(Narrated by Kevin Coffey)
Hey everyone. Hope all is well.
* You can always find any of this story as it progresses in order under the new KINGDOM OF DREAMS tab on my home page.
Enjoy! -KC-
That night, Jimmy reflected on his surprisingly stellar day. He went to bed in the best spirits he had experienced in months.
The waves had never parted for him at school the way they had after returning from his run down with the bullies on Round Hill.
There was a new unspoken law laid down at his middle school: leave Jimmy Reve alone, or else. His classmates looked at him as if for the first time with an almost awe—he had become an instant celebrity. Yet, everyone kept their distance.
In fact, Jimmy’s day had gone so well, he hadn’t been missed in math class. He guessed Mrs. Lickey was so used to him being gone, his absence hadn’t registered.
Still… other than his teachers, nobody talked to him. Jimmy told himself he was more than okay with that. Far better than the alternative. Wasn’t it?
Jimmy fluffed his pillow, better positioning it behind his head and smiled, buzzing inside at how in such a short time the tables had turned.
Jimmy’s moment of triumph was interrupted when he spotted a pair of oversized eyes intensely spying on him from within the depths of the air conditioning vent above in his bedroom ceiling. Jimmy’s smile faded fast.
A waterfall of black smoke dumped out of the vent, enveloping Jimmy. Through the veil of thickening smoke, Jimmy turned his head and caught a space swirling open in his room that shouldn’t have been there.
He couldn’t see much inside the new suspended hole in his room, other than strange dark shapes framing a blacker void—definitely not Bucky’s room again. Something about this shadowy place made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck—no way he was voluntarily exploring this opening.
The strange place had other ideas.
The invasive smoke tugged at him until he was sucked inside the newly created opening as easily as if he were a crumb being inhaled by a vacuum cleaner, forcefully yanked from his room into the place he didn’t want to go. As he desperately clawed at his sheets and mattress and couldn’t manage to grasp anything solid, Jimmy saw his body apparently peacefully sleeping in his bed.
And then—
Jimmy found himself standing in his pajamas backstage in the dreadful atmosphere of a rundown theatre. Dazed, he blinked and looked around, highly suspicious. The ceiling rose so high up it surrendered to the shadows as if outer space were the next level looming above. The wings were stuffed with abandoned cobwebs, cracked tiles, and pitiful broken fixtures that hadn’t been cared for in years.
Where am I? Jimmy thought. And why?
He desperately searched for the portal so he could jump back into the safety of his room, but it wasn’t available or even visible like it had been last time.
As Jimmy’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he jumped back as he noticed a monstrous shape looming a little too close for comfort beside him. The shape turned out to be a jumbo black bag a couple of heads taller than Jimmy that looked like only a jacked-up Santa Claus might be able to lift.
Strange mumbling, the occasional squeal, and fearful, far off shouting emanated from within the abyss-colored sack. Jimmy checked his surroundings again. Was any of this real? He placed his hand on a nearby wall that felt rough to the touch, and came away with a chalk-coated, musty-smelling covering of dust. On the wall now interrupting the total blanket of dust was his complete bare handprint similar to when people leave behind playful messages or drawings with their fingers, nudging a filthy car to be washed.
Real enough, I guess, he thought, wiping his dirty hand on his jeans.
Unlit torches on the side wings ravaged with rust whiffed to life by themselves, producing giant hungry flames that dove and pounced as if they had only appeared to feast on the walls.
With more light, Jimmy could see the details of the sack much better. The material appeared almost furry but smooth, some soothing fabric that begged your finger to make contact with it like velvet—yet there was a sinister vibe of don’t dare touch me emanating off the bag like it was a deadly animal. The bag was cinched at the top with a black, silky rope coated with shiny leather scales that reflected the bending torchlight.
The flames snuffed out, then relit again, before vanishing for good just in the nick of time before the poor building went up in a blaze. A healthy dose of singed wood lingered in the air.
“Psst, that’s your cue,” an unseen voice whispered from somewhere in the shadows of the abyssal ceiling.
Jimmy nearly jumped out of his sneakers.
“Yes, YOU, Jimmy Reve, ” the whispering voice continued with an urgency. “Take the bag with you. Hurry! Go on.”
Jimmy stared up into the dark corners, unsure. “Uh…where exactly am I supposed to go?”
A feint light turned on without a sound, bathing his section of the stage in a soft purple light like a small moon had cleared cloud cover. Jimmy knew from being in the sixth grade production of The Hobbit—he had played Gollum—it was a backstage blacklight that a crowd couldn’t see but helped the actors find their places.
Above him in the rafters thick-knotted ropes fit for a pirate ship slid over shrieking pulleys tucked high up in the corners that leaked dust, resembling a cheap imitation of snow as a special effect for an ultra-low-budget play.
Just in front of Jimmy, massive curtains splattered with suspicious stains drew apart by themselves.
With the curtains now open and with a semblance of light, Jimmy scanned the dilapidated seats around the theater. Not a seat in the house was occupied. The place was empty and overwhelmingly silent.
An immediate change buzzed around inside the atmosphere. An animal sense of danger loomed all around; Jimmy’s insides deep in his core boiled with heightened awareness and anxiety. What’s happening? he thought.
In one magnificent blink of an eye, Jimmy listened to the murmurings and wild mutterings of a packed house full of… something—uh, make that an army of something not good. From the floor to the rafters, Jimmy could feel a horde of monsters glaring at him as one. But in his gut, Jimmy knew these weren’t quite monsters, no—they were something worse: nightmares.
Jimmy frantically rubbed his eyes, certain he was seeing things, but his horrendous audience wouldn’t go away. Luckily, the blacklight didn’t project beyond the stage to make out any of their nastier details. But the fear the nightmares projected even from being hidden in the shadows made his legs wobble, likely to give out.
“Jimmy, get that bag out there to the taped ‘X’ before they EAT you, quick!” the unseen voice pleaded with him.
Despite feeling like he was watching a surreal movie starring a knockoff replica of himself, Jimmy reacted with a purpose. He grabbed the smooth but firm tie binding the enormous sack and heaved.
To his amazement, the bag was super light and Jimmy went flying, bellyflopping onto the stage, plowing a clean space through the light snowfall of dust like he was sliding into second base. The giant black sack rose into the air as if it were as light as a helium balloon.
Despite every seat being occupied by a hideous assortment of nightmares of every shocking shadowy shape and size imaginable, the theatre went dead quiet, with almost the reverence of a cathedral. Jimmy was pretty sure they were laser focused on his bag.
Remembering the voice’s warning to move fast, Jimmy hopped to his feet and sprinted over to a clearly taped ‘X’ at the front center of the stage, easily pulling along the massive bag floating overhead by its strange rubbery tie. The mysterious bag parked itself above his head, like Jimmy’s personal and literal black cloud.
“Let go and dive!” hissed the voice from backstage, now barely audible.
Jimmy dropped the tie and dove forward as instructed, aggravating more layers of ancient dust.
Like an illusionist’s magic trick, once he let go of it, the enormous floating bag evidently became heavy all at once, crashing to the stage; a mushroom cloud of dust erupted from the impact and hung in the air like a curious phantom before fading.
A click echoed for miles, and then the entire theater, including the audience was bathed in blacklight. The effect was miraculous and horrifying.
A sea of disturbing eyes, teeth, and claws of every impossible variety popped and leered at Jimmy from the farthest reaches of the balcony to the intimidating private boxes looming overhead.
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Jimmy felt like fainting or dropping dead on the spot. This is bad, he thought.
“Open it!” a giant wart-covered tongue with no apparent body hungrily hissed, flopping out of the smoky shadows of the nearest luxury box overhead.
Spooked into action, with shaking hands, Jimmy pulled on the stubborn rubbery strap, cinching the bag together, then flung it away and fell on his rump when the tie turned out to be a highly irritated Black Mamba!
The deadly serpent rose to the height of a pro-basketball player, struck twice at Jimmy, narrowly missing his face and fingers, then tore off across the stage without bothering to apologize, plummeting over the side.
Jimmy exhaled with relief, glad to see the serpent exit stage left.
The mountainous bag suddenly shifted and fell, dumping its living contents onto the stage.
Two pimple-faced adolescent boys spilled out into the spotlight. The monstrous audience perched forward on their seats in shared anticipation.
Jimmy gasped: Bucky Brees and Clayton Stones alive and in the trembling flesh!
The bullies untangled themselves from one another and struggled to sit up. Their eyes were unnaturally wide from being in the bully bag—Jimmy thought it as good a name to call it as any—for who knew how long.
The blacklight made his enemies resemble ridiculous cartoon characters, with enlarged eggs for eyes and teeth lit like flares as they fumbled around on the stage, uncertain where they were and what was happening.
Join the club, Jimmy thought.
When Bucky and Clayton’s eyes did adjust, and they took in the intimidating horrors around them, both boys tried to flee at the same time but only managed to slam into each other and butt heads like clumsy rams, knocking each other silly.
The laughter that greeted the bullies made both of them instantaneously wilt and tear up. For some reason, the horde of nightmares’ combined laugher didn’t bother Jimmy the way it did his rivals. He heard it as white noise, like a collective almost comical humming. That couldn’t be right.
Both boys sank and pressed as low as possible, trying to become one with the wooden planks on the stage—they failed miserably.
Because Jimmy had dove off to the side a bit behind the bully bag, Bucky and Clayton hadn’t noticed him yet. The crumpled up bag offered enough cover and was still tall enough to fully conceal Jimmy.
“Stay behind the bully bag until I call for you,” the voice from before whispered into Jimmy’s ear from behind. “Just don’t dare CLIMB in,” the whispering voice advised.
Jimmy whipped around, propping himself on his elbows, looked up and wheezed a bit, struggling to breathe from fear as the voice from backstage made itself known.
A shadow resembling a writhing jellyfish descended from the darkness, hovering just above his head. It flexed black smoking tendrils that composed its lower half, before shoving its horrible face into the blacklight inches from Jimmy’s face.
Jimmy collapsed onto his back, unable to accept the incomprehensible being hovering over him. The thing was mostly composed of black swirling smoke and eyes, the same smoke and eyes Jimmy had now experienced on multiple occasions. Its protruding eyes were the very definition of deformity, gore and despicableness: blood red jagged lines ran through the whites of the eyes like cracks from a massive earthquake. Its pupils were enormous, giant orbs indicative of things that tended to spend most of their time in the darkest of places. But worst of all was the gleam, the intensity of the thing’s gaze, that projected an equal measure of confidence and total chaos.
The thing used a smoky tentacle, appearing to pulverize and squeeze each obnoxious eyeball. “Ah! That should do it. Now I’m positively presentable,” it said.
Tails of smoke streamed out its body as it glided to the edge of the front of the stage. It left no footprints as opposed to Jimmy and the bully’s tracks looking like a herd of wildebeests had recently crossed.
“Welcome back to the Grand Macabre,” it projected its natural whispering voice. It uncurled extraordinarily elongated, smoldering fingers and waved them in front of its spine, made of burning embers, which were revealed whenever its smoke drifted aside.
It bowed to some opening applause, seeming to relish the positive attention with its flickering, deviant eyes. “Tonight, my deadly brethren, we meet for a very special occasion: a single word spoken by a new master has summoned me into action.”
If possible, the countless eyes in the audience grew larger.
“Yes me, Dromon. Even a Night Terror like myself, a rare and devastating specimen and not easily bossed around, mind you—even I must obey this master. That goes for all of us,” Dromon said, giving Jimmy half a glance.
Jimmy froze, beyond baffled. The Night Terror, Dromon, meant him, right? How could that be?
“Yes, he’s THAT powerful,” Dromon continued. “So powerful in fact, our master repeatedly cast the most powerful of our curses: the Nightmare Hex.”
The theatre grew dead quiet as the nightmares seemed to look at each other in disbelief, pondering Dromon’s words.
A Nightmare Hex? Jimmy considered. Does he mean the word I learned?
The Night Terror turned and smiled as if he could hear Jimmy’s thoughts. “Yes. That one.”
Dromon swung back around, facing the audience and addressed the bullies for the first time. “Tonight, my young master will learn the Nightmare Hex’s true intention is for the victim to join with and become their worst nightmares. So I intend to help make more Night Terrors, like myself. Though I doubt as potent, of course.”
Dromon scratched at the burning embers that made up its nose. “This is of the greatest importance as we now have a way to defeat our most hated enemy that keeps us nightmares in check, the Pleasant Dreams and their goody-goody Dream Knights.”
A great murmur swept through the crowd.
“That’s right!” Dromon squawked like an amped-up motivational speaker. “We’ll have our way and rule TWO realms simultaneously! Can you dream it? I said: CAN YOU DREAM IT?”
A wave of nodding ghastly heads—some dismembered—and grunts and hoots of agreement steamrolled through the audience. They howled and screamed at terrifying volume, evidently ready to rip things to shreds to make it happen.
Rule two realms? Jimmy contemplated. What did Dromon mean?
“And now without delay, here he is: Jimmy Reve, come out and introduce yourself!” Dromon said.
At the mention of Jimmy’s name, Bucky and Clayton momentarily forgot about their horrifying circumstances, and snapped their heads up in attention, following Dromon’s gaze back to Jimmy.
Jimmy stood, avoiding the bullies’ hateful glares and shuffled to the front of the stage, keeping a healthy distance away from Dromon.
The Night Terror pointed its smoking, spindly fingers at Jimmy. “I present to you, my nightmare brethren, OUR new master!”
The nightmare audience gave Jimmy a standing (for those nightmares that had legs) ovation as if he had saved their universe from certain destruction.
A rush of blood went to Jimmy’s head, making him blush, but he couldn’t help but smile. He wasn’t going to lie, it felt good to have a room full of anything cheering him on. It had never happened before. From this moment on, Jimmy believed everyone deserved at least one standing ovation in their lifetime.
Bucky and Clayton, however, did not join in the rousing cheers and regarded him with the attention of lions sizing up a bloody steak.
Dromon noticed Jimmy’s apprehension about the bullies. “Oh forget about them,” it leaned in, speaking just to Jimmy, “this is about to get fun. Watch this.”
Dromon floated toward the bullies, almost within reach. “Now Clayton,” the Night Terror taunted the big lummox, causing him to recoil, “Did you catch all that? Ready to become your worst nightmare?”
Clayton’s voice cracked, “Uh... Me?” he said in ignorant, straining octaves very close to breaking glass.
The audience snarled with ridiculing laughter.
“Oh, you brainless dolt, allow me to put you out of your misery.” Dromon fired black sand out of its eye’s bottomless black pupils and pelted Clayton’s surprised face.
“Driem,” Dromon whispered.
Clayton slumped in place; the great impact of his girth shook the stage, and the mountain of a boy began to snore.
The nightmares cheered. Jimmy felt strangely triumphant as well.
Dromon nodded at Jimmy. “Choose the nightmare,” it said.
Jimmy thought of the various monsters he’d lovingly created in his sketchbook. There was one he always associated with Clayton Stones….
The dust on Clayton’s face slid together on its own and drew a bizarre shape on his cheek, a drawing of a monster from one of Jimmy’s sketchbooks that he knew all too well.
“Reveal,” Dromon whispered in anticipation.
Clayton tingled with sparking energy. Dark tendrils spilled out of his nostrils as if the teen’s shadow was making a break for it. The mysterious shadow swelled into a massive, restless shape that writhed inches above his body.
There was a savage flapping of giant wings as something struggled and tried to resist its summoning. Clayton's face broke out into a waterfall of sweat as the shifting shape above him changed its unruly form, sometimes birdlike, sometimes resembling a deranged landscape, never settling on a single shape.
Out of the thrashing shadows, Clayton’s Recurring Nightmare flashed a wicked giant hooked beak that snapped, intending to bite the bully's head off, but the desired prize was just out of its frustrated reach.
“Serve us now,” Dromon commanded the boy and his nightmare. “Linger none. Blend as one.”
The ash image on Clayton’s face shook free and fell.
There was an unholy blend of Clayton's screams and otherworldly grunts and deep, brutish hoots. A bizarre variety of smoky shapes lashed out for a brief moment. Then the inky nightmare vanished, and Clayton slobbered down his perpetually sunburned face in deep slumber.
The nightmares in the audience responded with a rousing round of applause. Jimmy got so caught up in the moment, he even joined them, clapping for a second until Bucky rose to his knees and the deranged look the bully gave him stilled his hands.
Dromon raised its clasped claws over its knobby head in cheer. “In our realm, Clayton has joined with his worst nightmare, a blend of human and nightmare, creating the most powerful of all of us: a living and breathing Night Terror.”
Dromon stared holes through Bucky before pointing a crooked finger at him that dissipated to nothing. “Now, brazen Bucky, let's behold what kind of horror our master conjured up for your recurring agony.”
Bucky shook his head, turning pale. “Please!” he begged and searched the air with apparent genuine worry. “Just don't bring it here. You mess with my nightmare, it'll kill you, too and—”
Bucky bit his lip and looked at Jimmy as if a sudden thought had struck him like a thunderbolt. “Let me get this straight. Jimmy Reve, that runt over there created our recurring nightmares?”
Jimmy was more shocked by the fact Bucky had said Jimmy’s full name correctly out loud, than the fact his made up monsters were haunting his problem bullies every night in their dreams.
“Indeed he did. And now, they will be a part of you—permanently!” the Night Terror beamed.
“Hold on,” Bucky stood, daring to approach the front of the stage, getting a little too close for Jimmy’s comfort. “You’re telling me this ankle-biter is your new leader? A bunch of scary dreams are satisfied with him leading you?”
To Jimmy’s horror, Bucky’s question seemed to resonate with the audience.
Bucky planted himself right in front of Jimmy. Jimmy couldn’t help but take a step back.
“See? He knows I own him, don’t you Wittle Weve?” Bucky crowded Jimmy, getting as close as he could manage without touching him. “How about we fight each other to the death? The winner gets to rule?”
The audience gurgled, clapped and shrieked at Bucky’s proposal.
Dromon squeezed in between Bucky and Jimmy, making both boys back away in a hurry. “As much as we’d like to see that, you’re far more valuable as one of us. Besides, you've piqued my curiosity,” said Dromon.
That chased Bucky’s cocky smile away.
“No! Don—”
“Driem.” For the second time, Dromon fired off black sand from the depths of its eyes into Bucky's frightened face, some of it spilling into his gaping mouth.
The second bully crumpled against the stage.
The ash stuck on Bucky’s cheek drew another ghastly sketch of something made of lots of busy, agitated lines.
Oh no. Jimmy’s blood curdled. He recognized the sketch as a monster he once made up. The Lurking. A mind-bender of a creation that Jimmy had finally wadded up and thrown away, it bothered him so much.
“Reveal?,” Dromon said with what sounded like a bit of hesitation creeping into its whispering voice.
Upon uttering the words, something terrible hissed into existence.
Huge gashes in rows of five appeared in the wood, slicing up the stage into spaghetti. In the blizzard of wood shrapnel, the outline of impressive claws appeared for an instant. As he rolled, taking cover, Jimmy thought he saw a flash of long icicles for nails.
A beyond bitter chill crept closer to Jimmy, feeling like it was about to crawl onto his body. As its creator, Jimmy knew the Lurking was not only an invisible recurring nightmare, but cunning, fast as a blink and a master of all foul weather.
The nightmares in the audience begin to stir as if afraid. They should be, Jimmy thought.
“A good thing the Nightmare Hex binds the Night Terror to their human when summoned or this baddie I’ve brought on would be going to town on us right now,” Dromon reassured the ghoulish audience.
Bucky's recurring nightmare, the Lurking, was finally drawn out in full. Appearing in the form of a whirling tornado, it ripped the massive dark stage curtains down, dragging them into its vortex until it spat out black confetti.
The bad dream—still in tornado form—was pulled, dropping down onto the stage like a spinning top, this time hovering just over the despicable Bucky Brees.
“Nooooo!!” The Lurking screamed out its displeasure at being made to serve something against its will.
Dromon shot an arcing stream of sand high up into the swirling winds until it was sucked into the eye of the Lurking’s funnel.
A crack of lightning incinerated the far side of the stage, along with a few unfortunate nightmares. Not the best seats in the house, Jimmy thought. A jarring, tremendous rumbling of thunder followed.
“Linger none. Blend as one!” Dromon quickly said before the unearthly mash-up of wicked beings brought the building down on top of them.
The Lurking hissed across the theatre, a perfect blend of monster and bully, “Little Reve, soon to be dead,” then nothing.
Bucky's eyes rolled back, and the boy slumped onto his side, thankfully out cold.
Jimmy gulped. I’m in serious trouble.
And just like waking up from a nightmare, a moment later, there was a dazed feeling in the air, like the theatre had suffered a concussion, but the auditorium was now empty and strangely still, like nothing had happened.
Finally, Jimmy was lifted off his feet and whisked back through the once again upon portal now appearing on the stage.
Moments later, safe and back in his bed, Jimmy forgot everything.
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