DECEMBER 8TH, 2266The Captain tucked the boy known only as his nephew in for the night, then sealed the quarters and left. Outside, Spock was waiting for him.
"I hate leaving him like this. Especially now. God knows what he remembers about what happened here, and on Deneva."
Spock made a shrug-like, yet not dismissive motion with his shoulders.
"Put aside as they are for diplomats and visiting authority figures, the quarters young Peter occupies are, if anything, safer than your own."
Jim checked the seal again.
"Not from what may be chasing him."
Inside the cabin and inside the boy's brain, the slow, shambling zombies came after him as they had for weeks. All wore the faces, or parts of the faces, of people he had known on Deneva.
It was always the same. They would catch him, fall upon him, and smother him while he screamed, and no one heard. Yet this night, he saw a house--no, a factory.
"A toy factory?"
Wishing nothing more than to avoid the dread nightmare's precise repetition, Peter Kirk entered what any adventure reader could tell him was a trap. Yet this was not a trap. It was a dream.
"Hello?"
"Hello, young man. Please sit down. You are most welcome here, and twice as safe."
A large, portly man with a small black moustache above his lip smiled, as did an awkward-looking gauntly thin man with largish ears.
"You certainly are. Its all right, Peter. Our master is going to give those zombies what for."
The portly man looked out an upstairs window.
"I should think so. But just in case, we've prepared a force to deal with those marauders. Why, its twice the size of the one that put paid to Mister Barnaby and his ogres."
Peter felt safe, was safe, and drank of hot cocoa that was far better than any he'd ever had. Outside, a curious figure in white stood impatiently before the zombies.
"I am the master of these places. I am called Daniel. Why do you pursue the boy? Do not attempt to decieve me. I know that you are not dreams, but ghosts."
One of the things that still had most of his face and throat pointed up.
"That boy is alive, while we are dead. He's the messiah. He should have saved us. We want revenge."
Daniel saw himself joined by a pretty if pale girl in black, wearing an ankh. He responded to the dead thing.
"That boy is alive, and my sister tells me his passing may not even be in our brother's books. He is not the messiah, who I have seen walk in many paths. You damned yourselves, many times over, and with zealotry. You are not owed and may not seek revenge."
The girl nodded and now spoke.
"Ya know, I've encountered some rotten parents in my travels---welllll, actually I've encountered all parents. That said, you people rank close to Hitler's dad. Do you have any idea what kind of kids you would have produced, had they lived? Hmm. Sorry, little brother. They should already be with me. There's an interloper, here. Familiar one, too."
Daniel looked at her, almost playfully.
"Thanos?"
The girl winced.
"Do not EVER go there. You can be replaced, you know."
"Yes, my sister. Then I shall act to expose the interloper."
He gestured, and the zombies moved away. At the back of their number stood a gnarled, ugly pale smirk of a creature in a green jumpsuit.
"Here now, Morpheus. I had always thought you neutral in the matters of Dream...and Nightmare."
Daniel's face grew arch.
"Morpheus was a title attributed to another master of this place. And I have no neutrality. With the existent, I craft this realm slowly. It is built from them. Peter Kirk will endure many nightmares, and has already. He needs no aid in this, and I will tolerate no trespassers. You are a crass thing, misliked even by Desire. Now, face punishment, master and servitor alike."
Nightmare sneered.
"They're already dead, and you can't destroy me without having the Spectre and Eternity--maybe even the two brothers--at war."
Emerging from within the toy factory were the portly man and the gaunt man. They shifted form, and became respectively a taller, gaunter man with pointed hair and a pointed beard and a portlier man with a handlebar moustache.
"Master, the bo-boy R-Rock is at peace."
The taller one nodded.
"My brother actually called it right for once. The Laurel and Hardy guises calmed him rapidly."
Daniel smiled at his eldest sister, and she at him. He gestured again.
"Cain--release our army to deal with these vermin."
From inside the factory they came, culled well from an old vid Peter barely remembered seeing. They were like the zombies in every way, but their aspect was joyous. Death took away each of the ghosts in turn, as they fell for all time. Even when the opposition got their heads knocked off, they kept on, uniforms eternally smart, bayonets always at the ready. Very few nightmares, you see, can stand before such embodiments of might that serves right.
Nightmare had many tricks prepared, yet all of them had been counters to Daniel's direct power, not this piecemeal, if rapid, decimation of his forces. He began to run, shouting as he did.
"What is the Kirk brat to you, Shaper?"
Abel pushed Nightmare down, then grabbed him up with a knife at his throat.
"He-he's a g-good boy, Nightmare. He respects other people's property. Cain?"
"What is it, brainless?"
Abel shoved Nightmare over to Cain, pointing at the fallen demon.
"Happy Christmas, Brother. Though its not quite that, yet."
Nightmare felt himself being strangled by the first murderer, who smiled as he went.
"I'll let you go tonight, Abel. After all, even Kenny lived, once in a while. Besides, I like your gift. A lot."
Death looked over the rout from inside the factory.
"Soon as I deliver these losers, I'll dump Nighty over the divide. The Ancient One will send his apprentice to make sure the border is tightened, same as always."
She looked at the sleeping Peter Kirk.
"I almost feel I should take him, given what's coming. Spare him the Hall, especially."
Daniel shook his head.
"I will ask that you not, Sister. After all, heroes are among the workhorses of my realm. His place in this shall be exceptional by any standard."
He would face many other bad dreams, but for the boy, this nightmare was over.
------------------------------------------------------------------
THE NEXT MORNING
Jim undid the seal, after a thorough check of the ship's overall situation. He saw Peter already up, and watching the viewscreen. The vid playing was beyond ancient, actually a monochrome. He saw a portly man and a gaunt man running from horridly made horrid ogres.
"What are you watching?"
It wasn't much, but Jim saw on his boy's face just a little more peace as he answered.
"The March Of The Wooden Soldiers."