Tonya Moore – Dream Heart

“I love to write. I love the flexibility and weight of words and the infinite possibilities and magic that can be wrought by just the right combination of them. I’m a story-lover first and foremost. When I write, I endeavor to convey a story in a manner that would most inspire or move me if I were the reader, alas with varying degrees of success.”

So says Tonya Moore, a prolific author and—to my mind—a force to be reckoned with. This young woman writes with a beauty which amazes. Even when her work isn’t what she considers perfect, one finds it hard to look away.

Influenced by writers like Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, Anne Mccaffrey, Larry Niven, Gene Roddenberry and Frank Herbert she also makes a real effort to connect with other writers online to share stories and ideas. Moore writes novels, short stories, abstract poetry, and flash fiction.

Born in St. Ann, Jamaica in 1978, she developed an early love for Science Fiction. She would watch re-runs of The Twilight Zone, The Outer Limits and Star Trek (Enterprise), and her mind would swirl with wild imaginings of distant worlds and adventures. Even to this day, no TV hero has ever been as awesome in her mind, as Captain Jean Luc Picard.

Three years ago, Moore decided that she wanted to do more than just write stories and store them in a box somewhere. She joined a number of online writing communities and even created her own—all in the interest of sharing with other people who also liked to write and/or read great stories.

She’s since published four short stories, a novel, Fog Island Flowers (Buy now), a collection of abstract poetry, Seeking Grace (Buy now), and has accumulated a vast array of serials and poems on her website.

What an inspiring person!

What follows is a short story I asked Tonya to submit. Although the piece has a dark side, it isn’t really horror, so we’ve placed it in our Horrifiction section. I’ve polished it as little as possible; I want you to experience Tonya’s writing the way that I have. Enjoy…

Seeking Bones

Reina was suffocating. A shadow fell over her. The vision grew until it became a roar in her head. Paralyzed and terrified, she struggled against the weight of its cruel and bony fingers on her arms. She screamed, but there was no sound. Her heart slowed. The hag grew smaller and smaller, seeming further and further away as she finally surrendered.

She found herself inside a strange memory. She’d been six years old and kneeling over a puddle of murky water. It had rained that morning and the hem of her white church dress was caked with red mud. Her fingers gave a gentle push at the side of a paper boat she had built with awkward care. There was a ripple on the surface of the puddle, then two and more. They expanded into foamy waves. The paper boat capsized as the sky darkened. She gazed up past the side of a mountain that was gnarled like an old man. Dawn broke across the sky in glittering shards. The morning star winked at her from behind the mountain. A wolf was singing near her ear. It filled her with a sense of unease. It arrested her heart.

Someone was knocking at her window. She was halfway to her door when she woke up. She stood there trembling as a key turned in the lock and the door flew open. Her brother hurried in with a brown paper bag in the crook of one arm.

“I’m late. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Max.” she smiled and moved to touch his arm, but he edged away and went into the kitchen. She frowned at his retreating back and followed him. He set the bag down on the counter and stared at her. Still keeping his distance, she noticed.

“How bad was it?”

“Same as always,” she shrugged and tried to seem nonchalant. What the hell was he trying to hide?

He pulled a Styrofoam cup from the bag and pushed it toward her. “You’re bouncing back quicker these days. You were less shaky than usual when I came in the door.”

She turned to him abruptly. “What’s that?”

Max looked down at the cup he’d set in front of her. “Coffee.”

“What’s in the bag, Max?”

His fingers closed over the edges of the bag. He pulled it closer to his side of the counter.

“I’m hungry enough to fight you for it.”

“Okay,” he grinned and shoved the bag toward her.

Reina crowed with delight. “Raspberry scones!”

She popped a piece into her mouth and moved to the window. The cute guy who worked in the deli downstairs always showed up about now. It was a little ritual of hers to watch him walk down the street. She lifted the blinds and glanced at her brother. “So, is this what you’re hiding from me today?”

He tensed for just a fraction of a second, but then he smiled. “Well, you do have a tendency to ruin a surprise.”

She glanced over at him. “You know, you left your car unlocked.”

“Am I going to get robbed?”

“Not today.”

The sunlight was blinding. She hummed under her breath as the deli guy vanished around the corner. She frowned and looked askance at her brother. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. He seemed so tired.

“Katrin left you?” Her revelation caught him off guard.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now. ” He said it quietly, almost making her sorry she’d asked.

They must have fought about her again—because Reina was so dependent on Max. Because so much of his time revolved around keeping her safe.

“I’m sorry,” she began…

“Don’t worry about it. Listen, I’ve got to get to work. When’s your next appointment at the institute?” He chucked her chin playfully as he passed her by, for no other reason than he knew how much she hated it.

She grimaced. “Thursday.”

“I’ll give you a ride, okay?”

“Thanks,” she called to him as he went out.

Once Max left, Reina slipped into her daily routine. She had a long shower, watered her plants and went for a long walk. On the way home she stopped at the flower shop and bought another orchid. She whiled the rest of the day away reading a book that she’d found at the laundromat a week before. When it was time for her nighttime routine, she took her pills for headaches, pills for sleeping and the pills that kept her legs useless while she slept. She fell asleep wondering why she had bought that ugly orchid. It wasn’t even the one that she’d wanted.

She dreamed again she was a little girl, that day she had played hooky from church. She was six years old and kneeling over a puddle of water. It had rained that morning, and the hem of her white church dress was caked with red mud. Her fingers gave that gentle push at the side of a paper boat. Ripples expanded across the surface of the puddle. The paper boat capsized. The sky darkened. An old woman in a faded red shawl was sitting beside her. Her crooked, bare feet sank into Reina’s mud puddle. She stared through intent, hard black eyes.

“Well?” she demanded, “Aren’t you ready yet?”

Terrified, Reina backed away but the woman and her foul breath followed. She seemed to be expecting an answer.

“Ready for what?” Reina asked, hating the scared tremor in her voice.

“I don’t understand!” she gasped, just stammering the first thing that came to mind.

The hag grabbed at her arms in exasperation. The long skeletal fingers cut painfully into her skin. As cruel as steel, they were not at all the hands of an old woman. They weren’t human. Those malevolent eyes held her paralyzed. Reina’s heart ran wild with panic.

“I want to wake up now,” she whimpered.

The old woman backed away. And suddenly, they were in the present. Reina’s cautious eyes followed her as she paced the length of the kitchen.

“Who will take my place?” the woman asked mournfully. “Who will hear it when the thunderbird returns?”

Sullen, she reached over to the kitchen counter and broke off a piece of the new orchid and sniffed it. “I wasn’t going to hurt you,” she grumbled.

Reina didn’t believe her but her breath had steadied and her heart had stopped its crazed hammering.

“Dreams lie.” She tried for a sneer but could only muster up a shaky half frown.

The crone tossed the flower to the floor in anger. For a moment, it seemed she would lunge at Reina again. Instead she sighed and shrugged. “So wake up then.”

Reina found herself alone in her bed. The air conditioning had filled the apartment with sweet orchid scents. An inexplicable sense of loss crept over her. She was filled with an insatiable wanting she couldn’t identify. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was somewhere she was supposed to be, or should have been a long time ago. She lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a very long time.

By the time Max came around to wake her, Reina was rushing to pack. She didn’t notice his shocked and confused expression. She was far too agitated.

Finally, she took notice of her brother, who was simply standing there and staring at her as if she’d grown a second head.

“When did I first start having the dreams?”

Her question took him by surprise. He didn’t see what relevance it could possibly have to whatever it was she thought she was doing. He decided to tread carefully and was slow to answer.

“I think it was about a week before Mom’s accident. Why are you asking me this?”

Her eyes flew to his. She smiled in an attempt to reassure him, but her excitement was still palpable. “I started having visions right around then too right?”

“No,” he said. “They came after…”

That gave her pause. “The dreams came first?”

She turned to Max. “Why would they would just stop for five years and then suddenly come back to haunt me? It doesn’t make sense does it? They weren’t supposed to be nightmares. I think the old woman is real.”

She paused in her task of struggling to close up an engorged backpack. “That’s why my dreams seemed so real. It makes sense doesn’t it? Anyway, the way I see it is the first time she came to me it was to help me, but it didn’t work.”

As she went back to tugging at the bag’s zipper her thoughts took another turn. “Or, maybe it did work. We were supposed to be with her that day, you know—Mom. But I had gotten my dress all muddy, and we had to stay home with Dad.

Her brother sighed. “Reina, not this again! It’s not your fault. Would it have been better if we’d gone to church and died with her?”

“I know,” she said. “It’s been six years, I might be too late but I have to find it. Help me with this thing will you?”

He was already gripping the sides of the bag together when he came to his senses. “No, Reina. Look at me. What the hell are you thinking?”

Her heart sank. She was hoping they could have skipped this bit.

“Max, I can’t spend the rest of my life letting you take care of me like this.”

Her life really was pitiful, as it was, spending no more than three hours a day outdoors. Any more than that and all the sensations drifting into her would start driving her insane. She couldn’t see herself spending the rest of her life like that, hiding away from what was inside of her.

“I know I’m the reason Katrin left you. I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t want that sort of responsibility either. Caring for a grown woman.”

He grabbed at her arm roughly. He needed to do something. Have her sedated and taken to the psychiatric ward again. Something…

Reina jerked his hand away, glaring at him accusingly. “Don’t you dare even think about it. I would rather die!” she yelled and, showing her fury, shoved him.

But he grabbed at her arms and wouldn’t let go.

“You’re my sister. I have to take care of you. That’s the way it works! Now, I don’t care what Katrin wants. She has no say in this!”

“But I do. Dammit, Max, I’m not an invalid!”

He paled at the determined light in her eyes. He tightened his grip.

“So what? You’re going to run away just to prove you can take care of yourself? Chasing after some phantom proves that you’re sound in mind? You need help. You need my help.”

His wounded mockery stung. Her eyes smarted.

“Why do we always end up right back at this place? Yesterday, everything was fine. What happened to make you want to ruin everything again? We have a good life, don’t we? I take good care of you, don’t I?”

This had been building up for a while, the sheer frustration that he’d never voiced before. His own doubts about her sanity. There was resentment there too. She made things difficult. Every time there’d been some sense of normalcy within reach, she’d turned everything upside down. His eyes were a little wild and mean. It was a side of him she hadn’t experienced before but should have known was always there. He was getting red in the face with fury, it poured out of him in waves into her. He was a big guy. He stood two feet taller and weighed almost twice as much as she did. She hadn’t been troubled by that before. For the barest instant she feared for her life as his grip tightened, bruising her arms. Shaken, she whispered, “Max, you’re hurting me.”

He let go abruptly and, shaking, backed away.

“Jesus… Reina. I’m sorry.” He moved away to sit down in a chair across the room.

She hefted her bag onto her back. For a moment she considered staying out of striking distance, but she went to him. She knelt before him, an amazing feat, since she felt like there was a ton of bricks on her back. His face was averted. She touched his cheek, her palm coming away soaked with tears.

“It’s okay. I think I understand. Don’t worry. I’m going to be fine, I promise. So are you.”

She kissed him, lingering perhaps a little longer than a sister should but she needed to see, if only to reassure herself… Katrin still loved him. He was going to be all right.

A horn sounded outside.

“My cab’s here.”

She sighed when he wouldn’t look at her. Her arms still hurt like hell but she managed to get herself on her feet and to the door.

“Don’t hate yourself for this Max,” she murmured, “I couldn’t stand it if you did.”

With a backward glance and a halfhearted wave she slipped out the door. She wondered if she would ever see her brother again.

It was still dark as the greyhound bus pulled out of the depot. The sleeping town was smoky and mysterious like a painted woman. She loved those moments when it was still dark, before the sun scrubbed away all the falsehood—before you couldn’t help but notice the nakedness, the sagging breasts and curved belly. She didn’t know where she was going. But for the first time in years, she closed her eyes and slept peacefully. She slept for hours. When she dreamed, it was of herself as a child staring across that puddle and into the eyes of an old woman with kind eyes and a motherly smile.

“We have to do this, you know.” The old woman whispered conspiratorially. “We are the Gatherer. We are the arms and legs of the earth. We collect the forgotten things. We are the spirit. We are the heart.”

A week later, Reina found the mountain from her dream—the one with the morning star behind it. Events were a whirlwind in her memory. The greyhound bus, like a clumsy beetle had trundled past wastelands and wetlands. She’d been entranced by gloomy swamps and lazy acres of drooping mangrove. She’d been bored to near death on the endless highways. Had laughed like an idiot when she saw her first honest to god tumbleweed rolling down a hapless Arizona street. Had sent Max a postcard from every city she visited. And now, farther from civilization than she’d ever been, had simply started walking when the car she’d rented two days earlier wheezed and died in the middle of Nowhere, USA.

She didn’t stop until she was finally standing in a spot where the earth smelled different, cleaner and more vibrant. The gritty dust hung heavy on her tongue but she didn’t care. She drank in the silence. There was no more chaos. No more of the alleyways and barely civilized multitudes and their troubles crowding in on her mind. Out here, she could even hear the earthworms under her feet. A flash of movement on the mountain slope caught her eye. She glimpsed a sliver of red weaving through the trees. The old woman? Abandoning logic, Reina gave chase. The earth crumbled beneath the toes of her sneakers. It was dark under the canopy of trees. The sun hadn’t yet come to that side of the hill. That didn’t bother Reina. She kept up the chase till she came to the mouth of a cave. Undaunted, she ducked into the dark opening. She laughed like a child who’d just found the most amazing treasure.

She called out, “Are you here?”

There was only silence. Her words reverberated along the cave walls. She fumbled around in her backpack for a tiny flashlight. She shone it around, a little confused by what she was looking at. There were bones everywhere. A chill ran up and down her spine. There were bones hanging from the walls in baskets made from twigs and bones tied together like marionette puppets with gossamer strings. She wildly cast the light about the ground to find partially reassembled skeletons of small woodland animals. There were even bones stacked in neat, perfect little cubes. Bits and pieces of Reina’s distress escaped form her lips. A ragged sigh. A strangled moan.

Something in another corner caught her eye. The outline of the old woman curled up asleep on the ground. For the moment, she decided to forget about the bones. She walked toward the sleeping figure.

“There you are,” she murmured. “It’s taken just about forever, but I finally got here.”

As she knelt to wake the woman, the sun dipped low along the hill and filled the cave with crimson light. Reina found herself touching the bones of someone who must have died almost a decade ago. She was too late. Six years too late, was her immediate guess. She smoothed the frayed edges of the red shawl and let the tears come.

When she had cried her fill she took a good look around at all the dead things. They weren’t so frightening anymore. In fact they seemed to make perfect sense, if one’s vocation was to preserve the forgotten things in the world. She almost laughed out loud at the sight of a red and black plaid coffee thermos, covered in cobwebs. The cave was cool and dry. It had probably been as good a place as any to live in.

“Well, I’m here,” she murmured again to the dead woman’s bones.

The light turned golden and started to fade. She went to sit at the mouth of the cave. It wasn’t so bad, she had to admit. Her head wasn’t full of voices anymore. That was good. There was a gray wolf with piercing black eyes standing outside, watching her. No room left for surprise, she simply sat and glared.

“Problem?”

The wolf stared drolly at her then hunkered down on its haunches with a resigned growl.

“Thanks, I guess,” she whispered as an afterthought.

Ever so softly she began to sing a wordless, timeless song. It was for the old woman, and for her bones. It was a song for herself, the girl who had just found herself—for what it was worth.

The road home is long and winding. It’s not endless. It is never that.

© Tonya R. Moore