The House on Kodi Street: Part 2 The Gathering

 

The House on Kodi Street: Part 2 The Gathering
By Deedee Jebrail from my dreams

The house on Kodi Street had changed. Again.

Once hollow and crumbling, it now stood proud—porch swept clean, curtains drawn open like welcoming eyes. Light spilled through the windows in a soft golden haze. There was warmth now, movement. Life.

Or something like it.

I didn’t remember receiving an invitation, but somehow, I knew I was expected. Inside, the rooms buzzed with conversation. It was a kind of conference—organized, almost formal, but strange in the way dreams are. The guests wore name tags that shimmered faintly, like their names had been written in smoke. Everyone had one.

Except me.

I thought about finding the table with blank tags, asking for a pen. But I didn’t move. I just let it go, telling myself it didn’t matter. Still, I felt the difference. I wasn’t labeled. I wasn’t placed.

I wandered until I saw an old family friend sitting at a table in what used to be the dining room. Her face hadn’t changed—firm, closed, unimpressed. She was unhappy, even here. I, on the other hand, felt oddly content. I took a seat beside her, feeling like I was exactly where I needed to be.

A woman floated in—not literally, but close—her steps silent, her smile practiced. She placed two bundles of cookies on the table, wrapped in delicate paper, tied with thin black thread. Four cookies in each.

My friend grabbed them both.

I stared. “I want some cookies,” I said, not angry, just clear.

She sighed, looking annoyed, then slowly slid one bundle toward me. A peace offering? A test? I wasn’t sure.

And then I remembered why I was here.

I was scheduled to speak—to share something about makeup artistry, yes, but I wanted to talk about dreams. How they shimmer beneath the surface of our lives, how they can guide us when nothing else makes sense.

But before I could rehearse even a word, I found myself outside the house.

The porch boards groaned gently beneath me. Crickets stirred in the hedges. Behind the door, I could hear the murmur of the crowd, the hush that comes before a name is called.

Then it came:
“Deedee… to the stage.”

I froze.

My heart beat steady. My hands didn’t shake. I was prepared—I’d lived the stories, learned the lessons, gathered the tools.

But I wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

I stood there on the steps of the house, just outside the door, my name hanging in the air behind me.

The light through the window was soft. It waited.
The house waited.

And I… just stood there.

 

Part 1 The House on Kodi Street