Dream of Me: Book 1 The Dream Makers Series (5 page)

“
T
ell me more about this dream,” Glory said as she sat across from Serenity in one of the booths at the fire pit. She had called early that morning, demanding to have breakfast because she wanted to know more about the whole Sandman thing. Serenity hadn’t meant to spill the beans, but her mind had been dwelling on it so much that it had just come pouring out of her. And she probably needed to talk with someone about it other than an eight-year-old girl who was actually in the dream. So she had forced herself from the warmth of her bed and met Glory before time for school. The only bonus was that she got an awesome breakfast out of the deal.

“I already told you the entire thing the other night,” Serenity said. “I think I dreamed it because even though I want to leave this little town, I’m also scared to venture out into the wide world, and I must subconsciously be trying to find an excuse to stay.”

“What about this Dair character? What’s he all about?” Glory asked, ignoring what she had just said.

Serenity rolled her eyes and set her fork down on her plate. It was obvious that Glory wasn’t going to give up. “The girl, Emma, said he is the basis of the myth about the Sandman,” Serenity explained
again
to Glory everything the girl had said about Dair.

“He sounds mysterious,” her best friend crooned.

“Give me a break, Glory. For all we know he’s a short, fat, bald man like in the movie
The Rise of the Guardians
.”

Glory shook her head. “No, I’m not getting that vibe from your story. This guy sounds powerful in an
I’m so hot I scorch the ground when I walk
sort-of way.”

Serenity choked on the drink of orange juice she had been taking. “Sometimes, you really worry me, Glory Day.”

“You’re the one having dreams supposedly sent by a mythical being that have to be explained to you by an eight year old genius.”

“Good point,” Serenity conceded. She glanced down at her phone and noticed that she had fifteen minutes to get to class. “I’ve got to go now, so you’ll have to table any other questions you have.”

Glory stood up with her and walked her to the door. “Do not worry. I will be sure to make a list.”

Serenity shook her head with a small laugh. “You do that,” she told her as she headed out to her car.

The muttering of words coming from Serenity’s second period class caught her attention as she neared the door. It wasn’t just the voices that had grabbed her attention, it was the subject matter. She had distinctly heard the word
Sandman
spoken by several different classmates. Her breath grew heavy in her chest as she entered her history class and read the notes on the board.

Topic for Friday, December 13, 2014. Central and Northern Europe folklore. Who was the Sandman, really? What are the origins of the myth?

Serenity was pretty sure her stomach no longer resided in her abdomen, but had somehow relocated itself somewhere in the vicinity of her feet. Meanwhile her heart had decided to take a trip up to her throat. Her mind was reeling. This could not be a coincidence. But how on earth could it be related to her dream? She stood dumbfounded with Emma’s words echoing in her mind.
Yep, he’s as real as me. But he isn’t human
.

“Ms. Tillman are you planning on joining us today?” Mr. Sweeney’s voice pulled her back from her slight panic attack.

“Oh. . .um. . .yes, sorry, I’ll just.” She pointed in the direction of her chair while heading that way. As she took her seat and looked up to the front of the room, she tried to calm her jittery nerves so she could listen―really listen to what Mr. Sweeney was about to teach. If it was only about the folklore that had always been told, regarding the Sandman giving children good dreams, then she was going to blow it off as coincidence. But if there was any information remotely different, then she would consider the possibility that this, Dair―Emma had spoken of―might actually be real. And maybe he could control things. What else could explain the change of subject matter—they were supposed to be studying The Black Plague this week.

“I know that the topic for today might seem a little off the wall,” Mr. Sweeney began. “But I’ve learned through the years that when I get inspiration to teach something, then I should follow through. I woke up this morning after having a vivid dream last night, and the Sandman was a part of it. It made me curious to learn how this mythical figure came about and to see if there were any factual underpinnings to the story, much like with St. Nicholas and his relationship to Santa Clause. I did some quick research in the library this morning and found some interesting things.” He sifted through a pile of books that were on his desk and finally chose one that was filled with sticky notes protruding from the pages. He flipped to a certain page and ran his finger down the page until he found what he was looking for. “Okay, here we are. Listen to this.”

Serenity listened as Mr. Sweeny recited the legend that she, and everyone else, already knew. The Sandman sprinkled dust over children while they slept and gave them pleasant dreams―blah, blah, blah.
No new information there
, she thought. But then Mr. Sweeny paused as if gathering himself and said the magic word:  BUT. That three letter word often was the catalyst into a change in direction of the information. Desperate for more information, she leaned forward in her desk as she focused on her history teacher.

“But, that is not the only published information we have about the Sandman. After much digging, I actually came across another story about him in a very, very old book. It actually seems strange that our library would have such a treasure, but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. This book is a study on ancient texts written between the third and fifth centuries. Most of it was written by a tribe of people from Persia that studied the mystical and spiritual happenings in the world at that time. They took note of everything and anything they heard that seemed unnatural. They were so opened minded that they even listened when children spoke of things that couldn’t be explained by anything other than the supernatural. They studied the supernatural, no matter the form—Jewish God, Greek gods, Egyptian gods, it didn’t matter. This tribe recorded it all. Since they did not practice any particular form of worship, they simply were spectating, observing things that many chose to ignore. I’m going to read a particular entry from during their travels near Syria.
We have had several accounts from the children in this region. They say no one will believe them, but their stories are remarkably similar, despite the fact that the children all live miles and miles apart and would have no way to collaborate their stories. They each speak of a man who has come to them in the night after everyone else in the house is sleeping. Each child reports being awake when they meet this man. He calls himself the dream weaver. The children are not scared of him. Each of them says that the man told them that he was there to guide them to their fate. He told each of them that they were special and that not every child got to meet him. He said he only comes to those who would change the course of history. My companions and I have decided to test the story. We have written down the name of one of the children and, should we live long enough to see her grow into adulthood, we will see if she does indeed play such a vital role in the world. It might not give irrefutable evidence of this dream weaver’s existence, but it would certainly give his apologists a strong argument. The name is as follows:
Julia Aurelia Zenobia.

“It is noted several pages later that Julia Aurelia Zenobia became the Queen of the Palmyrene Empire,” Mr. Sweeny continued. “She led a famous revolt against the Roman Empire that prevented them from taking Palmyrene as part of their conquests. So it was apparent that this Julia truly was important in history.

Now, I ask you,” he questioned, his eyes roaming the classroom, “Does that mean the Sandman, or Dream Weaver as he’s apparently sometimes called, really exists? Perhaps, or perhaps not.” Mr. Sweeney closed the book and held it in his lap as he took a seat on the end of his desk. “This is a great lesson in digging deeper. Oftentimes in history we have a tendency to accept secondhand accounts at face value, instead of seeking out the source. So though he wasn’t called the Sandman during that time, it is obvious that these children were describing the same mythical figure the Europeans later spoke of.”

Serenity was pretty sure that her jaw had gotten lower and lower as she listened to the story about the legend of the Sandman aka the Dream Weaver. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Regardless, she knew one thing for sure,
this shiz just got real.

Her feet moved on autopilot as she went about her duties at the vet clinic. She hardly spoke to Jackson, not that he noticed since he was constantly avoiding her. She had never wanted the day to be over as bad as she did that day. After the information vomit Mr. Sweeney had unknowingly dropped in her lap, she had decided it was time to confront this so called Sandman. If he was the one behind her dream, then, from what she understood, he would have to be there in her room with her. She shivered at the thought of someone watching her sleep. Trying to control her through her dreams was creepy enough, but if he was watching her drool, while she slept, well that was on a whole other level. By the time she left the clinic, she was so keyed up she felt like she had just drank ten sodas and chased them with energy drinks.

“Get it together, Sarah,” she told herself as she pulled into her aunt and uncle’s driveway. The first thing she noticed was that Wayne still hadn’t returned from his hunting expedition. At least that was one less person she had to convince that she was okay. She imagined Darla would have a few concerns if Serenity continued to shift from foot to foot like a three-year-old needing to pee. She took several deep breaths before finally going inside.

“Hey, honey,” Darla greeted as she looked up from the book she was reading. “How was your day?”

Play it cool,
she told herself. “It was good,” she nodded and then realized that her head was moving entirely too fast. She snapped it to a stop and then smiled at her aunt. She was pretty sure it was one of those wide smiles that made her look like she’d had her face lifted just a little too tightly. “I’m just going to, that is, I’m pretty tired so, busy day.” She stumbled over her words because she was just so cool under pressure. She pointed in the direction of her room. “I’m going to lie down.”
There, I made sense, surely she can’t be suspicious of me now.

“Are you sure everything is alright?” Darla’s eyes zeroed in on her.

Well crap,
Serenity growled at herself. “Yes, I’m just a little scattered because I’ve got a lot of homework and I’m worn out.”

Darla watched her for a minute longer, making Serenity feel like she was some newly discovered bug under a microscope. She finally decided that Serenity was telling the truth. “Okay, then you better get on it. I’ll bring dinner in to you in about an hour.”

“Thanks, Aunt Darla,” she called back, already moving before the ‘okay’ left her aunt’s mouth.

Serenity closed her bedroom door and threw her backpack onto her bed as she let out a relieved sigh. Her cat climbed out from under her bed and let out a big yawn as he looked up at her. “Looks like you had a rough day,” Serenity said dryly as she watched Mr. Whitherby wind himself in and out of her legs. Unable to focus on showing him the attention he usually demanded, she grabbed the notebook that contained her thoughts from the past week and snatched up the pen lying next to it. She wanted to get down everything she had learned in her history class. It was the first bit of possibly factual information she had on this Dair being, and she wanted to confront him about it, if he was indeed real and if he’d show himself to her. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes tightly closed. “I’m going crazy. There is no other explanation for planning a conversation with an immortal being only known from folklore.”