Dream Hunters

By James M M Baldwin

Novelette- Drew Maerd can't sleep. His disorder is causing problems at work. A concerned coworker suggests he appear on a show about people with odd dreams. A machine allows researchers to physically enter a subject's dreams. However there's a problem; entering dreams is risky business and the danger is real. Now, they've found more than they've bargained for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James M M Baldwin
• Release date: Jun 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476176086

James M M Baldwin

James M M Baldwin writes speculative fiction with an interaction between spirituality, science, and humanity. His science fiction, fantasy, and horror writing interjects spiritual self-awareness and its influence on the natural environment and the universe. Adding to the relationship between human nature and enlightenment, the occasional rocket ship and alien creature color his imaginary worlds. James is an author, artist, poet, musician, runner, and bicyclist. He is an active participant in the Nebraska Writers Workshop and lives in Omaha with his wife and children, and their dogs and cats.

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Dream Hunters

James M M Baldwin

Dream Hunters

James M M Baldwin

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Copyright 2012 James M M Baldwin

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Dream Hunters

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Dream Hunters

James M M Baldwin

As usual, I couldn’t sleep. I rarely can. The demons that haunt my dreams don’t allow me to rest more than an hour at a time. I can’t recall the nightmares that torment me, but when I wake in a cold sweat, out of breath, with my heart racing, the adrenaline rush lasts for hours. I’ve tried psychiatry, acupuncture, hypnotism- I’ve even visited a psychic therapist. Nothing has helped.

At two in the morning, I lay on the couch, sweat rolling from my forehead. The noisy ceiling fan offered only slight relief from the heat. Lights radiating up from the traffic below illuminated the ceiling of my ninth floor apartment like search lights scanning for unseen monsters in the dark. A siren echoed up from the street and in through the screened window. A lone cockroach scurried across the wall and disappeared into a crack near the corner.

At 4:30 AM, I stared at a lone postcard attached by a plastic ice-cube magnet to my refrigerator door. The card, from a long forgotten college friend, bore a picture of the bright blue skies and cold crystal waters of the northlands. In the heat of the city night, I wondered if a cool place actually existed anywhere on the planet.

My mind wandered. The blue postcard blurred and blended in with the bluish-green refrigerator door. I imagined sitting on a rocky beach with a cool breeze caressing my face.

The phone rang, and my nerves jumped even though I knew it was my mother calling just like she does every morning. I picked up my video phone. With sunken cheeks and her hair a mess, she leaned unnaturally close to her phone and looked off in an odd direction.

Hello Ma.

Drew?

Who else would it be Ma? Why don’t you have your monitor on?

Don’t you sass me boy. You know I don’t like those newfangled gadgets. Now, the reason I called…

I know why you called Ma. You call the same time every night.

Well somebody’s got to tell you to get to sleep. Otherwise, you’d probably lose your mind. So go on now… and call me back to let me know how it goes.

Okay Ma. Goodnight Ma.

I killed the phone and dropped it to the floor. The whir of traffic rose and fell like wild metal beasts coming and going in their concrete labyrinth below. My eyes drifted back to the soft blue postcard on the refrigerator door. A trickle of perspiration rolled off my brow and into my ear. A warm breeze waved a gentle hand over my exposed flesh.

My mind went blank.

*

I sat bolt upright in bed. Sweat poured down my face, my tongue swollen and parched, my heart pounding like the hooves of stampeding horses. The clock revealed that I had only slept for twenty minutes. At least it was something. I staggered to the shower where I let cold water run down my throat and rinse the salt from my hair and skin.

*

By seven AM, the heat of day asserted its oppression over the city. The high-rise tenants crowded the platform for the hover-train. I dressed better than most of the dregs from my building. After their late night carousing, I’m sure most of them had barely managed to drag themselves out of bed a few minutes ago.

I had ironed my light tan suit in case the sun happened to pop out between the buildings I could repel the heat in style. My sunglasses hid the dark circles under my eyes.

The train hovered into the station with a static hum. As the rabble jostled into the car, I waited until they were in. I entered and pushed between the first two bulkheads, the space already occupied by four other passengers. All of them expressionless