They say dreams from deceased loved ones can shield you from harm. After my mom passed away, I dreamt of her three times. The first time, she silently blocked me in my dream, refusing to let me go to work. The next day, I spiked a high fever and couldn’t go in. It was a twisted blessing in disguise; I dodged the massive fire at my company building. The second time, Mom visited my dream again, stopping me from moving into the neighboring complex. A week later, the arsonist was apprehended in that very complex. Each time Mom appeared, her form grew a little more translucent. Eventually, she stopped appearing in my dreams altogether. Until ten years later, when I found a baby in a trash pile downstairs and brought him home. That night, my almost transparent mom suddenly burst into my dream, her face contorted in pure terror. She shook me frantically, screaming with all her fading strength: “Alex, wake up!!” “Run!!!!” I gasped, clutching the duvet, my body slick with sweat, a thick layer of beads on my forehead. My wife, Chloe, stirred awake by my movements. Her voice was soft, sleepy. “What’s wrong, honey? Bad dream?” I’d dreamt of my deceased mom again. The last time I’d seen her in my dreams was ten years ago. She hadn’t visited me for an entire decade. Back in my hometown, there was an old belief that a relative’s spirit, visiting in a dream, could ward off disaster. I didn’t used to believe it, not until I dreamt of my mom twice in a row. The first time was right after I returned from studying abroad and had just started my new job. In the dream, she silently blocked me, locked my bedroom door, hid my car keys, trying every way possible to stop me from going to work. “Mom, stop messing around. I’ll be late tomorrow.” But Mom shook her head. Unlike her usual self, she was adamant, refusing to let me go to the office. I woke up with my head pounding, splitting open, my whole body burning hot. The next day, my body stubbornly gave in to a high fever. I had to go to the hospital for an IV drip, so I called Mr. Harrison, my supervisor, to ask for time off. “I’m sorry, Mr. Harrison, I think I caught a cold last night. I’m running a 102° fever.” Mr. Harrison’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Alex, taking a day off on your very first day? Your attitude… seriously?” I humbly begged for the day off, then slammed the phone down in frustration. As I lay there alone in the hospital, getting my IV drip, I thought about that bizarre dream from last night, and that strange old legend from my village when I was a kid. *Dreams from deceased loved ones can ward off disaster.* Even though my mom had left me a substantial inheritance, she never wanted me to be a slacker, living an aimless life. I knew she wanted me to find work I truly loved. Why would Mom try so hard to stop me from working in that dream? After my IV drip finished at noon, my heart felt heavy. At the subway station, I saw the train heading towards my company building, but I turned and boarded the one going in the opposite direction. I quietly reassured myself, “Well, I’ve already asked for the day off. What’s another half-day?” I murmured, “What if the legend is true?” That evening, as I was having hot pot alone at home, a news alert popped up on my phone, making my eyes widen in shock. “Massive Fire at Financial Tower in City A: Hundreds of Casualties.” The burning building, spewing black smoke, was my company’s office. The fire had just been extinguished. And the fire started on *my* floor. Currently, no one on that floor had survived! I immediately opened SnapChat to call Sarah, another new hire like me, but there was no answer. I went back to SnapChat and messaged Mr. Harrison: “Sarcastic much? I’ve got money to burn, old man! I quit!” Half an hour passed, no reply. A cold sweat instantly broke out on my back, and my hair stood on end. My colleagues were all dead in that fire! That meant if I had gone to work today, I’d probably be burned to ashes right now!
Suddenly, Mom’s dream from last night and that strange village legend swirled in my mind like a kaleidoscope. I looked at a photo on my phone, one where I was hugging Mom. I understood then: Mom had given me a second chance at life. Later, I found a new job I loved, but that day’s events left a deep scar on my heart. My new job was in design, which I loved, but I was lacking inspiration. So, I decided to move to a nice new townhouse. The complex next door was newly developed, and the prices were incredibly good. The night before I was supposed to move in, after signing the contract and finishing the renovations, Mom appeared in my dream again. In the dream, her figure was far more translucent. She looked furious, scolding me. “Alex, why are you wasting money on another house? Buying this house now is a foolish choice!” “How many times have I told you not to waste money? Isn’t that penthouse apartment I left you big enough?!” In the dream, her face was grim, her voice sharp as she pointed her finger at me. “Cancel the contract immediately! We’re not taking this townhouse!” This was a side of Mom I’d never seen. Growing up, she’d always doted on me, supported me, and provided everything I could ever want. She even said she’d disown me if I insisted on moving into the new house. I was heartbroken in the dream, waking up with tears still in the corners of my eyes. Day broke, and the moving truck I’d hired was almost here, but the dream from earlier made me hesitate. Remembering the previous dream, my palms grew sweaty. Was something else about to happen? I put my moving plans on hold and didn’t move into the new complex. A week later, the arsonist was finally caught in the neighboring complex. He was a madman seeking revenge on society, specifically targeting wealthy neighborhoods for arson and murder. This time, he had set fire to a townhouse belonging to a wealthy expat doctor living alone. The man was eventually rescued but suffered extensive burns and disfigurement. He was a trust fund kid, but no amount of money could truly compensate for the damage he’d endured. I read the news, my heart unable to calm down. The victim’s townhouse was right next to the one I’d bought. If I had moved in then… I probably would have been the victim today! Mom had saved me again. This incident solidified my belief in that old legend. I even made a special trip to the cemetery. “Mom, you’ve given me a third life.” I thought Mom would continue to protect me, but after that, she never appeared in my dreams again. Not even when I accidentally scalded my arm with boiling water, or when I broke my left leg in a car accident. Mom didn’t visit my dreams before any of those things. My faith started to waver again. Didn’t they say dreams from deceased loved ones could ward off disaster? Why wasn’t my mom sending me dreams anymore? Remembering how translucent Mom’s spirit had been the second time, I wondered: did sending these dreams cost Mom something? Until today, ten years later, when I brought a baby home, and Mom appeared in my dream once more. By now, she was almost completely transparent, but she was desperately trying to shake me awake, her expression more terrified than I’d ever seen. “Alex, wake up!!” Then, with all her fading strength, she screamed: “Run!” My wife, Chloe, poured me a glass of warm water, soothing me gently. The baby’s cries echoed from the other bedroom, but I shivered.
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