Sweet Dreams

by William W. Johnstone

  “My parents are acting funny, too. I don’t know what to do, Marc.”

  “Neither do I. And I’m scared, too, Heather. And I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

  They sat on the couch and looked at each other, both troubled and frightened.

  “No one answers at Heather’s house,” Maryruth said.

  “Try Marc’s number,” Jerry suggested. “Hell, Maryruth, maybe they went with their parents somewhere”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t believe that. I don’t know, Jerry. It’s just a ... a feeling I have that something is wrong.”

  Marc answered the phone on the second ring. Maryruth asked, “Everything all right with you, Marc?”

  “No, ma’am,” the boy replied honestly. “But Heather’s over here with me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Our parents went out of town for the evening. Together. They won’t be back for two or three hours, probably.”

  “Did they leave a number where they could be reached?”

  “No, ma’am. I don’t-we don’t-know where they are.”

  “Hold on, Marc.” She turned to Jerry, pressing the phone to her breast. “The kids are together. Alone, damn it! Their parents went off and left them alone.”

  “What?”

  “Marc?” Maryruth said. “You and Heather don’t have anyone with you?”

  “No, Ma’am. Just us.”

  Maryruth again turned to Jerry. “They’re alone, Jerry.”

  Jerry became angry. He rose to his feet and said, “Well, that’s a pretty crappy thing for their parents to do. I don’t give a good goddamn how intelligent the kids are, let’s take a drive over there and check on them.” “You two stay put, Mark,” Maryruth told the boy. “Jerry and I are coming over.”

  “I don’t know, Bud,” Leo said, keeping step with his friend as they walked to town. “I think those folks are gonna do just like the sheriff done: laugh.”

  “They will not,” Bud replied. “For they are beginning to realize, slowly, they are warriors facing a monumental enemy.”

  “You sure do talk funny at times, Bud.”

  “Thank you.”

  “They know about this Sanjaman, then?”

  “They know something that cannot be readily explained is out here. They sense it is their enemy. They will know for certain in a very few minutes, however.”

  “How do you figure that? You think you’re just gonna walk right up there and they’re gonna believe this fairy tale?”

  “No. And it is not a fairy tale. But they will believe their own eyes.”

  “Now what are you talkin’ about?”

  “Sanjaman.”

  “What about him?”

  “He is following us.”

  Bud looked around and froze. Then he forced his eyes to return to the ground in front of him. “Move feet. Now!” he exclaimed.

  “And someone hung a monster mask from that window?” Jerry asked, pointing.

  “Yes, sir,” Marc said. “But it’s gone. They must have been waiting nearby, ’cause no more than a minute, two at the most, passed between the time I saw it and answered the door. Somebody was probably waiting by the side of the house.”

  “We believe you, Marc,” Maryruth said. She looked at Heather. “And you received obscene phone calls, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. A whole bunch of them.” She remembered the men on the street and the things they’d said about her as she passed. She told Maryruth and Jerry about that and she added, “If grownups would let kids handle people like that, we’d take care of them in a hurry.”

  Jerry realized there was a lot of truth to Heather’s earlier remark about kids, about them being half savage. He wondered if their simplistic approach wasn’t apt sometimes. Sure would clean out a lot of prisons.

  “A lot of sexual content in those remarks,” Maryruth said. “And a rotten thing to say to a child.”

  “Agreed,” Jerry said. He looked at Heather. “Did you tell your parents about those men and what they said?”

  “No. What good would it do? It isn’t the first time it’s happened and it’d just be a kid’s word against an adult’s. The courts just turn them loose.”

  Maryruth sighed. “Might as well tell you, Heather. It doesn’t get any better for a woman as you get older.”

  “I know that, Maryruth. I think they ought to cut off a rapist’s thing.”

  Marc shuddered at the thought.

  “Agreed,” Maryruth. said.

  Jerry glanced at Maryruth to see if she was serious. She was. He said, “Heather, do you think the men who said those things to you were the ones who called?”

  “Maybe, Doctor Baldwin. I don’t know.” Then she told them about her parents’ odd behavior. And about Marc’s parents.

  Jerry looked at the kids; then he was thoughtful for a moment. “Marc’s father expressly ordered him not to leave the house tonight. Heather’s parents said nothing about whether she could or could not leave her house. Is the connection there?”

  Before she could reply, there was a knock on the front door.

  “I’ll get it,” Jerry said.

  “You want my poker?” Marc asked.

  Jerry had to laugh. “No, you keep it, Marc. It might come in handy.”

  Jerry opened the door and stood for a moment, staring at the odd-looking pair waiting on the small porch.

  “You are Doctor Gerald Baldwin?” a man asked. He looked Indian.

  “I am.”

  “I am called Bud. That is not my real name, but it will suffice. This is Leo.” He indicated the man with him, “If you will give us a few moments of your time, sir, I believe we can shed some welcome light on the strange events that have been occurring in this area.”

  Heather came to the door and looked at Bud. “Are you an Indian?” she asked.

  “That is correct, child. I am a medicine man. Or,” he corrected, “at least I was at one time.”

  “I’ve been having dreams of an Indian ever since we moved down here.”

  “I know,” Bud said. “And I have been having visions of two little people.” His eyes focused on Marc. “And now I have found them.”

  Maryruth and Marc joined the group standing in the foyer.

  “What is your real name?” Heather asked. “I mean, your Indian name?”

  “I am known as Walks-By-Night. And you are ...?”

  “Heather. That’s my friend, Marc.” She pointed to Marc.

  “Handsome children,” Bud said with a smile. “But I think perhaps you are more adult than child. Both of you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Heather replied. “And sometimes that can be a drag.”

  Bud smiled at the slang. “Drag. That word has so many definitions. I believe the first slang usage of that word occurred in about .1880 or so. The word has changed many times since then. You are using it to convey a feeling of aesthetical boredom, correct?”

  “Yes, sir,” Heather and Marc both replied.

  “You speak like a college professor,” Maryruth said. “But – ” She bit off the words before they could leave her tongue.

  “But dress as a wino,” Bud finished it, not taking umbrage at her silently implied statement. “I was a college professor, years ago. But that is not important. What is important is the fact – and let me assure you all, it is fact – that Sanjaman has managed another reincarnation. You – we” – he glanced at Leo – “are all in grave danger.”

  “Please come in, Mr. Bud, Mr. Leo,” Marc said. “Doctor Baldwin, do you want to call your friend, Lieutenant Voyles?”

  “I’d better.”

  “Try Janet’s house,” Maryruth said with a smile.

  Leo looked over his shoulder. “Bud? That damn light is right behind us!”

  BOOK TWO

  And all my days are trances,

  And all my nightly dreams

  Are where thy gray eye glances,

  And where thy footstep gleams –

  In what ethereal dreams,


  By what eternal streams.

  – Edgar Allan Poe

  1

  “What in blazes is that thing?” Voyles said. He and Janet stood on the sidewalk in front of the Anderson house.

  Janet clutched his arm.

  Voyles pulled his service revolver from the holster. The snub-nosed .38 Chiefs Special felt very comfortable and reassuring in his big hand.

  A hollow-sounding laugh emanated from the ball of light that hovered over the sidewalk in front of the Anderson home.

  “I think it’s . . . it’s laughing at your gun, Dick,” Janet said. “God, I’m dreaming all this. Tell me this is just a nightmare, Dick.”

  Voyles looked at his 38, grimaced, and then stowed the pistol back in the holster. “I can’t tell you that, Janet,” he said. “I don’t know what is going on around here, but it’s no dream.”

  Voyles and Janet avoided contact with the ball of light by cutting across the front yard. Janet stopped the cop and tugged on his arm.

  “Look over there, Dick.” She pointed to the house next door.

  A man stood in the front yard, hedge clippers in his right hand. Voyles walked over to him and said hello.

  The man ignored him.

  “Sir?” Voyles persisted. “Sir, can you hear me?”

  The man offered no evidence of recognition. He looked up once-right through Voyles. The man rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Oh, God, Dick!” Janet said, gasping the words. “We’re invisible to him!”

  “Now that’s impossible, Janet. Get hold of yourself.”

  The ball of light laughed mockingly, tauntingly.

  “None of us can be seen,” Bud spoke from the open doorway. “We are invisible to all others – for a time.”

  “Who in the hell are you?” Voyles asked.

  Before Bud could reply, Janet stepped close to Voyles and said, “But how can that be possible?”

  Bud waved them toward the house. The old Indian waited until the couple entered and were seated before he elaborated.

  “Call me Bud,” he said. “Now, all of you listen to me. The light is not what it appears to be. The light by itself is harmless, as has been proven over the years, unless it becomes highly agitated; then it can and will do harm. But for now, what has taken possession of the light is a clear and present danger to those of us gathered in this room, and to the residents of this town and the surrounding area.”

  “Taken possession?” Maryruth asked, more to herself than to Bud.

  All present, except for the kids, looked suspiciously at the leather-faced old man and his partner. The Indian was of medium height, stocky, and appeared to be in excellent health for his age. He stood erect, and spoke in a firm, steady voice. His eyes were bright, but unreadable. He wore his hair long, down to his shoulders; a leather headband was tied around his forehead. He appeared to be in his mid-seventies.

  Leo was of approximately the same size and build, although perhaps a few years younger.

  Both men were dressed in a mishmash of what seemed to be hand-me-down clothing. But the men and the clothing were clean. The men time-worn, the clothing patched.

  “What has taken possession of the light?” Voyles asked, suspicion in his voice.

  “The greatest Manitou that was ever created,” Bud replied. “But he is an evil Manitou. He is known as Sanjaman.”

  “Manitou?” Janet said. “What in the hell—”—she looked at the kids—“devil is a Manitou?”

  “Sanjaman?” Jerry said. “What kind of a name is that?”

  “It’s an Indian name,” Heather said. “And anything can be a Manitou. I read a book about them when I was little. Wind, fire, a rock, ice—anything can be a Manitou.”

  “That is quite correct,” Bud said. “As far as you took it. You are a very astute young lady.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Heather said. “I have a high retention capacity.”

  “So I gather.”

  “Now, wait just a minute,” Voyles said. “This is ... well, getting mind-boggling. Exactly what does this Manitou want? What am I saying! God. You people have me babbling now.”

  Bud ignored the last part of Voyles’s statement. “Sanjaman wants many things. None of you possesses the Indian mind. Our way of looking at matters is different so it will be terribly difficult—if not impossible —to explain.”

  “Try us,” Maryruth suggested. “And we’ll try to understand you.”

  “You were a teacher, weren’t you?” Marc said. “O.K. Teach.”

  Bud smiled at the boy. He looked directly at the group, his old and wise eyes lingering on each person for a few seconds. He nodded his head. “Very well. First you must all understand—No! You must believe and accept matters that are, well, not conventional to your teachings. You must believe that no one ever truly dies; some part always remains. It can be strong or weak, but the force of a human being remains. Sanjaman was a very strong man in his first life. He was a mighty warrior; father of many sons. For centuries, the tale was handed down that Sanjaman did not seek the evil powers he now possesses. But he did seek immortality, and that search led him down many dark and twisted paths. When he finally exited life as you know it, Sanjaman was a very old man. He was also very wise, and he was furious at the spirit Death. He fought Death, screaming to the darkness that he would do or become anything in order to live. He was heard, and his pleas, to a point, were granted.”

  “By whom?” Jerry asked, not knowing, at this juncture, what to believe.

  “Those unseen but always present spirits that control all our lives, our final destinies. Call them gods or saviors or demons or spirits—whatever you wish. They are real.”

  Voyles jumped to his feet, disbelief on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He shook his head and returned to his place on the couch, beside Janet. “Jesus!” he said.

  Maryruth suddenly shivered. Jerry glanced at her. “Air conditioning sure must be set low,” he remarked. “It’s cool in here.”

  “The air conditioning is set at seventy eight,” Marc said, “but it must not be working properly. ’Cause it sure is getting cold in here.”

  Heather wrapped herself in an afghan and Janet moved closer to Voyles’s side on the couch. Not that she needed any drastic temperature change to encourage her to do that. Voyles put an arm around her.

  “The air conditioning has nothing to do with the sudden temperature inversion,” Bud said. “Sanjaman is playing with us.”

  “What do you mean?” Voyles asked.

  “It might well be snowing outside,” the old Indian replied.

  “In the summer?” Jerry said. “That’s impossible.”

  Bud shrugged. “See for yourself.”

  Jerry walked to the big picture window in the den. He pulled the cord to the drapes. Everyone in the room except Bud gasped at the sight that lay before them.

  Bud stood quietly, his arms folded across his chest. His face was impassive.

  Icicles hung from the gutters and the eaves of the house.

  “But it must be seventy-five degrees outside,” Janet said. “This . . . what we’re seeing . . . is impossible.”

  “Dear lady,” Bud said softly. “Nothing is impossible to a Manitou. Sanjaman is just showing you he is all-powerful. He is telling you, in his way, that he can do anything he wishes, to any of you, at any time he so desires. He is playing with you.”

  “But he can’t do it to you, can he?” Jerry asked, without taking his eyes from the phenomenon occurring before his eyes. “If so, why is that?”

  “You are correct to a degree, Doctor,” Bud said. “While a Manitou does not fear a medicine man, he must respect one. It is our way. There again, you are white; not of the Indian way. I have certain powers that you will never understand. That is not to say you are not a very intelligent man. You simply will not understand.”

  “Try me,” Jerry challenged.

  Bud smiled. “Your mind is trained to think white. You could never understand. Th
ere is no point in trying. Just accept and welcome the assistance that I bring. Soon, I believe, if I am to help you, my powers will be tested.”

  Outside, hollow, mocking laughter rang out, reaching the ears of those inside the house.

  “What next?” Maryruth asked.

  “Only Sanjaman knows,” Bud told her.

  “And God,” Voyles said.

  Bud only smiled at that.

  The house began steaming up, turning very hot, very quickly. Perspiration dripped from the faces of those in the den. Only Bud seemed immune to the intense heat.

  The laughter reached them again. This time it seemed to contain a note of evil. Voyles said as much.

  “Sanjaman is evil,” Bud told them. “Evil at its purest, if I may use a contradiction in terms. And add to that the fact that this time around, this reincarnation, he appears to be quite mad.”

  “Like in angry?” Heather asked.

  “No, child,” Bud replied. “As in demented.”

  Jerry looked outside. Rapidly disappearing puddles of water on the ground beneath the eaves were all that remained of the ice.

  Voyles joined Jerry at the window. He said, “I’m feeling it and looking at it, but damned if I can believe it’s happening. There has got to be some sort of logical explanation for this. There has to be.”

  “The white mind,” Bud remarked. “How much your race has lost over the passage of time. In your haste to create what you call advanced civilization, you’ve let the basics slip from you; you have lost your center of being.”

  Voyles muttered something inaudible. Jerry got the impression it wasn’t anything complimentary.

  “But children, in their innocence,” Maryruth said. “They still have it. Is that what you’re saying? Is that the connection?”

  Bud nodded his head. “Wise for a woman,” he said drily.

  “Thanks a lot,” she replied, as much ice in her tone as that which had hung from the eaves of the house only moments before.