The First Night, Part 2

As he walked down the street, houses loomed out of the gloaming on either side. They were now indistinct, now perfectly clear but somehow wrong, now indistinct again and passed away behind him. His footsteps took him faster than they should have and soon, without noticing, he was on another street; one that was not his own. Looking behind he could not see where he had come from. Looking ahead a cathedral, tall gothic edifice, loomed menacing under the glow once more blooming in the sky. High above, a large circular stained glass window. The picture was unclear from this angle, but light flickered from behind it that was not the light in the sky.

The main portal was barred, but those to the sides were not. Inside, hundreds of candles lined walls and floor. They flickered as one as he swung the door closed with a dull boom. He craned his neck upwards, but still could not make out the stained glass. Lowering his gaze as he moved into the cathedral proper, he gasped for the first time. The nave extended ahead of him some fifty feet, lined by candles and pews, then ended abruptly, giving way to only void. As he moved forwards the glow bloomed again, its source visible to him now as a distant pillar of flame that rose and fell from somewhere far in the distance. It cast into stark relief the torn edge of the cathedral: walls and roof and floor jagged as if some giant hand had torn the rear of the building off in a fierce rage. He came to the edge, and could see arrayed far beneath him what he could only assume was a junkyard. Towering piles of jagged shapes, their size impossible to judge but clearly vast, were all that could be seen from here to the horizon where the pillar of flame flared once more. Directly below, the ground was lost in darkness.
“Impressive, isn’t it?”

He jumped, thankful that he had not been leaning outwards at the time, and turned to the left to see a girl sitting with her legs dangling over the edge. She had been hidden from sight behind the pews as he had entered.
“I come here sometimes to look at it. I don’t know what it means, but I think it’s impressive,” she looked up at him with a strange expression on her face. “You’re the first other person I’ve met here, though.”
“Have we met before?” he asked. “You seem familiar.”
She laughed. “Even in a dream that’s a lame pick-up line.”
“I wasn’t…” he started.
“We haven’t met,” she interrupted, standing and extending her hand. “I’m Alice.”
“Peter.”
They shook hands, then turned back to regard the junkyard. Peter was about to open his mouth again when the pillar of flame flared once more – violently this time, twisting and leaping upwards with a low roar that seemed to grow as it echoed. Alice grabbed his hand. She turned to face him but the ground lurched and anything she said was lost as the roar turned deafening.

The ground bucked and shifted and Peter tightened his grip on Alice’s hand, beginning to back away from the edge. It was too late. A horrible lurch and he was on his stomach and she was over the edge. Their grip still held, and Peter scrabbled to maintain purchase, but he could no longer see her – no longer see the hand that held her. The roar began to subside and he strained to pull her upwards. His hand came into view, then hers, then the ground gave one last heave and suddenly he was holding air. He hurled himself to the edge, drew breath to shout, then woke in a cold sweat to his own bedroom.

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