Wysteria Read online

  WYSTERIA

  Wysteria

  A Speculative Adventure

  by

  Howard D. Beebe

  Copyright © 2015

  by Howard D. Beebe

  All rights reserved

  First Edition

  2015

  Heartfelt thanks to

  my parents, Howard and Nancy,

  and to Pamela Lois

  for their encouragement

  and patient support.

  TO THE READER:

  The following tale was inspired by my own experiences with Lucid Dreaming. It is a novel – a work of fiction, to a large degree.

  . . . And yet . . . , it is a truthful account of what might be.

  I invite you to share the mind of the central character as he enters the Realm of Dreams and struggles to comprehend the content, as well as the implications, of his experiences there.

  – Howard D. Beebe

  December 2014

  WYSTERIA

  PROLOGUE

  Will opened his eyes and stared for a moment at the pale blue ceiling. Yes, he was back in his room and in his bed, and the sunlight peeking through the small gap in the curtains told him it was now well into the morning.

  He breathed deeply and smiled. Not only had their mission succeeded, the conflict plaguing their Dreams for so long had been resolved, finally and for good. Wysteria could return to what it always should have been – a place of unlimited freedom, unencumbered by strife.

  As he lay there, reflecting on what the future now held for them, Will caught a scent – the scent. . . . Lilacs. His impulse was to look for her, but that couldn’t be the source – not here, not in this World.

  Though the blooms in his yard had long since faded, he glanced at the window. As he expected, it was shut. (He’d closed it last night, fearing that some noise outside might jar him awake before their task was complete.)

  Then where was it coming from? Was it a phantom fragrance, drifting across the border between his two Worlds?

  Will sat up and scanned the room, but saw nothing that might explain the sweet aroma.

  “. . . Could it be?” he thought.

  He slowly lowered his eyes and, in utter disbelief, gasped . . .

  CHAPTER I

  Though it seemed far longer, it was only weeks ago that Will had his first “Lucid Dream” – a “Waking Dream”, as it’s sometimes called.

  He was sitting in his bedroom reading over a paper he’d finished earlier that evening. It was late, and his eyes were growing tired. He closed them, leaned his head back in the comfortable chair, and began to doze off.

  Sleep soon took him, and within minutes, he slipped into the World of Dreams.

  * * *

  He suddenly found himself standing in the middle of a narrow, cobblestone street, lined on each side by a row of quaint buildings, two or three stories tall. It was a foreign yet somehow familiar scene – rather story-bookish, like a fanciful version of an old neighborhood in a European city.

  There were pedestrians strolling in both directions, dressed in clothes that could only be described as “old-fashioned” – ranging anywhere from early Colonial to late Victorian. Three women passed by, all wearing full, ankle-length skirts and simple white blouses. Two young men standing in front of a doorway wore grey wool trousers and short brown jackets. Farther down the street, he saw a more elegantly dressed couple walking arm in arm, the gentleman in a black frock coat and tall, leather boots, his lady wearing a long red dress with a high collar and fitted sleeves.

  Will frequently had vivid dreams, but this was altogether different – difficult to describe to anyone who hasn’t had the experience. As real as it all appeared, he was fully conscious that it was, in fact, just a dream.

  He kept expecting to see his surroundings turn to black and disappear; for in the past, the moment he realized he was dreaming, he would immediately wake up.

  . . . Strangely enough, however . . . , that wasn’t happening.

  “Is this really a dream?” Will asked himself. It was difficult to believe that the solid-looking world surrounding him existed only in his head and not out there.

  He looked down at his feet. Yes, those were his shoes. He stamped his right foot firmly on the stone surface and felt the impact. It certainly felt real – both his foot and the pavement.

  Will then looked at his hands. He stared at his palms for a moment, then rubbed his fingers together and squeezed them into a fist. It felt like his body . . . , and yet it couldn’t be. For his body was asleep in his bedroom. He was sure of that.

  “How can this not be me?” he wondered, struggling to comprehend what he was experiencing.

  He knew he hadn’t been transported to another place or time in the waking world. There was something different about the quality of the experience – objects in the foreground seemed clear and vivid (almost too vivid), while the scene in the background appeared somewhat out of focus and fluid. This was not real, nor was it a “vision” – mystical, or psychotic. He was certain it was a dream.

  “It’s . . . magical,” he thought, looking around him.

  Assuming he’d be dragged from this world at any moment, Will tried to take in as much as he could. He wanted to make sure he’d remember all of it before he woke up. But as the minutes passed, and the scene remained stable, he began to think that he might have some time here; and if so, then this was an extraordinary opportunity – one that shouldn’t be wasted.

  “What should I do?” he asked himself, aloud.

  The sound of his own voice startled him, and he suddenly felt self-conscious, standing, as he was, in the middle of the road, looking completely lost and out of place.

  “I must look odd to these people,” he thought, for he was dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing earlier that day – jeans, a blue short-sleeved shirt, and white tennis shoes. But the citizens seemed to take little notice of him. No one said a word as they passed by, though a few made brief eye contact and flashed friendly smiles.

  . . . Then, Will noticed a young woman – quite pretty, perhaps in her early thirties, with thick, shoulder-length blond hair and clear blue eyes. She was dressed in the local fashion, wearing a long green skirt and a white blouse with full sleeves gathered at the wrist. But unlike the other citizens on the street, she was staring directly at him as she approached.

  When she reached him, the woman stopped and curtsied, lowering her eyes, then looked up at him and smiled.

  “I believe you want to go that way, my Lord,” she said, pointing down the street to his left (which he felt, for some reason, was west).

  Unsure how to respond, Will gazed at her lovely features, thinking how strange it was that she wasn’t flesh and blood. “How beautiful,” he thought. And for a moment, he was tempted to kiss her – just to see what it would feel like. Of course, under normal circumstances, such an act would be unthinkably rude, bordering on criminal. However, she was not a person, but a figment of his sleeping mind, and therefore could not be offended.

  Then it hit him. He could do anything he wanted – anything! He couldn’t insult or harm anyone here, because (regardless of how real they seemed) they were illusory – only characters in his dream.

  Nor could he be harmed. He could jump from the tallest rooftop and suffer no injury – because none of this was real. Here, in this world, there was no reason to feel any shyness, apprehension, or guilt. He needn’t feel fear – of any kind. It was as if he’d become a super-hero . . . or a God.

  Like a soft breeze blowing away all his cares, a wave of joy passed through Will’s body. He felt purified and exhilarated . . . and absolutely free.

  The woman took his right hand in both of hers. Her touch was soft, warm, and deeply comforting. “I must take my leave,”
she said.

  “Of course,” he replied, now smiling broadly.

  “. . . And I do believe you want to go that way,” she told him again.

  He wanted to ask why, but simply said, “Thank you.”

  She released his hand, but he held on to her fingers. Lifting the back of her left hand to his lips, he kissed it gently. His lovely creation smiled, and Will saw a slight blush appear on her cheeks.

  “Enjoy the lovely day,” she said, disengaging her hand and offering another gracious curtsy.

  As she turned and began crossing the street, a faint halo of colored light surrounded her. The radiant beauty walked to a small wooden door in the building opposite him, opened it, and after casting him a quick glance over her shoulder, disappeared inside.

  For a moment, Will was tempted to follow her . . . , but he decided to heed her advice. “Very curious,” he said to himself.

  . . . What was it she thought he was looking for?

  Will began walking in the direction she’d suggested. Since the road turned slightly to the left about fifty yards ahead, he couldn’t tell where it was taking him. But rounding the bend, he saw that it led to an arched gateway that opened into a large courtyard of some kind.

  When he reached the entrance, Will stepped through the gate and stopped for a moment to survey the new scene.

  The courtyard was actually a small town square, perhaps 250 feet across, enclosed by buildings and high stone walls. Other than a large fountain in the center, there were no structures inside. The ground was paved with gray flagstones, except for the back left corner, which was slightly raised. Several trees and a few ornamental shrubs grew there, clustered around a stone bench sitting on a carpet of dark green moss.

  There were a number of people in the plaza, some strolling leisurely, others gathered in small groups, talking and laughing. Occasionally, someone would emerge from one of the doors carrying a bundle of who-knows-what.

  . . . Then the fountain caught Will’s eye. He’d noticed it even before he entered the square; but though it was a rather prominent feature, he’d paid it little attention.

  At first, it appeared somewhat two-dimensional and slightly blurry. However, as he looked more closely, it came into sharp focus. It was made of stone, polished and dark grey (probably granite), with a tall central column from which the water pulsed up into the air before falling into a circular basin, waist-high and perhaps twelve feet in diameter. While not particularly ornate, it was striking.

  As Will walked toward the fountain, it became more dazzling. The upward spray sparkled like a plume of liquid diamonds, and the sound of the water splashing into the pool became musical, reminding him of the delicate glass wind chimes he sometimes heard in the distance on quiet, breezy nights.

  Coming to the edge of the basin, he stared for a minute into the pool then dipped both his hands in the water. It felt wet, but different somehow – effervescent, like carbonated water . . . , almost alive.

  After a few moments, Will withdrew his hands and shook the water from them. But as he started to wipe them dry on his shirt, he found they were no longer wet.

  “Odd,” he thought.

  His attention now turned to the southwest corner of the square, where the small clump of trees grew. It looked like a charming spot; and needing a minute to collect his thoughts, he decided to go sit down in the shade.

  Will walked over to the bench beneath the trees and took a seat facing the plaza. From here, he saw that the gate through which he’d entered was located in the middle of the eastern wall of the enclosure. There were no other doorways along that side, only a few small windows high up on the second story. A tangle of vines climbed across the wall, clinging to the rough stone, nearly covering large sections of it.

  At the northern end of the square were six wooden doors, evenly spaced along the wall, each painted a different color, three with small rectangular windows cut into them at eye level. Above each door hung a small sign jutting out into the plaza (though from where he sat, Will couldn’t make out what any of them said). There was also a row of windows, two for each doorway, set in the story above them.

  To his immediate left, the western wall was high and solid, broken only by a gateway, identical to the one on the opposite side of the square.

  The southern wall, on his right, was lower than the others (no more than fifteen feet high) and had a walkway along the top. In its center was another arched entrance, larger than the other two gates and flanked by two smaller open doorways.

  Curious where it led, Will rose from his seat and walked over to investigate.

  Outside the gate was another street, wider than the one he’d followed into the square. It stretched straight ahead for a nearly a hundred yards, terminating at a low wall with a pair of large wooden doors, which stood closed. From the larger size of this entrance and the width of the road, he guessed that this was the main entrance to the square.

  As he peered down the street, wondering what lay beyond the wall at the far end, Will noticed a dense black cloud beginning to form ahead of him. The darkness crept forward, obscuring the scene as it moved closer.

  His body then began to tingle.

  “No!” he gasped, for he realized what was happening – he was waking up.

  Will began backing up, trying to retreat from the inky fog. But it was no use. Blackness surrounded him, and his dream world disappeared.

  * * *

  A moment later, he woke up, now back in his room, sitting in his chair, with the paper he’d been reading on the floor by his feet.

  “Oh my God!” he said aloud. “That was . . . incredible!”

  Will looked at the clock on his desk and saw that he hadn’t been sleeping long – perhaps only fifteen or twenty minutes. . . . That was strange, for it felt as if he’d been away much longer than that.

  “Can I get back?” he wondered.

  Thinking it might be possible to return if he could fall back asleep soon enough, he turned off the light and made his way to the bed, trying to hold an image of that world in his mind. Without undressing, he slid under the covers, put his head on the pillow, and closed his eyes.

  However, though he nodded off quickly, Will did not return to his dream world that night.

  CHAPTER II

  Will awoke the next morning to the sound of his alarm. He reached over and silenced it, then laid his head back on the pillow.

  “Are you up, Will? I’m leaving now,” he heard his mother call from downstairs.

  “Yes, Mom,” he answered.

  “Did you finish?” she asked.

  “Yep – all done.”

  “Congratulations! It must be a great feeling.”

  “It sure is,” he said. “Have a good day!”

  After hearing the front door shut, Will propped himself up in bed. There was no rush to get up today. His paper was due by noon, and the campus was only a few minutes’ walk from his home.

  Not only was he done for the semester (as well as the school year), the coursework for his Masters degree was finished. He now had only his thesis to write. Since he’d received a fellowship with a small stipend, he could concentrate on that project for the summer. He would also have time to help his mother with some work that needed to be done around the house.

  Will then remembered his dream.

  “That’s right!” he said. “That crazy dream!”

  He closed his eyes and briefly ran through the sequence of events that had occurred last night. Unlike most dreams, he could recall everything in stunning detail, including the sense of complete freedom and happiness he’d felt there.

  “What a strange and wonderful experience,” he thought, smiling. “Even if it never happens again, to have felt such absolute bliss, even for a moment . . . .” He considered himself very fortunate.

  . . . Of course, he hoped it would happen again.

  Will had time to doze. But he was awake now and had gotten plenty of sleep; so he rolled out of bed, showered and dressed,
then delivered his final assignment to his professor’s office.

  He planned to give himself a week off before launching into his thesis, and since it was a beautiful day, he spent it outside, working in the yard . . . , every so often, thinking about his dream and wondering if he would ever return to that world.

  That night at dinner, Will spoke to mom about his bizarre experience.

  He and his mother had always been close, but their shared grief over his father’s death had brought them even closer. With her husband gone, Will was all she had. It was sudden and unexpected. A car accident. He was a sophomore in high school, at the time. And at an age when others were enjoying their youthful, carefree lives, he became the sole man of the family.

  Since his dream had made such an impact on him, he felt compelled to share it with her. Otherwise, it would feel as if he were keeping a secret. Though it was difficult to convey how astonishing it felt, his mother was intrigued and happy for him.

  She commented that it might be a reward, from himself, for completing his schoolwork. . . . A perceptive thought.

  After doing the dishes, they watched a movie together. Then Will retired to his room to read for a while. He had no plans for tomorrow and could sleep in as late as he liked; but he soon grew tired and climbed into bed. Would he dream of that place again? He tried not to get his hopes up, reminding himself that it might have been a weird, unrepeatable fluke – the result (as his mother had suggested) of a relieved and over-taxed mind.

  * * *

  But that night, Will did have another dream. Once again, his waking mind – his conscious identity – remained intact. And though it was a different setting, it seemed to be the same “world” – perhaps another neighborhood of the town.