Nicemare, The End

I’m wrapping up another Weekly Dose of Fiction. Remember in the previous part, Ben was about to be snatched up by the shadow that pursues him, when he falls into an unexpected, light-filled place. Is this just another trap for our poor fellow, or a turn for the better? If you’d like to read the first three parts of this short story, here are the links: Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

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Nicemare, The End

Ben scrambled to his feet and spun around.

A woman stood behind him. She was small—barely five feet tall—with silver hair braided into a long rope over one shoulder. Her eyes twinkled with warmth. She wore a deep-blue robe embroidered with moons and stars, as though she’d stepped out of a bedtime story.

“Who…who are you?” he stammered.

She smiled, her cheeks dimpling. “You may call me Maeve. I’m…well, I’m a friend.”

“Where am I?”

“Between,” she said simply. “And just in time, too. You were about to get caught.”

Ben’s blood turned to ice. “That thing—it’s still out there. It’s coming. It’s always coming.”

Maeve shook her head gently. “Not here. Here, you’re safe.”

Safe. He had forgotten what that felt like.

He stood shaking, but not from cold. “Am I dreaming?”

“Well, yes,” she said, “but it doesn’t make it any less real. Sit, Ben.”

She gestured to a plush chair that hadn’t been there a moment before. Ben sat, too tired to question, his pulse slowing to normal.

Maeve perched on a newly arrived ottoman opposite him. “You’ve had a dreadful time,” she said with compassion filling her voice. “Your mind has been fighting battles alone.”

“It’s not just stress,” he insisted. “This dream—it’s killing me.”

“Not the dream,” she corrected. “The fear.”

Ben blinked. “Fear?”

Maeve rose and took a small silver bell from the mantel. She rang it lightly. The sound shimmered through the room, soft as snowfall. The air shifted. And suddenly—from the center of the floor—a swirling image rose into the air.

Ben gasped.

It was him. Running. Terrified. The dark figure behind him, looming like a shadow cut from night itself.

Maeve waved her hand over the terrifying image. “This creature chases many people,” she said. “But only those who try desperately to outrun their fears are in true danger.”

Ben swallowed hard. “So I should just… what? Let it catch me?”

“Oh no. Meet it,” she said. “You’ve run from too much. The promotion you secretly feared you didn’t deserve. Alana, whom you feared might stop loving you. The expectations of great things that you feared you couldn’t accomplish. Fear grows when you flee from it.”

“I wasn’t running from my life,” Ben whispered. “I was trying to save it.”

Maeve’s expression softened. “Yet here you are—lost, exhausted, convinced death is kinder than sleep.”

Ben’s throat tightened. Tears he hadn’t known were still inside him spilled down his cheeks.

Maeve placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Ben Shearer, you deserve rest. Real rest. Let me give you a gift.”

She held out her other hand, palm up. A small orb of warm light floated above it, pulsing like a regular heartbeat.

“What is it?” Ben asked.

“A Nicemare,” she said with a wink. “The opposite of what’s been plaguing you. A dream that restores instead of ravages.”

She pushed the orb toward him. It hovered just inches from his chest.

“But what about the figure?” Ben asked, terrified of sleep.

“Face it. You are ready,” Maeve said.

The orb entered his chest like a summer breath, filling him with warmth so profound he fell back in the chair. His vision blurred. The room shimmered into darkness.

Image by 💚🌺💚Nowaja💚🌺💚 from Pixabay

And then, opening his eyes, Ben looked up into sunlight pouring over him. Golden and gentle, like he remembered from childhood mornings. He lay on a field of soft grass that smelled sweet and fresh. A river sparkled nearby. A breeze whispered across his skin.

He sat up, stood, and stretched. For the first time in months, his body didn’t ache. He wasn’t in despair. He walked to the river and knelt, trailing his fingers through the water, but then froze in terror as a shadow moved behind him.

Oh no.

Slowly rising, he turned ready to flee when Mave’s voice whispered, “Meet it.”

The dark figure stood at the tree line, but it didn’t move toward him. It didn’t give chase. It watched him, its edges softening, losing that jagged, dangerous outline. Its presence was no longer threatening.

Ben took a trembling breath.

Then he nodded to it—a small acknowledgement.

The figure nodded back and then slowly faded into the trees.

Ben exhaled a long and cleansing breath. Something inside him released—the fear, the hopelessness, the exhaustion. All of it drained away like water from a tub.

When he looked around again, Maeve stood beside the river, smiling.

“You see?” she said. “Even fearsome shadows can be gentled when you stop running from them.”

Ben wiped his eyes. “Thank you… I don’t know how to—”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Maeve said. “Just begin again. Life isn’t done with you yet.”

She touched his forehead.

This time, he recognized the feeling that washed through him and welcomed what was to come. “A Nicemare,” he sighed as he drifted into the softest, sweetest sleep he’d ever known.

The End

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