Bonkers Town

Dreamland Teaparty {Chapter Four}

{Chapter Four}

A large, ancient looking closet stood before Mason, covered in a cave of colorful balloons. He looked down at the bronze key in his grasp with lingering hesitance.

Just a dream. He reminded himself. One could not possibly die again in a dream could they? But then again, one normally should not be conscious within their own dream, so the general rules of logic were not applicable in this situation. Or rather any situation in Bonkers Town, for that matter.

He wondered if he could feel any pain, and so he bit down on his thumb, leaving tooth marks and a piercing sensation of pain on his skin; He could feel pain.

"Shucks." He muttered under his breath before inserting the key into the keyhole, twisting it open with a low click. He slowly swung the squeaky door open to reveal nothing but an empty closet full of soundly sleeping dust.

He hesitantly poked his head inside of the dark closet, his amber clock eyes skimming around for anything that needed a warning, or simply just anything at all, but to no avail. Relieved yet disappointed, he turned on his heel to leave the balloon room only to freeze in his tracks when he heard a faint squeak from the closet behind him.

Before he could turn around for a proper look the source of the sound, the large empty closet fell forward onto him, trapping him inside before standing back straight on its feet and locking itself with the key outside.

~

Remie and Ram walked the abandoned halls of the old and strange hotel. The floor was checkered and the walls were scattered with torn, dirty wallpaper. The lobby, rooms, poolside and elevators were empty, nothing but vines and plants crawling around where dead humans once lived.

Remie was singing and swinging her arms as she walked alongside Ram, making up the words along the way; "Sweet, sweet dreams, like cinnamon spice. La La La La La, how wondrous, how nice. Walking in a dream, it could have been hours. La La La La...what rhymes with hours?"

Ram thought for a moment, "Powers, towers...trousers? No, that does not quite rhyme, does it?"

Remie chuckled, "La La La La La, Rammie pooped his trousers."

"Hey!" he quipped, "I did not poop my trousers-OW!" He exclaimed as he banged a fist to his helmeted head involuntarily.

"That one is new, innit?"

"Not really." He replied in disappointment, "I once wacked myself with a block of wood. My mother had put a band aid on my head and I had to lie down for a proper ten minutes."

"Well, unfortunate as that sounds, at least you were not holding a hammer. That would have ended in terrible bloodshed."

"Oh, Remie, please stop talking about blood, it makes me lightheaded."

"Then, let's talk about something else, shall we? Anything at all, go!"

The pair went up a twisted flight of stairs as they talked.

"Hmmm..." He thought for a moment. "Do you think being a lucid dreamer has to do with one's level of consciousness?" Ram wondered as he walked by Remie.

Remie stopped, "Who's lucid?"

"It's not a-" Ram's hands involuntarily clapped together mid-sentence, "-person, Remie. Lucid dreaming, as in, being in control of your own dreams."

"Then perhaps we are...luciding in dreams. Or is it...dreaming lucidly?"

"Lucid dreaming. Just lucid dreaming."

"...To be frank, I quite prefer dreaming lucidly. Sounds rather intriguing. Like a bizarre, adultery drink." She said.

Ram stopped in his tracks, "What was that?"