I woke up from the dream feeling the same as ever. It took me a few seconds to adjust to the fact that I was still in my bedroom. The room was in darkness apart from a subtle ray of moonlight that peaked through the gap in the curtains. The atmosphere felt oddly still to me post dream. I sat up in my bed trying to make sense of what my subconscious mind had just undertaken. The dream wasn’t sinister. They never are, and yet, once again I was left feeling strangely vulnerable.
In my dream I heard hushed voices, speech I could only vaguely understand. I was me in the dream and yet my hands and features were not my own. I was in a dull and murky room waiting for something that had not yet come. I didn’t feel particularly threatened or exposed but somehow I knew that why ever and wherever I was, I was not there of my own bidding. I recognised just a few of the words I could hear being whispered somewhere near: ‘Ein Tad’ – Our Father; ‘Heddiw’ – Day; ‘Bara’ – Bread; and ‘Drwg’ – Evil. I guessed from the words I heard and by the rhythm of the speech that I was listening to ‘The Lord’s Prayer’ being resited in Welsh. However, it was only as a child going to Church with Nain that I’d ever actually heard the prayer in this language and it seemed odd to me that I should be able to reproduce it in a dream. Then again, you do hear of people who can speak different languages in their sleep don’t you? Something to do with your subconscious being able to remember more than you’d be able to when you’re awake.
Tonight, the dream lasted longer than it usually did and it was less distorted than usual too. Normally, I’d wake up after just a few moments of hazy vision and vague movement. I’d not always hear all these words either. Sometimes, I’d only hear faint whispering, too quiet to make out anything being said. Sometimes, there’d be no one talking, I’d just know I wasn’t alone because I’d feel the heat of bodies nearby and hear the gentle sounds of someone breathing. Once or twice, I’d heard the muffled noises of people, who weren’t in the room, orders being shouted to some unknown person and footsteps of them then undertaking their task. The room never feels like somewhere I don’t know. It feels strangely familiar although I’m always sure I’ve never seen it before, not from what I can make out of it in the darkness anyway. It’s a cold room. The floor is hard and unwelcoming. The wall at my back feels thick and sturdy. In front of where I am sat is the subtle shape of a piece of wooden furniture or something and I can’t see over the top of it into the rest of the room. There’s a chilling draft that sweeps round my feet and freezes my hands and nose. I don’t feel endangered but I’m uneasy about something. I feel alone.

The alarm woke me up at 7.30, just 3 hours after I’d managed to get back to sleep. I stretched out my arm and still with half shut eyes, slammed down on the button to stop the bleating. The dream was still on my mind as I got out of bed and yawned my way over to my dressing gown, feeling far too fragile and lethargic to get dressed for breakfast quite yet. I opened my door and slowly lolloped down the corridor to the bathroom. The house was quiet as I splashed bracingly cold water onto my face but I could hear Dad already about his morning business in the yard. He was always up an hour before me, achieving more in that hour than I could in two. Looking in the rectangular mirror above the sink, I watched as the water ran down the skin around my puffy, tired eyes. My skin looked pale in the harsh light that shone through the window. I looked a lot of years older than the fifteen years I was, aged by the discoveries of the previous day.
I’d spent most of the evening the day before going over scraps of paper and reading bits of books that Adam had given me out of the chest. It felt wrong to have taken them from where my sister’s friend had left them, but I reasoned that it might give me a better understanding of my sister’s condition. The books were all modern day publications about a religion I’d never heard of. Something called Wicca. From what I gathered, having read some of the books, Wicca was a religion that involved the worshipping of nature and the forces which, deriving from the power of a God and Goddess, could alter and manipulate the fate of the Wiccan. The rituals in these books aimed at doing this were termed as ‘magickal’ and ‘witchcraft’. The papers that I found were mostly printed out, internet articles about the same subject and the development of witchcraft over the course of history. There were, however, some handwritten pieces. Some were in Annabel’s writing, some in her friends. They were details of their own rituals: chants to be said out loud, lists of equipment to be used: when and where to perform them etc.
From the reading I’d done, I’d discovered the uses for a lot of the items that were in the chest back at Emma’s. What I had thought of as simply bowls, were actually called ‘cauldrons’. The sticks, I had to assume were makeshift wands. And a knife that Adam had unwrapped out of a piece of black cloth was what I believed to be called an ‘Athame’ – used symbolically in rituals, never with any real intent of malice. I’d also managed to learn that rituals were held at specific times, correlating with certain seasons and the cycles of the sun, moon and stars to better enhance the outcome of the magic. For instance, witches put out their tools to be cleansed by the light of a full moon.
I’d read late in to the night. I had to. Once I’d started reading I was virtually unable to stop myself, eager to know more and more about it all. Some of what I read made perfect sense to me. The closeness to nature that ‘Wiccans’ felt was something I could certainly relate to. Being raised in a family with a Nain and Taid that were devoutly Christian, I’d grown up with a sense of some kind of thing that oversaw and controlled all. However, I didn’t necessarily believe in the stories of the Bible and in The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit; so a faith that was based more around the forces of nature, appealed to my lackadaisical view of religion. The more I read on, the more I started to wander whether what compelled me was my need to understand for Annabel, or for myself. Finally, at about 1.30a.m. I’d given up the ghost and gone to bed, only to be woken up by the dream a couple of hours later.

I walked into the kitchen, having got dressed into my rough, yard clothes. Today was a day to work. It was Wednesday, meaning there were lambs to sort and load for taking to Market. As ever, mum was already preparing breakfast and there was a cup waiting for me on the side. I looked towards mum wandering how long it would take her to actually notice I was there, but I got bored of my little game before she did, so I took my place at the table whilst muttering a hello.
Dad sat down beside me not long after, tucking into his breakfast solemnly. “Bore da Heli.” He said, seemingly forcing himself to do so.
“Bore Da Dad.” I replied somewhat reservedly, unwittingly revealingly my shock at him starting conversation.
“There’s no need for you to help out this morning, diolch.” ‘Thank you’ in Welsh. “The new lad from Ty Gwyn is going to help. He called yesterday afternoon, offering.” I didn’t know what to say. Dad was obviously done discussing it as he was looking back down at his plate, cutting through another piece of sausage to put in his mouth. I however had questions I wanted to ask. Adam must have phoned not long after I’d left his as I was home no more than an hour later and spent the rest of the afternoon in and out of the house, never far from my father’s side. But why did he phone? He didn’t mention anything about wanting work to me. And he certainly had more than enough to do at Emma’s old place.
“But…” I started but was cut off by my father raising his hand, as if stopping traffic.
“I know you can manage the work Heli, but what with your mum going back and forward to the hospital and,” a hesitant pause “all that’s been going on, I just thought I’d stop asking you do so much about the farm.” I sensed that wasn’t the whole truth. Perhaps it was just another way of him shutting himself off from the people he was close to.
“Well, what else am I going to do?” I asked defiantly. Apart from the shock of not being wanted, I didn’t want to miss out on seeing Adam again.
“Dwi ddim yn gwbod. Take some of your mum’s household duties off her hands. I’m sure you’ll think of something.” I knew from the way he sped up his eating that he was done talking about the matter and so went back to my own breakfast.

Not long after and I heard the sheep dog’s alerting barks before the sound of a quad bike rose in volume. I stood at the sink, washing the plates and cutlery, quickening my pace as I heard Adam and my Dad introducing themselves to one another. I hurriedly dried and put everything away before running to the door, putting on my boots and walking outside. Adam’s bike was parked not far in front of the house but he and Dad had already gone into the sheep shed and I could hear them going about the task of checking for fat lambs. I walked slowly over to the big, metal door and peeped through a slit in one of the sheets of corrugated tin. My heart racing I caught sight of him and I felt my body instantly weaken. It was slightly cooler today than it had been the day I first met him and he had a lightweight jumper on over his top. Even so, he looked the picture of a young, strong man. I’d never really had a crush before but imagined that this was definitely what it must feel like. There had been boys at school that I’d gone out with of course, but it was in the most basic sense of the term and none of them ever really interested me beyond that level.
Taking a deep breath and thinking to myself ‘be cool’, I pulled on the big, iron bolt to let myself in. The screech of the bolt immediately gave me away and both Adam and my father turned to look my way, Adam smiling, my Dad not.
“Hi.” I called out as I walked towards them in the middle of a pen of sheep. Adam gave a welcoming smile, my Dad just stared at me, obviously annoyed that I’d come out here after he’d told me I wasn’t needed. “Just wandered whether you might like a paned?”
“Ay, go on then. If you’re having one, that is.” Adam replied quickly, pre-empting my father’s refusal. My Dad nodded signalling that he would.
“Tea or coffee, Adam?” As soon as I’d said his name I caught the spark in my Dads eyes and knew that he’d picked up on it. He hadn’t told me his name earlier at the breakfast table and so I’d given away that we had previously met. I felt my body go tense at the thought that this might not make him happy. Adam obviously picked up on the sudden tension and quickly answered my question as if trying to dissolve it.
“Tea. Milk. One sugar. Diolch, Heleni, wasn’t it? Thanks again for suggesting I phone your Dad about work yesterday.” He was lying. A risky thing to do as he didn’t know whether or not my Dad and I had discussed him coming to work here or not. But, being as we hadn’t, the lie worked and Dad seemed to soften a little. I smiled as if saying ‘you’re welcome’, going along with the lie.
“Dad?”
“Tea.” And with that he went back to his work. I gave a quick glance to Adam who cautiously winked back at me, him and me in a shared conspiracy. I smiled a shy, uncontrollable smile as I turned and walked away.