THE SENOI WAY

 

 

In the dream, the dark-cowled figure rushes at him, talons gleaming in the pale moonlight. Jimmy dodges to the side of the path, entangling himself in a mass of spindly vines. He knows the figure will be on him in an instant. He pulls free and runs down the path into the deep, dark woods.

Fog crawls over the ground, swirls around tree stumps that jut out of the mist at odd angles. There is a broken dividing fence off to the left. To the right is the twisted wreck of an old station wagon with smoke billowing out the shattered windows. The figure appears directly in front of Jimmy--a crazed hatred burning from the eyes glowing inside the cowl.

Jimmy screams. The creature slashes his chest and he falls backward, rolling down a steep incline. Just ahead, the fog dips down into a pit. He flails with the realization that this is his grave. His fingers clutch at mud, grass and rocks.

“No!” he cries.

He stops his descent at the lip of the open grave. Summoning what courage he has, he forces himself to stand. The figure is there. It grasps his neck, raises him and holds him out over the grave.

Jimmy holds tight to its arm. If he goes into that grave, he knows he won't come out. “Who are you?”

The figure does not respond. It merely brushes back the cowl revealing its face. It has a long snout and triangular ears. It smiles to show off row after row of razor sharp teeth. Its eyes draw Jimmy's with hypnotic brilliance. His grip loosens and the creature flings him into the grave.

Jimmy takes the only escape route left: he wakes up.

***

“So what do you think?” Jimmy asked after telling Dr. Kenston about the dream. He hated being in the shrink's office. His foster parents forced him to spend an hour a week with the old man, which really sucked. Not only did Dr. Kenston ask all kinds of stupid questions, but he smelled like mothballs.

“You have terrible memories about the car accident which are currently manifesting themselves in your REM sleep,” Dr. Kenston said with a wave of his hand. He settled into his high-backed leather chair and stroked his salt and pepper beard with thumb and forefinger. “Tell me again about the creature.”

“It had a face like a deformed hairless dog, but walked upright like a man--”

“Or a woman.”

“Or a woman,” Jimmy agreed.

Dr. Kenston leaned forward. “Let's say it is female. The robes could be her dress; the cowl would be her veil of matrimony. Yes, I'd say this sheds a whole new light on the situation.”

“So what's wrong with me?”

“It would seem you have unresolved guilt about your mother.”

“My mother?”

“This may stem from the argument you had with her the night she and your father died. Symbolism is the key. She looks like the creature, which is probably a giant version of the animal your parents swerved to avoid on the road that night. The monster has hypnotic eyes which prevent you from acting, in much the same way the animal was frozen in the headlights. That would probably represent your feelings of guilt over the argument or perhaps because you survived the wreck and they did not. The grave is obviously representative of your desire to be with your biological parents and--”

Jimmy finally cut him off. “Let's cut to the chase. What do I do if the dream returns?” he asked, knowing that it would.

Dr. Kenston played with his beard some more. “Just remember that it's your mother, not a monster. She isn't there to hurt or frighten you. Simply accept her and get to the root of the problem, even if it means digging up some unpleasant memories and setting them straight. It's all for the better, I assure you.”

Jimmy nodded and hoped he was right.

***

Mrs. Riley sits on the edge of Jimmy' bed reading aloud to him. The light behind her keeps her face in shadow, but Jimmy suspects she's bored. Little Red Riding Hood gets old after the hundredth time. He isn't even listening to the story, but when she finishes, he says, “Read it again.” He's thrilled to have her alive and here with him.

“No, honey. You need to get some sleep.” She reaches forward to tuck him in and he sees her fingernails.

“My, what sharp nails you have!”

“The better to protect you with, my dear,” she says pulling the covers up to his chin. She turns to shut off the light and he catches a glimpse of her profile.

“My, what a long snout you have!”

“The better to kiss you goodnight, my dear.” She bends to kiss him and he sees her teeth.

“My, what big teeth you have!”

“The better to eat you with, my dear.” She nibbles on his cheek. It hurts, but he doesn't complain. He knows she would never intentionally harm him—she's his mother. He looks into her red eyes and they threaten to bind him forever.

“You're not my mother!”

His mother, the creature, laughs and grows to its full height, which from Jimmy's viewpoint seems to be ten feet. The room contorts wildly. His stuffed animals wrench and twist into the creatures of a macabre audience. The closet door swings open to reveal instruments of torture. The night stand turns into a guillotine, the desk to a rack, the dresser to a press and the bed becomes a stone altar.

He decides not to stick around for the party, but his blankets transform into heavy chains. He's trapped. The creature produces a long curved dagger and a wicked smile. The audience nods its approval. The beast approaches Jimmy. “Are you prepared to join your parents?”

He tries to say no, but all that comes out is a weak moan. The chains press against his vocal cords, making speech impossible.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” the creature says, “this human has been charged with illegal departure from the scene of his death. Do you wish to hear his defense?”

“No!” the crowd replies in unison.

“Very well, what is your verdict?”

“Guilty as charged!”

The creature turns to address Jimmy. “And for your sentence, you shall have eternal slow torture. One agonizing blow each time you fall asleep. The pain will grow worse as the days without sleep stretch and soon you'll beg for death. But the pain will always continue!”

The jury pipes in with cheers.

“Then let the agony commence!” The creature's eyes blaze with sadistic passion as it slips the dagger between the chains. The blade bites into Jimmy's heart with white hot pain. He screams. He's never felt such agony; nothing could possibly be worse.

The creature twists the knife.

***

Jimmy sat up, wide awake, the scream still on his lips. His chest felt as if it were on fire. He pulled off his shirt to reveal a huge bruise where the dream dagger had entered. He made himself a promise. He wouldn't sleep again until he had some kind of protection.

Help wasn't easy to come by. He couldn't talk to his foster parents, and Dr. Kenston was out of the question. Jimmy didn't need to hear that his wound was self-inflicted or worse, have him report it to social services. Jimmy'd had enough of moving around to different foster homes.

He knew of only one person who might be able to help. A new guy named Carlos, the smartest and weirdest kid in Jimmy's school. The word around school was that you didn't mess with him. He was a small kid, but his presence was strong. Nobody dared laugh at him to his face. And his eyes! Oh, if he fixed you with his piercing gaze, your soul would catch fire and lay exposed for him to rummage through at will. No one cared for the discomfort of his stare, so he was basically left alone.

Jimmy found him in the cafeteria sitting at the back table and hesitantly approached. “Mind if I sit here?”

“It's a free country.”

Jimmy sat down and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “Uh ... how's it going?”

Carlos met his gaze—not with his piercing stare, just one of exasperation. “What do you want?”

Jimmy looked at the table. “People say you're into some bizarre stuff.”

“I read some unusual books,” Carlos said with a grin. “Anything from astral projection to Zen.”

“Do you know anything about dreams?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I have this problem and I need help.”

“Why me?”

“Because without your help I'll probably die.”

“Not likely.” Carlos sighed. “What's the problem?”

“It has to do with the meaning in dreams.”

“You want to know what your dream meant? Go to the library. Freud wrote a book you'll really love.” He gave him a wink.

“No, it's more than that.” Jimmy showed him the wound and told him the problem.

Carlos grinned and nodded throughout the telling. When Jimmy finished, Carlos shook his head. “There's a simple solution, but you've done some stupid things that may make it tougher.”

“Stupid things?”

“Your first mistake was going to a shrink. Granted, you didn't have much choice, but your second mistake was worse. You listened to him!”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

Carlos nodded. “All you've got to do is get at the heart of the matter--the creature—and eliminate it.”

“Eliminate as in kill?”

“In a manner of speaking. See, it's like your dreams are your subconscious' way of speaking to you. They can change your life for better or worse depending on how you interpret them. With your dreams, they're the same, in that you are dying at the hands of the creature, but in different settings.

“The dog creature is a constant. You're afraid of it, so I'd say it represents some kind of fear. Since you encounter it in different places and you're frozen by the creature's eyes—a physical thing—I'd say that limits you to something along the lines of fear of pain, change, death. It really doesn't matter what the fear is, you've just got to face it down and destroy it.”

“It'll kill me!”

“Have you ever heard of the Senoi?”

“The what?”

Carlos sighed. “The Senoi was a tribe living on the Malay peninsula. They held their dream lives as sacred as their waking lives. They had tribal assemblies to talk about their dreams to gain knowledge and new inventions to assist the tribe. Some folks believe that the sharing of dreams and the importance of them in their daily lives eliminated violence from their society.

“Anyway, when a Senoi kid had a nightmare, he was instructed to return andface it down. He had to conquer the fear in his dream so he wouldn't fear it in his waking life. If he faced a person or entity—as you must—he requested a gift. The entity had to comply by giving whatever it felt was right. But for the gift to be good for you, you'll have to defeat the enemy first.”

“Why the gift?”

“Because it's the Senoi way. One of the laws of the Dream Realm or something.”

“Give me a break. That sounds like a fairy tale.”

Carlos stabbed him with his piercing stare. “You came to me for advice. Take it or leave it, I don't care. But let me tell you something. This is not some silly fantasy, Jimmy. This is serious. We're talking about dreams where anything can happen. You can have the ultimate power or none at all depending on how you view it. You can be a helpless observer watching the dream unfold—as you've done—or you can take conscious control and affect the outcome with conscious decisions. The Senoi did it every night.”

Jimmy shrugged. “So how do I get conscious control?”

“Look at your hand.”

“What?”

“Or your foot. It can be anything as long as you decide to do it. Stick with the hand; it's easier to remember. Then all you have to do is shape the dream to battle the creature on your own terms, defeat it and demand your gift. Simple.”

“If I can do one thing consciously—look at my hand—I'll have the power to take over completely?”

“Basically, yes. The Senoi believed that to master one's dreams was as important as mastering one's life. In fact, it's one and the same.”

“But how do I kill the creature once I'm in control?”

“Use your imagination. Summon up a machine gun and blow the sucker away. Messy, but efficient.”

“It won't work!” Jimmy cried. “It'll kill me! And if you die in your dream, you die in real life, too, don't you? I mean, if you fell off a cliff and didn't wake up before you smashed into the rocks below, you'd die.”

“No,” Carlos said matter of factly. “You'd learn to fly.”

***

The pain is unbearable. Jimmy wants to cry out, but he doesn't want to give himself away. The creature has its back to him as it addresses the audience. If Jimmy can gain control before they realize he's back....

He tries to raise his left arm, but the chains hold it down. How can he get control if he can't look at his hand?

The pain. How can he concentrate with all this pain? He looks down at the knife protruding from the chains around his chest. He wishes with all his might for it to vanish.

The dagger disappears.

One conscious thought is all it takes. Jimmy is now in control. He wills the pain away and tries to rise, but the chains still bind him. He applies his vanishing trick to them and they, too, disappear. He sits up.

The creature turns, smiling. “Up already?”

Jimmy kicks the creature in the face, but it catches his leg. It yanks and hurls him across the room. He crashes through members of the audience, hits the wall and slides to the floor.

The creature conjures up another dagger and throws it at him.

“No!” Jimmy waves his hands. The weapon phases out of existence. He can make things disappear, but can he create?

He pictures an assault rifle in his hands and suddenly, there it is. It weighs more than he expects, but he climbs to his feet ready to release a torrent of bullets to rip the beast to shreds.

But the creature is a master of the game. It smiles and the scene shifts. They stand in the foggy woods. The gun is gone. The creature smiles and steps forward. Jimmy retreats a step and slips into the open grave. He reaches out, hoping to catch onto something—anything. His hand fastens upon the creature's robe and he pulls the beast in with him.

They fall. Jimmy twists around and manages to land on top. He smashes the beast in the face. His hand feels broken, but he ignores the pain, hitting the creature again and again.

The creature seems stunned. Jimmy takes a moment to heal his hand then aims one last blow at the beast, but it shoves him up and out of the grave before he can act. He lands face first on a hidden stone and his vision clouds with agony.

Before he can grasp his situation, the creature is on him. It jerks him to his feet, spins him around. It holds him up with one hand. Claws pop out of their housings. It slashes at Jimmy, but he manages to block the attack with his forearm.

The beast lifts him high over its head. “Die!” it yells and drops to one knee, slamming Jimmy down on its upraised leg. There is a sickening crack and Jimmy worries that his back is broken. The creature takes his head in both hands and gives a savage twist.

But Jimmy isn't ready to die. He pictures himself whole and uninjured. Physical sensations rush to him. He leaps up, kicks the beast in the chest. It staggers back, falls. Jimmy can't see it through the fog until it rises up with a shovel in its hands.

The creature swings the shovel, but Jimmy catches it. They struggle. Jimmy pushes, then pulls, twisting in an effort to throw the beast off balance. Then he kicks out. He misses, but the creature releases the shovel to avoid the attack. Jimmy smashes the beast on the side of the head with the shovel. The creature is stunned.

Jimmy concentrates and transforms the shovel into a samurai sword. With a primal scream, he decapitates the creature where it stands. The head bounces, disrupting the fog when it lands. Flesh crumbles away leaving a bare skull.

“My gift,” Jimmy says. “I want my gift!”

As if in response, the body of the creature, which has remained standing, topples backward. Fog swirls up and out erasing the forest and revealing a dream palace of light hovering in the air.

Jimmy stares in awe.

Carlos stands on an alabaster pathway beneath the palace in the sky. He nods at Jimmy. “Congratulations,” he says.

“What is this?”

Carlos smiles. “You've reached a higher plane of existence. Surprises await you.” He waves his hand toward the palace. A man and woman stand waiting to greet the young Senoi master.

Jimmy can't believe his eyes. “Mom? Dad? But how?”

“The people you love are always alive and waiting for you in memories and dreams,” Carlos says. “Ready to help you through the hard times and to cheer you on through the good.” Carlos pats him on the back. “They have a lot to share with you. Go to them. You learned to fly.”

 

 

 

 

 

Quick Shot

 

This is the oldest story in the collection. This tale nearly sold to a variety of markets and was a quarter finalist in the Writers of the Future contest. It finally sold fifteen years after I first wrote it.