dreams Come True

Supernatural Stories | Sep 2, 2013 | 18 min read
4 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
Supernatural Stories

dreams Come True

Andy
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Connor True had almost forgotten what it was like to dream. It wasn't that he couldn't recall his dreams or that he was so tired he didn't spend much time in REM sleep. He had simply lost the ability to dream. It had happened a little over twenty years ago following an ancient African ritual that very probably saved his life.
He couldn't remember much of that episode now but he had been told that he had been unwell for some time with a fever and sickness. Medicines hadn't been able to cure it and it had been getting worse. In the end his grandmother had become very worried for him. Typical of that generation of Nigerian's, Grandmother Nnedinma was a kindly but dominant matriarch who would lavish her grandchildren with love and affection when they were good and painful beatings when they were wicked. Her large frame was always decorated in colourful beads and golden jewellery that jangled whenever she moved. She didn't hold much faith in Western medicine and brought Connor back to Nigeria where, in keeping with her tradition, the people from her village performed a ritual to cleanse his soul. Connor had vague impressions of the ritual; of people wearing masks, shaking rattles and making strange wailing sounds but he recalled little else. Afterwards though, whether it was coincidence or not, Connor began to get better but he soon noticed that he no longer dreamed. Before this ritual had taken place Connor used to dream like any normal person but sometimes his dreams had been far from normal.
Grandmother Nnadinma had explained that he had a special gift; a psychic doorway in his mind that led into the other world. This was a place of secret wisdom forbidden lore allowing Connor to see things people were not meant to see. In his dreams, both sleeping and waking Connor would glimpse flashes of the past, present and future. He was witness to events to events that had happened, were happening and would happen, anywhere in the world. He remembered knowing what they would be discussing at school that day before he got there; he saw when Tom Harley would throw someone's bag across the classroom and; he knew when Mrs Hope would be springing a test on them. It was totally natural to Connor; like remembering what he did the day before, except he would be remembering what would happen the next day. When he was six years old he saw Marty Compton knocked off his bike by a car as he was riding into school one morning. When it happened he was the only person by the school gate that wasn't shouting and screaming at the sight of the blood trickling down the road. He had been shocked when he first saw it two days before but it wasn't so bad the second time around when it happened for real.
That incident with Marty was a little upsetting but it was nothing compared to the other more disturbing images he was sometimes witness to as he gazed through the doorway in his mind. As well as being able to see through time, Connor had also been able to see into the afterlife. In a way it was fortunate that the ritual in Nigeria had sealed the psychic doorway. That had been the warning from Grandmother Nnedinma and her gaggle of eccentric and superstitious old lady friends.

Connor didn't see Grandmother Nnedinma as much these days, she was getting old didn't like to come to England. It was a long journey, the weather was too cold and there were too many white people there for her liking, even though Connor's father was a white man and he and his family would bend over backwards to accommodate her.
Growing up with the belief that he had almost died, Connor had vowed to devote a good portion of his life to improving the lives of others. At twenty seven years old Connor spent most of his spare time helping young people in the community as both a street dance instructor and also a youth leader. Connor's experiences had shaped him to be a humble man by nature and he felt very fortunate to be sharing the lives of all those fantastic people he worked with. He related to the people in his dance crew and youth club as if they were family. It was a privilege to help them to shape their lives and encourage them towards their ambitions. Tonight was his one and only evening to himself when he wasn't working or visiting Mum and his three younger sisters and he decided to treat himself.

Connor shook the rain from his wild curly mop of hair as he entered The Heart of India restaurant.
"Ah hello Mr Connor, sir. How are you?" Imral, the manager greeted him warmly with his rich Bengali accent. At only 5ft 4ins Connor towered over Imral who vigorously shook his hand.
"I'm keeping well, thanks man" Connor said. "I'll be able to get you that game demo next week if you still want it?" Connor's main job was a video games designer at 3PO Games Design, which meant he had access to a steady supply of demo games that he freely shared with his friends.
"Ah yes please. I love the racing games. They are so much more fun than driving my little fiesta around. Ha-ha" he laughed loudly at his own joke, clapping Connor on the arm.
"Listen, it was good news about West Ham init? They are going to be signing that new striker from Brazil"
"Yeah, let's hope he's worth it, he's costing us enough" Connor agreed.
"Yes I hope so. Are you here to eat tonight?"
"Yes please" Connor nodded as Imral poured a pint of Kingfisher from the bar and handed it to him. He also poured himself half a pint as well. To say Imral was a relaxed non-traditional Muslim would be an understatement.
As Imral was drinking tonight, Connor guessed that Nazmul, Imral's business partner and joint owner of the restaurant, was not working because Imral only ever drank in the restaurant when Nazmul was away. Imral also liked to fill the restaurant with loud heavy metal music at the end of the night when the last customers had left. Connor had listened to him singing along to various Iron Maiden tracks as he cleared the tables and laid them again for the following day.
"How is everyone at home?" Connor asked and noticed Imral's trademark smile slip momentarily from his mouth. In all the years plus that he had known Imral he had never seen him not smiling.
"They are all well. Thank you" he answered quickly. "Now what is it that you're having tonight, Sir?" he asked taking out his notepad from his dazzlingly white shirt pocket.
"I'll have chicken vindaloo and rice please".
"I'll through in a garlic naan and vegetable curry for you as well" Imra's smile was back in place again. "You are my main supplier of video games after all".
"Ah, you don't have to do that" Connor protested. Imral always gave him extra food whenever he came and Connor often felt a little embarrassed. He didn't deserve it but Imral was generous to a fault and looked after his friends by making sure they were well fed. While Connor expressed himself through his dancing, Imral expressed his feelings through food. For people he liked he would give them bigger portions or throw in extra dishes for them. But if customers caused trouble or were rude, then they may find something else in their curry that they didn't order. Imral had often boasted in the past that he had put other anonymous ingredients in the curries of people who had displeased him. Connor was never sure if he was pulling his leg or not. But he thought it best not to ask.
"Naresh is doing really well in the crew" Connor said nodding to a framed picture of Imral's son that was propped up behind the bar next to the bottles of spirits. It was only a matter of time, Connor thought, before the premature balding gene would kick in for Naresh as it had done with Imral and everyone else in his family. It usually started in the late teens and Imral, although no older than thirty, only had a few strands of black hair left crossing the wilderness of his scalp these days.
"We missed him last night though".
"Ah" Imral's face dropped again. "He was just out last night with a friend" he said quickly while busying himself tidying a pile of takeaway leaflets that were already neatly stacked.
Connor waited for Imral to say more but he only said "I'll have chef make this up for you. Take a seat, it won't be long, bro". Imral gestured to a table by the kitchen door before disappearing from the restaurant himself. Connor watched Imral go. Leading a youth club he knew when someone was trying to hide something from him and Imral was not a good liar.

The door to the kitchen swung open from time to time revealing the bustling smoky heart of the restaurant. Over the clanking and crashing sounds of cooking Radio 1 played noisily in the background on an old crackly radio. Pans clattered and food sizzled, sending wafts of delicious aromas out into the dining area. While sat out here in the main restaurant it was peaceful and serene, a complete contrast from the fast paced mechanics of a busy professional kitchen. Out here the relaxing sophisticated ambiance of the restaurant was enhanced by the quiet conversations and glow from the numerous table candles. Connor also recognised the gentle beats of a Chet Baker track currently playing in the background. Connor had inherited his love for Jazz music from his mother and Chet Baker was one of their favourites.
Reflecting on the contrasting worlds of the chefs and the waiters, Connor was reminded of the stories Grandmother Nnedinma used to tell him about the spirits who dwelled in the other world. Out here in the dining area it was nice and peaceful and people went about their lives oblivious to the other world that ran parallel to this one. But occasionally, for some special people – mystics, psychics, mediums, shamans, the door to the other world would open and the spirits would bring gifts or messages to the people. Connor watched as Imral pushed a trolley out of the kitchen laden with exotic looking dishes for a family of four sat by the window. These special people were able to see glimpses of the other world, just as people occasionally caught glimpses of the kitchen as the door opened or closed.
As the door opened again Connor saw a plume of fire leap up from the large cooker as a chef added another ingredient to the pan and shook it with the passionate flare of an expert cook.
Connor wondered about the door inside his head that had been sealed by that witch doctor, or whoever he was. Sometimes in his idle moments he would press on the door, push ever so slightly just to see if it was still closed. Like picking a scab, he knew he shouldn't do it, despite knowing what else was lurked beyond the doorway. Customers aren't meant to go in the kitchen because it is full of dangers just as humans aren't meant to know too much about the other world until they die. At least that way they are spared the horror of knowing what is waiting for them when they do pass over; because it's not just the dead that wander through the afterlife.

Imral finished serving a family of four who were sat by the window and made his way back to the kitchen. The door opened again and Mina, Imral's wife quietly stole into the restaurant. She hovered by the door and self-consciously pulled her headscarf around her head while furtively looking around for her husband. It was rare to see Mina down here when the restaurant was open; she usually stayed upstairs looking after the children. Connor noticed the intricate gold pattern on her jade sari sparked in the lights from behind the bar. Her oval chestnut eyes caught him and she nodded in recognition and said a timid "Hello" before quickly looking away. Although she had never said more than a few words to him over the years, Connor felt honoured that she shared even those few utterances with him. She never usually spoke to any men other than Imral. He took another sip of his beer as he watched Imral hurry over to her and take her arm to steer her back out of sight. Mina said something in rapid-fire Bengali and Imral responded with an equally fast flurry of vowels and consonants. Connor didn't need to understand what they were saying because the urgency and tone and the way Imral was ushering her back into the kitchen told him something wasn't right. They were usually very calm and unemotional when they appeared together in public with Mina always carrying out the role of the shy dutiful wife to perfection.
Connor could hear muffled yet raised voices coming from the kitchen and after a few moments Imral came out again looking visibly haggard.
"Is everything alright, man?" Connor enquired before he even realised the words were out of his mouth. Imral looked as if he was about to dismiss the conversation with his wife but after glancing around and seeing no one was in earshot he resigned to sharing his troubles.
"It's Naresh" Imral began with a sigh. "He's missing somewhere. He didn't come home yesterday after school and none of his friends know where he is either. I've told Mina not to fret and that he'll turn up again soon, but..." he let the sentence hang. Connor said nothing as Imral spoke. He knew Imral to be a very private person and understood the level of worry must be very high for him to share something like this.
"He left school last night but he never made it home" Imral continued. "Mina is so worried for him. She doesn't know what to do. We've phoned everyone but no one has seen him. The police are out looking and I should be out there as well but with Nazmul visiting his family back home in Dakar someone needs to stay here and run the restaurant. Mina is going out of her mind with worry - you know how women are. My brother and his wife are coming down from Birmingham tonight and they'll take over here in a little while so I can go out and search for him".
"Man, it must be agonising for you both" Connor said slowly shaking his head as Imral knocked back his glass of Kingfisher in one swallow.
"Obviously I'll help you look for Naresh".
"You are very kind. He often goes round the woods on his bike. The police said they've been round there and they'll go back in the day time but I want to go there tonight. He may have fallen off and hurt himself. I always tell him not to ride so fast but the boy never listens". Imral's eyes began to water.
"OK, we'll go over there together. I've got my car outside". At that moment a middle aged couple came into the restaurant. The woman had a very strong perfume that was wafted into the dining area as they closed the door behind them and shook the rain from their coats. Within a split second Imral had composed himself and his trademark smile was plastered over his beaming face once again as he went to welcome them.
Connor took another sip of his beer. He couldn't imagine what Imral and Mina must be going through. It was every parent's worst nightmare. He worried about some of the kids in the youth club at times but this was a whole other league. Connor had known Naresh since he was a baby and in a way he was like family. Everyone in his dance crew shared a close bond because the trust and support between members was vital to successfully performing the high-risk routines they practiced. He had to help Naresh. Forget the takeaway, he decided. I'll go and help with the search even though on a rainy night it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Then he paused: He didn't have to search. He could use his talent and peer into the other world to help find him. Connor knew the risks well; Grandmother Nnedinma took every opportunity to remind him of them.
During his illness, his grandmother, ever the superstitious traditionalist, feared that Connor had been possessed by a demon. Ancient beyond comprehension, terrifying beyond imagination, Demons are beings of vile cunning and incredible power. They exist, Grandmother Nnedinma had explained, in the other world and the ritual that Connor underwent had sealed the door to that world and so the demon could no longer find him. Connor had been hidden and safe for the last twenty years but if he opened the door again the creature may be able to find him once more.
This particular demon was named Abiku and it had hunted male members of their family for generations. Grandmother Nnedinma had hoped Connor would be spared the demon's attention because he had been born in England and his father was not African. But unfortunately Abiku had discovered him and had caused the sickness in him through his dreams.
Folklore suggested that a person's psychic self is much more open and susceptible to manipulation when they are sleeping. So without proper awareness or defences a person is vulnerable to a demon's vile incursions through their dreams. But for people like Connor who had a psychic doorway in their mind; a demon could slip through to attack them at any time or even possess them. That was why is had been necessary for the ritual to seal the doorway closed.
But, Connor reflected, these were exceptional circumstances. It wouldn't take long either, just a quick peek through the door to see where Naresh was and then he would be out again. But the other world though, was not a safe place; it is the worst kind of nightmare imaginable. There is no heaven or hell in the afterlife, just the other world waiting for us. It is a terrible place where souls wander for eternity while trying to go unseen by the demons that stalk the astral plane. Demons from which there is no place to hide. It is the unavoidable destiny of billions of souls to be devoured by the ravenous beings that lurk in the shadows of a world of darkness and horror.
Connor knew this to be true because he had witnessed it in the never-to-be forgotten visions from his childhood. In his dreams when the door was open, he would see people screaming, dead people crying out in terror as they fell victim to the horrors of the afterlife. He was helpless but to watch, to hear their cries of despair and feel their sudden shock freezing into blind terror as they realised their fate. Those poor souls had no hope of rescue, there was no heavenly salvation and no gods would save them. Life is precious and Connor, knowing what awaits us after we die, is one of the few people who truly understand that phrase.
He felt torn; all his life his Grandmother had told him not to go there no matter what. Besides, Naresh was nearly a teenager. He was probably out with his friends and had forgotten to phone home. He had done it all the time when he was younger. It was too much of a risk to peek into the other world anyway. Connor had learned from Grandmother Nnedinma that if a Demon senses a living person trespassing or even looking into the world beyond the veil, it will not stop until it finds that person. To a demon a living soul is prized beyond anything. Not only is it a delicacy beyond pleasure, a living soul can also be a gateway from the other world into the material universe. If Connor crossed into the other world and was caught by a demon he would spend an eternity of torment in the belly of the creature while it broke through into the real world and spread the horror of the other world here.
But Naresh was only eleven years old and he had been out for over 24 hours.
Maybe the battery on his phone was dead? What if he had come off his bike and was lying injured somewhere?
Then the police would find him and bring him back. They were out searching now.
But what if they couldn't find him? Connor wouldn't open the door for long. He just needed to see if Naresh was alive or…
No! That was it; he had no choice. With his mind made up, Connor made his way to the toilets at the back of the restaurant. He needed to be somewhere without any distractions.
Upon entering the toilet, with its overpowering scent of sickly lemon, he locked the door and sat down. He closed his eyes and in his mind's eye he saw the door to the other world: The gateway to the psychic realm of spirits and demons. The door looked like any other door but it was haloed in the darkness of his subconscious by an eerie pale light. The light shone from all around its insubstantial frame and as Connor pushed the door the light rushed out to envelop him.

Connor felt a deep relaxation surround his body and lift him upwards as if he were floating. Connor had read about astral projection and even designed a video game where a character had left his body and had to fight his way through various levels to return to his physical form again. It was different for Connor though. He didn't leave his body, he was still here still, aware of the plastic seat beneath him and the cold tiled walls either side of him. He could hear the muffled music filtering into the toilet from outside as well. It was like a very shallow sleep, like taking a power nap when the body is totally resting but the mind is still chattering away like a bunch of monkey's sitting in a tree calling out to each other.
It had been surprisingly easy to open even though Connor hadn't been here for over twenty years. Standing on the threshold it felt so natural being here. He could have been here yesterday but time, he remembered, had no meaning in this realm. He peered through, concentrating on the young Bangladeshi boy.
The babbling of his mind quickly turned into pictures and images of Naresh flashed past his mind: Naresh on a trip to the beach and smiling as his photo was taken; Naresh stumbling about the stage on his first day at the dance class; Naresh leaving school yesterday afternoon with his friends, a trio of bikes racing towards the newsagents. They left the shop and Naresh said goodbye to his friends and rode over to the skate park.
Connor felt a thrill of excitement at what he was doing. He hadn't appreciated it as a child but now he marvelled at what he was able to do. In his mind, he could go anywhere! The allure of the other world pulled him in and a childlike eagerness whizzed through his body and he was reminded of the times he went exploring in the woods with his friends to make dens. He couldn't linger here though and knew he had to find where Naresh was now. He had to find him and then close the door again before anything got his scent. Just by being here, his Grandmother had warned him, they could sense the warmth emanating from his living soul. Soon they would begin circling him like ocean predators smelling blood in the water. Grandmother's Nnedinma's warning was accompanied by a feeling of wariness at the back of his mind, as if something was watching him. He put it down to a guilty paranoia because he was not supposed to be here.
Naresh parked his bike and sat down by the halfpipe. The ramp was decorated with loud colourful graffiti tags from the local kids to show their ownership of the park. As Naresh ate his sweets a silver car with blacked-out windows pulled up and someone called over to him. Connor couldn't hear what was said but Naresh seemed to know the driver and he hurried over to the car. Connor knew this was not right and he wanted to shout out but he knew Naresh would not hear him. He shouted a warning anyway but it made no difference. Someone big and burly got out of the back of the car and Connor watched in startling disbelief as Naresh was roughly bundled into the back seat of the car before it sped away. This had been yesterday and Connor willed himself into the present.
The image dissolved again and Connor saw a darkened room. Naresh was lying on a grubby mattress in the corner of the cold concrete floor, roughly the size of a prison cell. He was lying in a foetal position, apparently asleep, definitely alive because he could hear him breathing. The bare brick walls added to the harsh prison-like feel of the room. In the dull shaft of orange light cast from a small grimy window high in the wall Connor made out some rickety wooden steps in a corner leading up to a closed door. Connor looked around but could not make out any more details so he willed his mind to rise up to the small window. He felt himself drift up out of the window and into the street. The feeling of suspicion returned as Connor visualised the street outside. Despite the lashing rain the street outside was instantly recognisable as Nightingale Crescent, which wasn't far from the restaurant. A silver number 14 was nailed to the blue paint-chipped front door of the ex-council house.
Nightingale Crescent was on a rough estate. Connor did his best to avoid it at the best of times. He knew a few of the kids here from youth club and they assured him he had nothing to worry about around here because they would look out for him. He still felt a little apprehensive now even though he wasn't physically here and he wondered if it was an effect of being in the other world. He was alive and not meant to be here. It was unnatural, not part of the laws of nature for a living person to walk in this realm. He looked around to reassure himself that he was indeed alone and relaxed a little as he saw the street was deserted. He still couldn't shake off the feeling of disquiet and thought of Grandmother Nnedinma again but as he did so the image around him changed.
A new scene dissolved into clarity and Connor saw that he was now at home in his flat. He was standing in his bedroom and it was dark outside. He looked at himself sleeping in the bed and saw there was someone sleeping next to him; a woman that he didn't recognise. He realised that he was looking into the future and he had not met her yet. There was no way of telling how far in the future this was and he was about to look around the flat for some indication of the date when he noticed a third figure in the room and his sense of unease spiked sharply. The intruder was crouching at the foot of the bed looking at the sleeping form of Connor. There was an aura of menace about the creature that made Connor want to leave. Its dark clothes hid any features but Connor knew what lay beneath them. He shouted a warning to his sleeping self but obviously he did not hear.
The figure, however, cocked its head to the side as if listening to something far away. Then it lifted its head back smelling something in the air. Grandmother Nnedinma's warnings and scolding's surfaced with urgency but it was already too late. The figure slowly turned towards him, eyeing him from beneath its voluminous hood. The demon spoke in a thick oily voice that dripped with poison "I've been looking for you, Connor True". In the blink of an eye Abiku sprang up onto the edge of the bed with a cat-like agility. Connor thought she was going to attack him. He raised his arms in a futile defence. Instead the demon turned towards the pair sleeping in the bed and she leapt onto her prey as Connor fled, slamming the psychic door closed behind him and waking himself with a start.
He shivered and felt sweat prickling his skin as he sat in the cold toilet cubicle. His heart was hammering in his ever tightening chest. Although he had found Naresh he had revealed himself in the other world and the demon had seen him. Now the door had been opened, Abiku could find him again now and at some point in the future she would come for him. The damage was done. As he slowly rose on legs that had turned to jelly he could still hear the demon's mocking laughter echoing in his head as he stumbled back into the restaurant. He feared he would continue to hear that laughter when he slept because he had no doubt that his dreams would soon return to him.

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