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Dream Cadaver By: John Miller

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Dream Cadaver
By: John Miller


He rose through the starry night sky and left his physical body far behind. Had his ethereal body been visible, someone could have seen his astral body silhouetted against the full moon. Like a ghost he passed through dank clouds which vied to obscure the moon, and above the clouds he met her.

“What took so long?” she asked. She stood naked except for furled bat-wings, and long dark hair wafted in the gusts of the heavens. “I’ve been waiting for what seems an eternity.”

He laughed and threw his head back. Luna’s light gleamed off his bald pate, and his goatee gave an almost sinister look. Only his light blue eyes softened his expression, yet without mirth.

“It took me forever to fall asleep, my sweet,” he told her. “My conscious mind is worried about work and employment… and, of course, losing you.”

She smiled and met him, and she rose on tiptoes upon the upper-crust of cloud. She kissed him in the heavens beneath a blanket of twinkling ebony. He wore a dark-purple robe with a heavy cowl, which he let down so she could see his face. They embraced and he felt the heat of passion—it seeped into his ethereal form and thrilled his soul.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” she said, “or what my conscious mind logically considers. We both know the conscious mind is but the outer shell of deeper processes it cannot comprehend.” She flashed him a wicked grin. “The subconscious jaunts and astral flings we share… these deeper levels of the mind… these are elements of reality hidden from Samantha’s conscious mind. All she knows is she follows her heart to you.”

“You are Samantha,” he said and held her tight.

“I was born Samantha,” she conceded. “But we both know I am much more than just a name and conscious personality. My conscious demeanor on Earth is built upon subconscious desire and emotions.” She laid her head against his chest and emitted a seductive purr. “Samantha doesn’t understand why she loves you. She thinks you’re no good for her. But she lives in the conscious world and cannot perceive the deeper meaning of our unconscious worlds or why we love each other.”

A groan startled him and when he turned he saw a white form upon a stone altar. The figure hadn’t been there seconds before, but this was the astral realm and it worked in much the same manner as dreams—things often appeared without warning.

“Is that him?” he asked with a tone of anger in his voice.

“Yes, darling,” she admitted. “This is your angel.”

He walked toward the angel, chained to the slab of stone with iron links. The hard slab rested upon the soft cloud. The angel was beautiful, absolutely perfect! It could have been male or female—sexless. Its white wings fell from the stone altar, and he saw crimson stained into its feathers.

“How did you lure it here?” he asked.

She gave him a sultry pose and returned, “How do you think?”

He grinned. Shalla-Bal certainly did have her ways.

“Where did you get the iron chains?”

She chuckled and said, “From you, darling.” When he raised his eyebrow in confusion she added, “It’s your steel resolve and fierce determination to destroy whatever it is which holds you back. I simply thought of your resolve as I hovered over your body and waited for you to fall asleep. When I looked down I found myself pulling the iron chain out of you… like a dream from your mind.”

He hugged her tight. She wrapped her bat wings around him along with her arms, until he turned back to the altar.



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About the Author


John is a single father with full custody of three sons. His stories/poetry have appeared at The World of Myth as well as other publications: The Horror Library; Monsta Productions; Red Pulp Underground, and he is in two anthologies. His family jokingly attests to his writing addiction.

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