(Narrated by Kevin Coffey)

Hello Coffey House readers. I hope this finds everyone well. The new art will be a detailed map of Meird and the last drawing I complete for this story.

In case you need to catch up before reading or listening:

* You can always find up to date drops of this story as it progresses in order under the KINGDOM OF DREAMS tab on my home page.

-KC

COWK! SHKOP! At the sound of the Lurking crash landing pretty much on top of them, Jimmy held his breath and pressed flat against the cool, hard dirt along with Francis and Charley. The buckled flap of overhanging earth was the only thing blocking them from the Lurking’s ravenous view. He was sure the Night Terror had spotted them dead to rights and was just taking his time ending it all. How could he not have? We’re easily the slowest moving caravan in history, Jimmy thought.

Charley sniffed at the air and winced with evident distaste at the reek that came back from the Lurking. Some things never change, Jimmy thought. In any form, Bucky Brees was toxic. Francis stayed stock still, with his head arched up and whiskers as taut as bowstrings. Lem remained out of order, slumped against Jimmy, still blissfully snoozing away while he had to strain, bearing all of her weight, making sure he didn’t dare drop her as the Lurking sought out their hiding place.

“Wheeeeerrrrre are you? Soooo hungry,” the air impatiently whined above them. The wind died down at once. There was a crunch!, crunch!, crunch! of someone loping about that seemed in a big hurry. The irritated being stumped out long strides on the cracked soil overhead that leaked irritating dust onto Jimmy and the animal’s heads. Jimmy pulled his lip over his nose to suppress sneezes and coughs from the overwhelming, allergy-inducing storm of dust and debris the Lurking had kicked up.

The Lurking let out a barrage of indistinguishable mutterings. The rhythm of the footsteps going back and forth above them suggested the Lurking was pacing, uncertain of something. “There!” the Lurking sang.

A single shot of wind demolished most of the dirt overhang hiding them from view!

Neither Jimmy nor his pets uttered a sound. For a brief moment, specks of dirt settled on and revealed elongated feet that ended in curved blades fit for the Grim Reaper’s scythe.

Jimmy held his breath, as the Lurking was standing on the very air itself right above their heads! In fact, the point of the blades on the Lurking’s feet were just inches from Jimmy’s forehead. How was he not seeing them?

“What the? Can’t beeee!” the Lurking grunted, kicking at something behind the scope of Jimmy’s view in frustration. A mess of twisted spiky-looking hairs fell into the hole, covering Jimmy, Lem and the animals like crude netting. Jimmy trembled at what the atrocious hairs might be or to what they might belong to, but didn’t risk moving to find out.

Then, inexplicably, the awful feet leapt into the air, joining an obnoxious current of whooshing, turbulent winds. And just like the bad dream he was, the Lurking appeared to vanish without a trace.

Jimmy waited for what seemed like an eternity, but was likely only a few minutes before surrendering to the urge to poke his head out of the hole and find out what was going on. He propped Lem against the back wall with Charley dutifully keeping her in place.

“Stay here guys.” Instead of rising out of the hole, he banged his head against something firm but somewhat pliable at the lip. A network of thick roots that weren’t there before had hidden away the opening.

Jimmy started as something firm tapped him on the shoulder.

“Ah, Master James, it appears a… root of significant size is requesting your audience,” Francis announced.  

Jimmy spun around to encounter a serpentine shape about the size of a plump anaconda, hanging poised in the air at his eye level, suggesting it might want to have a conversation with him.

“You see me?” the root asked in a gruff, gravelly voice, like it was slowly being strangled.

The root’s tone was plenty grumpy, too. And no wonder, the thick root was hairy, gnarled, and generally unpleasant to the eye. The root constantly cleared its throat like it might be eternally choking on something.

“Uh… yes. We can see you,” Jimmy answered. Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Jimmy thought.

“Then why not look me in the eye?” the surly root said, thrusting itself forward.

In the limited light, a primitive face stared vacantly back at Jimmy from the end of the root. Under a mess of split, wild hairs, the root had a crude little frowning mouth that looked fake, like a rambunctious toddler had gleefully carved half a hole with a putty knife—creating the ugliest, hairiest puppet in history.

“Plants talk here, too?” Charley’s head twitched with curiosity.

The surly root ignored Charley and cleared its throat again. “Frrrllooww,” it said.

“What?” Jimmy asked. “Sorry, but I’m having a hard time understanding you.”

With a motion like an impatient hand, the strange root used its wild fronds to beckon to Jimmy. “I said follow. You try talking with a bunch of hairs in your throat. Come on, come on. Haven’t got all day.”

“Where are we going?” Jimmy asked.

“Been told to take you somewhere, not tell you stories,” the surly root quipped.

“But where? Who told you to lead us there?”

“Stubborn, huh? You soon find out, if you don’t die,” the vile root sneered, then giggled, laughing at its own sick joke.

Jimmy frowned but did as he was told. Jimmy and Charley began to carry Lem together again and trudge just behind their would-be host of the underground. The peculiar root ripped out of the ground as they trailed behind it, walking with care down a set of mud-caked stairs it created as it went. As they progressed, the root curled up almost like a possessed fire hose. As the strange black and white world from above faded the further they descended, a soft purple glow emanated from the root lighting their way like a torch.

“You are a root, right?” Jimmy said, attempting to verify the thing’s identity. “Not some kind of magical worm or—”

“Root,” the root cut him off, not bothering to offer any explanation.

“A root to what?” Jimmy asked, not caring much for root’s rude way of continuing to tell him to be quiet. “A magic bush, or—”

The tangled shoot sighed, and the root abruptly stopped their descent on the unusually steep stairs, and Jimmy stumbled, almost tripping head over heels and losing Lem into oblivion. The root waved its barbwire-looking end and shoved its unpleasant minuscule mouth in Jimmy’s face.

“Bold one, eh? Extra spicy!” The root reprimanded Jimmy, assaulting the top of his head by slapping him with its tangled shoots. Jimmy covered himself as a mini-avalanche of dirt rolled off of him before almost getting into his mouth.

The root revved its throat again (if it had a throat). “YOU not earn right for me to tell you where I lead and to what I’m attached. Worth the wait. You see.” The offensive root gave an evil giggle again. Jimmy didn’t find something that giggled to be all that intimidating.

“But I just want to find out where we’re headed?” Jimmy asked.

“Don’t shoot messenger!” the root snapped, even though Jimmy was pretty sure his tone wasn’t demanding or insulting, despite feeling highly irritated at the dumb plant. “Only veins, not brains!”

Now even more weirded out, Jimmy and the animals continued to trudge after the feisty root down the dirt-ridden stairs a bit further until Jimmy was pretty certain they might be near the center of this realm’s core by now. Without warning, the stairs ended, and the ground leveled off.

The root kept sighing, huffing and puffing as if it were the one having to tromp down the long flight of stairs, “discuss things there,” it gruffly pointed.

In front of them was a set of doors with embedded glass panes. The structure had the aura of a tomb. Jimmy’s stomach turned over as it dropped on him like a house where they were. “It’s my school’s gym,” he groaned.

“Yes, but now well underground,” Francis said; the feline’s eyes appeared wide in the dim light.

“Probably where it should be,” Jimmy scoffed. The last time he was here, well, on Earth’s version anyway, is when the mob of his classmates took those scathing pictures of him.

The root bobbed up and down around Jimmy’s head, seemingly staring at him with interest despite not having any visible eyes.

“Follow, pokies,” the root said, punching through one of the doors. The door violently broke apart with a CRACK!, startling everyone in Jimmy’s party. They made way as the motivated root shot past them. 

They made themselves thin enough to slip through the opening (with a little improvisation in getting Lem through as well) and climbed on and over the root to jump down and enter the gym.

Jimmy caught his breath at the transformed setting he beheld: It was his school gym all right, but way different. Weeds grew wild with abandon through yawning cracks in the shiny gym floor. There was an ugly super-sized nest for something Jimmy hoped didn’t return any time soon built up and overtaking one of the basketball hoops. One set of bleachers was normal, while the other set of bleachers on the opposite side of the gym was nothing more than a mound of dirt. And the ceiling was a puzzle of heaps of more dirt and more roots. Meanwhile, Jimmy traced their route as it ran through the besieged gymnasium floor, disappearing into the controversial boy’s locker room on the far side of the gym. Jimmy had a hard time even looking in that direction.

“Who are you?” Jimmy said, ditching any attempt at manners.

“One of many guides. You want save Meird? Follow us to Source.”

“Meird, that’s the name of this world?” Jimmy asked.

“Yep,” the root replied.

“Meird, like weird?” Jimmy said. Talk about a strange-sounding name.

“Yep. Meird Kingdom of Dreams. You—ha! Our savior.” The root began to choke, either because it was disturbed by the thought of Jimmy being its realm’s liberator or one too many sinewy fibers caused the gag reflex.

Jimmy checked on Lem and propped her against a thicker portion of the root leading toward the locker room. “Why me? Why can’t we just go back home?”

“Ha!” the root choked again. “Nope. Follow roots. Duh.”

“But which root do I follow?” Jimmy asked the root. There was a tangled collage of roots all over the floor.

The root suddenly surprised Jimmy, wrapping around his waist tight as a python, and raised him far, far up in the air just below the tangled ceiling. The root was slimy, but possessed incredible grip strength. No chance of any machete hacking through this sucker, Jimmy thought.

Starting to buzz with fear, Jimmy examined the gym floor and forgot all about his worries.

Occupying the entire breadth of the parquet planks, the intertwined roots composed a mind-blowing map that Jimmy supposed was Meird. The crisscrossing roots all stemmed from a dark blotted shape in the middle of the map, too shadowy to make out.

“Listen up, air-breathers—lives depend on it,” the root chortled again.

Jimmy gritted his teeth, not at all a fan of this punky plant.

“Roots run across Kingdom of Dreams. All lead to being you need: Source. But first, must prove yourself worthy of a meeting with Source before Source say you worthy of saving realm. Got it?”

“Uh… sort of?” Jimmy answered. “We just follow roots to this… Source?”

“Yep.”

The root lowered Jimmy to the ground and released its powerful grip.

Jimmy was speechless. He wasn’t even really sure he was here, wherever here was. “What do we need to do first?” Jimmy asked.

The root pointed with its earthen tentacle to the dreaded locker-room doors. “Root disappears and reappears. Follow,” the root said, like its instructions were beyond obvious. “Lead you to guardian of Odd Woods. First: bring Source leaf.”

“A leaf?” Jimmy repeated.

“Worms in ears? LEAF.”

“Uh, so sorry to interject, but what does this foliage look like? Is it from an oak, elm, a maple perhaps?” Francis interjected.

“Ha!” snapped the root.

“Oh dear, not a terribly very helpful fellow, is he?” Francis said.

 “So, after that, we follow your root and just keep going?” Jimmy asked.

The root cleared its throat again after several seconds of alarming choking. “Next, follow root stalks water. Steal prized possession. Take to Source.” The root flapped and shook. Jimmy guessed it was the root’s version of mock clapping.

“But I—”

“NO going back way you came!” The root paused, hovering just over the open space leading down into the black. “Good luck!” The root laughed and dove down, tunneling and blasting open more panels on the parquet gym floor like a renegade gopher.

“Well, that plant chap was quite unpleasant,” Francis said, peering down through the hole as the dust settled. “No proper manners of any sort—didn’t even bother to offer us tea.”

“Well, at least now we have a semblance of directions, if anyone understood that,” Jimmy said.

“What do you think these roots lead to?” Charley asked.

The cat smoothed his whiskers as if in deep thought. “I would surmise a grand old tree or a very large, likely carnivorous plant. Regardless, I sense danger and treachery.”

Jimmy nodded. “Me too. But now we’re all in.”

Jimmy checked Lem’s breathing and pulse, which had become an unfortunate habit since he accidentally cursed her. Was it him, or was she starting to gulp for extra breaths, like a beached fish? He shook off the guilt and worry, no time for that.

Ready or not, time to save Meird, Jimmy thought.

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