The Gallery of Forgotten Dreams

by E. A. Owell

  ‘I’m afraid, no. It is a unique object,’ answered the old lady.

  ‘And no one’s ever tried to duplicate it?’ asked the Head Fixer again.

  ‘Attempts have been made in the past but none of them have been successful,’ remarked the man in the brown jumper that, as Eliza now knew, worked in the Archive of Fading Memories.

  ‘I see. Is there any other way to stop seeing dreams, Mrs Cornish? Is there a way to break the connection between a person and their canvas?’

  ‘I’m afraid there isn’t.’

  Silence fell over the room. It was one of those heavy, burning silences that you are eager to break but don’t quite know how. Eliza desperately wanted to say something but she didn’t know what.

  ‘Where is Mr Brand’s canvas?’ she suddenly heard herself saying.

  All eyes turned to Eliza.

  ‘I meant David Brand’s canvas,’ she added for no particular reason and blushed, feeling stupid for saying such a silly thing in such a serious situation.

  Mrs Cornish looked taken aback, which made Eliza wish she were invisible right now. Her ears were burning.

  ‘David’s canvas?’ Mrs Cornish repeated.

  Now all eyes were on the old lady.

  She had become aware of others watching her and struggled to reply.

  ‘It, it’s…’ She gave a brief glance to Mr Breakleg and then frowned. ‘It must be in the Gallery.’

  ‘We haven’t found Mr Brand just yet but I think we may have found a way to get in touch with him,’ said Mr Breakleg and gave Eliza a curious look.

  She might have imagined it, but she thought the look was one of approval.

  Chapter 15

  Mr Breakleg, Mr Wood and Eliza walked quickly along the halls of the Gallery of Forgotten Dreams under the arched glass ceiling, with Mrs Cornish leading the way at such a hasty pace she was at the verge of breaking into a run.

  Eliza lost her way almost immediately and simply followed everyone else. They were moving from one hall to another, turning left and right, and Eliza couldn’t comprehend how it was possible to still have any sense of direction in this labyrinth of rooms, let alone remember where exactly one particular canvas hung.

  But Mrs Cornish moved with the speed that did not allow any time to even think where to go next. It seemed as if she followed some signs pointing in the right direction, only there weren’t any.

  They hurriedly walked into a large spacious hall. Eliza, who had to run at times in order to keep up with the rest, recognised the room. She saw the familiar massive painting that occupied wholly one of the walls. It was the Dream Map.

  The first time Eliza saw the picture it had about a quarter of its idyllic scenery defiled by the stain of heavy black clouds and lifeless wasteland. Now the pristine landscape depicting a merry stream of crystal-clear water running in the meadows of emerald grass had diminished to the leftmost bottom corner.

  Eliza got distracted by the Dream Map and had to speed up to catch up with everyone else. Several indistinguishable halls later they finally stopped. Eliza was confused. They stood in front of a canvas-less picture frame. A little plaque at the bottom of the frame said ‘David Brand’.

  ‘When did that…’ Mrs Cornish did not finish the phrase.

  ‘Looks like he’s taken care of this, too,’ said Mr Breakleg solemnly.

  ‘What do we do now?’ asked Mr Wood.

  ‘Mrs Cornish, can a new canvas be installed in here?’ asked Mr Breakleg.

  ‘It can but unless the previous one has a remembered dream on it a new one won’t work.’

  ‘I suppose he’ll get in touch with us himself soon enough, but, unfortunately for us, it will be on his terms,’ said the Head Fixer.

  ‘Can people share a dream?’ a sudden question escaped Eliza’s mouth.

  Mr Breakleg looked at Eliza, then at Mrs Cornish. ‘Can they?’

  ‘Well,’ Mrs Cornish said, mentally flicking through her thoughts, ‘it actually can be done… But all of our canvases are gone. We need the canvas of at least one of us.’

  ‘Why? How does it work?’ asked Mr Breakleg.

  ‘Hypothetically, we all could be painted on someone’s canvas and, once we all go to sleep, we shall appear in the canvas owner’s dream together with the owner.’

  ‘And how can this work in our case with Brand?’

  ‘Truth be told, I don’t know if it’ll work. But if we were painted on someone else’s canvas, then, once we fell asleep, we would appear in the place which would be a fusion of two dreams: the dream of the person whose canvas we’re all inhabiting and David Brand’s nightmare, which seems to haunt all of us. And if we paint Mr Brand in there too, we might be able to meet. But I’m not sure about it at all, and then all of our canvases are stolen anyway.’

  ‘Mine’s not.’

  All eyes turned to Eliza once again. She did not feel foolish this time, though. The looks she was given were those of tense contemplation, wonder, and genuine respect.

  ‘Eliza, but you realise you will be with us in the dream. You’ll be with us in the nightmare,’ said Mr Wood softly.

  ‘I know. But I want to help,’ Eliza felt a surge of courage rising within her.

  She half-expected the adults to start talking her out of it, telling her she was too young for this, as adults often did, despite it being about the least reasonable argument of all, but nothing like that happened.

  Instead, Mr Breakleg came up to Eliza, stood on one knee in front of her and looked her in the eye. ‘You are one brave girl, Eliza Reid. Remember that. And thank you, we owe you more than you know it.’

  Then he turned to Mrs Cornish, ‘We need Eliza’s painting.’

  The Chief Curator looked at Eliza intently, then nodded, pursing her lips resolutely. ‘Follow me.’

  They didn’t have to go far to find Eliza’s picture in one of the halls hanging on the wall full of numerous other square and rectangular-shaped frames with canvases that had already been painted. Eliza’s canvas was blank.

  ‘For safety purposes, it’s best we do it in the Fixing Department,’ said Mr Breakleg.

  Mrs Cornish nodded, and the Head Fixer took the painting off the wall. They all followed Mrs Cornish back to the Council of Human Affairs marbled hall and from there on to the Fixing Department. When they entered Mr Breakleg’s office, it was empty. They shut the door behind them.

  ‘Mrs Cornish, we’ll need an Artist to paint a dream for us,’ said Mr Breakleg.

  ‘I’ll take care of it,’ the old lady replied.

  ‘Great,’ Then the Head Fixer walked over to the door, opened it and shouted, ‘Norton, Carr, to my office.’

  At once two Fixers appeared in the room.

  ‘I need you to accompany the Chief Curator of the Gallery of Forgotten Dreams. We need to bring in an Artist. He’ll be here to help us, he’s not the one we’re trying to catch, but he’s the one who can greatly assist us.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied the Fixers.

  ‘Mrs Cornish, please go to this Artist of yours’ place at once and get them to come here. We need to do it tonight.’

  The old lady disappeared from the office together with Norton and Carr.

  ‘Mr Wood, I’d like to ask you to walk Miss Reid home. Her parents will be worried if she doesn’t show up at home tonight,’ Mr Breakleg addressed the Chief Librarian.

  Eliza opened her mouth to protest but Mr Breakleg interrupted her, ‘Do not worry, Eliza, we’ll meet you in a dream. Sleeping in your own bed is much more comfortable, don’t you think?’

  Chapter 16

  Eliza lay in bed, not a trace of sleepiness in her eyes.

  Mr Wood made sure she got home all right, and before they parted, he repeated the instructions from Mr Breakleg: Eliza was go to sleep before all of them, so that they could get in her dream once they fell asleep. Eliza was supposed to go to sleep by midnight, and it sounded like an easy thing to do, but Eliza suddenly beca
me nervous about the whole thing.

  Somehow, she felt the responsibility for other people inhabiting her dream, even though she had no control over that, since the dream would be painted by an Artist under Mrs Cornish and Mr Breakleg’s supervision.

  Eliza wondered who would be the Artist to paint their dream. She hoped it wouldn’t be that Harry whom Eliza had seen quarrelling with Mrs Cornish. In fact, she didn’t even know whether he still worked there. She remembered he had threatened to leave the Gallery. But then again, Mrs Cornish was confident it was empty threats.

  Thinking about it, Eliza mentally went back to her very first visit to the Gallery with Mr Wood. She remembered how amazing it had been seeing all those paintings come to life as people to whom these paintings were assigned had gone to sleep. It was mesmerising, as was the arched glass ceiling of the Gallery through which you could see the depths of the black-blue sky, sprinkled lavishly with twinkling stars above your head.

  Eliza rolled onto her right side, pulled the blanket closer to her face, closed her eyes and slid into the world of dreams. It was ten to midnight.

  She appeared in the dark room which was nauseatingly familiar. There was the window in front of her, through which bright moonlight trickled inside. A sickly realisation immediately came to Eliza that she was in the nightmare again. Fear seized her. The black shape blocked the moonlight. Eliza wanted to scream when all of a sudden she heard a voice.

  ‘Eliza?’ someone asked.

  The black shape stopped and waved at Eliza.

  ‘Mr Breakleg?’ she forced a whisper.

  ‘Yes, it’s me, don’t be afraid.’

  The shape slowly approached and, when it stepped out of the moonlight, Eliza was able to see the Head Fixer’s face, white in the pale light. She let out a great sigh of relief.

  ‘Sorry I scared you,’ he said.

  ‘It’s all right. Where are the others?’

  ‘About to arrive, I expect. We were supposed to go to sleep right after midnight.’

  ‘Why are we in the nightmare? I thought there would be a different dream created for us.’

  ‘There is. Only it seems to have blended with the nightmare in some funny way.’

  ‘What did they paint?’

  ‘We thought we should go for something very different to the nightmare, the opposite of it. So in contrast to the dark enclosed area, Mrs Cornish’s Artist painted a sunlit spacious garden.’

  ‘But… where is it?’

  ‘Unfortunately for us, it’s outside, I reckon.’

  ‘Outside of what?’

  ‘This room. This house.’

  Eliza thought it was indeed a very unfortunate fusion of the dreams, because, sunny garden or not, they were still trapped in this sinister house. And to get to the garden they presumably would need to find a way out of here. And how were they to do that?

  ‘Ah, I’m glad I’m not alone here, I must say,’ another familiar voice said from the blackness of the room but it gave both Eliza and Mr Breakleg a start.

  Mr Wood stepped into the silver light. Usually very calm, even he looked a little nervous, throwing glances at the window every now and then.

  ‘Not quite the place we saw Harry paint,’ he remarked.

  Harry? Eliza frowned and almost let out a sigh of indignation. Why on earth did they ask the grumpy Harry to paint their dream? What good would he paint if he felt insulted by Mrs Cornish and was going to leave?

  She did not say a word out loud, though. Perhaps, there was something to him, since Mrs Cornish had chosen him for such an important task. It’s just that Eliza failed to understand what.

  ‘Yes, indeed, it didn’t work out quite the way we expected. The garden must be outside,’ said Mr Breakleg.

  ‘I see. So what are we going to do?’ asked Mr Wood.

  ‘I suggest we wait for Mrs Cornish and then get outside of the house into the garden and we’ll wait for Brand there.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll find us?’

  ‘Oh, I’m positive he will. We’ll make sure he can spot us from the window. He’ll realise something is strange about this dream straight away, trust me, and will go searching. We’ll meet him in the garden. We only need to wait for…’

  Mr Breakleg stopped talking abruptly. The moonlight in the room began to fade. Eliza stared at the window, motionless, eyes filling with dread, and so did Mr Wood. Mr Breakleg turned around and saw what they all feared to see – the menacing black shape was rising in the window frame. They all knew only too well what this thing was and what it was going to do.

  The terrible creature began climbing over the windowsill into the room. Eliza could feel fear creeping up her spine and paralysing her. Mr Wood and Mr Breakleg didn’t move, either.

  The black shape’s feet touched the floor and slowly, as if savouring the fear it sensed, it started stretching out its hideously shaped claws, eyes glowing like two coals. Eliza wanted to scream but couldn’t. She thought she'd stopped breathing.

  Mr Breakleg was the closest to the creature and the distance between him and the monstrous arm was growing smaller and smaller. Eliza could hear mad and loud pounding of her heart. She couldn’t see Mr Wood beside her because her eyes were glued to the black shape. Its hand was already aiming for Mr Breakleg’s throat. This was the end.

  All of a sudden, Eliza heard a woman’s voice calling out from somewhere outside the window behind the monster.

  ‘Mr Breakleg! Mr Wood! Eliza!’

  It seemed as if the voice, alien to this nightmare, had broken their stupor for a moment, which was enough for Mr Breakleg to act.

  He jerked backwards from the outstretched clawed hand, and it clasped at the air instead of the Head Fixer’s neck. He pulled back Mr Wood and Eliza by the arms, turned them round, and pushed forward, shouting, ‘Run!’

  What happened next had never happened in the nightmare when Eliza had seen it. The monster lost its usual meditative slowness and rushed after them with petrifying hissing. Eliza felt another push that almost knocked her off her feet if it weren’t for someone’s hands catching her, and heard a door slamming behind them.

  A loud smash and ferocious clawing could be heard from behind the door. They were in almost complete darkness. Eliza could barely discern the corridor and the staircase to their left.

  ‘Hurry, down the stairs!’ Mr Breakleg’s voice commanded.

  They dashed for the staircase. When they'd reached it, they heard the horrible crash of a broken door and the sound of clawed limbs racing down the corridor towards them.

  Eliza felt she was being picked up as they pelted downstairs, covering one flight in five great leaps. She heard violent, bone-chilling hissing upstairs, human groans, and the sounds of a struggle. Something was cracking and breaking. Human steps caught up with them and Mr Breakleg’s voice bellowed, ‘To the ground floor!’

  They lunged down another couple of flights with the terrible din of the creature rushing after them.

  ‘Go, go, go!’ yelled Mr Breakleg as they reached the ground floor and dashed for the door to get out of this horrible house.

  Eliza looked back right when they'd reached the door and saw the two red hateful eyes gaining on them, as the monstrous pitch-black shape collapsed down the last flight of steps. She let out a squeal.

  Mr Breakleg tried the handle, but the door didn't open. He shook it violently, but it didn't budge. They heard a mad scratching behind them.

  Mr Breakleg's ‘Run!’ was followed by their sprinting into the adjacent room. Behind them came another loud bang of something heavy against the wood.

  Eliza heard another door shutting behind her. She turned around and saw Mr Breakleg and Mr Wood barricading it with a heavy-looking cabinet. The two men had toppled it on the side and been propping it with a dining table when something cannoned into the door, kicking the table back and knocking Mr Wood off his feet.

  Eliza ran to help him up, while the Head Fixer pressed the table b
ack against the cabinet and the door. Both Eliza and Mr Wood threw themselves against the cabinet, pushing as hard as they could, while the savage banging on the door from the other side continued.

  Just when Eliza thought she would scream—out of fear or exerted effort, or both—the furious scratching and pummelling suddenly stopped.

  They were engulfed in ringing silence, in which their heavy breathing filled the room. They all kept pressing against their barricade for some time. Eliza felt her every limb stiff and trembling with tension, her arms aching from the effort and feet sliding on the floor.

  Gradually, their breathing became slower. Eliza looked at Mr Wood, and together they turned to look at Mr Breakleg, who was still propping the table behind them. He watched the door, unblinking, his forehead glistening with sweat. Slowly, his grip on the table softened. Eliza and Mr Wood took it for a sign that they could do the same. They didn't step away from the barricade, though.

  Eliza's arms and legs were slightly shaking, her hair was plastered across her face. She felt blood thumping loudly in her ears.

  ‘Is it gone?’ she whispered.

  ‘I don't know,’ replied Mr Breakleg under his breath.

  He straightened up and looked around the room. It was a spacious dining room, with a fireplace, a table, and several cabinets along the walls, one of which had helped them fend of the black beast. Moonlight streamed into the room through a large window.

  Mr Breakleg walked up to the window and tried it. Locked. He grabbed a chair standing by the table and flung it at the window. Instead of breaking glass, they heard the sound of cracking wood, as if the chair had hit a rock-solid wall.

  ‘We need to find a key,’ said the Head Fixer. ‘Mr Wood, guard the door. Eliza, I need your help.’

  They went about the room in search for the key. Mr Breakleg was pulling out the cabinets' drawers one after another, quickly rummaging in them and then proceeding onto the next one.