Wake Up Call

• Brooklyn O'neill, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2014

The Lake closed over her nose and mouth. Sara sucked in a lung full of cold, black water on her next breath. She opened her eyes and saw red LCD shiny things.
12.02 AM again.
Three nights in a row, she’d had the same dream, same time. Sweat dripped from her hair and drenched her nightgown. Sara stumbled to the bathroom, turning on all the lights to shake off the aura of the dream which still hung there.
Steam from the shower filled the bathroom and Sara breathed in deeply. She could smell the darkness of her dream. She dropped her head and closed her eyes, yet they snapped back open as a hissing vortex suddenly sucked all of the steam into the drain at her feet. In the same instant, a clammy dead hand slid across her shoulder. She screamed and threw her body against the shower wall, turning the shower head to the left. The water scalded her neck, shoulders and hands as she battled to stop the flow.
Adrenaline, pain and fear drove her stiffly from the shower. The room was bright and everything returned to normal but, her body shook convulsively and she reached for a towel to warm herself. The towel brushed her badly-burned shoulder and she hissed in pain. It sobered her and she headed to the kitchen where she kept the emergency burn salve.
In the kitchen the salve was already laid out with fresh gauze, waiting for her. Was she still in a dream?
Then an old woman spoke warmly.
“Here, let me get that for you. It was my fault, so sorry, but it’s awfully difficult to get your attention.”
Sara was frozen in shock.
The woman placed a cup in her hand.
“Here drink this coffee, you need it.”
Sara sipped wordlessly, numb to the unreality.
“I can’t stay long,” said the old woman. "Manifestation takes so much energy. It's easier to show up in a dream but you kept drowning on me.” She let out a little chortle.
Sara's shocked disbelief turned to annoyance and the very real pain in her shoulder made her angry.
“Well, you have got my attention now, what do you want?”
“It’s not what I want, but what you want my dear.”
“I want you to go and leave me alone!”
“That’s one option. You’ve been given a choice, and you are due to die.” The old woman let it sink in. “I am here to prove that we do go on after we die.
“That’s supposed to be reassuring?” The hair on Sara’s arm stood up.
“It's your choice if you tell people what you have experienced here tonight. For many people it gives them hope and dreams. See you at 12.02 tomorrow." As the last word left her lips the woman started to fade. “It’s up to you my dear.”
For the first time in days Sara felt calm. She placed a terry cloth robe gingerly on her freshly bandaged shoulder, took a sip of coffee and dialled the phone.