Sammy and the Kingdom of Dreams

By Nathan Toulane

Sammy is a kind-hearted kid who lives in an imaginary world.
Then, Smacker, a magical troll, arrives and invites the boy
to The Kingdom of Dreams. A fairy-tale place
where imagination becomes reality.

And so, a fantastic adventure begins. Sammy meets the
Ratchetlocks, a fearsome friendly race. The mischievous
Goblins and a talking crow, Felix.

However, one day the boy encounters the evil Boggergacks,
who wish to conquer and rule The Kingdom of Dreams.
Therefore, Sammy must find Princess Marianne, who can
bring the fearsome Ratchetlocks to her side to battle
the Boggergacks and save The Kingdom of Dreams from
being destroyed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nathan Toulane
• Release date: Jan 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201793968

Book preview

——Chapter One——

Sam Jackson or Sammy, a nickname attributed to him, was a lonely, gentle boy, aged ten. He had haunting blue eyes, a mop of blond hair that he’d brush into a quiff, making his curls resemble that of a 1990s pop star, and his skin touched with a light complexion.

His height was short for a boy aged ten. Although, to be fair, he could have gotten away with being a four-year-old.

A squeaky voice changed the pitch of his words to a girl, and his hands had dainty fingers. Also, a slim physique—thin as a stick insect: this helped the boy, on occasions, dart like a whippet when any bullies gave chase.

Monday came and went, the same for Tuesday and Wednesday, but the day of Thursday had a few hours left—and what remained of the sunlight burnt through enormous clouds—pouring pale beams and warm light onto the undersized shoulders of Sammy.

Sammy’s parents didn’t allow him to use Internet tools—like Facebook, Twitter, and dubious others.

Therefore, he had no Smartphone. No computer tablet. Only an old desktop computer disconnected from the cyber world.

And, because of this rule, he took pleasure in his own company. He’d often invent imaginary friends and play with them on fun-fuelled days in his parent’s garden.

There were numerous events he’d partake in. One game involved an old tennis racket. He would place a tiny stone onto the strings and whack it into the sky—staring in amazement as the small stone began spinning and rising into the air before gliding side-wards over the neighbours’ houses. One day though, due to his frivolity and enthusiasm—a raging neighbour stuck his balding head over the garden wall and ‘lambasted Sammy’ for breaking the windows of his beloved greenhouse.

Besides the fun, menace lurked in the garden by way of angry wasps. They buzzed and fed on squashed apples near his father’s conservatory. On one occasion, when Sammy rode his green coloured bike in the garden, a bumblebee slammed into his left eye: causing horrendous pain. Thus, a trip to the Accident and Emergency Department at the local hospital was his next port of call.  

Yet despite these dangers, the garden always had exciting events that thrilled Sammy’s mind.

However, the Local Park and forest were his ultimate favourite hangouts—he’d scarper there to escape the tirade of rules dished out by grown-ups and his parents, who’d scold and nag him for being dirty, saying rude words, and getting into mischief.

IN THE PARK, THE SOUND of rushing water and the chirping and tweeting of colourful birds intermingled as Sammy knelt by the murky river—it rippled with frothy water that gently touched his delicate hands like a mermaid’s fin.

The trees and bushes nearby swayed and bowed—peppered with birds and other mammals.

For some reason, Sammy felt lost and empty. Maybe that’s the reason he would come to the river every other day to escape the turmoil of his hap-hazard life. 

In his right hand, he held his favourite book. He brought it up to his rosy face, examining the cover meticulously. It was H.G.Wells’ novel The Time Machine. The artwork was mesmerising. Fantastic. It had a picture of a beautiful apparatus, a giant object with dials, gadgets, bulbs, a pocket watch—a control panel, and a spinning saucer attached to its back.

His delicate fingers traced over these images slowly, like a ticking clock’s hand navigating the numbers of its timepiece.

Round and round, his forefinger went, circular—motion-like, until it ached. Then he dropped the book to the ground, and the cover grabbed his attention a final time before the bright glare from the sun shone upon it, bleaching, and changing it to a Victorian photograph. It was a wonderful sight to behold and a fitting tribute to the book’s notable writer, H.G.Wells.

Sammy became disorientated, and it was only when the book’s pages fluttered, owing to a gentle breeze, did he lose his giddy sensation.

The boy breathed deeply, and his flickering eyelids trickled concern. Then slowly, they covered his glinting eyes and brought a black shroud sprinkled with spots of square-like colour.

The cries of feral animals were everywhere. Their sounds thickened and multiplied like a nasty illness ready to infect its host. Could these dark noises be a result of Sammy’s hidden condition? Acute shyness and anxiety. Thankfully, a layer of happy memories calmed the boy’s nerves—due to the sunlight, its warmth made him hungry, and he desired large chocolate cakes with lashings of cream.

Then for some reason, a strange taste brewed in the boy’s mouth before his eyelids flickered open, and he uplifted to his feet.

Grimy mud covered the boy’s clothes, and damp grass sprinkled upon his flop of blonde hair. Dirty again. Mum will throttle me! If I come home in this state, he thought.

Sammy heard whispers. Colourful stories. And his head rolled to these soft voices. Then it began. Slow at first, but gathering momentum. Then finally, the stories faded, and a loud rumbling replaced it—the aggressive noise resembled hundreds of persons’ boots pounding on a road militarily, making Sammy shudder.

Then, a great whirlpool approached right before him, encircling the area with streams of blistering water and strong winds cold to the touch.

The sun flared into an orange glow, and the trees curved and creaked. Abruptly the animals fled the scene—scared away by this force of nature. Sammy took a step back as he wanted to escape—to run with the animals. But hesitation held him still. He then became hypnotised by these events unfolding before him.

The whirlpool continued. Spinning. Swirling. Creating noisy, windy circles. And it flashed bright illuminations that changed into yellow, white, red, and orange orbs. All the lights spiked outwards as if distressed ghosts fought inside.  

The boy yelled at this force. ‘Who are you? What do you want with me?’ Instantly the whirlpool rested on the boy and drew him into its dark mist.

An adventure began. Visions of Frost Giants and Ogres fighting and roaring with rage peppered the landscape. Fairies sang, danced, and played fascinating magical games while flowing beams of silver shapes transformed into children.

Animated wizards, with pointed hats and dark cloaks embroidered with crosses, stirred potions in large cauldrons, while the fire underneath them created a smell of burning butterflies.

Herds of Unicorns, Winged horses, and half-human beasts ran in three directions. The horses were as white as snow. Innocent. Mysterious. Sammy enjoyed what he saw. He wanted to travel on one of the horses and be taken to their world.

Cautiously, he wandered deeper into this landscape of myth and legend.

In the distance, the horizon and mountains seemed to be from another time and place.

Sammy glanced towards some big rocks and boulders near a ridge and noticed a big eye peep outward. Its pupil was black—with the lash above it a deep brown colour. A fat hairy head revealed itself, and hands with thick fingers made peculiar signs. Some resembled slithering eels. Sammy lost his shyness and strolled nearer. He had a skip in his step, and for some reason, thumbed his ears, perhaps due to drops of water from the whirlpool which still lingered in them.

Moaning and grumbling greeted the boy when he approached this hideous creature. He tried to utter something amongst nervous breaths, but the cat held his tongue.

Then in a cloud of dust, the creature leapt out. It resembled a troll—with ugly features. Tufts of orange hair and an unusual nose was out of position with the rest of its face, and its teeth were brown and broken. ‘Who let you in here! Why follow me, whipper snapper?’ barked the troll. ‘Kids don’t belong in this land! It’s the Realm where worlds and dreams combine—where imagination becomes a reality. So, how’d you enter...in human form?’

‘Dunno exactly,’ replied Sammy, voice soft. ‘Sort of playing by the river near my home. When a whirlpool transported me here.’

The troll grumbled and fiddled with his short trousers.

‘Please, sir,’ continued Sammy. ‘I play with imagination in my garden. Create friends. Make funny games. And hear voices speak—when I chase the wasps by my father’s apple tree.’

The troll placed his unsightly hands in a triangle to his quivering mouth. ‘Interesting! Clever! A kid who knows the unexplained fascinates me. To be precise, it’s implausible.’

Sammy hesitated for a moment, puzzled by the term ‘implausible.’

‘Excuse me, sir,’ he added. ‘But are you...are you dead? A...ghost? Because a lady once told me, a lady who played the Tarot cards, only ghosts emerge from visions, and daydream-worlds, like the one I’m in now.’

The troll chuckled—his bellowing laugh rocked the wilderness and made the trees moan. ‘No. I’m not dead,’ he remarked. ‘Perhaps in your world. But I’m very much alive in mine.’

The boy tapped his pocket and took out a chewy sweet— swallowing it in one gulp.

‘Times beat us,’ lamented the troll as he parted his hair and rubbed his fingers. ‘Oh well! Seeing you’re here. Hold onto me. I’ll unveil my Realm of wisdom and mythology.’

Sammy lit up. ‘That’d be cool,’ he replied. ‘Seeing a place of weird and wonderful creatures would educate me. I’d realise, make-believe lands do exist.’

The troll wiggled and held the boy’s arm. Instantly both shot up into the stirring atmosphere, gliding between cross-shaped clouds and the glowing sun sprinkled with black starlings and ravens—for a journey of unbridled excitement.

——Chapter Two——

‘S ammy, where are you?’ yelled Miranda, his mother, as she edged into his bedroom—or pit, as she called it.

Little by little, a yellowish glow emanated from the corner of the room, and Miranda shook her head wearily.

The same mess, as usual, greeted her. Coffee cups and crumpled fizzy drink cans lay scattered. Sweet-wrappers with lumps of chocolate—squashed into the carpet like splattered fudge, and coconut bars melted underneath the rusted coloured radiator, which dripped water-like tears near the eroded copper pipes.  

Miranda walked a few steps and trod on a crumb littered plate. It had a half-eaten cheese sandwich on it. Dear! Oh, dear! She knelt, and her chestnut hair that fell over her glamorous eyes tickled her nose: pierced with a shiny jewel. She squinted, and her jet-black eyebrows rose upward with suspicion.

The unusual light in the corner shot out rays, shimmering into a glare: its glow creepy—and ghoul-type shadows flew across the walls as if sent on a mission to tease Miranda. She investigated the light, and it burst apart, revealing a vision. Sammy, her son, soared in the sky of another world, holding the hand of an ugly troll—its countenance awash with answers to every question. Then she heard a ticking sound—it had voices and weird echoes within. Miranda threw a fist up to her mouth and gasped, ‘That’s my boy! What sorcery is this? Am I hallucinating? Or losing my mind. Sure, my fatigue’s responsible?’ The blackout curtains in the room fluttered, and the wardrobe knocked and shook as if angry dwarfs were trapped inside.

WIND, MOISTURE, RAIN, and fluffy clouds parted amongst the ray of the blazing sun—all these weather patterns went through Sammy as he flew in a north-easterly direction, holding the troll’s rough hand. Finally, however, nerves got the better of him because of the immense speed, and he shouted, ‘Slow down, Mr Troll! You’re going too quick.’

‘Slow. We’re not even going as fast as a flock of birds. See! The starlings and ravens out-fly us.’

‘Don’t care about birds. Still too fast,’ shouted Sammy. ‘And I want this journey to end.’

The troll grimaced and exhaled. ‘Petulant boy! Look, you wanted adventure,’ he said, surprised. ‘And an adventure it shall be, Sunny Jim!’

Sammy persisted, ‘pleading’ for this method of travel to end. The troll sighed, and his nostrils flared out—causing creases by his eyes to deepen into his wrinkled face.

A whoosh of fire turned into circles of unclear flames, and the murmuring of words—decorated with beautiful poems caused the descent to begin. It was as if stones were falling from a great height—expelled from an angry voice that lived in the skies, with potent spells and demands at its disposal.

Sammy winced, breathing rapidly. Then a camera held by invisible hands appeared, taking numerous snapshots before it vanished in a puff of smoke. (In the future. These pictures would be invaluable for Sammy)

The boy noticed lush and different coloured scenery ahead of him, changing every second. Sometimes red. Sometimes purple. And sometimes platinum. He witnessed herds of bizarre and peculiar animals running in different directions. These animals looked alien. Different. They were not like the Unicorns or Winged horses he’d seen earlier. Instead, they resembled something from a happy dream, like characters from a cartoon. Before he could mention a word, he stood in a thick meadow with long grass, which swayed like a singing choir of children in the breeze.

Over in the mysterious forest to the left, large owls cooed, and ravens attacked black crows scavenging for tasty worms. Immediately inquisitive faces appeared in the woods, emerging amongst the darkness—and a princess’s hands decorated with magnificent rings and bracelets drew back the branches to allow mysterious beings to witness Sammy and the troll.

The boy witnessed these spying creatures and averted his gaze. Then, he noticed multicoloured streams nearby, and water trolls were swimming and laughing in the currents and the