The Drusba Dimension

Brahms’ lullaby was the first sound that struck the ears. It came from the room furthest from the stairs, next to the Martins’ master bedroom, and whispered sweet dreams to the cutest baby seen in millennia. The baby’s name was Baby and she was indeed having the sweetest of dreams. She played with Ralfie, her best friend in the entire universe, while her two teddy bear friends–also her best friends actually–sang and danced in golden fields. Nothing could interrupt her peace. Not even her parents’ relentless snores could interrupt the blissful pa-ra-pam-pam pa-ra-pam-pam…

Meanwhile, downstairs–

It should have been a dark stormy night, a night where crows flew afoul in the midst of black angry clouds, a night where the wind cut at the face like knives. No, it was not such a night but, to Lord Hamish, proud warden of the Drusba dimension, the darkness surrounding him in the Martins’ house held far worse horrors. Was it an awakened flair for the dramatic that made him hear the slithering sounds in this Night of Nights? What about the chuckles following him in the shadows? With ominous feelings threatening to engulf him, Hamish ran as fast as he could, letter clutched in his right hand. He turned his head to the left, then right, left, and right again, his palms sweating a puddle, his heart beating faster and faster, louder and louder. The adrenaline coursing through his veins helped him ignore his painful limbs as he ran down the basement stairs. When he reached the dollhouse, he fumbled desperately for the right key in his pockets, the one with the purple sign. Where was the key? Where was it? And he felt it suddenly: the malice in the night, smelling out his fear. He gasped and pressed his back quickly against the door, letting go of the letter that he had received. Come what may, he would fight. He would not die a coward. His name would live on at the very least: Lord Hamish the Brave. He made his hands into obstinate fists and glared at the darkness. The enemy was almost upon him. He tried to look as menacing as Fire itself–

–and fell in as the door was hastily opened. As he was carried clumsily into the dollhouse, he could see the darkness starting to pool inside, menacing whispers accompanying its entry.

“Yee-hawww!” Cleo screamed as she pushed herself against the door with all the force she had. Hamish found himself staring dumbly at the spectacle, all thoughts of bravery having taken flight.

“Hamish! Get up and help me, you idiot!”

Without giving himself the time to consider what failure would look like here, he scrambled to his feet and joined her in the arduous task. Ralfie’s paw had already found its way into the room, his vicious snarls providing a tense soundtrack. Undoubtedly, had the Martins witnessed the transformation of the (otherwise) friendly golden retriever, they would have been shocked…although the scene was likely to be more overwhelming in nature, what with walking teddy bears living in the (ridiculously big) dollhouse they had constructed–perhaps too enthusiastically–for seven-month old Baby.

“Aaargh!” Hamish screamed, hoping that a scream would give him more strength. But no. What are teddy bear paws compared to raw canine strength? Tears were running down Cleo’s face: she knew defeat when she saw it.

“We have to surrender … Hamish. Lifeless toys … better than … sentient … aargh!”

Hamish also knew what defeat felt like, with his missing right ear and his permanent limp. But there had to be someone who kept the Drusba dimension at bay, and for that, he could not give up his sentience. He desperately looked around the room and spotted something red. If anything was going to work, it had to be that.

“Three o’clock,” he gasped out. “Red! Your three o’clock!” Cleo could not turn her head, but she seemed to trust his words. “On the count … of three … One … Two … Three!”

Cleo jumped to the right and pulled out … a mirror? She held it up in confusion at the same time that Hamish fell painfully to the ground. The door flew open and a canine nose forced itself through the doorway. The beginnings of a bark were abruptly stifled. Instead, Ralfie groaned softly and tilted his head to the side. Hamish looked on, his (teddy bear) jaws clenched tight. Were they safe now? Had the trick worked?

Cleo abruptly let go of the mirror. He thought he knew what she felt: anxiety, fear … well, in general, incapable to relax until Ralfie decided to go away. He imagined that, much like him, she was unable to handle this tension. So, imagine his panic level when she began moving forward…toward Ralfie. Cold beads of sweat appeared on Hamish’s forehead: what was she doing?

“Cleo! Cleo! Stop!”

She paid no heed to him. She walked unblinking toward Ralfie. As she reached the dog, she softly laid a hand on his nose. The sight was too much for Hamish. He fainted.

Hamish came to himself on a plush sofa. As his wits started gathering themselves, he wondered how his unconscious self had managed to get his unathletic body so high above the ground. Next, he realized that, more importantly, he was in the Martins’ living room. And it was quiet, far too quiet. Was someone waiting to dissect him?

“Cleo?” he called out in what he hoped was a soft whisper.

No reply came. Hamish stood up and fell right back with a loud thump. The floorboards immediately started creaking.

“Oh no, I must be doomed!” he thought to himself. He tried to buy himself some time by hiding behind the armrest. Yet, as is the case with humans as well, the anticipation of certain doom is often hard on the nerves. So, he popped his head outside of the shelter of the armrest. And came face-to-face with the (now) all too familiar canine head.

“Booyah!”

“Cleo,” he barely managed to wheeze out, “what are you doing?” She was grinning from ear to ear at him, gently holding on to Ralfie’s fur.

“Relax Hamish. We have a new ally. We decided–”

“We? You spoke to Ralfie?”

“We decided,” Cleo resolutely carried on, “that you deserved the chance to put your feet up. After all, we work way harder than any of these humans! Anyway, now that you are awake, we need to discuss stuff.”

Ralfie stared at him in a manner that uncomfortably reminded him that he was a much smaller being, then suddenly winked at him. Wagging his tail amiably, he turned his back to Hamish and padded toward the basement stairs.

“Wait!” Hamish called out.

“Exercise is good for you,” Cleo replied, not even bothering to look at him.

Hamish looked in disbelief at the retreating figure of his companion. Why did she always treat him like …like…like that? He was lost in contemplations of loneliness when Ralfie suddenly came back, all alone.

“Come on, old man,” a deep voice intoned. “She’s not that evil.”

Hamish settled himself awkwardly on Ralfie’s back. Cleo’s introduction of Ralfie to Drusba must have been necessary to save their lives…but it was bound to come at a high cost to him eventually, a cost he would only appreciate when he grew disenchanted with his ability to speak. Hamish knew that feeling. He fought with it every second of every single day. Could Ralfie perhaps have an easier time though? After all, he had already had consciousness before, unlike Hamish. Perhaps he was wrong; it would not be the first time he had made a mistake. Hamish opened his tired eyes and looked at the ceiling.

“Welcome to the group, my friend,” he quietly told Ralfie. “Has she explained everything to you?” Ralfie replied in the positive.

Despite the ride, Hamish arrived at the dollhouse, huffing and puffing his life breath away. He sat on a stool and stretched out his old legs. In the meantime, Ralfie had taken to staring at himself in the mirror, testing all kinds of humanoid expressions. At one point, Hamish thought he saw him pout.

“Welcome to the Drusba dimension, Ralfie, cousin of wolves,” he thought.

On the other side of the room, Cleo was busy setting up a small whiteboard from Baby’s collection. They had both entered the wardenship at the same time, but she had somehow started taking charge. He did not bear a grudge against her for taking charge … no, no, not at all. In a team of two, there had never been a place for jealousy. Except that they were now three, their newest member contributing strength at the very least. And his most important contribution was … what exactly? Although the danger had passed, he had actually put themselves in what could have been mortal danger by leading someone to their hiding spot. A lump formed in his throat. Judging by the empty envelope that was on the ground, Cleo must have already read the letter he had collected from the mailbox. He himself could not read; did he envy her the ability now?

Who decided which powers each of them obtained? Why was it that he could speak but not read? And why was he so weak? Cleo had recovered quickly from many small injuries but Hamish constantly had aches all over his body. He cursed his sentience.

Cleo had taken to her role with alacrity, immediately wondering at the why, when, and how…throwing herself eagerly into problem-solving, strategizing, “scienc-ing”…Did they actually need him? He was only dead-weight, wasn’t he? Even now as Hamish fought to sit up, a thousand needles were stabbing him. Cleo gave him a smile and began approaching him. He grimaced, recognizing the look on her face. She was about to tease him about his pain, wasn’t she? He braced himself, clenching his jaws and fighting back tears. She reached out her left hand towards him. What was she doing? He frowned at her, suspecting a trap. She punched him gently on the forearm–it tingled more than it hurt–and held out her hand again. Hesitating, he opened his palm. She dropped a small object into his hand. It was a very small piece of chocolate, shaped like a heart. He looked up sharply and met Cleo’s unwavering gaze. It must have been a few seconds only…but it felt to him like he suddenly understood something deep and profound, that he had finally gained some other power.

Cleo looked away, and strode to the front of the room. Hamish looked on, stunned. Did he really curse his sentience? He knew pain, but was that all he knew? He felt a strange warmth start enveloping him, giving him strength. This time, when his eyes met Cleo’s, he let his defenses down. She gave him a small smile, then turned her back to the board, drawing strange symbols that only she could understood. Ralfie immediately took his attention away from his mirror and regarded her.

The magical moment had been broken, hadn’t it? Or had it? Cleo turned back towards them, a serious look on her face.

“There’s some bad news. The Drusba dimension is growing out of control across the globe. A report has just come in that while a scientist was on holiday, she saw a newly awakened friend try to run away from her…”

All illustrations by Nirvana Nursimulu

Originally published in the January 2018 issue of the SickKids Training Post