The Dreamer Chronicles Trilogy Boxed Set Vol I - III: A Sci-Fi Parallel Universe Adventure (The Dreamer Chronicles - Science Fiction For Kids And Adults)

by Robert Scanlon

  For some reason, he found himself unable to move and stuck to the floor, so he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted down the corridor.

  “Help!”

  He remembered her name. His voice sounded small in the huge corridor, so he yelled again, louder this time.

  “Sarina! Sarina! I need your help! Please.” He dropped his hands down in despair. She hadn’t moved, she couldn’t hear him.

  He looked down at his legs, which would not obey his will. Maybe if he could unstick himself he could run to her instead of shouting, and he pulled hard with his hands at each knee, to no avail. He really was stuck.

  One last pull, and he grabbed both knees with both hands and tried to jump.

  He flew through the air in an enormous arc and the last thing he saw was the white floor coming up to meet his face.

  Black. And wet. All round him and in his hair. He blinked and shook his head and drops of water flew off. He felt around in the blackness with his hands and discovered he was spread out on some rocks. Water was dripping on him.

  He pushed himself up and looked around. His eyes began to adjust and he could see the sky, but no stars. Still the water rained down. Was it rain? He assumed it must be night and raining.

  Paolo rubbed his head and gingerly stood up, and looked around, peering into the darkness.

  He ventured a question into the darkness. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  He scratched his brow, thinking hard. If he could speak, then it must be a dream, so he should be able to do whatever he wanted.

  He took a few steps further forward and immediately slipped over in the dark, sliding down a wet grassy bank. When he came to a stop he saw an orange glow in the distance. After his last mishap, he resolved to crawl and he shuffled across a muddy track on all fours to see a woman, facing away from him again and this time seated.

  “Sarina! Sarina! Is that you? Please help!”

  The woman stood and slowly turned to peer through the gloom towards him. Paolo saw the braided wristbands on her arm and froze. “Mother?”

  The woman took one step closer, and an orange reflection illuminated her head.

  She had no face.

  “Mother!” Paolo screamed and crawled towards the woman, who was fading. The ground became increasingly wet until he could barely grip the surface, and then with one last shove forward, he plummeted head-first into an unseen, icy-cold dark pool.

  ~ 7 ~

  Sketches

  Dog-tired from an invigorating session in the half-pipe, where he had convincingly thrashed the local skateheads, Nathan just about fell through the front door.

  “Hi Mom, hi Dad.” He waved at his parents as he walked past the back of the couch, but as usual, they took no notice. Non-stop reality TV at his place was his reality that’s for sure. His great-great grandfather’s DNA had obviously bypassed his parents’ generation. He continued to the kitchen and surveyed the less than enticing scene. “Hmmm,” he said, to no-one in particular, “I guess it’s sandwich night again,” and made his way to the fridge.

  Stuffing a hastily prepared sandwich into his mouth with one hand and munching from a bag of crisps in the other, he snuck past his transfixed parents and tramped upstairs.

  He walked into his bedroom, swallowed the last part of the sandwich in one mouthful, crumpled the empty crisp bag, threw it across the room and into the bin, and fell onto the bed with a sigh. Yawning widely, he thought about tooth-brushing and decided it could wait a few more minutes.

  One last yawn and he was asleep.

  A stocky boy stood in front of him, odd-looking, with a round, friendly face and a large curly thatch of hair. The boy was excited about something he was holding. What was that? Ah yes, he was holding out a notebook towards Nathan.

  “Who … who are you?”

  The boy shook his head and thrust the notebook at Nathan again.

  “Something you want me to see?”

  Nathan hesitantly reached out and took the notebook from the boy and looked down. Drawn in rough pencil was a sketch of a boy inside a cage—it looked a bit like a large birdcage—and the boy trapped inside was wild-eyed, mouth open, as if frozen in a scream.

  Nathan looked back up at the boy. He pointed at him then at the notebook. “This you?” He wasn’t sure what that would mean even if the answer was yes.

  The boy nodded vigorously and gestured for Nathan to return the notebook.

  He pulled out a worn pencil from his pocket and flipped the page over and sketched while Nathan waited.

  The boy stopped abruptly and with some hesitation, handed the notebook to Nathan again, his brow creased, his face inviting a question.

  Nathan took the book and did a double-take. He looked at the sketch again and back up at the boy, then back to the drawing.

  It looked exactly like Sarina, the clumsy artist girl in his class.

  The boy stood with his shoulders shrugged, his palms up, as if he had been looking for the girl for days.

  “Let me guess. You want to find this girl?” Nathan said slowly, his mind working to understand.

  The boy nodded again, snatched the notebook out of Nathan’s hands and vanished back into the nothingness around them.

  ~~~

  Still groggy from a very heavy night’s sleep, plagued with bizarre dreams, Nathan rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed. Who was the boy? And why was the girl important to him? Strange that she resembled that girl in his class.

  Something made him glance at the floor.

  Scattered all around his room were exercise books, notepads and blank pages.

  All had sketches of birdcages on them.

  And all of them had a boy trapped inside the cage, with wild eyes, his mouth frozen open in a scream.

  ~~~

  Does the alarm sound louder than usual, thought Sarina, or is it just that I’m hypersensitive?

  She reached over and turned it off and lay back to wake up properly, feeling quite disconnected from reality.

  Everything was such a mess. In her dreams she was a bird-monster crushing machine with special powers but no idea how to control them; and in ‘real’ life, she was an innumerate loser who could paint pretty pictures and had no idea how to organise anything.

  Did everyone have this much trouble growing up?

  She looked at the clock again, willing it to slow down or stop.

  She pursed her lips, remembering the dratted exams. In the first test she had managed to score just one point below the mark she needed to stay at school and pacify the over-zealous Principal. But hey, no pressure she thought, brushing her hair back.

  Time to put on some comfort clothes. She needed all the help she could get.

  Sarina got up and rummaged through her dresser until she found some clothes she loved and thanked whoever was responsible for allowing free dress on exam days.

  “Right.”

  She stood up and looked around the room, hands on hips. “Now where are my revision notes?”

  She grimaced, realising that her bedroom was yet another example of the disorganisation and mess that was a central part of her life right now.

  She got down on her knees and started searching through the piles of drawings scattered around the floor.

  ~~~

  Sarina arrived early and made her way down the corridor to the exam room, where a group of students gathered, engaged in quiet, nervous conversation. She wanted to wait by herself so she could calm her nerves and check she had everything she needed with her.

  She took a deep breath. So much pressure, how had it come to this? She had tried so hard to work everything out. All she really needed to do was to score well enough to shift the balance in her favour from the poor result in the last test—and she would be in the clear.

  Sarina sighed and looked around at the other students, who were starting to move in as Old Smythe opened the doors. “Here we go then,” she said quietly, not feeling as courageous as she sounded.

  Deep in thought, someone jostle
d her as they shuffled in and she looked up to see Nathan next to her, reaching into a pocket where he pulled out a cough drop and popped it into his mouth. He looked at her and she saw his eyes were puffy, with dark lines under them. He certainly didn’t seem to be his usual cocky self. In fact, she thought with some degree of pleasure, even if he only had a cold, he looked particularly tired and miserable. It was good to know she wasn’t the only one suffering.

  They entered the room together and silently followed the rest of the group to place their bags down at the back.

  Sarina saw a piece of paper poking out of the side of Nathan’s satchel. Was that something drawn on it? She peered closer while she was putting her own bag down and caught herself. What was she doing? She was supposed to be focusing on passing the dratted test! She shook her head, took her pencil and eraser from her bag, and as she bent down, she saw the drawing slip further out of Nathan’s satchel while he was rummaging for his things.

  On the paper she could see sketched very clearly in pencil a drawing of a cage.

  Inside the cage was a perfect drawing of a curly-haired boy, wild-eyed, mouth frozen open in a scream.

  It was Paolo.

  Shocked, Sarina looked up at Nathan, her mouth forming a question, but as she did so, Old Smythe called for silence and for everyone to make their way to their desks.

  Nathan caught her looking at him and stared back with a puzzled expression. He mouthed a silent “What?” at her as they took their seats.

  Sarina’s head was spinning. No, not now! She really had to focus and push the image out of her mind. Why did Nathan have the drawing? Who had drawn it? Not him obviously, he was rubbish at art. And how could her dream end up on a piece of paper in the satchel of the person she disliked most in the school?

  But she was out of time. The bell rang and the exam started.

  ~~~

  The Principal opened his office door and motioned his two visitors in. “Please come in and take a seat.”

  He waited until they were seated before moving to sit behind his desk.

  “Dr Timms, good to see you again,” he nodded a greeting at the older man and turned to his other guest. “Mrs Metcalfe, I wish circumstances were better, but nevertheless, I hope I may be of some assistance. I understand you wish to discuss your daughter’s problems and your concerns about possible mental health issues?”

  “Yes, that’s right, thank you. It’s very upsetting as you can imagine. Actually it’s hard to come to terms with. A year ago I would never have thought this would ever happen to my own daughter, but I have to try to do what’s best for her.” She looked at the Principal, her eyes red-rimmed. “Mr Forrester, I wish I wasn’t going to say what I am, but I think my daughter might be going mad—having mental health issues I mean.” She pulled a tissue from her handbag and dabbed her eyes. “Sarina doesn’t know this, but two of her great-aunts spent most of their lives in mental institutions. I’ve deliberately kept it from her. In my opinion no child needs to know these things until they are much older. But now I see her having similar problems to those my mother told me they had with her sisters. It’s horrible!” She dabbed her eyes with the tissue.

  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” Forrester said, “I hope we can support you in whatever you need. Dr Timms, what is your professional opinion?”

  The dour older man spoke for the first time. “As Mrs Metcalfe said, for the last twelve months the child has had recurring issues of distress; nightmares; auto-drawing and painting when asleep; sleepwalking; night-sweats and has recently developed an irrational fear of basic numeracy. I believe she retreats into herself and refuses to do anything except paint and repeatedly draw the same strange characters and settings.” His voice sounded disinterested, as if he was discussing the weather. “In my opinion we are seeing an early onset of the same mental conditions found in her family history.”

  Forrester nodded. “We’ve certainly seen the numeracy issues here at school. Mrs Metcalfe and I have had numerous meetings regarding her daughter’s problems, especially with mathematics. We had planned for the possibility of sending Sarina to Frenchstone for a two year remedial stay; to help her conquer the numeracy issues of course. Am I to understand we are facing a more serious issue?” The Principal looked at Sarina’s mother.

  “Yes,” she said, sniffing. “I still hold out hope that Frenchstone might help her, especially if she isn’t able to get to the level required in the tests. But to tell the truth, I’m frightened that even this much pressure might push her into a complete breakdown, and that’s why I asked to see you, with Dr Timms. I’d be grateful if you would keep this to yourself, and to any teachers that are close to Sarina if you feel they need to know immediately. If you see her getting extremely distressed at any time, I need to know. It’s possible we might have to admit her to …” she stopped in a flood of tears.

  “Stratfords.” Dr Timms said.

  Forrester, surprised, looked at Timms. “Really? Stratfords? The Mental Health Institute?”

  Timms nodded.

  “Very well. We’ll keep a close eye on the girl of course, and call you if we see anything … ah … distressing. But we’ll keep our fingers crossed that she pulls through. Can be a difficult age, eh Timms?”

  Timms nodded again. “She’ll be in good hands no matter what happens.”

  Sarina’s mother stood to leave. “Thank you, Mr Forrester. I appreciate your help and support. I … I … I have to go, I’m sorry,” and she rushed out the door fishing for another tissue.

  “Dreadful business,” Forrester said shaking his head slowly.

  “Indeed.” Timms stood to leave. “Thank you, Charles, I’ll catch you at the parent meetings no doubt.” He shook the Principal’s hand and left.

  The Principal stared into the air for a while, then pulled out a notebook from his drawer and started to make some notes. “Dreadful business,” he said again.

  ~ 8 ~

  The Cage

  Paolo awoke stiff and cramped from a night on the floor. He was about to sit up when he saw shadows in the doorway and realised someone was coming, so he stayed where he was. He thought he might be able to learn more information about Makthryg’s plans if he pretended to be asleep.

  He wasn’t wrong, but what he learned terrified him.

  Makthryg and Valkrog came into the room, glancing at Paolo as they moved to an old writing desk. Paolo peered through almost closed eyes and saw, strewn across the desk, large sheets of planning paper and maps.

  Paolo remained still, hoping they would not notice he was awake. He couldn’t quite see what they were saying, but he saw Makthryg gesture back to the cage, so he assumed it included him.

  He was frustrated at not being able to see their lips—and then he had a brilliant idea.

  To the left of the desk on the wall was a mirror, and he could already see half of Valkrog’s beak-like face. If only he could shuffle around a little more, without attracting attention to himself.

  “Urrrrrr.” Paolo grunted and tried to make it look as if he had moved involuntarily in his sleep.

  Both Makthryg and Valkrog twisted around and stared at him, but Paolo kept his eyes closed, hoping they would think him restless in his sleep.

  After another minute he risked peering again, and he could now see them in the mirror. Even better, he was in the perfect position. He didn’t need to strain to see and it would still look as though he was sound asleep.

  He had learned the trick of mirror-lip-reading many moons ago when he was in the cabin with Andreas and Tomas. It had come in handy on many occasions for finding out information they didn’t want him to know. It would be more than handy now.

  He concentrated on reading Makthryg’s lips as he spoke.

  “—set out between a dozen and fourteen containers around the lower part of the—”

  Paolo didn’t catch the last part as Makthryg had leaned over the map, obscuring his lips. He straightened, his face visible in the mirror again. “Although the curse
will assist in forcing the path of the gas, we will have to wait for the wind to arrive from the west as it often does. Our advantage is that it will be near dark when that happens.”

  Valkrog must have said something that Paolo didn’t catch, for Makthryg was replying. “I agree. We will need to prevent our own men being accidentally gassed. Make sure the men are equipped with masks and know how to use them.”

  He turned around to look at Paolo and for a few nervous seconds Paolo thought he had been caught out, but Makthryg was deep in thought.

  “In a few hours the townsmen will be gone and will never know what hit them. Then with the men out of the way, we will deal with the boy.”

  He spoke over his shoulder to the bird-man behind him. “Valkrog. You may leave to assemble the men.”

  The creature bowed and departed, leaving Makthryg still staring at the cage.

  After a few minutes of contemplation, he too turned and left.

  Paolo let out a sigh of relief. He had to escape and warn the men about the gas before it killed them all, and there was no time to waste. He looked around again for inspiration, but there was nothing.

  He sat up, absently-mindedly playing with the loose thread on his tunic again and was struck with a thought. It could work. He began pulling at the thread.

  ~~~

  He had pulled out a considerable length of thread and quickly divided it into three equal lengths. The thread was not strong by itself, but it would be strong enough for his attempt if he could plait the three individual threads together. His tunic was also shorter than it had been previously, so he tugged it down to disguise the change in length.

  After a few minutes of plaiting and keeping an eye out for more shadows in the doorway, Paolo had a length of twine-like string that would reach to the desk. He twisted the end into a lasso-like loop and tied it off.

  What to aim for first?

  He looked around the sparse room. Apart from two large coils of rope well out of his reach, he couldn’t see anything obvious that might be of any help.

  Then he spotted a woven basket next to the desk that Valkrog had used to throw scraps of paper in, which he assumed must mean it was a garbage basket. Maybe there was something in there he could use, perhaps to fashion a sharp object that he might use as a weapon or distraction.