Dreamman

~Dreamman~

An amazing fantasy/fiction story created by Storymaker

Carl Delprat.

Cover design: painted in acrylic by Carl Delprat. (04/01/15). Yes you can judge a book by its cover.

This one’s for Carmel, Carmen, and Herb and three big thanks for all their help.

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ISBN: 978-0-9807377-5-2.

Copyright Carl Delpart 2015.

(Third Edition 28th September 2015.)

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

As per all fiction I have written, any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely accidental and with no intention of insult or offence.

Note: My stories are in Australian English, and … indicates talking while ‘…’ signifies thinking.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Other excellent stories by Carl Delprat are ~

31 LAMAN STREET. Is where an evil ghost wreaks havoc amongst the locals.

THE THREE TREES. An international serial murder mystery set in the 1950’s.

GIRL SOLDIERS. A futuristic global adventure where the girls have taken over.

ALL STRINGS ATTACHED. Find out what happens after a mysterious glowing object is discovered in a coal seam. Based on Steven Hawkins ‘string-theory.’

THE STORY OF ANNIE. The long life of a MG-TC roadster.

THE TWO BROTHERS. A crime and passion novel with a serial killer on the loose.

A FEED OF FISH WITH FREDDY. A chocolate box selection of short stories.

WHAT ABOUT MADELYN? A political catfight between two rivals.

THE HARPSICHORD MAN. A tale about a criminal harpsichord builder.

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~DREAMMAN~ grew onto paper back in 2004 from experiences I once encountered with my overimaginative dreams.

The condition was influenced by a disorder called sleep apnoea where I would momentarily stop breathing and the oxygen source to my brain was cut off.

This disorder resulted in the most vivid and exhaustive visions that … are so difficult to put on paper. Lets just say I had these detailed-ever-changing-and-so-complex-visions . . .

And it’s a shame they couldn’t be captured for all the world to experience.

So what was it like?

Well … the first two pages of Chapter (1) should give you an idea.

This was about 15 years ago, and since then a CPAP machine, a stroke, a heart attack, two carotid artery operations, plus a double heart-bypass operation — all put-an-end to that.

Now my dreams . . . are very pedestrian.

So, using this experience as a vessel to carry a story, why not explore the next stage of dreaming? Allow my dreamer to progress into a mystical plane and travel in a trance then enter into other people’s dream states.

Indeed, I can do a lot with that idea.

As already mentioned, ~DREAMMAN~ first appeared as a novel around 2004.

I wrote it then put the story away to age and ripen.

(A bit like wine or making prosciutto crudo …a current hobby.)

So as rediscover it one day … when it was ready to mature.

I painted my cover to go with the theme. (I paint all my covers.)

Yes, it looks like a cockatoo with a man’s face caught in a bushfire … well that’s what I remember most about those exotic dream experiences, so many amazing images actually happen.

This story, like all of my novels are set in Newcastle New South Wales Australia and this time it’s the early 1960’s.

The place chosen is Tighes Hill, a small colloquial suburb with narrow streets and alongside is a concrete sided waterway named Throsby Creek detaching it from Maryville.

The other surrounding suburbs are Mayfield Hamilton North, Islington and Carrington.

Clement Arthur Flowers is the ~DREAMMAN~.

Clem is an emerging adolescent who uncovers the ability to dream-travel and the consequences of such voyages become ever more complicated and sometimes downright dangerous.

While exploring this surreal domain, the Dreamman is magnetically attracted towards an evil sect and his confrontation with this group of influential businessmen self named as ‘The Twelve Apostles’ will keep you in suspense right to the final chapter.

Follow the vagabond Clem across New South Wales, Victoria and Queensland and meet many colourful characters along the way.

You are just going to love these people; they just walked straight into my story — and then tried to take over.

Reader, now it’s now time to join Clement Flowers in his wide-ranging odyssey in on a battle between good and evil and where any slipup could mean annihilation.

You are about to discover an amazing story — so full of surprises, and one I certainly enjoyed writing for you.

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Contents

About Carl Delprat, Storymaker

Other books by Carl Delprat

1 How things happen

2 Back to reality

3 On to the next stage

4 I’ll see you in my dreams

5 Gaining strength

6 A walk on the wild side

7 A man in a hurry

8 A new vocation

9 Stage two

10 Trying to sow wild oats

11 Watching her go

12 Exposure to various vices

13 Work changes

14 New directions

15 Big smoke blues

16 Enter Stella

17 Darker regions

18 Big troubles

19 A new man

20 The dream machine

21 Bright lemon messages

22 Under cover agent

23 The Establishment responds

24 Redfern Post Office

25 Spooner on the job

26 The inquiry

27 Repercussions

28 The Book

29 The downside

30 In transit

31 A close call

32 Paint the town yellow

33 The turning point

34 The ceremony

35 ‘Dream Time man’

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Chapter 1: How things happen

"A book is a dream that you hold in your hand." Neil Gaiman.

*********o(1)o*********

‘Where are the elephants ~ now, we always have elephants?

Tonight’s dream down Elizabeth Street was certainly different ~ then with every dream is always different because ~ the mere moment any specific subject was scrutinized ~ all the scenery would instantly change ~ and any attempt to leave things as you found them ~ didn’t-make-one-bit-of-difference-at-all.

Just by looking at what grabbed your attention could cause anything to change, it always depended upon what sort of day you had; yes it was the day’s events that drove all this creative chaos.

Nevertheless Clement Arthur Flowers knew all the rules and how to bend them.

So … just a short run would transpose forward movement into ~ an invigorating glide and ~ if you’re lucky ~ actual flight took place.

So here he was, hovering above all buildings dripping with baroque motives.

To maintain flight he ~ kicked his legs about, it was much like swimming … and now he was flying high above Tighes Hill and looking all about ~ though not for long ~

without warning Clem was back on the footpath … with legs full of lead.

Well, why did that always have to happen?

First flying ~ and then ~ land locked again?

And it’s transpiring again; those baroque buildings were changing into the streets of Amsterdam with quaint Dutch gables.

Although that couldn’t last ~ yes a Romanesque conversion had already commenced just one street behind ~

Now that’s a drum roll, yes I can hear the drummers … rat-tat-tat—rat-tat-tat—boom—rat-tat-tat —boom-boom now their coming!

And now I can hear their voices . . . rat-tat-tat—boom-boom and . . . rat-tat-tat … and finally a fanfare . . . "BBBRRRRRUUpp BBBRrRRRUUPPpp" the trumpeting of the elephants yes there’re here at last, rat-tat-tat … "BBBBRRRUUUP" rat-tat-tat—boom-boom and in-bright-fresh-colours . . . rat-tat-tatt-ratt-tat-tatt-raTT-TATT-TATT-BOOM-BOOMM.

Right behind them . . . rat-tat-tat-boom-boom rat-tat-tat-boom-boom rat-tat-tat … all proudly dressed in striped costumes … the procession of apprentices danced, sang and delighted the crowds.

So forget all this ever-changing architecture, the apprentices were coming …

and that’s all that mattered.

And from every vantage people waited … then cheered.

Now that-mud-caked Thorsby Creek had transfigured into a grand canal … where a fleet of silver gondolas escorted three gilded barges, pregnant with precious wares.

Look … five canoes filled with feathered fireman, raced pods of diamond dolphins and … and the mayor and his wife were waving from an orange steamboat.

Pink flamingos and primrose swans presented a collage of colour and movement and in the distance … a double rainbow framed the steelwork’s green glass spires.

What a splendid sight … where abstract met subconscious, although …

It’s all so silly, so stupid and really so far over-the-top with diamond dolphins for heavens sake and gilded barges pregnant with precious ~

and it all …

made you so-sick!

There was only one outcome.

The bright sky grew gloomy and then ~ the architecture cracked, crumbled and turned transparent. Those crowds of cheering people ~ became a horde of sedition ~ intent on damage and ~ it won’t be long now before his heavy legs sunk right down into the footpath.

However Clement Flowers held the ace, ‘you bastards will never get me’~ ~ ~ and as anticipated, ♫Beerrrrrrrriiiiinnnnng♪ . . .

That alarm clock saved him once again.

Clem’s left hand slid through his oily hair, he rubbed both eyes, yawned … then slid out of bed.

His father’s bowels declared this toilet a territorial acquisition and Clem fanned the door to clear his stench.

The warm wooden seat made Clem’s shoulders flinch.

‘One day I will have my own private toilet and one that no other living person could ever use.’

And now sister Kate was banging on the door.

"Cleeme, get out of there, you always take too long,

Mum make him get out, I want to use the toilet, —

Mum!"

Clem brushed past that porky posterior, her job at O’Leary’s Fish and Chips was to blame and soon she’ll be far-too-fat for George, and then it will be hell around here again, just like last time when Bruce dumped her.

Dad had finally left the bathroom so now he could shave;

Blast! This blade is blunt again and full of Kate’s short hairs.

"Cleeme, get out of the bathroom!

Mum!"

Weetbix and milk followed with toast and vegemite, then the news was announced on the radio and Mr Flowers demanded total quiet,

"Good morning listeners, this is Terry Mansfield on 2KH speaking for ‘Footso’ shoe polish and wishing you a good morning this Monday morning the 16th of April 1962. People leaving Australia to travel overseas will now no longer need to get a tax clearance.

The express train ‘Southern Aurora’ arrived in Sydney yesterday after it’s inaugural trip carrying the special party of the Governor General Lord de L’Isle, the prime minister re Robert Menzies, the Leader of the federal Opposition Mr Arthur Caldwell, and the New South Wales and Victorian premiers Mr J Heffron and Mr H Bolte to Melbourne.

‘Boring— boring — boring.’

This new link has a uniform 4foot 81/2inch gauge … and was first used by freight trains in January this year …"

Cripes, the crap dad likes to listen to and 2HD has music, the latest music …

not bloody railway gauges poxy politicians,

and not friggin’ tax clearances.

***********(1)**********

The pushbike’s back tyre looked soft, anyway George had borrowed his tyre-pump and never returned it; perhaps someone would help him out at work.

The fast ride down Elizabeth Street hill was the quick way to work, it must have been raining earlier because the street looked neat and tidy.

Clem knew every bump and fault in this road and sometimes did short stretches with his eyes shut.

Stunts like that were essential at Clem’s age … and had to be really … just to test fate.

Along the way, stacks of pushbikes amalgamated and … soon around thirty bounced along the bumpy road together.

At the bottom of Elizabeth Street, about 85% turned left towards the BHP while the remainder went onto the State Dockyard, ARC, Allis Chalmers, Varley’s, Arnolds Engineering and all the other engineering business throughout Carrington.

This industrial belt employed the bulk of Newcastle’s fitters, boilermakers, blacksmiths, riggers, electricians, carpenters, machinists, 2nd class welders, plumbers, patternmakers, pipe fitters, painters, steel workers, moulders, engineers, metallurgists, chemists, clerks, draughtsmen, designers, crane drivers, industrial bricklayers, ironworkers, truck drivers, and general labourers.

Clem belonged to Arnolds, yes they owned his arse until this apprenticeship was over … and that was about 14 months away.

Herman the Foreman was on day shift so Clem Flowers expected another rotten job and was soon proved right.

Herman had picked him the second most hated machine at Arnolds (after the circular saw), that notorious ‘slotter’ and Clement, like everyone else at Arnolds hated this slotter.

He detested cutting keyways and alongside this machine waited 20 rough machined gear blanks all requiring keyways for the BHP Bar Mill, so it was keyways, always bloody keyways.

And nobody on the previous shift had marked out the keyway slots.

Yes night shift would have slept their heads off again, so twenty minutes were lost from his job-card just getting started.

An air powered jib crane lifted the first of 20 spur gears onto the slotter table.

Clem clamped it in place then lined up the vertical cutter with the highlighted outline of a keyway.

He inched the stroke downwards to check all was lined up and discovered — that night-shift operator had deliberately loosened the cutting tool.

Well what a prick!

‘No doubt I’ll uncover a few more surprises before morning tea break.’

Some looked at newspapers, some talked, some even tried to have a few hands of cards before the return to work whistle sounded.

Clem Flowers did his best to fit in ‘but’ he was way down the pecking order.

The most he could hope for was to join with the obligatory laughter and today Sam O’Neil was well into besmirching some local girl’s character.

Back at the slotter, Clem mulled over last night’s dream.

His own personal rendition of Elisabeth Street with ornate buildings and majestic interiors, the harbour, the beaches, the aerodrome, well, whatever he wished for.

While reminiscing, this slotter took on some sexual significance.

(You think I’m joking? Well you’re wrong.)

And as it slowly descended then quickly withdrew from the gear blank’s hole … uncomfortable stirrings inside Clem’s overalls teased and tormented him.

And this fornicating cutting tool has such stamina, ‘if only, if only I could last perhaps three minutes?’

Work was over and his back tyre was dead flat again and this time the valve was missing.

‘Most likely Sam O’Neal again.

Oh why did he need to do such things?’

Clem felt more sympathy than anger.

‘In my dreams Sam always comes off second best so perhaps that’s why he acts this way in reality?’ Now to most minds such a concept was ludicrous, to this young man and his secret world of dreams — there certainly was — some mysterious connection.

On the way home Clem Flowers noticed a removal van parked outside Hogget’s and a ‘newgirl’ watched him peddle past.

Well that’s interesting, someone new in our street, wonder what she looks like up close? Sam will want to hear about it.

When old Hogget died from a heart attack, Mrs Hogget and her son sold up and left for good.

But that house would always be Hogget’s.

He peddled past his home then coasted down the hill to Maitland Road.

Clement Arthur Flowers rested his pushbike outside Beeman’s newsagent then walked straight past the once interesting comics and straight towards that latest copy of the ‘Motor Cycling.’

It came all the way from England and arrived three months late.

On the front cover was a picture of the new Velocette Viper meaning a test ride review would be inside so this was sure to be a special edition.

There was a different girl behind the counter and he remembered her from school, but not her name. ‘She’d been in another class … was it Mary or Margaret … and hadn’t she changed from just a simple schoolgirl into … a complete woman.’

After a quick glance, Clem took every bit in.

The pointy bra, the red lipstick and the permed blond hair looked smashing . . . he was way too shy to look at her directly.

‘Anyway perhaps tonight, that is if I’m lucky … yes this ‘girl-with-no-name’ could be somewhere in my dreams all mixed up with all the unpredictable events; yes she would feature somehow, some way…’

**********(1)**********

Over sausages on toast with onion gravy Dad and Kate did most of the talking.

(Once he caught his mother measuring sausages with a dressmaker’s tape measure,) well this was an odd family, the kind you were stuck with and would never choose …

so perhaps I’m practising to be an orphan?’

‘Doctor Who’ came on the telly; Clem had no interest and went straight to his bedroom.

There were still some peanuts hidden in his old coat and if he could be left alone for a while with his new ‘Motor Cycling’ magazine …then life would be just perfect.

According to the index, the Velocette article was on page 24 and Clem had only two more pages to go and the temptation to read faster was taking over when,

‘Bugger it, why is mum knocking on my door?’

Before the door opened … the peanut shells went straight under his pillow

His mother checked him up and down for any signs of carnal behaviour — then informed her son he had a visitor and left it at that.

An odd looking man was waiting outside the front door; he was very old … around 40 at least.

He wore round glasses, had a small moustache and a double-breasted suit.

This stranger introduced himself as Mr Bing.

Clement Flowers did not know what to make of all this, then his father arrived to have a look about.

"Is the boy in any sort of trouble?" was Mr Arthur Clement Flowers’s blunt and loud inquiry.

"Oh! On the contrary, he is someone we, I mean my society would like to meet, we are called the ‘Somnambulist Society’ and would be interested to see if your son would like to join."

Clem’s father had an answer ready for that form of rubbish,

"Look we are all Church of England here’ and we don’t want any of that kind of rot thank you very much."

"Oh! We are not a Religious group; it’s all to do with sleep.

I’m sure there would be no possible harm of any kind."

The strange man smiled exposing yellow stained teeth.

That explanation did not sound welcoming to Mr Arthur C. Flowers.

Clem was pulled inside and the door was firmly shut.

"What are you doing hanging around with cranks like that, if I ever hear of the likes again you will most certainly be sorry?"

A bewildered Clement Arthur Flowers returned to his small room and the remainder of the peanuts, and … his mother had already searched for any young girls pictures inside his ‘Motor Cycling.’

Yes, she knew from experience where to look amongst the advertisements at the back of the magazine. To always find that busty blond wearing a motorcycle helmet.

Now all evidence of her chest size was censored with a thick black felt pen, her black mark of sexual protection.

Well … if she ever finds out about George and Kate at it in the woodshed, the shock could probably kill her. (This George, by the way works at Arnolds as a draftsman.)

Clem had finally reached page 24, ‘The classic high-camshaft layout of the pushrod overhead valve Velocette engine is seen in good effect in this cut away drawing of the 349cc Viper, which featured a light-alloy cylinder barrel and head with totally-enclosed hairpin valve springs.’

He pulled the magazine even closer to examine each minute detail.

It was all so fascinating; a beautiful hand drawn working view of his favourite single cylinder engine exploded across the page.

Clem’s tradesman’s trained mind travelled up and down this complex illustration, imagining how he would craft such an engine.

The machining and calibration of every single mechanical part from scratch … if ever given the opportunity.

‘That ‘Amal T T’ carburettor was identical to the one Thompson had brought to work last week and it had the same long bell-mouth designed to direct the incoming air to be efficiently mixed with fuel and delivered to the inlet valve.

If only I was allowed to own a motorbike, then that oh-so-steep Elizabeth Street hill would be a cinch. Except Mum takes most of my earnings; she only left me with two pounds and ten shillings for pocket money each week.’

It was the time for the big high of the evening;

Clem turned on his small radio then waited for its valves to warm up,

"Good evening to all my listeners out there on 2--Z--S, this is Wild Will Douglass and do we have a evening for you, and all because of Paramount Chewing Gum the gum that freshens your mouth and refreshes your smile.

The first disc for tonight is Helen Shapiro who is going to ‘air mail special delivery me to you,’ so here we go, give it to them Helen give em one for me….

Clem held up the page with Mum’s black patch and allowed the 60amp light to shine through, on the opposite page her bosom was clear enough and it looked so firm and full . . .

Another forbidden zone kept from his eyes and now …

That slotter slid up and down into that gear hole or was it into that peroxided blonde.

‘The-girl-with-no-name’ with the pointy bra?

Should he take a walk down to the old woodshed? …

Kate and George’s rendezvous where dad keeps his ‘Nature Magazines’ all full of nudists.

That place everyone told mum … was full of spiders.

Yes, that place.

That place where Dad kept pictures of breasts without nipples, stomachs without navels and absolutely ‘nothing’ between their legs?

‘Would you want a picture of a woman without a mouth,