The only light source was a rectangular ceiling lamp hanging above his head, which lit a glass of water and some dry-looking sandwiches that were curling on a small tray on the table. He glanced at the time but saw only a bare patch of wrist. They had taken his watch. He didn’t even bother to look for his phone.
On one wall, the rock was so highly polished it was like a mirror. David looked at himself in this for a moment, and saw the fear in his own gray eyes beneath his roughed-up hair.
For a second he wondered if he was dreaming again — it certainly felt like he was in a nightmare — but the ache in his head and his thirst were real enough. So he drank the water, feeling faintly reassured by the slice of lemon in it, but pushed away the sandwiches. He glared defiantly at the black mirror, now certain that someone was watching him from behind it. Shortly after that a door opened.
A man walked into the room. He was tall and bearlike, with a crown of silvered black curls and deep-set eyes. He wore a coarse black coat with its lapels turned up, and looked like some crazy mix between a rock star and a dock worker. Perhaps he was fifty years old, David couldn’t be sure. He crossed the room in a few strides and then sat with a grunt opposite David, almost knocking the table over.
The big man nodded slowly. David stared back at him and tried not to show how frightened he was. When the man finally spoke, he had what might have been a French accent.
“So, tell me, Mr. Utherwise, have you ever seen a ghost?”
David, who had been prepared to give nothing away, was so taken aback by this strange question that he blurted out an answer.
“No!”
The big man grunted again, as if he’d been expecting this.
“Incorrect,” he said. “Be careful how you answer our questions. We always know when you lie.”
“But I never have seen a ghost,” said David. “And it’s a stupid question.”
The man’s face hardened.
“It will go easier for you if you are truthful with me now, Mr. Utherwise, rather than forcing us to twist the truth out of you later. Just tell me when you were first approached, and we’ll take it from there.”
“Approached?” said David. “Who do you think I am? I’m only fourteen.”
“Which is kind of the point,” said the big man, his face hardening even further.
“I’m not scared of you,” David cried out, trying unsuccessfully to stop his voice from going too high. “Who are you, anyway? What am I doing here … ?”
The big man brought his fist down onto the table with a loud crash, making the empty water glass jump.
“I ask the questions!” he shouted in a bellow that matched his enormous frame. Then he passed his hand through his hair, making a visible effort to calm down.
“If I had my way, you would not be here at all. But since it has been decided to give you a second chance, I suggest you cooperate fully. You might even be allowed to go home one day. So, I repeat the question: When did the Haunting make its approach?”
It was at this point that the door burst open and two more people came into the room. One of them came forward into the light: a thin, elderly man with a scruffy jacket and overgrown eyebrows. He had a bundle of loose papers and books in both arms, a row of cheap ballpoint pens in his jacket pocket, and a half-eaten apple in one hand. He looked so harmless and comical that David was surprised to see him confront the big man at the table with real anger.
“Why have you started without me?” demanded the newcomer. “No one asked my permission to cross-question the boy. I told you this was delicate.” After this he switched to French, and a brief argument broke out between him and the big man. Eventually, the big man stood and left the room, but the way he glared at David told him that he wouldn’t be going far away. For now, though, David was just pleased to see the back of him.
The man in the tattered jacket sat down at the table where the big man had been, put his apple in his pocket, and began shuffling his papers, looking at David with a mixture of wonder and concern on his face. Several of his books slid to the floor, and David immediately felt less threatened. The other newcomer came forward and picked up the books but kept in the shadows.
“David Utherwise!” said the old man suddenly. “It’s a great pleasure to have you here. I’m so sorry about all this and about … well, about what has just happened to you. Roman is under a lot of pressure at the moment, as are we all, but … well, we’ll get to that soon enough. For now, though, let me introduce myself. My name is Professor Feldrake, and I think it’s fair to say that you and I were never supposed to meet.”
David watched the professor fuss with his papers. He wanted to protest that there’d been a misunderstanding, but this Professor Feldrake knew his name, so it really was him they were after. But why? Eventually the old man seemed satisfied with his clutter and files. He pulled a pair of antique spectacles over his ears and then sat smiling through them at David. One of his pens, a blue one, was leaking. Finally he spoke again.
“Yes, I really am sorry for all the trouble you’ve had, David, and for bringing you here like this, but despite how it must seem, you are among friends now. I’m afraid things have just got very dangerous for you outside this place.”
“Just tell me where I am and what you want,” said David, trying not to be too alarmed by the professor’s words. “What is this place?”
“This place is called Unsleep House — the very heart of the Dreamwalker Project. You are currently in Switzerland, near Geneva.”
“Un … Unsleep House?”
“That’s right, though I don’t expect the name will mean anything to you right now. As for what we want, well, you need our protection, but at the same time we need your help with, er, a little problem we’ve been having.”
David felt his suspicion returning. Was this some sort of trick? Get the thug to rough him up a bit, then send in the nutty professor to be confusing and make him talk? And how could he be in Switzerland? It seemed impossible. He was supposed to have a double period of geography this afternoon, then meet Philippa to cycle home. But was it still the afternoon? Was it even the same day? There were no windows in this dark, stony chamber. Whatever was happening, David decided it would be best to say as little as possible, but unfortunately the professor’s next question was so surprising that once again he couldn’t help giving an answer.
“David, we know what you dreamed about last night, what you often dream about. Why do you dream about Eddie, do you think?”
David stared at the old man in astonishment.
“But how can you … ? Who … ?” He jumped to his feet. “There’s only one person who knows about that! If you’ve hurt my sister …” he cried, bunching his fists.
Professor Feldrake held up his arms. “Whoa, David! It’s okay, really. I know it’s a shock, but I promise there’s nothing bad happening here. We haven’t gone anywhere near your sister, and don’t intend to. However, we are very interested in your dream. Could you tell me about it? Please?”
David hesitated. Then he sat down again.
“It’s just a dream I have.”
“Yes?”
“There’s a boy I meet in the dream — Eddie. We just talk and, you know, hang out in his room or mess about on the roof. What do you want me to say? It’s just a stupid dream. And you seem to know all about it anyway.”
“I know a little, yes. And would you say Eddie is your friend? I mean, putting the dream thing aside for the moment, you and Eddie get on very well, don’t you? You trust each other, know each other’s habits. Perhaps you’re even best friends?”
David glared at the old man. The answer to this question was yes, but at the same time he couldn’t forget Eddie’s last words to him. You’re not best friends with someone if they say they hate you and never want to see you again.
“Putting aside the fact that this conversation is completely crazy, yeah,” David said. “You could say we were good friends.”
“Were? Ah, yes, of course. Las
t night your dream was different, wasn’t it? Dramatically different.”
Professor Feldrake began rummaging through his papers and books, and even the apple made a brief reappearance. Eventually, after much flapping and muttering, he produced a battered old black-and-white photograph and slid it across the table. David picked it up and saw the intelligent but troubled face of a gaunt-looking, bespectacled boy, dressed in a tank top and tie. He went very still.
It was Eddie.
“He’s real?” said David after a moment, though somehow he wasn’t entirely surprised. After all, his dreams about Eddie had always seemed as real as the day. “I suppose I … I must have seen his picture somewhere. Perhaps in a book or … I don’t know, somewhere.”
“Perhaps,” said the professor. “It’s possible. This is a photograph of a young man called Edmund — Eddie to you — taken in 1940, a year after the start of the Second World War. He was just fourteen years old at the time, like you are now. He lost his father too, in the first months of fighting, though his mother kept it from him for years. Shortly after this photo was taken, the Blitz on London became intense, and in December 1940 Eddie’s house was destroyed by an incendiary bomb. Eddie was in an air-raid shelter at the time, but it was still a lucky escape, and afterward he was sent to relatives in the country for the remainder of the war. Does any of this mean anything to you?”
“Why should it? That’s all history. What’s it got to do with me?”
“Well, this boy’s name was Utherwise, like yours, David — Edmund Utherwise. He was your grandfather,” said the professor.
“My what?”
The professor said nothing, but looked expectant.
David stared back. Then he shrugged. “I don’t know a lot about my family,” he said. “At least, not my dad’s side. But I’ve never met any of my grandparents, and I’m sure I haven’t seen any pictures of my grandfather, so why would I be dreaming about him?”
“To answer that I’d better tell you what became of him,” said the professor, who began rummaging again. “But first, what about this man? Do you recognize him?”
David was given a second photo, this time a high-quality color image showing an elderly man with a thin beard who was sitting in a book-lined study, scratching the ear of a Siamese cat. Behind him a great many photographs covered a wall, and there was a neat pile of well-used notebooks at his elbow.
David shook his head as he dropped the photo back on the desk. He was feeling suspicious again and began to wonder how far he’d get if he knocked the professor down and ran for the door. But then he twigged what he was being shown. He looked again at the photos, comparing them. There was something similar about the eyes, the line of the mouth, and the long nose, something that suddenly reminded him faintly of his own reflection.
And he’d have known those notebooks anywhere.
“That’s right,” said the professor, “they are one and the same. This second photograph also shows your grandfather, Edmund Utherwise — Sir Edmund, actually — at the fine old age of eighty-five. He died a few months later.”
David began to have a creepy feeling about where all this might be going. This man — Eddie, or whoever he really was — had died quite recently, then.
“So? It’s not my fault if my own family never made contact with me. Why should I feel bad about not knowing my grandfather? I didn’t even see him at —” David stopped himself. He didn’t want to mention his dad’s funeral here.
“There’s no need to feel bad,” said the professor. “I believe you when you say you’ve never heard of Sir Edmund and his work, but it’s time for you to know. The fact is, your grandfather was one of the most accomplished scientists of the twentieth century, but his discovery is so extraordinary that he — and it — are also closely guarded secrets. You see, Edmund Utherwise devoted his life to a practical theory of ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” said David, unimpressed. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Most people don’t,” said the professor, “and this has undoubtedly helped us keep our secret. But believe me, his discoveries are quite real. The people who tried to kidnap you this morning, the fake doctor and the ambulance crew, they certainly have no trouble believing it. I’m afraid you’re caught up in dangerous events now. Whatever you think about how you came to be here, please believe me when I say that we aren’t the ones who mean you harm. We saved your life this morning.”
“But what has all this got to do with me?” said David.
“Well, Edmund Utherwise began his research into the paranormal — into ghosts, that is — after strange experiences he had during childhood. Something happened to him as a boy that left him with an obsession with the spirit world. You see, Sir Edmund believed that he’d been haunted by a ghost.”
The professor removed his glasses and gave David a very earnest look.
“And that ghost is you, David.”
David stared. Was this scruffy old man really telling him that he’d had a dream about the past and somehow actually gone there? Become, in fact, part of history? Being kidnapped was bad enough, but being held by a madman was far worse. David jumped to his feet and yelled at the professor.
“You’re crazy! You have no right to lock people up and tell them stupid stories. Why should I believe anything you tell me? I just had a bad dream, that’s all. It was just a dream!”
“There is no such thing as ‘just a dream’ for people like you and me, David,” said a female voice, and David remembered that there was someone else in the room. “What the professor has told you is true,” she went on, with what sounded like a German accent. A girl stepped forward out of the shadows.
She was about the same age as David, or perhaps slightly older, and was wearing some kind of black jumpsuit. Above her green eyes and pretty smile, she had a mass of loose brown curls. David was instantly sure he’d seen her somewhere before, and he sat back heavily into his chair when he got it. It was the girl who had called to him in the passageway outside his school. The girl who’d seemed to vanish into thin air. She smiled at him again and held out her hand.
“My name is Petra. I’m a dreamwalker, like you.”
“A dreamwalker?” David took the slim hand and somehow remembered to shake it. “But what … ?”
“What is a dreamwalker?” Petra’s eyes danced with amusement. “Well, you know what a sleepwalker is, don’t you? Someone who walks while they are sleeping? Well, I do the same thing while I dream. And so do you.”
David stared at the girl, then at the old man, then back at the girl again. They were obviously quite serious about what they were saying.
“But … what does that actually mean?”
“It’s not as complicated as it might sound,” said the professor, in a teacher’s manner that clearly came naturally to him. “What do you think a dream is, David?”
“Er … I suppose I always thought dreams were just a jumble of stuff from the day. You know, memories and sights and sounds, all muddled together.”
“Well, that’ll do for a start,” said the professor. “On the surface a dream is just that — a mixed-up collection of recent experiences. But doesn’t that sound rather boring? I mean, have you never wondered why our dreams are so much more interesting and odd than our actual daily lives? What about those things that don’t come from your recent experience — the strange people and places that can suddenly pop into your dreams from out of nowhere? Have you never wondered about them?”
“No,” said David, “not until now, anyway. Although … yes, I did sometimes wonder about my Eddie dreams. They always seemed so real.”
“Ah!” said the professor. “Good.” He removed his glasses and began cleaning them on his tie. “You see, there’s more to what we see in our sleep than just recent experiences being played back in our heads. In a sense a dream is also a window for the mind, allowing us fragmentary glimpses of the waking world beyond our skulls. At least, that’s the case for most people. For you, though, the effect is str
onger — much, much stronger. For you and Petra and others with your gift, that window is more like a doorway, a doorway that allows your mind to leave your sleeping body altogether. We call this dreamwalking.”
“Oka-a-a-y.” David folded his arms and scanned their faces for some sign that they were making a fool of him.
“All right,” said the professor with a chuckle, “we can go into the theory later. In practical terms, what it all comes down to is this: If I dream about Stonehenge or the Eiffel Tower or Mount Rushmore, it’s all just in my head, okay? But if you dream about these places …”
David glanced over at Petra. She was watching him as closely as the professor was.
“You’re saying I can actually go there?” David said. “But that’s crazy.”
“It may sound crazy to you now, but that’s exactly what I’m saying,” said the professor. “At least, your mind can actually go there. Your body stays exactly where you left it, fast asleep. Now, earlier Roman asked if you’d ever seen a ghost. So … have you ever wondered what ghosts are?”
“Not really. I just thought they were meant to be the spirits of dead people.”
“I don’t know anything about the dead,” said the professor, “but I can tell you that some ghosts at least belong to the living. You see, that’s how you appear when you dreamwalk. Like a ghost.”
“But …” David shut his eyes for a moment as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. “… my Eddie dream — you said I was back in the year 1940.”
“Yes!” The professor’s face lit up, like a kid who’d just been reminded it was his birthday. “And that’s the real wonder of dreamwalking. Don’t you see? It’s not just that you can go anywhere you want, it’s also anywhen. Freed from the body, your dreamwalking mind can ignore the laws of nature, David, even time itself.”
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