The Master

A storified version of a dream I had some years ago:

“Shush, will you, you'll wake Billy,” this was a harsh whisper in the dark. Too late, I thought, I’m already awake. Even though the sky was still dressed for evening, dawn was not far away.

“What are you guys up to?” I asked.

“None of your business weirdo, just go back to sleep.”

That was my brother Mark. Just a couple of years older but he lived in a completely different world. A teenager.

I sat up and looked at them, two silhouettes in the dark, my brother and his best friend Tom. They were obviously up to something-and I thought I knew what.

“You're going to see the Master, aren't you,” I whispered accusingly.

“What if we are,” my brother shot back, “What's it to you?”

“You TOLD him!” Tom almost exploded.

“Shut up,” my brother said, “you'll wake my parents.”

“But you know what He said...” Tom started, somewhat more quietly.

“I didn't TELL him anything,” my brother continued, “the little snoop listens.” While they were talking, my brother had finished putting his shoes on and the both started out the window.

“I want to come too,” I said, in a rush, before it was too late.“Yah right!” my brother tossed over his shoulder, continuing to open the window.

“Yah,” sneered Tom, a bit of a weasel, “only those Invited can come.”

As if being Invited is anything special, I thought to myself. “I don't care.” I whined back, ” I can go if I want to.”

“Forget it,” my brother said, now halfway out the window.

“I'll tell,” I said, playing my trump card.

My bother was now standing on the porch roof, his body bent at an angle because the edge of the roof was a little bit to right of the window. He paused, turned and looked at me, his eyes, visible despite the dark, caused a shiver to run down my spine. I though he was going to hit me.

“Whatever,” said Tom quickly, for he knew that look, “let the little snot come…if he can.” “You'd better keep up,” he said to me, “don't expect us to wait for you!”

“It doesn't matter anyway,” my brother muttered, still looking at me, “the Master will take care of him.” With that his head disappeared and Tom started out the window.

I think he might have been looking forward to seeing what the Master would do to me. That bothered me a little, but I pushed the thought from my mind and got up and threw on my clothes as fast as I could. In truth, I really had no idea what was going on. I had overheard just enough to know that something secret was up, and I wanted in.

I slipped out the window after they were both gone, pausing just long enough to see which direction they were heading. I had climbed out of our window before, but never in the this much hurry. I had no time to look around as I flung myself carelessly for the porch roof and scrabbled for the forward edge. The air was cool and smelled of dew and pine trees as I dropped quickly to the ground, slipping on the damp grass. I paid no attention to the scratches and scrapes I picked up in my haste. I scrambled to my feet and sprinted across the lawn. When I hit the sidewalk, I could see them a few houses down and pushed harder to catch up. I carved through the air like a racing sloop. The air flowed around me, lifting the back of my shirt, ruffling my hair and cooling my shoes, damp from dewy grass.

“We'd better move it,” Tom was saying as I caught up, “the sun's almost up. You know what he said...”

“Yeah, yeah. Dawn.” My brother cut him off. He didn't like anyone telling him anything. They both ignored me.

I didn’t even have a chance to catch my breath before they took off down the street toward the beach, jackets fluttering in the still air. Even though the big elms along the street were still in their full summer leaf, we could easily find our way through their shadows. Not that it mattered, we could find our way blindfolded. We had walked this way to the beach nearly every day during that summer.

No one spoke the rest of the way. The sun still wasn't up when we crossed the last street and stepped onto the sand. The mountains on the other side of the bay were hard black silhouettes that would release the sun at any moment. We were just in time.

Out across the glassy water we saw a five small boats, hooked together prow to stern and looking like a kiddy circus train from an amusement park. The lead boat was shinny black and shaped like an old-fashioned train engine in a cartoon. It was puffing smoke in stylized puffs, each one separate and fluffy and growing larger before it faded into the sky. Each of the boats were different, but all were brightly colored and cartoon shaped. They looked ridiculous and somehow sinister on a real bay, winding through real sailboats, heading for the shore.

Driving the lead boat was a figure that I took to be the Master. Cartoonish, like his train, thin and dressed in a shiny black coat and top hat. He had a large head, impossibly thin arms and legs and large hands and feet. He drove the train like an engineer, right up to the edge of the water as though he was pulling into a station. A part of my mind wondered about that, how any boat could come so close to the shore without grounding in the shallow water.

I just stared as the train pulled to a stop and Master stepped out onto the sand. He stood still for a moment, watching us, then he smiled and tipped his hat. Then I realized that my brother and Tom, who had kept on walking when I stopped, were a lot closer than I was and, with a shout, had started to run again. I was way behind.

I started to run across the soft sand, feet sinking in and sand flying off my shoes. I had to watch my feet to keep from stumbling over the uneven sand. That beach seemed a million miles wide, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t seem to get any closer to the water. I began to get seriously worried when I looked up and saw my brother within a few steps of the train. I tried to speed up, but then something grabbed both feet and I fell face first into the sand.

I was sure it was the Master. He was holding my feet! I tried to kick and pull my legs free and spit sand out of my mouth at the same time. I kept my eyes closed to protect them from the sand as I thrashed around, unable to loosen my legs even a little. Finally I broke down and cried. “I want to go,” I whined to myself.

I opened my tear-filled eyes and turned my head around to plead with the Master. The whine died half-formed in my mouth when I saw my dad holding my feet. I stared for a moment then looked back in front of me again. No beach. I saw…grass, our front yard and the front of our house from the point of view of someone hanging head-first out my bedroom window.

I dimly heard shouting and crying as my dad pulled me inside. I was confused and out of touch, and my face hurt. Where was the beach? What happened? A weird dream? I became aware that my dad was saying something. “Where was Mark?” “How the heck do I know,” I thought, though it was too much effort to answer. I was numb with confusion and disappointment, and completely detached as I watched my parents. I was already too far gone to even try to understand them as they drifted further and further away and the blackness closed in.

When I woke up the next morning, things had calmed down a bit. But they were never the same, for that was the last time I saw my brother. I was the last time anyone saw my brother or Tom. No one knew what to make of my story, least of all me, but I think that Mark, like many teenagers, was trying to get away from his past and, unfortunately for him, he found a way.