“Lyn, what’d you get? Hey, Lyn? Lyn! LYN!”
The sound of my best friend’s voice startled me back into the present. I was at the local Chinese restaurant. Gathering up my thoughts, I looked up to see Brooke rolling her eyes at me.
I cleared my throat and glanced at her nervously. “Umm, sorry, what did you say?”
Brooke scowled impatiently. “Lyn, you have got to pay more attention to me! Ugh!”
“I know, Brookie. You’re right. I’m sorry. Now, tell me, what were you saying?”
“I was just wondering what your fortune was. Mine’s a total rip-off.”
I peered down at my suddenly disturbing fortune. “I have a dream…time to go to bed.”
“That’s, like, the fourth time you’ve gotten that one! Jeez, I hate this place! Let’s bail.”
As we walked out, I looked at the facts: No more Chinese meant no more overly repeated fortunes, and no more eerie fortunes might mean no more peculiar dreams… I hoped for the best.

I never forgot about the fortune, and Tuesday night was no different. I have a dream...time to go to bed. I fell asleep pondering about what it could mean.

I’m in my backyard, and am aware that I’m dreaming. I feel a strong sense of déjà vu, and I suddenly realize why. I’ve been here three nights in a row. Except there’s one difference this time: the rose bush.
I walk over to the bramble tucked into the corner of the backyard. I start plucking each rose off the shrub, and as I do it, my fingers get pricked by the thorns. Blood oozes out of them, but I don’t stop picking. My hands are a dark red mess by the time I’m done. As the smell of blood grows stronger, my breathing gets shallower. I soon collapse.

I bolted out of bed the next morning to my mother’s high-pitched shriek.
“ASHLYN MARIE GONZALEZ! WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOURSELF?!” My mom gaped at me from the threshold of my room.
Astonished, I looked down at my now stinging hands to find blood. Blood everywhere.
“M- Mom…” I stuttered, “it’s blood, from my dream. There were roses and so many thorns, and I kept pricking myself, and...” I trailed off when my mom shot me a concerned look.
She tried her best to speak calmly. “Sweetie, it’s alright. You must’ve hurt yourself in your sleep. The edge of your bed is really sharp, and you probably just scraped yourself.”
“But Mom, I-”
“Lyn, it doesn’t matter. Right now, we need to bandage those hands. Bathroom. Now.”
I wanted to argue that it was my dream. It had to be. But I knew fighting with my mom would get me nowhere, so I hurried off to clean myself up.

Dreams about the rose bush plagued my mind. Over the next few days, they haunted me like ghosts. It seemed as if I could never escape the horror inside my head.
A week later, I was home sick. My parents had gone to work, leaving me alone in the house. Exhausted yet determined, I tried preventing my sleepiness, but in the end, I couldn’t stop it from overcoming me. I slowly drifted away.

I’m in a new place. A restaurant. A red door leads to what must be the kitchen, and something draws me towards it. I head towards the door, pushing it open.
The door creaks open. Inside, the kitchen is a catastrophe of dirty utensils. The walls are splattered with soup stains and… wait, is that blood?
Suddenly, I hear a crash behind me. I whip around to find myself face-to-face with a figure clothed in black. My brain screams ‘RUN’, but my feet are planted to the ground. Then, quick as a flash, the person draws a knife and slashes it into my leg. “I’ll be back,” they say before dropping a crimson-color rose on the floor. I pass out.

I aroused from my slumber to find myself on a white bed with a cast on my leg. I’m in the hospital, I realized. At that moment, Brooke bounced into the room.
“Lyn! You okay?” She hugged me tightly.
“Brookie! I’m okay. What happened? Why am I in the hospital?”
She looked at me strangely. “Don’t you remember? You tripped down the stairs, and a piece of glass was lodged into your leg. You just had surgery a couple of hours ago.”
“Listen, Brooke, I didn’t fall down the stairs. This is gonna sound completely insane, but it was my dream. There was this psychopath who had a knife and stabbed my leg. Then, the dream somehow became real, which is why I was injured. I can’t go back to sleep. The person who hurt me said they’d be back. They’re gonna kill me!”
“Lyn,” she began carefully, “I know it’s embarrassing to fall down the stairs, but it’s fine. Nobody thinks you’re a klutz. I promise. You don’t have to make stuff up as a cover.”
“You don’t understand; I’m telling the truth. Someone’s out to get me. In my dreams.”
“Hey, Lyn, you’ve been through a lot. How ‘bout we talk later? You need some rest right now. Maybe sleep meds? I’ll go ask the nurse.”
“I don’t need sleep meds! Wait! Brooke!” But she’d already bounded down the hallway.
A few minutes later, as the nurse walked into my room with the needle in her hands, I had a feeling that something unexplainable was going to happen. Something to do with the dreams. The meds were injected into my skin, and I began to feel drowsy until sleep finally pulled me into its cold, uncertain arms.

I’m at a graveyard. As I look around, I notice there’s one thing that all the tombs have in common: A bouquet of blood-red roses are nestled against each of them. I shiver involuntarily.
I pace towards a lone swing in the back of the graveyard, my leg burning. Just as I sit down on the swing, there’s a rustling sound next to me. The black-clad figure slowly emerges from a thicket of rose bushes.
I scream and sprint away. The lunatic is starting to gain on me, so I run faster, my breath heaving.
Suddenly, I lose my footing and trip. I stumble forward, landing in front of a huge puddle.
The person chasing me catches up and pulls me to my feet. Before I know what’s happening, I’m being shoved towards the puddle. It’s deep, and the water is so black and murky that I can’t even see my own reflection. “Sweet dreams,” the figure whispers in a husky, masculine voice. Then he pushes me in, and I plunge into the inky, dark nothingness.
I sink lower and lower, grappling against the water, but it’s as thick as syrup and won’t let me budge. A minute goes by, and I give up forever.

Coldstone, Maine: Breaking News- 8:30 PM
A young girl named Ashlyn Gonzales was found murdered. Ashlyn died in her sleep due to suffocation. A note, along with a rose, was discovered and signed by someone who calls themselves “The Dream Reaper.” He/she is believed to be the one to kill Ashlyn. Police are currently in search of suspects, and assure everybody not to worry. That’s all the info we have for now, citizens. Sweet dreams.