By moor land
The same sequence. Jem and I watch the lights move across the valley like festival lanterns, floating, drifting in the dark. Then a hum, becoming louder as they form a line, turn and move towards us on the hill. At first, we crouch behind the wall not sure what to do, till we run, back across the road to the driveway of the big house, scramble beneath the rhododendrons where we stay breathing hard. They cluster above, shoot down finger-like beams which light up water dripped webs and create white spots on leaves . At some point, when we are breathing hard and think we’ll be found, they become lantern-like again, disperse, float away silent up the path, over the roof and fade into the night.
“You have to break it” Jem says. He always holds my hand when I tell him. “Do something different. Stand up in the road. Wave to them.” My pulse quickens. I can still smell damp earth.
He’s read online that you can stop repetitive dreams by disrupting the flow.
I’ve read that your brain can’t differentiate between thoughts and reality - your body reacts the same. And when it’s happening, when it’s peak terror, I can’t move.