By Kent Grant
*Originally posted on the Faithwriters Writing Challenge
Violet opened her eyes and stared sorrowfully at the blank, white ceiling as the effects of the dream, the same dream she had endured for the last three days, caused her body to shake, her pulse to race, and her mouth to have that odd, clammy feel that requires a prodigious amount of mouthwash to remove.
“Why me?” She moaned as she stumbled out of bed and struggled to get her bearings.
As she prepared for the day, she recalled snippets of her dream. This time, though, the details were more concrete. Specific details coalesced into a picture that meant something to her.
“I know that place,” she announced in amazement.
What could that mean? Was she supposed to go there? It wasn’t far, even if it was a bit remote. She had backpacked in the area a few weeks ago with a friend. Was it crazy to go someplace because of a dream? If it was, then maybe she was crazy.
“I have nothing better to do today,” she said as the insane idea transformed from a wild whim into a concrete plan.
Gathering up her gear and adequate provisions, she jumped into her aging truck and rumbled toward her target. She felt both stupid and intrigued. This was most likely just a silly expedition, but what if it wasn’t? What if somebody or something was sending her a signal? Still, what kind of signal?
“Well, here I am,” she mused. She parked her truck in a clearing, arranged her gear, and set out.
She recalled the trail was relatively benign at first, but quickly became quite difficult. Even if this was just a waste of time at least she would get some much needed exercise. The day was cool but clear, and there was plenty of sunshine. It was a nice day, and she soon began to enjoy it. The sounds of nature were in full form, and she took them in as if she was attending a symphony orchestra. Caught up in the beauty, she completely forgot why she had come until an odd noise caught her attention. She stopped, focused, and waited to see if she could hear it again. There were plenty of sounds, but not that sound.
“Must have been my imagination,” she declared, and promptly started off again.
Now the trail became more rugged, and she had to watch every step. Her foot slid, and she caught herself. But as she did, the odd noise returned.
“What is that?”
This time the noise continued, and she was able to get a bearing. Carefully maneuvering along the trail, the noise grew in intensity. It was close. Was this what had drawn her out? What was it?
“Hello,” she called out tentatively.
The noise increased in intensity spurring her on. The footing here was treacherous. Could someone have fallen? If so, why didn’t he or she respond? She continued on, struggled with her footing, and began to slide. She caught herself and then, wait, what was that? She saw something.
“Is someone there?” she called out as she pushed forward.
The sound was so loud and then, yes, someone was on the ground. She rushed forward. It was a young woman lying at an odd angle with something in her left hand. It was some kind of bell. That was the sound.
“Are you hurt?”
The woman pointed at her mouth. She must be dehydrated. Pulling out her water bottle, Violet placed it over the women’s mouth. The woman managed to part her lips and Violet poured a small amount down her throat. The woman coughed a little, but then smiled.
“Thank you,” she said in an incredibly hoarse voice.
After a few more sips, the woman was able to sit up. “How did you find me?”
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
“I had a dream.”
The woman nodded. “My mother was praying. That woman can pray.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She’s an invalid and can’t leave the house, but she’s also a Christian and believes God can do anything. When that woman prays, God does things. He gave you a dream about where I was.”
“Maybe you needed this as much as I did.”
“Maybe,” Violet muttered before using her satellite phone to call for help.
Violet didn’t know what she believed, but she would have to find this woman’s mother and find out.
Ken Grant has a Master’s degree in Christian Apologetics from Biola University.