Shadow Walker
"So, you say you have a recurring dream?"
"Yes. I've been having it for a while now."
"Can you remember anything about it? What you see? What happens? Don't worry, I've heard some good ones in my time. Just tell me whatever comes to your mind."
"Well, at the start of the dream, I'm standing there, looking at this man standing under a streetlight."
"Is there anything in particular you remember about this man?" "He's wearing a leather jacket, and a motorcycle helmet."
"Can you see the man's face?" "No. The visor's down."
"Before we move on, is there anything else you notice about him?" "Yes. He has no shadow."
"Okay, he has no shadow. Anything else?" "He's carrying something. A book. With my name printed on the cover."
"This book. Describe it to me." "I think it has a black leather cover. And my name is written in gold."
"The man, let's call him a biker for now. Is he the only figure in your dream?" "No. There's someone else."
"Male or female? What can you remember about this other person?" "He's standing next to the biker. Standing very still."
"And does this man have a shadow?" "Yes."
"What happens next?"
"The biker opens the book."
"Can you see any writing?"
"Yes. It's all in symbols, I don't know what they mean."
"And what does he do next?"
"He starts reading the book, but I can't understand what he's saying. Things are a little fuzzy for a while after that."
"What is your next clear memory?"
"Something moving."
"What is it? Can you remember what it is?"
"It's the other man's shadow. Coming towards me."
"And that's when you wake up?"
"Yes."
"Martin, come in. Make yourself comfortable."
"What's the plan today, doc?"
"First, I want to ask you a question."
"Shoot."
"Nothing that drastic. Seriously, I'd like to know if you want to try hypnotherapy."
"What would that do?"
"If you relive the dream in a trance, it could help me fill in the parts you can't remember."
"Okay. I trust you, doc. When do you want to start?"
"There's no time like the present."
"Hey, nice watch." "It's an antique. It used to be my grandfather's."
"You're going to hypnotise me with that?"
"Just like in the movies."
Doctor Brian Walkersen flicks the watch, making it spin on the end of its chain. Martin sees the light, flickering over its gold case. Now he makes it swing. Left to right. Right to left.
"Okay Martin. I want you to keep your eyes on the watch. See how the light flashes off it?"
He does. The flickering, golden light. Left to right. Right to left. Swinging, and spinning. Spinning, and swinging. Left to right. Right to left. Over and over. Soon more than Martin's eyes are focused on the swinging, spinning light.
"Martin, can you hear me?"
Alone in the golden light, the voice seems to come from everywhere.
"Yes. I hear you."
"I'm going to count to ten now. When I reach ten, you will be in a deep, restful sleep, but you will still hear my voice. Do you understand?" "I understand."
The voice, counting. Each number is a weight added, dragging Martin deeper and deeper into the blackness.
"Ten."
Martin is alone once more. Floating in the nothing.
"Martin? Can you still hear me?"
"I can."
"Okay Martin, I want you to think back. Back to the last time you had the dream."
He finds himself, at the edge of a pool of pale, blue light.
"What can you see?"
"I see two people. Standing under a streetlight."
"Describe them to me."
"One of them is wearing a leather jacket, and a helmet. I don't want to look at him."
"Why not? What are you frightened of?"
"He's different. He has no shadow."
"Martin, listen to me. I'm right here. While I'm here, he can do nothing to harm you. Do you understand? Now, I want you to look at him again. Is he holding anything?"
"A book. He's holding a black book."
"Is there any writing on the book?"
"I can't tell. If there is, I think his hand is covering it."
"Who else is there? Who else is with the biker?"
A statue? No. After a couple of seconds, Martin sees his chest rise and fall. This man is not a statue, but as close as flesh and blood can be.
"A man. Standing beside him."
"What does he look like?"
"Something's wrong with him."
"Why? What can you see?"
"I think the biker's done something to him. He can't seem to move."
"Okay Martin. What's happening now?"
"The biker's opening the book."
For an instant, his attention is caught by a flash of light. He sees writing, in gold leaf.
"What can you see?"
"My name. My name is on the cover."
"What else? Do you see any writing?"
"Yes, but I can't read it. Too many strange symbols."
"Now what is he doing?"
"Reading the book. Some words I understand, but the rest make no sense."
"What words? What words do you recognise."
"My name, and..."
And what? Martin knows he heard something apart from that, but whatever it was, it is gone now. Just as well. The pictograms look sinister enough, without knowing what they mean. Better to leave it to his imagination. The reality could be even worse.
"... I don't know. I thought I heard something else."
"Okay. It doesn't matter. When he's finished the book, what happens next?"
"He's pressing his hand onto the last page. The writing is starting to run."
It is now that Martin notices something. He had thought the writing was in black ink, but he realises it is deep purple. Under the blue light, colours are different. Blue and what colour make purple? Blue and red. That would mean the writing is in...
"Martin? What's happening now?"
"There's no writing left. It's all... It's all dripping off his hand."
"What do you mean? What's happening?"
"I don't want to look. Don't you understand? Don't you understand what this is?"
"Listen to me. I'm here. Standing right beside you. While I'm here, nothing can hurt you, remember? Tell me what is happening."
"Now, he's pressing his hand on the other man's forehead. Leaving a handprint. A big, red handprint."
"Martin, I want you to look at the other man. What's happening to him?"
The man's mouth opens in a mute scream. For a few seconds, this is the only movement Martin can see. Then, something else.
"He's starting to move.... No, he's not moving. Only his shadow."
"His shadow?"
"It's coming toward me. His shadow is coming toward me."
"Martin.... Martin, listen to me. I'm going to count to ten again, only this time, when I reach 'ten', you will find yourself in my office again. When you wake up, you will remember nothing of your hypnosis. Do you understand?"
He understands perfectly. At least, he understands the voice offers an ending other than the darkness, coming towards him. A way out.
"Now. Please... Do it now."
Brian Walkersen starts the count. He has heard enough. To wait any longer might endanger his patient. He will let Martin out of his nightmare.
"What happened?"
Something is strange. If Martin's life is one big video tape, then someone has just hit the 'fast forward button. He remembers the watch, swinging, and now this. By his own, twenty minutes lie between then and now.
"It's perfectly normal to feel disoriented. I know you don't remember, but you just came out of hypnosis."
Thinking for a few moments, waiting for everything to fall into place once more.
"I hope it is, because that's how I feel. Okay, let's get this straight. The last twenty minutes just fell out of my life, because I was in some kind of trance?"
"That's right. I've got it all on tape."
"Well then, what's on the tape? What did you find out?"
"I'll go over it with you next time... We've done enough for today."
Silence, broken by a click at the tapes end. Minutes pass like this.
"So. Do you still think I'm not crazy, doc?"
"If I thought you were, would I have taken this case? I can help you, Martin. What we did last week was the first step."
"What next? More hypnotherapy? Another tape to listen to?"
He can't promise anything. He will try to avoid using hypnotherapy again, but it could be the only way. He only hopes his voice sounds confident enough.
"I doubt that will be necessary. Now that we have a full picture of the dream, normal counselling should do the trick."
"What do you mean?"
"There is still a lot left unexplained, but dreams are, basically, messages from your subconscious. All that stuff about precognitive dreams, or in English, seeing into the future through your dreams, is yet to be proven. But, there is known to be some kind of link between your subconscious- the part that takes over when you are asleep, and your conscious or waking mind."
"So, how can you use that tape to help treat me?"
"Well, dreams are the subconscious minds way of sending information. The information can be sent either as flashbacks, direct memories; or in a more complex form, like you are experiencing. If I can give the images in your dream some real meaning, then I should understand what it is you remember. You'll find once I can do that, the rest will be much easier."
"And you'll be able to make the dreams go away?"
"Maybe not completely, but it should make them easier to live with. If you want, I'll teach you some techniques. The dream is in your mind, and there are ways you can help yourself."
"How do you mean?"
"Next time, I want you to concentrate on these four words. Tell yourself, 'this is a dream'. It's all in your mind. You created it, you can change it. For now, waking up is the only way of escaping from the shadow. The dream seems too real. But if you remember, this is a dream, and not real at all, you can take control. Think of some way to stop what happens. A door you can go through, some type of shield, it doesn't matter what. When you can visualise that... visualise yourself going through the door, or standing safe behind that shield, the dream will lose its power over you."
"So I'll still be having the dream, but it won't wake me up any more?"
"I can't guarantee it will stop completely, but the technique should make some difference. At least it will give you something to try between sittings."
The week passes slowly. Although Martin tries the technique a few times, there is no success. Each night, he is ripped from his sleep by the dream. He hopes things will change soon. Hopes Doctor Walkersen can help stop it, or at least help him to live with it. He closes his eyes once more, knowing how he will probably wake up.
"Tomorrow."
Tomorrow could be the day it ends. Tomorrow...
"Hello Martin. Any change?"
"Still not sleeping through, if that's what you mean."
"Did you try what I suggested?"
"Yeah. I tried a couple of times."
"What happened? Did you have any control?"
"Last night, I made a door, like you said."
"Well, what happened next? Did you go through it?"
"I tried to go through the door. It could have been a couple of steps away, no more. But I couldn't move. It was like torture. Watching the shadow coming, and knowing there was a way out."
"Just out of reach."
"Right."
"Some take weeks to get where you are, Martin. You have taken the first step. From here, it may take a while to progress. Helplessness is a part of most nightmares. I don't think your mind is fully convinced you're dreaming. Some part of the dream still has control."
"So I was 'with it' enough to make the door, but not enough to walk through it?"
"Exactly. What did the door look like, anyway?"
"Just a door. White. Looked kind of weird standing there by itself, I guess."
"That's a point. Where in real life have you seen a door, standing in the middle of nowhere? You haven't."
"I never thought of it like that."
"Next time you should. It will help prove it's not real."
"Okay. Now though, what are we doing?"
"Let's go through the dream again, like we did first of all. I'll play the tape this time, and you can tell me the first thing each detail brings to mind. Anything they remind you of."
The dream is playing, all over again. Again, Martin finds it hard to believe the frightened, trembling voice is his own.
"The biker. What does he remind you of?"
"My father used to own a Harley. I guess that could be part of it."
"What do you remember about him?"
"He died when I was five. Motorcycle accident."
"Does anything else about the biker seem important to you?"
"I heard some stories when I was a kid. About vampires and such. Campfire stories, you know..."
"How old would you have been then?"
"Eleven or twelve. Anyway, I remember somebody telling me, vampires aren't supposed to have shadows."
"Or reflections. I heard the same stories when I was young."
"Yeah, that too. They seem pretty silly now. But to a kid sitting at a campfire, in the dark..."
"And when you're dreaming. Everything seems real."
"I mean, if I watched a horror movie, and a kid watched it... I wouldn't have any problems because I'd know it wasn't true. But the kid..."
"A child can't distinguish between fantasy and reality. They soon learn, though. When you're dreaming, that knowledge slips away."
"How do you mean?"
"Flying dreams, for instance. No voice comes in and says 'this can't be happening.' But if you were awake, you'd know it was impossible."
"So, how does 'Lucid Dreaming' work, exactly?"
"It brings your waking mind into play. That way, you can tell what's real and what isn't. And when you know that, you can change things."
"I think I understand now."
"Well, I got a little carried away with that conversation. I think we should pick up where we left off next time."
"Okay Martin. I'd like to know what the book reminds you of."
He smiles at this.
"Martin Short, this is your life. I think Ed McMahon would have made a better host, somehow."
"Interesting. It seems... right somehow."
"Except, it's more like, this is your death. I think that's what happens."
"The writing. What does that bring to mind?"
"Hieroglyphics. Is that the word for it? Kind of like pyramid writing."
"The other man. What about him?"
Wondering... how best to describe his feelings?
"You know how you said, helplessness is a part of most nightmares? It seemed almost as if he was trapped, like me."
"So, you feel you can identify with this other person?"
"Yes."
"Do you have any brothers and sisters, if you don't mind me asking?"
"No. I was an only child."
"Any close friends when you were growing up?"
"I had a best friend. His family moved out of town, though."
"What happens next, I find particularly interesting. The way the writing starts running on the page, and how the biker presses his hand onto the other man's forehead. Remind you of anything?"
"Blood brothers. Ever do that when you were a kid?"
"I know the ceremony. Is that what you think the writing is in? Blood?"
He nods solemnly.
"What else does it make you think of?"
Silence for a while, again.
"The way the biker has no shadow. After the other man is touched, he hasn't got a shadow, either. It's... Well, you know what happens... Anyway, it's as if he's becoming like the biker."
"I see. The shadow? What does that bring to mind?"
Martin wishes every quesition could be as simple to answer.
"Death. Okay? That's what it reminds me of."
"You've done well, Martin. I think we have something to go on, now. I was meaning to ask you, how is the Lucid Dreaming going?"
"Not too well, doc. I'm stuck where I was last week. Still can't get to the door."
"I wouldn't be too concerned, if I were you. These things take time, as I told you before."
"Okay Martin. I think I have an answer, now. I think I know why you are having the dream."
"You do?"
"First, though, I want to ask a few more questions."
"Okay. Go ahead."
"You remember how you told me about your friend, who moved away?"
"Yeah."
"Can you tell me anything about him?"
"Where do I start?"
"Where do you want to start?"
"Well, he was new at school. You know what it's like, in a new town. All those strange faces. I felt sorry for him at first, I guess."
"His family moved around a lot, did they?"
"He was sick most of the time. I forget what he had, now. They were just, you know, looking for somewhere with a better climate. The right place for him."
"And this wasn't the place. How long did they live here?"
"About a year. That isn't why they left, though. It was because of me."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, he had strict parents. Not strict exactly, more... overprotective. That's the word."
"Tell me more."
"You know what it's like, when you're about ten years old. Soon, you're going to be 'grown up', so you have to enjoy being a kid while you can. He couldn't do that. He always had to worry about taking his medicine, not getting a chill, that sort of thing. They never treated him like a normal kid. I wanted to show him what he was missing out on."
"What did you do?"
"Well, we did what any kids do at that age. Played soldiers, that sort of thing. Kid stuff. Had fun, though. I even taught him how to ride my bike. Can you believe that? His own parents didn't even teach him to ride."
"What happened to make them move away?"
"One day we were just mucking around, and he found a piece of glass."
"And?"
"He just starts talking about wanting to be blood brothers with me. I mean, I told him we shouldn't. I kept saying, 'Your parents are going to freak if they find out', but he wouldn't listen. He ended up getting really angry. He said, if I didn't do it, then I wasn't really his friend, after all."
"What did you do then?"
"What could I do? I went through with it. He bled a little more than I did, but it didn't seem to worry him."
"And when his parents found out?"
"All hell broke loose. It was as if he had cut his arm off, instead of nicking his finger. He told them it was his idea, but they wouldn't believe him. In the end, I took the blame. His mother said, I could have killed him."
"Did you believe her?"
"Now I don't. But, then, yes. I felt guilty for a long time after that."
"And that was the last time you saw each other?"
"No. I saw him in school sometimes, but he said he wasn't allowed to talk to me anymore. And then... he was gone."
"You never got to say goodbye?"
"I didn't even know they were leaving."
"Do you think about him often?"
"Not anymore. I can't even remember his name."
"Well, here's my opinion. You want to hear it all at once, or step by step?"
"Does it matter?"
"No. I don't suppose it does, really. Anyway, I feel the dream is about loss, most of all."
"The loss of what?"
"A father. A best friend. Hard things for a child to come to terms with. Easier to try to forget."
"How do you mean?"
"If you think about something, can you change it? Only in your dreams. You found it easier to just not think about them. But you haven't forgotten. Not everything. Did you find it hard to remember your friend?"
"Last week. That was the first time I thought about him in ages. Then it all started coming to me."
"And you remember all those things, but not his name?"
"Yeah. Why is that?"
"What you did is like... trying to pull out a splinter."
"Excuse me?"
"Imagine, getting a splinter in your finger. That's like your memory. If you do it wrong, you break the top off when you're trying to get it out, and part of it's still there. You may not feel it, but it's there. Later on, it might start to hurt again."
"And? What does the dream mean, then?"
"The biker. I think he is your father. You only remember he had a motorbike, so that's how he's dressed. The other figure, is your friend."
"And what do the shadows mean?"
"I think they have something to do with your memories. You can't remember your father well, so he doesn't have a shadow."
"And the book?"
"Like you said, I think that represents your life. The symbols are explainable. People usually can't read in dreams."
"But what about the next part?"
"Really, it makes more sense after hearing your story, and what you said last week. Blood brothers. It is your blood in the book, and what happens is like what you told me before."
"I'm afraid you lost me again."
"How his mother said, you could have killed him. You said last week, it's as if he's becoming like the biker. He is... In your dream, he's dying. Like your father."
"What about the shadow?"
"You said, it reminds you of death. Except it's your friend's death, not yours. It's coming towards you because, in your dream, he's dying, and his mother has blamed it on you. That's why you wake up."
"But I know that's not true."
"Now you know. When you were young, you believed it, though. You believed it was your fault, what happened that day. You believed you really could have killed him. You tried to forget it. That's why you're having the dream."
"So, what do I do now?"
"Just think about what happened. What you remember. Keep telling yourself, it wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything to hurt your friend. It was only his mother trying to make you feel guilty."
"It seems almost too simple."
"These things usually are. Anyway, come back next week and tell me how you do. I think you're going to rest easy tonight."
"Thanks, Doctor Walkersen. I hope you're right."
"See you next week, Martin."
He hopes he's right, too.