat's Room, she could hear Blue and Sally conversing in quiet tones, with soft laughter spilling in between the sentences, and another pang of loneliness ran through her. They were playing a John Renbourn record and the gentle guitar music followed her further down the hall than their voices. She named the rooms to herself as she continued on. One summer she and Jamie had tried to name all the rooms, but they had given up before they were halfway through, deciding that it was better for them to acquire names on their own rather than being fitted with them in such a haphazard manner.
    When she reached the garden she chose a path at random, knowing that for all its twists and turns it would ultimately bring her to the knoll in the center. As she walked, she went back to considering her dream and what, if any, meaning it might have. Jamie always said that you could find one if you tried hard enough.
    Lost in reflection, she turned a corner and