Baylor's Guide to Dreadful Dreams

by Robert Imfeld

  Kristina nodded, her face stony. “Sounds like you had a lucid dream.” She shrugged. “It’s when you realize you’re awake in the middle of a dream. Lots of people have them.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling a bit deflated. “I thought it had something to do with my gift since it seemed so real.”

  “That’s an interesting thought.”

  “Apparently I don’t think much of Bobby,” I said. “I dreamed he was picnicking with a moose and eating ants.”

  She chuckled. “Sounds right to me.”

  * * *

  A few hours later, Mr. G. was greeting the band members with donuts as we arrived downtown before the parade began.

  I took a chocolate-frosted donut and was about to bite into it when I remembered my dream. “Hey, Mr. G., you ever been skiing?”

  “Once, when I was younger. Broke my leg. Hated it ever since. Why do you ask, Baylor?”

  “No reason,” I said. “Glad to hear that.”

  “You’re glad to hear I broke my leg?” he said, clucking his tongue at me. “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too!”

  I made a face of mock horror and then walked with Kristina over to where Bobby and Aiden were standing with some of our other bandmates.

  “Baylor, dude,” Bobby said. “I had the most insane dream about you last night.”

  “Weird,” I said, laughing. “I dreamed about you last night too!”

  “I bet it wasn’t as crazy as mine, though,” he said, his eyes wide and eager. He took the marching cap off his head and ran his fingers through his buzzed hair. “I was in this field, right? And I was hanging out with this real fancy moose by the name of Mr. Moose, naturally, and we both had top hats, and then you showed up and wanted a top hat. And then I was eating ants for some reason, and you looked like you were about to vomit, and then you just sort of disappeared, and then the moose was mad at you for leaving abruptly so he started neighing like a horse.” Bobby frowned. “But I think that’s mainly because I’m not sure what noise a moose would make when it’s angry.”

  He put the cap back on his head, adjusted it, and looked at me. “Weird, right? What was your dream?”

  I knew I was still standing. I could feel my feet against the ground, and I could feel my fingers clasping the donut. But at that moment, my insides had turned to ice, my head felt very light, and my eyes were boring into Kristina’s.

  She didn’t look nearly as concerned as I thought she should, though, and seemed far too interested in the clarinet players warming up.

  “Baylor?” Bobby asked, looking concerned. “You there, bud?”

  “Uh, er, yeah. Sorry,” I said, my voice suddenly hoarse. “Didn’t get much sleep.”

  “So what was your dream?” he asked.

  “It was, uh, weird,” I said, trying to conjure something in my mind besides a fancy moose and ant snacks. “Mr. G. was in it too, and he said he was moving to Argentina to become a ski instructor, and you and Aiden were really upset.”

  “Hmm,” Bobby said, mulling it over. “That’d be kinda awesome.”

  I nodded. “I already checked—Mr. G. hates skiing.”

  For the next hour I kept trying to catch Kristina’s eye, but she seemed suspiciously distracted that morning. Before I knew it, it was nearly ten o’clock, and we had to get lined up and ready to march.

  We were near the end of the parade procession, though, so there was still more standing around and waiting to do.

  “What is that hissing noise?” I mumbled to Kristina, screwing up my eyes and trying to block it out.

  She’d decided to be communicative again, and her mouth was hanging half open in shock. “It’s Clarinet Cassie’s grandmother. Musical talent runs in their family, apparently. She’s showing off her opera skills and hitting a note only ghost dogs can hear.”

  “Is that what the weird barking is too?”

  She nodded. “You should tune in. It’s fascinating.” It’d taken years of practice, but I could tune spirits out by imagining the scene around me without them in it and letting that image become my reality. It was usually more pleasant and much quieter without the spirits, though the persistent ones could still break through my mental barrier.

  “I’ll pass,” I said bitterly, wishing I could totally seal off the connection for a few minutes. “Are you planning to comment on Bobby’s dream at all?”

  “Oh, look, Mr. G.’s trying to get everyone’s attention,” she said, pointing forward.

  I rolled my eyes. She could avoid me all she wanted for now, but I’d force her to talk to me tonight.

  I was worried I was going to be distracted, that the shock of Bobby’s dream would disrupt my ability to tune ghosts out and I’d suddenly cause a ruckus in the middle of the parade. With so many people watching and who knows how many ghosts clamoring for a message to get delivered, it seemed all too possible.

  Things went smoothly for the most part, but there was one close call. About ten minutes after we began marching, Clarinet Cassie’s grandma finally broke through, and she began singing a message in the form of an arpeggio.

  “Tell my dear Cassandra

  hard work’s taken her far.

  She’s come a long way

  and practiced so hard

  since smashing her mom’s guitar.”

  Needless to say, I completely lost my place in the melody, and I was suddenly ruining “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” as people in the crowd grimaced at the off-key tuba.

  Kristina shot a blast of blue energy at her, sending her back to the Beyond.

  “Demon dung!” Kristina yelled, furious. “Why would she choose this moment to get you to deliver a message? Sorry, Baylor.”

  Aside from that hiccup, it was fun to spot some familiar faces in the crowd. Reverend Henry was there with his family, and Madame Nadirah was standing outside of her shop, handing out promotional flyers to the passersby. I saw my family beaming at me from their spot near the downtown square. My grandparents waved at me excitedly, and even Aunt Hilda managed a proud nod.

  After the parade ended, I evaded Mr. G.’s glares—he wouldn’t get over my screw up for a few weeks—and found my family.

  “My talented boy!” Mom said, holding up her phone to take a picture. “Smile, Baylor!”

  Grandpa By (which we called him as an alternative to Byron O’Brien) stood next to her, beaming.

  “Baylor O’Brien—” he said.

  “It’s Baylor Bosco,” my dad said, annoyed, as he bounced Ella up and down.

  “Baylor Bosco, you are one spectacular tuba player. I’m not trying to start any trouble, but I think we all know which side of the family you get your musical talent from.” He pointed at his chest and winked as my dad shook his head. “I’m just saying.”

  “You don’t even play an instrument, By,” Dad said. “And you can’t even hit the right notes when you sing ‘Happy Birthday.’ ”

  “That’s a surprisingly hard song to sing, but what does it matter, Doug? Let me tell you something, I have great taste in music, and it shows through my grandson.” He nodded. “It shines through him, actually. It’s an O’Brien trait, this great taste in music. It’s something real special.”

  “What’d you think, Jack?” I asked my seven-year-old brother.

  He wasn’t paying attention, though. He was looking sideways at a group of kids I recognized from his class. There were five or six of them, mostly boys, standing in a circle and joking around with one another.

  “Are those some of your friends, Jack?” I asked. He was such a quiet kid, and I honestly wasn’t sure who his friends were. He rarely invited anyone over.

  “Not really,” he whispered.

  “What do you mean ‘not really’?” I asked. “You’re in second grade. Everyone’s friends with everyone in second grade.”

  He shrugged, and the big brother signal clicked on in my brain. Were these kids bullying him? I shot a look at Kristina, who also seemed to pick up on Jack’s body language, and she narrowed her eye
s.

  Without thinking, I marched over to the group of kids.

  “Baylor,” Jack called after me, his voice trembling, “what are you doing?”

  I ignored him. He could be nervous all he wanted; if these little punks were messing with my little brother, I was going to put a stop to it right now.

  “What’s up, guys?” I said to the group of kids. There were four boys and two girls, and when they looked up to see who was talking to them, their faces fell. I felt vindicated: They clearly knew I was Jack’s big brother, and I was here to put them in their places for how they were treating him.

  No one responded to my question, so I kept going.

  “Listen, guys, I’m Jack’s older brother, Baylor.” I tried to make my voice a bit deeper.

  “We know who you are,” said a round-faced boy wearing a red beanie. I was pretty sure he was the little brother of a seventh-grader who was in the band with me. They had the same big, rosy cheeks.

  “Good,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure you guys are being cool to Jack.”

  Their blank, borderline-scared faces seemed like a bad sign to me.

  “He’s a friendly guy,” I continued. “Maybe you could all hang out?”

  Two of the boys looked at each other, grave concern in their eyes.

  “Baylor,” Kristina said, a note of surprise in her voice, “I don’t think this is what you think it is.”

  But before I could respond, the kid in the beanie spoke up. “We like Jack.”

  “Oh,” I said. “That’s good. Then what’s—?”

  An old man with the kid’s matching flushed cheeks popped up in front of me, sputtering incomprehensibly. I jumped in surprise and turned my head to glare at him.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Tell my grandson I miss him! Please. I know you were tuning us out, but I’m not going to have this chance for a while.”

  “Fine,” I said. “No problem.”

  I turned back to the group of kids, but they were all now looking at me, mouths wide open, terrified.

  Before I could say anything, the kid in the beanie yelled, “He’s doing it!” At once, they all screamed and scrambled away.

  I stood there, openmouthed, as adults turned my way and scorned me with their eyes. I looked back at Jack, whose expression suggested a bucket of ice water had been dumped on his head, then to my parents, who looked incredibly confused, and finally to Kristina.

  “They’re not bullying Jack,” I said, the horrible realization still dawning on me. “They’re scared of me.”

  “Demon dung,” Kristina whispered. “How did we miss this?”

  I had no response. Did Jack not have any friends because of me—or rather, us? How long had that been going on? Did Mom and Dad know?

  I shuffled back over to him, my shoulders feeling heavy. “That went well!”

  “Did it?” Dad asked, rocking Ella back and forth. “You wanted them to scream and run away from you?”

  “What did you say to them, Baylor?” Mom asked.

  “Probably scared them with some ghost stories,” Aunt Hilda chimed in. I glared at her, annoyed that her contempt for my gift was justified for once.

  “We were just kidding around,” I said. “You should invite them to the house next week, Jack. I bet you’d have fun.”

  Jack shook his head. “That’s okay, Baylor,” he said, sounding so disappointed, like it was his birthday and his cake was actually a handful of twiggy mud.

  But it wasn’t okay. And I was going to fix it.

  TIP

  5

  Make sure you get your shut-eye.

  WE ALL ATE LUNCH AT Tio Juan’s, our favorite Mexican place downtown, and I was feeling awfully full from an overload of enchiladas. Before I took a siesta, though, I needed to corner Kristina.

  “Time to explain,” I said once I’d crawled into bed.

  “Baylor, really, there’s nothing much to explain here,” she said, sitting at the foot of my bed. “You visited Bobby’s dream. And Ella’s, too. It’s not a big deal.”

  “You’re kidding, right? It’s not a big deal? It’s a huge deal. I can enter people’s minds, basically.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re not entering their minds, Baylor. Believe me. You’re just entering their dreams. It’s very different.”

  “You’re acting way too calm about this.”

  “Well, it’s not a coincidence this happened the first night you wore the amulet. It’s probably knocked down some kind of mental barrier now!”

  “So I should stop wearing it then?” I asked, semihopeful. After we’d transformed the amulet, it wasn’t as noticeable as I’d feared. Still, there was always a chance someone might notice it.

  “What? No. Always wear it.”

  Not the answer I was looking for, but I had other pressing questions. “So I can walk into anyone’s dreams?”

  “Not just anyone,” she said. “They have to be loved ones.”

  “But I shouldn’t be able to just saunter into other people’s dreams like that. It could be dangerous or something.”

  “You were perfectly safe. And do I need to remind you that you were the one who chose to go into their dreams? You could have stayed put in your own dreams.”

  “But . . . but . . . it feels wrong! It’s intrusive.”

  “It is, but really, we shouldn’t get into the intrusive conversation,” Kristina said. “How many times have you gone up to strangers innocently going about their day to deliver a message from the other side?”

  “That’s different,” I said.

  “How?”

  “Because . . . because . . . ,” I stammered, unsure of how to explain myself.

  “And that’s real life too,” she pressed on. “You’re intruding on people’s actual lives. But dreams aren’t real. They’re just silly stories, really.”

  “But I’m entering another person’s mind!” I said, throwing my hands up.

  “Do you not listen to me at all? You weren’t in their minds. It’s not like you could control them or anything. It’s more like you’re just participating in a story.”

  “This is so weird.”

  “It’s just another element of your gift manifesting itself.”

  “But still. That story happens in their head. In their brain. What if my gift manifests itself in a new way and I can suddenly take control of someone’s body or something?”

  “Baylor,” she said, frustrated. “How many times do I have to say it? You’re not entering a person’s mind.”

  I stared at her. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  She sighed. “It’s complicated. It’s not worth getting into.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Fine,” she said impatiently. She stood up and closed her eyes, and a light dusting of blue energy began to emanate from her hand.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Sweet dreams, bro,” she said, blowing the energy over me.

  “What is—?”

  But before I could finish speaking, I passed out and found myself in the star-filled dream room with Kristina.

  “Where were we?” she asked.

  “Well, we were chatting, and then you dream-drugged me,” I said, amazed at how quickly I’d fallen asleep. “Pretty sure that’s illegal in most states.”

  “We were talking about how you don’t enter a person’s mind when they’re dreaming,” she said, totally ignoring her crime. “In a nutshell, when people are asleep, their souls leave their bodies, and dreaming is what happens before and after the journey.” She pointed down to the stars. “When these are illuminated, that means the person’s dreaming and you can enter the dream, but when they’re dim, the person’s either awake or not available for visits.”

  “Wait,” I said. “What? Their souls . . . they what?” She’d spoken as though she were teaching me some basic rule of life, like she was introducing gravity to me for the first time.

  “See, this is why I
didn’t want to tell you,” she said as the shooting stars that marked each door flickered at our feet. “It’s complicated.”

  “Where do their souls go?”

  “To learn lessons.”

  “But where?”

  “In a place between here and the Beyond.”

  I rolled my eyes and took another look around. “And what is here, exactly? Where are we?”

  She frowned. “It doesn’t have a name, actually,” she said, shrugging. “There’s never really been a need to name it before you got here. The Dream Portal?”

  I smiled smugly. Baylor Bosco, the grand adventurer, the brave explorer, the next great pioneer of the other side.

  “Can you please wipe that dumb look off your face?” she asked.

  “We can discuss names later, though I do think Baylorville has a nice ring to it,” I said. “Anyway, isn’t it dangerous for a soul to leave a body?”

  “Nope,” she said simply. “In fact, considering seven billion people do it every day, I’d say it’s perfectly safe.”

  “But . . . but . . . that doesn’t make sense,” I said, stammering to figure out exactly why it didn’t make sense in my head. “How could a soul just leave a body? What if it got lost on the way back, and it ended up in the wrong place, and then two people wound up switching bodies?”

  “That is,” Kristina said, “quite possibly the dumbest question I’ve ever heard.”

  I frowned. It seemed perfectly reasonable to assume it could happen.

  “But you should be aware of a few things.”

  “Okay,” I said, my brain already feeling numb. There was so much I still had to learn about communicating with dead people, and now to have this new dream thing tacked on felt exhausting.

  “It’s rare, but demons can lurk here. Use caution, and always wear your amulet.”

  I shrugged. “Demons can lurk anywhere.”

  She nodded. “That brings me to my second point. Never trust someone who can’t sleep,” she said.

  “What about Grandma Renee?” I asked. “She always stays up really late watching her soaps because she’s got such a hard time sleeping.”