The Worst Suit

I aim to write these so that you can enjoy them as stand alone stories, or one after the other. If you'd like to do the latter (they're all very short):

1. A Cock About to Cro-

2. Cat and Mouse

3. Just Desserts

4. A Pound of Soul

5. How Much Cake is one Soul Worth?

6. Hungry Like a Wolf

7. Hunt For a New Toy

8. The Dreamscape

9. Of Bone-crushing Hugs and Healing Purrs

10. One Expensive Cat

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I faded from Hannah's dream before I changed from the catshape. I thought it'd upset her to see me like this. It upset me. I looked just like her, down to the pink nightdress she always wore with the cartoon animals.

I stole into his dream, taking a thread of it softly. He mustn't realise it was a dream, or if he had the knack of knowing it, he must believe he was in full control. I have to be smart about it. People don't always dream about things they've done or want to do.

Feeling sick, I lengthened the nightdress. Back in my body, my heart was hammering. I steadied myself, pulling my awareness away from it before it could yank me back to my fleshy prison. What's wrong with me? I placed a hand on the outside of the dream, altering it to resemble Hannah's bedroom.

Steeling yourself. I knew the meaning of that phrase, now. Really knew it. I can't remember the last time I'd been truly afraid. Of a man, or a dream. But what if this was the one time I wasn't in control? A few are natural talents at moving in the dreamscape, at manipulating it. What if he was one? What if, by the time I was sure, it was too late, and I was stuck there?

So. I steeled myself, and eased into the dream.

I'd know by his actions, his words. I must stay neutral, give no suggestion. It must all come from him. If I wasn't sure, then I'd leave off the hunt.

Why, though? I'd killed one man and tortured another for little more than offending me.

This is different.

I felt truly like a child, helpless and small. Clutching tight to a dream-thread, ready to change. I've appeared to men in all kinds of shapes and sizes, grotesque, macabre, horrifying. This one was the worst.

Shedding the childsuit at last, like Superman tearing off his journalist suit, only more horrifying, I grew. Huge. Relief and rage a potent cocktail.

I started with his feet. His agonised screams soothed me. We had hours 'til morning, and I was going to make the most of it.

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Word count (excluding notes): 366

Submitted on 25th March at 23.40

*Quick Author's Note*

First, and most importantly: thank you for reading!

Leave me a link to your own latest story, if I haven't already seen it!

If you enjoyed this story, the best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another.

A Year of Stories: I'm writing a story every day this year. This one makes an 85 day streak. I'm also putting them in my Index post.

Thank you

Thank you again! I do my best to reciprocate all reads.