Sign of the Sandman

by Tom Turner

“What’s going on? It’s like Chinese New Year out there! Fire trucks and— Why’s pigeon man here?”

  “Help!” screamed Charlie, struggling to break free.

  Plug jerked to attention. “Get off him!” he shouted. He kicked the janitor, charged past pigeon man, and hurled the pizza at the crossing guard, who was just pushing Charlie into the expanding sphere of light.

  Plug grabbed Charlie’s hand.

  “I’ve got you, Charlie— Whoa! No, I don’t! Whoa!”

  The bedroom vanished from Charlie’s view as he and Plug were swallowed by the intense red light. It enveloped them like a warm blanket. Charlie felt as if he was falling through a cloud but without actually moving. Random images of grass and sky flashed in and out of focus, trying to connect with a symphony of sounds that reminded Charlie of summer: the crack of a bat, the roar of a crowd, the crisp pop of a well-oiled mitt. It was like watching a puzzle try to piece itself together. Then as fast as it started, it all stopped. The puzzle became whole, and Charlie could hardly believe his eyes.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY

  Yankee Stadium, New York’s legendary ballpark, was empty and dark — not to mention about eight miles from where Charlie and Plug were standing mere seconds before. Yet there they were, in its empty infield, standing on home plate. Millions of grains of sand twinkled and swirled like a star cluster in the sky above, but Charlie and Plug hardly noticed. They were both still baffled by their sudden arrival in another section of the city.

  “Are you kidding me?” screamed Plug. “How did we get to the Bronx?”

  “I don’t know!” said Charlie. His eyes were wide as saucers, and the lump in his throat, big as a baseball.

  “What happened to your bedroom? We were just there! I’m not crazy, right? And what were those guys doing?”

  “I don’t know, Plug!”

  The stadium lights fired up, and organ music piped through the sound system. It was warbled, like a radio with a rundown battery. Cheers erupted from the grandstand, but Charlie didn’t see any fans. The stadium was empty.

  Then, as if on cue, the scoreboard in centerfield lit up with a message:

  Happy Birthday, Charlie!

  The phantom cheers grew louder as a video of Charlie popped up on the giant screen just beneath the birthday greeting. Even more bizarre was the fact that the video did not show him standing on home plate but, rather, somewhere in the stands. He was dressed differently, looked a little younger, and was sitting next to his mother.

  “What’s your mom doing here?” asked Plug. He pointed into the seats, just behind the third-base line. “And with you! How are there two of you?”

  Charlie didn’t answer because there was no way what he was seeing could be real. Is this a joke? he thought. Am I going crazy? Or am I… He paused, and a chill ran through him. Am I dead? It was a terrifying thought and, while completely possible, not a leap Charlie was ready to make just yet.

  “My mom brought me here for my birthday,” he finally stammered aloud.

  “Yeah! Last year!” said Plug, anxiously. “I should know. I was with you!”

  He gave Charlie a stiff poke in the arm.

  “Ouch! What was that for?”

  “Just makin’ sure you’re real.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be real?”

  “Duh!” said Plug, pointing toward Charlie’s clone in the stands. “One of ya’s got to be a fake. Unless… Oh, man.” Plug’s eyes glazed over with wonder. “What if we time traveled? Like through a worm hole or something?”

  “Time travel? No way! Can’t be.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because.”

  “Because you always gotta be right?”

  “No! Because—”

  “People don’t just disappear from Manhattan and pop up in the Bronx, Charlie!”

  “Would you let me finish?”

  “Then why?”

  “Because the place is empty! There were other people here on my birthday. Like fifty thousand of them! Not to mention two baseball teams! And you!”

  “It was just an idea,” said Plug.

  But Charlie had stopped listening. Something had caught his eye, and he cocked his head to the side, puzzled.

  “Is my mom glowing?” he asked.

  He knew it sounded stupid, but Charlie was sure a halo of light surrounded his mother. It outlined her body, tiny rays reaching out like whiskers, and its red color matched the sphere of light they were just sucked through moments ago.

  “I don’t see anything,” said Plug, before adding, “but what… in… the… world?”

  Charlie followed Plug’s gaze into the outfield bleachers. Dozens of house cats were materializing out of thin air and leaping onto the field one by one.

  “Are you seeing this?” asked Plug.

  “Yeah,” replied Charlie. “Just not believing it.”

  The cats roamed aimlessly through the outfield, and odd as it was, Charlie could have sworn they all looked similar, familiar even, like two strays his mom adopted as a kid. Both strays were black, but one had a white stripe down his nose. His name was Slash. Charlie had difficulty remembering the other cat’s name, but knew he was fat, super fat, actually. Not unlike the one that was currently lumbering toward him from centerfield, wearing a tiny Yankees hat and jersey. It rubbed against Plug’s leg.

  “Hey… there… fat kitty,” Plug stuttered.

  The cat jumped up into Plug’s arms.

  “Name’s Rambo, actually,” the cat answered. “Uh... Meow?”

  Plug screamed and tossed Rambo across the infield.

  “Okay, I am officially freaking out,” he shouted. “We’re in the twilight zone!”

  Charlie couldn’t argue or, for that matter, decide what was stranger: that the cat could talk or that it just said the name he couldn’t remember. Rambo was his mom’s other cat!

  The fat cat waddled off and leapt into the stands where Charlie’s mom and his younger self were sitting. It nestled into his mom’s lap, begging for a belly rub.

  “Hey!” shouted Charlie, trying for her attention. “Over here! Mom!”

  But it was no use. She was wrist deep in fur, and the screams of the phantom crowd drowned Charlie out.

  “I’m going over there,” he told Plug. “I’m gonna find out what the heck’s goin’ on around here.”

  But when Charlie tried to move, gold sand rained down from the sky, whipping the stadium into a blizzard of gold. The sand swirled around the two of them, forming a funnel, spiraling faster and faster, until it knocked them both off their feet.

  Plug grabbed Charlie’s arm. “This isn’t good!” he shouted. “What if we don’t make it out of—“

  “Don’t say it!” screamed Charlie, cutting him off. “Don’t think like that!”

  But Charlie was thinking the same thing. He had no idea if they would survive. The winds were swirling faster, and visibility had been reduced to nothing. It was all a gold blur, all except for one thing.

  “Look!” said Plug, pointing down at home plate.

  It was expanding outward at the edges, growing larger beneath them, and its surface changed from white rubber to reflective, like a mirror. With all the strange events of the past few hours, this odd transformation was but a blip on Charlie’s radar.

  The mirrored surface rippled back and forth, stretching the boys’ reflections with all the subtlety of a funhouse mirror. Their reflections morphed into a vast desert with giant sand dunes — dunes that had a vague feeling of familiarity to Charlie.

  “Where is that?” cried Plug, pointing toward the desert.

  “I don’t know,” said Charlie. “But I’m afraid we’re about to find out.”

  Their feet were sinking into the surface of home plate, as if into wet cement.

 
“It’s pulling us in!” shouted Plug. “I can’t stop!”

  “Just hold on!” said Charlie.

  “Hold onto what—”

  “Ahhhhhhhhh!” they screamed in unison.

  In the blink of an eye, they dropped through home plate and into the desert. The instant Charlie’s feet hit the sand, a powerful tremor shook the ground, and he felt a surge of energy course through him, like a jolt of electricity.

  “Did you just feel that?” asked Plug.

  “The shock? Yeah. Felt like I stuck my finger in a socket!” said Charlie.

  “No, you big pinhead! The earthquake! I’ve never felt one before, but that had to be at least a 12.5!”

  “I don’t think they go that high.”

  “Well, if they did, that’s what a 12.5 would feel like.”

  Charlie and Plug got up. They brushed themselves off and stared into the distance. Mounds of glittering sand rose and fell like billowy clouds along the horizon, etching a line of gold across a lavender sky.

  “Looks like we landed in the middle of Cali,” said Plug.

  “Cali?”

  “You know, California, the golden state.” Plug pointed to the golden sand. “The land of dreams. Movie stars, deserts, earthquakes!” He began to pace. “What’s going on, Charlie? How do you suddenly go from Yankee Stadium to California? It doesn’t make any sense!”

  “I don’t think this is California,” said Charlie, spinning Plug in his direction. “They don’t have those in California.”

  Charlie’s eyes were fixed upon a ball of light hovering just above the desert floor. Its beautiful, red glow matched the halo that surrounded his mom back in Yankee Stadium. Even though Charlie was frightened, the ball of light somehow brought him a strange sense of calm. He reached out, and energy waves from the ball extended toward his hand. Tiny rays curled around his fingers, weaving in and out like a ribbon.

  “Looks like a baby star. A mini-star!” said Plug.

  “I don’t think so. It’s not hot,” replied Charlie. “But whatever it is… I think it’s what brought us here.”

  “Dropped is more like it,” said Plug, massaging his rump.

  “Maybe we should try to go back in.”

  “Fine by me!” agreed Plug. “Get back to Yankee Stadium. At least it was in New York.”

  He approached the mini-star but abruptly pitched backward and fell into the sand.

  “You okay?” asked Charlie.

  Plug jumped up.

  “Something knocked me down!”

  Charlie looked around. They were alone.

  “There’s nothing here.”

  “Not here,” said Plug. He pointed toward his feet. “In the sand! Something’s down there!”

  “Are you sure?”

  No sooner did Charlie ask the question than a pock-faced creature sprang from below, knocking them both to the ground. The creature had wolf-like jaws and a bat-like snout.

  “Monster!” screamed Plug. “It’s a monster!”

  He and Charlie tried to scurry back to their feet but couldn’t find their footing in the sand and stumbled on top of each other. The creature spit and howled. It locked eyes with Charlie, oily black venom dripping from its pointed fangs. Its red eyes and ferocious snarl reminded Charlie of the creature from the pond in his dream, but this was much more terrifying, since he was now awake and staring it in the face.

  The creature showed its teeth and moved forward, but Charlie sensed it wasn’t them the creature wanted. It seemed to be staring right through them at the mini-star. The brighter the ball of light glowed, the more the creature snarled. Charlie wondered if he and Plug could make a run for it, if they could hop back into the mini-star before the creature attacked?

  Before he had a chance to find out, a burst of light streamed down from the sky like a bolt of lightning. It destroyed the creature in a blinding flash, shredding it like a hunk of charred meat. But then another creature erupted from the sand — and another — and another, and more bursts of light exploded around them.

  “Let’s get out of here!” screamed Plug.

  “Right behind ya!” yelled Charlie.

  They sped across the desert, kicking up sand in each other’s face.

  Plug glanced back over his shoulder. “Do you think that mini-star was the only way home?” he asked.

  “There’s gotta be another way,” replied Charlie.

  “What if there isn’t? What if we can’t find our way back?”

  Charlie was afraid to answer, but he tried to bury that fear. He tried to forget the events of this crazy day and concentrate on home, on his mother’s face, on her voice, and on the words she told him the day before he left for baseball camp when he was eight, the only other time he was ever away from her: no matter where you are, home is never far. Charlie hoped her words were true now more than ever.

  He and Plug continued across the desert for what felt like hours. Their footprints stretched for miles behind them, and they were dirty and exhausted by the time they finally reached a craggy, stone outcropping. Plug stopped to brush off a layer of sand that had managed to work its way over every inch of his body.

  “This is gross! I’m sweating mud,” he said. Beads of sweat rolled down his face through the layer of soot.

  “Come on. Just a little further,” insisted Charlie, as he climbed up a narrow ridge of the outcropping. “I’m sure we’ll find something up ahead.”

  “You said that an hour ago. We haven’t found anything since we left that mini-star, which, by the way, was probably our only way home. Admit it. We’re lost.”

  “Trust me! I have a feeling!” Charlie yelled back from high above.

  Plug rolled his eyes. “Fine. But if you’re wrong, we’re trying another direction. I don’t want to be stuck here. I hate this place. Where’s the sun? It’s been dark forever!”

  Plug is right, thought Charlie.

  In the time they had been walking, the sky had not changed one bit. It was locked in a deep shade of purple, a constant state of twilight.

  “And the sand!” Plug continued. A tiny vein popped up and ran down the center of his forehead. “I got sand in places it shouldn’t be! You don’t even want to know,” he said, jiggling in frustration as he made his way up to Charlie. “It’s like sandpaper underpants!”

  “Careful,” said Charlie. “Your angry vein’s popping out.”

  “Because I’m angry!”

  Charlie gave Plug a tug, pulling him up to the ledge where he was standing. They approached the peak of the outcropping. Plug stopped and his mouth dropped open.

  “Holy sandcastle,” he said, pointing toward the horizon.

  Charlie saw it too: a giant cathedral-like structure that rose in the distance. A castle! This one seemed as if it was formed entirely of sand. Its towers shimmered and climbed to staggering heights. Every wall, arch, and steeple sparkled in the twilight, and a lush, green oasis surrounded it, as if protecting a precious jewel. The castle was as beautiful as anything Charlie had ever seen.

  “I told you we’d find something,” he said. “Incredible!”

  “Who do you think lives in there?” asked Plug, still rubbing his eyes in disbelief.

  “I don’t know,” replied Charlie. He was lost in his own awestruck gaze. “Maybe someone that can help us.”

  “Or capture us,” gulped Plug, stating the uglier possibility as he followed Charlie down the rocky embankment toward the mysterious castle below.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THESE DARK DAYS

  A shadowy figure hurried along a towering corridor lined with flaming torches. There was urgency in his step, and his mind reeled with a surge of distress that spilled over and weighed down upon his broad shoulders. His black fatigues and gilded sash felt tight against his chest, doing little to blunt the sound of his pounding heart
. He had walked these halls hundreds of times and always marveled at his surroundings. Walls, pillars, and archways glittered with a million star-struck grains of sand. Each grain, he had learned, was created by a human child’s first dream and would burn gold throughout that child’s life. Its simplicity was poetic. He loved the human connection and the beauty it created. The whole castle reminded him of a brilliant, star-filled sky — alive, ever-changing, and mysterious. But today there hung a lingering sense of dread. A shadow of fear had been cast over the castle, dampening its natural glow.

  For ten years Rustam had dreaded the inevitable events that had come to pass in the last few hours, events that started with a young boy’s nightmare and ended with a quake that shook the world to its core — a quake that moved through every grain of sand until its power spread through Rustam like a bolt of lightning and fractured the gold medallion that hung from a chain around his neck.

  Rustam grasped the medallion and traced the line where it had splintered. Grains of gold sand continued to spill from the tear. The sand ran through his thick, brawny fingers, and, for the first time in his life, he felt fear. The sacred secret he had kept for ten long years would soon be revealed. It was a secret he had pledged his life to protect, a secret that now represented the only hope he or anyone had.

  Rustam picked up his pace. He sprinted the remaining length of the corridor and pushed his way through two massive doors into a majestic hall.

  The room was cavernous, like the nave of a church. Massive pillars carried the weight of a vaulted ceiling, which echoed with endless sounds that slipped through from human dreams. Multi-colored clouds moved across the domed interior. He watched shapes both magical and awe-inspiring form in a continuous loop of images pulled from the minds of every man, woman, and child on earth — a literal tapestry of occurring dreams. The human connection, he marveled again, but this time with a hint of sadness, knowing it could all soon come to a tragic end.

  The room was dark except for the flickering light from a circle of dimming torches held by six colossal statues in the room’s center. Below each statue, silky veils floated like clouds over diamond-encrusted slabs of compressed sand. The veils were misty white and almost translucent, like angels’ wings, and each time they moved they suggested the forms resting beneath them, forms Rustam knew to be immense, mysterious, and the foundation for every human dream. These were the Archetypes.