Hula Girl

            Ana Sweeney could tell it was a dream because she was wearing the jacket Arthur had been wearing when he drowned. She had been fourteen when their father’s boat had capsized and she saw her brother for the last time, sinking, thrashing as he was dragged down into the dark water. The jacket was sewn over with patches displaying the names of various bands he liked. Four years older than her, Arthur was Ana’s idol. Her brother had intended to become a professional musician, and played in a band with his friends. Ana still claimed her brother’s band, which was called “The Oaks,” as one of her favorites, even though now, eleven years later, she knew it was essentially just disorganized adolescent thrashing.

            In the dream, she was sitting in a strange room. The room was extraordinarily narrow, and the floor was checkered with black and white tiles. The walls were concrete, and the light was harsh and tinged with a kind of greenish grey, like the light under the ocean. The chair in which she was sitting was upholstered with shiny red plastic in a half-hearted imitation of leather. The plastic was cracked in places, exposing dry, crumbling foam underneath. It was not remotely comfortable.

            To her side, there was a lightweight metal table with a large coffee mug. It seemed to smell just like real coffee, and yet through her dream-logic she knew it was something very different.

            A voice behind her spoke: “We use it to make a different sort of connection between the mind and the brain. It’s a sort of reverse hair-of-the-dog technique. You know that many antidotes are derived from poison? And that vaccines are just a crippled version of the disease?”

            She took up the mug and looked in. It was empty.

            “This is a dream.”

            The voice spoke back. “Yes. Specifically a lucid dream. The illusion of control.”

            “My mug is empty.”

            The voice behind her snorted. It was an obnoxious sound, and one that was painfully familiar. “Of course it is. That’s what I just told you.”

            “Shouldn’t I have some of it?”

            “You don’t need any. That’s for… other people.”

            Ana stood up. The chair groaned from the movement, and as it did, the coffee mug fell and shattered on the ground. The floor was covered with the runny black liquid, and the horrid smell wafted up to her, much stronger now. She tried to look across the room in front of her, but for some reason it was too bright to see anything, so she turned around.

            Behind her there was a mural that depicted a sunset over a tropical beach. The picture was framed with lazy, slanted palm trees, and the sky faded from deep, blood red on the horizon to cool dark blue at the top. There was a table behind the chair in which she had been sitting, and on it sat a little plastic figurine.

            The figure was only about four inches tall. It depicted a dark-skinned and dark-haired woman – with a cheap, cartoonish look to her – wearing some sort of grass skirt and a ring of flowers around her head. The figure was topless, her breasts covered by her long hair. The figure seemed to be suspended on a spring, so that as the wind from the beach flowed by, she jiggled slightly from side to side.

            Ana walked onto the beach. 

Still a dream. It’s still a dream, she thought.

There was music in the air. It wasn’t quiet, exactly, but it seemed somehow distant. She could recognize a bass, and a snare drum, and some other instrument she didn’t know that made a kind of wailing sound.

She turned to the side. There was a man there, standing on the beach. To his side, on the ground, was a thin briefcase. The man wore a black suit and did not have a face.

“Sorry I spilled your coffee, mister,” she said. The faceless man shrugged.

Cruelly, she woke to the smell of coffee, but this time it smelled like real coffee. The wind was howling outside, but there was only a light dusting of snow sprinkling down past the window. She was off duty today, for the first time in two weeks. Ever since the whole thing with the ships and the guys getting lost on patrol, Enforcement had adopted a more thorough policy – checking out anything out of the ordinary. It did a lot to make the citizens comfortable, but everyone on the force was spread a little thin.

Karin was at the kitchen counter, eating a piece of toast. She smiled when she saw Ana come down the stairs. “Morning, you.”

Ana smiled politely, then wondered if she should give her a kiss. They had been seeing each other for nearly three weeks now. Ana was not one to rush into domesticity, but after the catastrophic ending of her last relationship, she had resolved to put in some effort, try something new, and try to be a little accommodating.

Every day, Ana had to fight the nagging voice telling her that it would fall apart just like the others did. Karin was great. She was stable, seemed sane so far, at least. Even George, Ana’s oldest friend, had taken her aside when she first introduced Karin to him and told her what an improvement this one was. Yet doubt still hovered over her.

“You ok, Ana? You seem… did you sleep well?”

Ana forced a smile. “I guess. Just had a weird dream.”

“Want to talk about it?” asked Karin.

Ana took a breath. Yes, sure, why not? It’s not like there was anything embarrassing in it.

Upstairs, Ana’s phone began to ring. “Hold on.” She ran up the stairs and grabbed the phone off the nightstand. “Sweeney here,” she said.

It was Harrick. “Detective, hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No sir, I was already up.”

“Good. I need you to meet me at pier 9 when you can.”

Ana deflated. “Not another boat full of draugar?”

“Not exactly. Seems we’ve got some visitors.”

Ana took a very quick shower and got dressed. She walked down the stairs as she strapped on her holster. Karin, still in pajamas, looked mildly disappointed. “I thought this was your day off.”

“Sorry,” said Ana. She leaned in and kissed Karin on the cheek. It felt ok. Ana grabbed a piece of toast as she was pulling on her coat.

Harrick was waiting at the docks among a modest crowd at pier 9. He was leaning on his cane, something he complained about endlessly despite her reassurances that it made him look dignified.

The ship docked at pier 9 was like nothing she’d ever seen. It was not very large, barely bigger than a yacht, but it was made entirely of black metal. It almost looked skeletal, with black pipes and rib-like support beams crossing back and forth all over it. Three enormous tubes poked out of the top of the ship, choking out dense black smoke. The smell of it was everywhere. It reminded her of the coffee in her dream for some reason.

They waited as the ship came to a stop. Cables that appeared to be made of the same black metal as the rest of the ship unfurled and, as if they were alive themselves, they gracefully tied themselves around the bollards. There was a cranking sound as an opening appeared in the side of the ship, and a gangplank – again, made of the same black metal – extended down to the dock.

The figure that walked down was quite strange. From the waist up, it appeared to be a human skeleton, albeit an oversized one, wearing thick brown robes and an ominous monk’s hood. Yet below the waist, four spider-like legs chattered as the skeleton walked down toward the dock.

The skeleton’s eye sockets burned with an icy blue fire.

Ana’s hand was at the ready, very aware of the position of the gun beneath her coat. The skeleton-thing stepped off the gangplank and stopped in front of the group of people who had come.

“Good people of Port O’James, I am Mraxinar, emissary from his majesty, the Bone King of the Wastes.” Mraxinar bowed low, his two front legs folding into a kneeling position. He looked at each of the people, apparently waiting for a response.

It was Harrick who answered him. “And to what do we owe the honor of this visit, Maxi… Mrax… sir?”

“We understand that this area has been having some difficulties with the risen dead. We are here to lend our expertise.”

(Copyright Daniel Szolovits 2012)