Celaeno Solaris; A Psychic's Tale

In my dreams, I am underwater.
I swim along pleasantly for what feels like minutes, but could just as easily be millenia. My mind is free of all negative thoughts, and I feel as light as the air itself. This, I realise, is sheer bliss. I feel carefree. I am strangely aware of my surroundings, as if seeing everything through new eyes. I see the blue water which envelopes me, the colour intensified. The sea-bed is strewn with brightly coloured plants, waving gently in the non-existent wind. Sea creatures dart into every crevice, the braver approaching me, brushing up against my hair, which floats around me like dark sea-weed. The sand is the colour of gold, and impossibly silky to touch.
Suddenly, the warm water freezes. My hair twists around my neck, preventing me from breathing. With a jolt, I see a shark, gliding smoothly towards me, it's face blurred. It is flanked by two octopus, who seem to be taking sickening pleasure in lashing out and strangling the fleeing sea-creatures. My fingers scrape frantically at my neck, trying to rip the hair, to force it to let go, because I know that if I fail to free myself before the shark reaches me, I will be killed. And there is no pleading with a creature as cold-blooded as this shark.
With the shark advancing, I abandon my failed attempts to free myself, and twist in the water, kicking my legs and flapping my arms fruitlessly. Shocked, I watch in horror as my own limbs turn on me, my hands forcing my feet together, tying up my legs with sea-weed. The shark advances, coming ever nearer, and with it, my death stalks me, drawing my life to a close. It's face is still indistinguishable. I give up fighting, stop flailing in the water. I must. I must greet death willingly, for if I do not, I will, am sure, be trapped on the earth as a ghost for the rest of eternity. I must not fight.
The sharks tail flicks, propelling it nearer and nearer to me. I lower my eyes, for I cannot trust myself not to cry out if I look directly at the horrific creature. I feel the water around me ripple, as it circles me, observing, only observing. But I daren't raise my head, daren't make eye contact, for fear of startling the creature into sudden attack. Suddenly, I feel one of the octopuses curling it's tentacles around my ankles. Gripped with fear I look up into the purple eyes of my attacker. A smile lurks behind the black pupils. I am tipped onto my back, suspended in the water. Dark thoughts cloud my mind. A tug at my feet tells me I am being pulled through the water, dragged after the horrific parade. I am frozen rigid with fear.
Eventually, we seem to reach our destination, as the sea life is no longer flashing past my darting eyes. My stomach is doing cartwheels inside me. I am pulled back up to a standing position, the octopuses now grinning openly at me, their faces alive with malice. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the great grey shark, pacing through the water. I still cannot see it's face. They have taken me to the entrance to a dark cave,the mouth of which is lined with jagged rocks. On the whole, it gives the impression of a gaping mouth, threatening to swallow me whole. A thought dawns on me; I have never seen these creatures before. What could I have possibly done to bring their wrath down on me? But maybe, I think hopefully, maybe this isn't wrath. Maybe they're not going to eat me, or kill me…But in my heart of hearts, I know the truth.
The shark whips around in the water once more.
I shut my eyes tight, and clench my fists. It is only now that I think to question how I can breath underwater; as soon as I do, it gets harder and harder, until eventually I can no longer breath. My lungs struggle to obtain oxygen, and my head feels light. The water around me has become stormy. I open my eyes, my vision interrupted by spots of black, and I know I'm about to pass out. I turn my head, and glimpse the shark turning around and darting straight at me. It's strong jaws lock around my leg, and with a dull pain, it becomes disconnected with my body. All of my senses have weakened, something I am glad of in the current turn of events. The water around me has warmed up again, stained red by my blood. Most of my vision has gone, and the shark retreats, ready to have another go. My head feels like it's about to explode. The last thing I see is the shark's face, suddenly highlighted, perfect in every detail. The eyes of Sharon stare out at me from the horrific face, now partly obscured by the bloody water.

I jolt awake quickly, stay lying in bed, frozen with horror. It was just a dream, I tell myself quickly, just a dream. But that doesn't make me any less scared. My heart pounds ferociously against my ribcage. My head feels as if it's about to explode. I breath heavily through my mouth, my chest heaving; which is odd. My breathing must have been obstructed when I was sleeping...
I lie there for a while, staring at the ceiling through the darkness. I don't worry about Sharon; it can't be dawn yet. I have nothing to fear; she can't send me to Monica without reason.
Monica lives in the tallest tower, isolated from all others. Every so often, Sharon sends some unfortunate soul up to the tower as a punishment. The tower is cold, dark, dank. The floorboards creak with every tentative step, and the walls seem to emit a rank smell. But that isn't the worst part.
Every person who has ever entered the tower has failed to re-emerge. Every person except one.
All of the things we know about Monica's tower come from one person; Patty Wilson. She was sent up by Sharon at the age of four, for doing the unspeakable: she talked back to Sharon. But as she was so unbelievably young, Sharon went to fetch her after just a couple of hours. Coming into the kitchen, shaking like a leaf in the winter wind, she told us a story, a story of a terrible place, with a dark figure emitting frightening whimpers and occasionally screeching at the top of her weak lungs for no visible reason. The reverberating screams of protest from Monica's nails ring in your ears, and the air is thick with the smell of mould. Your breath rises in clouds before you, obscuring your senses, blocking your view. The only sounds are the deep, rasping breaths from the corner, and rats, scuttling, unseen, in the dark corners of the room. Halfway through her sentence, she was approachedd by Monica. Gripping her arm in a vice-like hold, she whispered in her ear, her nails digging into Patty's fore-arm. She whispered crazy notions into Patty's ear; “The hour is upon us..... we must sacrifice the child now if we wish to live... the time has come...”
But Patty was soon silenced, and many of us think it was Monica herself who silenced her, through her dreams. For Patty always complained of little sleep from that day, and she could often be heard late at night screaming in her sleep, a horrible, tortured cry that rang out among the rooms and echoed throughout the empty corridors....
I turn to look at the clock; with a shock, I see that I am three minutes late getting up. I jump out of bed, throw on the first clothes I come to, and rush out the door.


My stomach is sick with fear as I descend the never-ending, winding staircase; not that I'm complaining. I would walk down staircase after winding staircase if I ever thought it would prevent me from facing Sharon.
Sharon is the owner of the orphanage. She's... not the nicest of people, to say the least. Her tongue cuts through you like a knife. Her pupils are bottomless pits of deepest black; her irises perfect rings of cold, unforgiving, icy blue water. They can see every lie, tell if you are hiding anything. In this house, there are no secrets.
Her hair falls in perfect, precise curls of spun gold. Her skin is pale and creamy; no freckles dot her flawless complexion. Her smile is like hat of a crocodiles; it never reaches her eyes. She has the lithe body of a dancer, she appears fragile, warm, but if you were to stand near her, you would find coldness emanates from her. She seems to float rather than walk, and when she approaches you, it seems strangely surreal, like an illusion. But no matter what she seems, Sharon is a terrible person.
By this point, I have reached the bottom of the staircase, and have the dazzlingly beautiful face of Sharon smiling blankly at me. "Why are you so late, Calaeno?" she inquires acidly, her tone contradicting her expression. "I-it's only th-th-th-three minutes. Surely I can m-make up for it tonight?" I stammer nervously, scrutinising her face for any change of expression that might help me determine my fate. It is pointless. Her placidly smiling face is as infuriatingly blank as ever.
"Oh, no Miss Solaris," she answers smoothly. "No, you know I don't permit work after hours. You'll just have to spend a night or two with Monica. She'll make sure you get up every morning at the allocotted time." I feel my legs trembling, threatening to give way. "N-no, Sharon. Please. I'll do anything," I whimper, pathetically. Her face hardens."Miss Solaris," she says coldly."There are no second chances in life. Now, to the top of the tower with you. And bring a candle. It tends to get quite dark up there." She smiles wickedly. She knows good and well that I have a severe phobia of heights. I sigh and nod in acceptance. I know she will not relent. I awoke three minutes late, and now I must face the consequences.

The candle casts a low flickering light across the metal walls. Shadows dancing across the walls seem to grow, until ten foot monsters are towering over me, menacing grins dominating their shadowy features. My bare feet are warm against the cold stone steps, my fingers clutching the candle tightly. I fight the waves of panic threatening to engulf me, control my breathing. I cannot let myself hyperventilate at a time like this; the last time, Sharon just locked me in my room for a few days until I got over it. Here, I would be trapped in a cage of fear and darkness until I could find the courage I required to heave myself up, and continue until I found Monica.
My breathing is even, if slightly rapid. I ascend hastily. The stairs come to a sudden halt, and I am faced with a heavily bolted iron door. I reach for the handle, but pull away in shock almost immediately. A cloud of smoke obscures my vision; almost as quickly as it appeared, it's gone again. I am frozen with horror as I see the door swing open without help. Not for the first time, I have to remind myself to breathe.
Huddled in the corner is a dark figure. As I stumble into the room, Monica's head snaps upwards. She rises quickly from the floor; in the same second she is across the room, and standing face to face with me. A smile flickers across her face, and she peers over my left shoulder. "Did Sharon come up with you?" she asks nervously. Her voice is high, yet raspy, as if she has a sore throat. Her eyes are anxiously raking the staircase behind me, poised for a fight. I feel confused and slightly bewildered. Why would she be ready for a fight? Does she think I will attack her? No, I decide, that can't be it. She is poised as if the attacker will emerge from the shadows behind me. Suddenly, I am aware of her gently nudging my shoulder. "Um... Caleano?" she says worriedly. "Are you alright?" I cower from her touch, and feel my feet leading me away from her, backwards.
Her eyes Become clouded with confusion as she watches me backing away, but are almost immediately taken over by hurt. "How do you know my name?" I demand hoarsely. She stares at me quietly. "How could I not?" she asks, almost inaudibly.