The Dreamkiller

Book One of the Great War Saga

Michael B. Schwartz

This book – as well as the entire saga – is dedicated with much love to my mother – “Dreamers live forever.”

The Dreamkiller

Book One of the Great War Saga

She ran after Lars as fast as her large body could muster. Her clothes were once beautifully ornamented; now her gown was nothing more than shards of fabric which had been torn as she and her husband fled through the forest that chilly night.

“Wait!” she called down to Lars; the man she had picked to become her husband and king of the Grendels. 

Lars stopped his decline, turned and sprinted back up to where his wife had been panting. “We must not stop. Darvon is not far behind,” he reminded with panic behind every syllable. 

“I know,” she exclaimed and reached out her arm for support. She screamed and fell to the ground and slid several feet down the hill. “Get it out of me!”

Lars reached his wife and took her hand and squeezed it. “It’s not time, Love. We must wait; the prophecies – your prophecy – must be fulfilled,” he tried to calm her, but to no avail.

She turned her soiled head in his direction with tears of blood in her eyes. “The child is not yours, yet you wish it to survive. I wish it would die – there is nothing good about this conception.”

Lars stood erect and reached down and pulled out his canvas bag. He tilted his head back and drank several gulps of water and just as he was about to take a fourth, an arrow came through the back of his neck and out the front, sending a small geyser of blood in Nanaac’s direction.

She was not sickened by the atrocity but merely stood up as best she could, picking up her beloved’s sword as she did so; she knew there would be time later to mourn her loss. She scanned the horizon in every direction and soon saw the silhouetted outlines of her enemy lining the crest of the hill she had just walked down, steam bellowing out from the silhouettes as they breathed. With what strength she had, she brought the sword up over her shoulder in attack position.

As if that were a cue, two large horses, black armor plates hung from their head and forelegs, leapt the crest and screamed down toward Nanaac, who remained motionless as she studied her attackers. The steam from their nostrils made them appear as if they were demons from the fiery pits of hell.

She saw that the two riders carried a large net between them. So, she thought, they intended to capture me. Bent on not giving them that pleasure, Nanaac swung hard as the first rider passed. Her aim was precise as her blade struck the first pursuer in his side and he fell from his mount and as he did so, she drove her blade through his chest with all her might.

She knew deep down that her fight would be short-lived and she was correct when, just as she killed the first, another one approached from behind and knocked the sword out of her hands and instantly put his large arms around her body.

She fought with what little strength she had left, but it was no use. Her battle was lost and all of Grendel would either die or become enslaved. She had failed her people. She deserved to die.

Then she saw him – the one who had changed her entire life. The one who had planted his rotted seed inside her womb. The guilt she was feeling toward her people had changed to that of hatred as she watched King Darvon dismount his battle steed and turn to look, first, at the guards holding her arms behind her back.

He reached up and pulled off his helmet and let it drop to the ground before his feet. He approached Nanaac and ignored her icy glare, but instead he paid close attention to her large belly. He reached out and gently ran his gloved hand across it, also ignoring the act of his enemy spitting on his head, and glanced back at his minions. “The gods of Orion spoke to me again last night!” he called out, his voice deep and gravelly, and turned in a circle, arms outstretched, as his horde came closer to the action.

“They have commanded that the time has come for your new leader to arrive,” Darvon announced and then turned to Nanaac. “Lay her down.” The guards did as ordered and found that she was unwilling to allow Darvon any access he might get to the child before she could end its life. Once complete, Darvon smiled. “That’s better,” he sighed and reached into his boot and pulled out a dagger that glistened in the moonlight.

The Queen looked and saw that the hilt of the dagger had a snake coiled around it and the blade protruded from its mouth. “The child must not live – it is an abomination! The prophecies – a girl will destroy this child,” she screamed and he shook his head.

“My dear lady, do you understand why I have done this to you?” he began, knowing that she did not. “I was truly hoping that by impregnating you, we might have been wed and that our two kingdoms would be as one – the war would cease.” He shook his head and drew his head closer to her. He gently ran his hand across her abdomen and then stopped once he felt his child kick. “Here,” he whispered and brought the dagger to her flesh.

“HE raised his right hand high in the air, blood-stained hatchet in his iron grip, and…and…” he read out loud in a silent whisper, then, “This is beginning to piss me off,” Connor Barker commented as he lay, stomach down, on his bed with a stack of paper at his right side.

He had been trying, endlessly it seemed, to continue a novel he began only one month ago.

His sister Robyn had once told him that all he ever tried writing were sequels to his favorite movies – primarily in the horror genre. Connor did have a passion for continuing his favorite films, however during the writing, he always discovered that his particular sequel had already been written by someone else and filming was usually wrapping up by the time he completed his manuscript.

The positive outlook to all this was that the novel he was writing now was his own personal novel. An original piece of work which the idea centered on a bounty hunter who falls in love with his prey; even though she was a ruthless murderer.

He was a writer. An imaginative writer. However, being fifteen years old, he knew that it would be some time before a publisher would even glance at his manuscript.

Connor thought not of this at present time. He was content to wait – it would give him plenty of time to perfect his novels, maybe even dig up his sequel material and combine the three stories that he had already written into one book. 

He sighed, pen no longer in motion, and raised his head and read ten o’clock. Another sigh escaped his nostrils and he placed his still incomplete novel on the floor, something else to clutter his room along with his CD’s, books, and all the other papers that occupied the floor. He stood up and walked with a cat’s grace over his belongings and out into the living room where he found his mother watching the end of a movie.

Connor looked from the television – end credits now rolling – and then over to his almost-asleep mother.

“Good-night,” he said as he bent down and gave her a quick kiss on her left cheek.

With a tired smile, “Good-night. Love you,” she replied.

She had not known of her son’s writing and had always been on edge with worry when he entered his room and remained there for hours on end.

There were many things about her son that she did not know – things which he wished to keep hidden from her. Connor loved his mother very much, but they did not talk to one another very often. He really didn’t want her to know that he was picked on at school and was made fun of in front of his peers.

Once the nightly ceremony was complete, Connor made his way back to his dwelling, The Cave, as Robyn called it, place and quickly lay down on his warm unmade bed.

It bothered him that Robyn worked evenings at the local grocery store and would not be home until after midnight. He longed for the days where they would talk about anything that would come to mind.

He reached up, pushing the depressing thought of his sister out of his mind, and pulled the cover over his bare chest, turned off the light by reaching for the switch just above his head, and took off his glasses and placed them next to his clock.

With the moon rays being the only light in the room, Connor looked over at a poster of The Doors and said a mental “good-night” to the four band members – even though one has been asleep for over twenty years now.

Slowly, he let his heavy lids close over his eyes. “Come on, Tracy. Where are you?” he whispered in hopes of dreaming of his girlfriend Tracy Kingston.

In reality, Tracy and Connor were nowhere near girlfriend and boyfriend. All they really were just friends – nothing more and nothing less.

Connor on the other hand, had been trying to pick up what nerves he could find to ask her out on a date. He became an enormous bundle of nerves every time he thought of the idea – asking her out.

The thought of being nervous put Connor into another world.

A few moments later Connor's eyes sprang open. “I’ve got it,” he whispered excitedly and fell back into deep slumber.

His hopes of having pleasant dreams of Tracy were shattered by the soft hissing voice from within the darkness of his mind. The voice called out, “Connor, I need you. I can give you your fantasies – your every desire.”

“Who are you?” Connor called back into the darkness, he was almost positive that he never left his bedroom.

Connor was proven right when he could see once again. He stood just at the foot of his bed and there, standing in front of the doorway, was a tall cloaked figure. “Who are you?” Connor asked once again.

The figure chuckled beneath his brown hood – Connor could not see the figure’s face. “I need your assistance. In return I shall give you everything you desire,” the cloaked figure seemed to be staring at Connor.

“What is it you want?” Connor moved closer to the doorway – closer to the cloaked one.

“Tracy Amanda Kingston,” was all the cloaked one said and then vanished from existence, leaving Connor to ponder what had just happened to him.

Before he could ponder too much about this figure, he heard his alarm sound within the walls of his subconscious.

Another few moments later, Connor heard his alarm abruptly sound in his consciousness, waking him from a dream that he could not, for the life of him, remember.

He glanced at his clock; he knew it was seven-thirty-five. He always looked at it expecting it to read something different.

Damn, I didn’t get enough sleep, he thought. Then again, I feel great.

Perhaps the idea of being able to ask Tracy out without making him a nervous wreck rejuvenated his spirits.

He took off his sweatpants, holes in the legs and back, and slipped into his dark-blue khaki pants and then put on his blue standard short-sleeved shirt and tucked it in He really didn’t like having to wear the uniform, but at least everyone else had to wear the same clothes.

After slipping on his black shoes and his glasses, he walked out into the living room where he found the money his mother had left him for lunch on the couch. He grabbed it and put it into his front pocket and headed out the front door. 

His mother had already left for work an hour earlier and would not return home until five. Yet, another latchkey kid.

Once outside, he made sure the door was locked and then began walking up the sidewalk – keeping his head down.

A few short seconds later, he heard a loud clanking sound and turned his head in time to see the bus heading toward his stop.

Perfect timing, he thought with a grin as he picked up his pace into a trot and was, as usual, the last one on the bus.

Connor sat in the same seat, every day, for two years straight and since no one sat next to him, it gave him ample time to himself to think.

Now, all I have to do is give it to her. Hopefully, with any luck from God, she’ll call me tonight. But what if she doesn’t? What if she rejects me? Shit! 

With the horrifying thought of rejection still fresh on his mind, the bus stopped in front of the school and Connor exited the bus and entered St Williams High.

Standing at his locker several moments later, Terry Carlson brushed past Connor. “Get the fuck out of my way, Geek,” he grunted and walked away with a sneer and slammed Connor’s locker door shut as he walked by.

Already, Connor thought, he’s already begun his daily ritual. And it’s not even Pre-Algebra yet. 

After the irresistible urge to force a ruler down Terry’s throat just to see how far down his intestines were had passed, Connor sighed and reopened his locker and went back to his thoughts of Tracy Kingston.

As he passed over his Spanish textbook, he began thinking all about the things he and she held in common.

There was the main similarity in that they love horror movies. She plays softball for the school; although not very sports oriented, Connor knew a thing or two about softball. Above everything else, Tracy liked Connor. Or so he thought by the way they talked without end.

Not as a boyfriend. Just a friend.

Connor thought not of that. He wanted something else. A relationship, perhaps. Not the kind where they relied only on sex holding them together, but one where they could love one another.

Tracy wasn’t the most beautiful girl in school, but she was very far from the worst looking. In fact, she rates a ten on Connor’s scale.

“Did you know that they’re planning on making thirteen parts to the Friday series?” Tracy had asked and Connor smiled.

“Yeah, I know. I wrote that piece in the paper,” he replied.

“You wrote that?” she asked, in awe.

“I sure did.” Then, “But, I don’t know how they’re gonna do it. They don’t make that much money to begin with.” Connor explained.

Abruptly, the bell rang, awakening Connor from his memories.

The first part of the morning went by so fast that he was surprised when he entered his Study Hall room which, as usual, always goes its normal never-ending pace.

After writing a note to a friend in a notebook, he closed the cover and made sure that no teacher was looking in his general direction.

The notebook Connor had written the note was received by Dave Straub, a young boy sitting directly behind him.

Connor and Dave had been friends only since the middle of the school year, so they weren’t the closest of friends. They did, however, get along well and shared the same Study Hall.

Dave took the notebook, opened and read what was written.

Dave – I found out how I can tell T – rather ask her out. Here’s her letter. Connor

Dave read the note written to him and found another folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and began reading.

Tracy,

I was curious to know if you would like to go out with me this weekend. Call me tonight at 555-1590 and we’ll discuss it. Even if you have a game, I’d like it if you would call me. I know people like to play games this way, but this is no joke – I wouldn’t do that to you.

Connor

Smiling, Dave thought about what to write, and then put his pen to paper.

Connor – pretty cool. Give it to her and tell me what happens. Later

Once read by Connor, he folded Tracy’s letter and placed it into his book bag and placed his head down on his arms, which are now crossed on top of his desk. Although he looked it, he wasn’t fully asleep.

T was a symbol he and Dave used for Tracy’s name. It was used as protection for her just in case the notes being passed were intercepted by an authoritative figure and save her the embarrassment. 

Once the bell rang, he stood and draped his book bag over his right shoulder, he turned and faced Dave. “I’ve got three bells left,” he commented, as if it was the end of the entire world.

Grinning, “Don’t worry about it. ‘Sides, I got Christine to think about.” Dave explained.

For as long as he knew Dave, he knew that Dave was after Christine Kirkland. Connor knew, too, that he didn’t have a snowball's chance in hell of getting the twin sister of Anette Kirkland. Dave was not in any of her classes. Connor, on the other hand, was, so for good measure, Connor said he would find out if Christine had a boyfriend – and whatever else he could dish out.

“Thanks, Man. I’ll stay on the look-out for Christine for you.” Connor said as they walked out the double doors and headed downstairs and separated in different directions.

When the next class ended, the school was free to relax for lunch, but Connor never ate in the cafeteria; in fact, he rarely ever ate at all. He ventured out the front doors where the students were allowed to roam.

Standing six foot even, Rick Hopman vacated a small alcove near the side doors outside – waiting for his friend.

Connor found Rick several minutes later and Rick handed over a piece of gum as Connor took it and shoved it into his pocket.

“So, what do you want to do this weekend?” Rick asked as he pushed another piece of gum into his already protruding mouth.

“I don’t know. How about catching a movie?” Connor suggested after a shrug.

“Sounds good.” Rick replied, then, “Am I staying at your house, or are you at mine this time?” Rick asked while scanning the area for Monitors from Hell who thrived on catching people with chewing gum.

“I think I’m at yours this time.” 

After a pause, “Have you asked her out yet?” Rick asked, reminding Connor of the task which he has yet to do away with.

Connor and Rick had been best friends for three years and had presently been attending the same karate classes together every other weekend. Although Rick had been placed in all academic courses, they remained friends even though they didn’t share any courses. They had met in Home Room and had not spoken to one another on the first day of school. It wasn’t until several days later, when they both came to the startling revelation that they were both picked on, that they began talking and had bonded rather quickly.

Just as Connor was about to explain about the letter he had written and the rest of his plan, a Monitor from Hell walked over to them.

Rick quickly pushed the piece of gum over to one side of his mouth with his tongue – trying to conceal it as best he could.

“What’s the deal with your mouth, Richard?” asked Mr. Karns with a smirk from beneath his gray beard.

Rick, to begin with, hated it when anyone, including his own parents, called him Richard. Second, Rick had the impression that Karns was making fun of him, another thing which caused the adrenaline in his veins pumping – to the point of wanting to choke the living shit out of him, his face had turned red.

“Nuthin’,” Rick slurred, avoiding any eye contact.

“His mouth’s always like that. That’s just the way he talks,” Connor put in, attempting to cover Rick’s ass.

Pausing to look Rick up and down, he sighed. “Is that so?” Karns finally asked.

“Yes, Sir,” Rick slurred out, now looking up at Karns.

Another nerve-wrecking pause, then, “All right.” Karns replied in conclusion and walked away.

Once he was well out of hearing range, both Rick and Connor burst out in laughter.

“Man, that was a good one. Thanks. I owe you one.” Rick said with a smile.

“Hey, what are friends and stupid teachers for?” was Connor’s reply.

There was only one more class which he had to get through before meeting his destiny and when that time did come, he walked to the classroom with sweat forming on his forehead and a stomach that felt like it was going to explode.

Once he got to his Spanish classroom, he sat down, third row from the door, second seat back.

The Late Bell rang and Miss Sullivan entered. “Buenas tardes, clase,” she greeted with a smile.

“Buenas tardes, Miss Sullivan,” the entire room responded in unison.

Casually, Connor glanced in the next row, first seat. There sat Tracy Kingston, wearing a dark-green jumper-skirt – like every girl at the school. She had always sat sideways in her desk – practically facing Connor. He didn’t mind, though. He didn’t mind at all.

Connor had been surprised and bewildered when she never caught him staring at her. Her short sandy-blonde hair was always pulled back. She didn’t sit at her desk like a dainty or pristine girl, never had, but it was just fine with him.

The only obstacle that Connor could see standing in his way now was actually giving her the letter.

Sure, he knew that he could go on through the rest of the school year, one month and one week, in his own little fantasy world where he is King and she would proudly be his Queen, where in reality, he would never know her true feelings while they continued talking without end.

He had decided on giving her the letter after the class let out, and then leave.

Time goes quickly when you’re nervous.

  Five short minutes left, but to Connor, those short minutes were the most crucial of all.

Four…His nerves were, again, acting up.

Three…He thought his face was losing color of the flesh.

Two…Sweat began dripping under his shirt from his pits.

One…The Final Countdown.

As the deafening bell rang, everyone remained seated until Miss Sullivan looked up at her favorite class with a smile. “See you tomorrow,” she concluded and the entire room stood and quickly exited the room.

For some uncontrollable reason that was way beyond his comprehension, Connor let Tracy go without giving her the letter – which he held in his right hand.

Instead of nerves, Connor thought that it was actually sheer panic controlling his actions.

The rest of the afternoon, and well into the evening, Connor sat in a chair in the living room – staring into oblivion.

Robyn, sitting on the couch and catching up on the evening news, looked over at her brother who was staring into the television. She couldn’t help but to notice his strange (if any) behavior.

“Are you all right?” she inquired.

Connor shook his head and blinked. “What? Oh, yeah. I’m fine,” he replied.

“Whatcha thinking about?” she pressed further.

“Nothing, really,” he answered, stood up and walked into his bedroom where he closed the door and laid down on his bed and continued staring.

Connor had told Robyn that he wasn’t thinking about anything. The truth of the matter is that if one were to see inside his head, going past the pain caused by his classmates, they would find that he was actually thinking. Thinking of someone. And that someone lives and breathes by the name of Tracy Kingston.

He blinked and looked around his room. His first glance was that of his dresser. A large collection of CD’s were scattered helter skelter on the top. Directly centered was a ceramic skull with a skeleton hand holding it which lit up, although he had never plugged it in – he just liked the look of it.

His next glance was out the window near the foot of his bed. His window faced the front of the house, overlooking the street – which had long silenced of traffic.

He, then, looked at his shelf and next to his clock and found a book. He reached out and took it in his hands and opened it to the first page.

Am I going to Heaven or Hell? Probably neither. Until my past has been cleared of all charges my soul will forever perish in the coldness of Purgatory where the killer of dreams awaits me. 

Slowly, he closed the book and placed it back on his shelf and closed his eyes.

The second encounter with the Cloaked One answered more questions, yet left more unanswered. As before, he stood before the doorway with Connor standing at the foot of his bed.

  Connor moved quicker this time. “You want Tracy. Why?” he asked, fearing what might come from the ominous figure.

“Simply, she has something that I want. A book. Once I have my book, she shall be set free and you may have your way with her flesh as you so desire,” the Cloaked One answered and Connor closed his eyes and pictured Tracy in his mind.

The only images he could conger were those from his Spanish class. Even from these images, he could hear the satisfied sigh of the Cloaked One. “Yes, give her to me,” it replied and Connor opened his eyes and shut off any further images.

“Why do I feel like you’re not telling me the whole truth? Why do I get the feeling that you don’t care at all about her?” Connor had an evil image run through his mind. “You’re going to kill her aren’t you?”

“Only if she opposes me. If she hands over my book, I don’t see why she would have to perish.”

Connor shook his head in disbelief. “You lie,” he said and the Cloaked One advanced on Connor.

Once they were several inches apart, “You will give her to me,” hissed the foulness of the Cloaked One and then Connor heard his alarm erupt, waking him once again from another weird dream.

After the alarming dream, Connor awoke in a cold sweat and jack hammering heart. Fortunately for him, he could not remember his dreams (or, at least, the ones that scare him so badly).

He completed his morning ritual as he got ready for day two of the letter.

Walking out into the living room and picking up the dollar bill, he glanced down at his book bag. Lying on top was the folded letter with Tracy written neatly on the back. 

“Today’s the day,” he said to himself just before stepping out of his house and into the misty May air.

Up until Study Hall, the day went by so quickly that Connor had forgotten if he had any homework. Another two classes and it was on to Spanish class.

Once he got there, he saw Tracy wearing her bright yellow softball shirt with the number 12 printed on the back in blue.

Forty minutes into his fantasy world, Tracy, along with Christine and Anette Kirkland, stood up and said something inaudible to Miss Sullivan and then headed for the door.

Jesus Christ! Connor’s mind screamed as he watched every step Tracy made until she vanished out into the hall. 

“Just when I was about to give her the letter, she left early.” Connor explained to Robyn later that day.

Robyn was twenty years old. Considering the age difference between them, it seemed odd at how close they really were. Connor tells her everything, and in return, she tells him everything. “Get her tomorrow. Don’t let her go,” she smiled at her brother.

Just as soon as she had said this, there was a knock at the door and Connor stood to answer the call and was not surprised to see Rick, Dennis Carl, and Dave Straub standing there. “Game day,” Rick announced with a smile and Connor nodded and stepped to the side to let them enter his house.

“All right,” Connor announced as he sat cross-legged on the floor with Rick to his left and Dennis Carl to his right. Between those two sat Dave Straub with a confused expression on his young face.

They all looked down at the game board which lies on the floor in the middle. Towers and castles decorated the landscape of the game, highlighted with canyons and fires which represented hell. Cards were issued out to every player and a fresh deck had laid to the boards’ right side.

Connor glanced up and noticed Dave’s look and grinned. “You’ve never played Wizards and Gods?” he asked and Dave threw him an apologetic nod.

“No,” he acknowledged and then looked over at Dennis. “Den said you guys needed a fourth player so I said I’d come.”

Dennis looked over at Dave and smiled. “It’s an easy game once you get used to it. You’ll be okay,” he said and picked up his cards and studied them. He, then, showed Dave one of his cards, making sure that the other four were face-down on the floor. “That’s the Killer of Dreams card – worth ten points if you can destroy his powers before he kills you.”

Chills raced down Connor’s spine as he looked down at the horrid creature drawn on the Killer of Dreams card. He felt a terrible sense of déjà vu as he looked down at it. Inner demons he was fighting, but it didn’t look like anything he had ever seen in reality.

The game concluded and Dave was finally able to grasp the concept pretty well and had earned himself quite a few points along the way. Connor thought that he had a formidable opponent with Dave and he shared his feelings with Rick when everyone else left his room. “So, what d’ya think about Dave?” Connor asked as Rick placed his body down on Connor’s bed.

“He’s all right – has issues with the temptress though.” Rick replied and shoved the game under the bed. “But, all-in-all, I’d say he’s a good opponent – one that is well up to the battle.”

He stared at Rick for a minute and then smiled when he saw Rick’s lips curve slightly upward. “Jack-ass. Don’t use your advanced knowledge to make me think too hard,” he grinned, mocking him. “You’re the smart one around here, not me.”

Rick stood up and draped his arm over Connor’s shoulder. “Some day,” he began and looked at his friend. “Your brain may catch up to mine. But believe me, it’s more of a curse to have a higher educational mind for my age,” he explained with a smile.

“Shut up, Smart-ass.” Connor said and they burst into laughter as Connor walked Rick to the front door.

* * *

Spanish class came the next day and Connor looked up at the clock forty minutes later.

Five more minutes…just don’t leave this time, he thought. 

When the bell rang and Miss Sullivan concluded the class, everyone stood and headed for the door. Connor was just a short pace behind Tracy – he could smell her perfumed flesh.

“Hey, Tracy, I meant to give this to you earlier, but I forgot,” he said to her as he handed her the letter.

Stupid-ass. That line about forgetting made you look real smart.

He continued walking with her unintentionally, and noticed that she had already begun reading the letter – in his presence.

He sure as hell didn’t want her to read it in front of him; fearful of her facial expressions, if not for the answer, and it felt as if he had been punched in the gut. “Would you like to go out sometime?” he found himself asking.

“What?” she asked, not leaving the letter, and then glancing up at him. “Who? Me?” she asked, slightly confused.

Grinning, “Yeah, you,” were the final, face-to-face, words ever spoken from one to the other as people cut between them, separating them forever.

“We’ll talk about it later!” Connor yelled and then disappeared into the crowd of faceless students.

As he walked back to his locker, Connor almost burst into laughter. “Jesus…shit. You actually did it,” he whispered to himself.

Connor Barker had finally overcome his only big fear – asking a girl out on a date with him.

He felt nervous and excited during his walk home that day.

In the morning, he took the bus to school and on the way home, he walked the three-mile trek to his home. He enjoyed the walk and the spring air; it had a cleansing feeling to it. It also gave him ample time to himself to sort out his thoughts.

“Thanks, God,” he whispered to himself with a smile on his young face as he enjoyed what the Big Guy had to offer in terms of the weather.

Thinking, he did.

But not of her reply. He was hoping in his heart that she would say “yes” and complete his dreams. He just continued thinking and wishing and hoping all the way home.

Throughout most of the evening, he sat near the phone – expecting it to ring every second he waited. About five o’clock it did ring.

Pausing, Connor shoved all nervous feelings aside as best he could and picked up the phone with a sweaty palm.

“Hello?” he asked, listened, and then sighed. “She’s not here right now. Can I take a message? All right,” he concluded and then hung up the phone.

Throughout the remainder of the evening – and well into the night – it was that same exact scenario which repeated itself several times, which felt as if it may drive him insane. Then came nightfall and Connor went to sleep.

Connor walked home from another long day of school. In his hand, he held a folded piece of paper. Inside this paper was the answer to his ultimate dreams, actions, and overall being. Slowly, he opened it.

Connor,

I’m sorry I didn’t call last night, but my game didn’t get over until late last night and my boyfriend came over. I can’t go out with you this weekend, but thanks for asking me anyway.

Tracy

Connor paused, looking down at the paper; not re-reading it, just looking at it – the way she coiled the Y at the end of her name, and then gently folded the paper back the way he had received it.

He bent his head back facing the blue, cloudless sky and suddenly let out a loud roar of anger and disappointment and sorrow.

Connor awoke, again, in a cold sweat. He placed his wet hands over his equally wet face trying to shake the dream – this one he clearly remembered – away and let out a long sigh. “Just a dream,” he reassured himself.

Although he had never, before now, remembered his dreams, he had never had one such as this: So damned realistic.

He arose from bed and turned off his alarm. It wasn’t until then did he notice the ink in his right palm. It was a dried orange marker.

When the hell did I have an orange marker?

He explored his entire memory and finally came up with the most “logical” answer.

From the letter Tracy wrote to me.

“But, that’s impossible,” he whispered.

Just as he completed his morning ritual, it hit him – like a ton of bricks right between the eyes. He has yet to hear from Tracy. 

Ireally don’t want to do this, but, Connor thought, feeling his stomach churning, as he got ready for another nerve-wracking day of school.

The only upside to all this madness was that it was finally Friday – the beginning of the weekend. He would not have to wait to go out with Tracy, the girl of his future, his goddess of love and beauty.

Walking into the living room, he was slightly annoyed that his mother had forgotten to leave him any money for lunch. Once outside, he accidentally slammed the door too hard and it hit his knuckles hard enough to cause blood blisters.

And even on the bus, someone else was sitting in his seat, causing Connor to have to share a seat further in the back with a girl with spiked black-as-night hair and wore a necklace with an inverted pentagram for a charm. Connor sighed to himself and slightly shook his head. She’ll get kicked out before first bell, he thought.

It didn’t stop there.

While at school, walking through the congested halls, Connor felt as if everyone were looking at him as he walked past them; staring and gawking, he thought. As if they knew something he didn’t.

“Well, I gave her the letter,” Connor explained to Dave during Study Hall.

“Cool, Man. What’d she say?” asked Dave with a smile.

“Don’t know yet.” Connor replied with a shrug. “I’ll find out later, I guess.”

“Looks like you’ll have a date tonight.” Dave said, and then thought of something. “Have you checked on Christine yet?”

Grinning, “I have a feeling she’s already got herself a stud. You might wanna look elsewhere.”

“Hey, I ain’t giving up on her until I know for sure.” Dave concluded, hurt by Connor’s remark, and then sat down in his seat.

During Spanish class, Connor realized that it was “Cooking-in-class-Friday,” where a student would prepare a Spanish dish and let the others sample it.

When Connor entered, extremely nervous as he looked around, he was taken aback to find Tracy sitting in the far back of the room with her friend Pam.

Why would they sit back there, thought Connor. They both sit next to me.

Several minutes into the class and she still had not acknowledged his presence yet. She’s ignoring me.

Already feeling rejected, he let those thoughts exit his head. Besides, she may be just as nervous about all this as I am. Maybe that’s why she’s not talking to me.

After the very nerve-wracking class ended, Connor stood and headed for the door, walking as slow as he could without getting run over – to let Tracy catch up with him.

Instead of Tracy, Pam caught him and handed him a neatly folded piece of paper. “Tracy,” was all Pam needed to say.

“Thanks,” came his reply as she went back to where Tracy stood, gathering her books. He made sure to memorize every curve of her body and every fold of her clothes that day. And then he entered the crowded hallway full of students yearning for the weekend.

Connor didn’t bother opening it until he was well away from the school and all the torments it brought with it.

On his way home, he finally picked up enough nerve to open the letter.

Connor,

I’m sorry I didn’t call last night, but…

Connor began reading and quickly felt a cold chill race down the flesh of his neck and run down his spine. “Just like the dream last night,” he whispered out loud.

With that, Connor looked down at his hand. Orange ink from a marker.

That was when, staring at his hand, and thinking about the dream, Connor became light-headed and felt as if he would pass out.

Ten minutes later, Connor entered his house and noticed Robyn sitting on the couch, still wearing her uniform, watching her soap opera.

As he made his entrance, she looked up. “Well, Lover-Boy? How’d it go?” Robyn asked with a grin.

After a sigh, “There are a lot of fish in the sea. I just didn’t make the catch,” he answered as he placed his book bag down on the floor next to the chair.

Robyn had always known her brother to be very shy, and asking a girl out was a very large step toward the breaking point. “I’m sorry,” she replied with a sorrowful grin.

“Thanks,” he said. Connor knew that she was very sincere and felt bad for him. “It’s alright. Really, I’m fine,” he concluded with a reassuring smile and made his way to his room.

Within the next hour, Connor had a piece of paper laid out in front of him and was searching for the words that would decorate it.

Another hour later, Connor called Dave on the phone and in fifteen minutes, Dave met Connor in his room.

“Here, Man. I want you to give this to Tracy. I don’t care how you do it, but you must see to it that she gets this. Can you do this for me?” Connor explained as he handed Dave a piece of paper, sealed with melted wax.

After a pause, “I don’t know. What’s all this about?” Dave asked while looking down at the paper he now held in his right hand.

“I can’t tell you right now. But you’ll find out soon enough, though.” Connor answered, then took a deep breath and exhaled.

Dave had already guessed that Tracy dumped him, so he didn’t press for any further information. “All right,” he agreed, then, “She’ll get this,” he accepted the mission.

An hour later, Connor called Rick.

“Hey, Rick, you know how…there’s another world?”

“Yeah, Man. Why?”

“Well, then…I’ll be where the killer of dreams awaits.”

“What are you…” the phone went dead.

* * *

“You cannot have her,” Connor shouted when the Cloaked One entered his bedroom that night. He had had enough of whatever game the Cloaked One was playing – he just wanted his own dreams back.

The Cloaked One laughed beneath the hood. “We shall see about that. When I’m through with you, you’ll be begging to give her to me.” Connor watched as the Cloaked One reached up its arms toward him. Its arms were no more than skeletal arms, pieces of flesh dangling here and there.

Connor looked around his room for a weapon as the Cloaked One advanced on him. If I just had a gun, I’d blow the fucker’s head off. And that was when he felt something bulging out of his pocket. Reaching down, he pulled out a pistol from his pocket and he stared at it with slight confusion.

He didn’t have time to ponder the weapon too long; the Cloaked One was still advancing. Without aiming the pistol, Connor pulled the trigger and closed his eyes. A second later, he opened his eyes and saw that the Cloaked One stopped advancing and just stood there.

Both Connor and the Cloaked One stared at one another for some time before Connor’s nemesis spoke in an irate tone. “You do not know what you have done. By striking me first, you have continued the war which was at a stand-still for centuries,” it said and then chuckled. “I don’t know if I should thank you or not. Now, if you don’t mind, I will no longer need your assistance. My Dreamkillers and I can take over from here, thank you.”

And Connor’s eyes snapped open to the horrifying realization of what he had just done. Continuing a centuries-old war was not one way to ask a girl out on a date. That’s okay, thought Connor. She rejected me anyway.

Then his conscience got the better of him. She will need help now. If I’ve unleashed a horde of evil beings who want Tracy, I must help her.

* * *

Around ten the next morning, Dave walked to the ball field where he guessed Tracy would be practicing. Once he got there he looked around at the three different fields. He squinted his eyes and found his target in the middle field.

“Hey! You’re Tracy Kingston, right?” Dave yelled as he sprinted his way over to the girl, feeling odd at what he was doing and for whom he was doing it for.

“Yeah,” she replied, turning around. “Why?” She studied Dave up and down. “Do I know you?” Tracy asked – she recognized him from school but knew nothing about him.

“Well,” Dave began and sighed as he held out the paper. “This is from Connor,” he explained his unannounced appearance, ignoring the girl’s question, and handed over the paper.

She broke the seal and opened the paper and began reading. She read it to herself, but once reread, the words found sound.

Tracy,

I know that we can’t even try, but I still love you. We could’ve been happy together – you and I. Love awaited us, but you shut the awaiting door. I’ll miss you. I’ll probably won’t see you anymore, so…Good-bye and thank you for being a friend.

Connor James Barker

She read the complete letter, quietly, and began forming terrifying images within her head. “When did Connor give this to you?” Tracy had to ask.

“Yesterday.”

“Damnit,” she shouted. “I don’t like the sound of this letter. It’ll give him plenty of time to,” she hesitated. “To…Oh my God. No!” Tracy screamed, unaware of her showing emotions toward a person she had only rejected a day ago.

He caught on to where she was heading with the questions and formed a horrible image in his head that involved Connor killing himself. “Come on,” he said and ran toward the main sidewalk. She followed close behind and both were cursing their ages under their breath. One more year and they wouldn’t have to worry about running anywhere.

Once they reached the outside of Connor’s house, they heard a song called Fade to Black coming from Connor’s room, and Dave knew that everything was all wrong.

Time against them, they entered the house without knocking and sprinted through the living room, down the hallway to Connor’s room – where they found the door closed and locked.

“Connor, don’t do anything! Let us in! It’s Tracy,” she screamed, trying to get her voice heard over the music.

Mrs. Barker stormed out of her bedroom with a frightful expression on her confused face. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Tracy Kingston, Mrs. Barker. Connor’s fri…girlfriend,” she answered, hoping Connor would hear.

“I won’t let you kill Tracy – I will stop you,” Connor announced when he met up with the Cloaked One. He almost hated giving Tracy that letter – she may come and try to wake him up just when he was going to stop the creature.

The Cloaked One burst out in laughter. “You and who?” It shook its head and sighed. “You are in my way, Son,” It replied and shoved passed Connor and walked over to the door.

“No!” Connor screamed. He heard his friends screaming from the other side of reality. He must warn them not to step beyond this point of reality – they weren’t ready to face the things he has faced.

“I have nothing further to say to you,” they had heard. “Leave while you still can! Don’t step beyond the point of Eternity! You’re not ready yet! Turn back while you still have the chance,” they heard Connor yell, apparently addressing Tracy.

The Cloaked One turned around and faced Connor. It was now looking down the barrel of the same pistol it was shot with last night. It only grunted.

“No matter how many times,” Connor glared at the beast. “I will shoot you dead, I swear it,” he spat out as fire erupted in his hazel eyes.

A pause filled the room. “I like your spunk, Kid. I’ll make you a deal,” the Cloaked One began. “I’ll let her go if you’ll become one of us.” The sweet deal was dealt, it thought.

Connor stared, hypnotized into the beast's hood and felt numb as it lifted Connor’s trigger hand up to his own head. “Turn back while you still can!” he screamed, in hopes of reaching his friends.

Connor never felt the dry bony fingers wrap around his numb finger. He did not feel the push as it forced him to pull the trigger. Connor never felt the bullet scream into his mouth and up as it lodged itself in his brain.

“What the hell is going on around here?” Mrs. Barker asked, hysterics erupting in her soul.

Dave tried to knock the door in but failed the first time with just his shoulder. Picking up his strength and his right leg, he managed to have kicked the door off its hinges.

It crashed open and just as the door crashed against the wall, they saw Connor fall over the side of his well-made bed.

Blood splattered throughout his room, covering three walls and giving his Doors poster a new look. Not much of the room – or its contents – remained their natural colors. His face was blown apart beyond recognition; his bottom lip seemed to have been the only thing that survived the atrocity.

Just as they crashed through the door, Connor’s hand fell to the floor, revealing a small pistol – the nose was still hot and smoking.

After a short series of screams, Mrs. Barker ran from the room screaming and throwing curses at invisible people and Tracy fell, face first, into Dave’s chest as he placed his arms around the weeping young woman.

All he could do was to stare at his deformed lifeless friend.

Tracy Kingston half-sat, half-laid on her bed most of that Sunday. There, she continued weeping and damning herself while Connor’s final words were clenched between white-as-snow knuckles. “I’m sorry,” she repeated endlessly aloud.

Yesterday, following the horrifying sight of her dead admirer, Mrs. Barker called both the police and Tracy’s mother. Shortly thereafter, she collected her daughter and brought her home, Dave walked to his house in a silent daze, where Tracy has not left her bedroom since.

It had taken several days to arrange the funeral; Tracy still had not left her room all that much and did not bother going to school. Visitation for Connor’s closed-casket had been conducted on Tuesday. Mrs. Barker hadn’t the money for a large expensive funeral, otherwise she would have bought the best reconstructive surgeon to help her boy’s face so they could leave the coffin open.

Early that Wednesday morning, Tracy had decided to skip one more day of school. Instead, she put on her best black dress and attended the morbid funeral service to pay her respects.

The cemetery was located directly across the street from the school and Tracy had walked there – despite the light late-May rain.

Once there, she located Mrs. Barker and the other mourners and walked over in that direction. Scanning the crowd, she noticed Mrs. Barker and her ex-husband standing with their daughter Robyn, and other older relatives – heads bowed and listening to what the minister was saying.

She noticed Dave Straub standing behind Robyn. Standing next to him was another young man about their age. 

Feeling out of place, Tracy bent her head and said a silent prayer for her dead admirer.

She had little faith in any religion; she did not attend church – at least not in the past twelve years or so, and found it hard to believe that God had any reason to take this kind young man from the earth.

She felt her heart breaking and tears oozing from her eyes as she watched Connor Barker’s casket lower, forever, into the ground.

As the funeral ended, family members embracing family members, Tracy decided on walking over to Mrs. Barker.

Lowering her eyes, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Barker. I didn’t know…” she couldn’t find any further words to describe her anguish.

Mrs. Barker didn’t need her words to know how she felt and they embraced one another and that was when Tracy exploded into another series of tears.

* * *

That night in Tracy’s house, her mother had been busy mending a sock and Herb had been involved in an intense baseball game – he had a hundred dollars riding on this game.

Tracy’s mother and father had been divorced for a long time and she had remarried a deadbeat named Herb Jordan. Tracy and Herb rarely saw eye to eye on anything.

Although it was only eight that evening, Tracy had decided on going to bed and trying to get some sleep – the past week had been hell.

She walked over to her mother and gently kissed her cheek. “Night, Mom.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Good-night, Honey,” her mother replied as she looked up and smiled.

Once she was well on her way up the stairs, she turned back around. “Night, Herb.”

Herb’s only response was by lifting his hand, not his eyes, in a small, if that, wave of ‘good-night.’

Well, now, that was easier than I thought. She sighed under her breath and headed up the remaining five steps. 

When she got to her room she instantly closed her door behind her and turned off the light. As she sat down on her bed, a loud squeaking noise exploded from somewhere inside the room.

Tracy quickly jumped up off her bed, looked down, and practically burst out in laughter. There, she found her old squeaking clown doll that her father had won for her at a carnival when she was eight years old. She reached down and grabbed the doll and lay down once again, this time next to the doll, and closed her eyes.

Not ten minutes passed and her eyes sprang open due to another peculiar sound within the dark room. A strange dripping noise which came from inside the darkness of her room.

Damn, don’t tell me we’ve sprung a leak in the roof. She slowly reached up and turned on her lamp. Without moving from her bed, she scanned the area and came up blank.

Herb had fixed the roof last summer – and it isn’t even raining outside.

That was when she moved onto her bare knees and slithered over to the foot of the bed and looked down onto the floor.

She was taken aback when she found the last letter that Connor Barker had written, on the floor and opened – and not on her dresser where she thought she had left it the other day.

And when she found out what was making the dripping noises, Tracy had become frightened.

On the paper, red blotches were appearing out of nowhere.

Even if Herb had screwed up the roof, there was no way in hell it would be raining red – besides it’s not even raining damnit!

When she heard the dripping noise, another blotch of red appeared on the paper.

Slowly, Tracy moved her hand toward the letter and with her middle finger, she touched one of the blotches; it was warm and wet. When she brought her finger to her nose, she discovered that it had no real distinctive odor. But, when she brought it to her lips, however, she discovered a salty flavor; she had the feeling of cutting the inside of her mouth and tasting – Blood, she thought.

Blood…Blood! Her mind screamed as panic erupted.

Tracy abruptly awoke as sweat drenched her face, neck, and chest. Her hair clung to her forehead and neck. All was still and quiet except for her jack hammering heart.

When she regained some control over her nerves, and was able to move her joints, Tracy stood up and made her way over to her dresser and found Connor’s Dead Letter, which still remained closed.

She opened it, found the dried red blotches, and Tracy passed out – hitting the floor with a hard thud.

Meanwhile, Herb and Leslie were still downstairs and had been arguing. Herb, obviously drunk after his seventh beer, pointed at his wife. “She’s your daughter, Les. All she is to me is a nuisance – another mouth to feed. She’s a bitch…just like her mother, the ugly good-fer-nothin slut!” he slurred loudly.

Leslie on the verge of tears, barely winning back the flow, protested. “You’re drunk, Herb. And yes, she is my daughter.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “I wish I had never left Paul for you.”

Herb had heard enough and brought his fist to the right side of her face, knocking her to the floor in the process and cutting her sleeve on the coffee table.

Shortly thereafter, they heard a loud crash coming from Tracy’s room.

“What the Sam Hell was that?” Herb asked, accusingly, as he looked at Leslie.

The pain had left her right cheek. “I don’t know,” she answered and sprinted up the stairs to Tracy’s room.

When they opened the door, they saw Tracy, unconscious, lying on the floor with the letter clenched tightly in her hand.

“...Racy…Tracy?”

Tracy’s eyes opened revealing wet sockets and she first looked at her mother. Then she looked down and realized that she was now back in her warm bed. She began looking around her body. “Where is it?” she asked, hysterically.

“I threw that damned thing away. It’s probably why you fainted.” Herb explained after a sigh as the strong scent of beer rolled out of his mouth.

 “Are you all right?” asked Leslie.

Tracy paused for a moment, making sure that nothing had broken when she hit the floor, then, “Yeah, Mom. I’m fine,” she finally answered.

“Good. Well,” Leslie began with a smile, “Good-night,” she concluded and kissed her daughter on her wet forehead and they left her alone.

Alone…all alone, Tracy thought. She never liked the feeling of being alone. That was her fear – her dread.

Tracy grabbed her clown doll and clenched it, tightly, to her chest – hoping that it would bring a good night’s sleep.

* * *

Tracy had not gotten any further sleep that night. Perhaps it was for the best that Herb had thrown away that letter. Idiot, it’s all in your fucked-up head, she thought that morning while getting ready for school.

She got ready for school as she always did – quietly – and then walked downstairs and quickly exited the house before Herb woke with his usual hangover.

She tried to see little of her step-father. The less, the better. Ever since Herb and her mother married, two years ago, he had been drinking and gambling all of their hard-earned money away.

When Tracy arrived at school that early morning, she went directly to her locker without conversing with any of her so-called friends. She knew how cold they would be about such a sore subject as suicide, and since this was her first day back, she knew that it only fanned the flames for other people who couldn’t stop talking about it.

After turning her combination, she opened the door and grabbed the first two books that she would need today and before she closed the door, something caught her eye.

  A letter was attached to the inside of her door by the magnetic mirror hanging inside the locker. At first, she thought that Pam had written her a letter of apology, but when she pulled it down and opened it, saw the paper, she passed out once again.

Tracy came to some three hours later and when she opened her eyes, she scanned the room and realized that she was lying on the green sofa in the off-white office belonging to the school nurse.

Tracy had been awake for about two minutes before Sister Catherine entered the room with a sympathetic smile on her face.

“How’d I get here?” Tracy asked, lifting her head off the pillow, finding her head still swimming and laying it back down again.

“You passed out right before Home Room. Do you remember what might have triggered this spell? No breakfast, maybe?” inquired Sister Catherine.

“No, sorry.” Tracy answered with a grim smile.

She hesitated before saying any further, then, “I understand that one of your friends just passed away last weekend. When you were found, you were holding this,” Sister Catherine replied and handed Tracy the letter.

At least now Tracy had discovered what was causing these things to happen to her. The red letter from her admirer, Connor Barker, now deceased.

“Suicide? That’s what I heard.” Sister Catherine continued.

Feeling light-headed and uneasy about talking about this subject, “I guess that’s what it was,” she replied, then, “Look, I don’t feel too good. Can I go home?”

“Sure, Honey. Go home and get you some good sleep. Tomorrow I’ll sign you up so we can talk about all of this. Your life has changed now and you need guidance; your prophecy is unfolding,” Sister Catherine said behind a hopeful smile.

Sleep? Tracy thought sarcastically, without really catching anything else the weird nun had said. And why would she want to talk with me? Like, I know my life’s changed – I saw my friend blow his brains out. “Thanks,” was all she said and then exited the building.

Sister Catherine looked after Tracy and knew that everything was in motion now. She would have to resign her position at the school and return to Ireland and inform the Sisterhood that the prophecies are about to take place. 

* * *

When Tracy got home later, she opened the front door, walked up the stairs, and immediately entered her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Back facing the full-length mirror hanging on the door, Tracy sighed and turned around – looking at her reflection. She reached up and rubbed her fingers through her hair and pulled out her hair clips. Letting her hair down, it was only an inch different than up. She rubbed her fingers through it once again.

No matter how much will power she had, she couldn’t stop thinking about Connor’s Dead Letter and the sight of his bloodied body dangling lifelessly over the side of his bed.

Looking harder at her tear-stained face, she noticed that she had become pale and decided on moving over to her bed.

Without taking off her shoes, she crawled on top of her bed and closed her eyes. Ironically, it felt good.

Damn, I’m more tired than I thought.

With her feet, she managed to have removed her shoes and placed her bare feet up on the bed.

An odd scene entered her sub-unconscious mind, the place right before dreams come to the person. Tracy saw a tall castle and several nuns who were standing around someone she could not see yet. Tracy walked over to them and then peered over their shoulders and saw a tall naked man. He had turned his unblemished body to look at the three nuns and that was when Tracy saw the long scars going down his back – beginning just under the shoulders on either side. She heard the nuns chanting the word “Ilias.” 

And then her unconscious mind took control and Tracy found herself going to the movie theater that Friday evening. It was very unusual for Tracy because she seldom went to the movies; she would always rent films with Pam and watch them over at Pam’s house.

She felt a warm hand holding hers and she smiled as she looked over to her right. “Which one are we seeing?” she asked.

“Whatever you want to see.” Connor Barker answered as he returned the young woman’s smile.

What seemed two minutes later, they exited the theater, hand-in-hand. While walking toward the parking lot, Connor moved closer to Tracy. “May…may I kiss you?” he asked politely and sincerely.

“Yes.”

At that, Connor Barker and Tracy Kingston touched lips, passionately kissing, tongues dancing some old obscene art, tickling the other, with their eyes closed. A kaleidoscope of colors and images raced through Tracy’s mind as her heart pounded harder and faster.

“Tracy Kingston, you wake up this instant!”

Tracy’s eyes sprang open. She saw that her mother had been standing over her, staring down at her with a grin on her face.

“Must’ve been some dream – judging by your face. It was a guy, wasn’t it?” her mother teased.

Tracy had become a beautiful shade of pink as embarrassment took her away on a different plane.

“Anyway, supper on the table,” she explained and headed for the door, then, “Hurry up ‘fore it gets cold.” Leslie concluded and exited Tracy’s room.

An hour later, they were watching the news at six o’clock. “Next up, the tragic incidences of teen suicide, and how parents can help prevent it,” announced the newscaster.

“I’m pretty tired. I think I’m going to bed.” Tracy said while standing up and abrogating the newscast.

She said her good-nights to everyone and went upstairs and closed her door behind her.

Herb sighed and turned to face his wife. “She must’ve been really shaken up about that kid’s suicide, or whatever the hell they’re calling it now,” he replied.

“What do you expect? He died of a broken heart.” Leslie defended her daughter.

“So? A lot of people die of broken hearts. Every day for that matter,” he explained then took another sip of his beer and let out a small belch.

Leslie shook her head in disgust and sighed.

The judge looked over at the jury, then to the paper in his hand. “Is this your unanimous verdict?”

“It is, Your Honor,” answered juror Number One.

“Very well. What say you?”

“We find the defendant, Tracy Amanda Kingston, guilty in the first degree of the murder of Connor James Barker.”

At that, Tracy fell back into her chair, legs giving out on her as they became putty. “No,” she whispered to herself. “I’m sorry.”

“Stand and behold your punishment,” ordered the judge and Tracy forced herself to stand once again. “At one-thirty tomorrow morning, you are to be executed by lethal injection. Do you, Tracy Amanda Kingston, have any final words before the jury and the court?”

“Wait!”

Everyone turned and faced a black-suited young man who waltzed his way down the aisle.

“She’s not guilty, Your Honor,” explained Connor Barker as he formed a mischievous smile on his face. He approached the judge’s desk. “As you can see, Your Honor,” and then he turned to face the court. “If I am here before you, surely this beautiful young woman did not murder me.”

Tracy smiled as he winked at her from where he stood. 

The judge looked down, and then slammed his gavel down. “We must recess for twenty-four hours and figure this all out.”

Tracy ran over to Connor and just as they were several inches apart…

…her alarm went off.

* * *

Tracy got ready for another hectic day of school and exited her house that Wednesday morning.

When she entered her school, Tracy was approached by several of her friends. It was Pam who spoke first. “Tracy, we’re glad you’re back.”

Tracy began to think that everything was back to normal once again.

“Can you believe it? He asks you out and then kills himself when you told him you had a boyfriend.” Pam commented in awe.

Shaking her head, “I don’t know how you even got me to tell him I had a boyfriend.” Tracy replied behind hatred.

“Come on, Trace. It’s better to have no boyfriend than to have gone out with him.” Pam continued.

“He wasn’t really like you said he was. He was nice.” Tracy countered, still unable to get his name from her lips.

“You’re absolutely right. He was worse. And now, he's stiff.” Pam replied with a smirk.

Tracy frowned in disbelief. “You’re such a bitch. You know that? A bitch,” she said and left their company.

Perhaps Connor would have liked it better for Tracy to have stood up for him while he was still alive. Nevertheless, wherever he is, she’s sure he is happier.

During lunch, more people were still talking about Connor’s suicide and how “dumb” and “nerdy” he was. And from her first encounter with Pam, whenever she heard bad things being said about him, Tracy always stood up for the deceased’s pride.

Passing the table that seated the football players and their girlfriends, “Can you imagine? A dick committing suicide? That’s only for the cool people, like Jim Morrison.” Darick Turnback had replied and received laughter.

“He was not a dick! He was a…a,” Tracy cut in and was cut off by another one of her friends.

“Don’t do it, Trace. You’re lowering yourself to his level,” she warned. 

“Connor was nice – a good-hearted person.” Tracy said, finally able to get his name from her lips. “That’s a helluva lot more than I can say about all you guys,” she shouted and then stormed out of the cafeteria. 

It seemed as if a room appeared out of nowhere. Cold stone walls with no windows. Two doors and a large blackened fireplace were the only things to decorate the walls. An ancient wooden chair sat next to the mouth of the fireplace. A stone altar had been placed in the center of the room.

As if he were coaxed into the room, he opened a door and walked into it and stood with his back to the door. He looked around – his eyes first went over to the other door which was closed and probably went outside – and was surprised that whatever force was coaxing him, had chosen to lead him to some dingy room in a castle.

He walked over to the fireplace and looked into it with the slightest of interest. But when he pulled his head back, he noticed several long metal spikes leaning up against the inside wall. He reached in and grabbed one, the sting of the cold metal almost caused him to drop it, but he pulled it to him, and brought his head out of the soot-encrusted fireplace.

And when he turned back around to investigate the spike, it fell from his hands when he saw that he was no longer alone.

Two figures stood, side by side, near the same door he had just entered. One figure he recognized as the Cloaked One but the other he had never seen before. And it was this one he stared at in repulsion.

Most of what he saw was shadow-like. It stood slightly higher than him and its general appearance made the shadow look human, but he knew that it was not even close to being human. “What’s that?” He looked over at the Cloaked One.

“In time. But first, do you recall your name?” replied the hooded beast with a soft voice.

“Connor. Connor Barker. But,”

The Cloaked One moved closer to Connor. “There are no ‘buts’ here, Boy. This is where it all began and it is where it will end.”

Connor realized now that he had not survived the last encounter they had together. The bullet must have killed him.

Mom, I am so sorry.

Connor accepted the fact that he was dead and now he didn’t know what to expect from the Cloaked One. There was still more to be done with his soul and Connor sure as hell didn’t want it corrupted. He made a move toward the door – at this point he had never thought of going through the closed door – and once the shadow made notice of the move, it slid in front of the door, blocking any further advances.

“You see, my dear boy, Miss Kingston has a book I need; a very valuable book worth killing for. It holds the key to the Forbidden Realms and I will stop at nothing to get it.” 

At that, the shadow beast lunged toward Connor and then disappeared. Connor had backed away, trying to avoid the collision, but the shadow fell into him – as if he absorbed the shadow. Or did the shadow absorb Connor?

Tracy lay in bed, sleeping. She had been violently thrashing her head from side to side. Her face was drenched with sweat and her hair clung to her face and neck. “No,” she murmured in her sleep…

…She took out a piece of paper from her Spanish notebook and an orange marker; it was the only thing that she could find to write with. “Connor, I’m sorry…” she wrote, finished the letter, and folded it with a sigh…

…Still shaking her head, “Don’t,” Tracy mumbled, eyes tightly closed…

…She handed the letter to Pam. “Give this to Connor,” she said.

With a smile, Pam took it and when the bell rang and Miss Sullivan concluded the class, she walked up to Connor, barely catching him before he entered the crowded hall. “Tracy,” she said and handed him the letter.

“Thanks,” was his only response…

…”No! Don’t read it!” Tracy screamed when her eyes snapped open, her heart hammering away in her chest. She buried her wet face in her palms.

After a moment, she lifted her head; she couldn’t stop shaking. She stood up and walked into the bathroom, quietly; her mother’s bedroom was just two doors away.

She turned on the light, closed the door and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was, or seemed to be, so pallid she could barely see herself. Mixed thoughts and conflicting emotions entered her mind as she opened the medicine cabinet door; thoughts of hatred toward Pam, Connor’s undying love for her, and the glistening razor blade she found on the second shelf which seemed to be yelling “Taste me! Let thee flesh touch thy steel!”

Pushing away these thoughts, she found a bottle of “Sleep-Away,” grabbed it and swallowed two pills.

When she put the bottle back and closed the door, she again looked into the mirror. This time she was not alone.

It was Connor! Half of his face was normal, just as she had seen it the day before he died, and the other half was rotten flesh, deteriorating, and swarming full of hungry maggots. He raised his right hand out to her. On it there was no flesh – all sticky bones.

He reached out for her and his skeletal hand fell upon her left hand. What an odd feeling – cold, sticky bone touches the warmth of her flesh. “Tracy…help me,” he pleaded.

Just as he spoke the final word, a handful of maggots fell from his mouth, followed closely behind by his tongue. They flopped onto the white-tiled floor.

It was the loud scream that abruptly awoke Leslie from her dreams.

She sat up, looked around, and woke Herb and they sprinted to the bathroom. “What? What’s wrong?” asked Leslie, panic-stricken.

“He…he was here! Connor! He was here…I saw him!” Tracy screamed in hysterics.

Herb shook his head impatiently. “Now, I want you back in bed…this instant, Missy. It’s past three in the morning for Christ’s sake. And I don’t want any more talk of this Connor shit. He’s dead. Get that through your thick skull,” he exclaimed.

As Leslie ushered her weeping daughter back to her room, Herb closed the door and completed emptying his bladder. After he flushed the toilet and began to turn out the light, an object caught his eye – an insect crawling toward the sink. Dropping his bare foot over it, “Damn maggots,” he whispered and then turned off the light.

Thursday and Friday had passed and Tracy was successful at not falling asleep. Thank God, she thought that Saturday morning. Now all she had to do was get through the weekend.

She had sat in bed the entire night reading all the books she could find about death and the possibility of a haunting resurrection.

He said he needed help. What kind of? she asked herself that morning. And even if I knew what it was, could I help him?

She looked up at her clock which read nine o’clock and she went over to the phone book and looked up ‘Straub.’ She found the one she was looking for – Connor’s friend, Dave Straub. She dialed the number and waited.

“Is Dave there? Oh. This is Tracy Kingston. I need to talk to you. It’s important – about Connor. All right. I’ll see you there.” Tracy talked quickly and agreed to a meeting which may change her entire existence.

Tracy got dressed and left her house shortly thereafter, walked several blocks, and walked up the stone steps of the library. Twenty minutes passed and she finally saw Dave walking toward her – he seemed to have been in a hurry.

“You’re late,” she greeted with a grin as he passed her.

They walked toward the back of the library, totally secluded from other young people studying for exams.

An hour later, they had between ten and fifteen books open in front of them and Dave thought of something and turned to face the reading young woman. “Did you catch that new thriller yet?”

“No. Why?” Tracy paused and became confused. “What does a movie have to do with what I’m going through?”

“In it, a man is captured. Now, everyone thinks he’s dead ‘cause no one can find him, right? Well, he wasn’t dead. He was being held captive by an unknown force. Something so powerful that no one could penetrate it.” Dave explained.

Tracy shook her head when he stopped. “So,”

He sighed. Is there no brain in her head? He thought. “So, don’t you see? Connor may not be dead. Rather, captured,” he explained.

“By a mystical force? I doubt it,” she grinned, mockingly.

“Wait a second! You’re the one who said you saw him in your bathroom asking for help – not me. If he is dead, then he’s trying to escape death. If he’s being held captive by some unknown force to us, he wants to escape them.”

Tracy slammed the book she was reading closed. “Look, I did see him and yes, he did say he needed help. And yes, I would do anything to help him. But how?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” he sighed. “Look, I wasn’t in his family, nor was I his best friend. I…just…don’t know,” he replied. “Do you want to know what I’m going through? I have to face the fact that I could have stopped all of this before it happened. If I’d’ve read the damned letter when I got it, he might still be alive.” Dave concluded as tears escaped his eyes.

Tracy hesitated, then frustration overtook her actions and she stood up and stormed out of the library – leaving people wondering as they watched her and then Dave made a scene by making a hasty exit.

Dave caught up with her and struggled to get her to stop. By this time, tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“Running your heart out isn’t going to bring him back,” he began, but she tried to get free from his arms. “Listen, what I said back there might have sounded like a load of bullshit, but it’s true. If he’s not dead, then we better try like hell to bring him back,” he continued. “One thing’s for sure: Something evil has come to town. Follow me,” he concluded and then walked further up the street.

They got to Connor’s house and Mrs. Barker came to the door and let them in. “It’s always good to see his friends.”

They went to Connor’s room and Dave saw boxes being filled with items. Dave looked around and saw some books and began looking through one.

“He was writing books,” Mrs. Barker replied, her heart breaking as she grinned behind sorrowful eyes.

One of the other books caught Dave’s eye – The Reality of Death and Purgatory. He began thumbing through the pages and thought for a moment, then turned to Mrs. Barker. “Could I borrow this?” he asked politely.

“If you want to. I’ve not been too fond of death these days,” she answered with another grim smile.

After they left the Barker house, “What do you want with that?” Tracy asked while gesturing the book Dave held.

“Research. What else?” came his answer as he avoided her eyes.

Later that evening, Dave finished reading the very unusual – yet horrifying – book about death and Purgatory. He closed the book, rubbed the stubble on his chin, and then grinned. “Well, shit,” he whispered.

He found Tracy’s number and called her. “Hey, Trace, it's me. I’ve got good news and bad news about all this crap,” he began.

“What? Tell me.”

“The good news is that he may very well be alive, but in another realm. If you say he needs help, then he’s being held against his will.”

“You mentioned that before. Held. But, by what?”

“Only he knows that. The book doesn’t go that much into detail. A lot of it deals with our soul in Purgatory and how it should be cleansed there. The bad news is that I cannot help, let alone stop it. Only his closest friends can help him.”

“I barely even knew him. We were only in Spanish class together.”

“Well, he contacted you. From the inside to the outside. He gets too close to the door, but someone – or thing – pulls him back. There’s gotta be someone else – a closer friend.” Dave paused. “I’ll call you back later,” he concluded and then hung up the phone.

The dungeon room remained silent. Connor sat impatiently in the only chair staring at the figure of the Cloaked One as he stood in front of the open door. There were many questions which were running through his mind. He wanted to know about the centuries old war that the Cloaked One had mentioned. He wanted to know what the Cloaked One’s name really was. But at this precise moment, he wanted to know where the hell he was.

As if reading his thoughts, “You are in a place very dear to me. I brought you to my home so that I could persuade you that my mission is honorable.”

Connor stood up quickly. “Honorable?” he repeated behind sarcasm. “Is there honor in killing innocent people?”

“If it allows me to get what I want, yes.” 

“And where the hell did that shadow thing go? I didn’t see him go out the closed door.”

The Cloaked One burst out laughing, which worried Connor.

He felt a tickle emerge from within his body and he laid one hand on his chest and stopped as a sudden awful revelation came to him. The shadow thing was indeed inside him. 

Dave and Tracy had paid a second visit to Mrs. Barker the next day as they sat on the couch while Mrs. Barker took the recliner next to the arm of the couch, closest to Tracy.

“Mrs. Barker, did Connor have any closer friends?” asked Tracy, cutting any small talk as she leaned forward.

Smiling at the memories, “Yes. Rick Hopman,” she said, then as an afterthought, “In fact, you just missed him about thirty minutes ago – he was just here.”

“Mrs. Barker, we’re going to have to talk to him – it’s very urgent. Seems that one of his teachers wanted information that only a real close friend could supply.” Tracy explained as she lied to throw off any suspicion.

After what seemed to have been a short eternity, Mrs. Barker sighed. “I don’t know what this is all about, but,” she began and took out a piece of paper from the bookshelf next to her, and a pen and scribbled down a phone number.

Once complete, she handed it to Tracy. “Just out of curiosity,” she said – both she and Tracy were holding opposite ends of the paper, “Why couldn’t this teacher just call me and ask for it?”

“She just didn’t want to upset you any further. She just assumed that one of us would have a phone number.” Tracy lied with a light smile.

Standing, “Thank you, Mrs. Barker. You may have just saved a life.” Dave concluded as they headed for the door and left Mrs. Barker in a state of confusion.

* * *

They arrived in Tracy’s bedroom shortly thereafter and she headed for the phone and quickly dialed the number Mrs. Barker had given her and she listened to the ringing.

Dave didn’t have too much time to take a look around the room; this was, after all, the first time he was in a girl’s bedroom. The walls were a light blue. Several posters were hanging on the walls – primarily dealing with sports advertisements. Other than the obvious clutter, the room was your typical fifteen year old girls’.

On the fifth ring, a tired voice picked up the line. “Hello?” she heard.

“Hi. Is this Rick Hopman?” she asked.

“Well, if I’m not, then I’ve screwed up on a hundred applications,” he chuckled.

“Very cute.” Tracy replied, smiled, and burst into laughter.

Dave, oblivious to the conversation, smiled just the same. “What?” he asked.

It felt too good to laugh. It’s been a while since I’ve laughed – ever since,

Then she remembered why she had called Rick in the first place. “That was funny, but the reason I’m calling you may not seem as funny. I’m Tracy Kingston,” she began.

Cutting her off, “Connor was in love with you. He died because of you.” Rick commented in a hatred tone.

“Listen, Connor may not be dead,” she exclaimed as fire erupted in her soul.

“Lady, you’re sicker than everyone up at Lungland Psych Hospital,” he said and slammed down the phone.

She held the receiver a moment after he hung up and Dave looked down at her, confused. “Well, what’d he say?”

“He hung up,” was all she said as a tear rolled down her cheek. “There’s no one to help now,” she whispered quietly as all hope fled her soul.

Dave didn’t know how to act in a situation such as this, a damsel in distress, so he did what he thought would help. He put his hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. “It’ll be alright,” he whispered soothingly.

She didn’t know why, but she felt that he really meant it. She felt that he really did care for her and what happened to her. She stood up and embraced him.

They held each other for a few minutes, she was still weeping. She looked up at him and he wiped her eyes dry and they stared at one another for a few moments, and then they inched closer to the other.

And then they kissed.

They had been passionately kissing with Tracy’s back up against the door. With her right hand, she managed to lock the door.

They parted, still staring into each other’s eyes which had said the same thing: that they wanted the other. She reached up and unbuttoned the top button of her white blouse. Then she moved down to the second. Then the third.

Dave couldn’t remove his eyes. All he could do was stare.

Just as she was about to peel off her blouse, completely unbuttoned, revealing her pale breasts, Dave shook his head with thoughts of Christine Kirkland in his mind, and placed his firm hands on her bare shoulders.

“No. We shouldn’t do this. It’s not right. It’s not that I don’t want to – I’ve got a hard-on the size of California – but you…me…and Connor. Sorry, Trace. Maybe some other time. When this is all over, maybe we could go out, get to know each other, and then possibly it’ll come to this.” Dave explained with no hint of hatred, sorrow, or regret in his tone, and then unlocked the door and exited her house.

Once he was at his house, Dave couldn’t take it any longer. Remembering why Connor killed himself, he had to take the chance. He walked over to the phone book and found a number he had been yearning to use. He dialed the number and waited.

A couple seconds later, an angelic voice answered his call with a simple, “Hello?” replied the Siren.

“Yes, could I have the pleasure of speaking with Christine Kirkland, please?” he requested.

“This is her. Who is this?” she said with a smile.

“My name would be of no importance to you. My name is Dave Straub. I’ve got to ask you something,” he paused and picked up his nerve. “Even though we don’t share any classes together, and you probably don’t even know I exist, I was curious to know if you’d like to take a chance and go out on a date with me, maybe a movie and dinner?” he suggested, not believing that he was having this conversation.

“Well, actually,” she began, blushing, “I do know who you are. I’ve seen you around school. You know Stephanie Johnson. Well, she told me a little about you, too,” she paused, then, “Yes, I’d like to take the chance,” she concluded.

A shocked expression fell over Dave’s face. “Uh, excuse me; I think my heart just skipped a beat. You said ‘yes’,” he inquired.

“Yes, I’d love to,” she laughed.

“Well, okay then,” he smiled, still not able to understand how she said yes.

Tracy felt that she should get some sleep, instead of moping over Dave’s rejection. After all, wasn’t it a rejection that got her into this mess? She changed her clothes and went to sleep. It only took her ten minutes to fall fast asleep.

Tracy felt herself fall. Fall without a base to plant her feet onto. Strangely enough, she did find ground several minutes later. It was very familiar ground.

She stared at the front door with the beautiful spring scenery behind her, and then opened it after a while and walked through the hallway – which seemed endless – and reached Connor’s room.

His door was closed as it would always be. She noticed that along all sides of the door, a bright light shone through. She slowly placed one sweaty palm around the doorknob and hesitated as she recalled someone saying something to her.

Don’t step beyond the point of Eternity. You’re not ready yet. Turn back while you still have the chance.

Perhaps this is Eternity’s door. Perhaps I shouldn’t open it. But, what if Connor’s behind the door? What if I could save him?

She straightened her back and lifted her head, with what dignity she had left, and took a deep breath. She had, at that moment, decided that she was ready – ready to step beyond the point of Eternity.

She turned the knob and opened Eternity’s door. And there she saw him.

“Dave!” Tracy shouted, running up to the confused young man, as she embraced him – tightly.

Dave looked around, a very confused expression on his face, as he embraced her in return.

“What’re you doing here?” asked Tracy when they parted.

“I don’t really know. Last thing I remember, I was walking in some fun house in an amusement park, and wound up here,” he answered.

With the exception of the tight embrace, before Tracy could further express how happy she was to see him, a loud clanking sound erupted and they looked up at the ceiling. It began chipping in numerous areas and suddenly, a large metal spike shot down – almost striking Dave in the head.

“Jesus Christ!” he shouted and ducked his head out of its way just in time.

“Damnit!” Tracy screamed as another spike shot down at them.

In less than a minute, the entire room was covered with metallic spikes which seemed to have dangled from an invisible ceiling. Dust and debris fell from the spikes as well.

Painfully looking around – the dust stung their already wet eyes – Tracy spotted the door which remained open. “Let’s go!” she coughed.

They sprinted for the door and just as they reached it, a figure blocked their exit. “Connor!” Tracy yelled.

“You stepped beyond Eternity,” Connor began with a disappointed expression. “I warned you. From this point on, I cannot take responsibility for my actions – however grotesque they may appear to your eyes. You should have stayed away. For the fate of the future, you should have stayed away,” he explained with a sigh and then looked over at Dave, who appeared to have been confused to be looking at his dead friend. “Howdy, David. Remember me? Your ol’ pal, Connor?” he asked behind sarcasm.

Before Dave could say anything, Connor picked up his right hand and turned it into a tight fist and then struck Dave in the face with it.

Dave fell a few feet backward, his eye bleeding profusely.

Tracy turned back to Connor. “What do you mean? What did I do?” she asked, almost pleadingly.

Smiling, “It really doesn’t matter, now does it?” Connor responded.

Something happened to Connor in that instant that he had not expected. He felt a sharp pain shooting throughout his body and he doubled over and gagged. His face told the story of excruciating pain as he began weeping like a child.

“Tracy…help…me!” he screamed and reached out for her with his right hand, only to bring it back and up to his face.

He spread his fingers to their maximum width. Then, between each finger, a new limb grew through his flesh. He began to grow new fingers, yet they were grayish-green and dripping with pus from giant, acute black finger-nails.

Connor screamed again and with his new nine-fingered hand, he reached out toward Tracy. “Help!” He lunged forward. His four claws cut into her chest.

She didn’t think of the pain she herself was in – rather that of Connor. Blood oozed down her chest.

The room, then, suddenly collapsed behind her and that was when Tracy Kingston awoke, shaking like a leaf…again.

That same morning, Tracy called Dave to see how he fared after the dream last night, only to be surprised to hear his mother answer his phone.

“He’s…in the…hospital. He slipped into a coma last night. Must’ve fallen out of bed and hit his head – hard.” Mrs. Straub explained, struggling with each syllable spoken.

Tracy went to the hospital to see how bad Dave really was and when she got there, she was horrified to find that the right side of his head had been severely bashed in. There wasn’t a plastic surgeon in the world that could fix Dave’s face. And, even if there was, they sure as hell couldn’t give him sight in his right eye.

She was on the edge of tears when she returned home an hour later. Upset that Dave could no longer help her. No, she was not that selfish. She loved him dearly and prayed for some kind of a recovery, but after that, would request his resignation from the war. And Rick wouldn’t even listen to her story.

She sat on the toilet lid; the bathroom door locked, and had the hot water running in the faucet until steam filled the entire room. She looked down at her chest – the four cuts were deeper than she had once thought which was proof that everything in the dream world would happen to her in the real world, and had begun hurting like hell. She really didn’t think about this, however.

The only thing that Tracy Kingston concentrated on was the small razor blade that she was clenching in her right hand, while her left wrist was turned upright. She could easily see the vein which would be cut; cutting her life from this hell. The only non-guarantee that she could think of, was that she wasn’t positive that He wouldn’t follow her to wherever she went to in the afterlife.

Tracy inched the blade slowly to her wrist. When the blade touched her flesh, she felt a cold sting of steel. Or, was it the cold sting of death, screaming its arrival?

She brought the blade even closer to her flesh, cutting as she did so. Blood began oozing out of the incision from her open wrist.

Just as Tracy began to feel the friendly arm of Death wrapping around her shoulder, her mother slammed on the door – it was only a low knock, however it was a loud and startling bang to Tracy – which caused Tracy to drop the reddened blade.

“Someone’s on the phone for you.” Leslie announced and then left Tracy to herself.

“Damnit,” she whispered in disgust. Sure, she knew that she could just pick up the blade and slice it across her wrist with more force this time, yet it would cause a horrible mess and spark suspicion too quickly and she would probably be taken to a hospital where they would save her life – and then send her to Lungland.

She stood up and placed the razor blade back on the shelf after rinsing it off with warm water, then placed a Band-Aid over her congealing wound.

She reached the phone several minutes later. “Hello?” she inquired.

“Hi. It’s Rick. You say he may still be alive?”

“Yeah, but I thought you were mad at me.”

“I’m mad as hell. But he was my best friend. To be sure though, I’m going to need evidence that it’s really him. Try to think of something he did or said that might prove to me that it’s him. Come to my place tomorrow.”

He gave her the address and then hung up the phone and Tracy sighed, finally out of relief.

She couldn’t escape the idea that Rick wanted some kind of proof. 

The next day arrived, Tracy was successful at not falling asleep again, and she went to Rick’s house early that morning. It has been a while now since Connor’s death and she was very tired of playing this evil game.

As she approached the door, it opened before she could knock. “Hi,” greeted a middle-aged man with graying hair. “You must be Tracy. I’m Don, Rick’s Dad. Please, come in.”

She thanked him with a smile. For some reason, as she watched him step aside to give her passage into his home, she found his appearance pleasing and instantly felt as if she liked him very much. Shortly after he ushered her to a chair in the living room and offered anything to drink, Rick walked into the room.

She looked at him. He didn’t look too different from Connor. He looked the same age, but a little taller. He did, however, have curly black hair – and not the light-brown of Connor’s crown.

It then suddenly hit Tracy that she remembered seeing him at the funeral. This was the same young man whom she pondered.

As if it were his favorite spot, he instantly took the couch opposite the chair in which she sat. “Now, you are sure it was Connor?” he cut all small talk.

Nodding, “I know it’s him – I can’t think of anything that happened in the dream that will prove it to you, but it is Connor.” Tracy said, trying to get around all the red tape which Rick was putting up.

Rick sighed and shook his head. He sat there for a couple of minutes in complete silence. He was trying to read the young woman – he was watching her posture in the chair, the way she was folding her hands in her lap, even the fact that she hadn’t paid a lot of attention to her hair this morning. Then he saw it – the four slits of broken flesh on her chest. “Life eternal,” he whispered.

“What?” asked Tracy and then looked down at the marks left by Connor last night.

“I’ve been doing some research on the idea of different levels of the human mind. There are four levels of the mind. Those four marks resemble their places in our mind. A snake coils itself around the perimeter, guarding the gates. A fifth dimension exists and is thought to be obtained by going straight through the snake’s mouth,” Rick explained as she listened with a confused expression on her face. “Connor was into the dream realm – he was almost obsessed with the notion that what happens in the dream world impacts the real world,” he said and then as an afterthought, “He never could remember his dreams. He would never have been able to prove his theory.”

After another pause, he sighed. “All right. I’ll help,” he finally agreed, still in very deep thought and contemplation.

“Well, thanks,” was all Tracy could find to say. She wasn’t sure if it was such a good idea that Rick helps her. She knew, nevertheless, that she did need help.

She stood up and Rick walked her to the front door. She held out her hand and Rick shook it. “I’ll see you later,” he said and then opened the door for her.

As Tracy’s foot landed on the final step on the porch, “Tracy,” he called and she turned back around. “I advise you to be more careful when shaving those legs, or he will win you over,” he said as he glanced at her wrist.

She stared up at him, lightly massaging her wrist. How’d he know? she thought but said nothing and just left his house.

As she walked up the sidewalk on her way home, Tracy couldn’t stop thinking about Rick and how “weird” he was. He kept the conversation short and to the point. He never even smiled once.

She quickly decided that, unlike his father, she didn’t like him at all.

But, she knew deep down, that a long and horrifying night awaits their sleep…and wake.

The Cloaked One had abandoned Connor for a while. Alone, he was able to take in what the room had to offer, which wasn’t much. The metal spikes were resting inside the fireplace and the chair was sitting next to the altar where he was sitting.

The two doors were as inviting as before. He knew that the open door, obviously, led into this room and possibly out into other rooms of whatever castle he was being held prisoner in. But where did the closed one lead? His curiosity got the better of him and he stood up.

Sit down!

He grabbed his chest and almost fell back into the chair.

Okay, so the Cloaked One may not be here, but this bastard in me is going to give me hell.

“Where does it go?” Connor called out, hoping that whatever demon lived inside would not hurt him for his curiosity.

The Garden of the Dead.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

There came no answer and Connor sighed as he shook his head and, once again, looked around the room. “Why are you doing this to Tracy? I mean, what has she ever done to you?”

The answer came too suddenly. A fire had erupted in his chest and he was knocked out of his chair and he grabbed his chest. There came that moment when he thought he was having a heart attack.

No! The voice screamed.

“Why? Why her? What did she ever do to you?” Connor repeated still in pain as he held his chest.

A book has been given to her – a very important book. It tells secrets of the Forbidden Realms. My Master wants it back.

“If it’s that important,” Connor began, “then I’m sure Tracy wouldn’t let your Master have it back.” He could feel the creature’s breathing grow heavy in his ears – he knew it was fighting some mental battle.

“Why are you doing this to her?”

Because of her, she destroyed my entire life.

“What? How? How could Tracy Kingston destroy your life?

If you only knew what I look like – because of the book being stolen, I have been forced to live eternity as a hideous monster. My Master changed the way I look for punishment for letting his book go. And I plan on making Tracy pay.

Tracy opened the door to Connor’s house and entered the living room where she stood waiting for what seemed like hours – waiting for a stranger to help her in this world. A world she was beginning to tire of.

Rick abruptly came crashing through the front door and glanced up at an impatient Tracy when he fell onto the floor at her feet.

“It’s about time,” she commented.

“This place,” he tried to explain where he had just come from, then, “You can get lost in here, you know?” he responded with an apologetic expression in his tone. He was still amazed that they were in the same dream world.

“Come on,” she whispered, accepting his unspoken apology and began walking through that all-too-familiar hallway.

The hallway that would lead them to heaven or hell, life or death – or even Purgatory. Either way they sliced it, Tracy knew that they had passed the point of Eternity. They had to go further past this boundary.

They inched slowly through the hallway and before she knew what was happening, Rick shoved her to one side just as a metal spike crashed through one wall and shot into the other – just two inches above Tracy’s head.

“Thanks,” she said as she regained her balance.

“Sure,” was all he said before they continued on.

This hallway seems a lot longer than before, Tracy contemplated as they walked. The silence was nerve-wracking. “So, Rick, can you explain to me more about the levels of the mind, the fifth dimension, and all that other stuff you mentioned?” she inquired.

Rick walked next to her and was taken aback when she asked him the question. No one had ever shown interest in what he had learned. “Well,” he cleared a little phlegm from his throat. “There are four levels to every mind. I like to look at them as doors. The first door – or level – has been opened for us at birth. Level one is what we know as the mind, the id and ego shit and stuff like that. Door two has been opened only for you. This, where we are, is level two of the mind.” Rick paused and looked around the hallway.

“Wait a minute; you said that level two door has been opened for me?” Tracy stopped in her tracks and grabbed Rick by his arm and turned him around to face her.

“Exactly.”

“Who the fuck would do that to me?” she exclaimed.

“I really don’t know, but I doubt Connor would have done it – his specialty is dreams, not levels of the mind.” Rick pondered their situation. “It is interesting, don’t you think? My specialty is the mind and Connor’s is dreams. Very interesting game we’ve got here.”

Tracy shook her head in disbelief. “What about the other levels?” she asked after a sigh.

“Level three is very similar to the mentally insane – there’s usually no turning back from there. Level four is the most interesting one of all. There, you would have powers beyond what we know. I’ve read a prophecy where one mortal would open the fourth door and rule the undead – whatever that means.”

“Aren’t you knowledgeable about all this shit?” Tracy asked behind a tone of sarcasm.

“Hey, there is no scientific evidence that any of this is fact. We do know of level one and here we are now in level two, so you be the judge. And the eternal snake prophecy is still being investigated, so I can’t talk about that one yet.” Rick replied.

“We’ll see,” Tracy smiled as she shook her head and just as she turned to face the direction they were walking, a small kitten had walked into their path.

The kitten began walking through her legs, rubbing its back on her. “I guess not everything here is bad.” Tracy said with a grin as she bent down to pet it.

It took the thing only one second to feel her weakness, and as she bent down, it turned, hissed at her, and a long twelve-inch tongue lashed out and wrapped itself around her ankle.

The sandpaper tongue began growing thicker, she could feel it growing hotter and tearing through her flesh. She took hold of it with both hands and fought the tongue off her ankle.

Once free from her ankle, Rick violently kicked the feline in its stomach, causing it to fly several feet away before it hit the floor and vanished out of existence.

They stared at the spot that it vanished for a moment, their hearts beating fast.

Just when they had decided on walking, a snake-like reptile jumped at Rick’s back, knocking him to the floor with a grunt. He struggled and pushed it off his back and as the snake-thing came around for another pass, Rick reached into his pocket and pulled out a sword. Lifting up, he waited and then swung back down and severed the creature’s head as green blood splattered out in all directions.

After wiping the blade on the end of his shirt, Rick placed the sword back into his pocket. Once complete, he looked up and caught Tracy’s confused expression. “You seem to have forgotten that this is a dream. Anything can happen. You can use any weapon you need,” he explained.

They walked on through the hallway and then heard low heavy breathing, yet did not know from which direction it was coming from.

They slowed their pace. Rick seemed to have been ready for anything and Tracy…well, she stayed close to Rick and grabbed his hand. He could tell that she was scared, she was shaking uncontrollably.

If the breathing wasn’t causing enough anxiety among them, a loud shrill scream exploded throughout the dream world. A scream that could only have come from a person in agony.

Tracy’s nerves tightened suddenly and she practically jumped into Rick’s arms. Rick looked down at her. “Decoy,” he whispered to her.

She didn’t know what the hell he meant, but they were ready to move forward. But, as Rick moved his right foot ahead, he felt nothing. He looked down and noticed – just before them – lay an abyss. They turned around and again saw an abyss. The ground seemed to have fallen beneath them and the only footing that they had was just the two feet or so in which they stood.

Rick looked down and pulled a penny from his pocket.

“Do you always sleep with money?” Tracy asked with a grin.

“Don’t leave home without it,” he commented and dropped the pure copper coin over the edge.

In his mind, he was counting the seconds until he heard it hit the ground. He was trying to calculate how many seconds they would have before smashing to the ground. When Rick heard nothing, he became quite unsure of himself.

He turned and faced Tracy, “Shall we go?” he suggested.

“What? Down there? Are you crazy? There’s no ground!” she shouted.

“Then you have the assurance of never dying.” Rick lied – he knew the velocity of such a drop would crush every fiber of their being before they hit any ground. And then he stepped over the side and let himself fall.

Standing there alone for a few moments longer, becoming infuriated as each second passed, “Fuck!” she yelled, then, “What the hell,” she whispered and closed her eyes and jumped over the edge

The fall only seemed to have taken several seconds before Rick fell to the ground with a hard thud that momentarily knocked the wind out of his lungs.

Once he regained his breath, he stood up and quickly scanned the area frantically to see if any danger was heading his way. “What the,”

His eyes widened when he discovered that he was in some sort of an old-fashioned Roman arena – the typical gladiator style. The circular seats were filled with hollering spectators.

Rick turned around several times before he heard a low grating sound under the hollering and looked toward the other end of the arena where he saw a large metal door open up. When it was fully open, it revealed an enormous…

“What the hell?” Rick gawked.

The thing stood on two muscular legs, had four arms equally muscular,

had a beard, and a large head with three eyes. He was dressed in golden-plated gladiator fatigues. The gladiator turned and smiled when he saw his victim.

“Oh, come on! What the hell is that? Don’t tell me!” Rick exclaimed. He was both terrified and amused at the same time. While he gawked at his opponent, he vaguely heard the crowd shouting the name Vlad. “Okay, so he’s a Romanian gladiator. So what, it’s just a dream.”

Vlad crossed his right arm across his chest, “Hail, Orion!” he shouted, spittle flying from his lips, as he addressed a shadowy figure sitting at the center throne chair.

Rick turned and noticed the being. The man had a long cloak on with the hood up, covering his features. When the thing addressed him, Orion nodded in return.

This scene didn’t allow Rick time to ponder, because the thing approached Rick and looked down on him.

Rick looked up at the thing, it stood at least three feet taller, and the thing grunted and picked up his right, lower arm and brought it to Rick’s stomach, causing him to double over and gag.

It, then, punched Rick square in his nose and blood gushed out in the same second. Unsatisfied with his techniques, the thing decided on picking Rick up over his head and tossing him across the arena.

Rick crashed to the ground, where he felt like giving up and getting himself killed. Instead, he pushed the thought of defeat out of his mind as adrenaline pumped into his veins and he stood up and took a deep breath. “Let’s dance,”

The thing began charging toward his prey.

When they were a few feet apart, Rick pulled out a .48 Caliber Bulldog from his pocket, pulled the safety, aimed at the raging beast and then pulled the trigger.

The thing stopped and fell backward – dead. The shouting abruptly ceased. Not a soul made a sound after the initial gasp when they witnessed their champion Vlad get defeated by a puny kid.

Rick walked past it and looked down. He saw that he had shot it in his middle eye. Grinning, “Bull’s eye,” he whispered and then limped his way toward the large iron gate out of the arena.

He stopped just short of it and turned back around and looked up at the seat where this Orion sat. What he saw made him nervous. Orion just sat there – his hooded head watching Rick the entire time – holding his hands, fingers wrapped around each other. And when the game was over, and Rick looked at him, Orion gestured to someone in his general area with a movement of a hand.

Connor stood up, sitting behind Orion’s right shoulder.

Without witnessing anything further, Rick limped his way out of the arena.

When Tracy finally found ground, she was beyond any state of confusion. The ground she stood now was the exact same ground she had left moments earlier. She did, however, notice a new door a few feet in front of her on the left side of the hallway.

It wasn’t Connor’s room she knew. This was an unknown room – an unexplored room, about to be explored.

Tracy approached the door and it suddenly crashed open from the other side.

She screamed and then opened her eyes, only to see Rick standing there with a black eye and a bloody nose.

“Where were you?” she asked, then, “Why do you look like shit?”

“I was in Rome. Fighting a…a…gladiator. What about you?” he explained and realized that his nose was most likely broken.

“I’m not sure. I jumped right after you and ended up…here. The same damned place,” she answered. “How is it that you had to fight and I didn’t?” she asked with suspicion behind her voice.

“Listen,” Rick began and he looked down at the end of the hall and saw Connor's door. “There’s more to all this than just Connor. There’s a lot we don’t know. But I’m afraid that your fight is only beginning.”

They walked the remainder of the hallway without any further distractions and came upon another door – a door with an all-too-familiar smell. The smell of death. This was the door to their future.

Tracy put her hand around the doorknob and hesitated as she looked up at Rick.

“Let’s do it,” he whispered.

She nodded and slowly began to turn the knob and push the door open.

The door escaped Tracy’s grip as it was flung open by a force from the other side with a loud crash. Tracy and Rick stood at the open doorway and heard another loud scream from the same person – or thing – that had screamed earlier.

At first they were surprised to discover that they weren’t standing inside Connor’s room – or, the one he had when he was alive. They found themselves in a dungeon of sorts with a large fireplace and chair. Rick noticed the altar and then the closed door on the opposite wall.

They turned their attention to the center of the room and saw a person lying on top of the altar; her arms and legs were spread apart. They noticed that she had two metal spikes through her palms, blood dripping off the side of the table.

Tracy realized who the woman was that lay upon the bloodied table and screamed, “Sister Catherine!” She burst into screams. Why my nurse?

Connor walked up next to the woman lying on the table and smiled as he raised his right hand. Instead of a human hand, he had a gray-green hand dripping with mucus and pus. His fingers were long and sharp. “Welcome home, Trace,” he greeted with sarcasm in his voice.

Rick stared at the figure on the table, not at Connor, and blinked his eyes and the figure changed shapes. “That’s not Sister Catherine. It’s Dave Straub,” he exclaimed.

Tracy, too, blinked and the form changed to its true identity.

Connor looked at Rick and grinned. “Howdy, ol’ friend,” he began. “You’re still good,” he croaked. Perhaps too good.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, friend,” came Rick’s reply.

“Is that so?” Connor asked behind a laughing expression.

This was the first time Rick had placed his eyes on Connor since the day before his death. As Rick stared at him, he noticed that Connor’s eyes were the same color – just that they didn’t seem to focus, they just had an icy glaze.

“What’s he mean by that?” Tracy whispered.

Rick broke the trance and blinked. “Nothing. He’s bluffing.”

At that, Connor glanced back at the altar and it tipped over on its side with a loud thud and Dave lunged forward, only to be stopped by the spikes, and jolted back to the altar. Another scream escaped his lungs.

“My God! Stop it!” Tracy screamed.

“What’re you gonna do about it, Bitch? You see you cannot possibly stop me.” Connor replied, then, “That’s why I was chosen.”

“Stop crucifying him!” Rick stepped forward.

“Shut the fuck up, Kid.” Connor grunted and then another spike shot up through Dave’s left ankle and he screamed again.

Tracy placed her hands over her ears and lowered her head, then shook it violently from side to side. “No!” she screamed.

Both Rick and Connor looked over at her as tears began staining her face.

“He doesn’t deserve to suffer,” she began while keeping her gaze on Dave. “If you enjoy seeing people suffer, then take me. Take me now and release Dave and Rick – unharmed,” she bargained. And then it finally came out. “I’m the one who killed you, Connor – not them. I deserve to die with you.”

Pausing, and then finally smiling, “All too easy,” he whispered to himself. “Your wish is granted.” Connor said in a low voice and looked over at Rick. “Go through the open door – there you will remain until you awaken.”

“What about Dave?” Rick asked.

“It will take a little time for him to recover, but he will go,” Connor answered.

Rick looked over at Tracy. “Are you sure you really want to do this?” he asked behind all politeness.

“No. But I have no other choice – he’s already proven that he doesn’t want the two of you. I can’t risk people’s lives for mine,” she replied. “Good-bye, Rick. Thanks for all your help,” she concluded and sighed.

“Farewell. I’ll miss you,” Rick said and then glanced at Connor. “The both of you.”

He slowly walked over to the open door and when he got to it, he turned around.

Connor looked over at Dave, and suddenly, another spike shot up through his right ankle and another shot through his throat and blood spurted up in a thick geyser of red.

Disgusted, shocked, and infuriated at the same time, “No! You Bastard!” Rick screamed and ran back to Tracy, grabbed her arm and ran toward the door, practically dragging the shocked young woman.

Connor, too, looked shocked – shocked that Rick grabbed Tracy and even thought of trying to escape with her. Only when Rick and Tracy were at the door, Connor stepped in front of them, blocking them with an obscene grin. “Going somewhere?”

Rick and Tracy stood at the open doorway with Connor blocking their escape. Connor smiled down at them. “You’re not leaving my party so soon, are you?” he asked.

Tracy looked back at Dave’s dangling body. One final spike shot up through his bloody chest and Dave Straub ceased to live as the spike had penetrated his heart. She turned back to Connor with a disappointed expression. “Why? Why him?”

“You were falling in love with him,” Connor expressed his truth as best as he saw it.

All she could do was shake her head in disbelief. “That’s not fair. Are you going to kill every man I love?” she whispered, not expecting a reply.

Connor stared down at her and saw the tears dripping from her eyes and down her chin. Rick saw the moment and released his hold on Tracy’s arm and quickly lunged forward into Connor’s stomach throwing punches. Connor grinned and grabbed Rick by his throat. He raised his human arm in the air, raising Rick a few feet as well. Rick was struggling to free himself but Connor’s grip was too strong.

Tracy, stunned, watched in horror. A moment later, she snapped out of it and ran into Connor – also throwing punches. Again, he smiled and grabbed Tracy by the back of her neck with his monstrous hand. Connor stared down at the struggling Tracy and saw her tears once again. “Tr…Tracy?” he asked in his own voice. He was confused when she began weeping for pity.

“I love you!” she screamed to the flesh of Connor – not to the soul of whatever beast had won his body over.

Two battles were being waged deep inside Connor, but both dealt with control over the body. Connor, confused, began trembling and dropped Tracy and tossed Rick across the room – where he slammed against the wall.

That was when the human flesh that had once made up the body of Connor, split open. His arms and legs split apart in numerous places. He reached up and ripped off his shirt and his chest had begun cracking – forming the resemblance of hieroglyphics. The piles of flesh ripped and descended onto the floor, and the blood that had been the life line of Connor James Barker spilled everywhere.

Connor’s face looked down at Tracy, who was still on the floor. After several seconds, his face split and fell to the floor with the remaining parts of his anatomy. His eyes rolled out of their sockets, his ears fell to the floor in the slaughter.

Tracy and Rick gawked at the horrid creature that lay beneath Connor’s features.

It was a tall gray-green beast. His biceps were huge, as was the rest of his body. His eyes glowed red like the fires of hell, his chin came down in two acrid points – as did his nose. His hands were like talons – as were his feet.

All Tracy and Rick could do was stare. Never before, in their lives, had they seen a beast such as this. Not even in a movie. They could hear its breathing drilling in their ears – it was deafening.

With a noise that sounded like a grunt, it bent down and picked Tracy up with its claw and began pulling her toward the closed door.

Rick picked up his strength and stood up. Like a raging bull, he stormed toward the Dreamkiller with all his might. The beast only sighed and punched Rick in the stomach, sending Rick flying across the room once again, hitting the same wall, but this time it had rendered him unconscious.

As the beast’s claw wrapped around the doorknob, “Wait!” they heard.

They looked around the room and could not find where the voice originated.

“Don’t even think about taking Tracy to the other side,” the voice commanded.

They kept looking. And just then, the flesh and bone, muscle and tissue of Connor Barker pulled itself back together – forming Connor from the dead.

When Tracy saw him, she was about to pass out, but before she could, the Dreamkiller tossed her toward Connor, obviously trying to use her as a weapon, who caught her.

“You’re cold,” she commented when in his arms.

Connor smiled; the one that she remembered from Spanish class, “Of course I am. I’m dead,” he replied.

“What…what the hell is that?” she asked as they looked over at the beast.

“You really don’t want to know,” came his answer.

“Tell her,” the beast grunted.

Connor grabbed Tracy’s shoulders and turned her toward him. “Trace, that thing is…is,” he tried. “My God, I don’t even want to say it.”

“Is what?” She was growing impatient.

As was the beast. “Tell her!” it shouted.

“He is…” he paused again.

“Tell her!” it screamed this time.

In haste, Connor pulled her closer to him. “I love you,” he said and then kissed her.

It wasn’t as romantic as that dream she had when they went to the movies, but after a few moments, she pulled away. “Is what?” she exclaimed.

“He is a Dreamkiller searching for an ancient book of the Forbidden Realms. He knows you have it and his master wants it back,” he explained.

“Orion,” Rick whispered under his breath, once his eyes opened and he dared not do anything at the moment. He knew Connor was doing more than he ever could.

She shook her head with a confused expression on her face. “The Forbidden what? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Connor lowered his dead eyes in contemplation and then he looked back at Tracy. “If you don’t have it, then who does?” A small grin fell across his lips. “Then it’s still out there somewhere – it’s not over yet.” And then a large smile fell across his face as he turned his attention to the Dreamkiller.

  “You fucked up. my friend,” Connor said to the creature.

“How is that?” it asked.

“You threw her to me. You’re standing in front of the closed door. You needed one of us or you’d die. Since I was already dead, you needed her.” Connor explained and the creature turned to face the door. “Go ahead, open it.”

The beast hesitated, and then opened the door. He saw a bright light at the end of a short tunnel. It was, ironically, beautiful to the beast.

When he was sure that it was mesmerized by the light, Connor ran forward and shoved it through the doorway.

The beast fell forward and turned back to look at Tracy and Connor.

They felt a presence behind them and turned to see Rick watching from behind them.

The beast pleaded for help as it was crouched down. 

“Hell, no. You’re finished.” Connor said and began wondering what would eventually happen to his own soul once the Dreamkiller is dead.

“So sure, are you?” asked the Dreamkiller behind a grin.

Rick stared into the eyes of the beast with an understanding that neither Tracy nor Connor would understand. He understood that someone else was pulling the Dreamkillers strings – someone called Orion. He understood that the battle was only beginning.

The beast’s flesh began to boil and another moment later, it exploded into a million pieces, causing Connor to fall backward.

Several minutes passed and Connor stood back up and watched Rick close the door. Rick turned back and faced Tracy and Connor. “Wild night, eh?” he asked and then smiled; a fake one, but one nonetheless.

“You should smile more.” Tracy grinned at Rick, who nodded and looked at Connor.

“Say ‘Hey’ to the Lizard King for me,” he replied.

Connor smiled and shook Rick’s hand. “You bet, man.”

There was a sickening feeling that was beginning to creep its way into Rick’s stomach. The war. Someone else had opened up the second level to Tracy. Orion. He felt like his mind was about to scream – too much to think about.

Connor moved closer to Tracy, “Well, I guess I’ll see you around heaven – I guess. Much later, please,” he paused. “I’ll miss you until then and I’ll always love you.” Connor Barker smiled.

She wept for joy and sorrow. “I love you. Always,” she said and then they embraced one another tightly, and she prayed for a long time before she woke – she didn’t want this moment to end yet…

Chapter Twelve

Tracy Kingston awoke from the endless dream and sat up in bed. She shook her head clear of any thoughts. Tears of joy and sorrow ran down her cheeks at the memory of what she, Rick, Dave, and Connor went through – together.

“I’ll always love you,” she whispered.

She got up and walked to the bathroom. Tracy looked at her wet face in the mirror and then sighed.

And suddenly, Tracy felt a pressure on her right shoulder. She turned around and then Tracy Kingston screamed.

“Tracy!” roared the Dreamkiller as phlegm flew at her from its sharp fangs and it laughed as it felt her terror.