21.
     
     "It's so good to be back at home, Allison.  I really
missed you!"
     Allison cautiously approached her father, memories of
his brutality
still fresh in her mind.  She shook her head at the absence
of liquor on his
breath, his neat appearance; and, most of all, his non-
threatening
demeanor.  It seemed his time in jail had done wonders for
him.  His arms no
longer quaked with the shakes of alcohol withdrawal.  His
eyes were no
longer splattered with burst blood vessels.  And his lips no
longer leered
with perverse fantasies.
     He walked towards her, not with his usual stumbling
gait, but with a
sure sober stride.  He spread his arms in welcome.
     She walked towards him, her mind still unsure of his
sincerity.  She
chose to ignore these feelings, and smiled as he wrapped his
arms around
her.  She hugged him tightly.
     Tears streaked Allison's face as she broke from the
embrace.  Not tears
of joy, not of sadness.  Tears of relief.
     It was over.  Finally over.  Her father would stop
hurting her.  She
could trust him again.  Maybe even, given enough time, she
could learn to
love him again.

     "How has my little girl been?  It's been a long time."
     "Fine, daddy.  I've become very good friends with
Stephen."
     Her father's eyes briefly flashed anger as he heard
these words, and
then, just as suddenly, became calm again.  He raised his
eyebrows in
surprise.
     "Hmmm... He seems like a good young man.  As long as he
doesn't get you
into trouble."
     Allison laughed.  "Stephen get me into trouble?  I
don't think you have
to worry about that.  It's usually the other way aroun-"
     Allison suddenly cut herself short, not wanting to
upset her father.
After all, he had been away for quite a few years, and must
have worried
about her.  Allison changed the subject to the courses she
was taking in
University.
     "And there's this really cool English prof.  Kind of a
leftover from the
Sixties.  For him, it's like every day is another Summer of
Love.  Wears
tie dyes all the time.  Always talking about how free and
open sex and drugs
were.  It's like he's in a timewarp."  Allison smiled at her
image of him.
     "Sounds interesting.  Allison, can you come here for a
sec?"
     "Sure, dad."
     Allison walked over to her father, still smiling from
her description of
her English prof.  Her expression quickly faded as she saw
the desire in her
father's eyes.  The rampant, savage desire that had chilled
Allison's dreams
for years.
     He smiled the same old smile.  Blood vessels spread
across the whites of
his eyes like ketchup running over a fried egg.  The scent
of liquor
plummeted from his mouth like the smell of a breath mint
from hell.  Allison
screamed as his callused hands ran over her flesh.  She
thrashed like a
speed addict going into OD -- struggling to break free.  Her
father's arms
tightened.
     Allison screamed again, tears streaking her face once
again.  Not tears
of joy, not of sadness.
     Tears of pain.
     "YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN DADDY'S LITTLE GIRL, ALLISON!  AND
YOU ALWAYS WILL BE!!!"
     Allison screamed one final time and then blacked out.

     22.

     Stephen was half way up the stairs when he heard
screaming coming from
his room.  A razor-frame of a claw-trap snapping shut on a
bear cub's tender
paw flashed over Stephen's vision.  He rushed towards his
room, and flung
open the door.
     For a few seconds he was frozen.  A deer paralyzed by
oncoming
headlights.  Allison was sitting up in the bed, her eyes
wide, her body
trembling like a leaf during a hurricane.  She shook her
head violently back
and forth repeatedly, her arms flailing as if to wave off an
unseen insect.
She screamed again, ignoring Stephen.
     He ran to her, his face a sea of dread.
     "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON????" his mind screamed as he
wrapped his arms around her.  Allison continued to shake her
head, her flailing arms striking
Stephen in the nose.  Stephen's cry of pain seemed to get
Allison's
attention.  Suddenly, her wild convulsions came to an abrupt
halt.  She
glanced around the room, as if waking from an incredibly
vivid dream.  Her
eyes met Stephen's, and her body jumped with shock.
     "Where the hell did you come from?" she asked.
     With a sigh of frustration, Stephen told her about
hearing her screams
and rushing up to check on her.  He rubbed his nose, and
with a smile, added
he didn't really appreciate her thank you.
     Allison wrinkled her eyebrows in confusion.
     "You almost broke my nose, Allison! Don't you remember
anything?"
     "No.  The last thing I can remember is going back to
sleep after having
a really strange dream about flying.  After that, it's all
blank.  Wait... I
remember smelling alcohol and feeling kind of queasy for a
while.  That's
about it."
     "You were thrashing around like a dying fish, arms
flailing like your
body was covered with ants!  For God's sake, Allison, I was
horrified.  You
were staring right through me as if I were a supernatural
extra from
'Ghostbusters'.  You didn't even know I was in the room
until you smacked me
across the face!
     You sure you don't remember anything?"
     "Positive.  What's happening to me, Stephen?"  Allison
asked, as she bit
her lower lip.
     Stephen reached for Allison's hand, and held it
tightly.  He sighed
again.
     "I don't know -- although I'm sure one person would."
     Fear flashed through Allison's eyes.
     "Hasn't he caused enough trouble already?" she asked.
     "Maybe.  But he may be our only hope."
     Allison shook her head gently, her nerves a symphony of
twitches.
     "God help us."  she sighed.
     
     23.

     Kirk's body quivered as he passed fitfully into a deep
sleep.  Darkness
slowly crept over his vision.  The dreaming veil descended
over Kirk's eyes,
taking the last remnants of consciousness.  Tension flowed
from his nerves
as he slowed his breathing -- his heart following suit.  The
dream-curtain
parted...
     Kirk found himself in a perfect vacuum.  Nothingness
surrounded him --
absence of color, of matter, of thought.  Suddenly, a
brilliant amber light
flashed past Kirk's right side.  The light shot past Kirk,
and continued
onward.  Gradually, it faded into the distance.
     Kirk cleared his mind of all extraneous thought,
focusing on the all
encompassing blackness in which he was enveloped.  He
located a small area
on his left, and concentrated all thought on that one spot.
Kirk felt his
body slowly gliding towards the point.  The flight was
effortless and
graceful -- as if he were a shark slicing easily through an
ink-black sea.
     As Kirk approached the point, a flaw in the dream-
curtain became
apparent.  The hole in the fabric of the seemingly perfect
vacuum was no
larger than a dime, yet through it shone a light of such
intensity that Kirk
instinctively tried to cover his eyes.  A second later, he
realized the
absurdity of his action.  It was, of course, all a dream.
     Kirk floated towards the light, and through the hole.
The darkness
disappeared, replaced by the complete polar opposite.
Brilliant white light
surrounded Kirk, as if he had just floated into a ten
million watt bulb.
This time Kirk knew there were no flaws to be found.  He had
reached his
destination.

     The bright light gradually faded to a dull grey, as if
someone had just
turned a dimmer switch.  Suddenly, a corner of the greyness
turned a dull
red.  The intensity increased for a few moments, giving the
illusion of the
color bleeding.  The reddish tint spread throughout the
vacuum, staining the
grey a pale pink.  Kirk then felt the sensation of his
surroundings
spinning, slowly at first but quickly building up momentum.
The colors
shifted -- flowing through the area in a circular motion.
The red separated
from the grey, spinning and flowing into a point in front of
Kirk.  The
colors spun faster and faster -- looking to Kirk like a
psychedelic funnel
cloud.  Gradually, the rotation slowed, and he could see a
vaguely human
form deep within the mass.  The colors halted completely,
and Kirk was face
to face with his Dream-master.

     24.

     The mere sight of Kirk's Dream-master was ominous on
its own, but when
coupled with his Master's ever present grin it was
especially horrifying.
Behind that smile lay secrets which Kirk couldn't even begin
to comprehend.
     Kirk watched with nervous curiosity as the Master
polymorphed
effortlessly -- flesh darkening to black, bone and skin
flowing into
abstract shapes as if it were liquid.  Kirk then found
himself standing
before a large midnight black horse.  Suddenly, the horse
stood on its hind
legs, its mane flipping from side to side as it shook its
head violently
back and forth.  Kirk jumped back in shock when it melted
again before his
eyes.  Bones and horseflesh began to compact themselves
silently,
flattening into a paper-thin standing shadow.  The shadow
fell to the
floor, shattering into a million pieces as if it were bone
china.
     The pieces suddenly flew back together, forming a
vaguely humanoid
shape.  A smile spread across the shadow's face, teeth
quickly forming where
there was once only darkness.  Dual white orbs suddenly
sprouted from the
shadow's face, the dark cornea and ink-spot of a pupil
coloring each eye.
Pieces of bone and flesh poured from the eyes, as if they
were twin
volcanoes.  The tissue flowed slowly down the shadow's face,
stopping at the
center.  More flesh and bone flowed downward, collecting at
various points.
Hair sprouted randomly from the man's bald head, stopping at
his shoulders.
     A wisp of a thread wrapped itself around the Master,
quickly forming a
long, flowing robe.  He arched his eyebrows at Kirk, who was
obviously very
impressed with the display.  With his right hand, the Master
motioned for
Kirk to follow.

     The dull grey of the vacuum began to darken -- black
spreading through
the color as if it were blood.  The black quickly dissolved,
and Kirk found
himself back behind the evergreen tree.  He looked to his
Master in
confusion, seeing that his sleeping body was right next to
him.
     "You seem perplexed, young one.  Allow me to explain.
First, this is
not only a dream.  I have taken you to a simultaneously
occurring reality --
an alternate plane of existence, if you will.
     You are still asleep, as you can surely see.  Yet, you
are awake.
Therein lies the paradox."
     Kirk furrowed his brows again, "Yes, but what does all
of this mean?  Is
this real... or am I dreaming?" he asked.
     "The answer is both.  You are dreaming... yet what you
are experiencing
is reality.  As you have witnessed, the laws of physics do
not apply in this
state.  I can demonstrate further if you wish."
     Kirk shook his head, "That's all right.  I've seen more
than enough.
Please no more melting faces or any other creepy shit."
     The Master laughed for a few seconds, and then
continued:
     "Young one, I require you to enter the dreams of the
new recruit."
     "Stephen?" Kirk asked
     "Yes.  Stephen.  He must be convinced of the reality of
the dreaming
world.  This will not be a simple task, by any stretch of
the imagination,
yet it must be done.  The future of the Nocturnal
Underground may depend on
it."
     "But why?  What could be so important about him?  Are
we in danger?"
Kirk asked.
     The Master sighed, pausing for a few moments before
answering:
     "In this Stephen I have seen a very vivid, potent
imagination.  With
proper training he should be a valuable ally in our battle.
And to answer
you last question, yes we are in danger.  Urgent imminent
danger."
     "You said something about a battle.  A battle with
who?" Kirk asked.
     "I believe the term 'what' would be more appropriate,
young one.  A few
years ago, a young man began experimenting with dreaming
techniques.
Unfortunately, most of his visions were of the violent
variety.  He would
dream about ways to torture and kill his perceived enemies.
According to
what I have learned about him, his repeated negativity and
anger began to
consume him.
     He would spend upwards of fifteen hours a day dreaming,
leaving little
time for the physical world.  His body deteriorated to the
point where he
could no longer move, and he died.
     His spirit is still wandering the various dream planes,
trapped in a
sort of limbo.  That in itself is trouble enough, as he
apparently has
became quite proficient in the art of soul displacement."
     Kirk sighed, "He can take over someone's spirit while
they are dreaming?
Kind of like possession?"
     "Not quite.  Demonic possession is more of a generic
term used in bad
movies and books to describe an entity controlling a
physical body against
its will.  This man completely eliminates the victim's soul,
replacing it
with a replica of his own.
     Once the process has occurred it cannot be reversed.
After
displacement, the dreamer's physical body becomes a shell,
as it is left in
a permanent coma."
     "Jesus," Kirk whispered.
     "The dream spirit is far worse off, in my opinion, as
it is perverted
into becoming a carbon copy of the displacer's twisted
identity.  The same
evil desires, the same seething rage.  Dream Demons.
     Now, they are beginning to cross over into our world."

     25.

     During the next few days, Allison became more and more
distant.  Her
lips would say "everything is all right", yet her eyes could
not lie.
Stephen would try to comfort her as best he could, yet it
seemed to be of
little help.  One minute she would be clinging to him like a
lost child, the
next she would flinch and turn away at the slightest touch.
Early Monday
morning, while he was getting ready for school, Stephen
found her sitting in
the bathroom absently shredding toilet paper.  She stared
unblinking at him,
looking through him rather that at him.
     Stephen sat on the floor next to the toilet, beside
Allison.  He gently
brushed the hair from her eyes, and kissed her cheek.  She
turned towards
him, looked deep into his eyes for a few seconds, and then
turned away.
She sighed loudly, licked her lips, and spoke:
     "I want him dead." she whispered.
     "Allison... I don't know what to say to you anymore.  I
see you wither
like a dying flower right before my eyes, and I can't do a
thing about it.
You need help.  Please... you've got to talk to a counselor
before you
self destruct."
     "I want him dead." Allison repeated, slightly louder
this time.  She
continued to stare into space.
     Stephen sighed, reaching for her hand.  She pulled it
away when he
touched, as if his fingers were aflame.  Stephen just sat
and stared at her
for a few moments, gulping saliva nervously.
     "Stephen, I want him dead.  And you're going to help me
kill him."


     The man upon the bed began to moan in his sleep.  The
bandage wrapped
around his shoulder rubbed against the sheets, making little
scratching
noises.  He tossed and turned fitfully, the stiff hospital
mattress rustling
as he flipped from side to side.  Outside his room, nurses
marched down
sterile hallways wearing bone-white shoes.  Doctors sat in
the lounge,
sipping strong, bitter coffee that tasted like battery acid.
No one noticed
the spreading shadows... the darkness spreading over the
bright corridors
like dark, dank sewer water.
     The shadows crept into the young man's room, sliding
under the door
swiftly and silently.  They slowly slid over the floor,
gliding towards the
bed.  The darkness seeped into his ears, his nostrils, and
then into his
fluttering eyelids.  The man moaned softly, feeling his
strength leaving
him.  His tossing and turning began to subside, and then
ceased completely.
     As the man felt the last of his lifeforce seep slowly
out of him, he
began to feel very angry.  For no reason, every dream-nerve
tingled with
rage.  Razor frames of torture began to pass before him.  A
young boy being
ripped to pieces with a grappling hook.  An old woman, grey
hair staining
red as she was skinned alive -- her mouth wide in a silent
scream.  Men
having their testicles crushed with sledge hammers...
indescribable scenes of
torture.  The man found himself dream-smiling as he
witnessed more acts of
brutality.  After a few hours... he found himself laughing.
     
     26.

     As Stephen's parents were readying themselves for work,
they began
discussing Allison's problem.  The conversation involved
future plans for
Stephen's friend, as well as how to prosecute her father.
As Robert dug
through the closet for a dress shirt, his eyes were
downcast.  As he spoke
to his wife, he felt intense pity for Allison; and rage
towards her so-
called father:
     "It sickens me, Carol.  The thought of what he's done
to her.  He
deserves to be put away for a long, long time."
     Carol sat upon the bed as she hurriedly brushed her
hair, and she slowly
nodded her head.  "I agree, Robert.  I just hope Allison is
not put on trial
like my sister was.  She was subjected to humiliating
personal questions,
forced to relive her trauma for the court.  And the bastard
got off on a
technicality.
     The criminal has more rights than the victim.  He is
innocent until
proven guilty.  The victim is guilty from the beginning.
'She led him on',
'She provoked it', and so on.  It's like she was violated
twice -- once by
the rapist, then again by the system."
     "We have to put this animal in a cage where he belongs.
I'll call our
lawyer this afternoon."  Robert replied.
     Carol nodded again, stood, and wrapped her arms around
her husband.  She
clung to him for a few moments, and then gave him a kiss.
     "Thank you." she whispered.



     Allison's father, Jeff Moyers, stared out through the
cold steel bars
of his cell.  His eyes ran over the pink walls with disgust,
and he felt
rage well up inside of him as he thought back to his arrest.
     He had just cracked a new bottle of Jack Daniels when
he heard a loud
rapping at the door.  He grumbled, and walked over to the
door.  He opened
it, and felt his jaw drop as he found himself face-to-face
with two pigs.
His first instinct was to run.
     He slammed the door shut, and sprinted into the
hallway.  As he ran
towards the back door, he heard the cops burst in.  He shot
out of the
house, and began running across the backyard.  He jumped to
the top of the
fence, and felt his heart sink as his shirt snagged on a
post.  He was then
roughly yanked to the ground, and forced to lie on his
stomach.
     Jeff felt the cold steel of handcuffs slapped over his
wrists.  He was
then pulled upright and led towards the waiting cruiser.  He
was thrown into
the backseat, and jumped as the door slammed shut.
     As he was read his rights, Jeff's heart sank to his
feet.  The party was
over...
     Jeff felt the anger build and build inside him, and he
curled his
fingers into a tight fist.  He growled deeply, and slammed
his hand
violently into the steel bars.  And again... his hand
throbbed but he felt
no pain as the adrenalin surged electrically through his
veins.
     Jeff opened his mouth wide and screamed -- a banshee
wail from the pit
of his soul.  He howled again and again... until his throat
was raw.

                              
27.

     Stephen walked purposely through the dingy hallways of
his school;
feeling more like an automaton than a living, breathing,
feeling being.  The
stress of the last few days was beginning to take its toll,
it seemed, as
he shuffled zombie-like from class to meaningless class.
What importance
did Hitler's plundering of Eastern Europe have when compared
to Allison's
troubles?  Did boring, stale text about ancient rock
formations hold a
candle to the new wound upon Stephen's arm -- or the
goosebumps raised when
he thought back to that day???
     Stephen nodded listlessly as a schoolmate greeted
him... and walked
onward. He entered a classroom, walked to his desk, and
slumped into the
seat.
     He stared at the markings on the desk in front of him -
- the
declarations of teenage lust, rival gangs' trademarks, and
of course dead
'smilies'.  Yes, the mascot for the 'Have a nice day!' set
bleeding from a
gaping bullet wound between its inkspot eyes.
     A half-hearted smile crept across Stephen's face as he
looked upon the
gunshot happy faces, and a soft 'hmph!' burped from his
mouth.
     Mr. Lowdon entered the classroom, and began to tell the
class a bit more
about Romeo and his objet d'amour.  He began with the
various film versions
and how they differed from the play:
     "The films are remarkably faithful to the original.  Of
course,
something is always lost in the translation -- all the
basics are there, of
course.  The development of the romance, the parents
interference, the power
of fate over the relationship, and so on.  The most
important similarity is
Romeo exposing himself to his true love."
     The class suddenly burst into a fit of laughter, and
one student mumbled
"You got that right!"
     Mr. Lowdon blushed as he realized the double meaning of
his words.  He
smiled, and then cleared his throat before going on:
     "That would be one interpretation.  But what I really
meant was how he
allowed every aspect of his personality to be seen by
Juliet.  She grew to
know him perhaps better than he knew himself -- if you'll
pardon the
cliche.  But, in the end, fate had the upper hand as the
star-crossed lovers
came to a tragic demise.
     One afterthought.  Now, in death, they are together at
last.  Is this
always the end result of meteoric true love?  What I'd like
to hear now is
your opinion... is death the ultimate consummation of true
love?"
     Stephen haltingly raised his hand and Mr Lowdon nodded.
Stephen cleared
his throat before beginning:
     "From what I've seen, and read, sex is the consummation
of love.  No one
seems to believe in the old myth about lovers willing to die
for each other.
I don't think it's because we are cowards... I just think
honor has no place
in modern society.  It's kind of sad in a way." Stephen
said.
     "Yes, Stephen, it is.  As you've just said, chivalry
seems to be dead.
Maybe the art of romance is as well."  the teacher replied.
      Another student joined the discussion:  "But isn't it
morbid to think
about dying for someone's love?  How many of us do you think
would sacrifice
his or her life to be with the one they love?"
     "How can we really know until it happens?  Unless we
are forced into a
decision, like Romeo and Juliet were, we'll never really
know."  Stephen
replied, getting into the discussion.
     "Excellent point, Stephen.  I'd like all of you to
think about that as
you watch the film version.  What would you do in the same
situation?"  Mr.
Lowdon said.

     The teacher rolled the cart towards the center of the
class.  He then
popped the tape into the VCR -- which, of course, was
forever flashing
'12:00 AM'.  He walked over to the door, and turned the
lights off.  He then
walked back to the VCR and pressed PLAY. The screen was
fuzzy for a few
seconds and then the credits began to roll...
     As Stephen watched the age-old story unfold before his
eyes, he felt his
heart begin to hammer away inside his chest.  Was his
relationship with
Allison that much different than what he saw before him?
Substitute
meddling parents for a drunken father, the plans to elope
for Stephen's
initiation and the similarities were staggering.  As Stephen
watched the
screen darken on the two lovers as they lay together, dead,
he hoped to God
it wouldn't end this way for him.
28.
     Stephen's head swam as he walked back from school.
Allison was taking a few days off, to somehow get herself
back into school mode.  Allison's words rang through his
head like guitar feedback.  The situation seemed hopeless.
Of course, her father would be prosecuted.  But that doesn't
really heal the emotional wound that had been inflicted.
     Stephen passed the 7-11, and started walking towards
the library.  He was suddenly struck with the inspiration to
research lucid dreaming.  He entered the library, and was
immediately struck with a feeling that he was on the right
path.  Somewhere here lay the first threads of a tapestry
that would reveal his destiny.
     He walked over to the `New Age' section, trolling
through books about Crystals, Past Lives, and Mysticism.
There didn't seem to be much in the realm of Lucid Dreaming.
Just as he was about to give up, he spotted one.
`Nightscape' read the title.
     Stephen found a comfy chair a few feet away, and began
to read:
     "When one studies ancient cultures, we see a common
thread.  Most believe in a mass consciousness - a oneness,
if you will.  In this book, we will be exploring how this
belief came into being, and how people believe this can be
achieved. One method seems to be dreams. There was a
pervasive belief in ancient Egypt of the concept of Soul
Travel.  They believed that consciousness was composed of
several parts, but the most crucial was known as the Ka and
the Khaibit.  According to ancient texts, the soul could
travel freely while the subject was asleep.  However, it was
imperative that the soul return to the body before waking,
or the body will become a useless shell."
     Stephen flipped randomly through the pages, and came
upon a very interesting passage:
     "A rightful king must be able to travel between the
worlds. In the heb sed festival, conducted in pharaoh's
thirtieth year, the king was required to journey beyond the
body, and beyond death, to prove his worthiness to continue
on the throne. Led by Anubis, pharaoah descended to the
Underworld. He was directed to enter death, "touch the four
sides of the land", become Osiris, and return in new
garments - the robe and the spiritual body of
transformation."
     Stephen closed the book, and thought back to his
experience in the schoolyard.  His heart leapt at the
possibilities.  An infinite number of realities lay in wait,
but there were more pressing concerns.  Allison and her
fragile mental state - how could this help her?
     These questions ran through Stephen's mind as he signed
the book out and exited the library, the door whooshing
quietly as it closed.  He walked over to Maple, and entered
his house.
     Allison was sitting in the living room absently
watching television.  Stephen sat beside her, and waited.
Fresh tracks of tears were visible on her face, as her hands
trembled.  In her eyes was a bottomless void - a nothingness
that was heartbreaking.
     "Allison. can I talk to you?"
     No response except for a deep sigh.
     "Allison. I feel like I'm losing you.  Please answer
me." Stephen said.
     "Ok, Steve, go ahead. "
     "I've been thinking about what you said earlier about
your father.  I can't go through with it." he said.
     Allison inhaled deeply before responding, her eyes
suddenly lighting up like headlights:
     "I know. but you didn't give me a chance to explain.
When I said I wanted him dead, I meant not his body but his
soul.  I want to kill him in my dreams."
     "You're saying you want to kill his soul?" Stephen
asked.
     "Yes. and you're going to help me." she responded.
     "And how am I supposed to do that?"
     "We are going to enter his dreams, and kill him.
Together." she replied.
     Stephen's heart hammered in his chest at this point.
He was speechless. Some of the spark in her eyes disappeared
as if she was a balloon suddenly deflated.  She rested her
head on his shoulder, and sighed deeply again.
     Several minutes passed, and then Stephen spoke:
     "Ok. I'll do it."

29.
                              
     The Dream Master coasted effortlessly through the
Ethereal Plane, in search of flaws in the atmosphere.  He
sensed a presence, an Evil Entity within his grasp.  Light
flew by him, and the Dream Wind riffled his hair.  Soft
moaning began to pervade his surroundings.  Every nerve of
the master was alive with anticipation.
     Suddenly, a dark shadow passed over his vision.  It was
batlike - leathery wings flapping loudly as he sped towards
his destination.  A bolt of electricity shot from its mouth,
and sent the Master flying backwards.
     The Master shot back with a pulsing purple wave of
power, a particle beam that hit the creature in the center
of its belly.  More creatures appeared. some life giant
jellyfish, reeking of ammonia, and covered in slick slime.
The Dream Demons shrieked in anger at the Master.  The
Master continued flying through the Plane, in search of an
exit to another realm.
     There appeared a flaw in the blackness, a bluish door
that opened suddenly.  The Master flew through it, and found
himself in a peaceful forest.  The trees dripped raindrops
and the wind whistled through the leaves.  Far in the
distance, he could hear birds singing.  The Master rested
for a moment, and thought about his experience.  Who was
responsible for the demons?  How could they be defeated?
     The Master closed his dream eyes and send out a
message.  He would need help from other sources now.
                            * * *
     Kirk stirred in his sleep.  He was still deeply within
the dream plane.  He felt his stomach drop as he plummeted
down in a black pit, that looked like an infinite oil slick.
He was pulled further down, and found himself in a green sea
of viscous fluid.  It was difficult to move through the mass
- it felt like he was stuck in Jell-O.  Hiss mind light up as
he felt his brain twinge.  The Master was sending him a
message.  Low, murmured whispers graced his ears as he heard
the words:
     "Kiiiirrkkk. there are too many. help me.  Help me."
     Kirk followed his internal compass in the direction of
the sound, and found himself in another vacuum thick with
ethereal Jell-O.  The screams of the Dream Demons rang
through his ears.  Pulses of lightning streaked over his
head, as the creatures flew towards him.  A pulse hit Kirk
in the chest, and sent him reeling to another dimension.
Kirk proceeded downward again - into a gray area that looked
and felt like wet concrete.  He proceeded down at breakneck
speed.  He hit the grass of the forest with a crash.
     Beside him sat his Dream Master.  He looked weak, and
sent off waves of fear.  He was trembling, and moaning
quietly in pain.
     Kirk could see the terror flashing through the Dream
Master's eyes.  His surroundings suddenly changed into a
jail cell.  A man sat on the concrete mattress below,
glaring at the walls.  He was mumbling something about how
angry he was to locked up like a fucking animal.  He growled
like a beast, and punched himself in the thigh.
     Kirk could feel waves of hatred emanating from the man.
It was if he had begun sinking into the quicksand of evil.
The world began to dissolve into a curtain of blackness.
Slowly at first, then faster until Kirk's surroundings were
enveloped by the ink-like blackness.
     Kirk opened his eyes, and found himself back in front
of Stephen's house.  His heart leapt into his throat as he
thought about the Dream Demons, and his injured Master.  He
needed Stephen's help.  Time to hand Stephen the keys to the
dream world.

     30.
     
     Jeff Moyers sat in his dingy cell, and looked down at
the cracked concrete floor with disgust.  He had been
sitting here reading the disgusting graffiti with contempt.
He was thinking about Allison and how he was going to kill
her.  He smiled as he pictured her body lying on a slab in a
morgue, twitching with Rigor Mortis.
     A part of him screamed at him that he loved his
daughter.  This voice was drowned out in a sea of rage.
     Jeff felt his anger seep out of him, and a contented
smile spread across his face.
     He lay upon the concrete mattress, and closed his eyes.
For a few moments, all was black.
     Jeff then felt his stomach drop as he felt himself
float into the air.  He floated effortlessly through the
ceiling, and towards the city north of the jailhouse.  Jeff
looked down at the road, as cars sped by.  He floated
through the trees past the 7-11, and then towards the
library.  The shadows of trees painted black fingers upon
the canvas of asphalt below.  Jeff coasted towards Maple
Street, his speed increasing as he neared home.
     The house was small - a midrange split level with white
siding, and a black roof.  Jeff drifted through the front
door, coasting past the front entranceway and towards his
living room.  He smirked at the books upon the coffee table,
and the ashtray overflowing with butts.  He flew into the
kitchen.  The fridge compressor clicked on.  Jeff grabbed
the door handle, and his hand passed through it.  He was
shocked by this turn of events.
     He then proceeded upstairs.  Allison's room was down
the brown-carpeted hall.  Family photos graced the walls -
mementos of a happier time.  Jeff felt a slight pang of
sadness as he passed the pictures.  Allison's room was dark,
but it was instantly identifiable as a teen's room.  The
Britney and teen heartthrob posters on the walls, the large
dresser with mirror.  The ruffled pillow and sheets, the
bedding a delicate shade of red.
     Jeff suddenly felt an intense compulsion to fly into
the mirror. The mirror rippled as if underwater, and
resisted him slightly.  It felt kind of like sticking your
fingers into Jell-O. slightly solid and wet.
     A low groan rumbled through the room as Jeff drifted
into the blackness beyond.
     The vacuum continued into infinity it seemed.  Jeff
concentrated on the edge of the blackness, and could see a
slight red spot.  He drifted towards the flaw, and the dream
curtain parted as if it were velvet.  He drifted further,
and suddenly heard a shriek in the distance.
     A shadow streaked past him, let out an unearthly
squeal, and sped back towards him.
     The creature became more solid, gaining form as it sped
towards him.  Its teeth glistened with saliva, and a hint of
blood.  Its leathery wings woomped as its midnight black
eyes glinted.
     Suddenly, a blue pulse of energy crackled through the
air - shooting out of the creature's mouth.
     It shot past Jeff's head. crackling like a short-
circuited live wire.  Jeff could smell the ozone in the air
as the next blast exploded against the back of the dream
curtain.  It flashed like a strobe for a few moments, then
disappeared.
     Jeff willed himself to fly upwards, away from the
hellish creature.  He found himself in a deep red soup, the
sauce sticking to his hair and body.  It felt like he was
being encased in slime.
     The red gradually faded to black again.  The black
dissolved and Jeff found himself back in the cell.  The pink
walls, the cracked concrete floor, and the graffiti
assaulting his vision.
     What the hell just happened?  He thought.

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