After the circus, the day seemed to pass in a blur. Driving back with Amelia to the estate, an afternoon reading and rereading the words Florence had given him, another dinner with no Rowan; he found himself in bed before realizing any of those events had transpired.

Beck pulled the sheets in around him. Despite how little his studies had been progressing, he was still exhausted. His eyes itched. The endless riddles and solutions just out of reach wore him down more than any physical strain could.

He hadn’t had any opportunity to search for Rowan’s key that day. Tonight could be used to search in the places he wasn’t supposed to, but the idea didn’t have any appeal. As far as he knew, all of the nooks and crannies in the manor that were available to him had already been scoured.

There was still the East Wing, but it didn’t seem that anything short of breaking the door off its hinges would grant him access. Rowan never explicitly said it was off limits, but Nora had given him a stern warning the first day. Beck had no qualms going against his uncle’s wishes, however angering the housekeeper seemed a quick way to be run out of the house.

Rubbing his eyes, Beck laid back and slid under his sheets. As he settled, he realized with annoyance that the lamp on his desk was still lit. It illuminated Florence's predictions, the only other occupant of the desktop. He began to pull the bedding away, propping himself up.

He froze with one leg over the side of the bed, the fabric still gripped in his fingers. His pulse quickened as he remembered the night before, where something similar had triggered the nightmare. Had the light been on before? Did he even remember entering the room?

For a few seconds all Beck could hear was the blood rushing past his eardrums before he calmed down and let out a breath. He wasn’t paralyzed like before, and he could hear the nighttime sounds of crickets and distant traffic from outside.

Getting to his feet he made his way to the desk. He briefly looked back to the room’s entrance, but nothing lurked in the crack under the door. Beck turned back to the light, but before pulling the cord he noticed the curtain hadn’t even been drawn.

Muttering to himself, he reached for the curtain, blearily looking through the glass panes. In the morning the sunshine would cascade into the room, but for now the only light burning outside was the fixture hanging over the front entrance. Although he doubted the Barclays were expecting anyone at such late an –

He blinked. To his surprise there was someone standing on the front stoop. It wasn’t the phantom from last night; this figure was short – a young girl – and wore a pale blue dress, a bow of the same color in her hair. Unlike the shadowy man, he could clearly see her face. She wore a pensive expression, and clasped her hands behind her back as though she was waiting for someone to let her in.

Beck hadn’t a clue why a child would be out front at this hour. The best course of action seemed t o be to let Nora know about this. Beck picked up the telephone from the desk to contact her.

“Hello?” he spoke into the mouthpiece.

“Good, I finally got through to you.”

Beck hesitated. The voice wasn’t one he recognized. “I’m trying to reach Nora. Is she there?”

There was a pause on the line. “No, she’s not here, but you’ve reached the right person.”

He tried to process what the one on the other end was saying, but it felt like his mind was moving through putty. “Sorry, there’s some sort of mistake. I must have dialed the wrong number.”

“This isn’t a mistake. You just thought you needed to talk to Nora, but I was the one who contacted you,” the voice said.

“Excuse me, who is this?”

“I’m here to guide you in this world. You're dreaming, Beck.”

He rested his free hand on the desk, feeling the grain of the wood beneath his fingertips plain as day. “Sir, I’m going to end the call now.”

“Don’t hang up,” they commanded.

Beck froze with the receiver next to his ear. He couldn’t bring himself to return the device to its cradle, and any words he tried to string together dried up on his tongue.

“Let me ask you some questions,” the voice continued. “Why did you pick up the telephone?”

He felt control of his voice start to come back. “Well, there’s a girl who was outside –” Glancing out the window, the stoop was empty. “There was someone at the manor entrance, I was just going to let the housekeeper know,” he replied numbly.

“Then why did you answer instead of call?”

“Pardon?”

“What did you first say to me when you picked up the phone?” the voice asked.

Beck tried to think back, but it was difficult, more so than it should have been. “... ‘Hello?’”

“Yes, that’s right. When you’re calling someone, it’s the one who answers that speaks first. You were the one that answered.”

“I Suppose I did. And?”

“Here’s the important question, Beck. Why would you answer the phone before someone called?”

“I wouldn’t,” he heard himself say.

Realization flooded his mind as though a fissure had opened in a dam. He had responded to a message that hadn’t been sent yet, subconsciously answering it as though it had been expected. The phone hadn’t rung, but he picked it up regardless, not noticing that his role had been reversed.

He didn’t have a telephone in his room. At least, not in the physical world. The one in front of him had a burnished copper casing like the ones in the rest of the manor, so for a brief second Beck figured someone could have moved one into his room without his knowledge. But that wouldn’t explain why there wasn’t any cable connecting the receiver to the housing. He held the handle out in front of him. If this was within his realm of understanding, he might as well have been speaking into a rock.

Warily he brought the phone back up to his ear. “You claimed earlier that this is a dream. The situation is... strange, but how would I know for certain that’s true? I feel too lucid to be asleep.”

A long sigh came from the other end. “Not believing until the truth is right in front of you; you’re a Barclay through and through. The surest way to tell if you are in-transit is if your bed is occupied.”

Beck didn’t have a clue what they were talking about, but despite the speaker’s confusing language, he knew for certain the only one who used this room was himself. He turned around anyway though, since if this bizarre interaction had taught him anything it was to not trust his senses tonight.

What he saw in front of him he couldn’t reconcile. There hadn’t been anyone else in the bed when he was lying down before, but a form was there now. The figure appeared to be in a deep sleep, but in the light of the lamp he could see movement on their face. Beck approached the body before he completely lost his nerve.

On closer inspection the movement he saw earlier were the eyes; They were rapidly skittering under their eyelids like the person was entrenched in a novel, unable to stop reading. As for the rest of the face, what Beck had denied at first glance seemed to be the uncomfortable truth. It felt like he was observing reality from an angle it was never meant to be viewed from.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“There is someone in the bed – I am in the bed,” he said quietly.

“Everything is as it should be then,” said the caller. “Now that we’ve disposed of the veil, so to speak, I’d imagine you have many questions. It would be best if I answer them face-to-face.”

Beck glanced uneasily at his doppelganger. “How do we go about that, then?”

“That part is simple. Just open the door and let me in.”

The line went dead. He looked one more time at the receiver in disbelief before turning to the desk to return it. However, the cradle for the phone was no longer there. Tightening his grip and finding only air, he realized that the handle, too, had vanished, directly out of his fingers. He braced against the wall, finding that, at least, reasonably tangible.

Despite his better judgment he traced the wall around to his suite's entry. A shiver went up his spine; now there was the impression of something on the other side of the door, its shadow flickering in the space underneath. Beck didn't know how he knew, but he couldn't imagine the one on the other side was anyone he knew.

"I know you're out there," he called.

"Okay, and?" It was the same voice from the phone. Gruff, but not necessarily in an intimidating way. Like a river before the snowmelt. "I'm not here as a thug, I'm here as a guest."

Beck waited, and soon his curiosity became greater than his fear. He hugged the wall up to the door and looked out the peephole. There wasn't anyone in view outside, despite the shadows leaking through into his room. Whoever was outside couldn't be larger than a child, which only made Beck more confused.

He swung the door open. A pair of beady eyes looked up at him. The figure was familiar to Beck: A small creature in the shape of a bear, velvet and leather substituted for its fur. Unlike when it occupied the small chair in his room, the doll now stood on its hind legs, rising to just above his knee.

"Hello Beck, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," it said.

Beck stared at it mutely.

The bear raised its forepaws up to him. "Can you pick me up? Human buildings weren't designed for my kind to traverse."

“I would like to wake up now,” Beck stated.

It made a staccato humming sound, which Beck realized was a form of laughter. “It’s normal for the adjustment to be a bit of a shock. But you’ve made it this far without slipping back to full sleep, and you’re not running and screaming, which is better than most.”

“Normally I don’t have dreams that are this self-aware, but when I wake I can put this episode behind me.”

“I’m afraid that’s not the case anymore,” the bear said. “You’d better bring me inside, you’ll probably want to be sitting down for what I have to tell you.”

Not knowing what else to do in his situation, Beck crouched down and picked up the doll. It was lighter than he was expecting; he assumed something alive would have more mass. He held the bear out awkwardly in front of him, its legs dangling in the air.

The creature sighed. “This is rather undignified, but very well.”

Reluctantly Beck brought the doll back inside. He considered putting it on the tabletop, but decided to put it alongside the other oddity on the bed while he took a seat at the desk.

“Don’t touch that body, or I’ll toss you out.”

“Ah, I guess you didn’t try messing around with it. I can’t even try, don’t worry yourself,” it said. The bear sat on its haunches at the edge of the bed. “Now, to the point. Yes, you are in a dream, but it is much more than that. We’re in a place called the Reverie, a space between sleeping and awake where dreams and reality meet.”

Beck ran a hand through his hair, staring at the creature in bewilderment. “This is a strange vision for sure, but for all I know this is just a fever dream. Let’s suppose this Reverie of yours is real. How would I have gotten here?”

“That answer isn’t so simple, but I will try my best.” It pointed at the body beneath the sheets. “As you can see, you’re asleep. Normally people aren’t aware of the Reverie, even when they pass through it; their awareness is dormant, but with enough encouragement it can be awoken. That’s why Master Rowan and Master Fielding have been teaching you about seeing beyond your senses, to try and open your eyes.”

“Hang on, my uncle is in on this?”

“Well of course. He’s the one who stationed me in your room.”

“I’m even more lost now,” he admitted. “Who even are you?”

“My name is Patch,” the bear said.

“Your name is actually Patch.”

If the bear had fur, it would have bristled. “The name I am given is a respectable title, and any complaint about it will be taken as a direct insult against my creator.”

Beck raised his hands in defense. “Alright, better question: What are you?”

Patch huffed, but settled down. “My kind have gone by many names. Children of the Reverie. Phantasms. Master Fielding calls us Oneiroi. But due to our current physical appearance Master Rowan coined the term Velours, which has become the accepted colloquialism in the manor. And while we are summoned for many reasons, our main purpose is guardianship.”

“Hold on, is that why you were put in my room?”

The bear nodded its head. “Very good, you’re starting to catch on. That’s also why when you forcibly removed me from the room the previous night it was a grave error in judgment.”

“What – How was I supposed to know that when all of this information has been withheld! What would I even need protection from anyways?”

“That’s something that Master Rowan wanted to tell you about himself,” Patch said. “Speaking of, he is eager that you move forward with initiation. This will let him know that you are ready.”

The creature reached into a seam stitched onto its chest and pulled out a key. It was the very same that Beck was looking for, the same outlines he remembered etched on its surface.

“I would have never found this in the real world, would I.”

“No,” Patch said. “This key is meant to open your mind, and now it has.”

Beck took the key, turning over in his palm as he thought. “If I’m asleep right now, how will I be able to show this to my uncle?”

“Hold onto it for now, it will make sense later.” Patch got down onto his paws and lumbered over to the head of the bed. “Waking up will make things more clear. To do that from the Reverie, you’ll need to climb back into your body.”

That wasn’t a phrase that Beck ever expected or wanted to hear. “I’m not touching that.”

“Oh, it’s not as visceral as it sounds. The you that’s in bed is your body in the waking world, it’s incorporeal here.” Patch walked onto the body, but the bear’s legs passed through the form, giving the illusion they were wading through a river. “Master Rowan likened it to slipping through a projection.”

Beck forced himself up and walked over to his double. Slowly he passed his fingers through the figure’s chest. Nothing solid touched his fingertips, but the air inside felt like a cool vapor. A sudden desire to fill that emptiness drew him in, aligning himself with the shape of the body.

“The transition may be a bit jarring at first,” he heard Patch say somewhere next to him. “But soon it will be as natural as –”

----------------------------------------

Sunlight drifted into his eyes, waking him. Beck sat up, feeling more well-rested than he had since he’d arrived. The dream was still at the forefront of his mind. It felt so real at the time that he couldn’t reconcile his anxiety while in it to his current vigor.

The feel of something solid in his hand pulled his attention. He held the object up to the light, and the key shined back at him. The impossibility of it following him from his sleep loomed over him, but he tucked that thought away for later. Beck rubbed his thumb over the engravings, if only to convince himself it was really there.

Across the room, the bear was sitting back in its chair, their glassy eyes watching over him. “Patch,” he called over. The doll didn’t move. Beck got out of bed and wandered over to it. “Hey, Patch!” He grabbed the creature’s shoulder, but it remained motionless and unblinking. Unsure, he let the doll be.

In a hurry Beck showered and dressed, arriving at the grand hall while breakfast was already underway. Amelia, Nora and Rowan all sat around the table in the midst of their usual routine.

“Good morning, uncle,” he said. Rowan gave him a murmured greeting, not looking up from his coffee.

Beck placed the key on the table next to the mug. His uncle’s eyes, which were miles away, reentered the room as he saw what lay before him. He slid his hand from the drink and curled his fingers around the key.

Rowan’s demeanor shifted. A proud smile passed his lips, and Beck could see a shine ignite in his eyes. “Now we can finally begin,” his uncle said.