Mousey's Underwater Adventure
Ollie had grown up used to being touched by a parade of aunts and uncles who adored him. The creatures on the slopes above Northridge were free-spirited; any one of them could decide, on a whim, to drag Ollie back to their den for a visit—one quick whisper to Ned and that was that.
In a way, Ollie had been raised on everyone's kindness.
So what was wrong with a little petting? And, really, petting felt amazing (=^▽^=).
"Just a little touch, okay? This isn't the time for that," Grace said, immediately bounding over to Ollie and, with a mixture of excitement and reverence, gently stroked the two plush ears perched on his head.
Grace felt like she was dreaming.
No—wait. Again. One more touch—hiss…that was real.
She pinched her thigh hard. Huh? No pain at all.
Oh right. Ollie had said earlier they were trapped in a dream.
"All right, let's talk about the situation."
Punctual Mousey sneaked Grace a sip of water, withdrew his ears once she'd had her fill, and then resumed his serious expression. He wanted to be stern, but the little ears softened his whole face into something almost cherubic.
Grace couldn't help but think some people—no, some creatures—were born for show business. With a face like that, even if he were a glorified prop with zero talent, his winning personality would still get him noticed.
"Ahem. Bottom line: we're in a dreamscape. From what I know, there are two ways to escape. One—find the dreamer and make them realize it's a dream."
"And the second?" Anna asked.
"That one's quicker," Ollie said evenly. "Find the dreamer and kill them. Dying inside the dream snaps it shut; anyone trapped returns to reality."
He picked up a stick and idly traced diagrams in the dirt.
"There were only four of us here before," he continued. "So the dreamer has to be one of the four. Rather than waste time deducing which one, I can just test it—kill you one by one. If killing you doesn't wake us, then the dreamer isn't you. We cycle until we find the answer."
"We're not the dreamer," Mason said flatly.
The whole thing still felt absurd to him. His rudimentary understanding of the supernatural told him one thing: if any human heard Ollie's 'solution,' they would hesitate—murder, then maybe suicide if the first didn't work.
Ollie didn't hesitate. He'd even been ready to preempt them.
"How can you be sure this is a dream and not just some weird loop?" Mason asked.
"In a loop like that, you're still in your real body. If you die in reality, you really die." Ollie's movements as he drew in the dirt sped up; what he sketched made no sense to the others. He was a creature of strange knowledge—he understood these mystical things better than ordinary humans did.
"At first, I confirmed it by slitting my wrist with the knife. Inside, there was nothing."
"Dreams," Ollie explained, "are constructed from a person's subconscious. Under external influence, a dreamer can pull others into their dream. People's imaginations are limited—unless the dreamer's dream is about bodies or animals, the bodies of people in the dream are usually blank shells. So if you puncture the shell and there's nothing inside, that's proof."
Anna tried to wrap her head around it. "So if the dream is like a game, we're NPCs with only superficial models. The programmer didn't code what's under our skin. So by breaking the surface and checking whether there's substance inside, you can tell whether you're in a dream?"
"Exactly. Anna, you'd like this—if you sign an NDA later, I can hook you up with a teacher. I'm not the best, but I think you've got natural talent."
Mason grabbed the key point. "What NDA?"
Ollie sighed. "The Supernatural Affairs Bureau requires humans who experience non-natural events to sign a confidentiality agreement. We've coexisted peacefully for years—our kind works in all sorts of fields. Normally we don't advertise ourselves; if someone learns, they just sign the agreement."
"And if we don't sign?" Mason demanded. "Will the Bureau just erase our memories? Who gives you the right to wipe us?"
Ollie smiled a practiced, almost saintly smile. But the light in his gold-flecked eyes deepened; the air around him hummed and Mason felt that familiar slipping-of-control again, only aimed at him.
"That's our leverage," Ollie said softly. Then he brightened. "Don't worry—if you refuse to sign, it won't be me doing it. I haven't even gotten into college yet, let alone become a Bureau official—sob." Ollie teared up theatrically. "I'm trying so hard to get into school this year."
Grace and Anna exchanged looks.
Poor little supernatural creature. The pressure from the other side was real—on top of everything else, they had to pass exams and civil service tests. Terrifying.
"Don't worry, we'll root for you," Grace cooed. "You'll get in."
Ollie shook his head. Human empathy couldn't reach the odd pain a little monster felt.
"Quick question," Anna said. "That blue snake from earlier—Aunt Mira—was she a monster too? If I studied this stuff, could I meet her again?"
Ollie looked surprised Anna liked Aunt Mira—he hadn't thought anyone else would.
"I'll have to ask the teacher once you're qualified to touch occult things," Ollie said. "Honestly, it surprised me she took to you; she doesn't usually like humans."
Anna looked disappointed, but she brightened. "Okay. After the show I'll add you. If we get out, I'll contact you."
She didn't know if approaching the occult was wise, but a life is short; if she really wanted to meet the snake, why not try?
Grace, clearly intrigued too, piped up, "What about me? Can I learn? It sounds thrilling!"
Ollie reached for Grace's hand—then remembered they were in a dream and let it go.
"I'll check your root aura when we get out. Anna—I could feel a faint spiritual presence on your first meeting; you definitely have talent. Even without me, someone would've discovered it soon."
They were all chattering like it was a club hangout, and Mason felt more isolated than ever—odd-man-out in a trio of giddy new friends. He sat to the side, watching them as if from beyond a glass wall. They seemed to have forgotten they were trapped.
"You can't save the details for later? What then—what are we actually going to do?" Mason asked, not truly panicked; Ollie was there, and Mason figured Ollie wouldn't let anything happen to them.
Ollie fell quiet. The reality was obvious: there was a fifth person they hadn't found—the dreamer—hidden somewhere, and they were stuck repeating the same stretch of road.
"Split up and search," Ollie suggested. "It's a dream. If you're killed it's just a reload; I'll know if one of you dies, and I'll deal with it. Come back here in thirty minutes if you don't find anything."
Grace preferred not to go alone. "Can we pair up? Two is safer."
Ollie thought a moment and agreed. Grace and Anna were both girls, got along well, and Anna had the magical aptitude Ollie had sensed; so Grace volunteered to pair with Anna—leaving Ollie with Mason. Ollie didn't mind; Mason and he didn't get along, so he figured walking with him was a chance to give Mason a little scare and keep him from pestering Yu.
"Alright. If nothing happens, meet back here in thirty minutes."
The dream's bounds were odd—neither small nor huge. They couldn't leave the creek area. They tried heading into the trees, only to pop back at the water moments later. The dream's domain seemed limited to the creek.
"There hasn't been a single living animal," Mason said. "Could this be some other kind of illusion?"
Ollie had already explained the dream. Mason still suspected there might be another explanation.
"If it weren't a dream," Ollie said, "I already would've killed you."
They walked for a long time. Mental exhaustion wore at Ollie more than physical; he sat on a rock by the creek. Mason, tired of wandering and not liking solitude, sat too. They waited for the two women to return.
Ollie stared at the flat, glassy water for ages, then realized something: if there were no life on the banks, maybe the hidden occupant was in the water.
The creek was clear as glass—he could see stones on the bed. If the fifth person were there, Ollie should have seen them. He reached a hand toward the water.
"No way," Mason muttered. The creek looked shallow—no more than knee-deep.
"Ah!"
Before Mason finished his sentence, something invisible in the water grabbed Ollie and yanked. He plunged forward into the creek.
Mason reacted fast, grabbing Ollie's shirt with one hand and clutching his arm with the other. The force under the water was endless and smart. Just as Mason thought his grip had won, the thing sensed the brief slack and pulled harder. Together they were dragged under the perfectly clear surface.
Once underwater, the landscape changed. What looked shallow from shore unreeled into terrifying depth—tens of meters at least. Mason clung to Ollie and peered downward; he could feel the pull, but he saw nothing.
He tried to haul Ollie back up, lungs burning—and then realized he could breathe underwater. Dream logic, perhaps.
"Ollie!" Mason shouted. "I can't see what's pulling you! Can you break free?"
"I don't know," Ollie replied. "I can't see either. Let's go see—knife's in my pocket. Worst case, we slit throats and reload."
Mason stared. No. Terrible plan. But they couldn't go up; they were dragged deeper, so he followed.
They sank fast—so fast that by the time they'd said a handful of things, they were on the bottom. Once their feet hit solid ground again, the force stopped. Ollie grabbed something—a rope?—and tied their wrists together.
He looked around. His hair floated in the water, blocking sight, so he drew his little blade and hacked off the long tangles.
"You…" Mason started, but stopped mid-complaint. Being in this absurd, dangerous dream with Ollie around somehow stripped fear of its edge. Ollie was a marshmallow even under threat—angry and easy to soothe.
Ollie looked back with a bowl-cut of jagged hair. "What were you going to say?"
Mason had to forgive him. Ollie had pulled him down to save him. He wouldn't scold a hero—no matter how infuriating.
"What now?" Mason asked.
Ollie sniffed the water with a keen little nose. "I feel something over there. The dreamer might be inside."
They walked until a massive black cave mouth loomed ahead. It radiated that nameless dread.
"This it?" Mason hesitated.
"I feel it inside. If you're scared, wait out here."
"No—we're in the water. Waiting alone seems worse."
Ollie reached for a glowing bead—then remembered this was a dream and his charms might not manifest. Only items used in the real world could appear here. The knife could, because they'd used it earlier while the dreamer was nearby.
They edged into the cave, hands on the stone walls. The last light of the entrance fell away and absolute darkness pressed in. Sound traveled oddly through water; footsteps seemed muffled and distant.
Mason reached out, tried to find Ollie—and instead touched a hard wall. His hand flashed a switch; gears turned and, somehow, the space lit as if by candlelight. Carson-like lamps hung about, veiled in thin, shimmering fabric. Ollie leaped up, grabbed one of the veils, and ripped it away—the lamp sputtered and went out.
"Those are mer-silk veils," Ollie said, tossing the fabric to Mason. "Made by merfolk—strong stuff. It can form a pocket that excludes water."
Merfolk? Mason's interest peaked. Merfolk were supposed to be fierce. But this one looked…pampered. A small male merling darted out, all round cheeks and a plump, glossy tail that made Ollie's stomach rumble in a decidedly non-rodent way.
Wait—Ollie was a hamster, not a cat, and yet his reaction was the same as a cat seeing a plump tail. It was alarming.
The little merling—no more than a youth—had blue hair that fanned around him in the water. He swam right up and hugged Ollie's leg.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to drag you! I can't control my power—I didn't want to. If it weren't for you two finding the place, I wouldn't have realized people could get pulled in—sob!" He cried genuine tears, and small pearls drifted up with them.
Ollie flashed an impish grin and brandished the blood-smudged knife. He mimed slicing the merling's throat.
"If you didn't do it on purpose," he said pleasantly, "I'll do it for you. We have stuff to finish, and this will be quick—almost painless."
"Ahhh! You mean little rodent! How dare you! I'll tell the Bureau! I'll tell the Bureau—"
Mason watched the merling flip from wailing to loud swearing in a second. He noticed—again—Ollie's ears: gray, fuzzy, with a hint of pink. Yes. Definitely hamster ears.
The merling puffed out his cheeks and began shouting about how the merfolk were almost extinct and threatened legal action. Ollie snorted.
"Merfolk, my foot. I'll call my panda friend to beat you up. National treasure status—very protected. What are you going to do then?"
"Who—your panda friend?" Mason couldn't help himself. "Could you introduce me? I'll pay you or give resources."
Ollie considered. "Maybe. Later."
The merling was visibly furious, which only made him more pitiable. Mason suddenly felt a childish urge to pinch his tail. He did. The merling spun and lunged with little pointy teeth; Mason scrambled and tumbled out of the cave, the merling slamming face-first into an invisible barrier and bouncing back in with a kerplunk.
The merling's tail was tempting. Ollie wiggled his whiskers.
"Okay, stop hiding and explain," Ollie urged. "We're taking your belongings."
"Everything's gone," the merling wailed. "Just take it and go!"
Ollie scooped him up and wrapped him in the mer-silk. He tried to move toward the cave mouth, but the little merling stuck fast—stuck on the threshold like a fly in a screen. The merfolk's voice grew small.
"I've been trapped two hundred years," he said desolately. "I can't grow up, I can't leave."
"How did you live so well then?" Ollie asked, eyeing the plump, delicious-looking tail.
The merling blinked. "I…kept things. And sometimes food gets sent through. There was even a phone once; I learned the internet on my own. I found a monster forum and read about the big war eight years ago. My father died long ago. I thought I would never leave."
The merling's name—something like "Floating Boat" in his language—seemed awkward here. Ollie decided to call him Finn.
Ollie promised, "If you let us wake up, I'll take you to Aunt Mira. You need to register with the Bureau or you'll be off the books."
Finn brightened, hope in his eyes. "Aunt Mira—she's okay? I haven't seen merfolk in years."
Ollie's voice softened. "I'll take you. And I'll speak to my contacts about getting you a place to live."
Ollie tried carrying Finn out wrapped in mer-silk, but Finn got stuck. Then he had a thought: if a regular human carried Finn, maybe the barrier wouldn't bind him. He turned to Mason.
"Take off your coat. Wrap him in it and try to carry him out."
Mason, knees knocking, did as told. He hugged the tiny merling to his chest and walked. To his astonishment, the barrier didn't hold. When he emerged onto the creek bank, the three onlookers—Grace, Anna, and Ned—stared in disbelief.
"I'm free?" Finn cried. He darted about, gawking at the surface world. He had been confined for so long he barely remembered light.
There was an array of gifts hidden in Finn's cave—a ritual formation that sent food occasionally, a few relics, even old newspapers. He had pearls—some glowing with a soft blue light.
Finn bowed in merfolk fashion to Mason and Ollie, embarrassed. "I'm sorry I kept you. Those pearls—please take them. They're old family things."
Mason took four luminous pearls. The leftover pearls Finn refused, clutching to the rest of his treasures.
Ollie explained, "Those blue pearls are infused with merfolk power. If a human swallows one, you won't suddenly control water, but you can breathe underwater. They don't make you pressure-proof, though—you can still be hurt by deep-water pressure. But they'll save you from drowning a lot of the time."
Mason, practical as always, took four and left the rest. "This is too dangerous to hoard. My brother and my fiancé will take them. Don't want them lying around."
Finn stared at Mason for a long moment; Mason felt invisible under the merling's gaze, then saw Ollie watch too. Finn's deep blue eyes swirled contemplatively, as if reading through them. He paused, then closed his eyes and rested.
"You're a good person," Finn said softly, "but some fights, if forced, only lead to losing everything."
Mason felt the sentence land like a stone. It seemed directed at him.
He tightened his hold on the pearls. Whatever Finn had seen in his gaze, Mason wasn't ready to ask about it.
They'd rescued a merling and gained a small miracle in their pockets. Now they had to make it back—and wake up. But for the moment, the little trio headed along the creek, Finn squirming happily, Ollie chattering madly about panda favors, Mason nursing a sudden, peculiar sense that things were shifting—both inside the dream and in himself.