Tempest Of Dreams

The Puppet Master Comes Calling

I lay awake. Sleep stranding me on an oasis of consciousness. My family’s slumbering breaths rumbled through the crypt quiet house, but the wee hours of the night caused my mind to teeter on the edge of hallucination. In my mind, unseen ghosts and ghouls skulked in the room’s darkened corners.

My will finally began to surrender and wave its white flag at the crushing weight of exhaustion, when a tortured cry from the bairn at my side startled me to wakeful fright. I grabbed him up in my arms like a mother lioness with her cub and guarded him, senseless of the cause of his distress and the cognitive world around me.

Bizarre mental pictures flashed before my exhausted mind’s eye, while I searched my child’s person, blankets, and pillows for the nightmarish old hag’s menacing fingers. Ludicrous phrases such as ‘Christian’s bikini bash’ and chilling female wraith faces paraded in my head on a spasmodic movie reel, as my subconscious was pulled back from the brink of demos oneiroi, the Land of Dreams.

Somewhat but not fully soothed by my embrace, my bairn’s moist hazel eyes burst open and he wiggled from my protection to kneel and point. He whimpered in terror at the lurking bogle he saw through the night-shadowed windowpane.

Afraid his outer villain was from neither this world nor that, I peered over my shoulder into the blackened universe outside, half expecting to see the murderous face of some mortal or otherworldly monster staring back at me. My fears were quenched for there was nothing there. I turned back to my wee lad and tried to divert his gaze.

“It’s okay sweetheart. There’s no one there,” I cooed, as I wrapped him in my arms to ward off the rest of the night’s demons and spooks. Soon he was no longer concerned and once again slept tight.

Still deprived of the ability to rest myself, I laid with baited breath and an agitated pulse, while the fears of uncertainty crept deeper into my pores. An eerie sensation continued to dwell in the recesses of the room’s darkened abyss and with every sweep of my spook-widened eyes, my heart’s rhythm jumped due to the moon’s shadow play.

I’m being an idiot.

Finally, I calmed myself enough to attempt to snooze and shut my eyes. But from the far side of the bed my horrors were reawakened and I started as the sedate house was filled with a chorus of insensible yells from the man I loved. Forceful and sharp, yet queer and alarming, his absurd recital soon ended. I let my breath go and looked down to ensure my lad still slept.

Will this strange night ever end?

Suddenly my granny’s clype stories came back to me. Could her nightmare warnings have been true? Was there more at play than just an overactive subconscious?

My senses were now heightened for I believed some unforeseen force trolled the darkened corners. I remembered to well from my childhood the miserable games the nightmares’ bestowed on the unsuspecting slumbering mind. Like puppets on a string, the gods of dreams danced and positioned mortals through an array of their whimsical props and prose, designed to frighten or amaze.

No, surely they are not but the pagan folklore of my Celtic ancestors.

My Western influenced mind was not ready to give up logical explanations. However, deep down I knew the night’s devilish strangeness could be attributed to none other than the Puppet Master himself, the captain of deception, the master of horrific illusion. Phobetor, the nightmare king.

I gazed around the impenetrable bedroom, no longer able to deny on that I was not alone. His minions had been sent to call. They hovered over my prostrate form, beyond human sight, and waited to pounce, to assault me when I was overwhelmed by sleep.

To the master’s court, like my bairn and my man, I would be drawn to stand in his great hall, the innocent jester in his foul plan. There was no sense fighting it. I submitted, for in the end his fancy always won.

I breathed deep, shook my head to try to rid myself of the thrown visions, and tucked myself in beside my family. Then, I closed my eyes.

All was a haze, as a bunch of blurry images came into focus. Everything seemed grey, like I’d been dipped into a colourless Polaroid. I willed myself to wake up. I blinked my eyes in desperation, though I knew them to be shut in reality. Things began to clear and I looked upon the source of the grey pallor. I was surrounded by stonewalls, castle walls.

I twirled in panicked circles trying to locate an escape. The flowing skirt and hooped sleeves of the plum cambric medieval gown I wore rose and fell like an ocean wave around me. My hair travelled down my back in a long auburn plait rather than its normal shoulder length cut.

What is going on? Where am I?

As I took in the scene and my archaic attire, I had no doubt I was captured within the Puppet Master’s domain. But why? What did he want with me?

The door of my castle prison was locked or in some way barred from the opposite side. I turned from its cast iron latch and glowered upon the straw pallet in the corner and the odd stone crafted flume, which ran down the chamber’s back wall under a glassless iron barred window.

Wake up! I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples in frustration. This is all just a dream.

Then I heard it, the distressed wail of a bairn. My bairn.

“No,” I cried, wild with instinctive fury. I barrelled to the door and pounded and scratched its rough wood surface in an attempt to rip my way free. Instead, my nails chipped and the skin underneath bled.

“Let me out,” I raged to my invisible jailor.

I moved to the limestone walls and slammed my fists against them, determined to hammer them into submission and gain my freedom. But it was no use. I was trapped. Trapped like a rat in a maze. I whirled away from the wall and screamed in despair as the taunting sound of my child’s suffering echoed on.

I’ve got to get out of here.

I leapt across my tight confines to the strange water-chute, my last hope. Still not computing its purpose, I stared bewildered at its stream of water, which entered through a square opening in the wall and flowed down its length to an exit in the opposite stones. I shook my head and tried to regain focus. Then, I gathered up my thick skirts, wrapped them snug around me, and hoisted myself up to sit on the flume’s stone edge.

Whoo-hoo, came an eerie call from above.

Startled, I looked up to find a long-eared owl staring back at me from between the bars of the night-darkened window. Its buff brown body and tufted ears stationary as its eyes remained glued on me. A shiver ran down my spine.

As if having a veil draped over my mind to erase all thought, I held the owl’s gaze and felt a serenity float over me, a sense of peace and longing. There is no danger. I’m safe and should go with him, my entranced mind assured.

Then my child’s cry seeped through the walls and the owl’s spell was broken. Parrying no more time, I laid down rod straight in the flume’s flow, despite the water’s icy bite, and the water’s combustible force sent me rocketing through the exit in the wall.

It’s all an illusion, none of this is real. I told myself as I zipped down the water slide, spiralling into an empty void as if on a roller coaster through nothing.

It was black all around me. The water-chute was suspended in a sea of darkness and flowed through curves, whirls, spirals, and zigzags at the speed of light. I closed my eyes against the vertigo-inducing nausea and yearned for the ride to be over as my soaked hair stuck to my face.

Then everything was still, absolutely still. I opened my eyes and found myself back in the castle cell, my hair and tunic gown no longer wet. The statuesque owl unchanged, watching me from between the bars.

“Let me out of here!” I screamed into the consuming silence. My bairn’s wail resounded in my ears. Frantic, I paced like a caged tiger and assessed my options. I had none. The bars on the window were too solid to even attempt to break and were guarded by the beholding owl.

With nothing to lose, I jumped back into the racing water-chute and played the gamble. I returned to my cell, dry and desperate.

Suddenly my jail’s door creaked open, unattended. I watched it with eyes of mistrust and waited for a heart stopping terror to rush in at me. Nothing happened. I listened, then stuck my head out and searched in either direction. There was nothing there to stop me, so I raced from the room.

The castle’s corridors were cold and lifeless. I streaked down them at a staggering speed, my gown trailing behind like a full sail. Corridor after corridor I ran down. An inescapable maze of never-ending tunnels shrouded in a grey gloom. An overwhelming sense of urgency pushed me onward, on the brink of hysterics.

Then I found it, the maze-work’s end.

I panted for breath. Inches from the corridor’s mouth, I saw an expansive room. The castle’s great hall. A chamber of heartless and suffocating stone, with multiple corridors, which exited off it in all directions. In its centre was placed a huge oak table. Bronze candelabras were stationed on either side of the crowning seat, where they dripped hot wax. The place he sat, waiting for me.

No wait, it’s a woman.

I sucked in a disbelieving breath as a porcelain perfect goddess rose from the table’s throne to greet me. Her loosely draped black tunic barely covered her almost exposed breasts, while a crown of ivy encircled her raven mane, making her a bonny yet masterful vision.

“Welcome, Tempest,” her silvery seductive voice sang.

“But...you’re a woman. I thought...” I stammered. I caressed my pressure pounding temples, as I tried to grasp what was going on.

“Who did you presume could possess such talented gifts of vision and deception? Surely not a man,” she laughed.

But this is all wrong, my scrambled brain screamed. Though, not a believer in the almost interchangeable deities of the pagan faiths, I had been sure I would find Phobetor at the dream’s heart.

“Who are you? What do you want with me?” The room felt claustrophobic as my taxed brain pushed its limits, even though everything remained still.

“On my better days people call me Epona, but you may refer to me as Mare,” the ageless beauty answered.

Her revelation shocked me, as I vaguely recalled both the horse goddess and her negative counterpart from my granny’s stories. “But you’re not real. You’re just a myth,” I objected.

“Come girl, you should know better than that. Didn’t your grandmother teach you the ways of old? I believe she did and therefore you know full well the reality of the gods.”

I couldn’t deny she was right, but my stubborn mind wouldn’t let me believe her words rang true. Granny’s stories were just that, stories. None of it was real.

“Have you not dreamt of us before?” Mare questioned.

“Yes, but that was just childish fancy brought on by fables,” I rationalized.

“Come, join me and we can talk further.” She swept a graceful hand towards the many unoccupied chairs positioned at the lavish table.

“No! What do you want with me?”

“Tsk, tsk, it is very impolite to reject your hostess’s invitation like that, especially to one such as me,” she smirked.

“What do you want with me?” I repeated. Desperation and frustration mounted inside of me.

“It is not I whom seeks your company. I am merely the procurer.” Mare resumed her seat on the high backed throne in a bored fashion. “It is he who wants you. Why I cannot fathom.”

“Who?” But in my heart I had known all along.

“Please, you know perfectly well who. I believe you mortals call him Phobetor,” she chuckled and eyed me coyly.

“But why, I’m not of his faith. What does he want with me?”

What could the Greek god of nightmares possibly want with a faithless woman such as me? Even with my Celtic based background.

“You’ll have to ask him that.”

“No. Let me go!” I hollered back at her. I stepped further into the room to access my means of escape.

“You won’t escape, unless I foresee it and I won’t, so there is no point in wasting your time. Your will is no match for my powers.” Her smug statement indicated she could read my very thoughts. “You will soon be his and I can wash my hands of you.”

“Never,” I hissed.

The cry came again, my bairn’s call. I had all but forgotten him in the deceptionist’s presence. “What have you done with my child?”

“He need not concern you anymore,” answered Mare. My veins ran cold. What did she mean? What had she done with my lad?

I heard it again, my lad’s cry, like vapours in the wind.

I’ve got to find him.

I backed away from her slightly, then turned and raced down the nearest corridor. I ran blind, with no sense of destination just the deep- seated urge to find my bairn.

“You can run, but you can’t hide,” Mare’s voice trailed after me with a bitter laugh.

I fled down a seemingly never-ending corridor. I watched over my shoulder for pursuit. A helpless fox chased by hounds and horses in the hunt, while the suspicious owl flew above me.

As I rounded a bend, the corridor’s ceiling dissolved as if sucked away by a vacuum to expose an eerie night sky. The castle’s walls crumbled and I ducked and weaved to keep myself from being hit by falling debris. My dream world collapsed all around me.

I reached the tumbling corridor’s end, safe, but then an arrow zinged past my ear. I threw myself behind a large stone edifice, my heart burst from my chest. I heaved and eyed my surroundings. I was in the ruins of a once mighty temple.

It hit me as I crouched behind the towering primeval column, now part of history’s graveyard. This was their world, destroyed and forgotten. The many eyes of the stone statues full of mournful secrets. As I looked up the mass of a column, I saw the owl perched at its top.

A cry echoed again. It called me. It was now or never. I took a deep breath, grabbed up my skirts in a bunch, and sprinted out from my hiding place. I darted from ruin to ruin, dodging the locus swarm of arrows Mare’s misshapen demons in gnarled black leather, relentlessly shot at me. An arrow grazed my upper right arm and I sucked air through gritted teeth due to the sharp sting.

“In times of fear comes profound truth,” Mare’s voice taunted me from above. “Wake up to it, Tempest.”

Almost clear of the rock pitted war zone, I stopped to rest behind a dyke at its borders and saw nothing but an unsheltered green span, which trailed off for miles in front of me. I couldn’t remain amongst the flying arrows or I would be killed, but out there I would be unprotected against whatever horrors faced me next.

I looked over my shoulder. The decision was made for me, when I saw a bonny white mare race out of the night towards me. Its mane and tail was like a silken kite flying high behind it, while its eyes burned red as the flames of hell. It was Mare, come to claim her bounty.

I mustered all the strength I had left and flew out from behind the shielding rock and hurled myself over the green-carpeted path. My limbs screamed at me in protest, threatening to give out under the strain.

Despite its appearance, it took less time than I had imagined to reach the field’s end. But the snowy mare still galloped behind me, gaining ground fast. A sheer drop into a raging loch stared me straight in the face.

What do I do?

If I jumped at such a height I could die, but if I didn’t Mare’s vengeance would soon be upon me. To what end I could not fathom.

Frantic, I scrambled to decide my next course of action. Then as if in answer to my dilemma, there in the waters below floated an oval wicker basket with a crying babe inside. Thrust about by the violent, churning broth of the waves. I needed no more proof. I looked back at the charging steed once more and dove off the skyscraper high cliff.

My lungs burned from lack of oxygen, while I fought my way through the compressing water to break air. I gasped, sputtered, and spat when life’s essence rushed back into my chest as I gained the water’s surface. I wiped the liquid out of my stinging eyes while I tried to tread water and then search for my bairn’s basket.

It floated down the loch. I swam after it, but my heavy dress weighed me down. Mare’s demon eyed embodiment stared down at me from the cliff top and let out a shrill frustrated call. Suddenly the horse’s body collapsed into a flutter of corbies. When the sky settled again, there stood Mare in her human form. She glared at me as I splashed below.

“You’ll never escape,” she shrieked.

I progressed towards the basket. The studious owl still flew above me. Suddenly, I bumped into something. I pivoted my head to find the source and found it to be a corpse. I yelped in alarm. A gulp of water caused me to cough and choke.

Terror struck me, for what had been water moments before was now a loch full of blood. A bunch of lifeless deformed bodies floated between its banks. I was covered in the thick viscous fluid, while my child floated further and further out of sight. Not giving up, I kicked violently and shoved the dead out of my path. Only, they weren’t dead.

Their rotted zombie hands grabbed me from every side and dragged me backwards, back to Mare, back to him. While my bairn faded from view.

My head was plunged under the surface. The ghoulish dead submerged me as I fought for my freedom. All the oxygen left my system. I couldn’t fight much longer, my blood cells burst under the pressure and my body slowly grew limp. Soon it would be too late. I was drowning in a sea of corpses.

Someone help me.

Then everything stopped and all was still.

I opened my eyes. My head was above water and I treaded calmly in place. The fever pitch waves were gone, replaced by a smooth restful flow. The water was clear, no bodies or blood. The cliff top had been replaced by a picturesque forestscape, mirrored on both sides, with willows that dipped their branches into the refreshing waters. A bright blue sky with a blazing sun canopied overhead and birds rejoiced through song in the trees.

I gazed around in wonder, relieved to be out of the dark and away from Mare’s horrors. Not far from me, floated a white swan. A gold chain, which held hundreds of hanging balls, encircled its long graceful neck.

“Caer Ibormeith,” I breathed in disbelief. Granny’s tales of Mare’s counterpart, the peaceful goddess of dreams and slumber, who took the form of a swan, sprang to mind. She had come in answer to my call and had brought me to the safety of her home at Loch Bel Dragon.

Without the exchange of words, we stared at one another for some time. An unspoken conversation passed between us in which she reminded me of the good the gods did and how one only needed to ask. I thanked her for her wisdom and aid. Then she bent her regal neck towards the river’s bank. My gaze followed her gesture and saw she had led me to my bairn.

I gasped and tears of joy streamed down my face. I glided forward through the still, clear water like a seal to the shore. Exhausted, I hoisted myself up onto the grassy bank and reached out my arm to touch the basket with my fingers.

My eyes popped open. A wet sensation crept down my cheek. I could feel my heartbeat hammer in my ears and my chest palpated. It was pitch black all around me and I couldn’t focus.

Oh no, I’m still dreaming.

I panicked and a shudder ran through my body. I felt a cushioned substance beneath me and despite the compulsive shivers, which rippled through me, the atmosphere around me was warm and comforting. I was home.

I sat up in bed and stared around the darkened room. The house was quiet. The former terrorizing shadows all had explainable sources. The minions of the dark had vanished, though they were never perceptible to the naked eye to begin with.

I was safe, home, back in the mortal world, the land of reality and light. No longer trapped in a chess game, nothing but a pawn moved around the board for someone else’s pleasure.

I escaped the nightmare drones and their masters.

I turned and looked down at my lad’s peaceful face, safe and unharmed. My husband’s strong still form slumbered on the other side of the sheets.

It was all a dream after all.

Then a dull throb of pain sprang to life and I turned my attention from my bairn. I stared down at my right bicep and saw the blood encrusted arrow slit.

The nightmare was real.

A tornado of thoughts swirled through my head. Could granny’s tales have been true? Were the pagan gods of old, real? If so, why me? What was so special about me?

Exhaustion hit me then like a brick wall and with the puzzle still in mind, I pulled the comforter up high over my wounded shoulder and nuzzled back down onto my pillows. I wrapped my arms around my sleeping lad. My love for him had called me home, back from the brink of oblivion. But the fight was far from over.

As I closed my eyes, I thought of all I had been through and whispered into the approaching dawn’s light, “Thank you, Caer Ibormeith.” Then fell into a restful sleep.

To read the rest of the story click on the link. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00RW8JHSE

Copyright ©2019 Siobhan Searle