The Lemon Meringue Boy

Part 7

I was falling. I was falling faster than I ever would have imagined possible, yet it felt as if I was suspended in the air, hovering in one place. This was even worse than the bottomless pit, especially in the sense that it was very unlikely that there was no bottom this time around. I braced for impact and attempted to remember how I got here. 

Before I figured it out I began to slow down, the air whipping less violently through my hair and pajamas. Gradually, I began to fall slower and slower until it seemed as if I was sinking through Jell-O. I had stopped bracing myself and had figured out where I was. I was asleep. I was dreaming. 

The conclusion struck me as weird, since I had never dreamt lucidly before this. Suddenly, I felt hard ground beneath my feet. It felt like the cement of the basement floor, but as I looked around my surroundings I couldn't see anything.

Thick fog enveloped the area until I felt as if I was suffocating in its weight. I felt its dense coils infiltrate my throat and lungs, its damp, sticky nature causing it to cling to my insides like tar. When I looked down I saw that, although it felt as if I was standing on a hard surface, below my feet was what seemed like a rushing, billowing mass of fog with no end. 

When I looked back up I saw that the fog had dispersed enough for me look through, but there wasn't much to see. All I saw was blackness. A void so vast and empty that darkness became meaningless compared to the horrendous absence of energy before me. Before I could catch my breath I heard a thin, sinister whisper, so quiet that I might as well have imagined it.

"Care to hear a poem?" I frantically jerked back, flailing my arms in an attempt to catch the voice's source with a punch or slap or anything. The whisper was so close, it's cool breath still tickling my ear. The sound of a voice when I believed I was alone was a sensation straight from a horror movie. 

"Scared? Good. You've been taught well. Stranger danger and all. Do you still what to hear that poem?"

"Who are you?! Where are you?!"

"And I thought such a polite boy would answer a simple question. I suppose it was too much to ask."

"Quit the games, creep! Here's the deal, if I play your stupid game you have to tell me what's going on, got it?"

"A deal. I like the sound of that. I love a good deal. Here's the poem...

'Like a tree

You are rooted in place

Listening, watching

But can only see so much

The world's wonders

Just out of reach of

Your wandering eye.

Only when the wood is cut

Can the tree truly be free

From the prison that is

It's forest home'

You like it? I think it's quite pretty though I myself am not much of a poet. Opinions?"

I was at a loss. I was so confused I didn't know where to begin. This disembodied voice was asking me for tips on literature? Then I remembered his promise. 

"Our deal. What's going on?" I heard a sly chuckle bounce about the empty space until it seemed the voice was coming from every direction.

"Ah yes. Eventually you'll learn that as deal making is my strong suit, I've never really been one to keep them. Besides, I'll hardly have enough time to tell you before you wake up, will I?"

"And how do you_" Before I could finish my sentence, the fog washed around me yet again and I awoke. I shot upright in my sleeping bag. 

"Know?" dazed and startled, I looked around the room and was relieved to see that I was back in the basement. With the details of the strange dream still clinging to my memory like cobwebs, I quickly dismissed it as a nightmare caused by sleeping uncomfortably. The next night I'd have to bring down an air mattress in addition to my stiff sleeping mat.

 I still hadn't got enough sleep to make up for the previous day, so I laid my head back on my pillow and soon slipped back into a deep slumber. No more dreams troubled me that night.