Dream-Hunters - Chapter Five

John lay outstretched on his bed, staring up at the ceiling fan. The whirring shadows grew and shrunk in perfect routine. Turning his head, he examined the digital clock on his nightstand. Twelve o’seven. Still a long way to go.

Popping his headphones back on, he put on the most pumped rock music he could find. It used to fill him with energy, but now it all seemed ephemeral.

With his head nodding slowly to every fourth guitar chord, John sat up and looked out the window. The city refused to sleep, and tonight he would share in its insomnia. John hugged his knees, rocking back and forth to maintain consciousness. He didn’t dare sleep tonight.

The rapid drums sank into the back of his mind, as he gazed at his hand, outstretched before him. “A nightmare, huh?” he said, though he could hardly hear himself. In the real world, he didn’t care so much. There were better things to listen to, after all. He couldn’t blame others for leaving him be.

Reaching for his laptop, he started to type in a blank document, as he had become accustomed to doing. It always helped to write out his problems, and backspace over them, like he could erase them in reality as well. 

His fingers suddenly stopped short, leaving the sentence unfinished. These dreams have been- He didn’t know how to describe them. Forget that, how could he describe himself? Everything just seemed so different now.

His cell phone lit up, signaling a text message. Some way or another, Sophie had obtained his phone number. The messages would come every five or so minutes, driving home the unease that John now felt.

He didn’t dare to sleep tonight. He couldn’t. John shivered as he realized that he might never sleep again.

--------------------------

Chaser grinned as he strode confidently down the halls in his newly cleaned suit. Twirling his machete like a baton, he sauntered through the violet corridors of the Castle, singing softly to himself. As he passed the dining hall, a smooth voice called him from the shadow of the door. “Chaser.”

Chaser tilted his head towards the voice, smile not leaving his face. “Are you talking to me? Or is there another with my name that I’m not aware of?”

“Hardly,” the shadow responded, detaching itself from the darkness near the door. A thin man stepped into the half-light, dressed in multi-colored striped pants with a matching vest. A tall top hat sat upon his thick white hair. His raiment of every color denoted his psychotic appearance. He gripped a black cane that was adorned with a silver skull head, whose ecstatic smile was not shared by the cane’s holder.

“Well, well, well.” Chaser grinned. “Haven’t seen you here in a while. So tell me, what’s your business this time?”

“I am here to warn you.” The circus-clothed man tugged his hat so that the brim shadowed his left eye. He spoke with a serious, cold tone. “Abandon your search. Now.”

“Oh, come on,” Chaser dripped, leaning on his machete. “How lame can you get? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the Oracles, too?”

“No. That is not the case.” Even the way he shook his head was slow and unnerving. “I warn you now: if you seek this power, it will only lead to destruction. Turn back while you can.”

“Hah.” Chaser leaned forward humorlessly. “As if, you circus freak. You’re sounding a lot like Phobos, you know that?” Planting his sword, he began a high-pitched imitation of the King, clasping his hands and lifting his leg. “Oh, we just need to let the humans be, and we’ll all be happy in the end, I’m sure of it!” 

His expression turned dark again. “And you seem to be spouting the same nonsense. Don’t you know my life slogan?” He turned around, spreading his arms to the wall beyond. “Never give up! Never surrender! Believe in yourself! Kittens are adorable!” 

Spinning back around, he met the ringmaster with a grin. “I’m Chaser. I chase. And I won’t stop until I wipe every last one of them from existence. Got that?”

The circus man sighed morosely. “Silas said the same thing.” Turning around, he walked somberly down the hall, tapping his cane as he went.

“Sheesh,” Chaser muttered. “What a drag.” Turning in the other direction, he strode confidently away, picking up his tune again. “You better run, run, runaway, runaway baby….”

----------------

I had one goal. One freaking goal, John thought. Spotlights blazed up from beneath, illuminating the circus tent that stretched to the high heavens. The stands beneath were apparently empty, but he suspected that nobody would enjoy this show anyway.

He was perched precariously on the tightrope, without a beam to call his own. His arms out to either side, John valiantly tried not to look down. If he had, he would’ve noticed the lack of a circus net.

The wire dug into his bare feet. His legs wavered beneath him, slowly turning to jelly. He let out a small whimper. Don’t look down, don’t look down….

“Why are you afraid?” John looked up, surprised. A crow was sitting atop his head, looking down at him through beady black eyes. The black-hued bird cocked its head inquisitively. “You know it’s a dream, after all.”

“A talking crow?” John muttered. “Or are you psychic?”

“Neither, you dolt.” The crow leapt from his head with a flutter, leaving behind an ebony feather on his nose. The owner of the voice rose up from below, sitting cross-legged on a cloud. It was a skeletal man in a rainbow suit, with a cane and a tophat.

“I’ll repeat my question,” the circus man continued, stretching out his arm. The bird perched atop it and began to preen itself. “Why are you afraid? You know you can fight fear now.”

“It’s easier said than done, Willy Wonka,” John shot back, all while attempting to blow the black feather off of his nose.

The man smiled, leaning his jaw upon his hand. “Yes. Anger is what drives you, is it not? Fear can catch us all by surprise, I suppose. So, have you adjusted to the height yet?”

Swallowing a whimper, John looked down. The terrifying earth seemed to spin below him. His knees began to buckle, and his arms windmilled for balance.

“Calm down,” the voice rang out. “Focus on your emotion. Break the height. Utterly destroy it. Let your mask consume you, and let it dismantle the fear in your heart.”

Regaining his balance, John tried again, closing his eyes. The height below; the space, the air. Responsible for the deaths of so many, snatching away lives on the wicked wind, blowing in his ear, tearing at his consciousness. It had no right to exist. 

His teeth set, his fists clenching. He could feel the Mask consuming his visage, red sparks gnawing at his soul. “Die,” he whispered.

Opening his eyes, he found his feet planted on the ground, the tightrope vanished from sight. The ringmaster stood in front of him, raised on a podium in the center of the ring. “That’s better,” he commended.

John staggered for a moment, letting the rage dissipate. He stood there, unsure what to do next.

The ringmaster stepped off his dais, walking towards John. “That’s the basic method of fighting fear. But I suppose you’d be more oriented with simple combat.”

Recollecting himself suddenly, John took a fighting stance. “And you’re a nightmare too, aren’t you?”

“How perceptive.” The circus man pulled his hat over his eyes. “Yes, I am a nightmare. But I hold no alliance with Chaser.” He lifted the brim from his chaotic eyes. “Rather, I am here to avoid war.” His crow cawed viciously, and the circus man began stroking its feathers. “I had hoped that a new Dream-Hunter would be able to understand nightmares.”

John flew forward, thrusting his fist out to strike. He swung in empty air. “Even if rage is what empowers you,” the circus man continued from afar, “I’ve decided to take the chance of pleading my case.” Jumping onto his cloud, he flew forward until he was in front of John. “Will you listen? Will you let me be heard?”

John recoiled, taken aback by his earnest plea. “Fine,” he said, regaining his composure. “Speak.”

“Thank you.” The crow flew from the ringmaster’s shoulder, swooping about the spacious room, meandering through the air. “First, allow me to tell you of the nightmares.” He cleared his throat, coughing into a handkerchief. “It may seem difficult to believe, but we are not of malicious intent.”

“Really?” John asked incredulously, folding his arms.

“Well….okay, that’s not entirely true for some of us, but we all started the same way. You see, we are merely a byproduct of the human imagination, a side effect of the dreams this species cherishes so much. At first, we could not understand ourselves. But we struck fear into the hearts of mankind. And so we existed. I was one of the first.” The ringmaster lightly pounded his chest. “My given name is Acrophobia, but I prefer the epitaph of Exem. I was the son of Phobos, the King of Fears. My brother existed back then, too.” Exem coughed lightly. “I believe you’ve already met him.”

“So Chaser was around since way back then,” John concluded. “But, why didn’t this happen sooner?”

“Ah. I was getting to that. You see, as man’s ambition grew, so did ours’ in equal measure. For fear grows with dreams, child. Eventually, we became greedy. Arrogant. The dream-relics were almost a blessing.” Exem smiled softly. “We kept seeking ways to control mankind, to eclipse the world in an umbra of pure terror. And Chaser, he was the most avid seeker of this apocalypse. He pushed the limits of the imagination, preying off of human emotions, taking them for his own. He would invade their dreams, and promptly crush their ambition.” Exem gritted his teeth angrily. “And once he had collected enough, he began to forge a tool that would give nightmares the power to take the world.”

“A dream-relic?”

“Precisely. Chaser made the first one. Or would have, had Phobos not discovered his intentions. Fearing a coup, he sealed the half-completed weapon deep in the dream nexus, to drift from mind to mind without detection. Chaser was furious.” The crow cawed in agreement. “He wouldn’t challenge Phobos directly, but he spread rumors, gained favors; he made himself the people’s king.” Exem shook his head wearily. “And now he’s seeking the first dream-relic again. It should be done by now.”

“Done?”

“The weapon was comprised of hope. Hope, in the minds of men, will naturally come to form. The weapon draws upon that energy, forging itself into the ultimate dream-relic.” The ringmaster shivered.

“I see,” John swallowed. Well, now he knew what Chaser was hunting. “Wait...so, does that mean Chaser made….?” He touched pointed a finger at his face.

“No,” Exem stated. “I don’t know who forged your weapon, but it was certainly not Chaser. It makes no difference, really, as they are designed almost the same way. Composed of a single overwhelming feeling that can conquer all fears.” He pointed a finger at the Mask. “Fury, for example.”

“Oh. Ok.” John leaned to the side, feeling uneasy suddenly. “Why are you telling me all this?”

Exem tapped his fingers on his cane. “Because I no longer wish to see mankind suffer. The line has been crossed on both planes, and I’m unwilling to let either side win.” He rested his chin on his palm. “Basically, I’m telling you because you have the best chance of ending this war.”

War. The word echoed in John’s mind. “But I’m just one person. Against all the nightmares….and humans! I can’t possibly win.”

“Perhaps not.” Exem nodded thoughtfully. “But you may still have a chance. There may be more dream-relics out there.”

“He made more?!”

“No, child, no! The weapons we’ve spoken of until now are all artificial. But there are a few….there are a few that form from the mind of the dreamer. From the raw energy of their emotions. Natural dream-relics. One of these phenomena in particular is rumored-” he whispered unnecessarily “-to have the power to vanquish all in the imagination. But alas,” he broke off briefly, straightening the collar of his multicolor vest. “this is simply a rumor. That is all the information I needed to deliver.”

Exem stood up, briskly walking past John. “I will see you again, child.” Tapping his cane, he opened up a swirling portal at the center of the ring. The crow dove through, shrieking an insult at John. “Oh, and John,” Exem looked back from where he stood. “Don’t think for a second that this doesn’t concern you. I’m afraid, child, that it concerns all of us.” He turned back to the portal. “The entire world, in fact.” Striding through, he waved his gloved hand goodbye, leaving John standing alone in the half-lit circus tent.

“He’s got more in common with Chaser than he realizes,” John muttered. “Why should I listen to him? Besides, I made a promise.” He closed his fist tightly, letting his nails cut through the skin of his palm. He watched the blood trickle from his hand. Just like Alfie had bled. He had bled, and died, and John could only watch.

Hatred possessed him again, and he stomped on the ground of the ring, sending a shockwave through the circus tent. The lights flickered and died, leaving him in darkness. But he could feel his wounds healing, the breaks in his skin sealing over, just like that.

“How ironic,” he mused quietly. He’d always hated being drowned out, but it was hypocritical if he himself was no better than they. Now, he was more powerful, and he could drown out Chaser. He could destroy Chaser. And whatever came his way would not stand for long. Humans, nightmares, fear, it was nothing he hadn’t already guessed before. It was far too late already. Mankind was lost in blind fear. It was all just pointless, meaningless noise.

“I suppose that’s the difference, then,” he breathed. John had always thought of heroes as superficial, and illogical. And he definitely wasn’t a hero. “I don’t really care who lives and who dies. I’ll break the idleness of humanity, one way,” He exhaled sharply, a grin carving into his face, “or another.”

And he laughed. His giddiness filled the void with harsh cacophony, his madness fueled by the Mask. Hatred boiled into his soul, releasing in waves of sinister cackling. “Yeah,” he breathed heavily. “I’ll be the one to save the world.”

An iridescent flicker by his feet caught his attention. As he stepped back hastily, another portal ripped open, spewing the light of a different dream into the pitch-black circus tent.

Rubbing his chin, John looked down through the void into a department store. Walls lined with electronic appliances, with washing machines, refrigerators, and stoves packed neatly together in rows. And a single, female voice calling for help.

“A damsel in distress? Spare me.” Laughing to himself behind the Mask, John leapt into the portal, wondering where his adventure would lead next.