Dream-Hunters - Chapter Three

Matthew thrashed from within his bindings, but he knew it was hopeless. In the nightmare, next to nothing could dispel Arachne’s cocoon.

He couldn’t see much through the cocoon’s strands, but he could make out enough detail. The swarm of spiders was carrying him across an ebon, rocky terrain, jostling him on their way to the Castle of Nightmares.

The Castle. Up until now, he’d only heard of it from Alfie. But here it was, more real than ever, a bastion of torment under the full moon. The Castle squatted upon a chunk of rock that floated in the wispy air, straining to break the chains that restrained it to the earth. High in the air, it stood baleful sentry above the wasteland.

A bestial howl shivered the inky night. Chaser just laughed hysterically in reply. The howl dropped to a whimper.

Matthew grimaced. Chaser had taken his bow, plucking it like some comedic guitarist, using an arrow as a microphone. “You better run, better run, faster than my bullet…,” he sang, dancing around in the night like some demented idol.

He grunted as his head hit a rock, sending a sharp pain through his temple. Chaser stopped, squatting down to his level. "How's life, kid?" he asked with a saccharine grin. Matthew sent a caustic glare in reply. At this height, he could see trails of blood marking Chaser's suit. Alfie's blood, he realized numbly.

The amethyst sky seemed darker now, if such a phenomenon were even possible. Chaser was leading them to the ground beneath the castle, until the stronghold eclipsed the moon itself. Snapping his fingers, Chaser opened a portal with a swipe of his hand. He pretended to fire into it as Matthew had done to him, laughing. Prancing on through, he beckoned for Arachne to follow.

On the other side of the portal, Chaser escorted Matthew through the halls of the Castle, still whistling the tune. There were more nightmares here, Matthew realized, and many of them seemed to loathe humans with a passion. A pitch-black cat hissed in his direction, while a dentist shined a hook at him, and a wart-faced witch brandished an anatomically incorrect toad in his face. Chaser waved them all away. “You know the rules,” he said. “This one’s for Phobos.”

The high, dark ceiling made the Castle feel like an elaborate and haunted cathedral, as Arachne ferried Matthew roughly through the murky halls.

“Here we are.” Chaser stopped, grinning, at a large, violet door. Throwing it open, he proudly made his announcement to the congregation inside. “I’m back. Miss me much?”

The nightmares gathered inside, creatures of every fright and terror, all cheered to see Chaser back. Except for the one sitting on the throne, lounging with a fist to his cheek. “Chaser,” he growled.

Chaser jammed his hands in his pockets, oozing forward. “Is that how you welcome me back, Phobos? I even brought you a present! Hope you like it.”

He snapped his fingers, and the spiders of Arachne tossed Matthew forward onto the floor. Drawing his machete, Chaser cut away the dream-threads, leaving Matthew’s head exposed. The nightmares gasped.

“You ingrate,” Phobos growled. “What have you done?”

“I headed into that nightmare with the Oracles. In hindsight, maybe I shouldn’t have, because my suit’s a bit dirty now. You can ask Alfie Oracle how it got that way, though I doubt he’ll be in a condition to answer!” Chaser broke off, doubling up, cackling hysterically.

“Ah,” he continued, “And I brought little Matthew home with me as a souvenir. Can we keep him, Phobos, can we?”

“No,” Phobos boomed. “We destroy his dream-relic, then banish him from the nightmare world.” Matthew turned to look at the nightmare on the throne. Clad in dark armor, the only lights that could be seen were his wicked eyes. “We are nightmares, not murderers.”

A great grumbling issued from the crowd. “Can’t we kill him?” one asked pleadingly.

“Let’s kill him!”

“Burn him!”

“Drown him!”

"Impale him!"

“Harass him with clowns!”

“Silence!” Phobos roared. “Let us not bring malice upon humans, for malice will be given in return. Chaser. Give me his weapon.”

With a twang of a bowstring, an arrow impaled itself beside Phobos’s head. Phobos regarded it for a moment, stunned. “My, my, Phobos.” Chaser sauntered forward, carrying the bow in the crook of his arm. “I never imagined that you’d get so slow. Any plans for retirement? I could give you a good send-off.” His violent red eyes seemed to glow.

“Not in your lifetime, Chaser.”

“Alright then, fair enough.” Chaser sighed outwardly, handing the bow to Phobos. “But I seriously doubt you’ll be able to break that thing. It is attached to his soul, after all. But hey, you’re the king. Ciao.”

He loped to the door, packing up Matthew and Arachne. “One more thing.” He stopped at the threshold, staring ahead. “I planted a nasty little dream in Alfie’s dream-relic before he bit the dirt. That fool’s probably passed on the Mask, and it’ll lead me right to the Oracles. You’ll be seeing them here next, though I can’t guarantee that they’ll be completely intact.” He tilted his head, grinning. “‘Kay, Phobos?”

With that last remark echoing in the throne room, Chaser walked out and closed the door, snapping jazzily as he went.

--------

Chaser had left, and everyone knew where to. But Matthew remained trapped in the webs, powerless to do anything. Arachne was still swarming him avidly through the hall. “Hey,” he croaked. “Do you talk?”

One thousand screeches was the only reply.

“Hm.” Matthew brooded quietly, sideways in his bindings. “So, how’s your eye?” He was just making small talk at this point. By now, it had already healed.

Of course, this was the only way he could justify hurting nightmares. He was uncomfortable with the idea as was, but it was oddly comforting to know that nightmares were immortal. As long as imagination existed, they could never die.

The fear they gleaned from dreamers allowed them to regenerate as well as grow more powerful. Arachne had taken more than enough from John, and the wounds had healed without a trace. Matthew sighed. If only it didn’t have to be like this.

Arachne took him deeper into the castle, until they were in the practical bowels of it. The hallway featured little dark cells now, complete with rats and an overwhelming stench. “The dungeon,” he mused. “A nice place, really.”

“Not for you, it ain’t.” An ogre lumbered down the hall towards them, wielding a giant metal club. He stopped in front of Matthew, scowling down at him. His overbearing flab and ridiculously small guard uniform gave him a not-quite-imposing air.

The swarm of spiders tilted Matthew upright against the wall, leaving him there momentarily. Clustering in the middle of the hall, they rose and reshaped to become a jumbling pillar that stretched to the ceiling. But in about a second, the pillar disintegrated, leaving behind a short girl with purple hair tied in double-orbed ruby hairpins on either side of her head. She wore a black sweater that was just a bit too big, her hands partially hidden in the sleeves. “Gimme a cell, Claus,” she said up to the hulking mass of muscle.

“Right away, Arachne.” The gap-toothed ogre lifted up his club, and, with a grunt of effort, swung it into one of the cell walls, completely blasting the door off its hinges. Once the dust cleared, Claus gestured inside. “Bars or wall?” he asked.

“Bars,” Arachne moved over to Matthew, putting her arms around him to toss him into the cell. Matthew didn’t move. Arachne struggled. He didn’t budge.

Reddening, Arachne tried again. “What’s wrong?” she muttered. “I should be stronger than this!”

“Maybe you’re low on fear,” Matthew suggested as she pulled back.

“Shut up!” The girl leaned forward, hands on her hips. “I’m plenty fearsome!” She might have been if she wasn’t a head shorter than he was.

Matthew grinned. “Actually, you’re kinda cute.”

“Wh-wha-” Arachne flushed, before her expression turned cross. “Shut up! Toss him in, Claus!”

The ogre, smirking to himself, picked up Matthew with one hand, lobbing him into the cell. Matthew grunted as he hit the floor. “Enjoy your stay, kid,” Claus laughed, as bars rose up from the earth, entrapping Matthew in his cell.

Arachne strode away, nose turned up. “Honestly! Some people!” Claus lumbered behind, chuckling to himself. “You know, you’re too defensive, Arachne. Maybe you should go for it!” 

And the sound of a spider’s furious screech and an ogre’s frantic apologies echoed through the dungeon.

Matthew sighed. All he really wanted to do was get to know her. He’d always been curious about nightmares. But there was no time for that now. He had a job to do.

“Alright.” Matthew concentrated. From the moment he had become entrapped, he had been cutting at the threads with his knife, slowly, as to avoid detection. “Just a bit more,” he muttered, “just a little bit more.” He worked the blade behind his back, rubbing it back and forth against the silk.

Pale moonlight was leaking in from the cell window, the only illumination in this bleak darkness. Matthew looked at his shadow cast on the floor, cut through by the shadows of the bars. “Just you wait, Alfie,” he promised. “I’ll make things right. For humans and nightmares.”