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Chapter 14

Chuck stumbled on the featureless expanse that stretched out before him like endless misery. He didn't mean to be selfish and spoil things for everyone else. But this journey was supposed to have been special for him and him alone. He'd worked hard to get to this particular place and this time. It was unjust of Persemid to accuse him of being uncooperative, but he couldn't deny his resentment at always having other people to consider, even here, in the privacy of his own mind, where he ought to be able to be alone if he wanted. Well, that was normal, wasn't it? He would have thought that in his own personal seeking he could have an experience that was just for him.

And if there were five seekers, why wasn't there one guide per person? How much trouble would that be? The astral plane, or the Dreamland, as everyone here insisted on calling it, seemed to be designed to fulfill the needs of people like him from the Waking World. But it wasn't working that way. No one here cared exclusively for him. Keir was friendly and businesslike, but his attention was pulled in too many directions. When Chuck really wanted to talk to someone, there was nobody there. If he wanted to be lonely he could have stayed home!

He felt like sitting down and crying like a little child. Keir was right. Chuck's depression was interfering with his ability to seek out truth and contentment. He needed to work out his feelings, but he couldn't do it in front of other people. He needed a safe place to sit. Not just alone, but safe. He kept walking.

At last, everyone who was even remotely nearby was sitting with their backs to him. To stave off the feelings of hopelessness, Chuck muttered his mantra to himself just to hear a voice. Though he didn't feel he deserved it, the colors returned, and grass grew under his feet.

The lovely gardens were far behind him. Ahead was a tall, deep forest, so tall that it took his breath away just to look at it. The very tops of the trees disappeared into the sky. Every shaggy, silvery-brown trunk was too wide for him to wrap his arms around. The roots humped up as high as his head, and the crowns were so far above him they were a blur. All he could properly see of the forest roof was a dappled mosaic of dark brown, green, blue, and sparkling white-gold. The earthy smell of moist bark and leaf mould joined the other scents mingling in the sweet air, as the light, crisp rustling of leaves rose underneath the other sounds of nature. His footsteps made little noise. Each was swallowed up by the overwhelming ambience of the forest like a droplet of oil settling into a pool. This place felt big.

Or, perhaps, it was because he was very small. Chuck looked down at himself. The sleeves of his jeans and shirt had shrunk up until he was wearing shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt. The arms and legs that stuck out were smooth and thin. He felt his chin. No beard. He was a little boy again.

Chuck ought to have felt nervous, walking into deep woods without a guide or a map, but he felt perfectly safe. This was the right kind of deep forest, the kind in which he could look for Pooh Bear and all the imaginary friends from books he had read when he was a little boy. This place seemed so familiar. But that was impossible, of course. This was a dream forest, made up by thought. There wasn't a real tree in the place. It was pretty convincing, though. The farther in Chuck walked, the more he had to let go of his skepticism and accept what he saw. Was there a reality beyond real?

The atmosphere in the forest surrounding him was serene, calm and mature, like sitting on the lap of a favorite aunt. It recalled to Chuck that time of innocence in his life, when nothing was ever really wrong, and all troubles could be made better with a kiss or a cookie. Back then he could be anything he imagined himself to be. Reality didn't intrude itself and ruin everything just because it could. In this place he felt so warm and welcomed—just the way he wanted to remember childhood—that he sat down with his knees up and his back against one of those tall roots and wept from his heart.

Once he started, he couldn't stop until it was all out. He let his head hang over and his shoulders shake. Sometimes he hated being an adult. He missed the simple joy of not worrying about anything. Daddy and Mommy would always make everything better. He could make all monsters vanish just by closing his eyes and pulling the covers over his head. How often he wished he could do that in his daily life! He wept for lost innocence, not caring if the Easter Bunny was real, but of having lost the magic that went with thinking that it was. He wished he could go back to the age before he knew what death was, or fear, or injustice. Maybe that time never existed, but a part of him had always felt that it had.

The torrents that fell from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks were like a healing rain. He cried and cried, letting out regret, resentment, loss and fear in hot drops that burned tracks down his cheeks, until his tears formed a river that flowed away from his feet. He stared at the sparkling strand. Was he the source of all that? That was impossible. Look at the way it kept flowing, even though he was no longer crying.

He sat still to admire the unconscious beauty of it, neither sad nor happy. Poets talked about the way streams chuckled, rivers roared, brooks chattered. How did they know how the waterways felt? He listened to this one, really listened as he hadn't done since he was small. Its music sounded sad to him at first, but in a while he began to understand the happiness in its song. The pulse of life was there, deep and slow like the rhythm of the Gardens. Little flashes of light glinting off the surface of the water drove deeply into his eyes and awoke bright memories in his mind. Skating with his brothers. Playing catch with his father. Smearing gobs of red and blue clay down the wall. Being kissed by a dozen sweet-smelling aunts, one after another. Maybe his childhood hadn't been perfect, but there were good things to remember, now that he did remember some of them. He turned the treasured memories over in his mind like precious gems. They had existed. He had focused so long on the wrong things that they were poisoning him. He took in a deep, slow lungful of air. No breath, nor moment of enlightenment, had ever tasted as sweet. Simple as that. His vulnerable moment had done him more good than a hundred doctors. He could never have let himself go like that if there had been anyone else nearby at all.

A bird broke into liquid warbling overhead. Chuck's head snapped up as he sought the singer, drinking in the sound like nectar. A dark fragment flitted from one part of the jigsaw-puzzle forest crown to another, calling raucously. He started to hear other things: whispering, a rustling in the brush, the crack of a thin branch breaking, all coming from the same direction. It made him curious to know what was in there. Perhaps it was some wonderful creature out of his same childhood fantasies.

Chuck tiptoed along, reluctant to break the spell of the forest. Another crack sounded, nearer than before. Over to the left a little, Chuck thought. He turned and went towards it.

The rustling sound popped up near him, and kept pace as he moved. It was only a tiny noise. Perhaps there was a chipmunk or inquiring squirrel, hoping he had a crumb or two to drop. Chuck felt in his pockets. Not a thing. He sent a mental apology to the unseen animal. Since this place was the sum of everyone's memories and fantasies, was it possible that he might see one of the characters from children's books? Roo had been a favorite of his when he was very small; he might have had to ride in his mother's pouch, but he enjoyed adventures. This was beginning to have all the earmarks of an adventure. A quote from somewhere tapped at his memory, but not enough to come clear into his conscious mind.

The lush undergrowth of leaves and vines thinned, making the going easier. Up ahead, Chuck spotted a shaft of light penetrating down toward a clearing on the forest floor. Another crack sounded, definitely coming from that direction. Chuck hurried up, hoping to spot whatever it was before it got away. He heard another sharp clatter, just as he broke through into the beaten circle of earth.

It was empty. The beam of light drew a circle like a spotlight in the center of the clearing, rendering everything at the rim too dark to see. Shadows started flitting at the edge of Chuck's vision.

"Hello?" he called. "Who's there?" More and more silent figures joined the first ones. It began to dawn on him that maybe, just maybe, these weren't the old friends he was hoping to find. The circle of light started to shrink, just a little at a time, but inexorably closing in, as the shadows began to move towards him. He suddenly realized he was surrounded. Chuck cast around desperately, looking for a gap in the ring.

Was it just his imagination, or did he hear low, sinister chuckles? He tried to convince himself it was just the wind or the leaves, or some calling bird. He didn't do that good a job. When another laugh broke out, almost underneath his ear, he jumped, and bolted out of the circle. Branches whipped and cut at his face. Chuck raised his arms to shield his eyes, and charged blindly forward. He hoped he was making back toward the path that had led him here, but at the moment he didn't care. He heard roaring behind him as whatever was back there sounded like it was threshing down whole trees to get at him.

How could he get out of this place? He cast about for his path, and found nothing but bracken, ferns and roots that grabbed for his feet and made him trip. Hissing sounds made him flinch leftwards. When he glanced to his right, he discovered quills eight inches long and as thick as his finger embedded in the bark of a tree just where he had been standing. He plunged away into the forest, chased by howls and fearsome crunching noises. There were giant porcupines in this forest!

Chuck realized he was still muttering his mantra to himself. He stopped chanting. That should put an end to this dangerous vision. Nothing happened. Or, rather, nothing didn't happen. He was so startled that the forest hadn't faded into emptiness that he almost stopped running. He was trapped! This reality had become too convincing for him just to be able to drop out of it. What an irony! He'd had so much trouble reaching the meditative state in the first place; now he couldn't get out of it even when he wanted to.

He had no time to think. Arrows thudded into the trees nearest him. Hunters had joined the porcupines in pursuit of him. He ducked and started crawling over the bracken on elbows and knees, hoping nothing his pursuers were shooting could penetrate the undergrowth. Behind him, he heard war cries, like those of angry native villagers in the movies. Then, the screams grew shriller than the howling of tornadoes. Overhead, a creature zoomed in on him. It was like a naked woman, but she had bat's wings, rows of teeth like a shark, and claws like a wolverine. She screamed, bearing in on him with those claws outstretched, aiming for his neck. Chuck flattened himself and rolled under a rosebush. He would rather be scratched by thorns than risk worse injuries.

Thwarted, the fury shrieked angrily, zoomed upward, and became a human-sized propeller plane, like one from World War II. It immediately began strafing the ground behind him with fire from mounted twin machine guns. The plane had a painted shark's mouth on the forward fuselage that opened and laughed at him over the engine noise. Chuck flipped over onto his belly and crawled faster than he ever thought he could. This was Bergold's changeableness striking all over again. Each new threat was more horrible and dangerous than the next. Could he die of fright? This was a ridiculous situation—because of the mutable nature of the Dreamland he might never know what it was that killed him!

Out of the corners of his eyes, Chuck saw the shadows gathering again, hurrying to head him off and surround him again. Crawling was too slow a means of escape. He clambered to his feet and started running. In the distance he heard a solid twang!, followed by a sound like pyeeew! A rock the size of an automobile came hurtling over his head and thudded down, shaking the earth, and crushing a bush like a man might crush an empty can underfoot. Shards of wood flew up, whipping past his ears. More gigantic rocks hit the ground, hemming him in. Chuck started running this way and that, but every escape was cut off as he jumped back to avoid being crushed. The shadows flitted between the stones, cutting off his meager light, looming in on him. A blanket of blackness surrounded him. He threw up his hands to ward it off, and a heavy paw in the darkness struck him on the shoulder.

Oof. Chuck folded halfway up as his knees wavered. More blows rained down on him. He protected his head with his arms and tried to push his way out. Arms roughly shoved him back into the middle of the circle and continued to pound on him.

"Who are you?" he cried. No one answered. He tried to hit back. His arms felt heavy, lethargic, as if he was swinging through molasses. If he did connect, the force of his punches was absorbed by thick fur, like a bear's. What were these things?

As if in answer, the ground started to roll under his feet. A new round of Sleeper influence! Maybe it would put an end to this meditation. Instead, the change only let him see it better.

Lightning split the sky, parting the forest crown. In the flash of gray light, Chuck saw the faces of his assailants, and suddenly wished he couldn't. They were eight feet tall, covered with dark brown, shaggy fur. Their hands were huge paws with eight claws apiece. And their faces! Orange eyes the size of his palm with sideways-slitted pupils glowed like search lamps. Their yellow teeth were sharp as broken glass. Through them, a blood-red tongue licked out, almost touching Chuck's face. Their breath was as potent a weapon, smelling of week-old sewage. He staggered, his heart pounding with fear. Monsters! Real monsters! He started punching at them blindly, wanting them to go away, wanting to be left alone in peace. But their paws pounded down on his shoulders, struck him in the ribcage, bruised his head and face. He didn't have his adult muscles to protect him. Chuck was battered over and over until his knees gave way. Feet as well as paws began to strike him now. He fell full length onto a blanket of leaves.

His hands curled into the crunchy mass. Oh, why wasn't this a real blanket! That was what he used to use to protect himself against monsters in his room at night. His grandfather had always told him that if he pulled his blanket over his head nothing could ever harm him.

He must have been thinking hard enough to wake up the influence, because the cushion of leaves softened and melted together into a pale-blue coverlet. Avoiding kicks from the monsters, Chuck rolled underneath the blanket and desperately clutched it around him.

Go away! he thought at the monsters. Scram! Bug off! The monsters shuffled around, sniffing and growling ferociously. He squeezed his eyes shut. The roaring got louder as they realized they could no longer see him. His heart pounded so loudly he was sure they could hear it.

Where was everyone else? There had been thousands of people in the Gardens before. Why did none of them see that he was under attack? He had been left all alone to face peril. It wasn't fair. No matter what happened to him, it was all wrong. He heard snarling not inches from his head. He felt like such a coward, but what could he do against beasts with long sharp teeth and claws? He hoped his grandfather had been right. He wished his mother was there to put her calming hand on his shoulder, to rub his back and drive away the demons. Chuck could almost feel her hand on his back, and hear her soft voice. Instead, he heard the monsters snarling, and trembled. He was glad the blanket prevented anyone from seeing him just now. Tears wet his cheeks and seeped into the pillow suddenly underneath his head. The pounding in his chest turned into sobs that wracked his body with spasms. He was afraid. Any moment now they would tear him apart and eat him.

When the tears stopped, Chuck felt a sense of utter relief. He didn't have to look down at himself to know he wasn't a little boy any longer, but that was all right. He was happy to be a grown man. If there was no one else there, he would face his demons alone. He could do it.

Chuck sat up and pulled the covers off. They vanished into the leaves on the forest floor. He looked around, ready to spring up and do battle, no matter what happened to him. But the growling noises had stopped. The hairy beasts were gone. Another bearlike being rose up beside him. Chuck felt a surge of panic for a moment, but as soon as reason returned he realized the being was a man-sized Winnie the Pooh. Round and golden, it stood rocking on its heels, its tummy stuck out like a little child's. It cocked its head and its black, shoe-button eyes gazed at him sympathetically.

"Do you feel better now?" it asked in Keir's voice.

"Yes," Chuck said, and cleared his throat. "Yes, I do."

"Then, come with me." It held out its hand to him. "I need your help with the others." It helped Chuck to his feet, and led him to a leaf-strewn path. Not a trace of the monsters remained. The sun peeked through the trees, lighting their way to the edge, a long walk, but calming to Chuck's mind. The forest looked more beautiful than ever before, the narrow aisle lit up more like a cathedral now than a dark alley.

Back | Next
Contents
Framed

Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 14

Chuck stumbled on the featureless expanse that stretched out before him like endless misery. He didn't mean to be selfish and spoil things for everyone else. But this journey was supposed to have been special for him and him alone. He'd worked hard to get to this particular place and this time. It was unjust of Persemid to accuse him of being uncooperative, but he couldn't deny his resentment at always having other people to consider, even here, in the privacy of his own mind, where he ought to be able to be alone if he wanted. Well, that was normal, wasn't it? He would have thought that in his own personal seeking he could have an experience that was just for him.

And if there were five seekers, why wasn't there one guide per person? How much trouble would that be? The astral plane, or the Dreamland, as everyone here insisted on calling it, seemed to be designed to fulfill the needs of people like him from the Waking World. But it wasn't working that way. No one here cared exclusively for him. Keir was friendly and businesslike, but his attention was pulled in too many directions. When Chuck really wanted to talk to someone, there was nobody there. If he wanted to be lonely he could have stayed home!

He felt like sitting down and crying like a little child. Keir was right. Chuck's depression was interfering with his ability to seek out truth and contentment. He needed to work out his feelings, but he couldn't do it in front of other people. He needed a safe place to sit. Not just alone, but safe. He kept walking.

At last, everyone who was even remotely nearby was sitting with their backs to him. To stave off the feelings of hopelessness, Chuck muttered his mantra to himself just to hear a voice. Though he didn't feel he deserved it, the colors returned, and grass grew under his feet.

The lovely gardens were far behind him. Ahead was a tall, deep forest, so tall that it took his breath away just to look at it. The very tops of the trees disappeared into the sky. Every shaggy, silvery-brown trunk was too wide for him to wrap his arms around. The roots humped up as high as his head, and the crowns were so far above him they were a blur. All he could properly see of the forest roof was a dappled mosaic of dark brown, green, blue, and sparkling white-gold. The earthy smell of moist bark and leaf mould joined the other scents mingling in the sweet air, as the light, crisp rustling of leaves rose underneath the other sounds of nature. His footsteps made little noise. Each was swallowed up by the overwhelming ambience of the forest like a droplet of oil settling into a pool. This place felt big.

Or, perhaps, it was because he was very small. Chuck looked down at himself. The sleeves of his jeans and shirt had shrunk up until he was wearing shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt. The arms and legs that stuck out were smooth and thin. He felt his chin. No beard. He was a little boy again.

Chuck ought to have felt nervous, walking into deep woods without a guide or a map, but he felt perfectly safe. This was the right kind of deep forest, the kind in which he could look for Pooh Bear and all the imaginary friends from books he had read when he was a little boy. This place seemed so familiar. But that was impossible, of course. This was a dream forest, made up by thought. There wasn't a real tree in the place. It was pretty convincing, though. The farther in Chuck walked, the more he had to let go of his skepticism and accept what he saw. Was there a reality beyond real?

The atmosphere in the forest surrounding him was serene, calm and mature, like sitting on the lap of a favorite aunt. It recalled to Chuck that time of innocence in his life, when nothing was ever really wrong, and all troubles could be made better with a kiss or a cookie. Back then he could be anything he imagined himself to be. Reality didn't intrude itself and ruin everything just because it could. In this place he felt so warm and welcomed—just the way he wanted to remember childhood—that he sat down with his knees up and his back against one of those tall roots and wept from his heart.

Once he started, he couldn't stop until it was all out. He let his head hang over and his shoulders shake. Sometimes he hated being an adult. He missed the simple joy of not worrying about anything. Daddy and Mommy would always make everything better. He could make all monsters vanish just by closing his eyes and pulling the covers over his head. How often he wished he could do that in his daily life! He wept for lost innocence, not caring if the Easter Bunny was real, but of having lost the magic that went with thinking that it was. He wished he could go back to the age before he knew what death was, or fear, or injustice. Maybe that time never existed, but a part of him had always felt that it had.

The torrents that fell from his eyes and rolled down his cheeks were like a healing rain. He cried and cried, letting out regret, resentment, loss and fear in hot drops that burned tracks down his cheeks, until his tears formed a river that flowed away from his feet. He stared at the sparkling strand. Was he the source of all that? That was impossible. Look at the way it kept flowing, even though he was no longer crying.

He sat still to admire the unconscious beauty of it, neither sad nor happy. Poets talked about the way streams chuckled, rivers roared, brooks chattered. How did they know how the waterways felt? He listened to this one, really listened as he hadn't done since he was small. Its music sounded sad to him at first, but in a while he began to understand the happiness in its song. The pulse of life was there, deep and slow like the rhythm of the Gardens. Little flashes of light glinting off the surface of the water drove deeply into his eyes and awoke bright memories in his mind. Skating with his brothers. Playing catch with his father. Smearing gobs of red and blue clay down the wall. Being kissed by a dozen sweet-smelling aunts, one after another. Maybe his childhood hadn't been perfect, but there were good things to remember, now that he did remember some of them. He turned the treasured memories over in his mind like precious gems. They had existed. He had focused so long on the wrong things that they were poisoning him. He took in a deep, slow lungful of air. No breath, nor moment of enlightenment, had ever tasted as sweet. Simple as that. His vulnerable moment had done him more good than a hundred doctors. He could never have let himself go like that if there had been anyone else nearby at all.

A bird broke into liquid warbling overhead. Chuck's head snapped up as he sought the singer, drinking in the sound like nectar. A dark fragment flitted from one part of the jigsaw-puzzle forest crown to another, calling raucously. He started to hear other things: whispering, a rustling in the brush, the crack of a thin branch breaking, all coming from the same direction. It made him curious to know what was in there. Perhaps it was some wonderful creature out of his same childhood fantasies.

Chuck tiptoed along, reluctant to break the spell of the forest. Another crack sounded, nearer than before. Over to the left a little, Chuck thought. He turned and went towards it.

The rustling sound popped up near him, and kept pace as he moved. It was only a tiny noise. Perhaps there was a chipmunk or inquiring squirrel, hoping he had a crumb or two to drop. Chuck felt in his pockets. Not a thing. He sent a mental apology to the unseen animal. Since this place was the sum of everyone's memories and fantasies, was it possible that he might see one of the characters from children's books? Roo had been a favorite of his when he was very small; he might have had to ride in his mother's pouch, but he enjoyed adventures. This was beginning to have all the earmarks of an adventure. A quote from somewhere tapped at his memory, but not enough to come clear into his conscious mind.

The lush undergrowth of leaves and vines thinned, making the going easier. Up ahead, Chuck spotted a shaft of light penetrating down toward a clearing on the forest floor. Another crack sounded, definitely coming from that direction. Chuck hurried up, hoping to spot whatever it was before it got away. He heard another sharp clatter, just as he broke through into the beaten circle of earth.

It was empty. The beam of light drew a circle like a spotlight in the center of the clearing, rendering everything at the rim too dark to see. Shadows started flitting at the edge of Chuck's vision.

"Hello?" he called. "Who's there?" More and more silent figures joined the first ones. It began to dawn on him that maybe, just maybe, these weren't the old friends he was hoping to find. The circle of light started to shrink, just a little at a time, but inexorably closing in, as the shadows began to move towards him. He suddenly realized he was surrounded. Chuck cast around desperately, looking for a gap in the ring.

Was it just his imagination, or did he hear low, sinister chuckles? He tried to convince himself it was just the wind or the leaves, or some calling bird. He didn't do that good a job. When another laugh broke out, almost underneath his ear, he jumped, and bolted out of the circle. Branches whipped and cut at his face. Chuck raised his arms to shield his eyes, and charged blindly forward. He hoped he was making back toward the path that had led him here, but at the moment he didn't care. He heard roaring behind him as whatever was back there sounded like it was threshing down whole trees to get at him.

How could he get out of this place? He cast about for his path, and found nothing but bracken, ferns and roots that grabbed for his feet and made him trip. Hissing sounds made him flinch leftwards. When he glanced to his right, he discovered quills eight inches long and as thick as his finger embedded in the bark of a tree just where he had been standing. He plunged away into the forest, chased by howls and fearsome crunching noises. There were giant porcupines in this forest!

Chuck realized he was still muttering his mantra to himself. He stopped chanting. That should put an end to this dangerous vision. Nothing happened. Or, rather, nothing didn't happen. He was so startled that the forest hadn't faded into emptiness that he almost stopped running. He was trapped! This reality had become too convincing for him just to be able to drop out of it. What an irony! He'd had so much trouble reaching the meditative state in the first place; now he couldn't get out of it even when he wanted to.

He had no time to think. Arrows thudded into the trees nearest him. Hunters had joined the porcupines in pursuit of him. He ducked and started crawling over the bracken on elbows and knees, hoping nothing his pursuers were shooting could penetrate the undergrowth. Behind him, he heard war cries, like those of angry native villagers in the movies. Then, the screams grew shriller than the howling of tornadoes. Overhead, a creature zoomed in on him. It was like a naked woman, but she had bat's wings, rows of teeth like a shark, and claws like a wolverine. She screamed, bearing in on him with those claws outstretched, aiming for his neck. Chuck flattened himself and rolled under a rosebush. He would rather be scratched by thorns than risk worse injuries.

Thwarted, the fury shrieked angrily, zoomed upward, and became a human-sized propeller plane, like one from World War II. It immediately began strafing the ground behind him with fire from mounted twin machine guns. The plane had a painted shark's mouth on the forward fuselage that opened and laughed at him over the engine noise. Chuck flipped over onto his belly and crawled faster than he ever thought he could. This was Bergold's changeableness striking all over again. Each new threat was more horrible and dangerous than the next. Could he die of fright? This was a ridiculous situation—because of the mutable nature of the Dreamland he might never know what it was that killed him!

Out of the corners of his eyes, Chuck saw the shadows gathering again, hurrying to head him off and surround him again. Crawling was too slow a means of escape. He clambered to his feet and started running. In the distance he heard a solid twang!, followed by a sound like pyeeew! A rock the size of an automobile came hurtling over his head and thudded down, shaking the earth, and crushing a bush like a man might crush an empty can underfoot. Shards of wood flew up, whipping past his ears. More gigantic rocks hit the ground, hemming him in. Chuck started running this way and that, but every escape was cut off as he jumped back to avoid being crushed. The shadows flitted between the stones, cutting off his meager light, looming in on him. A blanket of blackness surrounded him. He threw up his hands to ward it off, and a heavy paw in the darkness struck him on the shoulder.

Oof. Chuck folded halfway up as his knees wavered. More blows rained down on him. He protected his head with his arms and tried to push his way out. Arms roughly shoved him back into the middle of the circle and continued to pound on him.

"Who are you?" he cried. No one answered. He tried to hit back. His arms felt heavy, lethargic, as if he was swinging through molasses. If he did connect, the force of his punches was absorbed by thick fur, like a bear's. What were these things?

As if in answer, the ground started to roll under his feet. A new round of Sleeper influence! Maybe it would put an end to this meditation. Instead, the change only let him see it better.

Lightning split the sky, parting the forest crown. In the flash of gray light, Chuck saw the faces of his assailants, and suddenly wished he couldn't. They were eight feet tall, covered with dark brown, shaggy fur. Their hands were huge paws with eight claws apiece. And their faces! Orange eyes the size of his palm with sideways-slitted pupils glowed like search lamps. Their yellow teeth were sharp as broken glass. Through them, a blood-red tongue licked out, almost touching Chuck's face. Their breath was as potent a weapon, smelling of week-old sewage. He staggered, his heart pounding with fear. Monsters! Real monsters! He started punching at them blindly, wanting them to go away, wanting to be left alone in peace. But their paws pounded down on his shoulders, struck him in the ribcage, bruised his head and face. He didn't have his adult muscles to protect him. Chuck was battered over and over until his knees gave way. Feet as well as paws began to strike him now. He fell full length onto a blanket of leaves.

His hands curled into the crunchy mass. Oh, why wasn't this a real blanket! That was what he used to use to protect himself against monsters in his room at night. His grandfather had always told him that if he pulled his blanket over his head nothing could ever harm him.

He must have been thinking hard enough to wake up the influence, because the cushion of leaves softened and melted together into a pale-blue coverlet. Avoiding kicks from the monsters, Chuck rolled underneath the blanket and desperately clutched it around him.

Go away! he thought at the monsters. Scram! Bug off! The monsters shuffled around, sniffing and growling ferociously. He squeezed his eyes shut. The roaring got louder as they realized they could no longer see him. His heart pounded so loudly he was sure they could hear it.

Where was everyone else? There had been thousands of people in the Gardens before. Why did none of them see that he was under attack? He had been left all alone to face peril. It wasn't fair. No matter what happened to him, it was all wrong. He heard snarling not inches from his head. He felt like such a coward, but what could he do against beasts with long sharp teeth and claws? He hoped his grandfather had been right. He wished his mother was there to put her calming hand on his shoulder, to rub his back and drive away the demons. Chuck could almost feel her hand on his back, and hear her soft voice. Instead, he heard the monsters snarling, and trembled. He was glad the blanket prevented anyone from seeing him just now. Tears wet his cheeks and seeped into the pillow suddenly underneath his head. The pounding in his chest turned into sobs that wracked his body with spasms. He was afraid. Any moment now they would tear him apart and eat him.

When the tears stopped, Chuck felt a sense of utter relief. He didn't have to look down at himself to know he wasn't a little boy any longer, but that was all right. He was happy to be a grown man. If there was no one else there, he would face his demons alone. He could do it.

Chuck sat up and pulled the covers off. They vanished into the leaves on the forest floor. He looked around, ready to spring up and do battle, no matter what happened to him. But the growling noises had stopped. The hairy beasts were gone. Another bearlike being rose up beside him. Chuck felt a surge of panic for a moment, but as soon as reason returned he realized the being was a man-sized Winnie the Pooh. Round and golden, it stood rocking on its heels, its tummy stuck out like a little child's. It cocked its head and its black, shoe-button eyes gazed at him sympathetically.

"Do you feel better now?" it asked in Keir's voice.

"Yes," Chuck said, and cleared his throat. "Yes, I do."

"Then, come with me." It held out its hand to him. "I need your help with the others." It helped Chuck to his feet, and led him to a leaf-strewn path. Not a trace of the monsters remained. The sun peeked through the trees, lighting their way to the edge, a long walk, but calming to Chuck's mind. The forest looked more beautiful than ever before, the narrow aisle lit up more like a cathedral now than a dark alley.

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Framed