Part 8: Deadly Dreamscapes
"Chocolate éclair?"
An oblong pastry, oozing with rich cream and topped with chocolate icing, was shoved in front of his nose.
"No?" The Nightmare demon withdrew the cake and placed it on the plate he had balanced on his knee. He raised his fingers to lick the cream off them. "You really are a very poor guest."
Chris frowned and blinked against the bright sunlight, scarcely believing what his awakening senses were telling him.
His limp weight was being supported by the plush scarlet velvet of a chaise lounge, which had been brought out onto the lawn next to the little table with its prim white cloth. From where he lay, Chris could see the familiar expansive house and the tireless dog still bothering the hedgehog.
I passed out in a dream world… That was a conundrum Chris really wasn't feeling up to pondering on.
Why am I not dead? When the darkness had begun to encroach on his vision, greying the sight of the widening pool of his blood on the castle floor, Chris had thought he was done for – if Leo were able to help him, he would have done so already.
Then another thought stuck him. A worrying thought. If he had been about to die, the Nightmare demon should have released him into the waking world to prevent himself from being handed over to Death along with him. However, Chris reminded himself, the idea that his previous release had more to it than to not 'have dead bodies littering up the place' was just a theory.
It looked likely that his failsafe was as hopeless as his chances of defeating the demon by any other means.
A hollow feeling of doom settled within Chris as he realised that, in fact, just about everything he 'knew' about the Nightmare demon was made up of theories.
He could be wrong about everything.
A throbbing ache in his abdomen was making itself known – a reminder of the gift from a jewelled dagger and its wielder, both as potentially deadly as they had been beautiful. Distracted from his thoughts, Chris's gaze and hands moved down to the spot where he had been stabbed.
The large bloodstain around the tear in his shirt was darkening as it dried, uncomfortably damp where it stuck to his skin. There was no fresh crimson fluid to keep the stain bright, which Chris took to be a good thing. Suddenly, his heart leapt – perhaps Leo had managed to heal him after all!
His fingers easily parted open his shirt, someone having already undone some of the buttons. Disappointment was swiftly followed by a fresh wave of bewilderment, as his fingertips brushed over a thick white bandage.
He started to carefully pull back the top edge, when a sharp slap on the back of his hand stopped him at the same time as the eruption of fiery pain did.
Going limp again and feeling decidedly unwell, Chris's unsteady gaze fell on the Nightmare demon, who was bending over him with an admonishing expression.
"It seems you're not a very good patient either," the demon reproached. "I did not put that bandage on for you to take straight off again!"
Chris looked helplessly up at the demon, his mind racing with even more questions.
"When are you going to learn some manners, Christopher? Or at least some sense!" He huffed and shook his head in disapproval.
Swallowing thickly, Chris couldn't even think of a reply let alone get one past his lips.
"Now, sit up – slowly – and eat something," the Nightmare demon instructed, sternly. "You're going to need to boost your strength if we are to continue."
Not knowing what else to do, Chris complied. He carefully eased his tired and hurting body into a more upright position, extremely grateful to have the raised end of the chaise lounge to lean his back against. Despite his care, the fiery dragon stirred in the deep wound in his abdomen and he winced. However, he had been expecting the pain this time and managed to bite back a gasp.
As Chris accepted a blue and white china teacup in slightly trembling hands, the burning gradually extinguished to a steady smouldering. But the lessening of the pain didn't bring him any peace.
Chris politely sipped the drink, playing 'tea party' with the omnipotent demon that had him trapped in a dream world, and all the while a feeling of depressive gloom was descending on him.
He was alive, but it was hopeless. He was no match for the Nightmare demon. He was just being toyed with.
Grossly deformed branches slick with a black mould twisted over his head, a thick mesh of sickly wood that blocked out the sky. Darker indistinguishable shapes moved amongst the deep shadows between the tightly packed tree trunks on either side of the trail. He swung the lantern towards them, but they always fled before he was able to catch sight of their form. With his heart pounding wildly in his chest, he could do nothing but follow the narrow clear strip through the unnatural woodland, his way illuminated only by the eerie silver light from the strange lantern. He had found the ornate metal case lit at his feet upon his arrival in this dreamscape. Its ghostly light seemed to suggest that it housed a miniature moon rather than a flame, and its icy cold handle was slowly numbing his hand.
The cream cakes that the Nightmare demon had insisted he ate lay uncomfortably in Chris's tense stomach, unhappy companions with the chicken soup that Piper had given him in what seemed like a lifetime ago. He kept his free hand clamped over his abdomen, which somehow managed to burn with renewed vigour each time he took a step, but he gritted his teeth and grew used to the pain. His mind focused on his wide eyes and alert ears that searched for the attack he knew would eventually come.
However, the moon-lantern showed him only a seemingly endless straight trail through the grotesque woodland and none of the insubstantial dark shapes stepped out onto the bare track.
Suddenly a similarity dawned on him, and he realised what he had to do.
Chris stopped and took a deep uneasy breath, turning to face the closely packed tree trunks. The woodland was an architectural tribute to the corridor of Doorways to Oblivion. Its appearance was different, but the fundamentals were the same.
The Nightmare demon wanted him to step off the path and into the trees.
Chris stepped forward, the silver light jaggedly dancing over the trees as fear shook the hand that held the lantern. He slipped through a gap between two wide trunks, moving carefully so as to not brush against the thick, wet mould that covered them.
Slowly he moved deeper into the woodland, and a sickly stench of decay grew steadily stronger. There seemed no sign of an end or change to the dense forest and doubts began to flutter within him. Glancing back over his shoulder, Chris couldn't tell from which way he had come. He felt his throat constrict and turned to face the way he was going again, having no choice but to plough on.
He could sense otherworldly presence and movement close around him, just beyond the boundary of the moon-lantern, but nothing had tried to attack…yet.
Suddenly, to Chris's great surprise, he noticed that the forest was thinning. He could see moonlight through the trees, ahead of the lantern's beam.
Something soft brushed past his ankle. Chris jumped back, a yelp escaping his lips. His back hit a tree trunk and he felt the mould soak through his shirt, as he watched a small dark shape disappear back into the shadows.
He swung the moon-lantern about, but the eerie light didn't reveal any creatures among the trees. Shakily recovering his breath, Chris continued on towards the light ahead.
As he stepped out into a clearing, Chris was conscious of dark shapes leaving the tree line and moving ahead of him across the open grass. The moonlight revealed them as sleek black cats with demonic red eyes.
They streamed out of the trees, all heading towards the lone occupant of the clearing – a ramshackle old cottage with plumes of lilac smoke rising from a stout chimney. Straggly ivy twisted up the grey stone walls and obscured much of the grimy windows.
Chris numbly followed the cats towards the cottage, feeling as if he'd stepped into a terrifying fairytale.
Suddenly the wooden front door was violently flung open, emitting a piercing wail akin to agony from its hinges. Like a dark wind, billowing shreds of black satin and lace crossed the threshold and floated out onto the moonlit grass.
The material settled, falling about the female frame of the ghastly creature. Then the head was thrown up, discarding a long black veil and sending flames of deep copper-coloured hair falling backwards, to reveal a face.
Gasping, Chris staggered and nearly fell to the ground as horrified shock wracked him.
"Bianca…"
A dark disembodied laugh filled the moonlit clearing encircled by the sickly woodland. The Nightmare demon was finally making himself heard.
Yes, that's right, my poor dear boy. It's your dead sweetheart. I've given her new life…
"How?" Chris's voice was frail and breathy, his eyes fixed on the face of his once-fiancée.
As you grow weaker, I can pull images out of your memory. We're going to have so much fun…
The demon's voice was cheerful and excited.
Chris found himself feeling the exact opposite to his adversary. Sweat dripped down his forehead and he dropped to his knees, unable to hold the food in his stomach any longer and throwing it out onto the grass.
Bent over and breathing heavily, Chris waited to be sure he'd gotten everything out.
"You never were one to give in easily." Bianca's confident tones were unmistakable.
Chris looked up and wiped his mouth with the back of a clammy hand. Bianca was stood less than six-foot away, regarding him with a mixed expression.
"When will you learn, Chris?" She sighed in frustration. "You're not all-powerful. There are some things you just can't beat and there's no point in trying."
The moonlight stripped the bronze from her skin, casting her into ghostly glittering pallidness. Her brown eyes didn't hold any warmth and were circled by an unhealthy grey that also tinged her cheekbones and lips.
Chris unsteadily got to his feet, setting his jaw against the sharp, heated complaint from his wounded abdomen. At eye-level with Bianca now, he took a couple of steps towards her.
She reached out, torn black satin and shreds of lace falling away from her ghostly arm. Unable to stop himself, Chris took hold of her offered hand and despite its unearthly chill, he didn't let go.
"I loved you, Chris," Bianca whispered, regret in her voice now. "But you just don't seem to be able to accept when you've been beaten." A tear slid down her cheek, glistening in the moonlight. "You're naïve to think you can stop him."
Déjà vu. 'We were naïve to think we could change anything, to stop him.' Fear stabbed into Chris's chest, as reality managed to get through the intoxicating fabrication. This was really the Nightmare demon speaking, not Bianca… How much did the demon know?
"You don't believe that. I have to stop him," Chris said, earnestly, and squeezed her hand tighter. "The world depends upon it."
"Always with the melodrama!" Bianca yanked her hand out of his hold and roughly pushed him away. "He's given me new life and all you want to do is kill him!"
Regaining his balance, Chris's face was grim. However, he was relieved that Bianca's little outburst seemed to prove the Nightmare demon was still ignorant of potentially volatile information.
Bianca was stalking back towards the dilapidated cottage and Chris followed her.
It made his heart ache seeing her image like this. The tattered satin and lace fluttered around her familiar feminine body, her long slender legs carrying her in angry strides on feet he noticed were bare. Despite her clothing and rather ghostly air, she looked exactly the same. But there was no beating heart in her chest. It was horrible to see her portrayed like this – mystical and beautiful, but soulless.
She was being used against him again, which was the worst thing of all.
At the open doorway to the cottage, Bianca stopped and Chris came to a halt at a short distance behind her.
"Bianca…" he whispered, softly, an unfathomable depth of sadness in his tone. "I'm sorry."
Though his soft words were not meant for her, the witch whirled around to face him in a swirl of black lace and satin, her soulless eyes boring into him.
"Uh! You're so weak!" she cried, pitilessly. "Look at your eyes all welling up with tears – in a minute you're going to be positively bawling like a baby! Dear little Christopher, always the baby…"
Panic flared within Chris. Did the Nightmare demon know?
Closing the gap between them, Bianca placed her hand on Chris's shoulder and moved her mouth to his ear.
"I think it's time the shroud was lifted," she whispered, darkly.
Chris froze.
Still leaning on his shoulder, Bianca placed her other hand on his chest. For a frantic moment Chris feared the Nightmare demon would use her to strip him of his powers, but then her hand travelled downwards, apparently having a different purpose.
He looked down and watched her hand slip down his midline until it reached his navel. It hovered there for a moment. Then slid in a downward diagonal to an exact spot on the right side of his lower abdomen, where it stopped and gently pressed.
Chris grunted in pain and moved backwards, trying to slip out of her embrace. She clung tight to his shoulder and pressed his wound again, a little harder this time.
Biting back a cry, Chris roughly twisted out of her hold and stumbled away to a safe distance. Something brushed against his legs and Chris looked down to see a black cat weaving around him. It stared up at him with its fiendish red eyes and hissed viciously, before slinking away.
Chris looked across at Bianca to find her lips in a cruel twist, a deadly playful look in her soulless eyes.
"You want me to fight you?" Chris yelled, angrily. "Is that it?"
"I want you to try," the witch replied in a hiss akin to the demonic cat's. She stepped forward, an energy ball appearing in her palm.
Ready for it, Chris orbed out. The blue energy dissipated over the moonlit clearing, as Chris reformed behind Bianca.
A blast of telekinetic magic sent her sprawling facedown in the grass.
Chris turned to look for a weapon beyond the doorway to the cottage, unwilling to destroy Bianca with his bare hands.
He didn't see her shimmer.
Suddenly hands gripped his shoulders and he was flung against the outside wall of the house.
He moved forward, but a swift kick sent him slamming back into the stone.
The flames consumed him then, blood flowing hot and free down his abdomen. His breath was gone along with his wits and he collapsed into an almost senseless heap on the ground.
A hand touched his chin and tipped his head back, forcing his pain-glazed eyes to look up into Bianca's soulless face. She conjured an athame into her empty palm and held it against his throat.
"Don't you see the reality of the situation now?" Bianca asked.
There was a glint of remorse in Chris's pain-filled eyes, as Bianca suddenly began to choke. She dropped the athame and staggered back, her hands grasping futilely at her throat. Her eyes were wide with shock and panic, and she began to turn faintly blue, unable to get any air into her lungs.
After what seemed like an eternity, it was over. Bianca lay lifeless, a silvery ghost in the moonlight.
Sat with his head resting against the wall of the cottage, Chris stared numbly ahead. His hands clutched his stomach, blood trickling between them. The pain was deep.
He had just pulled away the blood-soaked bandage and revealed the wound, the stitches torn and useless. And at the same time he'd noticed the swelling, which was spread across most of his lower abdomen. It had told him what he'd suspected all along.
The wound that the girl in the castle had given him was fatal without the healing powers of Leo or a human surgeon. It was just going to take a while to kill him.
Now you know the game we're playing.
The disembodied voice was sombre and menacing.
Shall we continue?
It wasn't really a question. The ground was sharply torn away from beneath him and replaced.
Chris found himself in a graveyard on the side of a hill, his back against a gravestone. He hastily lurched to his feet.
Aided by the waning light of a sun sinking behind the peak of the hill, Chris rebound the sodden bandage around his abdomen as tightly and efficiently as he could. Then he began to stagger through the assortment of memorials to the dead.
He passed by crumbling mausoleums and under stone angels with hands clasped in prayer, as he slowly picked his way between the numerous headstones to reach an undetermined place. Exhausted and hurting, Chris had had enough. He saw no way to beat the Nightmare demon. He had no doubt that his mortal wound had become reality in the waking world, and that Leo was unable to heal him while the Nightmare demon was in control. All Chris could see for himself was pain and suffering until inevitable death.
Chris stopped and leant against a headstone, panting slightly.
He heard a short disembodied sigh.
I think it's time some different blood was spilt on the scene.
As the Nightmare demon finished his announcement, a bright white flash enveloped the hillside graveyard and blinded Chris.
His sight returned as grey shadows that gradually regained their shapes and colours. Almost at once, he noticed the new addition to the dreamscape – someone was sat on the peak of the hill. A little someone.
A young child with fair hair…
Chris's throat constricted and he desperately began stumbling upwards.
…Wyatt.
To Be Continued...
It's been a long while since I updated... Is anyone still reading this or has it been forgotten?.?.?
(Additional disclaimer: The line of dialogue from Chris-Crossed is, of course, not mine.)