The Night of the Millionth Dream: Revisited

By J.J. Goeders

The Night of the Millionth Dream Revisited is a fictional fantasy story for children and adults alike. Filled with wit, and whimsy, it keeps its readers in suspense through the final pages. A generation ago, when Mary Puddlemire was a girl, she embarked on a dream trade with her younger brother, Billy Spindlenook. Mary returned from the fantasy realm to raise a family. Billys whereabouts remained a mystery. Marys recount of her tale is set off by a series of events that suggests a reenactment of the Night of the Millionth Dream. The storyline reaches through time and distance by means of panaminding, a form of ESP. In the end, the story delivers a big surprise and the hint of a sequel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 30, 2008
• ISBN: 9781465329639

J.J. Goeders

Jon was born in Findlay, Ohio. His family soon moved, however, and his childhood days were filled with the experiences of small town life in Altoona, Iowa. Jon earned both undergraduate and graduate degrees. He attended the University of Iowa, the University of Arizona, and Washington University in St. Louis. Jon views life as a succession of contrasts. He thinks his life has been richly enhanced through the interaction of positive and negative dynamics. For instance, gray prairie winters gave him a great appreciation for the simple magic of summer, with its colorful birds, flowers, and blue skies. One must allow for the other for the existence of both. For this reason, Jon is no stranger to initiating a new quest or pondering the pros and cons of virtually anything that he thinks is worthy of resolution. Jon is the youngest of five siblings. His family prizes achievement, innovation, and authenticity. APERTURE: Quest and Appraisal is Jon’s second book. His first book, an adventure fantasy titled The Night of the Millionth Dream – Revisited, was published by Xlibris Corporation in 2008. In addition to writing, the author’s interests include architecture, horticulture, illustration, and music.

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Copyright © 2008 by J.J. Goeders.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

AUTHOR’S NOTES

PROLOGUE

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

EPILOGUE

Glossary of Tellurian and Otherworldly Words

DEDICATION

The Night of the Millionth Dream—Revisited is dedicated to the memory of Phyllis Jensen Goeders.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The following are gratefully appreciated for their special contributions: the late Tamme D. Dijk, Leslie D. Goodwin, Betty Hazelwood, Doug Johnson, Sharon L. Kouri, Allen Carl Larson and the Webster University Symphony Orchestra, Debra Mack Larson, Arielle North Olson, and Don J. Riehn.

Special thanks to: Florence A. Barboro, Patrick Cullen, Mary Gorman, Cindy Koehler, Bill Kountz, Betty Krechel, Richard F. Krechel, Denyse A. Mains, Lorraine Meredith, Robert Roy Pennington, Nicole Robbins, and Laurese van de Wijngaard.

Acknowledgment to readers of sample chapters: Michele Behan, Gladys Cramer, Dr. Gerald Fivian, Rodney Hartman, Sarah Johannessen, Ronda Koon, Karen Levy, Mary A. Pane, Richard Poeling, Janay Sander, Ron Sauget, Mary Smitter, Muriel Van Patten, Terry L. Vaughn, Debra Watson, Pat Wilson, and Dr. Seth Wissner.

AUTHOR’S NOTES

I am grateful to Grand Marais, Michigan for its unique beauty that I have enjoyed on numerous summer vacations. It is a perfect setting for this story. As well, I am grateful to Winter Harbor, Maine for the serenity and solace it has offered the past several summers. I worked heartily on this story while in my room overlooking Frenchman Bay.

I am grateful to Yellow30 Sci-Fi’s editor Charles Vestal for consenting to a book review and to staff member Stefanie Longwood for her enthusiastic comments.

Readers may keep abreast of developments and information for ordering the accompanying CD of songs by visiting my MySpace web page. To do so, put the following URL into your web browser:

http://www.myspace.com/dreamititians

Although I worked on the design and rendering of the book cover illustration, I received some skillful guidance very early on by Doug Johnson. Later, fashion illustrator Lorraine Meredith offered advice, as well.

The cover illustration contains symbols from the story. The lower portion depicts the end of the magical tea party that concludes chapter four. The upper right-hand corner shows the eyes of a zat. They are modeled after Starlight, my cat. The celestial bodies that depict a moth and butterfly are a reference to one of the gifts presented by a mythical zat to Billy Spindlenook when his Dream Trade is celebrated in the Land of Dreamitite. Of additional note, the Dream Stream is seen sweeping through the center of the illustration and Behindit Timit’s face appears in the Moon.

Many thanks to Xlibris staff members Kathrina Garcia, Marjorie Josol, Jake S. Muelle, and Hazel Que for the professionalism, guidance, and dedication they’ve shown during my first journey through the publishing process.

PROLOGUE

Summertime slumbered softly, the Moon drifted off, and twilight awakened to a night of twinkles. Specks of sapphire spread out far and wide as the Milky Way poured into the teacup of the heavens. Yet more was stirring in the zenith of wonders than the luster of a million stars. Mighty forces were at work. An "emiTime" moment was about to renew. Magic was flying high. Even in a place like New York City, where stars are more often seen on the streets, the sky streaked with polish, and Times Square sparkled as never before.

Chapter One

Tattletale Dreaming

Perry Puddlemire heard the sound of gears cranking inside the old wooden case of his grandfather clock. He knew what it meant. Perry turned in his seat and looked up. Midnight. In addition to being a night owl, Perry was a writer. He started his workday when most people were getting ready for bed. Perry’s roomy studio was part of a penthouse loft that he shared with his wife and children.

Perry flipped his desk lamp off and waited. Through a wall of windows, he gazed out across the vast Manhattan cityscape. As the aged clock struck, lights flickered off in every direction. Perry took comfort in watching the city fall asleep. He tried to imagine all the different people who slumbered behind so many darkened windows. What were their dreams?

Perry enjoyed the restful pause of the late-night hour. It was during this time of change from one day to the next that Perry’s best ideas had come to him. Presently, Perry was between stories. He hadn’t touched his pen in weeks. Perry looked down at the empty blotter on his desktop. Was writer’s block getting the best of him?

Perry shifted in his chair. The room was stuffy. Some fresh night air might be just what he needed. Perry looked up. A row of transoms capped the glass wall before him. He reached for his remote and gave it a push. Tiny motors started. The high awning windows lifted off their sills. They opened slowly like the mouths of yawning children. As the glass tilted out, Perry caught sight of a most unusual reflection. His head jerked. Something bright streaked through the sky. It was followed by a sudden, mysterious flash.

As Perry sat spellbound, a supernatural cloud made of tiny specks of light rushed toward him. It passed unfazed through the windows and moved to the right. The unearthly light brightened a wall of books, which served as Perry’s library.

A through Z, the books quaked and shuffled in their stacks. Soon they wrestled free of one another and flew from the shelves like a swarm of yellow jackets. Covers wriggled and flopped. Thousands of pages flipped in a furious flap. The roar of disclosures was unbearable. Perry buried his head in his hands thinking the hurricane of literature might strike him. The onslaught soon subsided. The airborne books made an about-face. As quickly as they had been dislodged, the books rebounded and nestled back together.

The invading light shifted away from the bookshelves and charged in Perry’s direction. Shadows evaporated before him. Perry gasped as the light stalled at the edge of his desk. It narrowed and pulled itself together. Then, without delay, the stream of light dipped into the portrait of Perry’s wife. The room darkened as the unnerving illumination slipped from three dimensions into two.

Mary’s image unaged. The crow’s-feet around her eyes backtracked and were gone. Mary’s cheeks rounded, and long-lost freckles blossomed once again. Before he could comprehend the changes, Perry was gazing at a child’s face. Looking lonesome and bewildered, Mary’s image appeared to call to him. Perry reached out. The portrait scooted back.

The frame tipped off the edge of the desk. It hit the floor and splintered. The glass facing cracked in two. The pieces slid in different directions. Exposed, Mary’s paper youth shimmered with the iridescence of a spectrum. A beam of light stole from its surface and bounded up into the air. It glanced off the face of Perry’s grandfather clock where the hands of time blurred in a blaze of reflections, and all evidence of the hour vanished.

The phantom spotlight pressed on. It skipped over the clock finial and rose through the air. The upper half of the studio wall was covered in framed maps of various ages and sizes. Perry winced as the marauding light zeroed in. Frames wobbled and crooked as the jumpy apparition edged from one surface to another. The State of Michigan appeared, then a diagram of the universe.

The illumination banked to the left and nosedived. The door to Perry’s studio squeaked softly as the acrobatic light plummeted into a puddle on the floor. It flared, as if to catch its breath. Then, it swelled and surfed across the carpet. It dashed the baseboards on the opposite wall with a smattering of colorful hues.

Before Perry could grasp what was happening, his large display cases flew open. Electrified earthenware jars spun on their sides and swept upward. Glittering geodes swirled after them. As if exposed to black light, mineral specimens flashed, and flying fossils effervesced the dust of ages.

Reflections collided in midair. Precipitously, the studio darkened and the freewheeling objects coursed back into their showcases. The last glimmer of light fell onto the surface of Mary’s photograph that lay amid its broken frame on the floor. Perry moved to pick it up. As he did so, the childhood image fast-forwarded to its present look. Within a split second of the photo’s transformation, the hypnotic silence was broken by a spine-chilling cry, Billy!

Perry jolted. Mary! he exclaimed. Her recurring nightmare, he thought.

As Perry reached his wife’s bedside, she sobbed, I got so close. I saw his shadow.

You’ve had a nightmare. You’ll be okay, Perry reassured her.

Mary shook her head. It wasn’t a nightmare, Perry. I was searching for Billy. It’s something I want to do. Mary rose from her pillow and softly sang.

Have you ever searched for those you’ve lost

In hopes you’d someday find them?

A trace, a spark, a voice is worth it all.

Did you ever reach so far,

Just to wonder where they are?

Anywhere is somewhere in a dream.

Leave no stone unturned.

Leap beyond the stars.

Quest to the limit, and before you know it,

The one most missed is near.

It’s never a nightmare to search and rescue

Memories of yesteryear.

On a hazy summer’s night

The point of my plight

Simply couldn’t be

More perfectly clear.

Sissy Puddlemire appeared at the bedroom doorway followed by her younger brother. They looked to Perry. Is Mommy okay? the children asked in unison.

Perry nodded. She’s been tattletale dreaming. Everything’s fine.

She tattletale dreams a lot, said Joey.

Go back to bed now, Perry directed the children.

When Mary had settled down, Perry returned to his studio. He picked up the broken pieces of Mary’s picture frame and laid her photograph on the blotter atop his desk. He then sat down and stared at it. Mary, thought Perry, when will she ever be free of the torment of her lost brother? An unexpected knock on the studio door interrupted Perry’s contemplation. Suspecting that it might be one of the children, he sternly questioned, Who is it?

Me, Mary replied.

Perry relaxed. Come in.

I wasn’t able to sleep. I made some tea.

Perry thanked her and lifted a cup. I had a strange experience tonight while you were sleeping, he said.

Mary was bewildered. What do you mean?

I saw a flash just outside. He pointed to the windows. A mysterious light came in. Books jumped off the shelves, and the showcases emptied.

Mary looked about the studio. Bemusedly, she asked, Really? How did you pick everything up so fast?

It all flew back into place by itself.

Mary reached out and gave Perry a hug. You’re the one who’s been tattletale dreaming. I must have awakened you upon calling out to Billy.

Perry glanced away. He didn’t want to talk about Mary’s brother. I broke your picture, he pointed out.

It probably happened when you nodded off. It’s okay.

Perry shook his head. I’m not so sure.

About what?

It seemed so real.

You mean the dream?

Perry’s voice sank. Maybe I’m losing my mind.

Or maybe it’s coming back, Perry.

Come again?

Perhaps your dream is telling you something.

Such as?

Could it be an idea for a new book?

I’m too tired to think about it right now.

Mary was supportive. The children can’t wait to hear what your next story’s going to be.

Hopefully, I won’t let them down.

Lighten up, Perry. A fresh idea is probably right under your nose. Expect to bounce out of a slump.

Perry relaxed. Thanks for the pep talk.

They both took a sip of tea.

Mary changed subjects, and the tone of her voice changed as well. I know why I dreamed about Billy tonight.

Perry tensed. As if he could read her mind, he guessed what Mary was about to say.

The kids were disappointed when I told them you’re not going to join us at Mother’s cottage. Mary paused.

Perry squirmed in his chair. My work— he began.

Mary interrupted. Is at a longtime standstill, she finished.

Perry looked away.

Mary pressed on, Please reconsider. Maybe a summer vacation is what you need to renew your imagination. A person can sometimes focus too hard on the little picture and miss out on the big one.

Agreed. Perry nodded. On the other hand, I haven’t earned a vacation. It’s too unsettling to leave for Michigan when my publisher is owed another story. I’m staying here until the writer’s block passes. Perry wouldn’t budge. My taking off for Spindlenook Cottage is not an option right now.

Please, dear, Mary begged. Come to Grand Marais. Do it as a favor if not for yourself. You know how hard it is for me to stay on Lonesome Point. It’s a joy taking the children, of course, but I truly don’t feel safe there amid the wildwoods, bogs, and bears.

It’s not as isolated as you make it sound. You’ll be on the Harbor of Refuge. There are plenty of nearby cottages.

Mary shook her head. "It’s not the other cottages that frighten me!"

Perry rolled his eyes and moaned, "Oh, not that again! We’ve been over this a million times, Mary. What happened to your brother was many, many years ago. Perry paused. His manner changed. Please don’t cry." He handed Mary a box of tissue.

I miss Billy. Mary wiped her eyes. You don’t know what it’s like. I was his older sister. I left him behind. Mary broke into a sob.

Perry consoled his wife. "You were never responsible for Billy’s disappearance. You’re not a little girl anymore.

There’s nothing to fear in Michigan."

Mary pulled herself together. Okay, Perry, stay here. You must promise me, however, you’ll write up a storm.

Perry nodded. I’ll make the rafters shake at the very least!

Mary reached for the teapot and freshened her cup. Um, the tea’s pretty good. It’s Sleepy Time.

Speaking of which, I think it’s time for us to get to sleep, said Perry.

Several days passed. Mary and the children left to meet her mother in the North Woods.

Spindlenook Cottage had been in Mary’s family for generations. It was built over a hundred years earlier when Great-grandfather Sylvester Ogee Spindlenook owned a nearby sawmill. S. O. S., as he was known, was a retired riverboat captain when he moved from Ohio to Lake Superior to reap the riches of the lumber business. He built the cottage of rare and exotic woods. Yet despite its delicate looks, Spindlenook Cottage was a sturdy structure that had weathered many storms.

Like a riverboat, Spindlenook Cottage was flanked on both front and back sides by wide covered porches. The front porch faced the nearby road, and the back porch led to the beach. Both porches opened into a beamed, two-story family room. At its center, a metal staircase spiraled about a mammoth, exposed fireplace. A toothy limestone firebox yawned widely before its hearth. Chiseled onto a mantel made of a mystical fiber-optic wood was the following verse:

NO WARMER FIREWOOD MAY I DEVOUR

THAN SPARKS ILLUMINATION’S HOUR.

S. O. S.

At the top of the spiral staircase, a balcony opened to both sides of the great room below. On the right, a sky-lighted sitting area perched before the master bedroom suite. On the left, a hallway led off to several children’s bedrooms. The first room it came to had been Mary’s bedroom when she was a girl. Though large and comfortable, it was predictably ordinary and box shaped. By contrast, the door at the end of the hall led up a short flight of steps to a most unusual room. Originally, it served as a private study in Great-grandfather Spindlenook’s time. Vaulted and shaped like a tower, it offered a curved wall of windows that commanded panoramic views of the lake and beach below. The space was designed to give its visitors the feeling of being in a lighthouse. It was the perfect room in which a child might let his or her imagination run wild. It had been Billy’s bedroom. It had not been occupied since his disappearance. In fact, Grandmother Spindlenook kept its curtains drawn and its door locked at all times. For this reason, Mary had not ventured into the space for years. Nevertheless, she harbored fond memories of visiting her brother there when she was a child. She remembered reading together with Billy on long summer afternoons in the room’s wide window seats. They both liked to read. Sometimes Mary and Billy finished the books they were reading at the same time and traded off. Therefore, their thoughts were known to run crosscurrent. Mary missed the magic of those moments.

Mary and Mrs. Spindlenook sat on the back porch of the cottage. Mary noticed her children jumping wildly where the sand bank dipped into the lake. She set her book down. "The Song of Hiawatha will have to wait. Look, Mother, Joey and Sissy have found something."

Minutes later, Joey stomped up the worn wooden porch steps. Sissy followed on his heels. They huffed and puffed.

It’s mine! shouted Sissy.

No, it isn’t. I picked it up! Joey declared.

You made me drop it. Give it back!

Sissy tried to wrestle the object from her brother.

Mary raised her voice. Children! Stop!

What have you got? Grandmother Spindlenook asked her grandson.

This. Joey’s fingers opened to reveal a small rock.

My goodness, Grandmother Spindlenook brightened. You’ve found a straight-line agate. It’s not every day you’ll have such luck.

Sissy reached out. He took it from me!

Is that so? asked Mary.

Joey didn’t answer. Mary asked him to hand over the agate.

It’s not fair. Sissy gets everything!

Tell your sister you’re sorry, said Mary.

Ignoring his mother, Joey leaped off the porch. As he headed for the beach he yelled back, I’ll find something better!

It wasn’t long before both children were once again looking for stones along the water’s edge.

Meanwhile, Mary turned to Mrs. Spindlenook. Mother, I’m worried, she said.

What’s the matter? questioned Mrs. Spindlenook.

It’s Perry. I’ve never seen him in such a slump.

I don’t understand why he didn’t come along. Perry can write just as easily in Spindlenook Cottage as he can in New York.

He doesn’t think so, said Mary.

In the distance, the children began hollering with excitement. Joey waved something in the air and sprinted toward the back porch. Sissy followed, barely keeping up. Let me see! Let me see! she begged.

Grandmother Spindlenook and Mary looked to one another. Mary rolled her eyes. Grandmother Spindlenook chuckled lightly, Fickle fortune’s fast and fleeting.

Joey bolted up the steps.

What is it this time, Joey? Grandmother Spindlenook asked.

I’ll trade my agate for it! Sissy blurted out.

No way, said Joey, who showed off a strange oversized metal key.

Let me take a closer look. Mary Puddlemire put her glasses on. She wondered where she had seen the key before. Mary’s memory raced to come up with an answer. In addition to being weighty, the key had a rusty, pitted surface. It looked as if it might have been underwater for a long, long time. The key’s teeth were crooked and worn. Its stem was oddly plump. In contrast, the handle was flattened down like a tail.

Mary shook her head. In a stricken voice, she murmured, I don’t believe it. There’s no way on earth this key could turn up here. I never dreamed I’d see it again. Oh my stars, what can it possibly mean?

Mrs. Spindlenook and her grandchildren looked at Mary in disbelief.

What’s gotten into you, Mary? You’re acting as if that nasty old thing had just unlocked another world.

Mary was very serious when she replied. More than that, Mother. It’s unlocked another time. For the moment, Mary did not yet know how true her claim would prove to be.

Mary, you’re not making any sense.

It’s a key to a clock! Joey guessed.

Mary shook her head no.

Did Native Americans make it? Sissy asked.

Vikings? Grandmother Spindlenook ventured.

Again, Mary shook her head.

What other time are you suggesting? Grandmother Spindlenook demanded an answer.

"It’s a Peerat’s key."

What?

It belonged to a pirate? questioned Sissy.

Grandmother Spindlenook was befuddled. A pirate?

Mary nodded and replied in a riddle. A pirate of a sort from an underworld port, one a nightmare would support.

Grandmother Spindlenook was flustered. There have never been pirates in Michigan!

Mary rambled on. The key unlocked a driftwood lodge. It was cast in darkness, and I cast it off as I cast aside Dirty Eye, king of the Peerats, who in turn made a castaway of me.

Sissy and Joey were spooked. Mary shuddered and raised her voice as though she were expelling a demon. I touched that key the night Billy disappeared!

Grandmother Spindlenook winced and put her hands over her head. Billy! she cried. We promised never to speak of him again. Grandmother Spindlenook shook her finger. Distance is the salve of reality, Mary. Sternly, she added, It’s time to lay that childhood fantasy of yours to rest, just as we put Billy to rest a generation ago. You know what the evidence showed.

Mother, unlock your mind! This key is the most evidence I’ve ever seen. The rest was all guesswork. I’ve told you the story of the Night of the Millionth Dream. Why won’t you believe it?

I don’t believe in fairy tales. Your brother is never going to return. Everyone knows that Billy was either kidnapped or wandered into the woods and was eaten by bears!

What? Sissy and Joey jumped, their eyes as wide as the stones on the beach.

Look what you’ve done now, Mother! I never wanted the children to hear that.

Grandmother Spindlenook shook. I didn’t mean to say it.

Uncle Billy was kidnapped? Sissy asked in horror.

Eaten! Joey exclaimed.

It’s not so! He just didn’t return. I don’t know why.

From where, Mommy?

Mary was taken with emotion. She whispered, A place called Underbrow.

Tears streamed down Mary’s face. Her mind reflected in a song. Mary’s melancholy melody was not heard by the others in her company. As the tune unfolded, Mary’s words overlapped those of a distant echo to form a moment in collision. Somehow, far off in