The Book of Dreams

It was a dark and stormy night.The deep sounds of thunder were shaking the tiny house and the bolts of lightning lit up the mostly dark kitchen interior as I sat at my rickety table thinking about all the things I could be doing, had the electricity not gone out hours ago. Just as I started to rise from my chair in search of more candles, to help chase the shadows from the room, a strong knock rattled the door.

I ran to the door, expecting some poor rain soaked traveler seeking refuge from the storm, instead I found a tiny black notebook and no person in sight, not even a whisper of a car or even a muddy footprint from the person who had delivered it. Curiously, I reached down, picking up the notebook so I could examine its content and as my fingers wrapped around its supple leather spine a sudden kind of magic gripped me. I have to write, it wasn’t an option, it was an overwhelming need!

My mind whirled furiously as the words exploded into being inside my head, I would go mad if I didn’t put these words onto the thick luxurious pages of the notebook. I searched frantically for something, anything, to write with, coming up empty. In a fit of rage, I threw the notebook across the room, as it lost contact, my mind was suddenly my own, the need to write instantly gone, the words that so desperately needed to be written becoming background noise once again. As I stared across the room wondering what in the world had come over me I spy a single sheet of paper gently floating to the floor. Cautiously, I stooped to pick it up. On it in a very elaborate scrawling hand it read, “ Return to sender in one month to receive your reward. The book will tell you where to go.”

For several hours I stared across the room, debating with myself, wondering if I should ever touch the book again, should I sweep it into a corner of the still dark room,cover it up, never touch it again, to avoid the magic’s grip or simply let the magic take me and receive the cryptic reward? What kind of reward could come from a magic book? This small black book, a book that could inspire the beautiful words, the exquisite story that had blossomed in my head as I held its leather exterior?

Curiosity won, in the end. But first I needed to find something to write with, anything would do at this point, but apparently with the sudden arrival of the book all my writing implements had vanished without a trace. A trip to town could remedy this situation. I decided to leave the notebook where it lay, not daring to touch it lest the magic take me before I was ready. This time I would not be touching it blind, I knew now the consequences, the utter frenzy that would overtake me once I so much as brushed the soft leather exterior with a single finger. As I was walking out the door realization dawned on me, it’s 3 a.m. and all the shops in town are closed. Where could I possibly buy writing implements at this hour? “It will just have to wait until morning,” I thought, as I walked back into the house closing the door behind me.

Instead of leaving the book on the floor though I decided it would be best to wrap it up, carefully so not to touch, it and lay it on my bedside table.

As I slept that night; I dreamed. I dreamed of pencils and pens of all shapes of sizes, I dreamed of writing with them furiously, I dreamed of the story that those various instruments and I wove as my hands danced across the pages of the notebook. I dreamed that I ran out of pages and was astonished and delighted when more pages magically appeared! The last dream however was the strangest, I dreamed that I had finished the last page of the best story I had ever written, walked to the end of my driveway, given the carefully wrapped notebook to a faceless stranger in a black cloak, and had just walked away.

The next day, I woke suddenly, feeling utterly exhausted and for some reason, extremely proud. I glanced at my phone and did a double take when I realized that a month had passed and I had no recollection of ever having been awakened. I panicked a little when I also realized that the book that I had so mysteriously found the night before; but in reality it had been a month before, had vanished from my bedside table, without a trace.

Perplexed and feeling like I might be losing my sanity, I decided that I should get out of bed and start my day. Maybe it had all been one glorious dream and somehow I hadn’t just lost an entire month to a story I had never really written.

As I stood in the shower letting the warm water run over me, soothing my aching muscles, I heard a knock at the door. The sound was eerily similar to the last knock that I was hoping had been a dream, because if it hadn’t I most definitely was going mad.

As I cracked open the door, feeling a little sheepish, I peeked out. Standing in the doorway this time was a man in a large black cloak and a rather nice looking hat, holding a briefcase.

Then he began by telling me a story. He introduced himself as Mr. Smith. He said, “I had a dream last night. I dreamed that I woke up suddenly at midnight. I had walked to this very house and met you at the end of the driveway and that you hand delivered to me, a very nice leather bound black notebook and then we just walked away, never having uttered a single word. Then I dreamed, I read the entire book in a matter of minutes even though the book was hundreds of pages long. I had thought it was a dream anyway, until I actually did wake up, and found this black notebook sitting on my bedside table. I was curious, so I cracked it open and started reading it, then realized that it was the exact story I had read in my dream. I was astonished; this is quite possibly the best book I have ever read! I’m a book publisher by trade and I am here to offer you $20,000 in advance, plus additional royalties, for the publishing rights of this book. I hope you will accept.”

So of course I accepted this deal! I mean, wouldn’t you?