//------------------------------// // Chapter I: Book of Dreams - The Steve Miller Band, May 1977 // Story: Summer of '11 // by moviemaster8510 //------------------------------// The strobing of the sunlight through the gaps between the countless branches gave way to an expanse of cloud-mottled blue as Oli approached the top of the hill on his bike. The acoustic guitars of FireHouse’s Reach For the Sky echoed enchantingly through his earbuds connected to his iPhone as he let the wheels coast upward, gravity soon bringing him to a stop on the trail. It was the best kind of late-spring morning; a stifling heat cooled by a breeze that would serve as a most righteous tailwind down the hill as soon as the electric guitars kicked in. With a few moments to spare until then, Oli looked upward and breathed a steady whiff of wind through his nose. Bill Leverty’s last chord prompted Oli to push off the gravel and give the straps of his backpack a couple of testing tugs, ensuring he’d have as little drag as possible during his descent. He began to pick up speed as the electric guitars, bass, and drums pounded and chugged their way through. And he continued going faster down this perfectly straight stretch of path without a soul in sight. Oli never felt so free as when he was able to do this. Leaning back in his seat, Oli threw his hands off the handlebars and extended them out to the sides; the closest to flying he’d ever achieve without a plane. I have to imagine that’s how Rainbow Dash feels every time she’s up there. Oli felt extra weight in his chest pulling him closer to his back wheel as the hill began to level out, and with a lunch in his abs, he pulled himself back toward his handlebars, content to let his speed carry him through the now winding trail towards town, where he hoped he’d bring home a good haul. The narrow tote bag hung off Oli’s fingers as he fluidly weaved himself and the few albums he found around the crowds of people going every which direction toward their destinations. Perhaps one thing Oli appreciated least about his local flea market wasn’t so much the crowds; they had just as much right to be there as he did. It wasn’t even the pop music they blared through the sound system to put people in the mood; he appreciated and saw the value in all kinds of music. Specifically, it was the lack of consistency in the location of booths and tents. Some days, the two record sellers he frequented would be closer to the entrance, sometimes, all the way back. The first one he patronized was thankfully closer to the start today, but it didn’t make finding the last one any easier, and he still had a mostly uphill climb with new vinyl yet to face. And it was starting to get late. As if to taunt him further, Oli felt the buzzing of his phone in his pocket. Pulling it out, he looked at the banner on the lock screen and could tell the text was from his dad just from the message itself. Any luck? With a disappointed huff, Oli pocketed his phone again. He’d be content letting his dad know he was on his way if and only if he didn’t find this other seller. Oli started looking far more deliberately for the seller’s tent, not caring if this would make him more susceptible to crashing into someone the moment he turned his head and vision away from directly in front of him. Turning left, he spotted the slightly bigger-than-average tent of the regular used-book salesman that the vinyl sellers would frequently set up shop beside. As he briskly approached it, he scanned his eyes around for any sign of his seller, but instead his eyes began to drift elsewhere as he began walking beside the book tent. Sitting on one of the tables directly in front of the overweight shopkeeper was a large, light-brown, leatherbound book with some kind of crest in its center. With his curiosity piqued he drifted away from his intended destination and got a closer inspection of the icon embedded on the front cover. Whether it be Oli’s newly arrived presence or the blocking of sunlight, the annoyed shopkeeper’s attention was now on him. “Can I help you?” Oli jerked his head up, oblivious to the man’s disdain. “I’m… sorry, that book there caught my attention.” “You looking to buy it?” “Oh…” Oli stole another glance at the book now held right in front of him; the six gems in the golden circular crest was unmistakable. “You’d sell it?” “Only if you want to buy it, but look.” The shopkeeper reached beneath his counter and pulled out an uncapped pen and a sticky note. Oli watched closely as the shopkeeper scribbled a series of crude rings on the yellow paper. The ink was bright black, fresh. Before Oli could register what this was supposed to mean, the shopkeeper opened the book up close to the middle began to attempt to draw similar rings on its paper. To Oli’s mild intrigue, not as much as a pinprick’s worth of ink was visible where the pen had ran over. The shopkeeper then went back to the sticky note and drew new rings under the first ones. Even more surprising this time, the rings were just as clear and shimmering as the first ones. Oli could muster a nod. “Huh. Is it meant to be a joke journal or something? Like to pull–” “Doubt it,” the shopkeeper was quick to dispute. “I’ve tried pens, pencils, even paint on it. That shit rolled off like water on a duck’s ass.” Oli was fixated back on the unblemished spot where the shopkeeper had tried to draw on. With his head casting a shadow on its page, Oli couldn’t be too sure if he began to notice medium-sized text begin to bleed up through the paper. Unaware of this potential phenomenon, the shopkeeper closed the book back up, completely unaware of what had possibly happened. “I’ll take it!” The shopkeeper stayed still for a moment before slowly turning back to Oli. “How much do you want for it? I’ll gladly pay it.” The man huffed with a cheeky grin. “So if I said I’d give it to you for a thousand, you’d just happen to have that on you?” Oli tried to remain brave. “I doubt that’s what you’re going for.” “Why do you want this book? You could probably find a nice notebook like this at a hobby store or something.” Oli glanced back at the tote bag in his other hand fast enough to not be noticed by the shopkeeper. “I actually recognize that picture on the cover. It’s from a band I enjoy.” “Ahh.” Though this answer appeared to sate the shopkeeper, Oli had to further mask the guilt of his lie. “That’s right. You’re here a lot with your dad, aren’t you? Buying records and stuff. What’s your haul today?” With the conversation steered towards something more honest, Oli could finally relax. “Not much, but still some alright finds.” Pulling the records out, Oli began to set them on the table beside each other, starting with Miles Davis’s Bitches Brew, Abba’s self-titled, and Gerry Rafferty’s City to City. The shopkeeper nodded, visibly impressed. “Some alright finds indeed. Your folks definitely raised you right. So, you just wanted that book? It’s yours.” Oli was putting the second record back into his bag when he froze up and shot up to look at the shopkeeper, who didn’t appear to have as much of a twinge of jest in his expression. Oli felt the smile creep on his face. While the sky was still mostly light, Oli trudged through his front door with tired legs and half-open eyes. Oli’s father Art leaned back, looking through the kitchen entryway at his son’s arrival, his long, thinning black hair draping down behind him. “Hey, champ,” he softly greeted. “Good ride? Good finds?” “Yeah dad, just…” Oli set the tote bag down on the couch against the armrest before taking his backpack upstairs with him. “Just want to take a quick shower and I’ll be right down for dinner.” “Sounds good. Dinner in 20. Having gnocchi.” “Awesome.” Oli would have sounded more enthusiastic, and he knew he would be once he washed the sweat off his skin and put some fresh clothes on. Art glanced at the handles of the bag, tempted to take a look at his son’s finds. With the simmering of the sauce behind him, he quickly realized it would have to wait until Oli came down to either show or tell him about his purchase. Upstairs, Oli pushed his bedroom door open, too tired to try and stop it from swinging into the wall. After placing his backpack down against the leg of his desk to his left, he began shedding his feet of his shoes and socks. Between two sides of his queen-sized bed and the walls of the back corner of his room were two tall shelves filled with vinyl records and neatly organized speakers. Sitting on a table nestled in the square-shaped spot there was an older-looking, but clean and nicely-furbished turntable. A stereo cable was fed up the wall to the corner to the ceiling and traveled along to the back left corner and towards the bedroom door before coming down over the desk, the other end of the chord plugged into a MacBook through its auxiliary jack. Picking up both discarded socks with his toes, he agilely kick them up where they both landed in a hamper between his right record shelf and his dresser. As he began to take his shirt off, he felt his phone rhythmically buzzing inside his pocket. Dropping it on the floor, he pulled his phone out with his freed hands and answered it. “Hello?” “Hey Oli,” a chipper male voice replied. “Oh, Mr. Franklin, hi! Is it okay if I call you back? I just got home from a ride and wanted to jump in the shower.” “Oh, no worries! I just wanted to ask real quick if you were free tomorrow to pick up Jessie from daycare and look after her until one of us gets home.” “Working late again?” “Actually, I have a company outing that just came up, and the wifey doesn’t come home until late tomorrow.” Oli contemplated this. “I see. Same time as usual?” “Yep. I’ll leave you your money by the front door and give you a little extra for pizza or something.” “Sounds great. Thanks a lot.” “Thank you. Unless my wife beats me home before I do, I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Yep. Thanks again. Got to shower now.” “Yep, no problem. Thank you.” Oli hung up the phone and put it on the desk right over the leg where his backpack and the book he received rested. As much as he wanted to take a look through it before dinner, it seemed as though he would have to wait until afterwards. Oli sighed, kicking his sweat-sopped shirt into the hamper where his pants and underwear would soon join it. Oli scooped some pulled meat onto his fork before spearing two gnocchi dumplings. With a wiping of extra sauce and tomatoes, he fit the large bite into his mouth, just barely managing to close his lips as he chewed. He avoided looking at his father, who he could almost sense judging him silently. “Found some good stuff today?” “Wuh sech.” Oli chewed quicker before swallowing his bite in two gulps. “Sorry. Anyways, yeah, got a new Davis, Abba, and Rafferty.” A moment of silence until… “That’s it?” “…Yeah. Tommy wasn’t there today, so my options were limited.” “I see. Which Davis?” “Bitches Brew?” “Very nice. Arguably his opus.” “That’s what I’ve heard. Was going to clean it and give it a listen before bed tonight. I’ll get to the other two tomorrow morning.” “Sounds good.” “Actually, that reminds me. I’m babysitting tomorrow again.” “Who? Jessie?” “Yeah. Mr. Franklin had some work thing tomorrow, so he needs someone to watch her until he or Mrs. Franklin get home.” “Going to watch some more of that pony show or something?” Oli paused. While he wasn’t quite as shy about his closer friends and family knowing he watched My Little Pony, even outside of babysitting duty, it was still a subject that was never not awkward to talk about with his dad. “Maybe. To be fair, she’s pretty obsessed with it.” “Not that you mind, though.” Oli shook his head. “Nah. There’s worse stuff we could be watching.” Art shrugged. “That’s fair.” Son and father returned to their meals. After a few silent bites, Art spoke back up. “Listen, if you’re not doing anything this weekend, I’m meeting a guy out near Baltimore about a guitar I was thinking of getting. Would you like to come with?” Oli took a moment to finish the bite he was on. “That’s okay. A bunch of us are going to see Super 8 on Saturday. We… already got tickets.” “Popular movie then?” “Looks like it. Either way, I have plans.” “Okay, no problem. Thought I’d extend the invitation.” “Thank you. Maybe next time.” “Yeah. Maybe…” Oli watched as his dad was the first to return to the last few bites of his pasta. As guilty as he felt lying about the tickets and the complete awkwardness of the dinner, he really just wanted to look at the new book he received. Oli hit the “Record” icon of his vinyl digitization software as the first side of the Miles Davis album spun on his turntable. He quickly hopped onto his bed and grabbed the bottle of cleaner, which he sprayed generously onto the brush block before gently setting it down on the disc’s surface. As the liquid streaked all over and spread out with each full rotation, he glanced back at the book behind him on his bed, ready to look through it over some classic jazz. Once the first side was cleaned to his satisfaction, he placed the brush cleaning-side up beside the turn table and swiveled the needle over its edge before gently lowering it down into the grooves. As the ride, upright bass, and keys kicked in, he felt safe to finally get to his book business. Spinning himself around, he placed the book in his lap and opened it up. With a sigh of wonderment, the once blank pages were now filled with text in a completely unidentifiable language. “Wow…” he whispered. He flipped through the book, each page as wordy and incomprehensible as the last. Wonder why it was blank for you, Oli thought, the previous owner on his mind. The screen of his phone next to his waist suddenly lit up with the notification of a text. Setting the book down beside him, he sat himself up to open his messages. From the texts above the most recent one, Oli knew it was his friend Javi. Yo you doin anything Satuday night? Oli pursed his lips with confusion as he typed back his response. I thought we were going to see Super 8? Within seconds, Javi had written his response back. Haha we have all summer 4 that. Were throwin a surprise party for Ray to celebrate his admission to notre dame and we need u to spin some tunes. $$$ Oli grinned back. As much as he was looking forward to the movie, he couldn’t pass up on a gig. Especially if… R Ray’s folks hosting? Yeah yeah they’re the ones hosting it. Ray doesn’t know so it needs to stay on the down low. No prob, I got u Cool cool maybe we’ll have an afterparty later Maybe. Dad’s going to be out of town that weekend and he’ll have the car. Don’t trip, one of us will pick u and ur gear up. Alright, thanks man Always Oli tossed his phone back over to the other side of his mattress, wanting it to be out of reach to prevent further distraction from the book whose mysteries he still needed to solve. It was then he realized that his back-and-forth with Javi made him miss out on the first few minutes of Pharoah’s Dance. Oli blew a sigh; he could easily listen back to the recording once it was done. With that one exhale out, he suddenly began to feel very tired, and he quickly began to anticipate not staying awake through the remainder of the track. Perhaps that ride took more out of me than I thought. With fatigued head and fatigued muscles, Oli couldn’t even motivate himself to take his phone to his desk to charge for the night. With the music still filling his room, it only served to lull him further and further into sleep that he just did not have the energy to fight. With the last of the energy he felt he could expend, he pulled his legs up to slip them and the rest of his body underneath his covers. With eyes already shutting, he took the book still laying on top and placed it beside him to escape the possible prying eyes of his dad should he check up on him. Within another minute, Oli was asleep. A black void… Nothingness… Looked left… Nothingness… Looked right Nothingness… Felt almost real, as if awake… Dread… The book’s text… From below… Swirling… Around him… Tried to run… Stayed around him… “Is anyone there…” Swirling became faster… Time felt faster… Squeezing in… “No, stop…” Couldn’t escape… Text forming around his being… Closed eyes tight… Immediate constriction… Sudden breathlessness… Hours like seconds– Oli burst upward, gasping for air like he had been held underwater. If he had, his body certainly felt it. Oli peeled his soaked comforter off his shirt which still clung to his chest as if he swam in it. Then he felt the pain in his head, bringing him to press the bases of both palms to his temples First things first, he needed some new clothes and some ibuprofen. Sliding out of bed, groaning over the Oli-shaped wet spot that he left there, he took off every bit of clothing on his body as quickly as his still-groggy muscles would allow. Standing by his desk, he suddenly remembered to look back at his turntable, which still contained the Miles Davis record in the exact place he had left it. After logging onto his computer, he saw that his software had been recording for nearly twelve-hours and counting. Looking to his window, he already saw the morning sun’s light shining brightly behind and between the gaps in the blinds. “What the fu…” There was nothing he could do now except end the recording and wait until his head got better before making sure the rest recorded alright. Feeling weird being naked for that long, he immediately went to his dresser and pulled out dry pairs of socks and underwear that he quickly slipped on, grumbling as the sweat still matted to him began to soak those too. After putting on a the first shirt and pair of gym shorts that appeared to him in his dresser, he stood still for a moment and breathed to provide himself the first moment of peace that morning. Then he remembered. The dream… Upon hearing the door opening, Oli jolted back towards his bed. Art continued his advance inside, seeing his son in his unusually disheveled state. “Oli,” he lightly rasped. “You okay? You look like hell.” “To be fair,” Oli responded, “I kinda slept like hell.” Oli frowned, spotting the impossible-to-miss sweat on the bedsheets. “Take a shower and make yourself some coffee. I need to run out for a while. If I don’t see you before you leave for babysitting, have a good rest of day.” Right then, just the thought of being alone for the time being was a slight relief. “Thanks. You too.” Art closed the door behind him without another word. Once he heard his dad’s steps go down the stairs, Oli turned back to his bed and threw the heavy, wet covers onto the floor, the book resting where he had left it. Suddenly a very peculiar thought ran through his head. That text I read… It seems familiar now somehow… like, I know… Wanting to prove his suspicions right, he reached for the book. With a sudden crack, the front cover flipped itself open near Oli’s hand, and Oli yelped before pulling it away. The rest of the pages began to flip open of their own accord, but Oli found himself only able to focus on a tingling that quickly began to replace the throbbing in his head The first page of the second half closed down as fast as the others before it, leaving the book to stay open right at its halfway point. Oli looked back down at this, and what he saw there chilled him to the bone. While nothing about the text seemed any different than when he flipped through it himself, he suddenly found that the unknown words meant something to him. He could understand it as if it were written in plain English. Scooping the book by its covers and holding it to his face, he could think of nothing else to do but read where the book and opened itself to. Two books bridge two destinations, he could read. Destinations that lead to the company of good friends. Oli could only compel himself to continue reading this passage. Friends to inspire, learn from, and laugh with, for which one would travel to the worlds’ ends. The suspicion over the distinction of “worlds’” over “world’s” was fleeting. Oli wanted to finish this now. It felt too important to stop now. Whether separated by inches, miles, or galaxies, I shall cross over onto the other side, for nothing is more valuable than this desire I feel inside. At that instant, Oli’s brain snapped like a finger. Soon, the ambient sounds of his bedroom and the neighborhood outside began to wash out into a reverberating cacophony that began to get softer and lower in pitch. Panting, frightened, he looked back at the passage he had read and noticed that the crease of paper separating both halves of the book began to sink down, creating a void that, despite his still sitting on his bed, he felt himself leaning into as if he could actually fall into it. As the upper half of his body tipped over towards the book in his hand, all Oli could think to do was reach out at his bedroom door and find a way to escape. The book fell onto the mattress, and with Oli still falling down toward it, he found that the area of the book expanded out large enough that it could engulf him. Twisting around, already beginning to plunge, he gasped to see that the part of his room behind him appeared to grow to a size that completely dwarfed him. Oli reached out and screamed, hoping against hope that his dad could hear him and help him. His lower half shrunk down to fall with him, and Oli could only watch as the slit of his world now high above him close up. He had been consumed. Before he could even stay paralyzed in despair, a force swung his body back to fall face down, a sliver of pale moonlight tearing itself open and coming in fast beneath his feet. His feet were the first to exit, and he was immediately met with the sensation of fighting gravity as the rest of his body was launched out from whatever portal he exited from. Once his head came out, Oli could notice as his arm, which still reached out for the world he was ripped from, was pulled out from between the crease of another book sitting upon the brick floor of a colder, dark room. The tips of his fingers were the last of himself to come out, and once they did, the crease rose up and sealed itself. Oli fell chest-first onto the floor as his waist, knees, and toes swung down with them. Oli grunted and whined, both in the shooting pain in his knees in particular, and the immediate realization that he was not at home, or anyplace familiar to think of. “…thinking you could defeat me!” The immediate recognition of a haughty female voice echoed faintly down a staircase into the room he had suddenly found himself in. “Now you will never see your princess, or your sun!” “Hah…?” Despite the sheer aches he still felt, there was something too familiar about what he made out to ignore. “The night will last forever!” As maniacal laughter sounded out next, Oli kept his eyes open and readied himself to blink to confirm what he thought was happening upstairs. With a tight shut, he heard the loud clang of metal shoes against stone, followed by the shattering of crystal. Suddenly pain no longer mattered, and what he felt that he confirmed was too crazy to be true, even though he knew almost for certain that it was. “No…” he could only mutter. “You think you can destroy the Elements of Harmony just like that?” Oli slowly stood with shuddering breath, now unable to pretend that the voice he just now heard belonged to anyone else other than the character who said that exact line in exactly the same way in the second half of the series premiere. As he continued listening to her monologue and hearing her refer to each of the characters he came to know and love by name, he slowly limped his way to the stairs, creeping up each step two feet at a time, careful not to betray himself to her or any one of them. Upon spotting the top step, he got down to all fours and crawled as quietly as his injured chest and legs would allow. “You see, Nightmare Moon, when those elements are ignited by the spark that resides in the heart of us all,” she concluded, “it creates the sixth element, the element of magic!” Oli got as close as he felt comfortable getting without being seen, but the scene before him could not be clearer. The crystal orb with a six-pronged star carved into it floated high up in the chamber he was nearly inside before its light shone out everywhere. When he looked back after shielding his eyes from the flash, he noticed as six ponies, each of them he could no longer mistake for anyone else, began to float up as the shards of the broken crystal shot into their chests, creating their Elements of Harmony. With the unicorn he recognized as the Twilight Sparkle shifting back to join her friends to defeat Nightmare Moon once and for all, there was no way to deny it any longer. “Oh my fucking god,” he whispered with a shudder.