Self-proclaimed medium Baylor Bosco has done it again. He’s dominated headlines recently, fooling people into believing he single-handedly saved Helena Papadopoulos, the fourteen-year-old Florida girl who’d been missing for a week. Her friend Archie Perceval died while awaiting rescue.
But what if it were to be revealed that there was more to the story?
What if not everything was as it seemed?
Stay tuned for a special series about Baylor Bosco’s exploits, coming up soon.
—Carla Clunders, editor-at-large, NewEnglandRealNews.net
“Hi, Carla? This is Baylor Bosco.”
“Oh, hello there, Baylor. I was wondering if you’d call.”
“That’s nice. Listen, I don’t really care what you’re planning since your website is an embarrassing sham, but I just want you to know one thing: If you talk about any of my family or friends, I will come after you.”
“You’ll come after me?”
“That’s right, in the same way that you’re coming after me, except I’d actually have a reason.”
“Oh, I have my reasons, Mr. Bosco.”
“Care to enlighten me?”
“They’re very personal, as you may have guessed.”
“Well, if it helps at all, I’m genuinely sorry for anything I may have done to hurt you.”
Cough.
“And I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
“Get off your high horse. You’re only saying that so I won’t publish articles about you anymore.”
“Well, you’re not wrong, but I also would never intentionally hurt someone, unlike you. Tell me, just how long did it take you to hack into Archie and Helena’s hotline voice mail to dig up that information?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice velvety.
“I’m going to hang up now, Carla. Remember what I said.”
* * *
I’d tried sounding brave on the phone, but my heart was pounding the entire time, and my mouth had felt so dry I’d swallowed, like, eighteen times.
“Think it worked?” Kristina asked.
“Who knows,” I said, “but honestly, if she doesn’t listen to me, I meant what I said.”
“What are you going to do about it?” she asked.
“Have you looked at the message boards online recently?” I asked.
“On which website?” In the last week, a new one had sprung up: ImABayliever.com.
“That’s my point,” I said, though my cheeks still burned. “I’ve got a whole army of Baylievers”—my ears felt like they were on fire, I hated saying the word—“at my disposal. If Carla doesn’t listen, I’ll unleash the hounds.”
“Sounds exciting,” said Kristina. “It’s nice you’re embracing your fans.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, “but if they’re willing to help out . . .”
I got ready for bed shortly afterward—threatening someone over the phone really takes it out of you.
I drifted off to sleep, finding myself back in the wide-open field with the brilliant colorful sky beaming overhead. I walked down the field and saw Mr. Moose sitting cross-legged, top hat balanced on antlers, sipping tea from fine china.
“Lovely to see you again, Mr. Moose,” I said. “It’s been a while.”
He bowed, offering me a cup of tea.
“I haven’t seen you since . . . ,” I began to say as I reached for the cup. And it clicked into place—I was dreaming! I hadn’t seen him since I entered Bobby’s dream for the first time last week.
“I’ve gotta go, Mr. Moose!” I said, running up the hill toward the light as the moose stared after me and shook its head, its arm still outstretched with the cup of tea.
I somersaulted back onto Loved Ones’ Lane and admired all the shooting stars. I didn’t really have the urge to visit anyone; it was just nice knowing I was connected to all my loved ones this way.
I turned left down the path, the way I’d been going for the last week, and looked at all the shooting stars. Who were these people? I’d only explored a handful of the doors. I had a long way to go, but I had plenty of time. It’d be easy to devote more time to dreamwalking without having to worry about Archie’s dreams at the end of the lane.
I reached the edge, where the ocean used to roar below, and sighed.
At least we saved Helena. Poor Archie didn’t make it, but dang it, we got Helena back.
I was about to turn and head to my door to dream when I spotted it in the distance—the rectangular door again.
It seemed so far away today, but I was curious, and really, I had nothing else to do except go to sleep. So I leaped into the black nothing and glided forward. This must have been what floating through outer space felt like; I tumbled gently, spinning and flipping and somersaulting my way to the rectangle, the edges of which grew brighter and more intense as I moved closer.
And after what seemed like an hour, I made it. The light was practically bursting at the seams, making the door bulge out. It seemed like if I just tapped it, it might be in danger of blasting open and unleashing its contents into dream space.
I reached for the handle, noticing a funny vibration, a funny kind of pull, like my hand and the handle were both magnets of the same charge, resisting each other. I pushed through and grasped it, throwing it open.
The most dazzling, mesmerizing bright white light flooded my body with warmth, and just as I was about to peek my head in, a sudden force knocked me backward. A million blue sparks exploded around me, and I zoomed back into my bed and woke up with a heavy gasp, like I was sucking my soul back into my body.
The lights flicked on, and surrounding my bed were Kristina, Colonel Fleetwood, and some other ghosts I didn’t recognize—one was a dark-skinned man wearing a colorful set of silky robes; another was a stern Asian woman who was looking me up and down, over and over; and the last one, with about 99 percent certainty, was Albert Einstein, complete with the flyaway white hair, thick mustache, and friendly-but-perplexed smile.
“How did you just do that, Baylor?” Kristina shouted, her voice quivering.
“Do what?” I asked.
She and Fleetwood exchanged horrified glances.
“Baylor, you nearly entered the Beyond,” Kristina said, throwing her arms out.
Her words didn’t land the dramatic blow she’d been aiming for.
I just shrugged and said, “So? What’s the big deal? Who are these people?” I was eyeing the Einstein twin, wanting solid confirmation as to whether I should be filled with excitement or not.
“They’re not important right now! How did you get to that door?”
“It kept showing up last week during Archie’s dreams,” I said.
“During his dying dreams,” she said, confused. “And you still have access to it now? Something’s wrong. Only ghosts can enter the Beyond. If you had moved forward another inch . . . you would have been stuck there forever.”
I scoffed. “How do you know that? Has someone actually tested that?”
“Baylor, you don’t seem to understand the gravity of what I’m trying to tell you.”
“I do understand what you’re saying, but I’m also reminding you that you’re the one who always says there are no set rules.”
Albert Einstein (or his most seasoned imposter) nodded in agreement, and a frisson of excitement passed through my body. I was trying not to freak out in case it was him. Had I just made a point that the smartest guy to ever live agreed with?
“Well, this is the exception to that rule, then,” Kristina said.
“You’re just repeating what someone else told you,” I said. “You don’t actually know whether I’d get stuck there or not.”
“Don’t ever open that door again, Baylor,” she said, pointing at me with her index finger, a flare of blue energy escaping from the tip. “In fact, don’t ever go near it again.”
I rolled my eyes. “I hear you. I’ll avoid it from now on.”
“I can’t tell whether you’re being serious,” she said, “but I’m telling you now: If you go through that door, you’ll never come back out of it.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
But I couldn’t help but feel she was wrong. I could communicate with dead people and see demons and make talismans and amulets. I could see memories attached to random objects. I could walk through people’s dreams and save the life of someone hundreds of miles away. And no matter how worried Kristina was, I could surely walk through a door to the Beyond and live to tell the tale.