Dream Cycle, anyone? The idea reminds me a little of Hypnos by Lovecraft
As soon as I saw this I had to look it up lol. I have (regrettably) never read anything by Lovecraft. I'm glad that everyone is enjoying it!
(I hate cookie cutter stuff lol)
I hate cookie cutter stuff too lol. I'm trying to write something that I would enjoy reading and not feel like it's been done before.
Thanks everyone for the wonderful and encouraging compliments! Just because you're all so wonderful, I'll post what else I've done in the story. I had to work today so it's mostly just been some edits and adding of descriptions, but hopefully you'll still enjoy it.
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Dreamer
Read at your own risk. Nothing will remain the same.
Prologue
My name is John King and I am a dreamer. No, I’m not talking about an, “I have a dream” type of dreamer. I’m not talking about the typical REM sleep kind of dreamer either. Studies show that the average person dreams between four and six times a night, and most people only remember the last few dreams that they have. So many people dream and don’t remember any of their dreams when they wake in the morning. Such is not the case with me. I cannot tell you how many times I have woken up and thought how amazingly real my dream had seemed. Each night, I have dreamt one dream, and I always remember it. Ever since I was a child I have had this gift; this curse.
I have read different stories about travelling through dimensional rifts or any number of other science-fiction creations. I grew up watching various TV shows about spacefaring species or intergalactic explorers. In fact, one summer that I was recovering from a knee operation, I dedicated myself to reading every science-fiction or fantasy book I could get my hands on; and I have quite a collection. I know all about M-Theory, and I know about travel through the folds of space. I know Schrödinger’s theory quite well, and perhaps that is the closest thing that fits my situation. Edwin Schrödinger put forth the theory that anything is possible, but you can never truly know what is real unless you look.
Allow me to explain to you a little bit about my situation. As I said, this all started when I was a child. I think I was nine or ten at the time, and I thought I simply began to have very vivid dreams. There would even be mornings that the taste of whatever food I had been eating would be present in my mouth. For example, several nights I dreamt that I was eating pizza, and I would wake up in the morning and I could swear that I had eaten pizza. This was certainly interesting to me, but I thought nothing of it. It wasn’t until I was eighteen that I truly understood the severity and magnificence of what I was experiencing.
When I close my eyes in sleep, I resume another life. I am the same man in each life or world or whatever you want to call it. I go by the same name with very few exceptions. Simply put, I am always myself but I am in different places and even different worlds. I have seen aliens of every conceivable shape and size; I have eaten many foods of different countries, and have even seen the world as it would be with alternate histories. There was one time that I found myself in a world where Russia had won the Cold War and that the United States was nothing more than a field of nuclear ash. I still remember hiding from Russian troops as they scoured the countryside looking for resistance cells. But back when I dreamed that dream, I still thought that they were just dreams.
Like I said, it was when I was eighteen that I truly realized that what I was experiencing was in fact happening. It was when I was eighteen that I died for the first time. I closed my eyes to sleep and began to dream. In my dream, I was at a fancy restaurant. The carpet was stereotypical Italian restaurant burgundy, as were the curtains. There was soft violin music playing somewhere in the background, and I distinctly remember the smell of freshly baked garlic bread topped with melted cheese, diced tomato and some green onion. Even now it could make my mouth water to think of the scents of that place.
I remember that I was sitting at a circular booth when a blonde woman in a blue dress, holding a black clutch approached the group I was sitting with. She asked me a question. What it was, I cannot for the life of me remember. All I could focus on were her blue eyes and the thick curls of her hair. I always was a sucker for blue eyes and curly hair. I wish I could remember the question. It would help me immensely, but unfortunately I can’t. Whatever the question was, it was critical. When I did not answer this mystery question, the woman pulled a nickel-plated pistol from her handbag and shot me between the eyes.
Okay, maybe it was all just a weird dream right? I should have just woken up, maybe with a jump at that point. Instead, I travelled. Bright white light glared in my eyes. I could FEEL myself moving, yet the light was too bright to allow me to see anything. All of a sudden, I could feel the warmth of a strong sun on my face. I found myself walking beside a crystal clear river. I could see the stones in the riverbed and they were beautiful coral colours such as you could only see on a reef here on Earth; well, on our Earth as everyone else knows it. Pinks, oranges, pale yellows, they were all there in the river. All around me were rolling, green hills with small white flowers on them. When I stop and remember, I can still smell the aroma of the flowers as it was borne on the wind. I heard, as if from a great distance, birds singing. I have always loved the sound of birds singing in the morning. It reminds me of time spent at my Grandparent’s house in their small town. I would wake up early most mornings, at least when I was young, and I could hear the birds chirping and the ocean roaring. When I turned toward the source of the river which I walked along, I saw an enormous yet beautiful city the likes of which few living have ever seen.
As I turned around to look at that place, I heard a man saying to me, “There is a purpose and season to everything under Heaven.”
“What purpose?” I asked. “What just happened?”
The man responded, “You just died. No, it wasn’t in your sleep. It was in the realm which you just inhabited. We call your kind Dreamers and you have been given an incredible gift and a great responsibility.”
Before I could ask any more questions he continued, “You will know more of your role in the coming years but know this John King: it is all very real.”
I woke up, or travelled again whichever it was, and found myself in my bed none the worse for wear. As a Dreamer, there is the possibility that maybe you live in this world, or maybe you live in a thousand others; the only way to know for sure is to look. The problem lies in the fact that what you see cannot be unseen. Simply put, if you are a Dreamer, and if you actually peer beyond the curtain of our perceptions and see that what you have dreamt is in fact real, your life will be changed forever.
Some of my adventures have been rather uninteresting and mundane but there is one adventure that has taken me to the brink of oblivion. It is that adventure which I write about now in case I never return. Each night might be my last, and I want someone, anyone to know the truth of what is happening to me.
Chapter One
One night shortly after I had turned twenty-two, I dreamed a dream that changed everything all over again. Four years had passed since I first was told that I was a Dreamer, and nothing had come of it. You must understand that after four years of nothing more than ordinary, though realistic, dreams I had begun to chalk the entire idea of “Dreamers” up to too much junk food before bed. Yes, I was guilty of eating chocolate, cake, cookies, whatever wasn’t nailed down; even before bed. I had almost forgotten about the events which took place four years ago and had moved on with my life. I had married, and we were renting a small place in the country. Though I had begun to doubt what had happened, that night after I had turned twenty-two brought it all crashing back on me.
I closed my eyes in sleep, and opened them to a new life. I was in an indoor market somewhere in Turkey being chased by soldiers firing automatic weapons at me. I knew that the HK 416 was the most likely weapon being used. How could I know that? I wondered this even as I ran. I hunt for fun each year, and I enjoy guns, but normally I would not be able to identify any automatic weapon except maybe the classic AK-47. I use only my 30-06 rifle or my 12 gauge shotgun. Every now and again I’ll use my little .22, but I’ve never even fired an automatic weapon much less spent enough time around them to identify one being shot at me. With that in mind, how could I know what was being fired at me? Is that what type of gun I carried in my hands?
I did not know how I had gotten to where I was, and I didn’t know why I was being chased, yet there were some things that I did know: 1) I had no ammunition in the weapons which I inexplicably held, 2) there was no way in the worlds that I would stop to ask why these people were trying to kill me and 3), I was lost. I had no idea of where I was other than Turkey and those soldiers were closing in fast.
As I said, I was in an indoor market. Regardless of how fast I ran, I could still hear the shouts of the soldiers or militants or whatever they were as they followed behind me and sought to trap me in their net. The smells of the market were nearly overwhelming as I sped by. It was not only Turkish merchants set up in the market on that day. I noticed a stand covered in some Asian symbols where delectable smells wafted through the air, and I distinctly saw what looked like Old English script on a sign which advertised, “Queen’s Choice Fish & Chips”. I nearly ran into a tank of Atlantic Canadian lobsters, and the smell of the salt water brought my mind home for the briefest of moments. I was born and raised for the majority of my life on the East Coast of Canada, and the smell of salt water always told me that I was home. When we had moved to the States for a couple of years, I felt so out of place until summer came and we drove home. Once I could smell the salt water, I knew I was back. Unfortunately, I was not home just now, and I had no more time to lose in thinking of it.
I gave my head a shake to clear the memories of home, and I kept running past the stands. Just then I heard a loud crack of what must have been a sniper's shot. I think that it must have come from a sharpshooter’s gun because in the instant that I heard the shot, I saw a melon directly in front of me burst apart. Even with my faced covered in juice from the destroyed melon, I stumbled forward and wiped my eyes clear. Faintly from outside the market I could hear a helicopter; things just kept getting more interesting.
As I ran, I looked over my shoulder to check once again on the progress that my pursuers had made. That was a mistake. Always keep your eyes on your goal or you just might go from the frying pan and into the fire. I failed to look in front of me, and I smashed into a soldier just as he rounded a corner. I could smell the sweat and gunpowder that seemed to emanate from him. I didn't even have time to wonder where he had come from. Instead I grabbed a grenade from his waist, spun away while he was still surprised to see me and I pulled the pin, throwing the grenade blindly behind me. Wood splinters from various food stands flew outward as the grenade went off and some splinters even dug into my back. This was not the time to contemplate pain though. My Grandfather’s mantra ran through my head, “It’s only pain”. The carnage wrought from the grenade blast slowed down the pursuers directly to my rear, but it seemed as though the entire army must have been after me. Why were they chasing me of all people? I have always been a peaceful, law-abiding person. What had I done to bring so many soldiers down on my head? Did I want to know?
I could suddenly see the exit of the market ahead of me. I crashed through the WARNING and POLICE saw-horses and threw myself against the door. I then burst out of the market’s shade and into the sunlight. Nearly blinded by the summer sun glinting off of a car’s side windows, I ran forward in hopes of escape. Unfortunately, my escape was an ill-fated attempt.
Just as I turned a corner, nearly crashing into a fruit stand which must have been abandoned earlier on in the morning, I saw a massive roadblock. Arrayed in a rough semicircle, three Personnel Carriers had their ramps lowered, and more troops were pouring out. I skidded to a stop, nearly falling over in my haste. I looked around quickly and realized that I had played directly into my pursuers’ hands. Every street and alleyway was guarded by soldiers, blocked by vehicles or both. The helicopter that I had heard earlier was hovering nearby with its side door open and a large machine gun spinning up. There was no hope; that much I could see plainly.
I quickly determined that if I was going to survive, I had to drop my weapons. I did so immediately. I threw them towards the ground and away from my body. I wanted to be sure that no one misunderstood my intentions; especially with so much firepower aimed at me so I took a step back from the weapons for good measure. Almost as soon as the guns hit the ground, I was tackled by two thick-set, muscular soldiers; grunts really. I knew enough not to struggle, but they were still rough on me. What was so terrible that I had done? When they had raised me to my feet, I was able to see an officer striding toward me. On his shoulders I could see the three stars of the Captain's rank. I began to ask what was going on, and received a punch to the mouth for my trouble. “Mr. King,” the Captain began almost conversationally in heavily accented English, wiping my blood off of his knuckles, “you are a most difficult man to apprehend.” He began to fiddle with the right side of his mustache, twisting it and then straightening it out again. “Why did you come here?” I spat the blood that had filled my mouth along with a tooth, broken by the punch, onto the ground and replied, “I don't kno...” as he punched me again; this time in the stomach.
“You will answer the question!” he fairly screamed, spittle flying in my face.
Whatever had begun the chase was of such vital importance that the Captain was ready to forget himself and do something rash. I couldn't afford for that to happen; not before I had some answers of my own at least. So I did what would normally be unthinkable to a normal, law-abiding person such as myself. I did what I had to do to keep the Turkish Captain from executing me, or worse, throwing me into some dark hole never to be seen again. “Come closer” I told him whispering conspiratorially, eyes darting to the soldiers all around. “I don't want the rest of the grunts hearing what I have to say.” He stepped closer, but instead of learning in, he punched me again. “My superior told me that you would try to trick us. We are smarter than you would give us credit Mr. King.”
A smile stretched across the Captain's face for a split second until he looked down. The two soldiers that had been holding me had, over time, relaxed their grip to the point that I could use my arms. After all, I couldn’t go anywhere right? When the Captain had stepped forward, I drew his sidearm from its holster. When he looked down and noticed what was in my hand, I spun and fired a shot into each of my guards' ballistic vests so as to stun and yes, injure them, but hopefully not to kill them. I then rounded again on the Captain. He was surprised by my speed, but then again, so was I. I normally do not move quickly being a large man and tending to conserve my energy as much as possible. In my most commanding voice I growled at him, “You listen and listen good because I'm only going to say this once: you are going to tell me why you are chasing me, and who sent you. You can try to kill me, and I'm sure that one of your men will succeed, but I guarantee that I will take you down with me.”
The Turkish Captain seemed to consider that for a moment, then replied with a deep sigh, “We were told you were dangerous; I guess we didn't realize quite how dangerous. There is one name you should know: Koszmar. Not that it will matter soon anyway.” I turned the name over in my mind for a moment. I had heard or read that name somewhere but where? I was not permitted any more time to contemplate the mystery though. The Captain grinned from ear to ear and said, “You will never reach him though. We will ensure that.” A subtle nod of his head was all that I saw before panic flooded my mind and a splash of cold hit the back of my head. I found myself falling forward feeling the worst migraine I had ever endured. I forgot about the sniper. How did I forget about him?
Everything went white again. I travelled quickly and found myself beside the river yet again. “They like to shoot your head”, the man that I had met four years earlier said as my eyes continued to refocus. “Maybe they think that they can stop you if they destroy your brain. Unfortunately, I can't tell you a whole lot right now. My hands are tied in this matter. I am only a messenger and until I am permitted to tell you more, I can’t. The only piece of information that I can offer you is this: Dreamers are chosen to deal with grave threats to the multiverse. Unless you can defeat Koszmar, many people will die painfully; starting with those closest to you. Remember that. Until next time Mr. King.”
With that I was traveling again. I awoke in my bed, surprised that it was not yet morning. The ordeals that I had just endured seemed to have lasted hours and hours. I was exhausted from the running and the stress of the night. My wife lay beside me sleeping soundly, unaware of all that I had just endured. No need to wake her and worry her though. All of a sudden however, I sensed that we were not alone in the room. Despite the warmth of the room and of the bed itself, I felt a chill run from the back of my neck all the way to my shins. Every hair on my body seemed to stand on end and such a terror swept over me that I could speak no challenge to the intruder. Instead, I laid there and listened as the presence began to speak. For some reason I had expected his voice to sound half-choked and gravelly, but instead it seemed so smooth and cultured as to be slimy. He started, “Hello John King. Oh yes, I know who you are. End your dreaming now before I end it for you. I'm coming for you John, and next time we won't just be chatting.”
The person, presence or whatever you want to call it disappeared just as suddenly as he had appeared. His words seemed to echo throughout my mind; “I’m coming for you John”. These were not just dreams. “I’m coming”. I had to end this before it went too far. This Koszmar knew where we lived. For my wife’s sake as well as my own, I had to stop him. “I’m coming, and next time we won’t just be chatting.”
