Miriam stretched and yawned, rolling from her side to her back as she awoke. Sunlight tugged at her closed eyelids, and she twisted her face back toward the wall. It was Saturday, the one day of the week her alarm remained unset, and she was free to dream as long as she wished. She knew the sun only snuck through the gap between her black-out curtain and the wall for a few minutes just after sunrise this time of year, so she yanked her other pillow over her head and settled back into her dream.

In REM, her surroundings were familiar, but not. She had been working in the garden with her mother, their weekly custom, but rather than the usual rows of carrot and lettuce sprouts surrounded by a border of multicolored pansies and poppies, blush pink carrots dangled from tangles of sky blue vines above small amethyst bushes she somehow knew hid baby heads of juicy lettuce, growing under the ground. The surrounding flower beds held pansies and poppies, but their bright rainbow colors were watered down to nearly nothing, leaving them various shades of white with only the veins on each petal full of pastel beauty. Yet dream Miriam went about weeding and trimming and stopping to sniff the blossoms as though nothing looked out of the ordinary. She supposed she should be frightened, but the scene was so serene she hoped instead that the dream would never end.

tap tap

Dream Miriam lifted her head from the carrot vine in her hand to glance around for the source of the noise. Visitors were rare at their home, as her mother worked from home for a tech company, and she herself had few friends, preferring to study or read her current favorite novel to socializing with anyone outside of school hours. Was that a knock, or a woodpecker (if such existed in this place), or a man-made noise she could not identify? When the sound did not repeat, she shrugged it off and turned her attention back to the overgrown vine.

Tap Tap

This time the rapping was clear, sharp and close. It came from the direction of the house, but an intent glare at the building revealed no movement. A glance across the yard to where her mother knelt in the dirt to check the roots of a lettuce bush told her the odd noise only disturbed her; her gray hair fell forward to hide her face as she probed the bottom of the bush, her concentration unbroken.

TAP TAP

Something hard beat down on the top of the vine frame above her head, and her head snapped up to see the culprit. Less than a foot above her head perched a lark, pointed beak and feather crest easily identified from her casual birdwatching, but this was no lark she had ever seen in the nearby woods. Where typical larks had plumage in browns and grays with black beady eyes, this fellow was robed in silver feathers edged with royal blue; the silver feathers matched his beak, and eyes the color of pine needles in the spring studied her carefully. Before she could observe it further, the bird took flight and swooped toward her, so close to her head that his left wing hit her twice as he flew away.

tap tap

Miriam jerked awake and upright, breath panting and heart pounding. The dream had been so realistic, she swore she could still hear the bird tapping on the trellis in the not-right garden. Of course, that was impossible; nothing in that dream had been real, including the presence of her mother, who was serving out another five year sentence for criminal intimidation and possession of stolen goods.

It was a rare month or two these days when her mother was home and in her right mind so the two of them could tend the garden as they had when Miriam was small. She always wanted what was trendy but lacked the dedication or patience to work for the funds to purchase them legally, and her first arrest when Miriam was eight would be her shortest sentence. At least there was no need to call Aunt Ruby to come stay with her anymore; being a legal adult had its perks.

Tap Tap

She had not imagined that noise. It came from the concealed window, now no longer a portal for blinding sun rays. The curtains fulfilled their light-blocking purpose well, and in the process prevented her from observing the outside world, never too worrying, as her bedroom was on the second floor and faced the open field and the woods next to the house. Now she wished for thinner curtains, the better to see-

TAP TAP

No doubt about where that harsh racket originated. Concerned that another such assault on her window pane might shatter it into more pieces than she could count or avoid cutting her feet on, Miriam threw back her fluffy warm comforter and scrambled around her heavy white wooden nightstand to yank aside the thick curtain. Unprepared for the sight beyond the glass, she gasped and stepped back until her back slammed into a wall.

Staring at her, the not-lark from her dream perched easily on the narrow outside window sill, head cocked to one side as though it were waiting for her to do something. Its silver and blue feathers shimmering in the morning sun. The only difference between this bird and the one in her dream was the bundle of brown paper dangling from its gleaming beak. A tiny square of folded paper tucked under the string tied around the package caught her eye. Was that a note?

She shook that thought away, still not trusting her vision or her mind enough to entertain it. Rather she flipped through several explanations for the similarities of the bird before her and her dream bird. Discarding insanity, hallucination, the after-effects of drugs or alcohol, and the possibility of still being asleep quickly, using facts she knew to be true, at last she decided this must be a species of lark she had no knowledge of, and the resemblance to the not-lark in her dream was only coincidence, likely never to happen again. That settled, her breathing and heart rate slowed, and she cautiously returned to the window.

The bird's green eyes drilled into her own brown orbs, drawing her closer. Intelligence and interest lurked there, more so than in any other bird she had encountered, and now that a reasonable explanation for its unusual appearance had appeared, she allowed her curiosity to direct her actions. With no more hesitation, she unlatched the window and eased the sash up to avoid spooking the animal on the other side. It fluttered its wings and tottered backwards a few inches before calming and resuming its staring at her once the window was fully open.

Miriam wanted to see just how close she could get to the pretty creature. Maybe the bundle in its beak was not intended for her; perhaps the bird had tangled its beak in the twine pecking at it and needed her help to be free. But then, why me?

She ignored this and slid first one hand and then the other toward the bird, palm up, along the window sill. To her surprise, as her fingers approached, the animal hopped right into her palm. Its long toenails scratched her skin, but the sensation was not unpleasant, reminding her of the tickle of grass blades against her bare calves in summer. Her other hand inched over the silver head and lightly stroked the bird's back. A chirp that resembled a purr rewarded her, and the tiny package dropped from the lark's beak into her hand. In a flurry of flapping, the bird flew away; Miriam watched until it vanished into the trees, wondering if she would ever see it again.

The weight of the object in her hand drew her attention at last. She laid it carefully on her nightstand for a moment to close and secure the window. Upon her return, she scooped up the paper ball with one hand and tugged at the knot in the string wrapped around it. A few gentle tugs later, the string unraveled and fell away, leaving the package and folded note loose on her palm. She grasped the tiny square of paper with one hand, but before she could set the wrapped item aside to unfold it, the plain brown paper unfurled like a rose's petals in summer to reveal a stone. The stone appeared to be quite ordinary, a dull dark red stone shaped like a slightly flattened sphere. She tipped the stone out of her hand onto the bed along with the wrapping paper and opened the folded note. In rough script, the note read:

Happy birthday!

May all your dreams come true!

(P.S. They will come easier when

you hold the enclosed piece of dreamstone.)

No signature graced the page to give her a clue about the sender, nor did she recognize the handwriting. And dreamstone? I've never heard of dreamstone. Looks like ordinary unpolished red marble to me, she thought as she exchanged the note for the rock on the bed. The small stone still hid in the remains of it wrapping, so she pinched the paper scraps and lifted, dropping the contents into her bare palm.

Instantly, tiny flashes of red light began filtering out of the depths of the rock, spinning and bumping into one another like a thousand fireflies trapped in a glass jar. After a few seconds, the sparks became a dense pulsing cloud that covered the entire surface of their container, and the stone glowed like a powerful LED flashlight. Miriam suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to wish for something impossible, so without hesitation she thought, I wish my mother was home, and that she never met Dan the snake.

The glow in her hand intensified for a heartbeat before the room filled with wind strong enough to scatter the documents on her desk and rattle the pictures hanging on the wall. Then the stone went dark, and the air came alive with the scent of frying bacon and sourdough bread toasting. The pile of dirty laundry in the corner vanished, along with the crumbs on the floor and the cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling. The sound of a woman singing about the bare necessities filtered through the closed bedroom door, and Miriam's chest tightened. She brushed away a tear before heading downstairs. She could not explain what just happened, but she wasn't about to miss her first home cooked breakfast in ages. There would be time for explanations later.