It started off as another one of those dreams, one where the zombies lurch out of the darkness and try to make me do jello shots with them. Or maybe I was going to get to play fetch with blood-spattered werewolves. It could have been one of those dreams my mind rips off of de Lint’s urban fae worlds. I kinda like those nightmares, even when they still class as nightmares because something is going to go horribly awry and we’re going to have to do a lot of things to make it all okay.

I had my automatic rifle slung to support the weight; my hand cradled the grip against my right hip. The weight of the weapons is always lighter in the dreams, that’s how I know it’s not real. It’s comforting, and nice that it doesn’t burden me too much. I know, in the dreams, as long as I don’t run out of ammo or loose my weapon that everything will be fine.

Of course, once I’d settled myself into the nightmarescape, something really creepy walked up to me and took the weapon and ammo from me. It didn’t attack me. It just walked up, took the weapon, and turned away. I was too stunned to react in any way. Not a scream, not a flinch, I didn’t even pee myself. Then I realized I’d lost my weapon and I did whimper and nearly lost bladder control. Then I felt something cool and moist press against the palm of my hand and I did scream and jump and wheel around with fists flailing.

He sat in place and tilted his head to the side, his tongue lolling out in a fair imitation of an idiot grin. In that voice I would recognize anywhere, he said, “You’re funny.”

I resisted the sudden urge to strangle him right there and reached out to ruffle his hair. “You don’t have a lot of room to talk, Bud.” I scanned the area, partly to see if we were still safe, partly to see if anyone had seen my freak out. It’s one thing to beat a boogeyman with skill and cunning, it’s another to beat him because he’s just too busy laughing at you. “How did you get here?” I asked when the area proved deserted.

He stood up and shook his head, almost shrugging at me, “I’ve got a new skill set.” He brushed against my thigh and led the way down the street. I followed. “It goes with my new job. It’s a lot like my old job.”

“Well, the whole entering other people’s dreamscapes and being able to talk is pretty cool. What’s your new job?” I didn’t have to ask him what his old job was, I knew.

He barked a laugh at my question and strutted out a little more with each step, “I am a dreamscape assistance technician class 32.”

“And is that a promotion?” I asked, wondering why there needed to be at least 32 classes of dreamscape assistance technicians and why I hadn’t met one sooner.

He harrumphed softly and muttered, “Hours are worse, but the food is better.” I almost missed the last bit of his comment. I heard the soft distant moaning of my zombies. Peering into the gloom, I groaned and shook my head. It was the jello zombies; I knew I was overdue for a visit with them. He read my mood instantly and pressed against my leg, looking up at me with a grin and a sneeze before trotting over to intercept them.

Jello zombies don’t shamble quite like your average zombie. They shuffle like someone who has just become aware of how drunk he is and is overcompensating in an attempt to appear sober. Seriously, these guys would only seem scary to a toilet seat, but I didn’t run away from them because I was scared that they would hurt me. I run from them because I’m scared they’re going to socialize with me. Dead guys have a lot of things going for them. Unnatural strength, agility, resilience, lightning quick mental faculties, no income tax… but they are universally short on the social skills. Jello zombies try to make up for this fact by getting you drunk first. So, in the end, they’re not all that bad. Usually I just shoot them because it does no long term damage to them and it vents my frustration.

He slunk low as he closed up to them and bared his teeth in a snarl. The first zombie, I think it was Hank, pulled a wiggly mound from a wax paper covered try and crouched down to offer it forward, “Hey, little fella, you want a jello shot?”

I slapped my forehead with my palm and called out, “Don’t bite him, you don’t know where he’s been.”

My class 32 dreamscape assistance technician turned and gave me an audible, “Baru?” I nodded and waved him back. The zombies followed at their own deliberate pace. I crouched down and whispered in his ear, “Look, they’re not violent or anything. We’ll chat with them for a bit, but then you’ve got to drag me away like we’ve got something really important to do. Just pretend you’re a dog and everything’ll be fine.”

He lolled his tongue and looked at me, “Pretend? Don’t you know why I choose this form? Everyone underrates me in it.”

Before I could respond, Hank and Frank and Paul had arrived and were pressing trays of gelatinous lumps on me. I stood up and pushed my hair back from my face, “Sorry fellas, he’s really friendly once he gets to know you. What flavor we got this time?”

Each tray was thrust forward as each zombie solemnly told me the flavor combinations. I chose grape and crème de cacao as the least offensive combination and was raising it to my lips when I heard barking and the skittering of claws on pavement. Without thinking, I tossed the jello back at Frank and took off after my “dog”, staying with him until we were two blocks away in two directions. We laughed and laughed as we settled in on a park bench in a well lit area.

I scratched behind his ears and leaned in to kiss his cheek, “Thank you, love. That was the most fun I’ve had in a nightmare in ages.”

He leaned against me and sighed softly, “It’s almost morning. It is time for you to be ready to wake up. Do you want me to stay with you?”

I thought it over. I loved the company, but I didn’t want to be disoriented when I woke, “Could I see you in your true form?”

He sat up and looked at me, “I’ll tell you what. You close your eyes and I’ll change. If you want to open your eyes and look, that’ll be up to you then.”

I pondered at this for a moment and then agreed. Closing my eyes, I leaned back on the bench and crossed my feet out in front of me. I heard him leave the bench and step into the grass, halting maybe ten feet in front of me. Without another word, he changed. There was a light that didn’t hurt my eyes, but was clearly bright enough to penetrate my closed lids. There was a wave of warmth and comfort and good things that don’t have names. They pressed hard against me, but it never hurt. It didn’t hurt. There was a thrum of sound that wasn’t music, wasn’t noise. There was a sensation of fullness, completeness, acceptance, and peace.

I opened my eyes and was instantly blinded by the tears. I blinked, closed my eyes and just lay back against the bench. “Oh, so beautiful…”