Magic Pajamas

What if it wasn't all a dream...

Surfacing through my dreams like an ascending whale, my thoughts begin to clarify and the world outside my head gently asserts itself. The metrical ticking of the central heating, the chill of my lower leg tangled outside the quilt and the deep, regular breathing of my wife starts to bring me to life. Too early, far too early.

Rolling onto my back and grumpily yanking the leg back into the cocoon of the bed covers I rub my face and grudgingly open my eyes, blinking back amber dawn light leaking round the bedroom blind. I tell myself to enjoy the last few moments of peace before the day truly started, and treat myself to a shoulder-cracking stretch, revelling in the release of the joint stiffening ache inflicted overnight.

The last shy ghosts of the nights dreams scoot round my head, evading my memories. I love my dreams. That licence to do anything, go anywhere, be anyone that your brain allows. It’s my own playground where I can be a pauper or a king; a vampire or a spy. I grin to myself and wish it was multi-player too. Dream NPC’s were dumb at times.

Without looking, and with the kind of precision gained from years of practise my left arm evades the gentle hold of the quilt, grabs my phone from the bedside table and brings it up to my face to check the time. Another five minutes should do it I decide, and roll over to face my wife who is still deep under and moaning gently while traversing her own dream-scape. I’m jealous.

Last night’s travels ranked particularly high on the wierd-ometer - up there with Ken the office sniper. From the scraps of memory still retained I had been in Italy, heading up one of it’s fantastic driving roads on a split-screen red and white VW camper van. Happy as larry, enjoying the heart-thumping view over the edge of the road to the valley below, knowing with certainty that one wrong move would be met with rolly/spinny/crashy flames and screaming. Nice.

It seemed that the engine was made of paper-mache and rubber bands, and was struggling to meet the demands of the road and I had to shift down to first gear to be able get up the steepest inclines, but I don’t care. I had the open road, and no one behind me. It was a great day.

Then I felt the rumbling.

That I could feel it at all over the struggling engine was a feat in itself, but there it was. A deep, guttural vibration that appeared to me to be coming from the very road itself. I eased back on the gas and the camper slowed to a walking pace. I gripped the wheel tighter and leaned forward to peer from the windscreen. Nothing obviously causing it so I decided to press on, and gassed it again to elderly jogger. Speed demon.

The road curved sharply to the right just ahead with a sheer cliff on one side, and the aforementioned flamey death to the other. I shifted down again and started to make the turn.

The shockwave hit the van just as I straightened up in the road, the force shredding the passenger front window with a boom and cracking mine from roof to bottom edge making me shriek in surprise and bring my arms up to protect my face from the sparkling bullets of glass. I felt warmth running down my face but I couldn't remove my arms as they were locked in position by fear. My lizard brain had taken control and was looking out for me.

Machine gun pings started to pepper round the cabin and I felt impacts on my head, upper body and exposed arms. I fell to the side and ducked down behind the dash with a cry. The rumbling had turned into a fierce shaking and the van was now bucking around on it’s wheels. I felt like I was in a washing machine. I risked a small look and could the impacts were from rocks and pebbles smashing in through the breached windscreen. They abated slightly and I risked a look out of the front while I still could and my breath left me in a ragged shout.

The pyroclastic cloud was about five hundred meters away rushing in and rearing up like an angry smokey dragon, the stones preceding the arrival it’s hunting cry. It had found it’s prey and its blood was up. I shot upright, knowing this was the end, letting my arms flop limply beside my body like a snipped marionette. As the dragon bit down, a single thought raced to the fore and slammed into my mind.

“It’s a bit warm...”

Blackness.

Silence.

...and the whale starts ascending.

Smiling to myself I push up on my elbows and start to contemplate the daily grind. I sit up, flick the covers back and plant a foot on the floor. A sharp pain in my thigh makes me hiss. Standing up I touch the painful point, stop and then slowly slide my hand down into the pajama pocket directly over the area. My hand closes around a hard jangle of objects and I withdraw the hand in confusion.

I open the hand and stare down then sit down on the bed with a thump and exhale in surprise as my legs turn to mush.

Keys. Keys with a VW key ring.

A jolt shoots through my body and I fly to my feet scrambling around the bed, tripping and slipping on the quilt that had spilled on to the floor. I regain my footing with minimal swearing and make it across the room and yank open the bedroom curtains. The camper is sat glinting in the morning sun looking like it had just been prepared for a car show. I blink a few times and mumble a few words of apology to my wife who has groggily raised her head at the explosion of sun.

I flee the bedroom, my feet a whirl and take the stairs three at once. I slide the locks on the front door, pull it open and shoot through, immediately regretting my choice of footwear as I had forgotten to pick up my slippers. I hop and curse across the pea-shingle on the drive until I reach the camper. I gingerly touch the flawless red paint on the drivers door. Warm and smooth like butter.

I still have the keys in my hand, but gripped so tightly that I have VW imprinted into my palm. I fumble a bit with them until I find the door key and hesitantly put the key in the lock and turn. It unlocks with a satisfying click. Pulling the door open I lean inside but stumble back in confusion when I get a gust of warm, sulphurous air, and I see that every surface is caked in a fine grey dust, and the floor is covered in small rocks and pebbles.

I shake my head, unable to comprehend what I am seeing. I pace back and forth a few times before I stop, turn slowly and face the camper.

I smile twitches the corner of my mouth and I pat the pocket that produced the keys a few minutes earlier.

Tomorrow morning can't come quick enough now, I just hoped that Ken the office sniper wasn’t around.