Prologue

My abuela seemed an ancient thing in the dancing light of the hearth, her voice wreathed with depth and time as the cigarette smoke slinked around her grayed features.

We think of dreams as fleeting, empty masa sacks rustling about in the wind. Empty and weightless. We think we leave our dreams behind and the waking world is the only one that is real. But this is not true.

Dreams, you see, are but a different type of world. Here in the Loom, the world is woven together by cause and effect, its threads made of reason and rhyme. In the Undersleep, the threads are frayed and loose, and curl back around on themselves until time is of no matter. But it is real. As are its creatures.

No? You do not believe your abuelita? I will tell you the proof.

All of us, at one point or a dozen others, have sprung awake in the middle of the night, dripping cold and hearts thundering. But we find, sometimes, we can not remember. This is because the dreams were taken.

You see, Chaquita… What? Ah, yes, you are Nayra now. You are growing so fast.

You see… little Nayra, the creatures of the Undersleep need our dreams. They are the imagination that feeds their world, that gives it weight. They wait patiently for us to visit. They coax our imagination and help it ripen.

And then there are impatient creatures. They stop us from returning to the Loom with our dreams. Sometimes, they even cross the Shroud, the in-between land, and lurk while we daydream or reminisce. This is how we forget things.

They keep our imagination for themselves.

Chapter 1

It was one of those times.

I shot upright in my bed, threw back the sweat-soaked sheets. The overcast sky seeped through the window, washing my room in pale light and cleansing my mind of the dream.

I couldn’t remember.

It was the day, I told myself. Today we were going to bury her. Put her in a box and throw dirt over her like we did with Coco.

I remembered her words, when she used to help me recall the dreams.

Do not walk in this world yet. Part of you is still across the Shroud. Reach for it.

I closed my eyes, imagined myself in that world. But nothing around me had edges, like the reflection in the ripples of disturbed water.

I sighed, opened my eyes. My chest calmed, and only then did I notice a warm tingling on my leg. I kicked the sheets away to see the bruises – or burns – on my ankle, imprinted like a gnarled hand had tried to drag me through deep mud.

I look down and brush my fingers against the blemish, wincing as the burning sensation leaps to life. A small whimper escapes my mouth and I bite my lip, fingers hovering over the wound. I glance at the clock.

Sigh.

It is already so late in the morning and I do not want to find out what mama will do to me if I am late for abuelita’s funeral. I open my dresser drawer and stuff some loose socks over my feet, muscling through the burning feeling as the cuff rubs against my skin.

I open my bedroom door, the old iron hinges creaking with age, and pad down the hallway, socked feet slipping against the terracotta tiles. I yawn and stretch my arms over my head, a drop of sweat beading and running down my neck to join the rest of the sweat at my damp color.

Grunting in discomfort, I peel the neckline of my linen nightgown off my neck and feel the fabric pull off my skin along the line of sweat that had formed in my sleep. Gross. I slip into the kitchen and ladle a cup of water into a ceramic cup, sipping at it gingerly. The cool water helps to slow my racing heart.

After a few sips, I realize that no one had lit the stove this morning. I swing open the heavy iron door and look for hot coals. Seeing none, I shut the door and listen closely.

I should hear mama bustling about. There’s not even evidence of her making coffee this morning. Maybe abuelita’s death has been harder than she wants to let on.

I pass into the living room, making sure not to look at abuelita’s empty chair near the hearth, and stop in front of mama’s door. Gently pushing on the pinewood door, I peek into the room. I can see mi abuelita’s bed laying empty against the visible wall and the white curtains fluttering as the sun comes in.

I close my eyes and listen hard. That’s… I’m pretty sure I can hear mama breathing. I push against the door and edge into the room, peaking around to the opposite wall and seeing my mama’s bed.

She’s still in it, asleep?

Tiptoeing forward I peek at her face. It looks peaceful. But, its weird that she’s still asleep. She hates sleeping past dawn.

I should wake her up. My hand hovers over her shoulder. I recall the few times that I’ve had to wake her in the past. She always shoots awake and flails wildly. Waking her up is always so scary.

I glance back at abuelita’s empty bed.

My hand touches down and I shake mama awake.

Or I tried. I shake harder. A dark strand of hair shifts and falls over her face. I place my palm against her cheek and shake harder.

“Mama? Wake up.”

She remains quiet and unresponsive. Now, I start to panic. I shake her harder and scream in her face.

“Get up!” I pinch her arm and open her eyelid with my finger. I tug at her arm and pull her ear. But, its like I’m not even here.

“Mama, I can’t lose you too. Please, get up.” I hold her hand as I sink to the floor, the way our hands fit together feeling strange and foreign.

I sit there and feel tears well up in my eyes. If only abuelita was here. She would dry my eyes with her old warm hands and call me her Nayrita. Abuelita could fix this.

Letting out a scream of frustration, I fling back mama’s covers, intending to tug her out of the bed. But, that’s when I see it. Curling all the way up her legs are wicked purple burns. As if reminded that they should hurt, my ankle flares to life. My eyes water but I come closer and inspect.

I trace them all the way up her bare legs, and I grasp the hem of mama’s nightgown, I drag it upwards tracing the ascent of the marks up past her underwear and finally fading into smaller lines just below her navel.

The fabric falls from my fingertips. Why are they so big? I stare in horror.

I back up and plop down on abuelita’s bed head in my hands. I’m alone. Abuelita has gone to heaven and mama… Mama has gone to sleep and she’s not waking up.

A million things are running through my head. How can I keep mama alive like this? Is there even any way to wake her up? How can I run the farm by myself? We could barely do it with the three of us! What would abuelita do?

“Well I can tell you right now that I wouldn’t be crying about,” a reedy voice floats into my ear as a warm hand settles in my hair.

I jerk my head up and find myself looking up into the warm brown eyes of abuelita. My eyes water as I take her in. Her silver hair is twisted into two braids and she is wearing the golden earrings that I always admired. She is wearing the the beautiful red huipil that I helped her sew when I was little.

But when I try too hard to look at her, I find myself looking at the cracked adobe wall above the bed frame.

“Abuelita how are you here? What’s happened to mama? Are you okay? How do I wake her up?” The questions are tumbling from my mouth before I can stop them.

She hushes me and gives me a sad smile, her dark eyes fond but a little disappointed.

“Mi Nayrita, have you already forgotten the stories I have told you?” She tsks.

I blush feeling foolish, but I can’t remember everything she has told me.

“There were so many of them, how could I possibly.” I exuse myself. I feel her hand brush through my hair.

“Nayrita, mi querida, she has fallen into a deep sleep that she cannot wake up from. Do you remember the undersleep?”

I nod, listening closely.

“She is trapped there, and she needs someone to get her out. I can take you there, but I cannot do it myself.”

“Why not? I don’t know anything about it?” My heart beats, abuelita is scaring me.

“Time is funny there,” she chuckles sorrowfully, “I am both alive and dead there, but you, Nayrita, are still alive and can push through the tangled threads that lie there. I cannot do it myself.”

Her leathery hand rests on my cheeks and her thumbs swipe at my tears. The glow of the red huipil filling my vision as she pulls me close.

“It will be hard. But I don’t want to leave you here alone, but I cannot stay, querida”

I nod into her breast and hold her tight. I feel the mattress give way below me and my vision is filled with a jungle of colors as I feel us drop deep into the darkness of the undersleep.