The Girl Who Could Not Dream

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “You sure you want to do this?” Ethan asked.

  “We came all the way here,” Sophie said. “Besides, maybe this is a disguise. Maybe we’re supposed to think he’s innocent.” Evil people could still mow their lawns.

  There were neatly pruned bushes all around the house, framing it in a ring of green. If they could hide in those bushes, they’d be fine. Sophie, Ethan, and Monster darted across the lawn and dived into the bushes.

  Keeping low, Sophie crept along the side of the house. Her sneakers sank into the mulch. It smelled fresh and a little bit like manure. Clearly, Mr. Nightmare liked to garden. It didn’t match her image of him.

  Under the first window, she held a finger to her lips. Standing slowly, she peered through the window: living room. She saw a couch, a TV, a fireplace with a mantel that had a model of an old airplane and a few framed photographs. The table in front of the couch had a couple of books, a remote control, and a half-empty bowl of tortilla chips. It looked very ordinary.

  She crouched back down. Ethan looked too. Together, they crept to the next window. “I feel like there should be a spy theme playing,” he whispered.

  Rising up, she looked into a dining room. Stacks of mail were piled on one end of the table, and a vase with dried flowers sat in the center. Again, ordinary.

  The next room was a kitchen. There were dishes in the sink, ready to be washed, and a box of cookies on the table. A kid’s pink and purple backpack sat on the table, next to the cookies. Sophie ducked down. “He’s a dad,” she whispered. She tasted disappointment, hot and thick in the back of her throat.

  “He could be an evil dad,” Ethan whispered.

  “I don’t know. It all looks so . . . normal. Maybe I’m wrong.”

  Ethan patted her on the shoulder, again awkwardly, as if he didn’t have much practice being comforting. She didn’t have much practice being comforted, at least not by anyone who wasn’t Monster. They stared at each other for a second. “Let’s keep looking,” Ethan suggested. “How do we see what’s upstairs?”

  “I can do it,” Monster whispered.

  “Are you sure you feel up to it?” Sophie asked.

  “Of course. I’m very heroic,” Monster said. “And I have no moral qualms about vomiting on bad guys.”

  “We don’t know he’s a bad guy,” Sophie said.

  “He has a supervillain name,” Ethan said. “But this isn’t much of a lair.”

  Monster scampered up a drain pipe, using his tentacles to grip as he climbed. Below him, Sophie and Ethan continued to creep around the house. What if she didn’t see any clues? What if Mr. Nightmare really hadn’t kidnapped her parents? It felt strange and wrong to be hoping for him to have done so, but if he wasn’t responsible, then who was?

  Sophie peeked around the corner into the backyard and saw an aboveground pool (empty), a fancy barbecue grill (unused), and a garden hose (neatly coiled) next to blue cellar doors. There was no sign of her parents or anything remotely unusual.

  This was the home of a nice, normal family, who watched sports together as they ate dinner and their kid did her homework and their dog begged for extra treats or whatever. She thought of the bowl of chips in the living room, the backpack and cookies in the kitchen, the stacks of mail in the dining room. The backpack even looked familiar. She probably knew the kid it belonged to. She—it was a pink and purple backpack, so Sophie was guessing it was a girl—was probably in their school.

  Monster dropped next to them. “Just some bedrooms and a bathroom.”

  “My parents?”

  He shook his head.

  “The distiller?”

  “I’m sorry, Sophie.” He curled his tentacles around her.

  “But . . .” If this wasn’t the place and Mr. Nightmare wasn’t responsible . . . then she had no idea where her parents were or what could have happened to them. There had to be some kind of clue here. He had to be responsible!

  “Maybe they’re fine and waiting for you at home,” Ethan said.

  She shook her head. “The distiller’s gone. And they weren’t home when the bus came. They always are. And what about the books upstairs?”

  Ethan rose up and peeked through the window. “Well, whatever happened, this guy looks innocent.”

  “Let’s just look a little more,” she begged.

  They circled the house twice, three times, until Sophie had to admit this was pointless. There wasn’t anything here to even hint that Mr. Nightmare had anything to do with her parents’ disappearance. All this was a waste of time.

  Together, they trudged back to their bikes. Sophie and Ethan put on their helmets. Groaning, Monster squeezed into the backpack. After zippering it, Sophie picked him up and steadied the backpack on her back before swinging her leg over her bike.

  She heard a man’s voice call: “Betty?”

  IT WAS MR. NIGHTMARE.

  Sophie put one foot on a pedal, ready to push off, and glanced back over her shoulder at him. He was in his front yard, and he looked . . . the word that popped into her head was “silly.” He’d traded his ominous trench coat for baggy sweatpants and a faded T-shirt from some unrecognizable university. His stomach stuck out from under the bottom of it. Without his hat, his hair was a mix of gray and brown that stuck out at odd angles, as if he’d combed it with a broom, and his eyes looked merely old, not bloodshot and sunken. He was carrying two trash bags out of the detached garage. He dumped them into trash cans at the end of the driveway. “Nice to see you, Betty! Did you have a good birthday?”

  “Uh, yeah, um, sure.”

  He smiled broadly. “Splendid! Did you get my card? Bet you were surprised!”

  Sophie stared at him. “Very surprised.”

  “Thought you’d like it.” He sounded smug. “Kids love surprises.”

  She felt Ethan looking back and forth between her and Mr. Nightmare. She knew what he was seeing: a dumpy man who didn’t look anything like the creepy, shadowy man she’d described. “How did you get the card in her locker?” Ethan asked.

  A key question, she thought. She waited for his answer.

  “Easy-peasy,” he said. “After I visited with your parents, Sophie, I stopped for a cup of coffee. I saw you get on your bus. Later, I went to your elementary school and talked to your principal about leaving the card for you. He inspected it, of course—cautious one you have there. Anyway, clever of me, huh?”

  “You just wanted to give me a birthday card?” Sophie couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. She’d been so afraid . . . and so sure he was the one behind her parents’ disappearance. Even after seeing his house, it was hard to let go of that belief.

  “I believe in random acts of kindness. Besides, I wanted your parents to know I appreciated their shop. Independent bookstores are rare these days.” He gave a broad wink, to make it clear he wasn’t talking about the bookstore, and then he put the lids on his trash cans.

  “Uh-huh, so . . . my parents.” She continued to stare at him as he puttered through his yard, bending to yank out a few stray weeds. “You met with them this morning. How did that go?”

  He smiled again, and his face stretched like putty around his lips. “They sold me three more ‘books.’ Great people, your parents. Family-run stores like theirs make me glad I moved here. You don’t find places like that in the city.”

  He’d only bought three? But dozens of bottles were missing. And the distiller. “Oh? You moved recently?”

  He wiped his dirt-streaked hands on his sweatpants. A few leaves were stuck in his hair. It made him look as if he’d rolled out of bed and into the garden. “We were supposed to move sooner, but the house had to be remodeled. It was quite the fixer-upper.” Hands on his hips, he regarded it proudly. She had the feeling if she asked, he’d pull out before-and-after photos to show off his renovation. This was not the conversation she’d expected to have. This was pointless. She shouldn’t have come.

  “So you just bought three dreams? Not the distiller?”

&nbs
p; He blinked. “What would I do with a distiller? It requires expertise and experience . . .” Trailing off, he waved a hand at Ethan. “Oh, does your friend know about you-know-what?”

  “She told me about the Dream Shop,” Ethan confirmed.

  “Wonderful!” Mr. Nightmare clapped his hands together, as if he was truly delighted. “Good to have friends you can share things with. So many children of dream sellers grow up lonely. Secrets can be hard to bear. Guess you didn’t need my silly card to cheer you up. I thought . . . well, never mind what I thought. I hope you liked it anyway.” He smiled again, and Sophie wondered why she ever thought he was sinister. It must have been bad lighting. And the hat. And her imagination, convincing her that one small mistake was actually a disaster.

  “It was very nice,” Sophie said distantly. It was hard not to feel deflated. She’d been so certain he was responsible and that she’d see a clue . . . But he was just a middle-aged man cleaning his garage. And he happened to like nightmares. On her back, she felt Monster shift. “Thank you. Have you talked to my parents since this morning?”

  He crinkled his face in concern. “No, why? Is anything wrong?”

  For an instant, she was tempted to tell him the truth: that her parents were missing, that she’d suspected him. But even though she knew he was innocent, she still couldn’t bring herself to trust him. “Just curious,” Sophie said.

  “Why do you buy nightmares?” Ethan asked.

  “For the fun of it,” Mr. Nightmare said with a shrug. “Some people like horror movies on the silver screen; I like them in my mind. It’s relaxing, you know?” He sounded so very ordinary. Just like his house. She felt like she should apologize for ever suspecting him. At least he didn’t know why they were really here.

  Sophie swallowed a lump in her throat. She had even been willing to let Ethan call the police, if they’d seen anything at all suspicious. That would have been a horrible mistake. The police would have found nothing here and then come back to the shop and begun asking questions that Sophie didn’t want to answer. “Hope you enjoy them.”

  “Thanks, Betty! Back to cleaning the garage. Fun times. But maybe I’ll watch one of those nightmares tonight.” Whistling, he headed back into his garage.

  Ethan turned to her. “I’m sorry, Sophie.”

  She nodded. Her eyes felt hot, but she didn’t let herself cry. There wasn’t much to say. She’d been wrong, and now she had no idea what to do. “Guess we go home.”

  They got on their bikes and rode away.

  Her eyes fixed on the street, Sophie pedaled as hard as she could, keeping ahead of Ethan so she wouldn’t have to talk. She’d been wrong about Mr. Nightmare. He didn’t have anything to do with her parents’ disappearance. He was a “red herring,” as her English teacher would have said. And she was out of ideas. She was stuck with hoping that they’d be home when she arrived. Maybe they’d have some ridiculous explanation, like the distiller broke and they took it to the distiller fix-it shop, if there was such a thing, and they’d be mad at her for taking off without leaving a note. She’d be fine with being punished—no somnium for a week, or even no books—so long as they were there. Please, please, be there! If they weren’t, she didn’t know what she was going to do.

  Within the backpack, Monster moaned. She hoped he was okay. He’d suffered through this for nothing. The entire trip, a waste. She wished she dared let him stick his head out. “Almost there,” she told him. Only a few more streets . . .

  Behind them, she heard a siren. She steered onto the sidewalk as the siren grew louder. Oddly, it didn’t pass. Instead, the siren wailed, close and loud, directly behind Sophie and Ethan, as if the police car was following them.

  Braking, Sophie twisted in her seat. Beside her, Ethan braked too, and the police car stopped. Its lights flashed red and blue, and the headlights made her eyes water. A policeman stepped out. Frowning at them, he looked serious, as if he’d walked out of a crime show.

  Oh no, my parents! She knew it! Something terrible had happened and—

  But the policeman smiled and held up his hands as if to calm them. “Don’t worry. You aren’t in trouble. But I do need you to get on home. You probably noticed there aren’t many people out. There’s a town curfew tonight. A couple kids have gone missing, and we’re asking everyone to stay in tonight until the matter is resolved.”

  Sophie felt her rib cage loosen as relief washed over her. Not her parents. Of course it’s not, she scolded herself. He didn’t know who she was or who her parents were. She was just a kid on a bike. She’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed fewer people were out. She looked right and left—there weren’t any cars moving, and this was usually a busy street. It was weirdly quiet.

  “We were just heading home, sir,” Ethan said.

  “Good,” the policeman said. “Where’s home?”

  “Dreamcatcher Bookshop,” Sophie answered. “I live above it.”

  He nodded approvingly. “Great store. My wife shops there all time. Constantly hanging those dreamcatcher things all over the house. Your parents own it?” He was chatty now, all smiles.

  “Yes.” Her throat felt clogged. She wanted to make herself say more. This was her chance. She could tell this smiling policeman that her parents were missing, explain about the theft, and ask him to help . . . but what if they weren’t missing? And what if the policeman wanted to search their house? What if he saw the dream bottles and the somnium? How would she explain that? The Dream Shop could be exposed, all because she was worried. Really, she didn’t actually know her parents were missing at all. They could simply be at the neighbor’s, trying out more of Ms. Lee’s cupcakes.

  “And you?” the policeman asked Ethan.

  “I’m going to her house.” Ethan jabbed his thumb toward Sophie. “We’re doing a school project together.”

  The policeman nodded. “Make sure you get a ride home. We aren’t allowing kids out without adult supervision tonight. Just a precaution. No need to be alarmed.” He headed back to his car. “I’ll follow you to the shop. Make sure you’re home safely. After that, stay put—we’ll make an announcement on local news when it’s all resolved.”

  “Uh, thanks.” Sophie got back on her bike. So did Ethan. The police car drove slowly behind them the last half mile to the bookshop. Now that she was paying attention, it was eerie—the town felt too still and quiet, as if everyone were inside peering out through closed curtains. She wobbled at the traffic light, checked in both directions twice, even though there were no cars, and crossed. Beside her, Ethan was just as cautious. He kept pace with her and didn’t zoom ahead. Every few feet, he glanced over his shoulder at the cruiser creeping along behind them. Sophie was very, very conscious of Monster in her backpack. She hoped he’d stay still and silent.

  At the Dreamcatcher Bookshop, the policeman waved to them as they dismounted. Robot-like, they waved back. Speeding up, he drove away. “That was the most nerve-racking ride ever,” Ethan said. “I kept worrying I was going to accidentally ride through a stop sign or mow down a little old lady. Not that I saw any. Or anyone.”

  “I kept worrying he’d see Monster.”

  “Ughhhhh,” Monster moaned from the backpack. Glancing down the street, Sophie saw the policeman turn left at the next light. No other cars moved.

  “Let’s get inside,” Ethan suggested. “It’s too quiet out here. Kind of freaking me out.”

  “Murrrrrrrrrrrr-ugh,” Monster said. Sophie took that to mean he agreed. Leading the way, she steered her bike onto the walk that led to the shop.

  They stowed their bikes in the shed, and then Sophie unlocked the back door. Inside, the lights in the shop were off, and the aisles were filled with layers of shadows. It was silent. They’re not home, she thought.

  For an instant, she felt her eyes heat up. She wanted to curl into a ball and cry, or run out the door and scream until the policeman came back. But she didn’t. When her parents got home, they were going to see she
’d been brave, strong, and resourceful. They were going to see she could be trusted when things went wrong. They were going to be proud of her.

  Lowering her backpack to the floor, Sophie unzipped it, and Monster lurched out. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Just peachy.” He flopped against a bookshelf. “Worst way to travel ever. Next time we go on a field trip, anything but bikes.”

  Sophie nodded, not entirely trusting herself to talk without bursting into tears. Brave and strong, she reminded herself. Like the heroes in her favorite books. She laid her hand on the spines of the nearest books, as if she could suck strength from them.

  Ethan wandered between the shelves, peering down the aisles. “I take it your parents aren’t back?” He peeked into the bathroom and tried the basement door—locked. “Why didn’t you tell the policeman—” His phone chirped from his pocket, and he pulled it out. “Huh. My parents.” He sounded surprised. He began texting them back.

  “What are you telling them?” Sophie tried to keep the worry out of her voice and was proud when it came out calm. She knew why she hadn’t told the policeman; she wasn’t sure why Ethan hadn’t. He had the perfect opportunity to spill her family’s secrets. If the Watchmen heard and came, he’d be fine.

  He didn’t look up from his phone. “Same thing I told the policeman: staying with a friend to do homework. It’s weird, though—they never check on me.”

  “Maybe they heard about the missing kids?” She’d been so worried about her parents that she hadn’t spared more than a second to wonder who the kids were or what happened to them.

  “Wonder if it’s anyone we know.” Ethan typed more.

  The odds that it was anyone she knew were low. It was more likely that Ethan knew them. He knew a lot of kids. Or, more accurately, they knew who he was. Checking Monster, she stroked between his eyes. He was taking deep breaths as if to settle his stomach. He flopped his tentacles over his face. “I have no appetite,” Monster said.