The trees are massive. They tower over me, looming and menacing. The canopy above is so dense that I can’t make out whether there’s a sky. There’s certainly no light; I can barely see more than a few feet in front. I shiver and turn round to check behind me. More trees.
I step carefully over to the nearest one. I can feel sticks and stones underneath my bare feet so I rise onto my toes to avoid splinters or cuts. Then I frown. If I ended up with a splinter here, would it exist back in the real world? I mull that over, then eventually reach down and pluck a blade of long grass which I tuck behind one ear. It seems like a more sensible way to test the idea than actually hurting myself.
I press my palms against the tree trunk. It also feels strangely cold. I sniff, getting a whiff of earthy pine with something unpleasant underlying it. Something rotten and dead. I wrinkle my nose and back away.
That’s when I hear it – a loud snort from somewhere to my right. I swing round and catch sight of two narrowed eyes about waist height glaring at me from beyond the gloom, luminous and yellow, shining like distant lamps. They are definitely eyes though – the pupils are slitted and, as I stare at them, they vanish for an instant as the creature blinks. There’s another snort, followed this time by a cloud of misty breath.
I start backing away slowly. Unfortunately, the thing watching me doesn’t seem to like this idea and moves towards me. Even though I can only make out its eyes, I can hear it moving through the undergrowth. Its feet make hard, clipped sounds on the ground, like hooves.
I stop. It stops too.
As I click my tongue, encouraging it to come closer, I wonder whose mind conjured this up. I no longer believe I’m the creator of any of these visions. As ridiculous as it seems, I’m confident that what I see is what others dream. I only have a small sample size to go by, but the dreams seem to be dependent on who touched me last.
Maybe I’m not in a human’s dream this time. Maybe it’s the Chairman’s. I gaze thoughtfully at the gleaming eyes. Is this what a cat would dream about? Very possibly.
‘Here, kitty,’ I call.
If this is Chairman Meow’s dream, I want to see him. I crouch down to coax him out from where he is hiding. There’s a sudden growl, and the creature suddenly charges forward. It gets close enough for me to see snapping jaws and a shaggy mane before common sense kicks in and I spin round and sprint. It’s not the smartest thing to do – now I’m making myself look like prey – but the alternative is staying where I am and getting chomped.
With no clue as to what sort of beast it is, and therefore no understanding of its speed or stamina, I have to use my wits. I streak left, ignoring the pain as brambles and thorns scratch my bare legs, then I swing round a tree and change direction. I continue zigzagging but the creature continues to thunder after me.
Secure in the knowledge that I’m safely asleep at home, I don’t feel a surge of adrenaline or panic. I remember my damp hair after the first dream and the cut on my cheek after the second, so I want to avoid serious injury if I can, but there’s no way this thing could kill me.
My mind works calmly through the options. I could climb a tree, but I didn’t like the cold feeling of the first one. I could keep zigzagging and wait for the creature to get bored and go in search of another plaything. Surely the Chairman’s cue to show up would be about now? I’m curious to see what will happen when he does. I’ll get an insight into the animal kingdom that no one has ever had before. I feel a frisson of excitement that’s slightly tempered by the knowledge that I won’t be able to tell anyone the truth about what cats dream.
Before I can make a decision, I see something on the forest floor and swerve to avoid it. Three seconds later there’s an agonised screech and a heavy thump. Although I keep running for several more feet, it doesn’t take a genius to work out that I’m no longer being chased. I stop and turn round.
There’s a dark shape on the ground, thrashing loudly and making an odd high-pitched sound that can only be from pain. Gingerly, I take a few steps forward.
The creature is no longer paying me any attention. Its movements are becoming wilder and more frantic. I take another step. It’s difficult to be sure because of the writhing, but it looks like some kind of horse. It’s not any horse I’ve ever seen in real life, though. Its coat is black but I glimpse ruby-red hooves as they kick against the ground. There’s something around its head and I bend down to look more closely. When I work out what it is, I straighten up, then I bend down again just to be sure. It’s definitely what I thought it was: a single, spiralled horn rising from its forehead, looking both beautiful and deadly. This isn’t a horse at all. It’s a damned unicorn.