Young Writers Society

“Mummy.” Agatha Porter, but five years of age, lay in bed with the sheets pulled protectively up to her chin. She tilted her head on the pillow, looking at her mother who lay beside her. “Why do I have nightmares?”

“Through no fault of your own, my darling,” Suzy Porter assured her, lacing a hand around her daughter under the covers. “Let me tell you a story that will explain it all.”

There’s a whole other realm out there, one that we can only visit when we drift off to sleep. But not everyone; there’s a king and queen and a whole castle full of people in the dreamworld, who stay there all the time, ruling over the monsters and fairies and magical creatures who you meet at night. They don’t matter though, not really. It’s a sweet old lady who possesses the real power, who determines what a child dreams he or she sleeps.

The old lady lives within the pinnacle of the castle, a tall grey tower with a pointed roof and a gold flag flying on top. She never leaves her tower, because she’s always busy creating dreams for the children. All day and night she sits on a wooden stall, knitting in the candlelight. Can you guess what she knits?

“The old woman is knitting my dreams, isn’t she?” Agatha whispered, awed eyes looking into her mother’s. There was complete silence that night, as Suzy told her story. It was as if every soul was listening; even the owls and possums who normally danced and sang under the moon. The orb in the sky cast a pale light under the window, illuminating the storyteller’s face.

“That’s exactly right,” she answered, and continued with her story.

The old woman’s needles are made from the wood of a magical oak tree, and instead of click-clacking when she knits, they create a beautiful melody, just like the birdsong in the morn. Her yarn possesses magic too; its fibres are spun from gold and silver, and washed in a witches’ pool. It weaves in and out of the loops, conducting both marvelous adventures and terrifying nightmares.

But the old woman never intentionally causes children to have bad dreams. You must understand that she is often tired, never pausing at her work, and sometimes the poor old woman will make a mistake. Her needle will glide right past a loop, dropping a stitch, and that part of the dream will never make it to the child’s mind. That might have been the happy part; the knight who slays the dragon, for example, or the prized puppy in a giftbox. Without that essential component, the otherwise delightful dream the woman was knitting will turn into a nightmare. The dragon, without a knight to stop it, will raise an entire village to the ground. Or Christmas morning will come and there will be no puppy waiting under the tree, just dust and pine needles. This is why you have nightmares sometimes, because the old woman misses a stitch- though you mustn’t blame her.

“Oh, I don’t blame her,” Agatha declared, shaking her head against the pillow. “Knitting is hard, I know.” Suzy Porter giggled, her body shaking against the mattress as she did so. She stroked her daughter’s arm.

“You’ll get the hang of it one day, darling, and knit as many wonders as the old woman. But,” her expression turned serious as she arrived at the most important part of her story, “there is a way you can help the dream knitter, and ensure she doesn’t drop any golden stitches.”

“Oh, please tell me!” Agatha urged.

When the old woman is knitting a child’s dream, that child is connected to her through the mind. This joining of consciousnesses is so small and discreet that it often goes unnoticed, but if you know that it’s there… you can aid the old woman. You see, when the old woman’s needles pass over a loop of yarn, it’s because her eyes have drifted into a sleep of their own. She gets so tired, knitting day after day and night after night, without rest. If the child can catch her attention, before she forgets about the loop and continues knitting, the old woman can go back to the loop and pick it up with her magical needles.

All you have to do is chant -in your mind, of course- the following words: Keep knitting my dream.

“Keep knitting my dream,” Agatha began saying, squeezing her eyelids tightly together in an attempt to communicate with the dream knitter, sitting in her tower in the dreamworld. “Keep knitting my dream. Keep knitting my dream.”

Do that and the old woman will be fully alert, and at the top of her game. She won’t make a mistake, and the golden yarn will be knitted as she originally intended. The brave knight will come and slay the dragon, and the eager child will find a puppy under their Christmas tree. Do that, and you’ll almost certainly have nice dreams every single night. But don’t be angry at the old woman if she does make a mistake; her work is so tiresome, and she is so dedicated to you children.

“So you see, Agatha,” as she spoke, Suzy’s daughter opened her eyes and stopped chanting, giving her full attention to her mother, “your nightmares aren’t really nightmares. They’re just good dreams gone bad, and you can help the old woman fix them.” Agatha nodded against the pillow, no longer clutching the sheets so tightly to her chin.

“All I have to do is keep chanting.”

“Keep knitting my dream,” Suzy smiled.

“Thank you for that story, mummy.” Agatha placed a tender kiss on her mother’s cheek. “Good night.” She closed her eyes once more and as she drifted off to sleep, the little five-year-old continued chanting the powerful words in her mind. Keep knitting my dream. Keep knitting my dream. The story now told, Suzy could hear the owls and possums resume their hooting and scurrying outdoors, under the light of the moon. But all Agatha could hear was the bird-song melody as the old woman swept her needles through golden yarn.