Chapter One — “A Bit About Kit”

            Kit Stitcher fell sick much more often than one would consider usual. It would ordinarily pass quickly enough so as to not alarm anyone into taking some sort of action, like bringing her to a doctor. And she and her mother did their best to conceal Kit’s frequent spells from the gazing eye, having decided long ago that it was a private matter more than anything else. But it was peculiar.

            Having begun when Kit was not more than a toddler, her mother, Mrs. Stitcher, took mental notes of whenever it would happen. It was generally the same story every time.

            They’d be out and about, often in public, when suddenly Kit’s facial expressions would change, and she would keel over or fall to the floor. It would start like a simple tummy ache but would usually progress to Kit being bundled up on the ground in something like the fetal position, motionless, moaning in pain. How long it lasted was subject to change, but, eventually, it would pass and the color in Kit’s face would return, and she would come around and steady herself. Young though she was when these bouts first started occurring, Kit became used to it and eventually developed ways to cope.

            One thing Kit’s mother noticed that she presumed others did not, was that every time this happened, it appeared almost as if Kit had a glow around her—a soft light, sometimes green, sometimes gold. It was faint, to be sure. But it was noticeable if you were paying very close attention. Though, much of the time, Mrs. Stitcher assumed her eyes were playing tricks on her—though she had perfect vision and never needed glasses.

            Being so young when this “effect” began to surface, Kit never tried to examine her symptoms or discover their cause—at least until she grew older. It was just something that happened.

            But there were other odd things about Kit. For one, Kit had a particular knack for helping sick animals and dying plants. For example, one instance that Mrs. Stitcher would recall often was the time years ago when she was driving home, and she struck a squirrel in the street with one of the front tires of her car. Kit and Mrs. Stitcher had stopped and gotten out of the car to help the maimed squirrel any way they could, but after seeing the state the squirrel was in, Mrs. Stitcher determined that nothing could be done, and it’d be best if she and Kit left the squirrel to pass on in peace. But that was not what happened. Instead, Kit comforted the squirrel and lay a hand on it. Within some time, the squirrel rebounded and ultimately walked off, seemingly unharmed. Mrs. Stitcher had to do a double take because she could have sworn that the squirrel had grievous injuries that could not be helped. But, with Kit’s hand on the squirrel—almost like a magic trick—the injuries seemed to evaporate. Mrs. Stitcher asked Kit what she had just done but Kit didn’t really have an answer. She just shrugged. There wasn’t much to say, so Kit and Mrs. Stitcher got back in their van and finished the drive home. But, at least in Mrs. Stitcher’s mind, if what she just witnessed had really happened, it was remarkable—but completely inexplicable. The same way a parent doesn’t acknowledge when their child speaks to an imaginary friend, Mrs. Stitcher didn’t intervene any further on the matter.

            Kit could use that same gift for most vegetation as well—flowers, trees, shrubs, whatever. More than once, Kit brought back to life a house plant breathing its last breath by simply being near it. Mrs. Stitcher did notice, though, that whenever Kit made use of this “ability”—if you could call it that—Kit herself seemed to become a bit ill, or perhaps just fatigued. Healing things seemed to take a bit of a toll on Kit’s own wellbeing for a short while, though she always bounced back.

            As Kit grew older, she became more familiar with her capabilities, but she never considered herself special. She was humble and understood herself to be like everyone else. She never flaunted or advertised her abilities and only used them at times of need. She never really spoke about them either. In fact, she wasn’t even certain she was unique—maybe others could do what she could do.

            And as Kit grew, more abilities would emerge. She began to discover more talents.

            One thing Kit never shared with her mother were the dreams she’d had for the span of a few years involving a boy she did not know.

            At around nine or ten years old, Kit discovered what seemed to be a sort of skill of being able to hop into the dreams of other people. She could withdraw from, or step out of, her own dreams and scan around for others who were dreaming in homes nearby, and she could join them and their dreams. Really, she tended towards the belief that it was just a trick of the mind—maybe it was just other people appearing in her own dreams and nothing more—but that’s not how it felt to Kit. The people whose dreams she would enter obviously had no idea that their dream was being intruded on by a girl who lived close by, but Kit knew. Being so young, Kit had had no understanding of how mighty this newfound ability could be; to her, it was simply a source of fun for when she was asleep. She never used it for profit.

            The way it worked was simple. Kit, usually in a lucid state, could flip through the dreams of those near her and watch a preview of the dream—like flipping through the channels on the television. Then, if she decided to, she could lock on to and select a dream at which point she could then join the other dreamer.

            The night during which she would discover the boy for the very first time, Kit had to hop around from one dream to the next a few times. She started in her dream, a dream in which she was sitting in a field littered with beautiful roses with a small group of people. One of them said to her, “See? Look at where all the leaves are pointing—we learned this, did you forget?” Kit jumped out of her own dream and began perusing dreams nearby. The first one she entered was that of an elderly woman who was reuniting with her lost husband. It was a beautiful fantasy, taking place on a white-sanded beach. Kit stayed for just long enough to witness the rejoining of the two of them. Even at a young age, Kit could feel things for others in a powerful way. She was touched and felt happy. But  she moved on to the next dream.

            The second one was rather sad. An older man was standing outside of his home which had burst into flames. The man did not speak, and no one was around to help, but it was apparent to Kit that the man’s newly adopted kitten was trapped inside, and he could do nothing to save the poor animal. Kit could feel and understand the situation without any further context. She sensed what the man was experiencing, and it weighed on her. Her instinct was to pull out and spring to the next dream so she could explore further. But her sorrow for the man anchored her and she remained in the same spot until the man awoke at which point Kit was booted from the dream. After this, Kit almost decided to return to her own dreams and her own imagination but, ultimately, she chose to seek out one more dream for the night. This was the first time she made contact with the young boy.

            The first time Kit entered the boy’s dreams, she was curious to see the world the boy had created. For most people, their mind automatically fabricates an environment and places them in that environment. They must experience the dream passively, not knowing how it would morph over its duration. But for this young boy, that was not the case. He, as Kit saw, was in full control of his dream. This boy was oddly lucid and fully in control of his environment—and his dream in general. He would carve out his setting and place himself in it any way he liked. He could decide how the dream would evolve. Kit was intrigued by this, since the dreams of others had always been out of their control—they were simply the main character in a story they had not written.

            That first time Kit joined the boy, he had dreamt up a large field that expanded in all directions. The field was empty, but Kit could not see its end in any direction. And in the center of the field, there was an enormously large thick-trunked tree.

            The boy had a determined look on his face and initially didn’t notice Kit standing quite close to him. It was clear to Kit that the boy was trying to do something to the tree. After a few moments of silence, Kit decided to speak. It was out of character for her, being generally timid; but curiosity got the better of her—so she spoke:

            “What are you trying to do?” asked Kit.

            “Huh?” the boy replied.

            “Are you trying to do something to the tree?”

            “Yea—I am. But it’s not working.”

            “Maybe I can help.”

            “Probably not. I’m trying to set the tree on fire.”

            “Well… Why would you want to do that?”

            “I’ve tried to do it when I’m awake, but it never works. But I know I can do it. So, I’m practicing here.”

            “Why do you think you can set things on fire while awake?”

            “Don’t know—I can just tell that I can.”

            “Even if you can, why would you? It’s a nice tree. I like this tree. Let’s leave it,” said Kit.

            “You don’t have to watch,” said the boy.

            “What would you do with the fire if you were awake?” asked Kit.

            “There are a few things I want to do. Doesn’t matter. Anyway—who are you?”

            “My name is Kit.”

            “Why are you in my dream? My dreams are always by myself,” said the boy with pride.

            “I’m not sure, really. I can just sort of… bounce around. Maybe you’re really in my dream,” suggested Kit.

            “Nope—this is my dream. And I’m going to continue trying to set this tree on fire. Are you going to watch or leave?” retorted the boy a bit aggressively.

            “Will you at least tell me your name?” asked Kit.

            “No, thanks—I don’t like my name.”

            “That’s okay, I won’t make fun. You can tell me,” said Kit.

            “My first name is Oliver. That’s all I’ll tell.”

            “That’s a nice name. Can I call you that?” replied Kit sensitively.

            “I guess,” said Oliver.

            “Let’s take a walk. Maybe we can find something better to do,” said Kit.

            “Okay,” said Oliver.

            Together, they chose a particular direction and walked.

            “This is an empty dream,” said Kit.    

            “Well, I like what I like. I only make things I want to make,” said Oliver.

            “What do you want to make right now?” asked Kit.

            “Nothing,” said Oliver.

            “Nothing at all? This is your dream, you can imagine anything you want,” said Kit.

            “Hmm… Okay, I know what I want to make,” said Oliver.

            “Great—what is it?” asked Kit.

            “I want to make a dark, long cape to wear on my back,” said Oliver.

            “That’s not what I thought you would say, but that’s not a bad idea. Do it, let’s see how it looks,” said Kit.

            Oliver concentrated momentarily. Then, a dark and long cape popped into existence right in front of them, suspended in the air. Oliver snatched it and swung it around his body and clasped it on his chest.

            “Do you like it?” asked Oliver.

            “I like it a lot—makes you look evil,” said Kit while chuckling.

            “Perfect, that’s exactly what I was hoping for,” said Oliver with a sense of satisfaction showing on his face. Kit had no understanding in this moment why Oliver’s pride in appearing menacing was a subtle warning.

            “Your turn. What do you want to imagine?” asked Oliver.

            “Should I? This is your dream,” Kit replied.

            “Doesn’t matter to me. Do it, it’ll be fun,” said Oliver.

            “Okay. I want… wings. White wings!” said Kit.

            Like Oliver, Kit concentrated for a few seconds and then a pair of white wings, perfectly sized to latch onto Kit’s shoulders, spawned in front of them. Kit grabbed the wings and put them in place. They had no clasp or mechanism for locking in but the moment they touched Kit’s shoulders, they fused with her shirt and were secured in place. She could feel full control over the wings and flapped them repeatedly, even lifting her feet off the ground for a moment.

            “What do you think?” asked Kit.

            “They’re okay, not my style,” said Oliver.

            “I think they’re beautiful. I wish I had these for real,” said Kit.

            They walked in the same direction for a while, making small talk about what dreams they prefer and what they like to do. Eventually, Kit realized it was time for her to get back to her own dream and ultimately get more sleep.

            “I have to go now,” said Kit.

            “Okay, see you,” said Oliver.

            “Wait! Let’s hang out again,” said Kit.

            “What for?” asked Oliver.

            “So we can become friends. Wouldn’t you want to be friends?” said Kit.

            “Sure, I guess,” said Oliver.

            “Great—I’ll meet you again very soon. Keep your dreams open and I’ll find you,” said Kit.

            “Okay,” said Oliver.

            “Bye for now,” said Kit. With that, she launched out of Oliver’s dream and back to her own, in which nothing much was transpiring. There was a room full of spherical glass objects in a circle, something that had no meaning to Kit, so she ignored it and fell back into a deep sleep.

            From there, rather quickly, Kit and Oliver would become great friends. Oliver would always maintain a seemingly uninterested and standoffish attitude during their meetings, but Kit came to understand Oliver and learned to see past his crude exterior and would remain firm in her attempts to offer him kindness, always trying to dig deeper.

            It became routine for the two of them to meet almost every night and build their dreams together. Kit liked lively things like colorful flowers, water teeming with aquatic life, and even small land animals. Oliver, on the other hand, preferred to push his boundaries.

            One week into their meetings, they got to know one another more meaningfully. They were sitting in perfectly circular clouds that Oliver had thought up, when Kit asked Oliver about himself.

            “We never talked about where we live. Where do you live?” Kit asked.

            “Oh… I don’t want to say,” Oliver replied.

            “Oh, okay. Why?” Kit asked again.

            “Doesn’t matter—don’t want to explain,” said Oliver.

            “Okay, no problem,” said Kit softly.

            In that moment, she could feel Oliver’s embarrassment. It was as if she was embarrassed herself. And she felt sorry for Oliver. She apologized for bringing it up and tried to salvage the conversation by downplaying her own circumstance.

            “Sorry for asking. I was just curious. Don’t worry—I don’t live anywhere special either. Just a simple home with my mom and me,” said Kit.

            This wasn’t altogether true though. In fact, Kit and her mother lived a rather privileged life because of a lottery winning Kit’s mother obtained a few years back. Kit thought it best to keep this detail to herself. And that’s a story for later.

            “I hope we can meet some day. Wouldn’t that be cool?” Kit asked gleefully.

            “Yea, that’d be okay,” Oliver replied, a bit down.

            “We won’t be able to do whatever we want, of course, but I think it’ll be even better that way,” Kit said.

            They’d spend their time learning about each other—their interests, what types of things they enjoyed sparking up. Kit’s favorite things to think up were monumental sunflowers with multicolored petals. She also loved anything that was bright green; she liked things that represented livelihood. Oliver, instead, liked things with prominence, things with force or grandeur. He liked things to be terrible in a sense—not dangerous, but things that could represent power. This could include large objects you might find in nature, but also man-made things like buildings and structures.

            Kit came to learn about Oliver and his difficult life in the real world. Oliver lived in an orphanage and knew nothing about his parents. And he was severely bullied by the other children he lived with. He was often teased for his appearance: Oliver had small eyes that were close together, a very thin nose, sunken cheeks, deep eye sockets, and narrow lips. He had been outcasted early on and fighting back against those who were cruel to him was hopeless. He was often ganged up on and sometimes even assaulted.

            In one instance, a boy name Arthur and his three companions, all older and taller than Oliver, attacked Oliver all at once, taking turns in taking shots at his midsection until he was bruised. It was here when Oliver really attempted for the first time to cast fire upon them—the fire he knew in his soul that he could conjure—but nothing happened. The other boys realized Oliver was attempting to bestow a spell or something of the sort and taunted him further. This was a big inspiration for Oliver to attempt to learn to use this supposed fire, if not for aggression and violence then at least for defending himself.

            Oliver also was slighted by those who were meant to care for him. The nurses and directors of his orphanage often ignored the bullying. Sadly, his appearance won him no favors with those in charge of his wellbeing. He was ignored and left to fend for himself. No birthday was ever celebrated, no holiday presents were ever given. Oliver was truly alone and abandoned.

            All of this played an important role in Oliver’s behavior, especially in his dreams and while around Kit.

            But Kit had endless empathy for Oliver and tried her best to lift him up. And so, their friendship grew until a trust had grown between them. They quickly began collaborating to create beautiful worlds that they could explore. Kit would insert big trees and enormous fields with beautiful green grass. Oliver would create grandiose backdrops with large mountains and big cloud-covered skies. He liked to bring these mountains to life, as literal friendly beasts that could move and interact with their surroundings—and even Oliver at times. Together, they could make whatever. And this went on for months until the two grew to be inseparable.

            But there was a problem: Oliver became more forthright about his dark thoughts. At first, he kept them inside, afraid he would frighten Kit, that she might leave and he’d be alone again. But because they became so close, Oliver became less concerned about Kit’s potential reaction. And he started to demonstrate his true nature. He began to imagine and manifest darker and more scary things.

            The first offense was mostly insignificant but startling to Kit. Kit had planted many flowers and beautiful robust trees while the two of them were sailing a boat in a grand river they’d created.

            But Oliver wanted to try something. He spawned a large monster from the mountains he’d created and instructed the monster to rip up the trees Kit had planted and tear them apart.

            “Hey! Why did you do that!” asked Kit.

            “I wanted to see if I could,” Oliver replied.

            “But I spent so long making those trees beautiful,” said Kit.

            “They’re just trees—who cares?” said Oliver.

            “I care! Don’t do that again. If you do, I will be really upset with you,” said Kit with a grimace.

            “Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again,” said Oliver.

            Kit tried to remain calm, but it was painful for her to watch living things die, even if they were just trees and plants. Kit understood by this point that Oliver might have had destructive tendencies, but she tried to look past it.

            The second offense Oliver made was significantly worse for Kit. A few weeks later she joined Oliver’s dream and what she saw made her gasp.

            Oliver had created a large and lively world with trees and such. But it was difficult to determine exactly the setting because everything was on fire. Oliver had apparently figured out how to set flame to anything and had done just that.

            “Oliver! What are you doing!” screamed Kit.

            “I’m doing what I want,” Oliver said coldly. Something had come over Oliver; this was not the boy Kit had grown to know and like, maybe even love.

            “Stop this now! You’re destroying everything!”

            “So? I don’t care,” he said.

            “How can you not care? These are living things!” Kit yelled.

            “Aren’t you impressed that I figured it out? I can show you how,” offered Oliver.

            “No! I don’t want to know. I don’t want to see—please put these fires out. You’re making me upset,” said Kit. Oliver toyed with Kit for a bit but eventually conceded and put out the fires. But it was too late; everything had been badly burned.

            “How did you do that?” asked Kit.

            “What? The fire?” asked Oliver.

            “Yea—how did you figure it out?” asked Kit, now more curious than upset.

            “I’m not sure. I just imagine places where there’s fire and borrow some. And then I can place it where I want. No big deal. It was easy all along,” said Oliver.

            “Oliver, promise me you won’t use this outside your dreams. Don’t use this on anyone out there, it will be so scary,” said Kit.

            “I don’t want to promise that. I learned it on purpose so I can use it outside of here,” said Oliver.

            “You’re going to destroy so many things, Oliver. Please, promise me,” said Kit.

            Oliver considered Kit’s plea momentarily.

            “Okay—I promise,” said Oliver.

            Despite making this promise, Oliver was unsure if he would stick to it. His urges in the real world were strong, especially while in distress. He decided he would use it only if necessary, though he did not disclose this to Kit. And at the same time, Kit wasn’t sure she could trust Oliver’s promise either. She considered the strong possibility that he might betray this promise.

            A few weeks passed before Kit decided to jump into Oliver’s dreams again and this would be the final offense.

            When she appeared initially, Kit could tell that Oliver had been wallowing in a dark headspace. It was clear he’d spent the alone time doing more destructive and bad things. And this time, it was the worst yet.

            Kit walked over to Oliver and began investigating what was near him. On the ground were multiple weapons, including multiple knives, arrows, and even some small swords.

            “What are you doing with these?” asked Kit.

            “I’ll show you—watch,” replied Oliver vaguely.

            Oliver then picked up one of the swords, turned and faced away from Kit, lifted his hand and spawned a small deer. Then he hijacked the animal’s senses and forced it to walk towards him. Finally, without a word, he stabbed the deer violently. The deer keeled over quickly and died. Kit was speechless.

            “Oliver! How… Why…?” she sputtered.

            “It’s not real, we’re in a dream. It doesn’t matter.”

            “You were practicing how to light fires in your dreams so you could learn to do it in the real world. Is this the same thing?” Kit asked desperately.

            “No—well, I mean, maybe. I’m just practicing. I don’t know why.”

            “Being in your dreams isn’t fun anymore. I think we should stay alone for a while.”

            Oliver did not expect such a harsh response. He tried to explain why he was doing what he was doing but he stumbled over his words; even he didn’t really know why he wanted to cause destruction to the things around him. In an instant, Kit was gone. It took Oliver a while to comprehend, but he was crushed. He realized soon after that Kit was the only friend he’d ever had and he drove her away. He assumed she was gone for good but hoped she would come back and maybe show her he could improve his behavior. So, for a long time, Oliver stopped himself from being destructive while dreaming. He fought his urges as best he could for as long as he could. Unfortunately, this wouldn’t last.

Many months later, Kit remembered Oliver one night and felt sorry for abandoning him. She knew she was his only friend and she felt it was her responsibility to check up on him. Her repulsion for what she’d witnessed him do in his dreams had almost faded and she made the decision to join his dreams again. She hoped he had altered his ways and was no longer behaving so viciously.

Late that night, Kit was tired and allowed herself to drift into her dream state. Immediately, she began scanning to find Oliver’s dream. She found it right away and hopped in.

Kit froze at what she saw. She couldn’t move. She was in shock. She always knew that Oliver could spiral without her constant attempts to keep him on the right path. But she could never have imagined it would become this bad.

All around, in every direction Kit looked, there were dead bodies. Hundreds and hundreds of dead bodies. And they were all disfigured in some way. Some had been badly burned, some were missing limbs, and still some were missing their head. Nearly every body was covered in and sitting in a pool of blood. It appeared that there were duplicates of some of the bodies with the only difference being that they were maimed in different ways, as if Oliver was trying to determine the most gruesome, or maybe the most painful, or even maybe the best way, to murder these people.

In the surrounding landscape, there was flame everywhere. Oliver had fabricated tall mountains in the distance in every direction and they were all ablaze. In front of the mountains were soaring trees with deep green foliage and massive brown trunks. They, too, were all alight. In front of the trees, around the dead bodies, were dismembered animals. Dogs, foxes, deer, and others Kit could not identify because of their state.

Encompassing this were enormous, walking behemoths—the word that came to Kit’s mind was “monsters.” They appeared to be carved out of the mountainsides of the surrounding scene. They had no face. Some were ripping up trees and throwing them hundreds of meters. Others, more sinisterly, were picking up dead bodies and crushing them between their hands, then dropping the remaining pellet of flesh on the ground.

Floating about this way and that, hovering over the sea of horror on the ground, were what looked like black ghosts, or silhouettes maybe, of dead people. They were tall and thin with long extremities. Their large eye sockets were empty, and their mouths were wide. Here and there, a ghost would hover over a particular dead body and animate it momentarily, like a mock resurrection. But soon after that, the ghost would detach from the body and the body would collapse back on the ground with an exaggerated flop like a recently dead fish.

All around, seemingly coming from every direction at once, was a horrible high-pitched screeching sound. Kit had never heard anything like it before. It was constant and ear splitting. She could barely focus or think straight or even look forward. Covering her ears made it even worse, as it then sounded like it was inside her head, infiltrating her mind.

However, despite all of this, the most disturbing of all was what was in the center of the field, where some space had been left for a specific purpose. There, the body of what looked like a young girl whose back was faced to Kit was standing in front of a freshly dug grave and the girl looked just like… Kit herself. And behind the girl’s body, with his back facing to Kit, was Oliver. Oliver pushed the girl, hard, and she fell into the grave. He stared down at her for a few moments before picking up a shovel on the ground and began dumping mounds of dirt over the live girl’s body. Kit knew Oliver could have simply fabricated a sufficient volume of dirt and buried her all at once, but he deliberately chose to bury her slowly. Kit could watch no longer.

Kit walked a few steps forward but stopped at the first dead body in front of her. Then, she shouted out.

“Oliver! What are you doing! What have you done!” asked Kit. Her voice was panicked and shaky and she struggled to muster an amplified shout, and her voice cracked and faltered as she screamed.

Oliver paused for a moment, then turned around to face Kit. He glared at her with dark eyes. He was pale and his face was emotionless. A moment later, Oliver vanished in gust of smoke and Kit was immediately booted from the dream.

            Kit was never able to track Oliver down in his dreams again after that. She searched periodically at night but only ever found the dreams of others, dreams she had no interest in joining. Eventually, Kit gave up seeking him out. For the coming years, she would wonder frequently what had become of Oliver. She worried for him and hoped she would meet him again someday, feeling like she was the only one who could protect him and show him empathy he would find nowhere else. And she indeed would meet him again, but that wouldn’t be for a very long time…