Between Two Worlds

By Raymond G. Schmidt II

Twenty-three-year-old Margo is haunted by a nightly dream that she cannot find her husband or reach a mysterious sword—all while a menacing dragon observes. Curious to know more, Margo decides one night to talk to her husband in the dream. When he reveals that she and the dragon are bonded and trapped in the dream world together—each with misguided perceptions of the other—Margo must now determine if she is really dreaming these strange events or if they are real.

When Margo confides in her friend, Thresa, about her dreams, an elderly man overhears the conversation, tells her he’s seeking a story with a fresh perspective, and offers her money to share her nightly experiences with him. After he suggests that she pretend to befriend the dragon to gain entrance to its lair and then destroy the entire clan, she returns home and dreams again of her husband who warns her not to trust all humans. As a mysterious chain of events unfolds, Margo is led down a convoluted path she never expected.

In this thrilling tale, a young woman haunted by her nightly dreams must decide who she can trust—those in her dreams or those in her reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9798823022408

Raymond G. Schmidt II

Born the third in line in the early winter of the year of the start of the greatest war in history, he was too young to remember the Great War, but old enough to understand the feelings emitted by that generation. During his pre-teen period he could spin a yarn endlessly about the heroes of his mind and how they were able to overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles. This ability to rattle on earned him the nickname of Rattle Ray. In his mind this was an endearment that could only be surpassed by curling up in his mother’s arms and listening to the stories of her past. In those days, before the television, parents worked hard kept the house clean with the help of the children and were held dearly. In times of great depression the family grew closer together and relied upon each other for strength. Mostly the years that he could remember, as far back as about seven or eight, were carefree times and thoughts about future events were restricted to what would interest a young mind. In time those carefree days gave way to the realities of life and meeting the obligations of living. He never lost his knack for expressing a tail and examining the endless possibilities that life has to offer. He settled into a life of providing for his family as he had established it. At eighteen he joined the U.S. Marines in a new venture. Along with his new bride he managed to face the woes of life and enjoy that period allotted to him. Today he is retired, remembers holding hands with his bride of fifty-two years, thanks God for their time together, and watches his grandsons grow into fine young men. He’s never given up on storytelling and has written several poems short stories and fiction books. These events are the first of what he hopes will be many writings that will entice the reader to contemplate the possibilities of life and perhaps resolve to make a better life for them.

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© 2024 Raymond G. Schmidt II. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/15/2024

ISBN: 979-8-8230-2241-5 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-2240-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024903597

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Acknowledgments

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About the Author

Acknowledgments

To my editor, Tracy Beteta. Thanks for a job well done.

To my cover designer, Leighla Beteta. Congratulations on another job well done.

To my grandson, Pin Name Syrus Sairiama. Thanks once more for your support.

To my many readers: I thank you for your support. I ask that if you have something special you wish to read in the fiction adventure area, please let me know.

Email: [e-mail]

1

S he sat up in the bed, huffing and puffing. Sweat poured down her head, and her hair was soaked. She just had the same horrid dream she’d had for the past three days. It had begun with her reaching for the empty pillow next to her. Her husband, Jack, wasn’t there, and she couldn’t reach the s word.

She glanced toward the bright-red, blood-piercing eyes and slung the pillow in that direction. She could feel intense heat from the dragon’s mouth as it expelled gasses from its throat. She was sure she was going to be fried and could smell her singed hair.

After a moment of gulping air, Margo once again started to realize this was only a dream. She sneaked a peek to see if the thing was gone. Although she knew it wasn’t real, her heart was still racing, and her jumbled nerves refused to settle down.

Slowly, she swung her feet to the side of the bed and headed for the shower. It was three in the morning, and once again she had to take a long, hot shower to calm down and prepare herself for a few more hours of sleep.

This doesn’t make sense, she told herself. First off, I’m not married. Never have been. And I don’t even know a man named Jack. How would I even have a sword?

Margo was twenty-three and didn’t talk to just anyone about having been kissed; and although she’d met a few nice boys, she held on to the old-fashioned idea of chastity until marriage. She came from a small Texas town by the name of NoWhere, which was a hundred miles from the closest town. Actually, her home was on a rural, seldom-traveled, dusty road about four miles from NoWhere and was largely unknown to strangers. She had two close female friends. One was about six years her senior, and the other was her cousin, about six years her junior.

Although she didn’t have much in the way of formal schooling, she had an inquisitive mind from an early age, and her imagination had soared as the wonders of this forested, mountainous area had drawn her ever further into her world of fantasy. She had met up with an older gentleman, who was an avid forest dweller. He had taught her many useful things about survival. She’d called him MM for short, since he’d never given her his name, and she’d considered him a mountain man. He’d taught her how to mix dead soil with fungi, water it down, and watch it come to life. For a season, she’d worked on using this technique with some seeds she’d gathered from the roadside.

Each week, they walked to town to get needed supplies from a local business. They passed by a house with bright-yellow flowers. When she asked if she could grow similar flowers around her home, her dad told her to go ahead and try, but their land was dead.

We haven’t had a crop of anything in the past four seasons, including bramblebushes, he stated. Not to be dissuaded, she took the moss from the forest and added water, just as instructed.

Since water was a scarce commodity, she determined that she could get what she needed by taking her buckets to the stream on the other side of the mountain. It was a long, arduous trip, and even though she filled two buckets, she had less than half left by the time she got home.

One day, she ran across MM while making her daily trip. When she told him what she was doing, he commented that it would be far easier to bring the water to her rather than to fetch it each day. At first, Margo thought he was crazy. She couldn’t just command water to come to her. But as she thought about it, she decided he was right.

She set off on a new course of action. She found a spot where the water had collected in a pond, about three-quarters of the way to the top, and she started trenching ever so slowly until she came across another crevice. That put her halfway to her home and took only half the time to reach.

With that in mind, she released the final stones and earth at the beginning of the trench. Water started to flow. First, it was just a trickle, but as it ate away at the earth, a definite flow emerged. She was so ecstatic about her accomplishment that after a few days of observation, she decided to extend her new stream to the next level.

Once again, it started with a small stream, and in short order, it overflowed and started down the hill. By the time she finished, she had a small river flowing just a hundred feet from her front door. Slowly but surely, she brought her family into the project. Once she told her dad about mixing the dead soil with mushrooms, they found that they were able to grow both flowers and vegetables.

In a few short seasons, they had gone from spending their hard-earned, meager pittance of coins to establishing a full-time trade with the general store. After that, she had yellow flowers around the entire house, and life had gotten a whole lot better.

Now, however, she was on a new adventure. Margo had managed to save up some money with her share of the proceeds. She had worked her way through agricultural school, and then she had expanded into drama. She was an avid reader and immersed herself in what she described as reasonable fiction.

Now she was on the eleventh floor of a moderate hotel, applying for employment. She had been the most popular girl in school and voted the most likely to succeed, but that didn’t matter when competing against the upper crust of society. Her self-taught experiments and successes in chemical research didn’t hold much water. She was frustrated by the thought of today being flushed down the toilet once again.

But then again, she reminded herself, "Mom taught me that a quitter never wins and that God rewards those who hold fast to his teachings."

Her dad, on the other hand, had encouraged her by reminding her that her efforts and foresight had turned their world around.

Renewed and fortified with encouragement, she boldly stepped from the bed and proceeded to meet the new challenges of the day.

At about three that afternoon, she sat with a fellow job seeker, Thresa. Her feet were tired from hitting the pavement all day; she told her friend about the odd dreams she had been having. She talked about how confused she was, because she didn’t follow dragon lore or the old stories. The odd thing is that I don’t even own a sword.

Excuse me, young lady, an elderly man, sitting in the next booth, spoke up. That’s just what I’ve been looking for.

Margo gave him a blank stare. What you’ve been looking for? she asked. I’m not sure what you mean.

Yes, ma’am. What I’ve been looking for is an old tale with a fresh look. Let me introduce myself. My name is Herman. I think you’ve hit on the story, and I’d like to talk to you about it.

Well, she replied, as much as I’d like to engage you in your pursuit, I really have to find a way to make a living.

Oh, the older gentleman replied, you don’t have to find a job. You’ve got one. What I need is some fresh material, and … it pays handsomely to the tune of four hundred dollars a day. I’ll pay in cash if you like. That will eliminate a lot of messy bookkeeping. He paused to give his proposal time to settle in. I expect this will take several months to complete, but I’m in no hurry. At that point, he addressed Thresa. And as for you, I am especially interested in your perspective. You mentioned several probabilities, and I like them all.

2

O nce again Margo found herself sitting straight up in bed. Just as before, she found herself calling out for her husband, and just as always, he was nowhere to be seen. This time, however, his name was Joseph, not Jack. She had a more vivid picture of what he looked like. In her past dreams, her husband had been over six feet tall, a bundle of muscles who was handsome, blond, suave, and debonair. In this one, he stood steadfastly and was simply five feet ten. He looked healthy enough, but he was wiry with dark hair. He gave the impression of being fleet fo oted.

Her dragon hadn’t appeared as menacing as in the past. Although it was an ugly beast, she noticed a twinkle in its piercing, steady glow. Upon taking a second look, she determined that Joseph was riding on the dragon’s head and smiling broadly. Margo decided that rather than reaching for the sword, she’d simply attempt to communicate.

I know this is just a dream, she said, but I’m compelled to ask. Are you real? The reverberations from the laughter seemed to shake the foundations of the building.

Am I real? she heard the dragon reply. What do I have to do to convince you? Burn a hole in the wall with my fiery breath? Or perhaps simply singe your hair a bit?

Easy, girl, Joseph said. I told you that if you’d cooperate, I’d get you out of this. Burning things down won’t prove anything except that you want to stay caught up in an awful dream.

Now Margo was thoroughly confused. "Dreams? Reality? Awake? Asleep? None of this makes any sense."

Actually it’s quite simple, Joseph replied. You and Elexera are caught up in a dream world. You think of her as a myth, but she, on the other hand, was frightened out of her wits the first time she saw you.

Joseph went on to explain the difference in their experiences and that she and the dragon were bonded together. He continued for quite some time, explaining that though they were different, they were, in fact, one and the same with a joint destiny.

Margo had been raised in a small, secluded town with stories that dragons were horrid creatures bent on the destruction of mankind. Elexera, on the other hand, had been taught that human creatures were part of a cruel, uncivilized race bent on destroying her and her kind.

Jack, Margo’s first pick for a husband, influenced or otherwise, represented all she had dreamed about in the realm of security. He, of course, faded into oblivion once she met the fearsome dragon and was left with a pillow to defend herself. Elexera, on the other hand, reacted to the white thing that had been hurled her way with fear and anticipation that this magical essence was going to devour her. When it hit her and gave way in a fluffy, soft way that tickled her nose, instead of fearing an awful explosion she had expected, the dragon simply dropped to the floor.

Despite her training to attack all human creatures, the dragon was left somewhat unnerved, with the thought that perhaps her forefathers had simply failed to understand humans. Yet up to this point, the issue had been academic, and Elexera had never seen a human and even thought of them as tales told to children. She never delved into the realm of mythical creatures except in passing, so she was quite unnerved upon their first encounter.

Margo sat there for some time, taking it all in. Finally, she spoke up.

This is quite an interesting story, but nonetheless it must be a dream. After all, dragons aren’t real. She paused as she observed Elexera’s cheeks bulge, and a red glow appeared. Joseph stroked her head, and she seemed to calm down a bit.

Anyway, even if you are real, Margo said, dragons don’t talk.

Elexera cocked her head, first to one side and then to the other. After a bit, she asked Joseph whether he was sure Margo was real or just a figment of her imagination.

No, Joseph replied, she’s real.

At that point, Margo had to ask, And why should I believe you are real?

Because, he answered, I’m the only link between your dreams and your reality.

By his time Margo had convinced herself that all this was a dream and that she should simply go to the bathroom, wash her face, and go back to bed.

I’ll leave you a sign, she heard him say just before she departed.

The next morning when she went to slip her feet from beneath the covers, she found herself sitting on the edge of the bed