Timothy Scott: Shadow Island

The Recurring Dream

It always started the same way. The room was always dark, but far off there was the sound of water dripping somewhere in the distance. Although he had never seen what surrounded him, Timothy had always believed he was in a cave somewhere.

Although it was only a dream, a lucid and vivid one that felt all too real, Timothy could almost smell the dampness in the air. The dripping sound continued off in the distance and while he could hear that he felt calm.

It was impossible for him to say how many nights he had found himself dragged from another dream into this pitch-black place. The first time, he had woken quickly from the dream drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. Now, however, he had stayed longer and longer until new things happened and the dream evolved into something else.

What started as a dream of darkness had soon become a nightmare, a nightmare he was now all too familiar with.

Timothy Scott had been having the same recurring dream for the last four years and with every year, it had got worse and worse. When he had first ventured into the dark and seen what hid in there, he had refused to sleep for days. His parents had tried everything to comfort him, but at nine, there had been nothing they could do to calm him.

Now, however, the dream had become almost familiar. It changed nothing about the terror that it brewed in his stomach, but with each exposure, it had become a more expected experience than a terrifying, inescapable nightmare.

Timothy had convinced himself, even in his slumber, that it was just a dream and he would, at some point, wake.

Yet today felt different.

The dripping water faded, and the sound of light footfalls started. Distantly at first, he knew what to expect. Even if he didn’t know who was coming, he knew what was coming.

The footsteps grew louder, nearer, and as it did, the air grew colder and his breath condensed in front of his face. Timothy felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he knew he wasn’t alone.

‘You come back again?’

The voice was only just above a whisper. Laced with a sinister hush, he searched the darkness for the source. Timothy could pinpoint nothing as the voice spoke again, this time somewhere close behind him.

‘I see you walking in the dark, blind as always.’

Timothy spun but could still see nothing.

‘Who are you?’ he tried to ask, but his voice caught in his throat and his mouth moved without making a sound.

It was always the same feeling, no matter how hard he tried, he could not speak. Timothy tried to talk, then shout and scream, but he never made a sound. When he was silent, unable to speak or communicate was when the panic would set in. His heart would race and the world would feel it was closing in on him.

Tonight was no different. The panic began to simmer, and the darkness felt like it was closing in on him, wrapping around him like an unseen fog.

‘You will never escape me, never escape this place.’ The eerie voice hissed. ‘You are destined to remain in the dark forever.’

The eyes.

Burning like fire-red in front of him, he could make out the snake-like slit pupils and nothing else. They appeared inches from his face and he always tried to pull away. But something held him in place. Unable to escape the burning fire eyes, Timothy could only stare as the voice continued to goad him.

‘I see into your soul, you are not Partum. Stay safe where you are. If you come to me, it will be your end.’

The eyes burned brighter, growing in intensity until Timothy could feel the heat against his skin. A blood-curdling scream filled the air, and the eyes lurched at him.

As the burning fire touched his skin, Timothy sat bolt upright in bed grasping at his chest, lungs screaming for breath and body drenched in sweat.

‘Leave me alone!’ He hollered and felt relief as the words burst from his lips.

As Timothy fought to calm his racing heart, he saw the familiarity of his bedroom illuminated by his plug-in nightlight.

‘Timothy?’ His mum asked as she bathed his room in light. ‘Are you ok?’

Sat-up in his bed, Timothy looked terrified and dishevelled. Dressed in his grey pyjamas, stained with sweat, his normally red hair appeared brown in the dim light. Eyes wide, he turned to look at his mum and started shaking.

‘Take a deep breath.’ His mother comforted and sat on the bed next to him.

She had always been able to calm him. It was her voice, he realised, the fact she always sounded soft and helped to slow his racing heart. No matter how many nights he disturbed her sleep, she would always come. She would wrap him in her arms until the dream had gone, and he was once again calm.

Resting his head on her shoulder, he wrapped his shaking arms around her and hugged her tight.

‘Same dream?’ She asked, and he answered with a nod against her shoulder. ‘I wish there was something we could do to help.’

‘Hey Little Man,’ his dad chirped as he pulled a t-shirt over his head. ‘Same thing?’

‘Yeah,’ Timothy answered, his voice still shaky.

‘I know what’ll help,’ his dad offered a wink and smile before disappearing out of his room.

Timothy remained resting against his mum’s shoulder until his dad came back holding a pint-glass filled with milk. Timothy took the glass and sat back against his headboard as he sipped the cold milk.

‘You get back to bed,’ his dad offered as his mum stood after kissing his head. ‘I’ll stay with him for a bit, then I’m sure we will be back to sleep in no time.’

Timothy watched as his mum and dad shared a quick hug and his mum left to return to her own bed. Once they were alone, his dad turned and looked at his son with a very mischievous grin.

‘Want anything else to go with that?’

Before Timothy could answer, his dad pulled out an open packet of chocolate bourbon biscuits and emptied two out of the pack into his hand. With the same cheeky smile, his father took the last biscuit from the packet and ate it himself.

‘Just don’t tell your mum!’ He winked and waited with Timothy until he had finished his drink and midnight biscuits.

There was one thing that Timothy had never shared with his parents about the nightmare. It never dawned on him until he was ready to settle again as they returned to their own room. Every time he had the nightmare, the first thing he remembered, when his mind had stopped racing, was the time displayed on his bedside clock.

Every time, without fail, the clock showed the same time:

03:10

As his dad turned out the light and Timothy laid his head on the pillow, he tried to understand what the time meant. As he mulled over the time, he heard a whisper in the corner of his room.

‘Until next time,’ the same voice from his dream hushed. ‘Sleep well Timothy Scott.’

Dragging the quilt up over his head Timothy clamped his eyes shut and held the material tight around his head.

By the time he fell asleep again the voice had fallen silent, and he heard nothing more from the menacing fire-eyed nightmare.

A Doctor's Appointment

Timothy was not a fan of the doctor’s waiting room. It had the same magazines now as it had almost a year ago when he had first been taken there by his parents. Leafing through the tattered pages of the same comic he had read every time, he sighed with frustration.

Aiden, his older brother, had taken great pleasure in pointing out the fact Timothy had once again woken the house with a bad dream. Before leaving for the doctor’s appointment, his brother had offered the usual comments as they ate breakfast.

‘Scared of the dark again, little bro?’ He had giggled while stuffing his face with toast, spilling jam down his school uniform.

‘Leave him alone Aiden.’ His dad had warned him.

‘I thought little kids were supposed to grow out of bad dreams.’

‘Try being more supportive.’ His mother had scorned as she moved to wipe the jam from his jumper. ‘At least Timothy can eat his breakfast without spilling it down himself.’

The slight flush to his brother’s cheeks made Timothy smile. The smile did not go unnoticed by Aiden, who, as he pushed past to change his top, offered one last whispered comment.

’Maybe you’ll grow out of it one day baby brother.′

Checking to make sure his parents weren’t listening, Aiden scurried out of the dining room and disappeared after to walk to school.

‘Pay no attention to him,’ his dad had comforted as they walked out to the car. ‘Older brothers always have a way of picking the right things to say to upset us.’

‘I know.’ Timothy sighed and climbed into the car.

The journey had been quiet, nobody speaking in the car, and mostly Timothy looked out of the window as the world moved by.

There was always one advantage, in Timothy’s mind, with hospital appointments. While he didn’t like the constant questions and reliving his nightmares, it got him out of a morning at school and that was never a bad thing.

‘Timothy?’ The familiar voice announced as the doctor’s office door opened.

There was something about Doctor Ingrid Live Timothy couldn’t put his finger on. She was a very formal woman, aged in her forties, with a head of jet-black hair tied back in a tight ponytail. Her angular face looked stern, imposing and frigid, her bright-blue eyes looked ice-cold as she peered through the tinted lenses of her glasses. Her appearance had intimidated Timothy the first time they had met but, in this case her looks were very deceiving.

While there was something different about her, she had soon melted away his wariness and proved to be a warm woman who he had grown to trust with expressing himself and sharing his dreams.

‘Good morning young man,’ she always greeted him this way, and it almost made him feel like an adult. ‘Do you want your parents in today?’

Timothy was under no illusion that his parents had to come into the appointment, but the mere fact Dr Live pretended to give him a choice meant a lot to him. Feigning a thoughtful look on his face, he tapped a finger on his chin for a moment before giving her an answer.

‘I suppose they can,’ he said as he turned to look at his parents. ‘If they promise to behave themselves.’

‘We will try,’ his mum grinned and stood up to follow him into the doctor’s office.

As his dad moved behind him, he ruffled his hand through Timothy’s hair and suddenly the anxiety he had felt towards the appointment faded away.

‘Have we had any more of these nightmares then, Timothy?’ Dr Live asked as they took their seats around the grand oak desk in the middle of the room.

‘Yes,’ he answered sheepishly.

‘When was the last one?’

‘Last night.’ He watched as she opened her notepad and started making notes.

Timothy had always found it strange that the doctor used a pen and paper. Even at school, the teachers used tablets and phones to make their notes, yet the doctor preferred a fountain pen and paper notebook. It was all old-fashioned and curious to him.

‘Was it the same as last time or has anything changed?’

Timothy paused for a moment. Although he trusted Dr Live, he didn’t feel he wanted to share the fact the voice had spoken to him after the nightmare, when he had been awake. Feeling the eyes of everyone on him, Timothy stopped thinking about the voice and answered the doctor.

‘It’s been the same since last time.’ He lied. ‘The dark room. I think it’s a cave and the burning eyes.’

‘Did you try reminding yourself that it was only a dream, like we practiced?’

‘Yes,’ Timothy’s cheeks flushed. ‘It didn’t work though, it’s like the nightmare knows and just makes me feel cold and alone. It’s like the more I try to fight it, the colder it gets until all I can think about is the cold.’

‘And what happens then?’

Timothy dropped his gaze as the memory of the burning eyes glaring at him filled his head. As he tensed with the image, he felt his mother’s hand wrap around his clenched fingers.

‘It’s ok,’ she hushed in his ear.

‘The eyes talk to me and then,’ he struggled to find the words. ‘And then, they attack me and I wake up.’

‘It’s ok,’ Dr Live comforted as she made her notes and placed the paper onto the desk. ‘None of this is uncommon. We just need to help you cope with whatever is going on in your head, Timothy.’

The doctor rose from her seat and moved to a bookshelf on the far side of the room.

They spent the remainder of the appointment with Dr Live trying to explain to him what she thought may have been causing his vivid dreams. There were a lot of words he didn’t understand and he could see by the concerned look on his mother’s face that the terms the doctor was using were alien to him, but meant something to her.

After almost an hour, the appointment was over and Timothy had taken in a little of what they said. All he could think about were the burning eyes watching him in the darkness. So much so that his mother had to shake him from his daydream when the appointment was over.

‘There should be a lot there for you to read through,’ Dr Live explained as she handed his father a pile of pamphlets and printed sheets. ‘You just need to remember that this isn’t something we want to cure. There is nothing wrong with Timothy. He just sees things different from how we do and we need to adjust to that.’

His mother wiped a tear from her eye as she shook the doctor’s hand.

‘Thank you so much for all you’ve done.’

‘It’s no problem at all.’ Dr Live replied, the smile breaking through the icy exterior as she turned to talk to Timothy. ‘As for you, Timothy, you need to always remember you are unique. There’s nothing wrong with being different and if anyone tells you otherwise, then they are wrong. Do you understand that?’

Timothy nodded, but the doctor seemed unconvinced by his answer.

‘We will get you through this, I promise. We have lots of little tricks to help people who see the world a little differently.’

‘Thank you.’

The doctor moved around the table and dropped to her knee in front of him so she could whisper to him. Leaning in close, she spoke only loud enough for him to hear.

‘The things you see and feel, Timothy, are yours and yours alone. They are your world and it is a magical place. We just need to find a way for you to realise you are strong enough to be in that world and not be afraid.’

Her words filled him with a strange sense of pride; all the things he feared about being different seemed inconsequential.

As they left the office, Timothy did not understand what had been said to his parents, but they were deep in adult conversation as they walked through the hospital to the car. Left alone with his thoughts, Timothy felt very much alone. He knew whatever the doctor had said would be a new line for his older brother to attack him with.

‘There’s nothing wrong with him,’ his dad declared and once again ruffled his hair. ‘He’s our boy, and he’s almost as mad as his old man!’

The worry of Aiden faded as he grabbed his dad and hugged him tight.