Chapter 1: Dreams Are So Over-Rated

Most people don’t know it, but they always make an appearance in their own dreams. They can’t always see themselves and sometimes feel like they’re only watching.  But it doesn’t matter, they’re always there.

And I can always see them.

I leaned back against the wall and popped my neck to one side. I hadn’t seen much of the dream so far, but my nostrils were filled with the scent of old paper and leather. One peek showed the long wall opposite me was covered, ceiling to floor, with shelves and shelves of books. Those facts alone told me this probably wasn’t a dream I’d want to witness. I closed my eyes and groaned.

Most dreams that began in public places were same old, same old—people showing up naked to school, the office, the mall, you name it. Thanks, but no thanks. I get enough of that in the locker room after soccer practice. The locale of choice this time was the Beavercreek City Library. The library—I mean, come on—if I have to watch their dreams the least these people could do is have some creativity.

Even nightmares were more often boring than scary. Sure, the dreamer was terrified, but to me it was more like watching a really bad B-movie. I’d witnessed so few nightmares that actually scared me that I couldn’t even remember when it had happened—or what it was about. More often than not, it was people’s fantasies that really freaked me out.

Yawning, I smoothed my tense muscles and tried to get as much rest as possible in someone else’s dream. The dreamer was a library janitor. Even though I hadn’t seen him in the dream yet, I knew it would be him. I was there late last night. After all this time, I should’ve known better than to meet his eyes as I’d walked out the door. I didn’t even know him. It hadn’t been my first mistake, and I was sure it wouldn’t be my last. I tried to be careful about whom I made eye contact with before sleeping, but I also refused to let these stupid visions rule my life.

The janitor’s voice invaded my thoughts. “No! This—isn’t—” Followed by a sharp gasp in the background and the screeching sound of a table moving along the tile floor. He was probably trying to hide behind it, poor old man. The next sound was like fabric flapping in the wind. Slightly odd, as there was no wind in the library, but it didn’t matter. Nothing was impossible in a dream. I’d learned that a long time ago.

“Aha! I’m no simple janitor! You won’t get away with this Hooligan Boy!”

Uh, okay, that’s new. I peeked a little, but my eyes flew open the rest of the way when I caught sight of the janitor standing on a table, clothed in black spandex with a red cape. I cracked up when I saw his rippling muscles beneath the shiny black material. The old geezer was definitely buffer than earlier that night.

I had to give him credit, this was entertainment. Way to go, Gramps!

His gray hair was streaked with midnight black and he raised one arm to point toward the back of the library. The pose reminded me of a comic book cover.

When my eyes finally stopped watering, I focused my gaze toward the opposite end of the room. A broad staircase led toward a massive stained glass window portraying a field of yellow flowers. Frozen on his way up the stairs was a scrawny teenager clad completely in blue with a mask over his eyes.

As though in slow motion, he spun to face the janitor. A nasty grin split his face. He raised the janitor’s work uniform in the air and began ripping it to shreds. The pieces of blue denim fluttered gracefully to the floor. As one piece fell, I made out the name PAUL scrawled in red stitching. Through several missing teeth, the teen cackled, ripping another piece free from the uniform.

“This is your last warning, you delinquent. Leave my clothes alone! Clean up your mess—And do it now!” Paul bellowed across the room as he hopped lithely to the next table.

Oh, seriously? This was awesome. I had to watch this janitor’s dreams more often! I clutched my stomach as another spasm of laughter shook me. It was a good thing he couldn’t hear me, because I’d hate to interrupt his little Superman fantasy.

Hooligan Boy, as Paul had called him, skipped backward up the stairs. His juvenile voice cracking as he crowed. More tufts of blue fabric flew about the room. With each rip, Paul jumped one table closer. Finally, he bounded onto the stairs next to the teenage boy. In one motion he snatched the uniform from the youth’s hands and used it to bind him to the railing. Applause erupted from around the room, although the crowd had no clear features.

A woman with flowing black hair rushed down from the top of the stairs toward the janitor. It took me a second to recognize her and my jaw clicked as my mouth fell open. It was old Ms. Pinch, the librarian.

“Oh, Paul, you’re my hero!” She reached out and pulled him to her, throwing her arms around his neck. 

The voice was a husky imitation that sounded nothing like Ms. Pinch’s normal angry whispers. She always got after me for turning my pages too noisily. I could hear her normal nasal tone in the back of my mind. “Parker! I expect you to keep it down in the library young man!” I snorted and shook my head.

Unfortunately, I looked up just in time to see Ms. Pinch draw her hero’s lips close and the rest of the room faded to black. The moment my area of the room darkened, I was jerked over to a new spot on the stairs with an excellent view of their old, withered lips attacking each other.

I whistled and muttered. “Right—this is definitely something I don’t want to remember.” After slamming my eyelids shut against the unwelcome view, I shifted my weight, trying to get comfortable against the stair railing.

My hands pressed into my ears, and I listened for a long moment to the thrumming inside my head. Sometimes I used to wonder if it was my actual heartbeat I was hearing or if it was some part of the dream that even the dreamer wasn’t aware of. Following much debate—after all, I’d been sharing other peoples’ dreams for almost three years now—I came to a conclusion.  It must be mine. The dreamer didn’t even know I was here. Why would they bother giving me a heartbeat?

Besides, I liked it better this way. It felt like the only thing I had any control of in here. If I breathed quickly or got excited, it would speed up, if I relaxed, the gentle cadence would slow. My heartbeat was my link to reality.

The slow rhythm rocked me and I hummed the melody for a new tune I’d been trying to get down on my guitar. My best music usually came to life during these visions. Might as well focus on that, there was nothing else to do but wait for Paul to end the dream I was trapped in.