The Book of Dreams
The Book of Dreams
by Chris Ward
He didn’t see the girl again for quite some time. By the time the door of the cabin opened and she trotted back down the steps, the object clutched tightly to her chest, the sun had dipped into the top of the trees, and wasn’t coming back out again.
He stood up, brushing twigs and leaves off his trousers. She came over to him.
‘This is the book I told you about,’ she said, holding it out to him. ‘The one that grants wishes when you open it.’
He took it off her and turned it over in his hands. It was old, dusty, leather-bound and had a metal clasp to hold it shut. There was a tiny lock for a key.
“Where’s the key?’ he asked.
The girl shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
“Then how do you know it grants wishes?’
“My grandfather told me.’
“Does he have the key?’
“I don’t know. Maybe he did. But he’s dead.’
He wanted to say he was sorry, but all he felt was irritated by the girl’s games. ‘So you have no proof?’
“Oh, I have proof.’
“What?’
“I can’t tell you. Not until you’ve opened it and seen for yourself.’
“Fine.’ He handed the book back to her. ‘I don’t want it then.’
The girl smiled. ‘Oh, you do. Now you want it more than ever.’ She held out the book again, and after a moment’s hesitation, his shaking hand reached for it.
&&&
Later that night, after dinner, he took the book out from where he’d hidden it at the bottom of his sock drawer, and put it on his desk. He closed his bedroom door and locked it, then turned on his small portable TV to cover the sound of what he was doing.
First he tried to force it, but the leather-bound book’s cover seemed to be framed in metal, the joints welded together.
Next he tried to pick the lock with a variety of objects, but none worked. He tried to jam a fork between the lock mechanism and the cover and lever it open, but the fork just bent over like an old man.
He sat back, exasperated, hands sore from the effort. He needed the key.
&&&
The girl was standing at the end of his parents’ driveway when he got home from school.
“Hello. Do you remember me?’ she said, as he leaned his bike up against the fence.
He didn’t know what to say. He remembered her, all right. ‘Yes, you were in my science class… but you left.’
“A year ago. I changed schools.’
“Oh. How… how… are you?’ A stupid question when he remembered what he’d done to her. His face flushed red.
“Tired. Always. Can you come with me please? I want to give you something.’
A reprise? A second chance? ‘Okay,’ he said with a little falter in his voice. After all, they weren’t friends.
He waited until his parents were asleep, then crept down the stairs, out of the back door, and around the side of the house. He took his bike from the garage and cycled down the driveway.
The darkness closed in once he reached the end of the street, and he switched his light on to guide him. Even that wasn’t much use once he came to the path that led into the woods, a thin gravel lane just wide enough for a car to traverse if it were careful.
He got off his bike and pushed it into the path’s dark hollow beneath the trees, using the extended time to think. By the time he’d reached the cabin that the girl called home, he had a plan.
He hid the bike back in the trees, just off the path. The moon beamed overhead, illuminating the clearing around the cabin, hanging shadows across him like cobwebs. He pulled gloves over his hands, and a beanie hat down low on his forehead. He didn’t have a mask; hadn’t thought to bring one. He’d have to take his chances.
He counted down from three, then ran low across the clearing, pausing in the shadows below the cabin’s steps. He waited for a minute or so, listening to the breathing of the woods and for sounds of disturbance from inside.
Nothing.
Quietly, he crept up the steps. Surprisingly the front door was unlocked. His guard went up immediately, and as he pushed it inwards he half expected someone to grab him from behind. He should go back, he knew, but he needed the key.
The moonlight poured through windows without curtains and in its pallid glow the room looked remarkably large. He began his search in a drawer unit to the left of the door, but quickly realised every drawer was empty.
He felt panic rising up within him like tea spreading through water. Had the girl given him the book on the eve of her family moving away, the sick, twisted bitch? Given him the promise of his wishes granted true then walked away laughing? She’d set him up, he knew it, should have known it the moment he’d seen her again.
He heard movement from behind him, and swung around, heart pounding. The girl stood near the window, moonlight framing her from behind. He couldn’t tell what she was wearing, but it looked like the same clothes as before.