Sign of the Sandman

by Tom Turner

  “Now what’s happening?” said Charlie.

  His eyes darted out the driver’s side window. Water was rising over the edge of the bridge, bubbling up from beneath them. It was submerging the road, the car, and Plug. Charlie did not waste a second. He opened the door and jumped from the car.

  “Don’t leave!” shouted his mom. She and Remi tried to follow, but the car doors slammed shut, locking them inside.

  Charlie barely noticed. At the moment, he was more concerned about Plug, who was already up to his waist in the surging current. Charlie waded toward his friend, but it was slow going. If he didn’t get to him soon, Plug would be a goner for sure. Charlie plunged forward, swimming the last few lengths. Intensifying waves crested over his back.

  “You okay?” he asked, finally reaching his target.

  “Do I seem okay?” replied Plug. The water level was approaching his chest. “Get me out of here!”

  Charlie yanked on Plug’s legs, but they wouldn’t budge.

  “Your mom has some weird dreams, ya know that?”

  “No kidding,” said Charlie, pulling harder.

  “Really, really weird,” screamed Plug, as he gaped wild-eyed at something over Charlie’s shoulder.

  Charlie followed Plug’s gaze, then rubbed his own eyes. They had to be playing tricks on him — horrible, dreadful tricks he thought.

  Behind Charlie, the old car’s metal frame twisted and stretched. Its grill ripped across the center and divided into staggered rows of razor-sharp teeth. The headlights morphed into two cold black eyes. The doors grew gills, and a pointed gray dorsal fin pushed through the roof.

  “Shark!” screamed Plug, struggling to keep his head above the quickly rising tide. “Charlie, do something! I don’t want to be eaten… by a Ford!”

  The shark-car chomped its jaws and dropped below the surface.

  “Charr—ggg—gurg…” choked Plug, swallowing mouthfuls of salty water. “Helllppp! Char—” But he slipped into the murky depths.

  Charlie dove after him. He had only a split second to act, but it helped to discover he could not only breathe but, somehow, see underwater — although everything had a slight gold tint, as if he were peering through colored goggles. He reached for Plug’s feet and immediately understood why Plug couldn’t move: his feet were cemented into the asphalt. They weren’t coming out, no matter how hard Charlie tried.

  Please! he prayed, squeezing his eyes shut. Give me strength! Make the dream change! Anything!

  When he opened eyes again, he noticed a manhole cover beside them. He was certain it hadn’t been there before. But who cares, because it sparked an idea.

  Here goes nothing!

  Charlie yanked on the manhole cover. Its outer rim glowed, and a violent swell of bubbles belched from beneath its surface. He jerked harder, and the cover popped off. Pieces of asphalt chipped away from the road, crumbling like crackers, moving outward from the manhole in all directions. The hole grew larger and there was a rapid shift in pressure. The water started to drain away.

  It’s working! thought Charlie.

  The water level dropped fast. Too fast!

  The liquid began to swirl. It formed an immense whirlpool that pulled in everything around Charlie — the road, the shark-car with Charlie’s mom and Remi, and Plug. Charlie tried to swim his way around the powerful surge, but the current was too strong. He rode it out, grabbing hold of Plug, then the car bumper. And with an enormous burst of light, down they all went.

  Moloch’s senses all fired at once. He turned from the large, triple-arched window in the Hall of Archetypes where he had been admiring the Dreamscape’s crushing darkness.

  “The boy,” he growled.

  He whipped his gnarled head in the direction of the sleeping Archetypes. They were now his unwilling agents, funneling evil and fear into the dreams and minds of every human. Black tears streamed from the closed eyes of each fractured statue that stood watch over them — each statue but one.

  “Virtue,” Moloch sneered.

  Then, moving like a predator stalking its prey, he sprang onto the statue. He scaled it until he reached the extinguished torch it held in its hands. A tiny speck of light still burned on the torch’s crown. It was only a single ember, a miniscule spark, but Moloch knew it only took a sliver of light to chase away the darkness.

  “Where is he?” Moloch snarled beneath his breath.

  He looked up into the vaulted ceiling, into the tapestry of occurring dreams. The once colorful and dancing images in the dome were now tangled and dark — a child lost in the woods, a home ablaze, a sick relative, a woman chased down a dark alley — layers upon layers of nightmares, all dark, all frightful, with one glowing exception. One image, that of a whirlpool and a young boy trying to save his friend, emitted the single point of light. Moloch zeroed in on that source, a source he traced to the eyes of the young boy.

  “There you are,” he whispered. “You found your mother’s dream.” Then it is as it should be, he thought, his fiendish grin returning. “You will end where you began.”

  Moloch raised his arms and focused on the image of the dream. The walls in the room shook. Dust and debris fell from the cracked dome, and black mist swirled at his feet. He inhaled deeply, as if breathing the dream’s energy into his lungs. When he exhaled, Charlie’s mother’s dream portal formed beside him, dead and dark as the Dreamscape itself.

  The color of a nightmare, thought Moloch, staring at the gray portal. He ran one of his clawed fingers down its length. It sliced open like a fresh wound, and he stepped inside, entering the dream with a single purpose:

  Find the boy… and kill him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ALONE

  “Plug, are you okay?” asked Charlie.

  “Not even close,” he replied, still winded and shaking from nearly being devoured by the shark-car. “But at least I can move my feet now. And breathe!”

  After sinking through the manhole cover, Charlie, Plug, and Remi had tumbled like three dolls in the spin cycle of a washing machine. They had landed atop an old-fashioned medical supply cabinet in what seemed to be a cross between a jungle and a hospital operating room. Paint flecked off water-stained walls, which crawled with wild ivy. Layers of grime coated the floor. Weeds and ferns sprouted between tiles, chest high in some places. In the far corner, moss dangled from a large boom light. It hovered over an ancient examination table covered with rusty surgical instruments that seemed to eagerly await their next unlucky victim.

  Charlie already hated hospitals, but this one felt especially nightmarish, as if some mad scientist might leap from the bushes at any minute to perform sinister experiments upon him. Everything was still gray and colorless, except for Charlie and his two friends. The contrast made the red splotch pooling above Plug’s right eye all the more obvious.

  “You’re bleeding,” said Charlie.

  Plug touched his forehead with a trembling hand and felt the gash. It was oozing and inflamed.

  “But how?” he gulped. “It’s just a dream.”

  “I guess now we’re part of it,” replied Charlie, putting on a brave face. He knew Plug was scared, and he understood why. If they could be hurt, if they could bleed, then it logically followed… they could die. “Let’s just try to stick together,” he continued, “in case the dream changes again.”

  Remi lifted the hem of her gold sash and placed it over Plug’s wound. Charlie couldn’t help but notice her hand was gentle and steady. The more he watched her, the more he wanted to know. How could someone so young be so brave and caring, yet so sad and mysterious?

  “Do all humans have red blood?” Remi asked, as she wiped Plug’s brow.

  “Uh, yeah,” said Plug. He seemed puzzled by the question. “Why? What color is yours?”

  “Gold,” she replied.

  “Cool.”

 
; “Well, let’s hope we don’t see any of it,” said Charlie. He handed Plug a bandage and some ointment from the cabinet beneath them. “One patient is enough.”

  No sooner did the words cross Charlie’s lips than a team of doctors wheeled an actual patient into the room. Charlie craned his neck to see who or what was strapped to the rolling gurney, but the doctors blocked his view.

  “He’s my baby!” cried the patient. “He belongs to me! I’m not crazy!”

  Charlie recognized the voice. It was his mom’s, but her tone sent a shiver down his spine. Her words were filled with terror — an awful terror he had never heard from her before.

  “Don’t take him!” she sobbed. “I’m telling you the truth! Please! He’s mine! Charlie’s all I have!”

  “I’m right here, mom!” he screamed.

  He was about to leap from the cabinet when the doctors turned toward him. Charlie recoiled at the sight. Their heads were taut and faceless, striped with black and white war paint like tribal medicine men. One doctor produced a drum out of thin air and began to beat it. The others started a muffled, wordless chant, as if they were calling for a beast that lurked deep in the jungle.

  Remi grabbed her bow. She tried to draw a light arrow, but nothing happened.

  “It won’t ignite,” she said. “The nightmare is too strong!”

  Charlie had a feeling it was about to get stronger. He watched one of the doctors swing the moss-covered operating room light over his mom’s gurney. Its reflective dish clouded over, and black vines sprang through, like giant octopus tentacles. The vines had a scaly, snakelike texture.

  “We gotta get outta here!” screamed Plug.

  “I can’t leave my mom!” Charlie yelled back.

  “It’s just a dream to her! But we can die!” Plug grabbed Charlie’s arm. He was beginning to lose it. “We can die, Charlie! I don’t want to die!”

  Charlie could see fear in Plug’s eyes. It was taking control of him.

  “This is all your fault!” Plug continued. “We wouldn’t even be in this stupid place if it weren’t for you. If we die, it’s because of you!”

  “Don’t say that!” cried Charlie.

  The jungle limbs slunk further into the room and swelled in size.

  “Stop fighting!” Remi screamed. “Your fear is making the nightmare worse!”

  A grisly face pushed through the mirror, confirming her frantic plea. The face, blistered with sores, sprouted from the mass of black vines. Its eyes blazed like a fiery furnace. Its nostrils flared like a bull ready for a fight.

  “What the heck is that?” shouted Plug.

  “Moloch,” answered Remi, her voice trembling.

  Moloch’s vines slithered python-like, creeping up the sides of the gurney toward Charlie’s mother.

  “It’s going after my mom!” yelled Charlie. He turned to Remi. “You’re a dream guardian! Can’t you do something?”

  “We can fight,” she said. “But we can’t win. He’ll use our fear against us. Shape the nightmare and hunt us down.”

  “I have to try!“

  Charlie leapt from the cabinet and raced toward his mom.

  “Charlie, look out!” screamed Remi.

  He ducked. One of the faceless doctors swung the operating room light in his direction. It exploded above him. Glass fragments and sparks rained over Charlie. By the time the smoke had cleared, Moloch stood in front of him — a shape-shifting combination of man, beast, and jungle — even more terrifying than the giant serpent Charlie remembered from their first encounter in his dream.

  Moloch’s sunken face and blood-red eyes peered out from the horrific jungle mass. His massive tree-like limbs fanned out in a hundred different directions. One limb ripped the remains of the operating room light off its mechanical arm and hurled it at Charlie. He dodged left, and the light flew past him, striking the supply cabinet under Remi and Plug. The cabinet splintered, launching them across the room.

  Remi landed close to Charlie. Plug landed just past them in a corner by an old framed mirror. The mirror was leaning against the wall, hidden behind some weeds and about waist high, but big enough to fit through. Plug cleared away the brush.

  “Here! A way out!” he shouted, pointing. He banged on the mirror, but nothing happened. Only his reflection stared back. “Open up! Open up! Let us out!”

  Plug’s eyes were glassy and raw. He wasn’t acting like himself. Charlie wondered if the same evil that infected the dream now infected his best friend too. Maybe it seeped in through the cut above his eye. Maybe the creepy hospital reminded Plug of his worst fear — losing his nana. Charlie couldn’t be sure, but this he did know:

  “I need to get Plug out of here,” he said to Remi. “Something’s wrong with him.”

  “It won’t open!” Plug shouted again. “We have to make it open!”

  Charlie hurried to his friend. The moment he arrived, the old mirror began to glow. On the other side, a blurry image rippled into focus. Charlie could see a bedroom and, just beyond it, a window that framed the New York skyline.

  “Is that my apartment?” he wondered.

  “Who cares?” said Plug. “It’s somebody’s apartment! Let’s just go!”

  But before they could flee, Moloch attacked with a spiked jungle limb. It tore a trail through the scattered debris and smashed the mirror, blocking their escape route. Glass bits fired like buckshot, and Charlie knocked Plug from the path of a speeding shard. Plug barely got out a “thanks” before the limb boomeranged back toward them. It was ready to deliver a crushing blow, but Remi clapped her wings, generating a burst of light. Moloch’s vines recoiled momentarily. It was just enough.

  “Run for the door!” said Remi. She pointed across the room. “Maybe there’s a mirror on the other side!”

  “What about my mom?” yelled Charlie, as he and Plug sprinted toward the exit.

  “You can’t help her if you’re dead!” Remi huffed.

  She shoved Charlie and Plug through the doorway into a long, dark, musty tunnel. The floor felt muddy and crawled with swamp snakes and lizards. Dozens of rusted patient gurneys lined one wall. Tufts of rotting moss dripped polluted water from the overhead pipes, which rattled with a storm’s fury. The sound was deafening. Charlie glanced back, wishing he could rescue his mom, but Moloch exploded into the corridor right behind him — a monstrous living jungle that overran everything in its path.

  “Run!” screamed Plug. He was just behind Charlie, pushing him forward.

  They raced toward a large, round observation mirror hanging high above them at the end of the tunnel. As they neared it, an abandoned classroom appeared within its frame. Remi opened her wings and soared toward the rippling portal as Charlie pushed an old gurney beneath it. He climbed up and guided Remi through and then reached back for Plug. But Moloch was closing in fast.

  “You first,” said Plug.

  He boosted Charlie into the mirror, but the gurney collapsed and Plug with it.

  Remi was already waiting when Charlie tumbled into the classroom. Fast-food wrappers, empty Doritos bags, and greasy chicken bones littered the floor. Charlie’s heart was thundering against his chest as he reached back to help Plug.

  “Take my hand!” he yelled.

  Plug gripped tight as Charlie heaved him up, but Moloch’s vine-formed arms stretched like rubber and snared his leg.

  “It’s got me!” said Plug.

  He was only halfway through the mirror, splitting the two dreams. Charlie and Remi tugged with all their might. Sweat pricked Charlie’s brow, and his arms felt like they were about to be ripped from their sockets.

  “Pull!” he screamed.

  But Moloch’s strength surged, and Plug lurched back toward the nightmare, taking Charlie with him.

  “I can’t hold on!” Plug cried. His grip was slipping.

  “Yes
you can!” pleaded Charlie. “You’re tougher than him! You can do it!”

  Charlie knew Plug was terrified. He was, too. He locked eyes with his friend, trying to reassure him.

  “We’ll get out of this,” he said. “I promise! I won’t let you go!”

  With that vow, Plug’s fear seemed to melt away. He relaxed, and his expression eased with calm.

  “Charlie, do it,” he said. “Let me go.”

  “What? No!”

  “You’ll find me! Let me go!”

  “We’re in this together!”

  Plug grasped the latch on his nana’s watch.

  “Plug, don’t!” shouted Charlie.

  “It’ll be alright,” said Plug. “I believe in you.”

  He flipped the clasp, and his wrist slipped through the band. Plug was yanked back into the nightmare, swallowed by a wave of Moloch’s tangled limbs.

  “PLUG!” screamed Charlie.

  But his friend was gone. He turned to Remi in disbelief, still clutching the watch in his hand.

  “I have to go back!” he said. “I have to save—” WHAM!

  A vine thrust through the mirror and seized Charlie by the throat, crushing his windpipe. He struggled for air as Moloch tried to push into the dream. Charlie’s senses began to cloud when he felt a feverish rush of heat graze his cheekbone.

  Phzzzt! Phzzzt!

  Two light arrows detonated. Remi’s weapon was working again. Just in time! The attacking vine released Charlie, and he wiggled free, striking the mirror with his fist. Its surface hardened and cracked at the point of impact. Moloch’s face cracked with it, and he pulled back, vanishing from sight.

  “Are you okay?” asked Remi.

  Charlie nodded, and his vision racked into focus. But this was no victory. As blood rushed back to his head and feeling to his face, he looked up and realized the cracks in the broken mirror strung together to form words:

  YOUR MOM AND FRIEND

  BELONG TO ME

  “No!” he cried, banging on the mirror. “You can’t have them!”

  But the portal was sealed.

  Charlie stared at the words, his heart as broken as the glass fragments that lay scattered by his feet.