Lost In Dreamland

by Jason Paul Rice

  The creature nodded and two dark eyes looked over Whitney. She noticed that the creature was a man as he circled her and bent over to look at her feet. He felt her ankles and then worked his way up her legs and around her abdomen. Then he massaged her breasts for what Whitney considered to be an inappropriate amount of time.

  His long hands reached up to her face and she closed her eyes as he brushed his fingers over her eyelids. She had never been prodded like this before as he felt around her back and grabbed two fistfuls of her ass. The hairy creature worked his hands down the back of her legs and then played with her feet through her shoes.

  The animal backed away from Whitney and looked at Darominius. He turned back to Whitney and she could barely breathe wondering if she was worthy.

  The animal nodded slowly and a rush of energy jumped around her chest.

  They went into another pitch-black tunnel, which led upward. She held onto Darominius’ shirt as the sound of rushing water echoed along the tunnel walls. They emerged through an opening to find an expanse of green grass with a wide river about seventy-five paces ahead.

  Darominius spoke over the river. “Many people only see water for being a liquid. When dealing with elemental magic, water is only a state of mind. Water can shift to take the shape of anything. Pour it into a square box, it’s square. Pour it into a round tankard, it’s round. Triangle, no problem. Now, think of your body as water. A body that can shift and stretch to fit any form.”

  He walked up to the river bank and Whitney followed. He turned around holding a half oyster shell with a deep channel. Darominius transposed into a dragon and dropped the shell when his arms turned into wings.

  He said, “I need you to pick up that shell and there should be a knife close to the river.” He pointed as Whitney grabbed both items.

  “I need you to come closer,” he said as he leaned over.

  Whitney approached her friend, and he said, “I need you to shift that scale on the left side of my chest, so on your right.”

  “This one?”

  “No, the one to the right of it. Yes, that’s it. Push it up with, well which is your dominant hand?”

  “I’m right-handed.”

  “Alright, not yet, but when we are ready you will push it up with your left hand and put the knife in your right. I’m going to need you to give me a little poke and then catch my blood in the oyster shell. No big deal,” Darominius explained.

  “You want me to stab you? I don’t know if I can do that.”

  A funny look came over his face. “You are actually going to have to do a lot more than that. You are going to have to make contact with my heart so the blood is straight from a dragon’s heart.”

  “But what if I go too far?” She held up a shaking right hand.

  “I have faith in you. Enough to put my life in your hands,” Darominius reassured her.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I’ve never stabbed anyone before.” Whitney put the oyster shell in the belly pocket of her hoodie and tried to shake off the nerves. She held a trembling hand in front of her face.

  Darominius said, “Relax. You would have to screw up badly to even hurt me.” He lied. If Whitney pushed the knife an inch too far, he would die on the spot.

  A few deep breaths didn’t really help so she jumped up and down. She put the knife in her right hand and motioned with her left for Darominius to lean down. She lifted the heavy piece of natural dragon armor and concentrated.

  She placed the silver tip of the knife against the wrinkled golden flesh of the dragon.

  “Is this a good spot? If I go straight in like this?”

  “That will work. Just keep a steady hand,” he said.

  Her arm became weak and she didn’t want to push the blade in. She took a deep breath and pushed.

  The dragon moaned in agony and she wanted to pull it out.

  “How much farther?” She cringed.

  “A good bit. Keep pushing and don’t collect any blood until I tell you to,” he reminded her.

  She worked up the courage to push it in more but stopped after the dragon let out a wail. The long blade was already half way in and Whitney clenched her jaw and pushed a little more. The dragon cried out in pain again but didn’t say anything.

  He involuntarily let some warm spit fly from his mouth as he tried to deal with the pain.

  She pushed a tiny bit more and the dragon came crashing down. Whitney barely got out of the way as Darominius rolled onto his side.

  “Now,” he barely managed to get out.

  Whitney ran over and ripped the knife from the wound and pulled out the shell. She filled it with the dragon blood and shifted her concern to her friend.

  “Are you going to be alright?” She set the shell aside and ripped off her hoodie. She balled it up and pressed it against the wound.

  He spoke through short wisps of breath. “I’m going to live. You need to drink the liquid.”

  She leaned over and grabbed the shell. The dying twilight sun provided enough light to expose a thick, purple, almost black liquid in the white oyster shell. It made for about a normal bar shot in volume.

  Come on, we’ve done some nasty shots before. We can do this. Just like a Three Wise Men.

  Her friend kept muttering under his breath and trying to get back up and Whitney thought maybe the shot would help him. Before she could change her mind, she threw down the relatively flavorless liquid. The hot substance tasted like Firewater and burned her throat.

  She closed her eyes and the dragon’s blood swirled around her stomach like a fireball.

  Building electricity.

  Building energy.

  Gaining power until the big spark erupted.

  Intense waves of energy rippled through her body.

  Stretching.

  Expanding. In every direction.

  She didn’t want to open her eyes because she suspected her body was being torn into pieces. Paralyzing pain caused her to drop to the ground and flop around spastically.

  It looked like an exorcism as Whitney gasped for air and her eyes rolled back into her head, only leaving the whites.

  She could feel a flash of lightning in her heart that wormed its way around her body getting all the way to her extremities. The sound of the rushing waters from the river was about to break her eardrums.

  She couldn’t keep her eyes closed any longer.

  Darominius had made it to his feet as Whitney looked him in the eye.

  Wait. If we’re standing eye to eye, that means…

  She peeked down to look at her hand, but instead found a shining silver dragon wing. The ground seemed so far away and her first instinct was to test the wings. She could feel them in her back and tried to move her torso.

  A whooshing sound pleased her ears greatly and her two dragon legs were soon off the ground. Both of them rose into the air and Whitney quickly got the hang of flying. It was much easier than driving because she only had to worry about one other aircraft in the sky.

  They circled around the clouds and Whitney heard a sharp ringing sound in her head that shot panic through her. It was the sobering sound of the kidnapper’s phone.

  She screamed to Darominius, “We have to get back. I have a feeling that guy is trying to call.”

  Her dragon friend called back, “We have to go back down and get our clothes for when we return to your world. Just follow me and we will be back in no time.”

  She followed him as he disappeared into a cumulous cloud.

  7

  Bo extended the phone to Whitney, “Dude, he’s pissed. He’s been calling for a while and I told him you were in the bathroom throwing up.”

  Bo had his hand over the mouthpiece and handed the phone to Whitney.

  “Hello.”

  “Where the hell have you been?” he asked.

  Whitney attempted to respond but the man cut her off. “It doesn’t matter. He’s dead. I didn’t even do it. He just…lost the game.”

  She d
idn’t know whether to believe this joker. She waited in silence for him to say something.

  The kidnapper said, “Ah, just kidding. I spared him. You’re lucky this time, but you will pay for this. No one keeps me waiting. No one. I keep other people waiting if they are lucky enough to get to see me. Do you like boats, Whitney?”

  Whitney couldn’t believe he would joke about that. “Sure, I love boats.” She didn’t really like boats that much.

  He said, “I hope you like little boats, canoes actually. You are going to get to take a luxury ride down the Devil’s Waterway. But don’t worry. I’ll give you a guard. He will be your “Virgil”, if you will. Hell, you probably don’t even know what I mean.”

  “The hell I don’t. I was a librarian most of my life so I am familiar with the works of Dante Alighieri. I’m not sure I would consider this a divine comedy.”

  The man said, “Are you trying to be funny? This isn’t joke time. You should stick to being a whore and getting banged out in public on the hood of a government owned vehicle. Tsk, tsk, on so many levels there, Mrs. Perfect.”

  How did he know all that? Does he know everything? How does he know everything?

  She answered defensively. “I’ve never claimed to be perfect. And, I was with my husband, thank you very much.”

  “That husband of yours will be waiting at the bottom of the canal. You might have to fight for him. I don’t think you are going to like the opponent. Bring one friend if you dare. Drive to the end of the road into Dankstone and wait for me to call with more directions. Leave the hotel at 4 p.m.”

  He hung up and so did Whitney.

  “I have to go on a boat ride in Dankstone. Who wants to come?” Whitney tried to sound enthusiastic.

  The trio looked at each other in silence.

  “Darominius is off the hook. He’s already taken his turn. Why don’t you come, Tara? It might be best to keep you two apart. I can only imagine the assignments are going to get worse from here.”

  Tara responded, “That isn’t exactly the greatest form of enticement. I’ll go, but I need to lay a few things out first. I will probably scream a lot and I am definitely going to swear a lot.”

  “I know that. I have known you for a while. I know you are going to be all scared. I do appreciate it, though.” Whitney lightly tapped her on the cheek with her palm.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Tara said and started going through one of her bags.

  Whitney didn’t want to tell Tara the stories about the Devil’s Waterway and how many dead bodies had ended up in there over the years. She had read several descriptions chronicling the journey and wasn’t going to tell anyone else about them. She didn’t even want to think about them.

  Whitney stepped out of the car and into the chilly fall air. The surrounding leafless trees and silence brought back the tight pressure in her chest.

  “You alright?” Whitney tried to sound strong.

  Tara replied, “I had some weird vibes here and there back at the motel. It’s nothing like this, like, panicky feeling I have right now. My hand is numb.” She tried to shake it out and bring it back to life.

  “This place will definitely give you the heebie-jeebies if you let it. Just ignore the creepiness and you’ll be fine.” Whitney adjusted the strap of her backpack.

  Tara said, “Thanks for the advice, coach. I’m not sure that’s going to work.”

  The phone rang and Tara screamed.

  Whitney pulled the phone out of her belly pocket of her hoodie. “Easy girl.” She answered the phone. “Hello.”

  The kidnapper gave the directions and the two women kept moving downhill. They walked for about an hour and a smell worse than rotten eggs kept intensifying. Sloshing water sounds in the distance kicked up a wind that brought the sour stench right to their noses.

  Tara went down to one knee and started throwing up. Whitney tried to delay the kidnapper, but he wouldn’t stop with the directions. Tara finally got up, took a few swallows and hustled to keep up with Whitney.

  The kidnapper hung up.

  A wide waterway glistened in the dusky atmosphere about one hundred yards ahead. The stream sounded like a steady flow, rather than some whitewater rapids. The distorted silhouettes of the trees shone on the surface of the slow, rippling waterway.

  A rickety wooden dock bobbed up and down, leading to a red canoe in the water. The women walked down the hill in silence. Whitney wanted to say something that would help, but she couldn’t untwist her tongue.

  She didn’t see the guide that the kidnapper was talking about either. Whitney discovered the reason for the gag-inducing smell. The Devils Waterway was polluted with bloated dead bodies floating on the surface.

  The water appeared to be black and the shiny surface reflected myriads of colors like oil. Whitney wondered where this guide was hiding.

  8

  “I don’t know. The guy on the phone said he would be here,” Whitney told Tara.

  Her shaking friend responded through her chattering teeth. “This is creepy as all hell down here. I don’t like this at all. If this guy doesn’t get here soon, we should leave.”

  “Maybe we passed him on the way down here.” She grabbed Tara’s arm.

  Whitney and Tara turned away from the nasty water and peered into the darkening woods.

  Whitney heard a growl from behind and spun around to find a stout man in a hooded black robe. Tara screamed and grabbed Whitney’s upper arms, digging her long nails in. The man’s head faced down. His pointed hood hung low and made it impossible to see his facial features.

  The man walked further out onto the bobbing pier and Whitney and Tara followed in silence. A small tan canoe sat at the end of the floating wood structure. The offensive stench intensified as the wind shifted in their direction and pushed the funky odor lingering on top of the water at them.

  Tara kept her death grip on Whitney’s arm as they neared the canoe. He motioned for Whitney to get in and she stepped into the tiny vessel. There were bodies all around them floating on top of the water. Tara almost fell getting in and screamed. Whitney took off her backpack and set it down in front of her.

  The man looked up and exposed a wrinkled, pale face, spider webbed with red scars. He put his index finger over his lips and made sure that both women saw his command. The mysterious man reached over the side of the boat and used the head of a body as leverage to get the canoe going. Whitney almost threw up but Tara wasn’t as lucky. She lost her lunch in the water.

  “Whitney, we can’t do this. We need to turn this mufucker around and go back now. This shit doesn’t feel right. I’m going to lose my mind,” Tara said frantically as she wiped the vomit from her mouth.

  Their guide turned to Tara with an angry look on his face and gave her the sign to be quiet again.

  “I don’t care what this mufucker says. There’s no way I can be quiet,” Tara said.

  The man’s right arm sprang out from behind the brown robe and hit Tara on the left shoulder, knocking her into the water.

  “Oh my God,” screamed Whitney.

  She tried to look around the guide to find Tara. She couldn’t hear her friend as the canoe slowly drifted away in the opposite direction. The moonlight illuminated the glowing emerald sheen over the water and highlighted the bodies that ranged in size from babies to massive adults.

  Whitney didn’t hear any sounds from Tara and bent her knees to jump in. Whitney tried to dive in but something had hold of her hoodie and yanked her back into the little boat. She could feel the man’s knuckles on her spine. He had a firm grip on her hoodie and he pulled her back to the middle of the canoe.

  Is Tara dead? I shouldn’t have brought her here with me. I don’t even know if she can swim. How come I didn’t hear her splashing around in the water? Where is this boat headed? When will this madness be over?

  The canoe moved slowly toward an opening in the hill that looked like an open mouth with two fangs hanging down on either side of it. The hole in the hill swallowed
the canoe into complete darkness. Distant shrieking sounds reverberated around the narrow canal.

  Faint firelight appeared ahead and her stomach tightened. She had read a few books about this ride and hadn’t believed the tales until she actually entered the tunnel. Everything had been happening so fast that she had forgotten.

  “Lies, lies, lies,” a soft voice echoed through the watery cave.

  The light became brighter and exposed a line of people standing inside a carved-out area in the right wall. The dancing flames showed a group of nude women with their heads on backwards.

  The women screamed in unison. “Turn around. Go back now. This is what they do if you’ve lied. Go back. Nobody returns.”

  The tunnel went dark again and the women stopped yelling as the boat hit another floating body and bounced off. The lazy moving channel was only about fifteen feet across with stone walls on either side.

  The firm hand still tightly gripped her hoodie, making it tight around her neck and Whitney yanked the collar away from her throat again.

  Moaning cries bounced off the water. “Don’t steal. Don’t swear. Don’t steal. Don’t swear.”

  Rippling flames appeared to the left as the creeping canoe approached another dugout area in the wall. A group of nude men stood in a row facing the boat. Each man held his head in his right hand next to his knee. The necks weren’t bleeding and the hunched over men gripped the objects by the hair. The beheaded men had ivory bodies with thick tracks of blue veins around their arms and legs.

  All the lips on all the pale heads started to move, “If you do proceed past here. For your life, you must not care. If cursing ever crossed your lips or a stolen belt once graced your hips. It matters not for what you’ve done. Go back now, you better run.”

  The canoe bounced off another bloated body and floated away from the talking heads. Whitney didn’t realize that she had been gripping both sides of the wooden canoe with her sweaty fingers.

  A whisper crept through the warm, stale air. “Beware the ones with wings you must.”

  Screeching and scratching noises followed and grew louder by the second. Whitney instinctually moved back in the boat but the fist in her back prevented her from doing so. The sound increased to a fever pitch and a unified fluttering followed as the canoe drifted into darkness.