A stream of thick black smoke seeps through a small crack in a slightly opened window. It breaks up into three streams that move through the moonlit room to Jackson Pierce’s open suitcase.

The three streams become corporeal, growing spindly limbs as they transform into the Djinn elders, SAKHIR, AZUZU, and MAYMUN.

AZUZU (scrutinizing the area): It reeks of absurdity in here.

SAKHIR: This feeble son of a donkey is unworthy of Set’s ka.

Maymun hovers over the suitcase. He spies a notebook inside and his red eyes sparkle. A sawtooth smile spreads across his shiny, tar-black face.

The notebook opens and reveals ritual instructions, arcane symbols and an incantation. Maymun’s claw fingers spread out like an oil spill over the pages. The charmed words morph on the page.

A spell is rewritten.

MAYMUN: He will come to us now.

AZUZU: And the relic?

MAYMUN: It will come with him.

INT. ST. JAMES MANSION - JACKSON’S STUDY - NIGHT

Egyptian hieroglyphics are painted on the windows. Shelves are stuffed with books, photos, and showbiz memorabilia. And there are trunks stuffed with the tools of magic (playing cards, linking rings, manipulation devices, etc).

Jackson stands in the center of a Wedjat Eye Pentagram that’s been painted on the floor. He is reading aloud from the notebook with the altered incantation.

SUPER: “Days later.”

JACKSON: “Itz rachu mantantu vespacha kaltamu. Itz ranta mant kala mant...

EXT. ST. JAMES MANSION - BACK GARDEN

The grounds quake. The whole of the manor house vibrates. Windows spider crack. A blinding light fills the inside of Jackson’s study.

INT. ST. JAMES MANSION - JACKSON’S STUDY

Jackson desperately pounds on the crackling energy wall that’s keeping him from being drawn into the cavity of... a great WHIRLING VORTEX!

Protected inside a force field, Jackson watches his whole world consumed by a violent maelstrom.

EXT. SINKHOLE - NEXT DAY

Morning sun sheds light on an enormous, smoking crater. The St. James Mansion and its grounds no longer exist.

Jackson Pierce’s hand reaches up from the pit. He pulls himself up to the surface. Without the glove.

INT. HOTEL SUITE - DAY

A JOURNALIST with a tape recorder is interviewing an older, defeated Jackson.

SUPER: “1974.”

As Jackson speaks, he scans certain items in the cluttered room: Masks, sketches and full blown illustrations of an Ibis, scattered scrolls, old books, and schematics from some kind of science experiment.

JACKSON (V.O.): I’m a fool. Selfish. Despicable.

BEGIN FLASHBACK MONTAGE

— TEMPLE CHAMBER. Torches are lit, revealing walls covered in hieroglyph depictions of Ibis/Thoth. Nearby, Sufi Priests perform a dance ritual where they encircle, spin, and swirl around Jackson. Recreating the vortex.

SUPER: “1932.”

JACKSON (V.O.): I wronged the ones I love.

— UNIVERSITY LIBRARY. Jackson, wearing a face mask and medical gloves, discovers a crude drawing of THE GLOVE in an ancient scroll.

SUPER: “1940.”

JACKSON (V.O.): When I finally realized my mistake, it was too late to change course.

— LABORATORY. Jackson wears a helmet filled with electrodes and wires. Bursts of alternating electrical currents spray out from it. Energy flows into the shape of the “Eye of Ra”.

SUPER: “1966.”

JACKSON (V.O.): My family was lost. And no matter how hard I tried, I could never bring them back.

— ST JAMES MANSION BACK GARDEN. Jackson flashes back to a romantic time with his wife.

SUPER: “1925”

END FLASHBACK MONTAGE.

BACK TO SCENE

Jackson appears lost in thought, staring into the abyss. Until frustration and anger rises to the surface.

JACKSON: This interview’s over. Shut that damn thing off. I can’t do this. (shouts) Just... leave. Go.

TO BE CONTINUED

Tricky Jack © Mark Scott Ricketts, based on the Dark Horse graphic novel “Lazarus Jack” created by Mark Ricketts (writer) and Horacio Domingues (artist).

It’s a glorious morning and the Pierce brothers (Jackson and Rahman) are practicing their archery skills. Rahman takes aim at the target while Jackson observes his brother’s stance.

RAHMAN: Ancient Tai-seti archers studied the integration of mind and body.

JACKSON: I really don’t need another history lesson.

RAHMAN: Once mental peace was achieved... (lets go the arrow) ... their aim was always true.

The arrow rockets toward a huge target—Twang!—and smacks the bullseye.

Jackson slips THE GLOVE (Houdini’s gift) over a hand and changes place with Rahman at the shooting line. He adjusts his stance.

RAHMAN: Where’s your bow?

Rahman offers Jackson his bow, but Jackson refuses it.

RAHMAN: What are you going to do? Toss that ridiculous glove at the target?

JACKSON: It’s not ridiculous.

RAHMAN: Right. I understand. You’re grieving. I’m rather sad, too.

JACKSON: Poor ol’ Harry.

RAHMAN: I sent flowers to Bess. From the both of us.

JACKSON: Are you upset he didn’t send you a gift?

RAHMAN: Hmph. Not really. I mean . . . it’s quite ugly, isn’t it? And being that there’s only one glove, it’s also impractical. So . . . no. My answer is no. Not upset.

JACKSON: Perhaps the mate was sent to your apartment.

RAHMAN: Unlikely. He always liked you best. His favorite flunky. (beat) It’s just—why a glove? A single glove? It’s perplexing. I’m guessing there’s some history behind the damn thing. Some kind of joke, maybe?

JACKSON: It’s no joke, Rahmie. You’ll see.

Jackson pulls back imaginary bow string on an imaginary bow. This also agitates Rahman.

RAHMAN: You’re a mime now?

JACKSON: Harry wanted to believe in real magic, otherworldly things, but he, like us, could only do tricks.

A quiver hanging from a nearby tree limb suddenly trembles.

JACKSON: He’d seek out anyone known to possess paranormal gifts. Or supernatural artifacts.

An arrow rises up from the quiver and levitates mid-air.

RAHMAN: Now you’re the history teacher.

Rahman sees the levitating arrow and he isn’t amused. But he is curious.

JACKSON: Most the sorcerers he interviewed were. . . grifters.

RAHMAN: Hmph. Showing off a new trick, are we?

The arrow takes off on its own, zooming toward the target.

Thwak! The arrow joins the other arrow lodged in the bullseye.

RAHMAN: How ARE you doing that? Explain, please. NOW.

JACKSON: Right before his death, Harry finally found what he’d been searching for –– REAL MAGIC.

RAHMAN: Trifle with the devil, you’re bound to be burned.

Jackson raises the imaginary bow again.

JACKSON: Like a wild animal, the supernatural can be tamed. Those are your words. Remember?

The remaining arrows rise up from the quiver.

RAHMAN: Even a tamed animal can bite the hand that feeds it.

Ten arrows make their way to the bullseye.

RAHMAN: Harry discovers a so-called “magic” glove and then dies. . . mysteriously? How valuable is this glove? Was he murdered for it? Or is it cursed? (beat) Cursed, uff, forget I just said that. Just tell me . . . how exactly DID Harry die, Jackson?

JACKSON: You’re worried. Stop worrying. I’ll be careful. I’m always careful.

RAHMAN: What? Since when have you ever—

INT. TRIBUNE TOWER — BULLPEN - DAY

Jackson, accompanied by Rahman, holds an impromptu PRESS CONFERENCE inside the Chicago newspaper office. Journalists, photographers and staff gather around. Hearing commotion, the Publisher and some Copy Editors step out of their offices to join.

JACKSON: “The Man Who Walks Away From His Shadow.” (beat) My old boss, the great Harry Houdini taught me that trick. The late great, I’m told. (sighs) Gone, yet his legend lingers.

RAHMAN (aside to Jackson): A bit thick, old boy.

JACKSON: My brother just remarked that no one will ever take his place. That’s probably true. Who in this life could possibly wear such a heavy crown?

Jackson scans the room as if looking for a candidate.

JACKSON: Okay, I will. I’ll do it.

Jackson waits for laughs to subside.

JACKSON: Tomorrow night as a tribute to this great, great man –– this legend –– I will perform his classic Water Torture Act.

Everyone applauds.

JACKSON: One last time, let’s shout his name to the Heavens. Just as they’ve done in theaters all around the world.

EXT. VAUDEVILLE THEATRE – NIGHT

A crowd dressed in evening clothes gathers underneath a marquee that reads: “TRICKY JACK – A TRIBUTE TO HARRY HOUDINI — SPECIAL PERFORMANCE - ONE NIGHT ONLY!”

High above the marquee, three Djinn scale the theater facade.

INT. VAUDEVILLE THEATRE - STAGE - LATER

Kettledrums are pounded in the orchestra pit.

The curtain opens on Angeline, dressed in a Chinese Empress costume. Her glittery headdress sparkles in the spotlight.

She directs audience attention to the main event: Eerie green lights reveal Jackson, handcuffed, wrapped in chains, hanging upside down by his ankles over a glass water tank. He’s wearing a one-piece swimsuit. No glove.

Rahman, in an ornate dragon robe with Hanfu hat, stands at the bottom of the tank with a fire axe –– in case of emergency.

Jackson is lowered into the water. Then a blue velvet shroud lifts up from the floor and covers the tank.

A spotlight reveals a huge clock ticking off the time Jackson spends underwater.

Tick Tock. Rahman raises the axe, ready for anything.

Tick Tock. The orchestra stops playing.

Tick Tock. Audience distress becomes audible.

Tick Tock. Angeline also appears distressed.

ANGELINE: Something’s wrong.

House lights go up. The stage is fully lit.

RAHMAN: Close the main curtains! Now!

Rahman is just about to shatter the tank with his axe when the shroud surrounding the tank drops to the floor.

There’s a collective gasp from the audience.

A woman in the front row screams!

The exposed water tank is bright orange. Brimming with Coy!

Jackson emerges from the tank as if walking through a projected image. He’s completely dry, wearing a boat hat, striped blazer, flannels, and THE GLOVE.

The crowd goes wild! They chant:

AUDIENCE: JACK! JACK! JACK! JACK!

The show isn’t over yet. Jackson steps to Rahman and takes the axe. Rahman reflexively obliges, backing away.

JACKSON (to Rahman): How’m I doing?

Jackson flings the axe at the tank.

Skaash! The tank smashes open.

No shattered glass. No flood of water and coy. Just a sparkling spray of glitter, followed by a flock of doves. All this while the orchestra plays “Wild About Harry”.

HOUSE SEATING

Doves fly over the delirious crowd. Applause is accompanied by stomping feet, whistling, climbing on seats, whooping, and cheers. Men and women weep. Some drop to their knees in the aisles. Some rush the stage, reaching up, hoping to touch the great illusionist.

BACK ON STAGE

Jackson glides across the boards to Angeline’s side. She lets go the curtain and collapses in his arms.

JACKSON (to Angeline): What? Too much?

TO BE CONTINUED

Tricky Jack © Mark Scott Ricketts, based on the Dark Horse graphic novel “Lazarus Jack” created by Mark Ricketts (writer) and Horacio Domingues (artist).

From pitch-black nothingness comes the faint sound of tortured screaming.

An (inverted) negative image materializes, taking the shape of an imposing Egyptian-style palace complex. The screams seem to be coming from there.

SUPER: “Palace Ma’at, 540 BCE”

INT. PALACE MA’AT - THRONE ROOM

A trail of red footprints lead to . . . the boss-horned God SET.

Set is covered in tattoos and gore. He drops a bloody dagger, plops down on a throne, and admires his handiwork.

Sexless, tar-black creatures with beady red eyes hover over Set’s many murder victims. They are DJINN.

SET: Whisk the offenders away, little ones.

The Djinn and the corpses (Set’s victims) vanish, leaving behind only puddles of blood.

Seconds later, a large circle of sparking bright light appears.

HEKA, a dazzling God wearing a Sekhemti crown, emerges from within the circle of crackling light. He is accompanied by a God with the head of a long-beaked bird (IBIS). This is THOTH.

SET (OS): Uck! You two? What do you bedwetters want?

The glow surrounding Heka fades and his true form is revealed -- a slouchy, pock-marked boy with curling side locks.

Thoth shakes away the mask of his totem animal. Behind the beaked bird: An effeminate boy decked out in a glimmering sheath dress with a jeweled side bag.

Both of these awkward young Gods wear too much mascara.

Heka hands his crown over to Thoth.

SET (OS): RA send you? (mumbles) Of course he did.

“KA” arms (complete with hands) emerge from either side of Heka’s head. The arms bend and their raised hands turn inward to face each other. A GLOWING ORB appears between their open palms.

EXAMPLE OF KA ARMS

HEKA: The right hand of Osiris holds peace, the left hand of Set releases chaos.

SET (snarls at Heka): What is THIS nonsense?

HEKA: Those who dare to upset that balance must be punished. Such is the law of Ma’at, the will of RA.

SET: Punished? What? No, no, no. Hear me out, boys. My actions were clearly justified. I merely reset the balance. Stabilized it.

Heka and Thoth blankly stare at Set.

SET: My wife, my brother, they betrayed me. Then they tried to fool me into believing their bastard was my heir. I could have tortured them both, endlessly. But I showed mercy. Their deaths were quick.

THOTH: The baby, too? Un-believable.

SET: So that’s how it is, is it?

Set quickly retrieves his dagger and lunges at Heka.

Heka’s orb emits a stroboscopic wave that immobilizes Set— freezes him in a state of suspended-animation.

The dagger drops from Set’s paralyzed hand, rolls along the floor.

The dagger stops at Thoth’s feet.

THOTH: Eew.

HEKA: Set’s perverse spirit will henceforth be imprisoned until once again connected to a disciplined counterpart. Praise RA.

The orb pulsates.

Set’s bones crack. His body folds into itself—becomes pliable, putty-like. With surprisingly little blood, Set’s corporeal form is supernaturally molded into a LEFT-HANDED GLOVE.

THOTH: Brutal.

A stylized depiction of THE EYE OF RA is scorched into the palm of the glove.

Thoth waits for the glove to cool. With pinched fingers he picks it up and deposits it in his bag.

Heka’s orb dissipates and the Ka arms slide back inside his head.

Thoth returns Heka’s crown and helps adjust it.

Heka surveys the crime scene one last time. He then fixes his gaze on Thoth.

HEKA: Thoth, my dearest brother, it is imperative that you monitor and document absolutely everything. Even after the glove is linked to a worthy vessel.

THOTH: I think I know my job, Heka. Stop worrying. You make me nervous.

HEKA: It’s just -- (shakes head) What is RA thinking? Only a fool would choose to wear that glove. It should be destroyed.

THOTH: Well, it’s like you said, the essence of the God of Chaos remains dormant until a—um— what did you call it? Oh yeh. Until a disciplined counterpart is awakened. Balance is the key that sets Set free. Ooh, that rhymed.

HEKA: God of Peace. That’s like a joke, isn’t it?

THOTH: See there, no worries. Let’s go home.

INT. ST. JAMES MANSION - STUDY – NIGHT

A banner hangs on a wall in a room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, rich wood paneling, leather armchairs, a large desk, and a fireplace. The banner features an illustration of a young man punching out the Grim Reaper with an uppercut. Reads: “Tricky Jack - Death Defier!”

JACKSON PIERCE, 22, a smirking young man in a smoking jacket, stands by an accent table near the banner. He’s admiring the framed photograph next to the evening tea tray.

The photograph shows escapologist, illusionist and stunt performer Harry Houdini in chains, flanked by two young men wearing police uniforms. Jackson is one of those young men.

SUPER: “1926.”

Jackson picks up the rolled newspaper on the tea tray.

JACKSON: Did you read what those curs wrote about me in the Trib?

Jackson snaps open the paper and begins reading from an article

JACKSON: “His rich wife indulges his lust for glory.”

VOICE (O.S.): Glory? Never heard of her.

Jackson tosses the newspaper aside and dusts his hands.

JACKSON: They called me a mimic, a pale imitation of the great Houdini. That! That really stung.

VOICE (O.S.): It’s not totally untrue.

The “Voice” belongs to Jackson’s adopted brother, RAHMAN PIERCE, 22, an olive–skinned Egyptian American. He’s the other young man featured in the photo with Houdini.

JACKSON: Et Tu?

Rahman, wearing a red fez with black tassel, is sitting on the floor, entertaining Jackson’s two-year-old son, JACKIE JR. with card tricks. Jackie Jr is also wearing a fez.

With a flourish, playing cards fan out in Rahman’s hand.

RAHMAN: Pick a card, Jackie boy. Any card.

Jackie Jr. barely understands what’s going on, but perks up, hearing his name.

Jackson returns to the tea tray. Fills a cup.

JACKSON: I do borrow from Houdini, that’s true. (adds sugar to tea) And yes, my wife is wealthy. Stinking rich, to be exact. But I’m no fraud. (exaggerated gesture with spoon) I just need to refresh my act.

Jackson picks up the cup. Takes a sip.

JACKSON: Create something... spectacular.

Rahman shuffles the cards again. He lifts “the Ace of Spades” from the deck.

RAHMAN: Is this your card, young man?

Jackie Jr. is delighted! Not because it’s his card, just because his uncle is silly.

JACKSON (to Jackie Jr): Avoid the entertainment industry, son.

Jackson kneels down, removes Jackie Jr’s fez, tousles the boy’s hair.

JACKSON: (to Jackie Jr) And totally avoid journalism at all cost. (to Rahman) Well? Are you going to comment?

RAHMAN: My dear, dear brother, you want for nothing and you have all the love and attention any man could ever need. Still, for some reason, you crave more. Why is that?

Rahman shuffles the cards again.

RAHMAN: Isn’t it enough our former employer hasn’t sued you? He’s sued every other thief.

JACKSON: Harry loves me. (mumbles) I did finance his last event.

Rahman’s shuffling gets creative (Faro/Hindu/Overhand). Jackie Jr. is fascinated by the fluttering cards.

RAHMAN: These so-called journalists, they’re jealous of the great Jackson Pierce. Yes. (Riffles cards) Jealous.

Jackson flashes a self-satisfied smile.

Rahman sets the deck aside and lifts his fez. The Ace of Spades is perched on his head.

ANGELINE (ST. JAMES) PIERCE, 21, a stunning beauty in a long-waisted gown, enters the room.

ANGELINE: Okay, ya hooligans, break it up in here.

JACKIE JR: Mama!

Angeline swoops Jackie Jr. up in her arms.

ANGELINE (to Jackie Jr): Time for bed, my love.

Angeline moves toward Jackson next. She leans in to give him a gentle kiss.

ANGELINE: Don’t stay up too late, darling.

Jackson puts an arm around his wife, pulls her in, and gives her a more passionate kiss.

JACKSON: I am lucky, aren’t I?

Then Jackson kisses his son’s head.

JACKSON: Nitey night, sport.

Angeline turns to face Rahman.

ANGELINE: Are you staying tonight?

RAHMAN: If that’s all right.

ANGELINE: Of course it is, silly. (beat) I don’t understand why you insist on having your own place. There are too many rooms in this monstrosity. It’s a waste not to use them.

RAHMAN: You’re too kind.

ANGELINE (to Jackie Jr): We love Uncle Rahmie, don’t we?

Jackie Jr. agrees with a smile and a nod.

The butler, THORNDYKE, 60s, appears at the doorway. He’s toting a brown paper package.

THORNDYKE: Ahem.

Angeline and Jackie Jr pass Thorndyke on their way out.

ANGELINE: Good night, Mr. Thorndyke. Don’t let these boys keep you up.

THORNDYKE (eyebrow raised): Yes, madame.

JACKSON: Whatd’ya got there, Thorny?

THORNDYKE: This—um— this just arrived for you, sir.

RAHMAN: Rather late to be receiving packages.

Jackson takes the package.

JACKSON: A reporter? Right?

THORNDYKE: No sir.

Thorndyke points out the business card attached to the package.

JACKSON: What’s this? A law firm?

RAHMAN: I knew it.

Jackson reads the card.

JACKSON: Am I being sued?

RAHMAN: Had to happen sooner or later.

THORNDYKE: The messenger claimed the package was sent by a firm that represents Mr. and Mrs. Erik Weisz.

RAHMAN: Harry and Bess? Oh my.

JACKSON: I’m being sued. That bastard. He’s got a nerve.

Jackson examines the package.

THORNDYKE: Yes, well, according to the messenger Mr. Weisz recently passed away.

RAHMAN: No.

JACKSON: Harry Houdini’s dead?

THORNDYKE: I’m merely repeating what the man told me.

JACKSON: Impossible. He’s downstairs, isn’t he? Harry’s downstairs. Gonna pop up and sing “Jolly Good Fellow” is he?

THORNDYKE (confused): No sir.

RAHMAN: Jackson, stop pestering the man. Let him go about his business.

JACKSON: Of course. Sorry, Thorndyke. I just—

Jackson shakes the package.

THORNDYKE: My condolences, gentlemen.

RAHMAN: Very kind of you, old boy. Good night. Sleep well.

Rahman closes the door behind Thorndyke, then spins around to face Jackson.

RAHMAN: Well? Are you going to open it or not?

Jackson tears into the package and is surprised by its contents.

RAHMAN: What is it?

JACKSON: A glove. It’s a glove.

Rahman removes his fez.

RAHMAN: A glove? A gauntlet more like. It’s like he’s challenging you from the afterlife.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

ANGELINE, JACKSON, AND RAHMAN PIERCE

Tricky Jack © Mark Scott Ricketts, based on the Dark Horse graphic novel “Lazarus Jack” created by Mark Ricketts (writer) and Horacio Domingues (artist).

Shane Patrick White is an amateur dinosaurologist, small animal wrestler, and protostar sculptor whose work has been exhibited inside pop-up cloud nebulae in the 27b/6 Galaxy. His awards include a much coveted Golden Carafe from the Board of Directors at the Society of InterGalactic Designers and a blackhole named after his pet squirrel: Lord Nutmouth.

For information on his lesser pursuits, go here

Will Pfeifer is an essayist, lecturer and a renown food critic. Unfortunately, due to a teleportation mishap, he is now a stainless steel, easy to clean, energy-efficient saucepan that can also be used in an oven.

For information on his lesser pursuits, go HERE

THE DREAM FACTORY 11- 14

THE DREAM FACTORY 15

THE DREAM FACTORY 16

THE DREAM FACTORY 17

THE DREAM FACTORY 18

Summary of Chapters 15 - 18

Otto lands inside a corporate high-rise in a human city. And he’s been transformed into a teenage “human” girl. Without a tail. He’s joined by Pandora who has also turned into a human girl. Without wings. And the horse who drove the Swap Witch’s caravan has become… a dragonfly. Apparently he can talk now and his name is Izzy. All these confusing distractions don’t deter Otto from his mission, though. There are still nightmare bubbles to be contained.

BACK HOME at the Dream Factory, the workers are on STRIKE! Foreman Grizzle and a mob of disgruntled employees protest; make demands. But the powers that be are not easily swayed. To quell the protest, the Board has hired immovable, living gargoyles and an Ice Pirate (Gaspar) who freezes his victims. With no possibility of compromise, the strike turns into an insurrection.

Back in the HUMAN WORLD, inside the corporate high-rise, the Boss has unexpectedly arrived. He says he’s come to relieve Otto of the nightmare bubbles he’s retrieved. But the Boss is awfully aggressive about it and Otto is forced to fight for his life. That is, until the Boss gets word that the Chairman of the Board, PRIME ELDER SNERT, wishes to speak with Otto.

Otto meets with the Chairman, who also happens to be the author of Otto’s favorite self-help book, BE SOMEBODY. In conference, Prime Elder Snert confesses that the dream bubbles were never distributed to human children. The only reason Otto was sent on his mission was to keep the negative energy of the nightmare bubbles from contaminating pure dream bubbles. Prime Elder Snert divulges that the positive energy contained in dream bubbles magically generate a currency that gives the Board power in the human world.

Prime Elder Snert tempts Otto and Pandora with riches and power, but Otto refuses to turn his back on his people. Instead, Otto faces off against his former hero, dead set on retrieving the positive energy the Board has stolen so he can return it to the Fae World.

Otto takes possession of the stolen positive energy, but he still needs to find a way back home. Enter the Swap Witch. She’s come to bargain with Otto and she wants his beavers. What beavers? Otto has no idea what she’s talking about.

In the middle of Otto’s negotiations with the Swap Witch, The Boss returns with a nightmare bubble in tow. The Boss hurtles the dark bubble toward Otto, but Izzy the dragonfly — formerly a caravan horse— blocks it.

Doused in nightmares, Izzy transforms into a gigantic MUTANT MONSTER! The huge, monstrous dragonfly panics! It flaps it’s horrible wings and flails around, causing all kinds of commotion. Otto, caught in the middle of this melee, turns to the Swap Witch for a way out. He desperately offers the Swap Witch… the beavers. Even though, as far as he knows, there are no beavers to trade. That detail set aside, the Swap Witch is satisfied with the deal and grants Otto, Pandora, and Izzy passage back to the Fae World.

Otto, Pandora and Izzy return HOME. Fully restored to their fairy selves. Pandora has her wings and — BONUS — Otto’s extended tail has fused to his body. Izzy is no longer a monstrous dragonfly, or a horse. He’s just a normal sized dragonfly. And they’ve brought back a caravan full of dream bubbles. Unfortunately for our heroes, the Fae World is a mess. The Ice Pirate has frozen former co-workers. The factory no longer exists. The Fae village is in shambles.

Otto battles with the Ice Pirate and loses his new tail. But Foreman Grizzle shows up with a dream bubble and douses the Ice Pirate with positive energy. The positive energy released is so powerful it not only pacifies the Ice Pirate, it also restores the Fae World. And thaws out the frozen factory workers.

Happy days! Otto is a celebrated somebody. Everything’s perfect. Well… for now.

Meanwhile, back in the HUMAN WORLD, the Boss discovers some items that weren’t sent back to the Fae World — some of the Swap Witch’s possessions. Among those treasures, there’s a mysterious package addressed to the Dream Factory. And it contains a manual with schematics for the Dream Bubbler™.

THE DREAM FACTORY © Mark Scott Ricketts

ART FOR THE DREAM FACTORY © Horacio Dominques, Mark Scott Ricketts

BEGIN HERE:

THE FAE WORLD

The nightmare bubble is warm. It’s surprising how nice it feels, vibrating in my hands. It’s changing color, too. There’s a golden glow growing in its center.

“Otto?” Pandora shakes me. “Are you o—”

Pandora’s mouth looked as if it was about to shape a word, but she’s gone quiet. I think she’s frozen in place. Not like one of the ice pirate’s victims. More like she’s suspended in time. I gently pull away from her stiff grip.

Grizzle, the Crow, and the Boss are motionless, too.

Where did the bubble go? It was in my hands.

Electrified fur is standing on end. Tiny sparks rise up from my goose pimply skin. I feel funny.

“Greetings from the ether,“ says a faint voice in my inner ear. “The universe provides for those who give of themselves. Be good and good will come back to you, many times over.”

That’s a lot of mystical mumbo jumbo. Who said that?

“I am THE COSMOS,” says the voice.

Flashy name. Who are you really?

“I am here to enlighten.” The Cosmos adds: “Everyone feels the need to be superior to someone else, but those feelings only plant the seeds for negative magic. It is positive magic that opens the doors to perception, happiness, and righteousness.”

Okay, I’ll play along. “How do we do that?”

The door from the cloakroom to the cathedral automatically opens by itself.

“Enter with positivity,” says The Cosmos.

I cautiously poke my head inside the cathedral.

The congregation, both elders and stockholders, are all there and not one of them is moving a muscle. Like my friends, they’re in a state of suspended animation. It’s like a wax museum. Or a warehouse filled with garden statues.

I was so worried I might have to mercilessly torture them with nightmares. Seeing them stock-still is preferable to watching them scream, scratch at the walls, beat on doors, tear out hair, or burst into flames.

Things coulda got ugly up in here.

The Cosmos agrees. “Ugly indeed. You can’t get the smell of fear out of a satin cassock. Even with magic.”

My cheeks get hot. The Cosmos can obviously hear my thoughts. I’m new to telepathic communication with an otherworldly whatever and I for sure don’t feel comfortable sharing everything that pops into my head.

It would service no end for me to evaluate the character of corporeal beings based on their unfiltered inner thoughts,” The Cosmos says. “I merely glean information in order to adapt to those I choose to channel. Please excuse me while I make a few modifications to my presentation.”

“Look, uh, I have no idea what you just said, but I want you to know that I’m sorry for any terrible things I might think about you,” I say out loud. Though I guess I could have just thought it. Telepathic communication will take practice, I think.

The Cosmos doesn’t seem in the least bit bothered. “No biggie,” it says.

I’m thinking I might not have heard The Cosmos correctly. “No biggie?”

The Cosmos says, “Kudos to you for choosing positive magic over negative. Nightmares are such party poopers. They gum up the works every time.”

I can actually feel The Cosmos shuffling through my inner thoughts.

“Oh, don’t worry about the other nightmare,” The Cosmos tells me. “I’ve already recycled it for you.”

Without warning, I levitate a few feet above ground. It’s alarming. “Whoop!”

“Sorry about that,” The Cosmos says, “That was rude, right? Didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that I’d like to move things along. Hope you don’t mind?”

“Guess it’s okay.” Not sure I can trust The Cosmos, but what choice do I have?

Standing erect, legs together, I coast over the cathedral’s center aisle carpet heading for the main altar. This feels strange, but, hey, I’ve experienced a lot of strange things in the last forty-eight hours.

The velvet curtain located behind the thrones of the Elders pulls back to reveal a round, stainless steel vault. Code is automatically punched into the keypad on its door.

Prime Elder Snert is standing beside his throne. I don’t care if he’s a villain, I still love his book.

“Would you like to talk to him, Otto?” The Cosmos asks. “Do it now before I reassign him to a new location.”

Prime Elder Snert wakes, though his legs are still frozen in place. When he sees me floating near the vault, his eyes widen. “Move away from that vault, Otto. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Prime Elder Snert remembered my name. Oh, he’s good. He’s real good.

“If you want someone to follow you, remember to call them by name.” ––Prime Elder Snert, BE SOMEBODY

“Prime elder,” I say. “I wish I’d brought a copy of your book for you to sign.”

“Serve praise like it’s a delicious dessert.” ––Prime Elder Snert, BE SOMEBODY

Prime Elder Snert stops squirming and smiles. “You’ve read my book?”

“I would shake your hand, sir,” I tell him. “But I think I’ll need both hands to open the vault.”

Prime Elder Snert wriggles a bit more. “Oh, you can do that anytime,” he says. “We should be discussing your future right now. I’ve got big plans for you, Otto.”

“I know this adage, sir,” I say, my tail stroking the five-spoke vault handle. “Say what you need to get what you want.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” Snert fake laughs. “I could see you were clever right from the start.”

“Yes sir, I’m the guy who knows the guy who knows a guy that knows . . . the truth.”

Prime Elder Snert snorts, he stretches out his arms to touch me. But his reach is a few inches short. “I don’t know what you think you know, Otto, but you’ve made a huge mistake.”

“I’m just taking your suggestions to heart, sir.” I say. “Showing initiative.”

Prime Elder Snert tenses. “I will rip that tail off your backside and feed it to you.”

Snert’s eyes suddenly roll back in his head and he collapses in a heap.

“He used to be my hero,” I say, watching long white hairs sprout from his sleeping face until he’s grown a full beard.

“Yes,” The Cosmos says, “He was a lovely fellow before he was corrupted by nightmares.”

“I used to think he was the best of us all.”

“It’s time for him to go back to the North Pole where he can do some good again. He’ll still run a factory, but he’ll mostly be responsible for deliveries. His wife will still be at his side. Along with a troupe of highly motivated elves.”

Prime Elder Snert dissolves into sparkles that blow away.

Long ears spring from Prime Elder Lepus’ head.

“And for this one, I foresee a lifetime of coloring and hiding eggs.”

Prime Elder Lepus dissolves as well.

Prime Elder Oriole turns bright blue. He shrinks to the size of a blueberry and tiny blue wings shoot out from his back.

“Spread some happiness, little bird.”

Prime Elder Oriole also dissolves.

“Now, where were we? Oh yes, I want you to know that I’m going to continue to work on my communication skills,” The Cosmos says. ”If you have any suggestions on how to more easily explain miracles, I’m eager to hear your thoughts.”

“My thoughts?” I say. “If I had any, wouldn’t you already know them?”

“Touché,” The Cosmos says. “By the way, my name really is THE COSMOS. It’s flamboyant, I know, but I could always shorten it. How about Moe? That’s not pretentious at all, is it?”

Don’t change your name on my account.

“I like Moe.” The Cosmos laughs. “It’s catchy.”

Your call. “So, what do we do now?” I ask.

“Would you mind opening the vault, Otto? “ says the Cosmos.

I do as he asks. I turn the five-spoke handle until the vault door clicks. Within seconds, a sputtering current of golden energy leaks from the opening door.

“There’s my ride,” The Cosmos says.

An intense shaft of light shoots out of my mouth, eyes, and ears. Once the light exits me, it joins with the glinting gold stream gushing from the vault — without saying goodbye.

I sigh. Now that I’m no longer filled with a positive entity, I feel down, melancholy. I glumly watch the hypnotic, wavelike motion of positive energy as it snakes up the wall of the cathedral, spitting out tiny, tinkling stars.

“Thanks, Moe,” I say.

When the last crackle escapes through the cathedral ventilation, I return to the cloakroom.

The Boss is curled up like a dozing cat. I have to step over him to reach the others. The crow, Pandora, and Grizzle are slowly coming back to life, but they look confused. I give Pandora a hug and tell her, “It’s over.”

She looks around the room. “What’s over?”

“Let me show you,” I say, motioning for the group to follow me to the elevator. “C’mon.”

Pandora and the Crow shrug it off, but Grizzle is apprehensive. “You talked to the board?” he asks. “What did they say?”

“C’mon,” I call back from the elevator lobby, already pressing the ‘up’ button.

Grizzle peers into the cathedral. “They’re sleeping?” he cries out. “They’re sleeping, right? Why are they sleeping?”

I hold the elevator door open. “Forget about the board. C’mon!”

The crow flies into the elevator. “Ya knock ‘em out?”

“I’m coming, but this makes no sense.” Pandora steps in. “I need some answers.”

“Okay, fine,” Grizzle grumbles, exasperated. He picks up the handle on the wagon and starts to roll it toward the elevator. “Oh my,” he says, noticing the wagon is empty. “Where’d the nightmares go?”

“Positive magic,” I say, gesturing for Grizzle to climb aboard the elevator. “Come see.”

By the time we reach the main foyer, the Dream Factory has been fully, magically restored. Nice job, Moe. You don’t mess around.

“The walls are gleaming,” Pandora says, flittering around, taking it all in.

Grizzle pulls a lever to activate the drawbridge. It lowers with ease.

The Crow hops to the edge of the opening drawbridge and gazes at the world outside. “Somebody pinch me.” The crow flutters his wings and springs into flight.

“Wait up!” Pandora calls out. Then she glides through the open gateway to join him.

I step off the Dream Factory’s drawbridge into a world I’ve never seen before. The forest is bursting with vibrant color. The brown and dying leaves of late fall are now pink, red, and gold. Even the birds and insects have taken on new, exotic colors. Kaleidoscopic flowers sprout up from the ground. Spirited electric green moss coils around tree trunks. The sky is blue. Bluer than the blue you might see on a perfect summer day.

The smell of honeysuckle and lilac waft through the air.

Once I cross over the moat, I look back and admire the new panes on the factory’s window eyes. In a reflection on clear glass, I see Pandora and the Crow winging toward the village square. I want to yell out to Pandora to ask her to wait for me, but she is already too far ahead.

Grizzle rushes up from behind and points out the new stovepipes pushing up through the roof. “This is fantastic!”

“Were things really that bad before?” I ask. “The village was starting to look a little tired, but it had a romantic, antiquated thing going for it.”

“A what?” Grizzle raises his bushy eyebrows. “My neighborhood was looking downright shabby.” He crumples his spongy nose. “I was just telling someone the other day that the drinking water was looking a little brown. Kinda had a trout-y smell, too.”

“Trout-y.” I grin. “Yeah, kinda did.”

Down the road, a troll is carrying an easy chair on his back. Grizzle waves to him. The troll waves back, and then disappears under the shade of a humpback bridge.

“That bridge used to be a tumbledown mess,” Grizzle says. “No self-respecting troll would have set up housekeeping under there.” He guffaws, scattering spittle. “This is great!”

It’s nice to hear the foreman belly laugh again, even if it does sound like he’s gargling rocks.

“Yeah, I guess we had some problems,” I say. “But not like the human world. That place reeks.”

“Eh, you get used to stuff.” Grizzle wipes his chin. “If you think everything’s normal, no matter how crummy it actually is, you just get used to it.”

We pass upgraded tree houses and gardens swelling with fruits, vegetables, and herbs. An elderly imp picking apples off the ground looks up and says, “Hungry?” She tosses an apple to me.

I catch it and smile. “Thank you.”

“How ‘bout you, big fella?” she asks Grizzle.

“Yes, please,” Grizzle says.

The old imp tosses one to Grizzle. “You boys see my pumpkins? Got one plumped up so big, I placed a ‘house for sale’ sign beside it.”

I take a big bite out of the apple. “She’s nice.”

Grizzle swallows the whole apple, stem, seeds, core and all. “A little gabby,” he says. “Nice enough, I guess.”

There’s some commotion in the distance. Village folk are laughing and cheering in the square. There’s music — fiddlers, pan pipers, and kettle drummers.

A gnome, sitting on an over-sized, spotted mushroom, is nodding his head to the beat when a giddy swarm of pixies swoops down and covers his face in sweet kisses. They fly away, leaving the gnome covered in glitter.

I shake my head. My world really is evolving into a paradise before my eyes, and it is almost too much to comprehend. Tears of joy stream down my cheeks.

Two familiar figures, one with a hunched back and the other with long, bowed legs, rush my way. It’s too late to run away, so I stiffen and prepare for an assault. I’ve faced many terrible creatures, but “the monsters” are the only ones I’ve yet to confront head-on.

“This is all you, huh?” the lanky one says, his scrawny arms flailing in the air. “All this free flowin’ magic? We got you to thank, right?”

I cautiously nod. “I guess.”

The short, stocky monster slings a long, elastic arm around my shoulder. “A crow told us it was you released the profits from the factory.” He squeezes my shoulder. “That was a heckuva thing you did, mutty.”

Mutty? I’ve never heard mutt used as an endearment. Could the monsters be evolving, too? Even if they are, I would much rather witness that miracle from a distance. I exchange a look with Grizzle. In my mind, my pleading eyes are requesting a little assistance.

Grizzle does not receive my signal. “Go ahead, talk with your fans, hot shot.” He grunts. “Take your time. I can wait.”

The short one’s red eyes glow as he gazes down at my new tail. He turns his attention to his gaunt companion and says, “Looks like our old buddy had himself a growth spurt.”

“Congratulations, mutty,” the tall one says, inspecting my tail. “Lookin’ good.”

“Hey, been great catchin’ up and all,” I say, attempting to lift the hunchback’s rubbery arm from my shoulder, “but we gotta go. Right, Grizzle?”

Grizzle shrugs. “Sure.”

The skinny one’s red eyes sparkle. I’ve seen that look in his eyes before. It’s the look of a monster who enjoys inflicting pain. On this occasion, surprisingly, the spindly beast doesn’t appear to be interested in torture. “We’re throwin’ a little get-together by the pond,” he says. “Wanna come? You know, as guest of honor?”

The stocky one leans in. “Everyone would be really impressed if you showed. It would mean a lot to me. To the both of us, actually.”

The thin, rangy monster flexes his bony fingers in Grizzle’s direction. “You’re invited, too, big guy.”

I study the faces of my old enemies. My first instinct is to distrust them. I can never forget all the times I was bullied, but true strength comes from positivity, generosity, and forgiveness. At least I heard that somewhere. “I’d love to go, fellas, but I’ve got things to do. Sorry.”

“You heard him,” Grizzle says, waving the monsters away. “Scoot along.”

The short one lifts his arm from my shoulder and says, “We understand.”

I slump down and quickly pull away. The monsters seem disappointed as I raise a hand to wave goodbye. “See ya, boys.”

Of course, I hope I’ll never see them again.

“Let’s go, Mr. Grizzle,” I say.

Grizzle shuffles along as fast as he can to catch up. “Wait up,” he pants. “Can’t — guh —move, that, fast.”

“Good to see you again,” the tall one calls out.

I don’t look back, but I hear the short one smack the tall one and say, “Why’d you have to embarrass him like that? You really think he was gonna show up at our stupid pond party? You’re such a dummy.”

Grizzle, with a great deal of exertion, finally catches up. He glances over at me and snorts. “Friends of yours?”

Before I can explain my complicated relationship with the monsters, something else captures Grizzle’s attention. “Well, looky there,” he says, pointing at the crow and Pandora. They are staring at a tree, which appears to be on fire.

The tree isn’t actually on fire; it’s filled with thousands of twinkling fireflies.

The crow sees me coming and says, “This is creeping me out. You?”

“The fireflies?” I ask, taking the last bite from my apple. “Or the miracles?”

“That’s what we’re callin’ it, huh?” The crow raises his head to catch my expression. “Miracles?”

I drop the apple core on the ground. The earth opens up underneath the core and swallows it. A tender green bud immediately emerges in its place.

“Maybe,” I say.

“What’s your take, Grizzle?” The crow asks.

Grizzle stares at the firefly tree, lost in thought.

“You okay, Mr. Grizzle?” I ask.

Grizzle sighs, and then places his meaty hand on my shoulder. “They’ll prolly erect statues in your honor, kid. Maybe hold parades. Sing songs. Folks’ll hang photos of you in their parlors. From this day forward, you’ll be recognized as the greatest mutt—” Grizzle pats my head. “The greatest fay ever lived.”

“I don’t care about all that,” I say. Even though it is the kind of thing I used to dream about. I move closer to Pandora, who is still gazing at the shimmering tree. “Everything’s good. Right?”

“I preferred the way the water tasted before,” The crow says. “You know, fishy.”

I take hold of Pandora’s hand and gently squeeze it. She squeezes back. Attached to each other, we watch the fireflies change color from pink to purple. “You did a good thing,” she says. “I knew you were special.”

The crow lands on my shoulder. It slowly bobs its head as if mulling things over. I feel him prepare to hop off and take flight, when he says, “This will end in tears. Mark my words.”

“I was just thinking,” Grizzle says, stroking his wattle. “If everybody’s partying, whooping it up, havin’ a good time, no one’s gonna want to go back to work in the factory. How long you think this positive energy’s gonna hold up?”

“Ooh, I didn’t think of that.” Pandora turns her gaze away from the fireflies to look at me. Like I’ve got all the answers.

“When they do go back to work,” Grizzle says, “who’s to say the board won’t return to their old tricks?”

Pandora tightens her grip on Otto’s hand.

“Hey, guys,” I say. “There will always be problems, but there will also be solutions.” I breathe in the sweet perfumes in the air and add, “Can’t we just enjoy this for a moment?”

A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

Hello dream consumers, Moe here. As you know, when it comes to dreams I have always tried to maintain the highest quality product on the market. But today I’ve come to warn you about a defect in our line known as nightmares.

Exposure to this product has been known to cause mood swings and restlessness. In large doses, it can lead to crankiness and depression. In some cases, nightmare sufferers have been known to inflict harm on themselves and on others.

As I stated before, I do try to maintain the highest quality product on the market. Sweet dreams are my specialty. However, rare as it may be, defects do slip through the cracks. And these occasional slip-ups may lead to long term, residual effects. Unfortunately, at this time, there is no cure. There is only one way to relieve the suffering incurred by a nightmare.

Wake up.

---

THE DREAM FACTORY (first draft rejects) © Mark Scott Ricketts

BEGIN HERE:

THE HUMAN WORLD

On the dismal journey back to the hill where I last saw Pandora, I pass a line of weather-beaten shops facing a harbor. Battered signs advertise barbers, pawnbrokers, net makers, and boat builders. There are other establishments but peeling paint and faded letters keep their purpose mysterious.

It is quiet, for the most part. Except for the crunching steps of my bare pink feet on crumbling cobblestone road and the buzz near floodlights and streetlamps where restless bugs swarm.

Not much human activity at this time of night. Which is a relief. I may have taken on human features, but my appearance is still somehow unsettling to those I’ve encountered — most notably, the screaming child and the fainting mother. Is it the tail? The musket? The velvet shorts with the tasseled drawstring? Or is it the unfortunate combination of all these things?

I hear cawing near the docks. I hope to see crow again, but I don’t. The bird making all the racket isn’t even black; it’s white with black-tipped wings and a thick, orange bill. The bad-tempered bird is perched on a bollard, screeching at the moon. Squwaaaakk!!

Stupid bird. I’m staring at a bird on a post but thinking about the friend who courageously sacrificed life and winged limb to save a child from tortured sleep.

I shuffle along, glumly.

The double doors to The Snarky Sea Horse Tavern burst open. Noise, laughter, smoke, light, and music pour outside. A burly human is violently tossed from the tavern onto the street. He hits the ground with a thump. The tavern doors slam shut just as quickly as they opened, and the street is quiet again.

I gently tiptoe around the discarded human.

“There he is!” yells an angry voice. I stop mid-step and spin around. A hostile rabble is rushing my way. Another voice cries out, “Get him! Get the monster!”

I take off down the road, occasionally turning to check whether the angry mob is still following. They’ve stopped to view the discarded human. One of them shouts, “The monster! That’s him!”

I recognize that voice. It’s the father of the boy I rescued — the one with the spatula.

Another human shouts, “Over there!”

He’s pointing at me.

Desperate, I take out my enchanted pocket watch, stare into its face and say, “Take me to Pandora.”

The confused rabble is below me now and I’m floating over the town.

I pass over the forest and drift to the top of the hill.

At the cliff where Pandora last waved goodbye, blustery winds beat against bare skin, swirl around my shaky legs, and set my makeshift shorts to flapping. The hair on my head is swept to one side. The musket and kitbag tug at my shoulders.

I appear to be sailing toward a pile of jagged rocks. And I’m trying not to imagine what it might be like to crash to my death.

“Focus on the journey, not the destination.” –Prime Elder Snert, BE SOMEBODY

I want to focus on the journey, but all I can think about is the jagged pile of rocks. Maybe if I shut my eyes and think about something pleasant.

This whole crashing to my death thing is taking waaaay too long. Time really does slow down to a crawl just before you croak. Each sluggish tick plods along to the next sticky tock. I could have written a lengthy goodbye letter in the time it’s taken to—

Shouldn’t I be dead by now? I would open my eyes, but I’m afraid what I may see.

What if I’m a ghost?

If I was a ghost, would I be feeling things? Like something tugging on my tail?

I crack open one eye.

Turns out, I’m dangling over a cliff. Not crashing. Not even falling.

Pandora is pulling on my tail. She drags me to the edge of the precipice. “Good thing that extension fused to your tailbone,” she says, “or you’d be a goner.”

Flat on my back, I stare up at Pandora. She leans in, kisses my forehead, and says, “Welcome back, big traveler!”

I blankly stare at her.

“That must hurt,” she says, gingerly pulling the musket strap away from my aching shoulder. “Let me get that for you.” Pandora takes the musket and sets it to one side. “You must be tired, huh?” She removes my kitbag next. “I found some berries if you’re hungry.”

I can’t speak.

“Talk to me. What’s wrong?” she asks.

The concern in her face is painful to see. A tear wells up in my left eye. I can’t suppress my feelings much longer. “I’m a failure,” I mutter. A droplet streams down my cheek.

Pandora gently wipes the tear away with her thumb. “Aww, poor thing. How many got away?”

I clench my eyes tight, squeezing out a few more tears. “Two.”

“Two? Just two? Out of seven?” She giggles. “You had me worried. Why you gotta be such a downer? It could have been much, much wor—”

“Technically . . . one.”

Pandora shakes her head and smiles. “Gee, Otto, that’s really good. Just one? That’s really, really good.”

I mutter, “I wanted to go back home a winner.”

“You are, ya dummy.” Pandora offers me a hand. “C’mon, get up.”

“What is that?” I ask, looking up at the darkening sky.

“I know you’re exhausted and obviously emotional,” she says, “but it’s time to go hooo—What are you staring at?”

Pandora looks up to see what I’m seeing. “Huh. That is a scary cloud. Probably gonna rain, ya think?”

“That’s not a cloud,” I say. “That’s . . . crow.”

That stupid crow. He’s transformed into a hideous mutant with an immense and ragged wingspan. A primeval creature with a long, dagger-like beak. A ghastly aggregation with more than two legs — there are eight. Six are scaled with talons. Two are hairy with hooves. Worst of all, its hideous mouth is open wide, exposing its throbbing purple throat.

I leap to my feet, grab Pandora’s hand, and without a word, we sprint to the overturned caravan for shelter.

Once inside, I pull the magic timepiece from my vest pocket, squeeze it tightly, and call out new instructions. “Take, uh, everything that doesn’t belong here, me, Pandora, the caravan, everything in the caravan, dream bubbles, nightmare bubbles, everything, back to the Seelie forest. To the Dream Factory!”

Pandora sticks her head out the caravan window. “It’s still coming! Fast!”

The watch vibrates in my hand. Okay, that’s new. This might just work.

A great swirling hole opens and sucks us up. A couple of very confused beavers, wandering lost, are also drawn into the hole.

Looks like the mutant bird is coming, too.

This is a detail I had not considered. In hindsight, I realize I should have been more specific. I probably should have left the freakish crow behind.

Tossed around in a whirlpool of nothingness, I accidently lock onto one of the ferocious bird’s eyes. Its inky black pupil becomes a hypnotic, spinning spiral that swallows me whole. At first, I’m inundated with feelings of pain, anger, and frustration. Then a veil of dark clouds part. No longer an abomination, the crow is just a normal black bird perched on the shoulder of an elf drawing on a chalkboard.

“This is it, crow,” says the elf. “I’ve done it.”

“Finally,” the crow responds.

The elf admires his work. “I think I’ll call it The Dream Bubbler.”

I want to see more, but everything goes blurry. I know what comes next. We’re passing through the veil between the human world and my own. If I’m right there’s probably going to be a sucking sound just before we’re delivered to our next destination.

Sllluuurrrrpppp!!

The broken caravan, its contents, the two beavers, and the monster crow are floating all around me, but we are not floating in a whirlwind or a void. We’re floating underwater.

Pandora is here, too. She’s smothered in fizzy bubbles, flailing around in a panic. I scoop her up in my arms and paddle toward the light above us, to the surface.

The beavers are ahead of us. Their rudder-like tails thrusting their gracefully undulating bodies forward. Hey! I have a tail. I can do that.

Ooh, I’m pushing through the water incredibly fast. Even with Pandora in tow.

Inches from the point where the water meets the air, I look back to see the horrible mutant crow convulsing, wildly thrashing around in the deep. It is undergoing a painful metamorphosis, changing from monster to horse to crow, coughing up a milky blue bile as it sinks deeper and deeper.

At the surface, Pandora’s skin glistens, revived by fresh air. Her eyes pop open, and she immediately perks up. Wings spread out from her shoulder blades. She’s a pixie again.

Me, well, I’m a mutt again. A waterlogged mutt. I shake my fur, careful not to spray all over Pandora.

The pocket watch has done what I asked of it. We landed in the Seelie forest, near the Dream Factory. In the moat surrounding the factory, to be exact. And, boy, is it foggy out.

Pandora lays on the bank, her feet dangling in the water.

The crow, looking very much like a normal, modest, everyday black bird, corks to the surface. I think the poor thing might be dead.

I reach my tail out and drag the buoyant crow to higher ground. Its open beak spritzes tiny bubbles. I bend down to see if the bird’s heart is still beating, then lightly press its chest. After a few gentle pumps, the crow makes a gurgling noise.

Life comes rushing back, sparking a twinkle in the crow’s eyes.

The crow coughs up water. A lot of water. It sputters, hacks, and gasps for air, then wheezily asks, “Did I get it? Did I get the last bubble?”

“You did, my friend. You did,” I say. “I’m so grateful.”

“Did you remember the puh-puh-package?”

“Package? What package?”

“The package I was supposed to— to deliver. The one the witch took from—” The crow gulps, takes a few deep breaths, then continues, “—me. The witch took it. You know,” the crow rasps, between sharp breaths, “the package addressed to the factory. Tell me you have it?”

I point at the moat. “Prolly down there, bub.”

“It’s, it’s important,” The crow rustles its feathers and attempts to rise. “I have to get it. Have to get it now.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” I tell him, then turn to Pandora, shake my head, and stand. “Guess I gotta fetch a package.” With puffed cheeks, I dive back into the moat.

Panting for air, I rise to the surface once more. A dream bubble bobs up behind me. The nightmare bubbles follow. The repo musket emerges soon after. Whipping my head to one side, I sling off a shower of fine droplets.

“Hope this is what you’re lookin’ for,” I say, tossing a package onto the shore.

The fog is still dense but clearing. In the dim morning light, I can see the shapes of Pandora and the crow waiting on the bank. Everything else is still hazy.

Pandora calls out, “There’s something you need to see.” Her wings nervously flutter. “I don’t think you’re gonna like it.”

I emerge from the moat and vigorously shake myself dry. “Okay, show me the prob–”

The fog continues to clear, and I can now see abandoned picket signs, tossed identification badges, broken furniture, shards of glass, and loose paper littering the area. The clerk at the front desk warned me there would be a strike, but I imagined a peaceful protest — not this.

Thoom! A thick, black stovepipe falls from the sky with enough force to sink deep into the earth. Another drops down soon after. It plummets into the moat with a sploosh!

I feel as if someone has kicked me in the gut — hard.

The Dream Factory is in ruins, collapsing under its own weight. Its once majestic face is ravaged. The jaw of its drawbridge mouth is unhinged and hangs to one side. Smoke pours from its broken window eyes.

I drop to my knees.

The crow tears soggy paper and tape away from the package, then opens the box, and cries out, “Yes!”

Pandora is sitting atop a nine-foot chunk of concrete and bent rebar. She looks down at the box suspiciously. “It’s a book.”

The crow clutches the book in his claws, flaps his wings, and lifts it from the box. “A mushy book,” he says. “In need of a few sunny days.”

After dropping it on dry ground, the crow stands on the cover and reads the title. “Service manual for the Dream Bubbler 3000,” the crow announces. “Includes schematics and detailed blueprints.”

I survey the devastation. My emotions jumbled. Worried, sad, angry — I don’t know what to feel.

“Your eyes look all goofy,” Pandora says hovering by my side. She grabs my arms and shakes me. “Did you hear?” she says. “We can start over — a second chance! We can rebuild the Bubbler!”

“He okay?” the crow asks.

Pandora leans in close to examine me. “You okay, Otto?”

I’m fine. I don’t say it out loud, but I am.

“Not everyone can handle this kind of stress,” the crow says. “Kid prolly got a hole in his think bucket.” The bird licks the tip of a claw and turns a page on the manual.

I’m aware of everything around me, and I can feel the warmth of Pandora’s sweet pixie breath. I reach up, take Pandora’s face in my hands and kiss her.

At first, she seems surprised, but then she kisses me back.

The crow looks up from the manual. “We got company.”

Nearby, a camouflaged door, covered by sod and dead leaves, bursts open. It’s Foreman Grizzle. He raises a bushy eyebrow.

“You’re back,” Grizzle says, gruffly. “That’s good. I’m gonna need your help.” He flares his rubbery nose. “The fate of Elfame and the entire Seelie forest is at stake!”

“Well, you’re awfully dramatic,” the crow groans.

“It’s the Board,” Grizzle exclaims. “They have to be stopped.”

Pandora sighs. “I told you.”

Sigh.

Foreman Grizzle tells us everything. A heartbreaking story filled with corrupt power-hungry villains, downtrodden masses, hidden treasure, and an end of the world scenario. But Grizzle’s story lacks a happy ending. Being a tale about fairies, the story of the Dream Factory — the story of the survival of the Elfame and the Seelie forest —it really needs a happy ending.

“Always have a plan.” ––Prime Elder Snert, BE SOMEBODY

We concoct a plan to take possession of the Dream Factory, release the accumulated wealth in its vault, and share the factory’s earnings with every fairy in the Seelie forest. It’s not a great plan. I hate it. The end result might turn out okay. And for some, great. However, success won’t come without casualties.

The worst part of our plan: I have to wear an armor breastplate and a bucket helmet with goggles.

The breastplate is extremely heavy–– a real knee buckler. The air is stale inside the helmet and it stinks of not only my body odor, but of the last fairy that wore it. I also have to wear coveralls with a hole in the seat, so my tail can move freely.

Why do I need all this? The plan calls for me to sling nightmare bubbles at anyone who stands between me and the vault where Dream Factory profits are kept.

Nightmare bubbles are awful things. Bogies exploded. A crow transformed into a soulless mutant. And a night monitor was driven insane. So the idea of using a weapon that deadly seems downright barbaric.

I really don’t like this plan.

Oil lamps light the excavated passageway underneath the Dream Factory. I lumber toward the access hatch to the stairs and slowly, painfully climb up the back stair to reach the Boss’ office. There, according to Grizzle, I will face my first obstacle. I don’t care what he says, getting there was my first obstacle.

There is an ice pirate stationed by the door to the Boss’ office. That’s what Grizzle says. I’ve never heard of an ice pirate, but apparently, they will not be swayed by charm or a hearty handshake.

The waiting room is filled with rubble. And my goggles are fogging over, but I manage to clear a path to the door to the main office. Well, the actual door is no longer there. Just a large, gaping hole.

I can barely see, but I instinctively know where I’m going.

I maneuver past broken monitors and smashed desks on my way to the Boss’ office. Along the way, crumbling bits drop from the cracked ceiling and skip off my helmet and breastplate. There is creaking and moaning above my head. I wish I could remove my helmet and get a better look.

I jump, hearing a chunk of plaster crash to the ground a few feet away. The top floors could easily collapse and crush me. We never planned for that.

I hear a crackle and hissing. The ice pirate I was warned about is nearby. And, according to Grizzle, that is the sound of his icicle sword.

I’m almost blind, but in my mind, I see the ice pirate standing before me. Just as Grizzle described him. All I have to do is follow the plan.

The plan: I will whip a nightmare bubble toward the sound of the ice pirate’s crackling blade. The bubble will burst, liberating a swarm of nightmare furies. The furies will scorch, scald, and claw at everything in their path, searching for a host to inhabit. Since I’m wearing my protective getup, they won’t bother with me. But the ice pirate will be unable to fight off the invasion.

I don’t care for this plan. I think we should be more humane with our choices. It’s a risky move, but I’m going to switch out the nightmare bubble with a dream bubble.

With a tail snap I send the dream orb to its target, then wait.

I turn the helmet counterclockwise. I have to see what’s going on. Visible steam spews from the neck attachment on the coveralls. I lift the bucket helmet off my head and breathe in the fresh air. I can see the ice pirate now. He’s lying on the floor, lost in a deep, sugary sweet sleep, a self-satisfied smile on his painted face.

It worked. I did it. One obstacle down — no nightmare furies required. The future is uncertain, but I like this new plan better. Fighting cruelty with more cruelty is not the answer. Rehabilitation is better than obliteration. A great weight is lifted from my mind. Which is especially good because the armor breastplate I’m lugging around is heavy enough.

I stumble backward and bump into something smooth and hard. I can hear it teetering. Then comes the unmistakable sound of the crow’s wings flapping.

“Careful,” the crow shouts. “One of your co-workers almost shattered into a zillion ice cubes.”

“Did you see me take out that guard?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Save it for the history books, kid,” says the crow, flying into the Boss’ office. “Now, show me this super-secret chamber.”

I cautiously enter the Boss’ office where I recall the Boss’ thin delicate fingers pressing a dark, shiny button. “Over here,” I say, reaching for the ram’s head wall sconce by the bookshelf. I attempt to push on the ram’s glass eye, but my protective gloves are too bulky. I call out, “Pandora! Help, please.”

Pandora flits in, happy to assist. “I’m here!” Her mood immediately changes. She glowers at me. “Oh no you didn’t!”

I figured she’d be angry. “I couldn’t breathe. Or see. I had to take it off.”

“Are you kidding me?” Pandora is in such an agitated state that the sparkles on her cheeks glow red. “Are you kidding me?”

“Ceiling’s buckling. You ask me, this whole joint’s about to give up.” Grizzle shuffles into the office. He’s dragging along a T-handled child’s wagon carrying two nightmare bubbles—secured by twine. “Maybe we should turn back.”

“Not the worst idea,” says Pandora.

“We’re almost there,” I tell them. “Stick with me. We can do this.”

Pandora flashes a stern look. “Helmet.”

I hold onto one of the sconce’s curved horns. “I’m gonna need you to press one of the eyes on this goaty thing. It’s like a button.”

“Helmet first,” Pandora says.

“Okay, I’ll wear it.” I reluctantly, but loosely place the helmet on my head. I don’t screw it in because it’s coming off as soon as possible.

Grizzle unties the twine holding down the bubbles. “Nightmare bubble?”

I nod. I’m not happy about it, but I’m all out of dream bubbles.

“I’ve worked here seventy-five years,” Grizzle says. “Never knew about a secret room.”

“After Pandora presses the button, everybody scoot!” I tell them. “And shut the door behind you when you leave. Tight.”

I give Pandora a thumbs-up.

Pandora squeamishly presses the ram’s eye. “Dis-gusting.”

They all rush out of the room as the secret bookshelf spreads apart. At the door, Pandora stops to say, “Be safe.” Then the door to the office snaps shut.

My goggles are misting up again, but I hear a familiar voice coming from the secret room.

“Hey there, buddy buddy,” the Boss says — creepy as ever. “You’re lookin’ sharp, pal-o-mine. Guess the mission went well.”

I can’t see anything, so I take the helmet off. It clangs as it strikes the floor.

The Boss is aiming a crossbow at me. I think those arrows have lightning bolt-tips. “Gonna need you to return the repo gun and locator,” the Boss says. “I’ll also need a full report. Handwritten. In triplicate, of course.”

The bowstring makes a creaking sound as the Boss pulls it taut.

“Take your time on the paperwork,” the Boss says. “The factory is temporarily closed for repairs, so no hurry.”

There’s a pluck! Then a thwack! An electrically charged arrow strikes my breastplate. It stings, and it doesn’t take long for the breastplate to heat up.

“Oopsie!” the Boss says. “It slipped.”

As I pick up a nightmare bubble with my tail, my breastplate gets hit with a second lightning bolt-tipped arrow. Grizzle assured me the coveralls were heat resistant, which means they probably won’t catch fire. But it’s sweltering in here. Gaaah! It’s hot!

“Did I do that?” The Boss snickers. “Clumsy me.”

I use the nightmare bubble as a shield. “Shoot this next,” I say.

The fasteners on the side of the blistering breastplate are difficult to undo. The charged arrows have made it all so blistering hot. I hop up on one foot, then the other. Hot! Hot! Hot!

The intense heat radiating from the electrified arrows singe my facial fur as I lift the breastplate up over my head. This probably could have been avoided but I’m also trying to keep the Boss at bay by holding the nightmare bubble between us. I’m getting pretty good at maneuvering the tail, but I’ve never been that great at multi-tasking.

I fling off the plate. It slams to the ground. The charged arrow tips spark on the hooked rug under the planning table.

Whoosh! The rug catches fire.

A black cloud rises from the rug. It tickles the fire sprinkler system’s trigger. Rotating ceiling valves open up, and the secret room is given a good shower.

Exposed maps get drenched. A thin stream splashes off the edge of the planning table. Steam rises from the charred rug. Droplets sizzle on the extinguished lightning arrows.

Watery rivulets flow down my soaked facial fur, but I continue to glare at the Boss. I waggle the nightmare bubble still clutched in my tail. Its spray splatters the Boss.

I say, “Ever seen what happens to a fairy after they’ve been hit by one of these nightmare whammies?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” the Boss says. With tiny, gloved hands, he extracts the last arrow from his quiver. It was doused, but it still has a pointy tip.

I playfully toss the nightmare bubble into the air. “Try me.” I catch it with my tail, just in time.

The Boss lowers his bow. “Crazy mutt.”

“A friend of mine told me something interesting today.” I smirk. “He said now that the Dream Factory has shut down, it won’t be long before the Fae population dies off. That true, Boss?”

“Rumors.” The Boss shrugs. “Unfounded pish-posh.”

I slosh my way closer. “He said all that would remain would be those who were sitting on a vault full of something he called positive magic.” I pause. “I think you call it ‘profit.’”

The Boss’ narrow eyes peer over his collar. “Total nonsense.”

“Right. What kind of moron would put all of fairy-kind in danger like that?” I snatch the crossbow away from the Boss with very little resistance. “They would have to be pretty lowlife. Real scum suckers. Absolute dirt bags.” I remove the empty quiver from the Boss’ shoulder. “Don’t you agree?”

“Meh.” The Boss shrugs.

I secure the Boss’ tiny hands behind his back using the twine that once secured the bubbles to the wagon.

I pull the twine tight. “Are you and your cronies really hoarding profits, in a vault, in the lower levels?”

“Uh, no.” The Boss’ collar muffles his shaky voice.

“Mr. Grizzle!” I shout. “Could you join us, please?”

Grizzle waddles into the office with the crow on his shoulder. He raises a shaggy eyebrow and growls.

“Mr. Grizzle.” I motion for Grizzle. “The Boss says you’re a liar.”

The Boss bristles. “I did not.”

I swerve to face him. “Didn’t you?”

The crow bobs his head as if evaluating the situation. “This is a pickle, isn’t it, Grizz?” The crow ruffles his feathers, pushes off, glides toward the Boss. “I’ve got an idea if anyone wants to hear it?”

The Boss cringes when the crow lands on his shoulder. “This wretch could take us all down to the lower level,” the crow says, softly. Then he shouts, “and prove that there’s no vault!” The crow winks at the Boss. “Especially not one full of—you know—profit.”

Elevator doors slide open and I step into the dark lobby on the Dream Factory’s lower level. I’m no longer wearing the protective coveralls and helmet, but I am dangling a lantern on the tip of my tail.

“Umph!” The Boss springs from the elevator with arms bound behind his back. He falls forward, stumbling over his own shoe. “Waahhh!!”

Before the Boss can hit the floor, I catch him. “That was unnecessary, Pandora.”

“I barely pushed him,” says Pandora from inside the elevator. Her glittery hand stretches out to stop the door from sliding shut.

The Boss says, “She kicked me in the shins, too.”

“That was unnecessary.” Pandora pokes her head out of the elevator. “But satisfying.”

“We have to focus,” I tell everyone, setting the lantern on the floor. “We can’t let our emotions get the best of us. We have to–”

“Stay alert.” The crow hops out, bobbing cautiously. He skips to the left, then right.

Pandora uses her foot as a doorstop so Grizzle can drag out the wagon with the nightmare bubbles.

“Comin’ through,” Grizzle says.

The bubbles rattle when the wagon’s back wheels temporarily catch the break between the elevator and the floor. Everyone, except me, gasps in fear.

“I know you’re all on edge,” I say, “but everyone needs to chill out!” Then I repeat the words my grandfather used to tell me when I got scared, “I can hear everyone’s teeth chattering, and we haven’t reached the bad part yet.”

“Sor-ree,” Grizzle says.

The Boss groans.

The crow claws at a floor tile and, without looking up, says, “Carry on, soldier.”

Pandora forces a smile. “What’s next?”

I squeeze the Boss’ shoulder and nudge him in the direction of the door to the cloakroom. “Okay, do it,” I tell him. “Say the password.”

The Boss smirks. “No need.”

My eyes narrow. I’m tired of dealing with the Boss’ dishonesty. “Don’t mess with me.”

“The attendants all fled to join the rabble,” the Boss says. “Few ever get past an ice pirate, so security is pretty lax from this point on.” The Boss rolls his eyes. “The door to the cloakroom isn’t even locked.”

Pandora smacks the back of the Boss’ head. “Liar.”

The Boss looks to me. “Your girlfriend’s a real charmer.”

“I wouldn’t provoke her if I were you.”

“I told the board you might return,” The Boss says. “Told them to beef up security. Told them I needed more firepower. I warned them.”

“Did you tell them to hide in the cathedral until the Seelie forest was turned into a barren wasteland?” Pandora slaps the back of the Boss’ head again.

I turn the Boss around so I can look into his beady eyes. “Why didn’t you tell them to release the stored profits? They could have avoided this whole mess?”

The Boss shrugs. “You’re kidding, right?”

I turn my attention to Grizzle. “Go ahead, Mr. Grizzle. Open the door.”

Grizzle places his beefy hand on the door handle. “This better not be a trick.”

The door creaks open.

If necessary, I’m prepared to sling a nightmare bubble into the cloakroom. Though I hope I won’t have to.

The cloakroom is still, and it looks like the attendants left in a hurry. A few bare hangers inside open armoires. Cassocks, measuring tape, vestment capes, and tri-corn hats are strewn around the scuffed marble floor.

Pandora steps inside the room and scans for booby traps. She calls out, “All clear!”

At the door marked “Cathedral Atrium” I take a deep breath. The fate of the fay rests on my next move. Once I enter that door, I will have to face down executives from all the tribes, even the beastly preternatural. While those greedy magnates might not be as formidable as one of their hired goons, they will fight back.

I may have to use a nightmare bubble. I pick up one up with bare hands and stare directly into its stormy, electric blue nightmares. This is it.

CONTINUED. . .

THE DREAM FACTORY (first draft rejects) © Mark Scott Ricketts

NOTE: Izzy (the Dragonfly) was a crow in the first draft.

THE HUMAN WORLD

I’m soaking wet. I try to shake myself dry and accidentally spray a couple of nearby––I want to say––Beavers? I would apologize, but they’ve already scurried away.

Where am I?

“Ow!” Something is poking me on the forehead. There’s something with claws perched on the top of my head, pecking at me.

“Koww! Koww!” Flapping wings stir up a breeze before the creature pushes away.

It’s a crow. Is this the crow the Swap Witch talked about? The one that somehow belongs to me? I thought she was kidding around. I have no interest in owning a crow. What am I going to do with a crow?

The crow is glaring at me, hopping around, excited, fluttering its wings. “Koww! Koww!”

Okay crow, I’m all ears, what are you trying to tell me? “Use your words.”

I duck as it swoops over my head. “If you’re not going to talk, go away!” I swipe at the air.

I don’t have time for this stupid bird, I need to find Pandora. “PANDORA!”

I scan the area waiting for an answer. Hmm. There’s the caravan, toppled to one side and smashed against a tree. But . . . no Pandora. I remember falling, reaching out to her. Then it seemed like her whole life flashed in front of me. Or at least I think it did. What I saw didn’t make a lot of sense. Maybe because it wasn’t real. Still, I have questions.

Again, I yell, “Pandora!”

The crow lights on the raised caravan wheel. It cocks its head and stares at me.

There’s something familiar about that crow’s eyes.

“Find my friend,” I tell the crow. “She’s a pixie. White hair. Always smiling. Well, most of the time. There’s a horse, too. The horse is black, like–like you.”

This stupid crow is just staring at me. It’s unnerving. And it’s crazy eyes, tiny black pupils surrounded by a ring of speckled gold, look so familiar. Just like— just like the horse. Really weird.

The crow hops over to the caravan’s open window, pokes its head inside, and squawks loudly.

“What’s is it?” I ask. Is it Pandora?

The crow spreads its rustling wings, backs up, and flies off.

A mysterious figure pops up through the window. “My wings! I can’t feel my wings!”

I’ve never seen a creature quite like this one. Not up close, at least. I’ve seen pictures of “dreamers” in books. And this creature is most definitely a dreamer, a human being — a human girl to be precise.

She’s got silvery white hair, like Pandora, but without the luster. In fact, she’s devoid of any luminescence. Her skin is dull — pink with life but lacking fairy glamour. There’s something crude and vulgar about her.

I’m a little spooked, but still curious.

The human girl lifts herself up and crawls out the caravan window. “Otto?”

How does this human girl know my name?

She hops off the caravan and I get a good look at her.

She’s wearing Pandora’s glittery tutu, or one that looks just like it. I don’t know who this creature is trying to fool, but she’s no Pandora. I mean, her nose–– it’s flat and wide, not upturned. Even if Pandora had been cruelly transformed into a human, she would have surely retained a few Pixie features.

“You’re all pink,” The human girl announces. “Where’s your fur? Is that even you?”

“You’re not Pandora,” I say. “You can’t be.”

“You sound like Otto, but your ears are so small. Your–” she pauses for a moment. “You look,” she gasps, “human!”

I look down at my hands. Those aren’t my hands. I lift a leg. That’s not my leg. There’s no fur on my feet –– no claws. Where’s my fur? Somebody—somebody shaved me? Monsters. Oh my. “Don’t come any closer!” I yell. “I’m naked!”

“This is why everyone should wear pants.” The human girl laughs. “Even Sprites.” She leans over the side of the caravan and reaches inside the open window. She pulls up a drape, rips it free, then rolls it up in a ball and tosses it at me. “Wear this.”

“I’m, well, we’re, we’re human.” I wrap the drape around my waist. “I guess.”

The human girl––Pandora?–– touches her face. “That can’t be good, huh?”

I can’t seem to yank the drape all the way around my waist. It’s stuck on my––“No way.”

I still have a tail? It’s curling around to greet me and, “It’s pink and so smooth.” The extension must have fused to my old tail. “Do humans have tails?”

“Oh, sure, you get to keep the tail.” Pandora plops down on the ground. “You think you feel naked? I’ve got no wings!”

The crow lands on my head again. It scratches, pecks, and squawks.

“What?” I ask, looking up.

Oh, that. Something familiar is pushing through a veil of clouds.

“Pandora!” I shout out. “Bubbles!”

My heart is beating fast. Three swirling nightmare bubbles are playfully floating around, heading toward the fading light of the setting sun. “My musket— where’s my musket?”

The repo musket is lying in a patch of brambles beside the crashed caravan. Pandora springs into action. She dips her slender arm in the prickly bush, tears the gun away from some clinging vines, and quickly takes aim at one of the bubbles, the closest one. “Ready,” she says. “Steady.”

There’s a click. The tracking device has already locked in on a bar code. She gently squeezes the trigger. Bzzzaaaattt! With a flash, the tractor beam shoots out from the musket, creating an immediate energy link to the target. The bubble bucks and rolls, almost breaking free, but Pandora holds firm.

“Got one,” she says.

An energy bond has fully formed around the bubble.

She turns to me and giggles. The drape has fallen to my hairless, pink feet.

It’s embarrassing, but at least Pandora isn’t poking fun. She’s too busy making sure the nightmare bubble is fully contained.

The bubble squeezes into the repo musket’s horn. Slorp! The whole thing vibrates as the bubble travels through its inner workings. Once its finally deposited in the disposal bag, a green light near the trigger flashes.

Even in her current, unappealing form, she’s amazing.

“Four down, three to go,” she says, aiming the musket again.

Unfortunately, the other three bubbles are out of range.

I want to help, but I’m still struggling with the drape. “I’ll need a proper pair of pants if I’m going to go after those nightmares.”

“Hang on,” Pandora says, setting the musket aside. She rushes to the overturned caravan and climbs back inside. After a bit, she pokes her head out of the caravan window and says, “Be right with you.”

She emerges holding up makeshift shorts she’s fashioned from a pillow casing. There are holes for my legs and tail, with a curtain tie for cinching my waist. “Try these on,” she says.

There’s nothing about this situation that isn’t embarrassing. I turn away and scan the sky for the remaining nightmare bubbles. I didn’t realize it before, but I’m standing on a hill overlooking a small harbor town. In the purple twilight it’s difficult to see where the water ends and the sky begins. There is a vague impression of island mounds, rock outcrops, and a striped lighthouse in the far distance. A half dozen fishing boats surround the town wharf. If this is where the nightmares are going, then that’s where I need to be.

But first, I should get something off my mind. I turn to face Pandora. “Are you plotting to bring down the Dream Factory?”

She lowers her head. “Not the factory, the Board,” she says. “I wanted to tell you, but I was told you might be a spy.”

“Me? A spy?” I shake my head. “You’re the spy!”

“I guess, I sort of am.” Pandora makes a face. “But in a good way.”

My tail nervously sweeps the ground. “Why?” I ask her. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m part of a movement,” she tells me. “We believe in a better world.”

I wave her off. “What could be better than the world we, um, lived in?”

“Are you kidding me? The workers at the factory are mistreated, exploited. Don’t you see that?”

Exploited. There’s that word again.

She’s yelling now. “The Elders and the Board live like royalty while our village is crumbling!”

She’s crazy. I’m not listening to this. “I have a job to do,” I say. My tail reaches out, wraps around the musket, picks it up and places it in my hands. “I don’t know about you, but I’m an emissary for the Dream Factory.”

“You don’t understand anything.” Pandora scoffs. “The Board doesn’t believe in you. They expect you to fail. Everyone thinks you’ll fail. That’s why they sent me here –– to help you finish the job!”

Somewhere, trapped behind those lackluster human eyes, a magnificent, incandescent, and annoying pixie is still glimmering. I don’t want to be mad at her, but I can’t trust her anymore.

“Yeh, right.” Through the musket’s scope, I spy what might be the last three renegade bubbles hovering over the rooftops below. It is a long way down the hill, through a forest, past a field, to the town, but I can do this.

“Can I help?” Pandora asks.

“Naw,” I tell her. “You wait here.”

Pandora’s shoulders slump.

I make a move to get my kit bag and feel a sudden, sharp pain. A pine needle has pricked my tender, bare, human foot. I want to yelp, but I don’t want to seem weak. Poor hearing, weak eyes, inflexible bones, soft skin, and hurt feelings, will not stop me from fulfilling my appointed duty.

“Nobody is going to bail you out. It’s all on you.” PRIME ELDER SNERT

I strap on the repo musket and my kit bag.

Pandora tries to hug me, but I push her off.

I waggle my head in an attempt to empty out bothersome thoughts and with a deep breath I descend the green slope. In BE SOMEBODY there’s a whole chapter devoted to keeping an eye on the prize. When the Prime Elder wrote that, I wonder if he realized how difficult that would be with a moving prize? Or, for that matter, more than one moving prize? I waggle my head again.

After passing a mossy patch and skirting a steep incline, I’m already tired. This jumbled pile of granite boulders at the base of the hill is even more exhausting. My new, soft, pink feet are cut and sore from tramping over jagged rocks, pebbles, pine needles, and acorns. For the first time in my mostly unpleasant life, I actually wish I were still a Sprite with a stubby tail, no friends — bullied every day.

I haven’t gone far, but I need to stop and rest. I sit on a stone, slump my shoulders, and let out a heavy sigh. Lazily looking up to see how far I’ve come I catch sight of Pandora’s silhouette. She is standing on a precipice, waving.

I want to wave back. If only things weren’t so complicated.

It is possible she could be right. Even the clerks at the front desk said the workers at the Dream Factory were being exploited. The Boss is a fawning, devious little fellow. I wouldn’t put anything past him.

The so-called upright citizens on the Board aren’t exactly working for the betterment of our society. I know that for a fact. I’ve seen them in action. Even Prime Elder Snert, my hero, my mentor, might not be all I imagined him to be. Harness the weaknesses of others? Skip steps to achieve your goal? Some of the advice in BE SOMEBODY is uncharitable for sure. I wanted so badly to be somebody, I looked past all of that sketchy stuff. I truly believed life would get better when I went to work at the Dream Factory. Now look at me. I’m worse off than when I started.

I just want to go back home and start fresh. Being a nobody wasn’t so bad.

The word “home” sends a surge of warmth through my entire body. Like the hexing words used by the Bogies, this one has magic stuffed inside it. My mind reels from the flood of feelings, images, memories, and smells it conjures up—the me-shaped groove in my mattress, my mother’s twinkling smile, my father singing in the garden, and the aroma of fresh baked sorghum pie.

Who knows if I’ll ever find my way back there?

The Swap Witch never said how much teleportation energy she stored inside my pocket watch. Is there enough to pass through the barrier between the two worlds? Probably not. I’m doomed. Probably doomed.

Ahhh, enough moaning.

It doesn’t matter if I’m working for villains. It doesn’t matter if I get back home. Only one thing matters: There are innocent children out there who need me. I lift up, dust off my makeshift velvet shorts, and continue my journey to the unfamiliar and frightening world ahead.

It’s dark and this grove is dense with trees. It’s not going to be easy getting to the human village. I secure the musket and kit bag to my body with twine. Then I wrap my tail around the limb of a beech tree and, with a deep breath, catapult toward the next tree.

Hey! That worked. Let’s do it again.

I burst through an explosion of leaves and soar through the air, my tail unfurled and free. With both hands, I grasp the nearest branch, then spin around it before launching myself into the air again. I land on a new branch with both feet and use its spring to perform a front flip. My heels sail over my head while my tail springs out to wrap around a new limb. For a moment, I almost forget where I’m going. Propelling from tree-to-tree is fun.

There’s a break in the forest. Excited to see the human town ahead, I miscalculate the distance between trees, miss a limb, and slam into a trunk. I attempt an elfish dismount, but, instead, hit ground like a rock. With this, I learn an important lesson about my new body — humans aren’t just soft, they’re really fragile.

Beyond a field of tall grass, the twinkling lights of the town. I hobble down a path furrowing through tall grass walls. It leads me directly to the human settlement. I need to stretch my aching leg. The pain isn’t nearly as bad as before, and I’m no longer limping, but it still hurts.

From a distance comes a sound like rolling thunder. Which is odd because the sky above is clear. Whatever is making the noise seems massive and powerful, but very far away. What kind of brute makes a threatening noise like that? In school, I once saw a map of the human world that showed ships being swallowed whole by a huge, jagged-winged, fire-breathing reptile with a spiked spine. Could that sound be coming from a firebreather?

I need to avoid traveling on water, especially in a ship.

My mama didn’t raise no gnome. Eh, that’s not fair. I shouldn’t single out gnomes as being stupid. Most gnomes have a wandering eye, usually the left one, and they say “Duh” a lot, but some of them are fairly intelligent.

My mother didn’t raise someone who could be easily fooled. It doesn’t sound nearly as catchy, but at least it’s not offensive.

Why am I thinking about gnomes? Probably because I don’t want to think about humans. Humans —ehh—they freak me out.

I dunno, maybe humans aren’t that bad. I really don’t know that much about them. I know when they die, they turn into ghosts and I’ve heard they bicker for sport. There are unconfirmed reports that, as a sign of respect, they pick their noses and smear boogers in a friend’s hair. A knowledgeable teacher at school once referred to them as slaves to ritual. They supposedly wash their mouths out with soap every day and manicure a patch of grass once a week. I sort of remember hearing something about them cheating at board games and chewing on sweetened candlewax. That’s about all I know.

The downtown street is flanked by two rows of facing two-story, cedar-shingled buildings. I step onto the cobblestone street as a row of lights spark up. They flicker, brightly flash, and then die out. With the setting sun fading behind the buildings, the entire town is dark and dead quiet.

The streetlamps flicker again, then fully ignite. Except for their buzzing, there’s not much sign of life. Still, there’s no reason to be out in the open flaunting my tail.

I run for cover in the shadows behind the closest building. I can hide here, gain my bearings, and consider every possible escape route. Just in case I encounter a human — or a ghost, even.

With patches of moonlight to guide me, I fumble my way around piles of scattered debris, anchors, broken trailers, and wheel-less carriages propped up on concrete blocks. The scent in the air is unlike anything I’ve ever smelled. It’s like sulfur, but with a briny tang. Someone’s evening soup? If it is soup, the cook is adding way too much salt.

I bump into a large, covered metal basin. There is a scraping sound coming from it. Something is trapped, scratching to get out. I lift the lid to see if I can assist. The basin is filled with multi-legged, hard-shelled creatures with craggy claws wrapped in gold bands. Each one — about fifteen inches long, not including their antennae stalks — looks like a cockroach wearing brown, segmented armor. They squirm and skitter, flipping their fantails. I quickly close the basin’s lid.

The nightmares. Right. With all these distractions, I almost forgot. Eye on the prize, Otto. Children are snuggling in their beds, unaware that nightmares are on the way.

What is that? I swallow hard. “A . . . human.”

There it is, not more than twenty feet away, an actual human. Or worse, a human sorcerer. It’s waving hands over the bright, blazing fire swirling inside a barrel. It sure looks like he’s conjuring magic. Yes, that’s definitely a sorcerer.

The sorcerer is wearing slick, bright yellow, ill-fitting bibbed overalls. Not very wizard-y, more like the uniforms worn by the factory hazmat team. I need to get a better look.

The sorcerer’s flat, pug-nosed face is sun damaged and framed by long, full sideburns. It’s probably a male.

Flames leap up from the barrel and glow in the sorcerer’s eyes. He grabs a fistful of green knit cap and drags it over his tousled salt and pepper hair. Then he stuffs the cap in the square back pocket of his droopy yellow pants.

From behind a screen door on a nearby, dilapidated porch, a ghostly voice calls out, “It’s ready!”

Some kind of ceremony is about to take place — that’s obvious. I imagine it will be witchy, full of ritual, and most likely offensive. The sorcerer steps to the building, calling out, “Coming.” He hops up on the groaning porch, opens the creaky screen door, and disappears. The screen door smacks the doorframe. After a slight bounce, the wobbly door snaps shut.

The sorcerer has left behind a long, shiny yellow coat. It’s hanging on a line near a wooden rain gutter beside the porch. I could really use that coat.

I hunker down and scoot up to the porch. With one eye on the screen door, I carefully take the garment down from the hook with my tail. This will not only hide my tail it will help me blend in among the humans.

I slide an arm into a sleeve and considered the consequences of stealing. Aww, I’ll return it before anyone knows it’s gone.

Now, where was I?

Yes. The last time I saw the nightmare bubbles, they were floating above the town. That means I need to get to the roof of one of these buildings. A sprite — in fact, any wingless fay— could easily shimmy up a rain gutter to a rooftop. It’s a good thing I have a tail, because smooth, clawless feet are not built for climbing.

A gathering of small, screeching ospreys scatter as my tail latches onto a stovepipe and lifts me onto the eaves.

Stovepipes are hot. I need to remember that.

Careful not to slip on loose shingles, I climb up to the arch of a roof.

At the top, I take in the ocean view. Turns out, the rumble I heard earlier was not coming from a monstrous reptile. It’s the foamy white swells from the ocean crashing against large rocks.

Tarp-covered boats rattle in the harbor. Shadowy figures busily stir on the docks. Behind me, away from the town, many small houses. Their wilting brown patches of grass don’t look in the least bit manicured.

My tiny human ears perk when a waft of air parts the hair on the top of my head. Something or someone is sneaking up from behind.

I need to turn around and face whatever has come for me. I need to––

“Kaw!”

It’s that stupid crow again.

“Really?” I say, knowing the crow isn’t going to answer back.

The crow pushes off my shoulder and flies off. Four roofs away, the crow is circling a weathervane, cawing madly. I untie the twine securing my equipment and dip into the kit bag to search for the locator. If that crow is pointing out a nightmare bubble, I need to know.

I hop from roof to roof to join the crow and see what he sees.

A nightmare bubble is emerging from behind smokestacks and chimneys like an otherworldly sunrise, casting its blue gloom over layers of rooftops.

I swing the repo musket around, but before I can take aim the bubble mysteriously disappears. Where did it go?

The crow flies to and lands on a nearby chimney. It pokes its head down the flue. Caws echoe from inside. Kaw-aw-aw-aw-aw!

I catch up with the bird and shove it aside just in time to see the flexible nightmare slide down the chimney. It’s too late to position the musket. The bubble is already inside the house, seeking a victim.

I lean over the chimney and stare into the flue. Can I squeeze through? Maybe. One thing I’m sure of: it’s extremely difficult to come up with a plan when a crow is cawing at you. “Shut up, bird! I’m thinking.”

Actually, I’m done thinking. I have a plan.

First, I’ll wrap the musket and kit bag inside the yellow coat, tie it with twine, and lower it down the chimney.

Next, I’ll lash my tail around a cool smokestack and lower myself down the flue. Headfirst, maybe, so I can see where I’m going while I crawl down.

“I’ve come up with a somewhat brilliant plan, crow,” I say. “However, if something goes wrong, I don’t want to hear about it. Go scold someone else with your horrible cawing. Hear me?”

The crow’s terrible cawing grows louder.

I’m really starting to dislike this bird.

In hindsight, going down a chimney headfirst was a bad idea. Once my tail lost its grip on the smokestack, I hit bottom pretty fast––Thunk–Kunk-Foof! My soft, human head has collided with the repo musket and a pile of fireplace logs.

I emerge from a cloud of ash, sputtering and coughing. White as a Calla Lily, I blink several times until my eyesight returns, then I dust off as much ashy powder as possible. I don’t think I broke anything. There is a sore spot on my head, but no blood.

The repo musket is a complicated piece of machinery, but it doesn’t appear damaged. I won’t exactly be sure if it’s okay until I try to use it again. If its broken or a part has come loose, I don’t have a clue how to fix it. I never even thought to ask the Boss if it needed cleaning now and again.

“Purrrrr . . . “

There’s a longhaired cat with a mashed-in face, lounging nearby. It has one sleepy eye open, but it appears unfazed by all the commotion in the fireplace.

I like cats. Especially when they purr, like this one. When they hiss, not so much. When they are wild, unhinged and big as a wolf, not at all. This one seems nice. Not even remotely ferocious.

There it is! The nightmare bubble is floating up a flight of stairs. At the second floor, it takes a left and disappears. I chase after it, leaving a trail of powdery footprints.

The nightmare is seeking out a victim. It heads for a slightly open door at the end of the hallway and squeezes its way inside. Skeeee!

When I reach the dark room, I catch the nightmare bubble hanging midair over a sleeping human child. Its turbulent content churns like an abominable snow globe.

I position the repo musket.

I can do this.

The bubble’s contents could pop open at any second. Once its nightmare payload is dropped, it will be too late for me to make things right. I’ve got the bubble in my sight. I can’t possibly miss, so why are my palms so sweaty? Why am I hesitating?

“Don’t let stagnating thoughts clog your flow.” ––Prime Elder Snert, BE SOMEBODY

I gently squeeze the trigger.

Fwoosh! The entire room floods with the intense, white-hot radiance of the crackling tractor beam.

Skassh! The beam takes hold of the angry bubble.

This kid is going to wake up. I just know it.

While the bubble is being deposited, my eyes drift around the room.

I see toys, hanging mobiles, and colorful ornaments of all shapes and sizes. The walls and curtains have bright diagonal stripes. My eyes lock in on a book. “Classic Fairy Tales” is sitting on the cushioned seat of a very short, powder blue chair. On the cover is an illustration showing a flock of three-inch high pixies flitting around a human girl carrying a picnic basket. That’s hilarious. I’ve never seen a fairy under three feet tall. And that’s in bare feet. In a thick-heeled hobnail boot, they might add a half-inch, maybe more. Humans — where do they get such silly notions?

“’Zat you, Mom?” the human child calls out, its eyes barely open.

It spoke. The tiny hairs still left on the back of my neck stand at attention. I should wait for the green light on the repo musket to flash, but I need to go now. How would I explain being here? Just passing through, thought I’d say ‘howdy-do’! That isn’t going to cut it, even if I offer up a sturdy handshake.

The child stirs. “Mom.” He slinks down in his bed and pulls a patchwork quilt up to his chin.

When the green light finally flares, the boy is startled. He drops the quilt down long enough to cry out, “Mom!” Then, in a snap, pulls the quilt completely over his head.

Bubble deposited, I sling the musket strap over my shoulder so the muzzle points upward, and I . . . slowly . . . back . . . out . . . of . . . the room.

Crash! Bang! Poom! Ching! Ka-Tang!

Something is happening downstairs. Something LOUD.

The human boy throws off his quilt, springs out of bed, sees me, and screams with all his might. “Mom!”

“Nothing to worry about here, kiddo,” I tell him, arms up with palms open in a defensive position. “This is all just a dream — just a silly old dream.”

“Some folks will believe anything.” ––Prime Elder Snert, BE SOMEBODY

Crash! Bang! Poom! Ching! Ka-Tang!

What am I doing? There’s no use trying to calm this little human. I dash out of the room, through the hall, and down the stairs. I have a plan: Rush to the front door, escape the house, and run away as fast as human legs can carry me.

“Get out!” someone shouts.

I’m stopped short of an escape. A human male, presumably the child’s father, is in my way. He’s swatting at the crow with a spatula. He’s also swatting at the mashed-face cat who is chasing after the crow.

Everything is in shambles. Furniture is overturned. Lamps and knick-knacks are broken. Chair cushions and throw pillows are shredded, stuffing everywhere. Pieces of a broken mirror are scattered around.

I catch a glimpse of myself in one of the shards. No wonder the kid screamed. Covered in ash, I look like a ghost — like a ghost with a huge gun and a tail.

The human man moves away from the door. Unfortunately, a female, presumably the child’s mother, is now blocking my way. She points at me, gasps, turns pale, and faints.

The human boy is standing at the top of the stairs clutching a pillow. He looks down in horror at his unconscious mother, lying at the bottom of the stairs. A single tear rolls down his cheek.

I want to assure the kid that his mother is fine, but he might not believe a ghostly stranger with a gun and a tail.So, instead, I rush to the front door, open it, and scream, “Crow! Let’s go!”

This distracts the cat and the human man long enough for the crow to escape.

The crow glides through the open door.

When we are both outside, I slam the door shut.

There’s a thud. The cat must have hit its head on the closed door. Poor kitty.

I shout out, “Let’s get out of here.” And sprint down the street.

The crow caws hysterically and flies in an erratic pattern above me. It’s cawing sounds like laughter and for some strange reason, I start laughing.

“He spanked you with a spatula,” I say.

The crow is cawing so hard it can barely fly. It clumsily drops down onto the street, loses its footing, and stumbles.

I can’t stop laughing and I fall to my knees. So funny: The cat. The human. The crow. The spatula. Hilarious.

A circular shadow drops over me. My laughter sputters out and I open my teary eyes. A nightmare is hovering overhead. It slowly floats away. The crow caws at the circular shadow moving down the street. My heart sinks. There are still two more bubbles on the loose. Nothing funny about that.

There is only one single red blip displayed on the locator screen. I shake the device and check again. I tap on it and give it another look. Where’s the other one?

My eyes are fixed on the screen. If I could, I would force the second blip to appear through the sheer power of my will. But then, if I could do that, I would turn back time to the point where I still had a chance to refuse the night monitor job. How did this happen to me? How did I get hired in the first place? Pandora said I wasn’t supposed to get the job. That makes sense. I’m not even qualified to work in the mailroom. Janitorial services, maybe. Why would someone put me charge of something so critically important?

The more I think about it, the more I realize that Pandora is right. Every shareholder on the Dream Factory board is flush with profit, while everyone else in the forest suffers. If profit holds magical properties, shouldn’t we all benefit from that?

Ka-caw! The crow perches on my slumped shoulder. It pecks at the locator display. It caws again — louder this time. Then lifts off.

“I’ve failed.” I groan. “A nightmare got through.”

Once again, the crow lands on my shoulder and pecks at the display. There’s still a blip on the screen.

“Crow, when you’re right, you’re right,” I say, placing the locator in my kitbag.

I stand, wipe my moist, hairless palms on my vest, and glare at the bubble rising over the rooftops. “It’s awfully far away.”

There’s an enchanted timepiece in my vest pocket. “I know what I have to do,” I say. “Not for the Board. Not to prove my worth. I have to stop a nightmare before it does its damage.”

If this pocket watch has enough juice to reach the last remaining nightmare bubble, then that is what I’ll do. Pandora will understand. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the greater good. That’s the kind of thing Pawpaw Jiff would do.

“Focus on commitment.” ––Prime Elder Snert, BE SOMEBODY

The crow shrieks, flies circles around me, and then takes off in the direction of the bubble.

“Crow, stop!” I yell. “Where are you going, crow? Stop!”

The bird glides toward the tiny blue sphere floating in the night sky. Silly bird.

Holding the timepiece in the palm of my hand, I try to think where I should be transported. I want to be placed somewhere close to the orb, but I also want to land someplace stable. If I were to tell the watch to deposit me near the orb, I might find myself fifty feet above a rooftop. Even if I crash-land on a roof, there is no assurance I wouldn’t slide down its side and plummet many feet before hitting hard ground. I need to be really precise about my destination.

Skassh! The sky lights up in a purple blaze, followed by a spray of violet sparks.

“What have you done, crow!” I call out, “Croooow!!”

There are no more blips on the locator.

THE DREAM FACTORY (first draft rejects) © Mark Scott Ricketts

PAGE 1

Panel 1: WHITE VOID. Human Otto, Human Pandora, the broken caravan, etc, are transparent, vanishing.

Panel 2: UNDERWATER. Reverted back to their original fairy forms, covered in fizzy bubbles, Otto and Pandora are shocked by their new circumstance — drowning.

Panel 3: Otto, with Pandora wrapped in his tail, swims upward, toward a circular reflection of light. Buoyant Dream Bubbles race them to the surface.

NOTE: Otto’s extended tail has fused to his body.

Panel 4: Below, the mutant Dragonfly (Izzy) is sinking, convulsing, wildly thrashing around in the dark deep. He’s also undergoing yet another painful metamorphosis.

Panel 5: ON THE SURFACE. It’s very, VERY FOGGY out. Visibility is difficult. Pandora lays on shore, her wings spread out. Otto, still up to his waist in the water, is surrounded by bobbing dream bubbles.

PAGE 2

Panel 1: Izzy (the Dragonfly) corks to the surface.

NOTE: This is the small anthropomorphic (flashback) version of the Dragonfly.

Panel 2: Using his tail, Otto plucks Izzy from out of the water. . .

Panel 3: . . . and plants him on shore beside Pandora.

Panel 4: Izzy’s open “mouth” spritzes tiny bubbles.

Panel 5: Izzy coughs up water.

PAGE 3

Panel 1: Izzy’s eyes bug out.

IZZY: Did we get it?

Panel 2: Pandora and Otto (both confused) look down at Izzy.

OTTO: Get what?

Panel 3: Tight on aggravated Dragonfly.

IZZY: The package. The one the Swap Wii— aggh.

Panel 4: Extreme CU of panicked Izzy.

IZZY: The package addressed to the factory. Tell me you have it?

PAGE 4

Panel 1: Pandora looks out at the water. The fog is beginning to clear.

PANDORA: It might still be in the caravan. (beat) At the bottom of the lake.

Panel 2: Izzy attempts to rise.

IZZY: It’s important. I have to get it.

Panel 3: Otto appears distracted, head turned, staring at something in the distance.

OTTO: Uh oh.

Panel 4: CU of Otto’s confused face.

OTTO: That’s not good.

PAGE 5

Spread: The fog has cleared. Abandoned picket signs, tossed identification badges, broken furniture, shards of glass, and loose paper surround a forest of ice blocks. These blocks, like icy stalagmites, contain Otto’s frozen co-workers.

PAGE 6

Panel 1: Otto, horrified, stares at one of his frozen co-workers encased in ice.

Panel 2: Otto’s pointy ears perk up.

VOICE (OS): The Night Monitor, I presume.

Panel 3: Otto turns to face the voice.

Panel 1: The Ice Pirate, GASPAR, steps out from behind a block of ice.

GASPAR: The factory is no more. Gone. Poof.

PAGE 7

Panel 1: Gaspar smiles at Otto.

GASPAR: Your job is done, night monitor. Gone. Poof.

Panel 2: Otto squints.

OTTO: The factory is gone? Where did it—? How is—?

Panel 3: Gaspar swishes his icicle blade.

GASPAR: Did you not hear me say ‘poof’.

Panel 4: Otto is confused.

OTTO: Poof?

Panel 5: Gaspar looking especially sinister.

GASPAR: Yes, yes, your miserable world has vanished. There’s nothing more for you here, little sprite. Run away. Begone.

Panel 4: Gaspar cocks an eyebrow.

OTTO (OS): Did you do this?

PAGE 8

Panel 1: Gaspar, smirking, glides toward Otto as if skating on ice.

GASPAR: Your employers have relocated. Gone bankrupt. Who knows? Doesn’t matter. They’re gone.

Panel 2: Gaspar gets in Otto’s face.

GASPAR: This world is mine now. It is no longer under the protection of the so-called Board. Understand?

Panel 3: Otto steps back.

OTTO: No sir. This world belongs to the Fae. You—

Panel 4: Otto accidentally bumps into a former co-worker frozen in ice.

OTTO: Oop!

Panel 5: Otto manages to keep the frozen co-worker from crashing to the ground.

Panel 6: Otto settles/grounds the frozen co-worker. Behind him, Gaspar is raising his blade.

PAGE 9

Panel 1: Gaspar’s blade scrapes Otto’s tail.

Panel 2: An icy lattice forms on the tail, creeps up to Otto’s body.

OTTO: Ooh. That’s cold.

Panel 3: The ground trembles. Ice blocks shake. Even Gaspar is surprised.

Panel 4: Suddenly, a camouflaged door (to an underground bunker), covered by sod and dead leaves, bursts open.

Panel 5: Foreman Grizzle springs from the bunker with a raised axe.

PAGE 10

Panel 1: Grizzle lops off Otto’s blue, icy tail.

Panel 2: Otto YOWLS in pain.

GRIZZLE (OS): You’re welcome.

Panel 3: Gaspar angrily raises his blade, when a voice overhead calls out—

VOICE (OS): Hey!

Panel 4: Gaspar looks up. Sees Pandora hovering, wings flapping, holding onto a Dream Bubble.

Panel 5: Pandora tosses the Dream Bubble at Gaspar.

PAGE 11

Panel 1: Gaspar’s raised blade pierces the oncoming bubble causing its sparkling contents to spill out.

Panel 2: Gaspar’s attempts to scream are suppressed as he’s completely covered/smothered in what looks like sparkling fireflies.

Panel 3: Pandora and a swirl of fireflies flutter above Gaspar’s empty costume. It’s all that remains of Gaspar.

Panel 4: CU of Pandora.

PANDORA: You okay, Otto?

Panel 5: Otto stands over his severed tail. Stares at it--in horror. It’s a block of ice full of spidery cracks.

OTTO (whimpers): My tail.

PAGE 12

Panel 1: Scattering sparkly firefly-like dream particles swarm around Otto’s pained, hopeless face.

Panel 2: The scattering sparkles have drifted to the lake. They light down on the floating dream bubbles.

Panel 2: Grizzle places a hand on Otto’s slumped shoulder.

GRIZZLE: Butt hurt, kid?

Panel 3: Otto looks really depressed. Behind him, glowing dream bubbles rise up from the lake.

OTTO: What? Um— (ponders)— no. I don’t feel... anything.

Panel 4: Grizzle winks. He pats Otto’s head

GRIZZLE: Losing your tail’s rough, I guess. But at least you ain’t froze up.

Panel 5: Otto, with a pained expression, looks up at Grizzle.

OTTO: Thank you.

GRIZZLE: I kinda owed you one.

PAGE 13

Panel 1: Otto and Grizzle look out at the world beyond the spot where the Dream Factory once stood. Glowing dream balloons have taken to the sky. Wings flapping, Izzy and Pandora are up there too.

Caption: Later.

Panel 2: Dream balloons burst open in a golden sky (like fireworks). The forest is alive with vibrant color.

Panel 3: Exotic birds and kaleidoscopic flowers appear. Leaves on trees have turned pink, red, and gold.

Panel 4: Everything once frozen is melting. Soaking wet former factory employees escape their liquifying prisons.

PAGE 14

Panels 1 & 2: Grizzle and Otto pass upgraded tree houses and gardens swelling with fruits, vegetables, and herbs.

Panel 3: They pass a HUGE carved pumpkin with windows and a door. Marked: “For Rent”.

Panel 4: IN THE VILLAGE. Village folk (elves, trolls, giants, etc.) are laughing, cheering, dancing in the town square. There’s music — fiddlers, pan pipers, and kettle drummers.

PAGE 15

Panel 1: Two familiar figures-- Otto’s bullies (the Short Chimera and the Tall Beast)-- come up from behind Otto and Grizzle. Waving to get Otto’s attention.

TALL BEAST: Otto! That you?

Panel 2: Otto recognizes the voice, turns around.

TALL BEAST (OS): Ooo, what happened to your tail?

Panel 3: Not only does Otto not have a tail, he no longer has a stub either. Just a little irritated, reddish, furless patch.

SHORT CHIMERA (OS): Fall off or somethin’?

Panel 4: The Tall Beast winks, points at Otto.

TALL BEAST: Lookin’ good, mutty.

PAGE 16

Panel 1: Otto is red-faced and a little freaked out.

OTTO: Hey fellas. Nice seein’ you and all, but, um, we gotta, we gotta go.

Panel 2: Otto pushes Grizzle to move along.

OTTO: Right, Mr. Grizzle?

Panel 3: Grizzle has no idea why he’s being rushed.

GRIZZLE: I’m going. I’m going.

Panel 4: The dejected Bullies watch Grizzle and Otto move on.

PAGE 17

Panel 1: Pandora is mesmerized, floating near a tree that appears to be on fire. The tree isn’t actually on fire; it’s filled with thousands of twinkling dream sparkle fireflies. Izzy sees Otto and Grizzle arrive on the scene.

IZZY (to Otto): This creeps me out. You?

OTTO: The sparklies? Or the miracles?

IZZY: That’s what we’re callin’ it, huh? Miracles?

OTTO: Maybe.

Panel 2: Otto joins Pandora. Still basking in the glow of the shimmering tree.

OTTO: Everything’s kinda, I dunno, good.

Panel 2: Otto takes hold of Pandora’s hand. They watch the glowing sparkly fireflies change color from pink...

Panel 3: ... to orange.

PANDORA: I always knew you were special.

PAGE 18

Panel 1: In the glow of the glimmering firefly tree, Pandora snuggles up to Otto.

Panel 2: They kiss.

Panel 3: Pandora whispers in Otto’s ear.

PANDORA: I’m really sorry about your tail.

Panel 4: Otto stares into Pandora’s eyes.

OTTO: I’m good. Well. . . yeh, I’m . . . I’m good.

PAGE 19

Panel 1: Izzy lands on Otto’s head. Pandora gives the Dragonfly an irritated look.

IZZY: Don’t get too comfortable. This will end in tears. Mark my words.

Panel 2: Grizzle looks worried.

GRIZZLE: Bug’s got a point.

Panel 3: Pandora looks to Otto for assurance.

PANDORA: We gonna be okay?

Panel 4: Otto shrugs.

OTTO: Can’t we just enjoy the moment?

PAGE 20

Spread: An overhead view of all the glorious, magical happenings in the Elfame village. The gang is still staring at the firefly display. And the village is still partying hard.

In the right hand corner, a spider — FRITZ, the last surviving member of the Flying Arachnids. He hangs from webbing, spying on Otto with binoculars and imagining a skull and crossbones in a dream balloon.

PAGE 21

Panel 1: HUMAN WORLD. A towering skyscraper in a modern cityscape. It’s pretty slick, except for a window crack on the third floor.

Caption: SNERT INC. Corporate Headquarters. The Human World.

VOICE (from building): Wow! What happened here?

Panel 2: INSIDE SNERT INC. The Human Boss shows a CONSTRUCTION GUY around the wrecked third floor office. Construction Guy wears a hard hat, carries a clipboard. The Office Area/Cubicle Farm is a huge mess!

HUMAN BOSS: Quarterly reports were higher than expected. Everyone got overly excited. You know how it is?

Panel 3: The Construction Guy raises an eyebrow.

CONSTRUCTION GUY: I guess.

PAGE 22

Panel 1: The Human Boss kicks aside some debris. In the background, Construction Guy scribbles on his clipboard page.

THE HUMAN BOSS: I’ll need this completely rebuilt.

Panel 2: The Human Boss notices a wrapped package in the rubble.

THE HUMAN BOSS: Hmm.

Panel 3: The Human Boss picks up the package.

Panel 4: Tight on the package. It’s addressed to the Dream Factory.

PAGE 23

Panel 1: The Human Boss tears paper away from the package, while the Construction Guy continues to assess the damage in the background.

Panel 2: CU of a book in the Human Boss’s hands. The title reads: “Service manual for the Dream Bubbler 3000” and “Includes schematics and detailed blueprints.”

THE END*

* THIS PRODUCT HAS BEEN DISCONTINUED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

THE DREAM FACTORY 1-10 • THE DREAM FACTORY 11-14

THE DREAM FACTORY 15 • THE DREAM FACTORY 16

THE DREAM FACTORY 17

THE DREAM FACTORY © Mark Scott Ricketts

"Nobody is going to bail you out. It’s all on you.” 
––Prime Elder Snert, BE SOMEBODY

Panel 1: THE HUMAN WORLD. Human Pandora peeks inside one of the private offices at SNERT ENTERPRISES.

HUMAN PANDORA: Where are all the humans?

Panel 2: Human Pandora closes the door.

Panel 3: Human Pandora cracks open another office door.

HUMAN PANDORA: And I’m kinda glad they aren’t here. Humans scare me.

Panel 4: Human Pandora closes that door.

HUMAN PANDORA: It’s just-- I’ve never met an actual human before.

Panel 5: Human Otto is rummaging around in the cubicle farm.

HUMAN OTTO (calls back): I only know what I learned in school.

Panel 6: Human Otto examines something curious -- a stapler.

PAGE 2

INSERT

OVERHEAD TITLE: A FAE GUIDE TO HUMANS

Panel 1: A page from an old-fashioned textbook with “Dick and Jane style illustrations” shows a human child with a mouthful of bubbles and foam.

Caption: Humans wash their mouths with soap every day.

Panel 2: Another old-fashioned image: A human child cutting grass with scissors and a comb.

Caption: Humans manicure a patch of grass once a week.

Panel 3: Another old-fashioned image: The ghost of a human child hovers over its former, recently dead body.

Caption: When a human dies, they become ghosts.

Panel 4: Another old-fashioned image: Stars and sparkles light up the smiling face of a human child sleeping in a bed.

Caption: Humans need dreams to survive.

INSERT ENDS

BACK TO SCENE

PAGE 3

Panel 1: Pandora is standing on a desk peering over a cubicle panel. She finally spots a human — a handsome BUSINESSMAN— standing on a desk a few cubicles down. The Handsome Businessman wears a trim suit, a telephone headset, and wields a crossbow.

HUMAN PANDORA: Otto!

Panel 2: The handsome Businessman pulls back the bowstring on his loaded crossbow. The tip of the arrow head glows red-hot.

BUSINESSMAN: Come out, buddy-buddy! It’s time for your review.

Panel 3: Tight on handsome Businessman aiming crossbow.

BUSINESSMAN: If your friend hadn’t called you Otto, I never would have known you were here.

Panel 4: Human Pandora looks panicked.

PANDORA: I know who this is -- I know that voice. It’s the—the Boss!

PAGE 4

Panel 1: The bowstring makes a creaking sound as the HUMAN BOSS (Businessman) pulls the crossbow taut. Krriiik.

HUMAN BOSS: I’m going to need a full report, Otto.

Panel 2: Human Otto climbs up on a desk.

HUMAN BOSS (O.S.): Normally I’d want it immediately. Hand-written. In triplicate.

Panel 3: Human Otto peers over a cubicle wall.

HUMAN BOSS (O.S.): But since the factory’s temporarily closed, you can take your time on the paperwork. There’s no hurry.

PAGE 5

Panel 1: A charged arrow zips past Human Otto’s head.

HUMAN BOSS (O.S.): Look at that.

Panel 2: Kunk! The charged arrow lands in an office door.

HUMAN BOSS (O.S.): I barely recognized you.

Panel 3: Black smoke and sparks rise from the lodged arrow.

Panel 4: Whoosh! The arrow and the door go up in flames.

PAGE 6

Panel 1: CU of a ceiling fire sprinkler. Klik!

Panel 2: The cubicle farm is given a good shower from multiple ceiling fire extinguishers.

HUMAN BOSS: It’s almost morning. Employees will be returning to their jobs in a matter of hours. Human employees. Human, but not like us. REAL humans.

Panel 3: Everything gets drenched. Human Boss, still standing on a desk, looks down at Human Otto. They are both soaking wet.

HUMAN BOSS: It’s a shame what we’ve done to their workplace.

PAGE 7

(The sprinklers are still on. Full force)

Panel 1: Watery rivulets flow down Human Otto’s face. His/her mascara is running. But he/she continues to glare at the Human Boss.

Panel 2: The Human Boss aims his last arrow. It sizzles, having lost its charge.

Panel 3: The Human Boss fires off the arrow. Twanng!

PAGE 8

(The sprinklers are still on. Full force)

Panel 1: Human Otto jumps out of the way of the arrow.

Panel 2: Human Boss climbs on top of a cubicle panel.

Panel 3: Human Boss pushes off, lunges at Human Otto.

Panel 4: Human Otto and Human Boss wrestle in an aisle between cubicles.

PAGE 9

(The sprinklers are still on. Full force)

Panel 1: Human Otto punches Human Boss in the chin. A tooth goes flying.

Panel 2: Human Boss gives Human Otto a gut punch.

HUMAN BOSS: I’ve never hit a lady before.

Panel 3: Human Otto leans/rests against a desk inside a cubicle. He holds his/her stomach.

HUMAN OTTO: I’m no lady.

Panel 4: Human Boss adjusts his jaw.

HUMAN BOSS: Crazy mutt.

PAGE 10

(The sprinklers are still on. Full force)

Panel 1: Human Otto tosses a stapler at the Human Boss.

Panel 2: The stapler smacks the Human Boss in the head. Whap! A couple loose staples go flying.

Panel 3: Human Boss crashes to the floor.

Panel 4: Human Otto, drenched, angry, adjusts his/her skirt..

PAGE 11

Panel 1: The Human Boss, his head bleeding, rises up from the floor. The waterworks have shut off. A few drips from the sprinklers drop to the puddled floor.

Panel 2: Human Otto sloshes his/her way closer to the Human Boss.

Panel 3: The Human Boss looks up at Human Otto, smiles. A front tooth is missing. He holds one finger up as if requesting a break in the fight. He also seems to be listening to someone on his headset.

HUMAN BOSS (to Human Otto): Hold that thought.

Panel 4: CU of Human Boss talking on headset.

HUMAN BOSS: Of course. Yes, sir. Right away.

Panel 4: The Human Boss turns his attention back to Human Otto.

HUMAN BOSS: We’ll have to continue your review later. Right now, the Chairman wants to see you.

PAGE 12

Panel 1: Human Boss opens double doors, revealing a BOARDROOM.

Panel 2: Human Pandora and Human Otto enter.

HUMAN BOSS: Chairman Snert.

HUMAN OTTO: Prime Elder . . . Snert?

Panel 3: A huge BOARDROOM TABLE. Piles of cash on the table top (various Earth currency). CHAIRMAN SNERT (formerly Prime Elder Snert) stands at the far end of the table. He’s a handsome, tanned human executive in an expensive suit.

Behind CHAIRMAN SNERT, there’s a round, stainless steel vault. And it’s open. Filled with cash. And dream bubbles.

CHAIRMAN SNERT: I’m so glad you could join us.

"Serve praise like it’s a delicious dessert.” 
––Prime Elder Snert, BE SOMEBODY

PAGE 13

Panel 1: Human Otto scrunches his/her face.

HUMAN OTTO: I love your book, sir.

Panel 2: Chairman Snert beams.

CHAIRMAN SNERT: You read my book?

Panel 3: Human Pandora leans in, whispers to Human Otto.

HUMAN PANDORA: That vault -- it’s full of dream bubbles.

Panel 4: Chairman Snert opens his arms.

CHAIRMAN SNERT: Never mind the vault, young lady. We should discuss your future.

PAGE 14

Panel 1: Human Otto smirks.

HUMAN OTTO: Say what you need to get what you want. That’s what you’re doing, right?

CHAIRMAN SNERT (O.S.): You HAVE read my book. (beat) Ha! I can see you’ve got potential. A real go-getter.

Panel 2: Human Otto climbs up on the table.

Panel 3: Human Otto adjusts his/her skirt as he/she walks the table top to face Chairman Snert.

HUMAN OTTO: Yes sir, I’m the guy who knows the guy who knows a guy that knows... the truth.

Panel 4: Chairman Snert places his knuckles on the table.

CHAIRMAN SNERT: I think you mean ‘you’re the gal’. But have you considered that you may be on the wrong track, deary?

Panel 5: Human Otto kicks money stacks aside on his/her way down the table.

HUMAN OTTO: I’m just taking your suggestions to heart, sir. Showing initiative.

PAGE 15

Panel 1: Chairman Snert remains calm, chillingly so.

CHAIRMAN SNERT: Consider this: I can make you, or I can destroy you. The choice is yours.

Panel 2: Human Otto kicks a stack of cash into the air.

HUMAN OTTO: Dream bubbles weren’t created for human children, were they?

Panel 3: Chairman Snert laughs.

CHAIRMAN SNERT: Human children? That’s your concern? Honestly, why would I serve the needs of any human? Much less their thumb-sucking offspring?

Panel 4: Otto kicks away another pile of money.

HUMAN OTTO: I think you’re draining positive energy from the Fae world to gather some kind of advantage in this world.

CHAIRMAN SNERT (O.S.): And they say Sprites are stupid.

PAGE 16

Panel 1: Human Pandora lowers her head. Behind her, the Human Boss exits— closing the Boardroom door.

HUMAN PANDORA: All this time I believed the factory was necessary. I thought we were doing good. I thought--

Panel 3: Chairman Snert enters the vault behind the boardroom table.

CHAIRMAN SNERT: In this world, dreams produced in the Fae world can be used to generate human currency.

Panel 4: Chairman Snert throws cash into the air.

CHAIRMAN SNERT: And we have collected enough for all of us to live in luxury for our remaining years.

Panel 5: CU of Chairman Snert.

CHAIRMAN SNERT: All of us. That includes you.

PAGE 17

Panel 1: Human Otto awkwardly gets down from the boardroom table.

Panel 2: Chairman Snert welcomes Human Otto into the walk-in vault.

CHAIRMAN SNERT: You will never want for anything.

Panel 3: Inside the vault. Human Otto admires shelves full of dream bubbles.

HUMAN OTTO: Tempting.

Panel 4: Human Pandora is sitting at the boardroom table, staring at the image of Grover Cleveland on a thousand dollar bill.

PANDORA: The Fae are dying. For what? So you can live like a king?

PAGE 18

Panel 1: Chairman Snert joins Human Otto in the vault.

HUMAN OTTO: You used to be my hero.

Panel 2: Human Otto holds a single finger (with painted, manicured fingernail) up as if he/she’s about to make a point.

CHAIRMAN SNERT (O.S.): Are you with me?

Panel 3: Human Otto POPS a dream bubble with his/her sharp fingernail.

CHAIRMAN SNERT (O.S.): Don’t do—

Panel 4: Positive energy spews from the punctured bubble.

CHAIRMAN SNERT (O.S.): NO!

PAGE 19

Panel 1: Human Otto squeezes the bubble, blasting Chairman Snert with a rush of positive energy.

CHAIRMAN SNERT: AGGGH!

Panel 2: Chairman Snert’s eyes roll back. Twinkling lights swirl around his head.

Panel 3: As swirls of positive energy fill the vault, Chariman Snert begins to bloat. And white hairs sprout from his face.

Panel 4: Chairman Snert no longer looks like a businessman in an expensive suit. He’s fully transformed into a rotund, white-bearded, rosy-cheeked old-timer in a red snow suit trimmed in white fur.

Panel 5: Chairman Snert (‘Zat you, Santa Claus?) begins to VANISH.

PAGE 20

Panel 1: Human Pandora stands at the entry to the vault, looking in. She squints, near blinded by the brightness of the dream bubble’s positive energy cloud.

HUMAN PANDORA: What just happened? You okay? Otto?

Panel 2: Sleepy-eyed Human Otto emerges from the sparkly fog.

HUMAN OTTO: Well, I’m a little . . . woozy. But, um, ya know, I kinda like wearing silky undergarments now. And this—um—skirt? That what you call it? Skirt? (ponders) Skirt. Funny word.

Panel 3: Human Otto with a goofy, drunken smile.

HUMAN Pandora (O.S.): What about Snert?

HUMAN OTTO: All gone. Poof.

Panel 4: Human Pandora turns her head to face the doors at the end of the room.

HUMAN PANDORA: Where’s the Boss?

PAGE 21

Panel 1: Human Otto’s drunk with positivity. His eyes sparkle.

HUMAN OTTO: Everything is wonderful.

HUMAN PANDORA (O.S.): NO! It’s not. We have to get out of here.

Panel 2: Human Pandora’s face shows panic.

HUMAN OTTO (O.S.): Pandora. Don’t you get it? It’s over. We did it.

Panel 3: Human Otto lays a big kiss on Human Pandora.

Panel 4: Human Pandora pushes away.

HUMAN PANDORA: What’s over? Nothing’s over.

PAGE 22

Panel 1: The cloud of positive energy dissipates. Human Otto (buzzed) and Human Pandora (trepidatious) sit in the vault among all the dream bubbles and stacks of cash.

HUMAN PANDORA: I still don’t know how we’re going to get home.

Panel 2: Human Otto falls back onto a pile of cash.

HUMAN OTTO: We got this far. There has to be a way --

Panel 3: A pocket on Human Otto’s jacket vibrates. BBZZZT!

HUMAN OTTO: Oh. Oh. Oh. We can—we can use the watch. (beat) I completely forgot about my grandfather’s watch.

Panel 4: Human Pandora attempts to shake Human Otto sober.

HUMAN PANDORA: Have you lost your mind? Whatever’s happening, I need you to snap out of it.

Panel 5: A faint impression of the Swap Witch’s face appears before them.

HUMAN PANDORA (O.S.): Uh oh. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’ve lost my mind. Do you see that? It looks like . . .

PAGE 23

Panel 1: The Swap Witch fully materializes/transports to the vault. Hovers mid-air.

SWAP WITCH (to Human Otto): There ye be, gurlie gurl.

Panel 2: Human Otto’s glazed eyes narrow.

HUMAN OTTO: I’m not a— oh.

SWAP WITCH (O.S.): Need me now, do ye? (beat) Good thing I put a tracker on yar suped-up watch there.

Panel 3: Human Pandora grabs Human Otto’s jacket and shakes him/her.

HUMAN PANDORA: Am I hallucinating?

HUMAN OTTO: No, you’re fine, this is real. And the watch, it’s got magic, we can use it to go home. The watch will take us home.

Panel 4: The Swap Witch laughs.

Panel 5: The Swap Witch cocks an eye.

SWAP WITCH: Yar HALF right, gurlie. (beat) Yah see, yer watch only has enough juice to transport ONE traveler. Just one. But don’t ya fret, I got a workaround. I got ye covered. (beat) That is, if’n ye be willing to barter.

Panel 6: CU of the Swap Witch’s crooked smile.

SWAP WITCH: All ya gotta do is hand over ye two beavers and I’ll see you and all yers back to yer home. As ye once was.

Panel 7: Human Pandora really looks confused now. But Human Otto is starting to sober up (a little).

HUMAN PANDORA: Beavers?

HUMAN OTTO: We can go home? I can be a sprite again? Pandora can be a pixie? Everything back to the way it was? Really?

PAGE 24

Panel 1: The Swap Witch extends a hand to Human Otto.

SWAP WITCH: Do we have a deal?

Panel 2: Human Pandora pleads with Human Otto.

HUMAN PANDORA: Great. She wants beavers, give her beavers. Let’s just go home. Please.

Panel 3: Human Otto shakes his/her head. Tries to focus.

HUMAN OTTO: Let me think. Um, everything’s so fuzzy. I sorta remember seeing two fuzzy—

Panel 4: Swap Witch squats next to Human Otto.

SWAP WITCH: Don’t deny me, gurlie. I needs me some beavers to build a fortress. For all me goods, ya see.

HUMAN OTTO (ponders): Beavers. Yeh, earlier, I definitely saw a couple beavers. Pretty sure.

HUMAN PANDORA (OS): We’re doomed.

Panel 5: Swap Witch frowns.

SWAP WITCH: Don’t toy with me, gurl. I’m offering yah a good deal here. And I’m throwing in pixie wings and—and an artificial tail. The whole kit and kaboodle.

Panel 6: Human Pandora pulls at Human Otto’s jacket.

HUMAN PANDORA: I really do want my wings back.

HUMAN OTTO: Sure, but . . . beavers?

PAGE 25

Panel 1: The beavers in question—Carlton and Philomena— peer into the vault.

SWAP WITCH (off panel): Ye beavers! Ye beavers! Thar they be.

Panel 2: Carlton and Philomena wave “hello”.

Panel 3: The Human Boss kicks open the boardroom doors. WHAM! He’s carrying a NIGHTMARE BUBBLE and chanting.

HUMAN BOSS: Mutt! Mutt! Mutt! Mutt! Mutt! Mutt!

Panel 4: The Human Boss holds a letter opener over the nightmare bubble.

HUMAN BOSS: Pink slips for everybody!

PAGE 26

Panel 1: The Human Boss punctures the nightmare bubble with the letter opener. Speeewww!

Panel 2: A stream of negative energy shoots out of the nightmare bubble.

Panel 3: Nick of time, the Dragonfly appears and blocks/absorbs the negative stream.

Panel 4: The Dragonfly is overcome.

PAGE 27

Panels 1-3: As the blue smoke clears, we see that the Dragonfly has undergone transformation. It’s grown into a huge (10 foot), beastly, primeval MUTANT DRAGONFLY. Its ragged, fluttering wingspan breaks furniture, scatters piles of money. Its long, spear-like abdomen slashes at anything in its way.

This thing has also grown a ghastly aggregation of legs. Four scaled with talons. Two hairy with hooves. Worst of all, its hideous mouth is open wide. And its hooky labium is extended, exposing a spiky throat.

Panel 4: Human Pandora, Human Otto, and the beavers hide behind the vault door. Crashing SFX noises all around.

Panel 5: The Swap Witch, unfazed, is standing on the boardroom table now.

SWAP WITCH (shouts): Do we have a deal, then?!

PAGE 28

Panel 1: Human Otto pokes his/her head out from behind the vault door.

HUMAN OTTO: A deal?

Panel 2: The Swap Witch raises a bony arm in the air.

SWAP WITCH: A deal it is.

Panel 3: The Swap Witch stirs up a magic storm.

SWAP WITCH: No Bogie will take from me again. No predator’ll harm me new employees, neither. We’ll be forever free from those what would do us ill. So it be!

PAGE 29

Full Page: A WHITE VOID. Human Otto, Human Pandora, dream bubbles, nightmare bubbles, the broken caravan (etc.) swirl in nothingness. The Mutant Dragonfly is there, too.

PAGE 30

Panel 1: CU of one of the Mutant Dragonfly’s eyes.

Panel 2: The Mutant Dragonfly’s pupils are hypnotic, spinning spirals.

Panel 3: Extreme CU of one of the Mutant Dragonfly’s spinning pupils.

B/W FLASHBACK BEGINS

Panel 4: In a time before Otto had even applied at the Dream Factory. In a place that looks like a mad scientist’s lab. A WIZENED ELF works out a formula on a chalkboard. A normal-sized Dragonfly is perched on the Wizened Elf’s shoulder watching intently.

WIZENED ELF: This is it, Izzy. I’ve done it.

DRAGONFLY (IZZY): Finally.

PAGE 31

Panel 1: The Wizened Elf admires his work.

WIZENED ELF: I think I’ll call this wonderful contraption a... a Dreeeam Bubbler.

DRAGONFLY (IZZY): Really? That’s the best you got?

B/W FLASHBACK ENDS.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

THE DREAM FACTORY 1-10 • THE DREAM FACTORY 11-14

THE DREAM FACTORY 15 • THE DREAM FACTORY 16

THE DREAM FACTORY © Mark Scott Ricketts

THINGS AREN’T ANY BETTER IN THE FAE WORLD

GRIZZLE had been a foreman at the Dream factory for over seventy-five years. And he spent much of that time pretending not to notice when his fellow co-workers were mistreated. He knew the Boss and the Board of Directors were a crooked bunch, but he wasn’t one for making waves. He let management have their way so that the good folk of the Elfame village and those who resided in the surrounding Seelie forest could continue to thrive survive. This was the deal.

He said nothing when safety precautions and requests for a new Dream Bubbler™ service manual were ignored. He kept his mouth shut when an aging, overworked night monitor was fired for complaining about conditions. Worst of all, he turned his back when the Boss forced him to hire an inexperienced young sprite (Otto Leaflicker) as the new night monitor – a near impossible job for a skilled factory employee.

When contaminated bubbles were released, and the new night monitor received full blame for the mishap, Grizzle did nothing. He chose to let his gluttonous superiors do as they pleased.

However, after many nights wrestling with his conscience, Grizzle decided that the time had come for him to finally confront his superiors and appeal to their sense of fairness. Though he was pretty sure a sense of fairness was buried far too deep within their dark, piggish hearts.

Grizzle’s rebellion began when he walked off the factory floor to stand with the small gathering of protesters outside the Boss’ office. They were carrying signs with messages like “Time for a Change,” “Protect Worker’s Rights,” and “The Boss is a Jerk.” He agreed with every sentiment. He also wondered who was responsible for the calligraphy on their signs. It looked very professional.

Grizzle nudged past an imp wearing a “Fight the Power” t-shirt and waddled up to the STONE GARGOYLES guarding the doors to the main offices.

The gargoyle guards were fearsome beasts constructed from hexed granite. They worked as freelance gatekeepers and the Dream Factory Board of Directors occasionally hired them whenever they needed heartless, rock-hard enforcers to control unruly crowds, gawkers, or ex-employees that carried a grudge.

Grizzle crumpled his spongy nose and shouted, “We demand to speak to the Boss!”

The gargoyles held firm. Once they settle in, no one could get past them.

One of the gargoyles wrenched its boulder head to keep Grizzle from looking directly into one of its eye cavities.

Grizzle had dealt with gargoyles before. He knew they weren’t the type to listen to reason. They groan some, but in all his years he never knew one willing to carry on an actual conversation. He wasn’t quite sure they had working mouths.

Grizzle faced the protesters. “He’s gotta come out sometime. We waah—”

Before Grizzle could finish, one of the protesters had lopped an apple-shaped grenade at the rock-hard guards crying, “Shields up!”

Ka-Thoom!

With a great flash of light, the gargoyles exploded into a shower of pebbles. Tiny rocks rained down, battering raised protest signs.

Hobgoblins have thick, leathery skin, so the pebbles bounced right off Grizzle. They still stung, so it was irritating. Someone could have warned me that might happen, he thought to himself.

The striking employees forced their way through the door where they were met by the next wave of defense — AN ICE PIRATE!

Grizzle had witnessed one of these frosty buccaneers in action before, so he stepped back.

Ice pirates look like costumed dandies in white satin with silver trim, but Grizzle knew them to be extremely dangerous.

Nothing says ‘I really don’t care about the welfare of my disgruntled employees’ like siccing an ice pirate on them. Someone was bound to get hurt, and it was highly unlikely that someone would be a board member.

PLOOF, a wiry elf from Accounting, used his powerful legs to hop over the fray. But the ice pirate kept him from going any farther.

The ice pirate kept a frozen eye on Ploof, bowed deeply, then waved his plumed, white bicorn hat to one side. After setting the hat back on his powdered wig, the ice pirate clicked the heels of his multi-buckled, knee-high, white leather boots, and unsheathed his icicle sword.

“Scab!” Ploof cried, just before feeling the sting of the chilly swordsman’s blade. From Grizzle’s perspective it looked as if Ploof was just scratched. But the absolute terror on the elf’s face said otherwise.

The ice pirate calmly straightened his silver studded white vest. He smirked, and the white greasepaint on his rubbery face cracked.

Grizzle, along with the other protesters, stared in horror as the elf took on a steely-blue complexion. Soon, Ploof was enveloped in crystal lattice — his entire body frozen stiff.

With a free hand, the ice pirate adjusted his long, carrot-orange costume nose. “Cold enough?”

Without a thought for his safety, AJAX, an angry brownie from Research and Development, leapt into action.

The ice pirate’s long white satin frock coat swirled as he spun around to face the brave brownie. A bone chilling sub-zero energy blast from the pirate’s icicle-shaped blade paralyzed Ajax. Tiny snowflakes crept up the brownie’s rigid body. More snowflakes formed until his entire body was encased in a frozen crystal block.

Grizzle turned back. For him, the protest was over. The Boss and the board were not going to listen to employee demands. They would rather crush their own workforce than give an inch. The board had enough magic stored away to keep their kind going long after Elfame and the Seelie forest dissolved. Why should they concern themselves with average, unexceptional fairy folk?

Grizzle gazed out one of the two huge window eyes on the factory’s 13^th floor. He shook his heavy head and let go a deep, gravelly sigh.

Outside, winged pixie receptionists bravely maneuvered past a barrage of lightning bolt arrows, only to be swept up by a whirling, supernatural cyclone. Rendered helplessly dizzy, they were ejected from the spinning funnel.

Warehouse trolls climbing scaffolding and scaling walls were forced to duck out of the way to avoid being hit by falling allies.

Grizzle helplessly watched the battle rage on, reflecting on the eager new night monitor who was sent off to retrieve nightmares. When he returns from his mission, Grizzle thought, successful or not, there will be no job waiting for him. There will be no Dream Factory at all — only rubble. Soon, all the positive magic that hasn’t been hoarded away by the board will either diminish or be consumed by negative magic. There will be only darkness.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

THE DREAM FACTORY 1-10 • THE DREAM FACTORY 11-14 •

THE DREAM FACTORY 15

THE DREAM FACTORY © Mark Scott Ricketts

ART FOR THE DREAM FACTORY © Horacio Dominques, Mark Scott Ricketts

DON’T FORGET TO SUBSCRIBE TO MY OTHER NEWSLETTER:

Handbuzzer Studio Exposes . . . MS Ricketts’ Stash

Writer, Illustrator, cartoonist Mark Scott Ricketts has agreed to set his feral (sometimes unfinished) projects free to run wild on the internet. Approach these works cautiously. Some of them may bite.

By YUCK! Travel Magazine

PAGE ONE

Panel 1: THE HUMAN WORLD. Fae World beavers, Carlton and Philomena, are no longer wearing clothes. They’re lying in a puddle of water on a cold terrazzo floor in the lobby of a modern corporate office building*.

*There’s a reception area, an elevator, a bench, and a stairwell door. Behind the reception desk: entry to an office complex— SNERT ENTERPRISES.

Panel 2: Frightened, clinging to Carlton’s arm, Philomena attempts to speak. But all she can do is . . . chirp.

Panel 3: The couple stare at each other in horror, suddenly realizing that they are no longer the enchanted, well-spoken, impeccably dressed creatures they once were. They have, at least on the surface, devolved into ordinary broad-tailed Human World rodents.

Panel 4: To add to Carlton and Philomena’s dilemma, there’s a human female (GINGER-HAIRED GIRL) in a skirt suit and heels rushing towards them.

NOTE: The Ginger-haired girl is actually Otto. He transformed into a human female when he entered the human world.

1. The original Otto. 2. Otto with prosthetic tail. 3. Otto as ginger-haired human girl.

PAGE TWO

Panel 1: The beavers scramble to avoid being trampled by the Ginger-haired Girl.

Panel 2: Carlton and Philomena, hiding under a bench, watch the Ginger-haired Girl’s high heels rush past.

Panel 3: The Ginger-haired Girl, her back against the Snert Enterprises reception desk, swats at a Dragonfly. She looks confused. Panting. Desperate.

Panel 4: The Ginger-haired Girl ducks into the Snert Enterprises office complex. The oversized Dragonfly chases after her.

PAGE THREE

Full Page: SNERT ENTERPRISES. The Ginger-haired Girl and the Dragonfly enter the main office space that houses a cubicle farm. The Swap Witch’s caravan is also there, badly damaged, lying on its side, and tangled up in a mess of broken desks and cubicle panels.

NOTE: Behind the cubicle farm there are doors to private offices. There are also doors on the right leading to storage, a breakroom, and a copy room. To the left of the farm is a wall of windows exposing a cityscape and blue sky.

PAGE FOUR

Panel 1: The Dragonfly lights down near one of the caravan’s windows.

Panel 2: Extreme CU of one of the Dragonfly’s eyes. A tiny black pupil surrounded by a ring of speckled gold. Just like the caravan horse.

Panel 3: A human female’s hand rises up from the exposed caravan window. The Dragonfly flitters away.

PAGE FIVE

Panel 1: A human female (BLONDE GIRL) emerges from the caravan. The Blonde Girl kinda looks like a human version of Pandora -- without any fairy glamour. She wears a pink women’s business suit.

NOTE: The human Blonde girl IS Pandora.

1. The original Pandora. 2. Pandora as blonde-haired human girl.

BLONDE GIRL: My wings! I can’t--My wings!

Panel 2 : The Blonde Girl hops off the caravan.

Panel 3: The Ginger-haired Girl, hand to mouth, appears shocked.

GINGER-HAIRED GIRL : That voice. I know—

PAGE SIX

Panel 1: The Ginger-haired Girl realizes she has manicured, painted fingernails.

GINGER-HAIRED GIRL: Gah.

Panel 2: The Blonde Girl studies her own hands.

BLONDE GIRL: No.

Panel 3: The Blonde Girl stares at the Ginger-haired Girl in disbelief.

BLONDE GIRL: Noo.

Panel 4: The Blonde Girl is horrified.

BLONDE GIRL: Are you—? (gulps) No.

PAGE SEVEN

Panel 1: The Ginger-haired Girl examines her new body.

GINGER-HAIRED GIRL: How is this possible?

Panel 2: Tears stream down the Blonde Girl’s face.

BLONDE GIRL: Otto?

NOTE: From here on, the Ginger-haired Girl will be referred to as HUMAN OTTO and the Blonde Girl as HUMAN PANDORA. Are you confused yet?

Panel 3: Human Otto and Human Pandora are both in shock. The Dragonfly (and the Beavers) watch from the sidelines.

HUMAN PANDORA: You sound like Otto, but you, you’re human! A human... female?

Panel 4: Human Otto touches the bumps on his/her chest.

HUMAN OTTO: Eew. I’m a girl!

PAGE EIGHT

Panel 1: Human Pandora eyes closed, grimacing.

HUMAN PANDORA: We’re... dreamers.

Various head shots show Human Otto going through the five stages of grief:

Panel 2: DENIAL. Human Otto w/ eyes closed tight.

HUMAN OTTO: This is just a nightmare. I’m gonna wake up and—

Panel 3: ANGER. Human Otto enraged.

HUMAN OTTO: WHHHYYY?! Why me? AGGGH!!

Panel 4: BARGAINING. Human Otto looks up at the ceiling, pleads.

HUMAN OTTO: If anyone is listening, please, please, please make this right again. I promise, I’ll do whatever. Just make me a sprite again. A boy sprite. A nobody boy sprite with a stubby tail. Please!

Panel 5: DEPRESSION. Human Otto distressed, teary-eyed.

HUMAN OTTO: I don’t wanna be a girl! Waaah!

Panel 6: ACCEPTANCE. Human Otto scrunches his/her face.

HUMAN OTTO: I’m female now. A human female. So what?

PAGE NINE

Panel 1: CU of Human Pandora’s wide open eyes.

HUMAN PANDORA: Ooh. Otto. Look at that.

Panel 2: WALL OF WINDOWS. Human Pandora and Human Otto are mesmerized by the view -- a glimmering skyline filled with modern skyscrapers.

HUMAN PANDORA: The human world is so . . . big. And shiny.

Panel 3: Human Otto turns to Human Pandora.

HUMAN OTTO: I feel sick.

Panel 4: Human Pandora is teary-eyed.

HUMAN PANDORA: Don’t leave me, okay? I mean, you have every reason to leave. But don’t. Okay?

HUMAN OTTO (O.S.): What?

PAGE TEN

Panel 1: Human Pandora and Human Otto sit on the terrazzo floor staring out at the city skyline.

HUMAN PANDORA: I have to tell you something.

HUMAN OTTO: Is it bad? It can’t get worse. (beat) Can it?

HUMAN PANDORA: The Board, they made me to spy on you.

Panel 2: Human Otto darts eyes her way.

HUMAN PANDORA (O.S.): They threatened me.

Panel 3: Human Pandora lowers her head, ashamed.

HUMAN PANDORA: They told me you sabotaged the Dream Bubbler. On . . . purpose.

Panel 4: Human Otto’s cheeks redden.

HUMAN OTTO: I’m, well, I am responsible for what happened. Just me. But...

PAGE ELEVEN

Panel 1: Human Pandora places her hand on Human Otto’s hand.

HUMAN OTTO: ... it was an accident.

HUMAN PANDORA: I know. I always knew that. I tried to tell them, but—

Panel 2: Their fingers interlace.

HUMAN OTTO (O.S.): I’m not going anywhere. I promise. We’re a team. We’re gonna get out of this mess. Somehow.

Panel 3: Human Pandora and Human Otto turn to stare into each other’s eyes.

HUMAN PANDORA: What about the nightmares?

PAGE TWELVE

Panel 1: Human Otto shrugs.

HUMAN OTTO: Yeh, we should finish the job. That gonna be okay with you?

Panel 2: Human Pandora takes Human Otto’s hand.

HUMAN PANDORA: I want to help. I do. But . . . I don’t feel very confident right now.

Panel 3: Human Otto stares at their reflections in the window.

HUMAN OTTO: Yeh, this being human thing is strange. My eyes are weak. My skin is soft. And I’m really missing that tail.

HUMAN PANDORA: I have these feelings like I still have wings. Feels like they’re fluttering or something.

Panel 4: Human Pandora places a hand on her neck, winces.

HUMAN PANDORA: And everything, everything feels wrong. Hurts, too. Everywhere, all over this weird, new body. It hurts, right? Or is that just me?

Panel 5: Otto takes off one of his/her high heels.

HUMAN OTTO: These stupid things aren’t helping.

PAGE THIRTEEN

Panel 1: Human Otto takes hold of Human Pandora’s arms. He/she looks determined.

HUMAN OTTO: We need to locate my gear and get back on the job. Once we’ve taken care of business, then we can figure out how to get back home. Get back to normal even. With me?

Panel 2: Human Otto and Human Pandora hug.

Panel 3: Still embracing, Human Pandora looks up at Human Otto.

HUMAN PANDORA: That felt nice.

Panel 4: They hug again.

PAGE FOURTEEN

Panel 1: LATER. Human Otto finds the Repo musket behind a desk.

HUMAN OTTO: Look what I found! (beat) The tracker’s gotta be somewhere close.

Panel 2: Human Pandora picks up a framed photo from a desk.

HUMAN PANDORA: This is a work place, right?

Panel 3: Tight on Human Otto looking confused.

Panel 4: The framed photo in Human Pandora’s hand pictures a smiling human family.

HUMAN PANDORA (O.S.): Where are all the—um—workers?

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

THE DREAM FACTORY 1-10 • THE DREAM FACTORY 11-14

THE DREAM FACTORY © Mark Scott Ricketts

ART FOR THE DREAM FACTORY © Horacio Dominques, Mark Scott Ricketts

HEY! YOU! DON’T FORGET ABOUT MY OTHER NEWSLETTER.

Handbuzzer Studio Exposes . . . MS Ricketts’ Stash

Writer, Illustrator, cartoonist Mark Scott Ricketts has agreed to set his feral (sometimes unfinished) projects free to run wild on the internet. Approach these works cautiously. Some of them may bite.

By YUCK! Travel Magazine

Otto sets out to find and capture the errant nightmare bubbles. But he gets sidetracked by BOGIES who turn his head with the promise of a full-sized prosthetic tail. All he has to do is enter an enchanted clearing that’s threatening to Bogies and retrieve their caravan. Otto agrees, but as it turns out the caravan does not belong to the Bogies.

The actual owner of the caravan, a SWAP WITCH, imprisons Otto for breaking and entering. Luckily, his co-worker PANDORA has been following (stalking?) Otto. She takes out the witch and sets Otto free. But not before Otto discovers the treasures the witch has stored away —dream AND nightmare bubbles, piles of gold, and… a prosthetic tail.

Otto’s troubles don’t end there. The Swap Witch’s anti-Bogie spell is broken and the clearing is no longer a threat to them. Angry Bogies descend on the caravan with evil intent. So Otto is motivated to do what he does best — RUN!

As Otto, Pandora, and a frothing horse barrel through the forest to escape the Bogie hoard, they come upon one of the runaway nightmare bubbles.

Otto attempts to capture it, loses it, then accidentally sends the nightmare bubble sailing toward the Bogies.

An explosion of nightmares disintegrates the Bogies. The Swap Witch returns. The bartering old crone calculates the benefits she gains from her enemies being vanquished against Otto’s transgressions.

Otto is no longer in debt. In fact, he’s profited on this deal. He now owns the prosthetic tail, the caravan, all its contents, the horse, and he’s paid off Pandora’s debt*.

* Pandora did knock the Swap Witch unconscious to save Otto.

All would be well, except the horse continues to madly run as if still being chased. The horse runs and runs until… the caravan breaks through the invisible curtain that separates the FAE WORLD from the HUMAN WORLD. Otto, Pandora, the horse, and two innocent beavers (?) are swept into the human world.

NOTE: The ending has changed on this story since its original conception. And— brace for it— the new ending will (mostly) be presented to you in script form. Sorry about the format change.

THE DREAM FACTORY 1-10 • THE DREAM FACTORY 11 •

THE DREAM FACTORY 12 • THE DREAM FACTORY 13

THE DREAM FACTORY 14

THE DREAM FACTORY © Mark Scott Ricketts

ART FOR THE DREAM FACTORY © Horacio Dominques, Mark Scott Ricketts

Minutes before Otto and Pandora were cast into the unknown, on the banks of Thimble Creek, near the edge of the Seelie forest, a very proud beaver puffed up his chest and proudly pointed out the magnificent dam he had constructed.

“Splendid, is it not?” The beaver’s tail vigorously patted the ground.

“Very,” his wife said. “Quite an achievement. Now, let’s see the lodge.”

“Oh, yeah, THAT.”

She poked her husband. “Don’t tease me, Carlton.”

Carlton smirked. “Patience, Philomena.”

Carlton and Philomena were just recently married. The lodge Philomena referred to would be their very first home as a couple. They were currently residing with Carlton’s parents and sharing a space with a muskrat boarder named Tompkins. Accommodations were a little cramped. Tompkins snored. Not a typical snore, either. It sounded like a braying moose.

If that wasn’t enough to drive a young newlywed around the bend, Carlton’s mother was a nasty nitpicker. And a relentless button-pusher. The old biddy didn’t really like having another female in her den and she could be very cruel to her timid daughter-in-law.

Carlton knew how important moving into their very own lodge was to his new bride. It was important to him, too. They were both looking forward to raising a family, and this was the first step toward independence and building a life together.

Carlton had spent every waking moment on this project. He had found a nice spot to build. With easy access to food. And since it was located very near the restricted entrance to the human world, it was an unlikely place for a predator to come sniffing around. Best of all, it was not the sort of location his mother would EVER visit.

From the moment the couple entered the freshly constructed lodge, Philomena shared her decorating ideas with her husband. She just couldn’t wait to nest. At the end of the tour, she wrapped her arms around Carlton’s neck and pressed her cold, wet nose against his. “It’s perfect,” she said with a nuzzle and a kiss.

Carlton giggled. It was sort of a nervous giggle — a giggle of relief. He’d spent the whole day worrying what Philomena might think of his handiwork.

It should be noted that Carlton was a notorious worrier. He had been his entire life. When he was young, his mother called him her “little worrywart.” This of course irritated him, which delighted his mother. Button-pusher, remember?

“I’m so happy!” Philomena joyfully twirled around her new den.

Carlton, for the moment, was worry-free. Philomena was happy, and her happiness was all that mattered to him. But Carlton’s moment of bliss came to an abrupt end when he heard a noise outside.

Carlton placed a claw to his mouth and whispered, “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” she answered softly.

A loud rumble shook the lodge. Carlton and Philomena clung to light fixtures to keep from falling. The foundation beams buckled. Walls swelled from the growing pressure building outside. Leaks sprang up everywhere. Philomena wanted to scream, but instead just stared at Carlton in frozen horror. Eventually, the tongue and groove sticks, which had been so masterfully attached, ripped apart and a great wave BURST through with a terrible WHOOSH!

Carlton’s nervous giggle became a gurgle. He and his wife were swept up in a flood, and pushed downstream toward the entryway to the forbidden human world, the point of no return.

Beavers are excellent swimmers, and they can hold their breath for a long, long time, but the force of the rushing wave had them disoriented. They splashed and rolled, desperately fighting the current until . . .

Sllluuurrrrpppp!!

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

THE DREAM FACTORY 1-10 • THE DREAM FACTORY 11 •

THE DREAM FACTORY 12 • THE DREAM FACTORY 13

THE DREAM FACTORY © Mark Scott Ricketts

ART FOR THE DREAM FACTORY © Horacio Dominques, Mark Scott Ricketts