When We Got Lost in Dreamland

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When We Got Lost in Dreamland Page 4

by Ross Welford


  Now you can have ‘waking dreams’ whenever you sleep!

  Fulfil your wildest desires, enact your craziest fantasy! All from the safety of your own bed.

  When you wake, you will be just as refreshed as after a good night’s sleep.

  ‘Awethome!’ breathes Seb again. ‘I wanna try it!’

  The instructions say to position the Dreaminator above your head while you sleep, and, minutes later, we have found four triple-A batteries in the kitchen drawer and put two in each unit. Then, by balancing the little bedside cabinet on each of our beds in turn, I have fixed the screws into the ceiling, and hung the contraptions over our beds with the little on-off switch hanging down within reach of my hand.

  I read out the last bit.

  How to dream the Dreaminator way!

  1. Go to sleep as normal, at your normal time, with the DreaminatorTM turned on.

  2. During a dream, you may become aware that you are dreaming. To test this, simply ask someone else in the dream, ‘Am I dreaming?’ They will almost always answer with the truth.

  3. Another dream test is to look at a clock or to read. Numbers on clocks and printed words are usually jumbled or indistinct during dreams.

  4. Finally, try to float! Even the laws of gravity are under your control!

  5. To wake up (for example, if you do not like the dream and no longer wish to control it) simply say to yourself, ‘Wake up!’ If this does not work, try holding your breath for a few seconds and then expelling it forcefully.

  6. If you do not wake yourself up deliberately, your dream will end naturally as your sleep cycle finishes and you will wake up as normal.

  Remember – perfect results may not be achieved straight away.

  Happy dreaming!

  I put down the sheet of instructions and puff out my cheeks. ‘Well,’ I say to Seb, who is gazing up at the Dreaminators hanging from the ceiling. ‘What do you make of that?’

  ‘What does he make of what?’ says Mam, standing in the doorway.

  We were so absorbed that we didn’t hear her come upstairs. She sees the new additions to the room, hanging from the ceiling, straight away. ‘What the heck are they?’

  If I was going to come up with some explanation that wasn’t the whole truth, then I’m too late, because Seb answers immediately.

  ‘They’re called Dreaminators. They … give you better dreams.’

  Mam rolls her eyes and goes, ‘Pfft!’, the way she does when one of us says something so unbelievable that she can’t even be bothered to argue. ‘Where on earth did you get them?’

  ‘Malky found them!’

  Mam narrows her eyes. She’s suspicious. Seb continues. ‘At the Lifeboat Nearly New Sale. This afternoon. Hassan’s mam was running a stall. A pound for them both. Weren’t they, Malky? What do you reckon?’

  He’s such a convincing liar, I’m almost envious. But here’s the thing: I owe him now, and he knows it.

  Mam shakes her head and smiles. She picks up the sheet of instructions from the bed and glances over it, far too quickly to read it properly, and I know I’ve got her. ‘They look ridiculous. Do they play nursery rhymes?’

  Seb is defensive. ‘No! They allow you to control your dreams.’

  ‘Oh aye? You did that with Cuthbert the crocodile when you were little, Malky. Do you remember?’ I bristle. I haven’t been troubled by crocodile dreams for ages. Mam is properly chuckling now. ‘Good luck with that, boys. If it works, let me know – I’ve got a couple of dreams myself that I wouldn’t mind coming true!’

  I smile back at her little joke. I like making Mam laugh. She doesn’t do it often and when I asked her why, about a year ago, she got really sad so I never mentioned it again.

  She’s being normal Mam again soon enough. ‘Now, Sebastian, have you finished your holiday project? Well, why not, Seb? It’s only stickers. And, Malky, when did you last wash your hair? It’s like a ferret’s nest. Don’t forget – tonight, please. First day of term tomorrow.’

  Later that evening, I’m in the bathroom, looking at my chest. It’s scabbed and raw and still oozing blood in one or two places. I’ve tried to dab at it with a clean sponge. There’s no antiseptic spray in the bathroom cabinet so I’ve smeared a bit of the yak’s butter on the deepest scratch.

  ‘Outta the way, Malk. I’m dying for a wee! Oh! What you done to … ugh! That looks gross. And what’s that smell?’

  Told you. Totally annoying.

  ‘Get lost. I’m … I’m not well.’

  One of the many problems with Seb is that he’s not easily put off when I snarl at him. ‘What did you do?’ he says. ‘That’s blood, that is.’

  ‘I know. I fell over, okay? Just … don’t say anything. Mam’s got enough to worry about.’ That’s good, I think. I sound responsible, big-brotherly. From the look on his face, though, Seb has joined the dots: he knows my injuries and the Dreaminators are connected.

  I pull on my pyjama top carefully to avoid the huge graze. I roll up my T-shirt so as to disguise the bloodstains, and put it at the bottom of the laundry basket.

  When Mam comes into our room to kiss us goodnight, she leans over me and tightens the duvet across my chest and I have to remember not to wince in pain and to smile as she says, ‘New school year, boys. Shall we have a story?’

  I reply, ‘No,’ so quickly that Mam blinks in surprise. ‘I … I mean, not tonight, Mam.’ I force a little yawn, but I can tell Mam’s a bit hurt. She likes reading us stories, even if it’s Kobi the Cave Boy for the billionth time.

  ‘I’m working lates a lot this month,’ she says. ‘There may not be as many chances.’

  I certainly know the thing by heart, and at least it’s not long. Seb reaches under his bed and pulls out the very well-used picture book. I always thought he’d grow out of it, but he never did. I can’t even remember a time when he wasn’t obsessed with it.

  Mam settles down on Seb’s bed and begins reading, and Seb mouths along with the words, while I stare at the Dreaminators, silently urging her to speed up.

  ‘In the shadows of the cave, the fire flickers red,

  And Kobi lies down with a rock beneath his head …’

  It’s the story of a boy in the Stone Age who lives with his family in a cave, long before houses and cars and aeroplanes and machines and clothes were invented. There’s a lake, and another tribe of Stone Age people, and he rides on a mammoth …

  I yawn again, a big one this time, and Mam pauses.

  ‘Aww, I want the end,’ says Seb, but I manage to catch his eye and I flick a glance upwards. He gets it. ‘But if Malky’s tired that’s okay.’

  Mam closes the book and looks between us, with mock surprise. ‘Hang on – have you two just agreed on something without arguing?’ She runs her fingers through her short curls and shakes her head. ‘I hope it lasts! Sweet dreams,’ she says. She always says that: it’s like an unreliable magic spell that only sometimes works. Then she switches the light off and the twin circles of dull blue light hanging over our beds stand out in the dark.

  ‘Do they stay on all night?’ she says. Then, before I can answer, she starts to sniff the air. ‘What’s that smell?’

  ‘Yeah – I noticed that as well,’ says Seb. ‘I thought it was Malky’s socks!’

  It’s rancid yak’s butter, but obviously I’m not going to say that. Instead, I say, ‘Dunno. I can’t smell anything.’ Mam shrugs and goes out.

  We lie awake in silence for a while, Seb and I. I’m staring up at the circles of blue crystals.

  Eventually, I hear, ‘Psst. Malk. You awake?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Are you scared?’

  ‘Scared of what?’

  ‘You know. The Dreamylater.’

  ‘Dreaminator. No. Why? You?’

  Pause. ‘No.’

  He means yes.

  ‘Psst. Malk.’

  Sigh. ‘What now?’

  ‘Good luck.’

  I remember the sheet of instructions:

/>   Remember – perfect results may not be achieved straight away.

  In order to dream, of course, you have to be asleep. Instead of falling asleep, though, I find my head churning around with the events of the last few hours.

  The Dreaminator glows faintly above me.

  Kez Becker … the empty backyard … that poor dog and his broken claw … the old lady … the flags … the girl, what was her name again?

  It’s gone.

  And then I’m gone.

  It’s the next day. First day of term. I’m in school, in my form room, and Seb is there as well for some reason that I can’t work out.

  Next-door’s Fit Billy is standing in front of the class because he’s our teacher, although he keeps talking in a foreign language that sounds like Chinese and everyone is laughing at him as he takes off his shirt and flexes his muscles.

  I look round at my classmates: there’s Mason, and Callum, and the two Darcys, and Kobi, and …

  Hang on. Kobi? The cave boy from the book. He’s not even real: he looks like a three-dimensional drawing, and …

  We’re not in my classroom, we’re in the cave, from the first big picture in the book. The cave walls are orangey-red from a fire in the middle of the classroom floor, and …

  Everyone is gathered at the mouth of the cave and pointing. A huge black-and-ginger dog is walking past on the school rugby pitch outside. When I say huge, it’s about the size of an elephant. Is it a dog? Or … or … a mammoth? A prehistoric woolly mammoth, with a long trunk and huge curved tusks, and …

  And from somewhere a memory kind of swims into my head. A memory of something I need to do. Did I hear it? Did I read it? I turn to Seb – Why is Seb in my class, again? – and I find myself saying, ‘Hey, Seb. Am … am I dreaming?’

  And Seb says, ‘Yes. Of course you are!’ and I grin with slowly dawning relief. I knew it!

  That was one of the instructions, wasn’t it? Written down on the sheet that came with the Dreaminator: ask someone if you’re dreaming and they’ll tell you!

  Of course, it makes sense now why Fit Billy’s our teacher, and why Kobi the Cave Boy is in my class, and why there’s a mammoth outside the cave mouth. That is if ‘sense’ is the right word for nonsense.

  Another thought crosses my mind, only it’s not the mind that is here: it is like another mind that is observing what is going on. It is this mind that tells me to look at the classroom clock, there on the cave wall, and when I do its hands are moving quickly, but spinning backwards. I know then for sure that I am in a dream. A waking dream!

  I turn my attention back to the mammoth, which has cocked its leg on a rugby post and is peeing like a burst water pipe. Everyone is laughing.

  There is something I want to try: something else that I recall from the instructions. I stand apart from my classmates, and, while they’re looking out of the window, I stand on my tiptoes and tell myself, Float, Malky, float! and I do, just a bit, as though a wire between my shoulder blades is lifting me up slowly. I start to laugh, even though, as I get higher, it’s a bit scary: if I fall suddenly, I’ll crash into my desk and chair and it’ll hurt.

  Did I just do that? Am I floating?

  The feeling makes me breathless with excitement. My mind is overflowing with thoughts. Did I really just control something in my dream? Am I really dreaming?

  It doesn’t feel like it at all. It feels real – only I can float if I want to.

  ‘Oh, I say! Look at Malcolm Bell!’ goes a posh voice. I look down and it’s the girl in the blue jumper with the black hair from over the wall. She’s pointing and smiling her lips-together smile and everyone else is going, ‘Whoa!’ and, ‘Awesome!’ and, ‘Check out Malky Bell!’

  By the time my head touches the rocky cave roof, I’m getting a bit freaked out, and so I say, ‘Down!’ but nothing happens. I push with my hand against the ceiling, and descend a bit, but then I bob up again, as though I’m a helium-filled balloon.

  Seb grabs my shoe and pulls me down, but, as soon as he releases me, I float up again. This time I bang my head hard on the cave roof.

  I don’t like this. ‘Down!’ I say again. ‘Let me down!’

  This time, though, I really mean it. I am calm. I expect it to happen. And so it does. I flap my arms gently by my sides as I float back to stand on top of the school desk, and I do a little tap dance to make my classmates laugh. Mr Springham, the deputy head, has appeared and even he’s smiling.

  Then there’s a scream (probably the Darcys), and people scuttle away from the desk, pointing underneath it. I watch from my position on top of the desk as the knobbled grey-green snout of a huge crocodile emerges, followed by the head and finally the whole fat body.

  I look around: everyone has disappeared. It’s just me and a crocodile I have not seen in years.

  ‘You!’ I say, and it curls its scaly lip in response.

  I swallow hard, wondering if it will still work. I hold out my hand towards the croc and, trying to stop my voice from quavering, I say, ‘Cu-Cuthbert.’

  Just then, the school bell rings, making a noise exactly like the alarm on my phone, and keeps ringing and ringing and ringing.

  Cuthbert begins to shrink, and still the bell is ringing …

  It’s working!

  He’s getting smaller and smaller.

  I feel a surge of elation, power and confidence …

  … and I wake up, blinking, in my bed, the alarm on my phone ringing and the sunlight streaming through the window.

  The top of my head hurts a bit where I hit the ceiling – except that was in my dream, so I must have bumped it on the wall behind my bed.

  Turning my head to the side, I see Seb in the morning light, his eyes shut, breathing gently, making occasional little snuffling noises.

  Above my head hangs the Dreaminator, the glow of the little stones barely visible in the light. It twists slowly, even though there’s no air to move it. Perhaps it’s my breath: I am breathing quite heavily, though I don’t feel tired.

  What the blinking, flipping heck just happened?

  It really did happen. Didn’t it? I ‘controlled a dream’. It was like I was awake, but I was definitely asleep.

  How long did the dream last? Not all night, surely? Do I remember all of it? Could I do it again?

  Gradually, I realise I can recall it all perfectly, which is unusual in itself. Think about it: as soon as you try to remember a dream, it starts slipping away. It’s like trying to hold on to smoke. But I just lie there, recalling all the details as if it really happened: the big dog-mammoth peeing like a burst hydrant, Fit Billy talking Chinese, the floating, the crocodile under the desk …

  My breathing returns to normal and the sunlight gets stronger, and I’m fully awake and smiling. I hear Mam get up and go to the bathroom before putting her head round our door.

  ‘Oh, hi, Malky,’ she says. ‘You’re awake! You look happy. Sleep well?’

  It’s not really a question. She’s gone by the time I answer, ‘I think so.’

  I look across at my brother who could sleep through an earthquake. ‘Seb! Seb! Hey – wake up – did it work for you?’

  He rubs his head, making his hair stand on end, and yawns, and runs his tongue round his morning-dry mouth. Then he looks up at his Dreaminator, bites his lip in deep thought and eventually says, ‘I’m not sure. I’m trying to remember.’

  ‘You didn’t dream anything?’

  Then Mam comes back in, saying that Dad’s on her phone. (This means she has had to call him to remind him to wish us good luck on our first day of term because he forgot to call last night, like he did last term. He’s very forgetful, is Dad. I’m not sure it’s all his fault.)

  So it’s Dad that I tell first. I tell him I had a really odd dream, and he listens, but he doesn’t really get it. I must be gabbling and not making much sense, because at one point he says, ‘You okay, Malky?’ But then he has to cut the call short or he’ll be late and to say hi to Seb from him, that he’ll ca
ll him later. We both know he’ll forget.

  The rest is all toothpaste, toast, cereal and Seb’s missing gym shoes. I’m up and dressed and downstairs, eating breakfast, before Seb reappears. I haven’t said anything to Mam, as I’m still trying to work out what the dream was all about and, for that matter, whether it even happened.

  You probably just dreamed it all, Malky.

  I mean: that would be possible, wouldn’t it? I could dream that I was awake in a dream?

  Seb sits at the table and starts to pile butter on to a slice of toast, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Mam notices.

  ‘What’s amusing you this morning, Sonny Jim? And easy on the butter. We don’t own a cow,’ she says, pouring cereal into his bowl.

  ‘I’ve remembered my strange dream last night,’ he lisps, causing toast crumbs to spray on to the table and Mam to tut. I pause, a spoonful of cereal halfway to my mouth.

  ‘Oh aye? Your dream thingummy worked then!’ says Mam.

  ‘I was in this classroom with some other kids. And Billy from next door was there. He was the teacher but he couldn’t speak English.’

  Mam smiles at this. ‘His Geordie accent is so strong, I sometimes wonder myself! Sounds like a typical crazy dream!’

  ‘Yeah, and … and …’ Seb was trying to remember. ‘There was this massive dog, like … like the mamuffs in Kobi, weeing all over a football pitch or something …’

  I have put my spoon down by now. My mouth is hanging open, waiting to hear what he’s going to say next, yet at the same time knowing exactly what is coming.

  He’s going to describe you floating, Malky …

  ‘… and then Malky was there and he started floating, right there in the middle of the cave-room thing. Oh, and Kobi from the book was there too! And Malky floated higher and higher till his head hit the ceiling …’

  I instinctively put my hand up to my head where my scalp is still a little bit tender from banging it on the wall.

 

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