Zac and the Dream Stealers

by Ross Mackenzie

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  Zac Wonder sprinted through the forest, the carpet of frozen leaves crunching beneath his bare feet. Whatever was chasing him was gaining.

  He leapt over a fallen branch and skidded to a halt at the edge of a deep ravine. There was no way across. He was trapped. The trees rustled, and he whirled around.

  A tall figure in black stepped out into the moonlight. In place of a face was a gleaming silver skull. Its arms, encased in bone-shaped silver armor, were folded across its chest.

  Zac felt panic rise in his throat as the terrifying apparition advanced toward him. Without thinking, he took a fatal step backward, and fell, tumbling into darkness . . .

  He landed with a thud on the living-room floor.

  “Another one, lad?”

  Zac sat up with a start at the sound of his grand-mother’s voice. Perched on her rocking chair by the fire, she was gazing at him over her newspaper.

  He nodded, rubbing his eyes.

  Another one. Another bad dream.

  “You all right?” she asked.

  “I dreamt I was being chased by a skull and crossbones. How stupid is that?” he said, trying to sound casual, but his heart was racing.

  She stared at him hard for a second, then turned back to her paper. Zac could have sworn her hands shook slightly.

  He clambered clumsily back onto the couch and lay there, thinking. Tall and gangly for an eleven-year-old, Zac had large, awkward feet, crystal blue eyes, and a mop of messy brown hair that always tickled his forehead.

  Tonight was the sixth time in a week he’d woken up shivering and afraid. These days it seemed to happen every time he went to sleep. And he wasn’t alone. Every day the television news reported the spread of bad dreams. It was like an epidemic.

  The world was changing. People were scared.

  Zac cast a sideways glance at his grandmother. Granny Wonder was tiny and round, with a cloud of silver hair. She always kept two pairs of golden spectacles on a string of pearls around her neck — one for reading and the other for distance. Puffing away on her favorite pipe, she was squinting at the paper with such concentration it looked as though she were trying to read using the wrong glasses. Zac took a peek at the front page to find out what was so fascinating. SCARED TO DEATH! screamed the headline: NIGHTMARES ON THE INCREASE AS CRIME WAVE BATTERS BRITAIN!

  When she’d finished reading, Granny hissed through her teeth and tossed the paper into the fire, shaking her head. The pages wrinkled and blackened in the flames.

  Granny had never been completely normal. She’d always whispered to the birds in her backyard and smoked that awful pipe. The other children were scared of her. They said she was a witch. A witch! Zac shook his head at the thought, and rubbed the ugly bruise under his eye — the latest result of defending Granny’s honor at school. He didn’t care how many black eyes he got, or that his classmates whispered when he walked past. He wouldn’t swap Granny for a hundred friends. She was all he’d ever known. After Mum had died, and Dad had ditched him, Granny had given him everything. Even so, Zac couldn’t deny she’d changed these past few weeks.

  It had started around the same time as the reports about bad dreams began. She’d become extremely quiet, and though Zac would have been the first to admit Granny had never been a chatterbox, this was different. She’d barely said two words for weeks.

  She’d also begun exercising. She only did it when she thought nobody was watching, of course, but Zac had caught her doing jumping jacks in the backyard twice that week. He’d even seen her trying one-armed push-ups.

  Lastly, and most intriguing of all, Granny Wonder had been disappearing every single night at the stroke of midnight.

  What was she doing?

  Zac had made up his mind. Granny was up to something, and he was going to find out what.

  Tonight.

  As the grandfather clock in the hall struck midnight, Zac lay curled up in bed, doing his very best impersonation of someone who was fast asleep. A storm was building, and the wind rattled his bedroom window.

  Creak.

  That was Granny’s door. She was right on time.

  Zac heard her stop outside his room. The door opened a fraction. He closed his eyes tightly and concentrated on breathing slowly. He even threw in the occasional sleepy snort.

  Creak.

  The door closed again. Zac breathed a sigh of relief as Granny made her way downstairs. Then he leapt into action, throwing on his robe and slippers, and sneaking toward the door. He pressed his ear against the wood.

  Silence.

  Zac held his breath, reached down, and delicately turned the doorknob. The latch clicked open and he pulled the door gently inward.

  The hallway was pitch-black; darkness clung to everything like tar. Zac shivered as he crept toward the stairs. The old house was freezing. It didn’t help that his pajamas were two inches too short, which meant a chilly breeze was wafting up his pants legs.

  He descended the stairs. It was a little easier to see here, because the glass on the front door let in a long sliver of orange light from the streetlamp. The kitchen was at the back of the house, so Zac tiptoed down the hall, carefully avoiding the creaky floorboards. A lifetime of sneaking downstairs for midnight snacks had taught him a useful lesson!

  The kitchen was deserted. Zac crept to the window and looked out at the backyard. A blizzard was blowing with gusto; he could barely see the end of the garden. As he wiped the condensation from the glass, he caught a glimmer of movement. Yes, there it was again! Through the curtain of falling snow he could just make out a figure . . .

  It was Granny, struggling with all her might against the wind.

  Zac was dumbfounded. He blinked. Was he still asleep? What on earth was she doing out in a snowstorm in the middle of the night?

  Transfixed, he watched Granny reach the frozen goldfish pond in the middle of the garden. She stopped at the edge and glanced around. Zac ducked out of sight. Seconds later he looked again, and what he saw made his hair stand on end.

  Granny was jumping into the pond!

  As she disappeared under the icy surface, Zac screamed in shock. He had to do something! He turned, ran straight into the kitchen table, ignored the flash of pain, and sprinted to the door. Tying the belt of his robe tightly, he threw himself out into the storm.

  The bitter cold hit him
immediately, wrapping an icy hand around his throat, squeezing the air from his lungs. On he charged, fighting against the stinging wind and snow. The wind howled in his ears and whipped great flakes of snow into his eyes.

  Granny Wonder still hadn’t emerged from the fishpond. Zac felt his heart thundering as he covered the final few steps to the water’s edge. He half expected to find her lifeless body floating there, but there was nothing but a large hole in the thin layer of ice. Zac’s mind raced. How could someone just disappear into a shallow fishpond? Shielding his eyes from the blizzard, he frantically looked around the garden. Where was she? He searched for footprints that might lead away from the water’s edge, but there were none. Granny clearly hadn’t climbed out.

  “Follow her in.”

  What was that? Zac spun a full circle. No one was there.

  “Follow her in.”

  Someone was whispering.

  “Into the pond,” the voice said again.

  “No way!” yelped Zac — just as a powerful gust of wind knocked him from his feet. He sailed through the tumbling snowflakes, watching with horror as the icy surface of the pond drew nearer and nearer . . .

  He braced himself for the sting of freezing water, but when he crashed through the ice, the pond was warm! It felt just like a relaxing bath. He trod water for a moment, listening to the wind, now a ghostly whisper, and the magnified sound of his own heartbeat. Granny’s goldfish tried to nibble his fingers. Then, almost as though someone had pulled a plug at the bottom of the pond, he was sucked down . . .

  Zac landed hard on a cold stone floor. As he lay on his back, trying to catch his breath, he realized not a bit of him was wet, even though he’d fallen into a fishpond. Things were getting really strange now!

  Above his head was the surface of the pond. It looked as though a layer of water was suspended in the air. Astonished, he realized he could still see the goldfish swimming in it, as if they didn’t mind the gaping void beneath them. He could even see the swirling blizzard. It was like looking up through a liquid skylight. To one side of the suspended pond he spotted a rickety wooden ladder, which seemed to be the only way back to the surface. Useful — but first he needed to find Granny.

  Turning, he realized he was at the entrance to some sort of stone chamber. Taking a breath, he crept in.

  The air in the chamber was thick with dust, and smelt like snuffed candles. Enormous cobwebs sparkled like diamond necklaces by the light of a fire popping in the hearth. Books covered every inch of the walls. In the very center of the chamber stood a crumbling stone archway, leaning to one side as though it were tired as well as ancient. It looked very odd standing there on its own.

  “Hello, lad.”

  Zac’s heart leapt, and he spun around to see Granny sitting in a comfortable armchair, peering at him over her golden glasses. On her lap she balanced a book so large her legs were entirely hidden.

  “You’re OK!” said Zac. “When I saw you jumping into that pond . . .”

  “I’m fine,” she said apologetically. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I wasn’t entirely sure you’d follow me through the ice, so I made the wind give you a little push. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Zac frowned. “You knew I was following? You wanted me to come here? Why? What’s going on? What is this place?”

  “Well now,” she said, “that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” She heaved the enormous book up onto a chunky table, and leaned back in her armchair. “You’d better sit down,” she continued.

  Zac flopped into the armchair next to her. His mind was spinning.

  “I’m going to tell you something, lad,” she said, “something very important. In fact, it’s the biggest secret there is to tell.”

  When Granny next spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper.

  “What do you know about dreams, lad?”

  Zac thought for a moment. “Am I dreaming now?” he asked.

  “That depends on how you look at it,” said Granny. “Let me put it another way. Where do you go when you dream?”

  Zac scratched his chin. After some consideration, he said, “I don’t go anywhere. I’m asleep when I dream.”

  “Aha!” said Granny, punching the air. “Your body is asleep. But what about the rest of you?”

  Zac looked down at his robe and pajamas. “There isn’t any more of me,” he said.

  Granny laughed. “What about your spirit, Zac?” she exclaimed. “What about the bit of you that makes you you? It has to go somewhere while your body is resting, doesn’t it? Otherwise it’d get bored and shrivel up, like a raisin!”

  Zac stared at Granny. She appeared to be serious. He knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t seem to do anything about it.

  “Granny,” he began, “are you telling me that when I’m sleeping . . . a bit of me goes off somewhere else? And that’s what a dream is?”

  Granny produced her pipe from her cardigan and lit it. She took several puffs, and feathery wisps of smoke tickled the air. “Almost.”

  “Where?” he said. “Where does it go?”

  “To another world, on the other side of sleep — a place called Nocturne,” whispered Granny. “Actually, to a place within the land of Nocturne . . . somewhere called the Dream Plains. That’s where everyone’s spirit goes to play.”

  “Granny?”

  “Yes, lad?”

  “Are you pulling my leg?”

  “I’ve never been so serious about anything,” she said solemnly.

  “How do you know about this? About Nocturne?” said Zac.

  “I used to live there.”

  “You what?”

  “I know it’s hard to believe, but you’d better start,” said Granny, “because terrible events in Nocturne are about to spill over into your world — the Waking World — and when that happens, there’ll be no going back.”

  “This is too weird,” said Zac, scratching his head nervously.

  Granny tapped the end of her pipe against her teeth. “Look, just let me explain. It all started many years ago, when a group of people left the Waking World and traveled to Nocturne. We don’t know how they dis-covered its existence, or how they managed to get there, because it was long before the Gateway was built.” She pointed to the crumbling arch in the center of the room. “When they arrived, they found that the whole of Nocturne was naturally charged with powerful magic — the magic that spills out of the dreams of Wakelings.”

  “Whatlings?” said Zac.

  “Wakelings — people from the Waking World,” Granny said. “Anyway, this group of travelers — the Nocturne Founders — realized they could harness this magic. But some of them wanted greater magical powers, and they soon realized that they could harness bad dreams more easily than good dreams. So they began to interfere with the dreams of Wakelings.”

  “What did they do?” Zac asked, bobbing up and down in his chair.

  Granny scrunched up her face as though she’d just got a whiff of fresh dog poo. “They twisted Wakeling dreams into nightmares. It did make their magic stronger. But it was a dark magic fed by the misery of others.”

  “That’s terrible!” exclaimed Zac.

  “These dark magicians call themselves Dream Stealers,” said Granny, “and that’s just what they are — they hijack dreams. They’ve been kept at bay for many years but now they’re coming back, and they’re growing stronger with every night that passes. Their dark magic is poisoning the dream world — and it’s weakening the Knights. If we’re going to have any chance of stopping them, we must act quickly. There’s no other way. We leave for Nocturne tonight.”

  “Wait. Whoa! What?” said Zac. “What do you mean?”

  “Weren’t you listening?” said Granny. “There’s no time to waste!”

  “But are you sure
we aren’t safe here in the Waking World?” asked Zac.

  “I wish we were,” said Granny, shaking her head. “But that’s not how it works. The more Dream Stealers there are, the more Wakelings will be tortured by terrible dreams. Nobody is safe, because everyone must sleep.”

  “Is that what’s been going on?” breathed Zac. “All the bad dreams I’ve been having . . . the reports on the news about the same thing happening all over the country . . . it’s all because of Dream Stealers?”

  Granny nodded. “If they get their way,” she said, “all dreams will turn to darkness. Zac, can you imagine what life would be like, knowing that you must sleep, but that whenever you do, you’ll be tortured by your worst fears? People will be driven to do terrible things — the Waking World will be thrown into chaos.”

  “But what can we do to help?” said Zac. “You’re old and I don’t have any magic powers.”

  “How do you know?” asked Granny with a glint in her eye. “Listen, Zac, until now, the Dream Stealers have been held back by a group of good magicians known as the Knights of Nod. I happen to be one of them. Anyway, I’m not leaving you here alone while I go gallivanting off on some adventure!” Granny pointed to the crumbling archway. “Every night for the last few weeks, I’ve been meeting the Grandmaster of the Knights here. His name is Rumpous Tinn, and he’s been keeping me up-to-date. There’s a secret reason I’ve been away from Nocturne for so long, but tonight, he’s taking me home.”

  “Oh,” said Zac faintly. His head felt as if it were about to burst.

  Granny ruffled his hair, making it stick up. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll look after you. Have I ever let you down?”

  Zac shook his head. She never had.

  As they sat, both deep in thought, the Gateway began to rumble. Tiny pieces of rubble fell to the floor. The room began to shake. Books tumbled from their shelves. Zac gripped his armchair so tightly his fingers grew numb. All at once there was a strange heat and a smell of hot metal, then a blinding light radiated from the Gateway, spitting two figures clean across the chamber. They landed in a tangled heap.

  Zac turned to Granny, but before he could speak, she’d grabbed his arm and hit the floor, dragging him behind one of the armchairs. By the look on her face, something was very wrong.