Controlling My Dreams
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My father, the King of Dreams, had given me control over my dreams. He’d also given me control over a hundred thousand other people’s dreams.
I could take that power back anytime I wanted to. All I had to do was stop dreaming and let everyone else continue dreaming the way they always did.
Except for one thing: The King of Dreams had given me permission to control any dreamer’s dreams I chose—but only while they were asleep. Not during the day or when they were awake, even if their eyes were open. So far, that was the one thing I hadn’t figured out how to do.
I knew the answer had to be there somewhere. Maybe if I went back in time . . . But that wouldn’t work either, because I needed to figure it all out now. That’s where the real adventure was: finding the right answers, as fast as possible. Otherwise, I was just going to end up being one of those guys who spends his whole life sleeping, without ever waking up. And that seemed like a really boring way to live.
That night, after my mother came into my room and kissed me on the cheek and said goodnight, I got up from my bed. I stood in front of a mirror on my bedroom wall. It wasn’t a full-length mirror, but a close-up one from which you couldn’t see the whole person. Only the face, from about chin level down.
“Hey, me,” I said softly, trying not to wake anyone in the house. “Let’s have a little chat.”
“What did you say?”
My heart leaped. There was someone else in here with me! A girl maybe? Maybe she had come through from one of my other dreams, and now she was in this one as well. Maybe she was even another part of myself. Maybe—
The voice startled me. It wasn’t me, of course. I wasn’t talking to myself anymore; it was somebody else. The question was, was she a friend or an enemy?
“You’ve got a nice voice,” I said, trying to sound friendly. “How old are you?”
There was a pause. Then:
“Why do you want to know that?”
That surprised me. I’d always assumed that any time I met anybody in my dreams, we would automatically get along and talk naturally, without having to ask questions first. But here it turned out that people didn’t necessarily agree with my assumptions. I’d need to find some common ground before we could have a meaningful conversation.
I decided to take a shot in the dark.
“Well,” I said, “since we’re dreaming together, it might be kind of nice if we had a sense of each other, wouldn’t it?”
Another pause. This time there were several of them. And then I felt like someone was staring at me right through the mirror.
“Okay,” said a new voice. “Who are you?”
“Hi. My name’s Alex,” I said. “And what is yours?”
The voice laughed.
“It isn’t important,” she said. “Why don’t we just get on with our dreams, shall we?”
She was talking to me, but it wasn’t me saying the words. It sounded as though she was talking straight into the mirror. And her words echoed in my mind like I was hearing them over a loudspeaker. I wondered who this was, and how she could possibly be so sure I didn’t exist.
I had already figured out that I had created all kinds of other people in my dreams, but nobody ever seemed to think they had any connection to me. Now, this girl thought differently. It made me curious.
“Sure,” I said, “why not?”
We did talk for a few seconds about nothing in particular. Then I woke up in bed. My mother was still asleep beside me. My father was sitting quietly at the head of the table. And I knew there would be no more sleep until morning because it was already past midnight.
I lay awake in the dark, thinking. This wasn’t going to be easy, but I knew it was something I needed to do. I’d always assumed that my father could only control people’s dreams at night—but now I was starting to wonder whether that was the whole truth.
***
The next day at breakfast, I told my parents I was going back to sleep and would be back in a while. My mom smiled and said good luck, and my dad winked at me and nodded his approval.
I went to the basement bedroom. After pulling off all my clothes, I crawled under the blankets and pulled down the top sheet, just in case. I got into position and waited. Nothing happened. I didn’t hear any voices from outside the walls. There was no sound of footsteps on the stairs or anything else to suggest that the man had come.
So he was here somewhere, but where? Maybe if I looked for him in the basement, I might be able to find some trace of him. I had already learned something new by thinking about this a little longer.
I realized that it didn’t have to be a voice; it could be the feeling of someone watching you from behind. Or maybe somebody standing right over your shoulder, as though they were right behind the mirror.
But there was no need for me to panic because whatever happened next wouldn’t actually hurt me. I could just walk out and tell my parents all about it. It sounded so logical I found myself almost laughing, even though I wasn’t sure if this was really a dream or not. In any event, the way things stood now, it was the only choice left to me.
I walked back through the dining room and kitchen, then down the hall toward the basement door. When I opened it, there was no sign that anyone had been here, not a speck of dust on the floor, nor anything out of place anywhere. But the air smelled of smoke and ash, and something felt wrong.
And when I peered into the room, there was a faint smell of decay. I turned around quickly. This place seemed to have gone back to being a regular old bedroom.
I started to get up and turn away. The whole thing was a waste of time—the man wasn’t in here.
Just then, though, I noticed a pile of clothes on the floor next to the bed. They belonged to nobody I knew, and there weren’t any names or initials written inside the jackets. So it probably wasn’t anybody who lived at our house, although I still couldn’t figure out who they might belong to.
But I did know what it was like to be somebody else, and so I took a closer look anyway, even though I didn’t want to. I picked up one of the jackets, feeling the softness of the leather against my fingers. Then I held it up to the light to see how it looked from the inside. It had a strange texture. Like nothing, I’d ever felt before. And the lining was lined with dark fabric that had a sheen to it.
I put the jacket down and pulled out another one, looking underneath the hem to make sure there was no name or other identification on it.
Then I got into position again and tried to close my eyes. My father was still sitting there eating breakfast. He didn’t look worried at all. Maybe he’d never been able to do what I was going to do, but now that I was actually about to try, he seemed quite at ease.
In fact, he was smiling. It didn’t seem as if he had any idea that he was just watching an ordinary person go through all kinds of weird experiences and strange adventures, and none of them would hurt me in any way.
He just wanted to see me happy. I liked him more than I ever had before, which made me feel uncomfortable for some reason. I couldn’t help wondering whether I really loved him or not.
My mother came out of her bedroom with a glass of orange juice and said good morning. Her eyes seemed to be filled with tears. As usual, I felt awkward, not knowing what to say or how to act. My parents both stared at me without saying anything for a few moments, then my father smiled and nodded. Then his expression changed again and he started talking.
“The dreams,” he said. “It’s true you can talk to people in their dreams, but you’re not going to tell them anything they don’t already know. You’ll just hear stories from them and learn what they’ve forgotten, what’s always been hidden in the back of their minds.”
I nodded slowly and kept staring into the dark shadows under the bed, trying to remember what happened last time, what I’d heard when I looked in the mirror. But it was hard.
“But it’s different when you try to reach out into someone else’s mind,” my father went on. “You have to make sure you have enough power, otherwise they’ll never know what hit them. The trick is to think about the right things—like what you’d like to do in the dream if you could.”
When I nodded once again, my father smiled again. I was beginning to understand what he meant.
“What I’m telling you now is what I figured out myself,” he said. “There’s no way of knowing exactly what will happen, so don’t get upset if something bad happens while you’re reaching for it. Just try to figure out what you can do to prevent anything really terrible from happening, and try again later.”
My father reached across the table and grabbed my hand. He squeezed it gently, as if to encourage me, then looked up at the ceiling.
“It won’t hurt you,” he whispered. “And even if it did, the damage couldn’t be that serious. I’d rather take a chance than see you stay here any longer.”
He let go of my hand and I sat there silently for several moments, wondering whether or not this was really all happening. If so, why couldn’t I move away? What had my father done with my body while I was in the other world? Why couldn’t I hear anybody moving around inside the house, except the two of us? And where was everyone else?
Suddenly I realized my mother was looking straight at me, so I closed my eyes and started thinking about the dream. But I could still hear my father talking. I tried to keep listening and ignore my mother, but the voices just kept coming through to my ears like whispers.
I knew they weren’t my father’s, and my mother was only whispering, too. She sounded worried and sad like she had no idea how things were going to turn out.
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” she said. “You’ll be back soon. It won’t take long, and then you won’t have to worry about anything. We both know you’ve been having strange dreams, but don’t worry. You won’t have to stay out there for very long. Just give it a little longer. That’s all you have to do.”
I could feel myself nodding even though I didn’t want to, and when my mother looked at me I could tell by her expression that she could see me in her mind’s eye as if we were connected by some invisible thread. Then my father said something in his soft voice again, and my mother nodded in agreement.
I felt embarrassed for a moment, and looked away from them both, trying to make sure no one could see what I was doing. But my father took my hand once again and smiled. He must have heard everything she was saying in my head. I couldn’t help wondering whether or not he was listening in on other people’s thoughts, too—and whether he liked it.
“Just be patient,” my father said quietly, almost as if he could read my mind. “That’s the only thing you need to remember. Just be patient and don’t panic. Everything will be okay, trust me.”
He let go of my hand again and started walking into the bathroom, saying over his shoulder as he went:
“Now, why don’t you get dressed? Your friend’s probably waiting for you already.”
My heart started racing again as soon as he’d finished talking. How would I ever be able to concentrate and reach for something when they were both looking at me?
But I forced myself to sit up straight, took a deep breath, and began staring at the ceiling again. My father was right, I knew he was. Everything would be all right if I just held my nerve.
I had to think about the kind of things I might want to do if I could talk with my friends in their dreams. I’d probably like to fly around like a bird, or perhaps walk through walls like the heroes in the comics. Maybe I could become a superhero who saved the whole world!
Or maybe I could even become somebody really important. Perhaps I’d be the president of the United States! It seemed ridiculous, but the idea was so much fun that I started grinning. Then I thought of something else. Maybe I’d be able to travel back in time.
I’d love to know how all this started—what happened in the beginning to make our world the way it is today. And what was that thing I’d seen at the end of the hallway? I’d have liked to ask him about it if only I’d been awake when I’d been standing there by the doorway. What did the little black creature say before I woke up?
“It won’t hurt you,” my mother was whispering again, “and even if it did, the damage couldn’t be that serious. I’d rather take a chance than see you stay out there any longer.”
Her voice faded away, and then I heard her footsteps walking across the room to the bathroom, followed by the sound of water running inside. But she didn’t shut off the tap this time, so the sound of the rushing water grew louder and louder until it finally stopped.
The silence returned, broken only by my own breathing, which was fast and shallow now. I could hear my heart beating loudly as the fear started creeping back into my body. Was the darkness outside the dream starting to feel darker than ever?
Would I ever find out what was happening to me? I wondered whether anyone would believe me if I told them everything, or if they’d think I was crazy.
But after a moment, I felt the urge to try something different. I decided I would open my eyes again and start reaching for something in my dreams. That might be enough to wake me up for good. At least then I could stop wondering about all these strange things that had been happening. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes.
I looked at my father, and he was just watching me from the doorway. His face was pale and there were bags under his eyes like he hadn’t slept much lately. My mother was sitting on the chair next to him, leaning forward with her arms crossed.
She must have been awake again already because the blanket that covered her shoulders was pulled over her head and there was nothing else she could hide behind. My father put down the clothes basket he was holding, walked to the edge of the bed, and reached out his hand to touch mine.
I let him, although it felt strange not to try to keep away from him anymore. He squeezed my fingers gently, then pulled his hand away and sat down beside my mother. I could feel the warmth of their bodies against mine.
“Well?” he asked my mother quietly, as though she were going to know how to make this happen. “Is it really going to work? I mean, will you be able to see her in your dreams tonight? Will everything stay quiet inside your head while I’m in there? Are you going to be patient? Will you remember to relax when you feel like panicking?”
He looked at her and smiled again, but she only nodded without replying. He turned his attention back to me but didn’t speak for a long time. It was just us three in the room now, and nobody seemed willing to talk anymore. I started breathing normally again, feeling my heart slowing down to something more normal. Finally, my father said:
“Okay,” he said, “you can go.”
And just like that, we both got up and left the room. I walked into the hallway, followed by my father and my mother. As soon as we passed through the door that led to the corridor, I could feel a sudden coldness spreading through my body.
I had no idea why it felt different, or how it was going to end. But I still couldn’t stop smiling. The whole world suddenly felt like it was mine and I wanted to run around and play.
“What did you think?” my mother whispered in my ear. I could feel her lips against my neck. “Did you enjoy it?”
I nodded.
“And what did you see?” my father asked me. “Tell me.”
It took me a moment to understand the question, and then I told them about the hallway, and how it had changed after the lights had gone out and everything was getting darker and darker. When I finished, I could feel both their eyes on me and the warmth of their breath against my skin.
But they were too far away, and it was impossible to make out any expressions on their faces. Then my father’s hand touched my shoulder, but not the one with the missing finger; he put his other hand around my waist so that we both started walking down the corridor together.
“We’re going outside now,” he told me quietly. “It won’t be as dark for us this way, so don’t worry about the darkness in your head anymore. It’ll just be your imagination. Everything will feel as real as if we really were standing outside at night.”
And that’s when I realized it: The darkness I saw wasn’t just in my head. And even though I knew there was no point in asking questions, I had to find out where the light was coming from. So I looked over at my mother and I asked:
“Are we all in the same dream?”
I could almost hear my own voice as she smiled at me. She took hold of my hand and squeezed it gently before she answered.
“Yes, sweetheart, we are.”
The darkness around us got darker. My mother didn’t let go of my hand. Neither of us said anything else until we reached the end of the corridor and went out into the street. I could still see a little bit because of the light that shone in through the window behind us, but most of it was blackness and it felt like something had suddenly closed in on us.
There was something about the way we stood together that made it easy to believe.
“You’ll see soon enough,” my father whispered into my ear. “Just look around and you’ll see the rest of your dreams right in front of you.”
And I did, but they were just shadows in the corners of my eyes. As soon as I focused on them, they disappeared and then I couldn’t see any of them. And it seemed impossible that I hadn’t noticed them before, even though I had been looking straight at them.
Then my father’s hand tightened around my waist. We started moving slowly down the sidewalk, away from the bright lights of the building, and the darkness in my mind began to grow stronger again. The shadows were still there, only now I could make out the shapes of things. When I tried to say something, my mother answered me with a whisper:
“It doesn’t matter.”
That was when my father put his other arm around me and pulled me close to him so that we could go even faster. We went for what felt like hours before I finally understood. He was leading us to the edge of a cliff, so he could throw both my arms off into space.
And he was going to do it as soon as I was in the middle of a dream. But I wouldn’t be asleep anymore after that, and my mother would still be awake. And when she woke up in the morning, I’d have lost both arms and my voice forever.
My father stopped walking. The darkness all around us had turned blacker than before, but I knew exactly where we were standing. He let go of my waist and held up both arms in front of him, like they were the handles of a big door.
I stared into space for a while before I realized that everything in front of my eyes looked like it was made of wood. I could see every individual grain in its surface, and as soon as I focused on them, they disappeared.
“Open your eyes,” my father said. “Look through the window.”
The dark outside didn’t change. It was just an empty expanse of grass and rocks. So I asked him if he would give me something to hold instead. I wanted to feel safe inside my own head again. But when I asked my mother for her hand, she shook her head and told me to keep still.
She took hold of my arm and pushed it behind my back instead so that I was forced to walk like she was holding me, prisoner.
And then we moved away from the building once more, deeper into the darkness. When my eyes couldn’t see any further into it, the world began to turn gray, and the shadows seemed even closer. My father’s arms were suddenly gone. Now there was nothing at all between the two of us and the darkness.
But this time it was too much, and my mind was too strong. I opened my eyes just long enough to let my mother pull me free, and then everything faded away in a flash of light that came from my own body.
And at the moment I lost the shadows, I also lost my mother, and the pain in my ears was replaced by a loud bang that filled my entire head. It wasn’t anything I heard with my ears anymore, but instead, it seemed as if it came from the inside of my own skull.
I had felt something similar before: When I got hit hard enough in my head, I couldn’t hear anything. That was what happened now. It was as if someone had stuck their fingers inside my brain and started playing music with them.
I closed my eyes as tight as I could. It hurt too much to think or do anything else. My eyes burned as if I’d been staring directly into the sun. Then it began to get colder than I had ever felt it before, and when I looked out from the bottom of my own eye, it was snowing.
The snow fell onto my closed eyelids, but when it touched my eyeballs, it turned instantly to ice. It melted slowly on top of my lids, forming a thin layer that was almost invisible.
The End