Oliver Little: And the Dream Key of Aramis

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© 2012 Evan Chassikos. All rights reserved.

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Published by AuthorHouse 6/28/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4685-6300-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-6301-6 (ebk)

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7:

Chapter 8:

Chapter 9:

Chapter 10:

About the Author

Dedication

To my family. My beloved wife, Alice, and my two children, Giorgio and Elena.

This book would not have been possible without help and inspiration from above.

Chapter 1

Finder of the First Key

It could have happened on any other day, or to anyone else, it had been said by many of those still skeptical, but it didn’t. Oliver Little had discovered one of the keys of Aramis. That’s right, Oliver Little, daydreamer extraordinaire, the one denied by his stepmother the right to sleep peacefully and uninterruptedly, and therefore enter the world of dream delight, was forced to dream while awake, those little slices of sleep.

Who would have thought that the odds of finding this little treasure, a gem that gave the finder the magical ability to bring their daydreams to life, would be decided upon by the powers of the universe, to be in favour for none other than young Oliver?

However, his daydreams came with a price. He had been taunted and tormented by his teachers for years, ever since the first grade.

Oliver’s attention has once again floated away into the clouds.

This was a phrase that the Littles had to endure hearing over and over again, as a seemingly endless bombardment of notes came home from the headmaster.

The three of them who were still in existence—Oliver, his father, and stepmother—lived in a little mansion just off the treacherous cliff of Sandervelt, about twenty minutes distance from Oxbow Academy for boys. This, his father at least had thought, was Oliver’s legacy, to grow up into a fine young man, finer than he was, and lift the reputation of the Little name to high esteem, to be displayed to all that mattered.

Frederick Little III, wiry and awkward in his gait and speech at times, declared himself one of the finest attorneys that money could buy. And money was something the Littles did have, and plenty of it!

I’m telling you, Devon, I really did see it under the heap of dust in the private cellar library of Mr. Binks! Oliver pleaded.

Save it for the judge.

The meaty boy huffed and puffed as he struggled to get the words out.

There was something to be said about Devon Dixon, the chocolate aficionado. He was constantly in denial. Think about it. All that drove this boy forward in life was his next encounter with a truffle. Never once did he agree with anyone about anything. It’s a wonder that he had any true camaraderie at all. Then again, Oliver was in the exact same position when he would be daydreaming, and the two seemed to work out just fine for each other.

One day they were sitting idly in the classroom during fourth-period Latin class. Oliver had just indulged himself in a daydream while Devon quickly yet not so discretely stuffed another chocolate truffle into his mouth. The headmaster peered over his thin framed spectacles, noticing Oliver’s little attention problem immediately, astute as he was.

Mr. Little!

Oliver, snap out of it. Come on, it’s me, Devon!

And you, Dixon, you’re obviously trying to learn Latin using once again, not the preferred organ of choice!

At that moment, the mouth of the meaty boy began to overflow with an abundance of truffle, which had melted in his mouth and began dribbling down his chin.

Mother? mumbled Oliver in a daze.

Huh? also muttered Devon in a daze, with even more chocolate oozing out of the corner of his mouth.

The headmaster ignored Devon and focused his attention on Oliver.

"Mr. Little, it is obvious that you have left us once again for another world. This is yet another example of an actus reus, young man!"

The headmaster was always trying to impress upon (more like show off to) the boys at Oxbow his knowledge of Latin. He was a short, stubby man, in his mid-fifties, who taught at the academy as a tribute to his late grandfather. Chatty Chadwick, he was known as among the boys. Funny that his name was so, because he was the one who was always telling his pupils that people had been made with two ears and one mouth, because they were meant to listen twice as much as they were required to speak. However, this was not the case of a grownup who practiced what he preached, which Oliver and his learned colleagues immediately discovered.

Oh yes, indeed, Oliver had been placed into the gifted learning program at Oxbow Private Academy for boys, ever since the first grade as a matter of fact. It was said that he had the most vivid imagination a child could ever have, and he was a real scholar as well.

But it is now time to describe our young Oliver Little’s looks in detail. He was a tiny morsel of a boy in the sixth grade. Apart from him having reached his twelfth year of life, you would not be aware of this by his appearance. He had golden curly locks of hair flowing down to his shoulders, a sharp, pointed nose, large, pronounced ears, and piercing blue eyes, all mounted on a very thin face. He also had narrow shoulders, a very long neck, and short stringy legs.

Had people not been aware of the boy’s familial economic status, they would have immediately come to the conclusion that Oliver’s family had no money to ever feed him.

It was true, by the way, the little find Oliver had made in the private basement library of the school, even though our chocolate eating sidekick was in denial. Now that’s not a surprise! Please follow along, as our story begins.

Down, down the winding, creaking staircase, which was seemingly bottomless, Oliver descended. Being aware of the trouble that might cross his path, he inched ever so slowly down the crooked, wooden plank steps, oil lantern in one bony, clutching hand and a handmade picture of a key in the other. Oliver drew it from memory the first time he had seen it one week ago, lying under a mess of dust balls as big as tumbleweeds. He had heard a second set of footsteps coming down the old staircase shortly after his own, which inevitably belonged to the eerie Mr. Binks, as he had predicted. Oliver had dropped the picture of the key immediately after hearing the footsteps and quickly hid behind an aisle of a huge stack of books as Mr. Binks mysteriously disappeared into another room, hidden from the main library. Oliver had used this opportunity to run out and grab the drawing and dart back behind the stack of books.

Mr. Binks’ private library was off limits to the students of Oxbow Academy. He was a strange and creepy man, with the appearance of a very tall bird with legs, kind of like an ostrich. He had a parrot nose that inefficiently supported a pair of thick-rimmed bifocals, continually slipping off the bridge of his nose. If it were not for the attached chain that held them securely around his stubbly neck, they would have inevitably fallen to the ground, undoubtedly shattering the lenses into a million pieces.

He didn’t talk much to anybody, students and fellow teachers alike. Mr. Binks was the ancient artifacts teacher at Oxbow. He was a very private and mysterious individual who managed to utter, only if provoked to speak in a social context, Good day to you, sir!

The way he would say this would send shivers down anyone’s spine, as it squawked and resounded shrill in the listener’s ears.

Oliver was convinced that this private cellar was the place where he would find his life-changing treasure once again, as he was told he would by a fortune teller his father had taken him to see in Piccadilly Square.

Of course, at the time, his father had asked the lady to enlighten them with respect to Oliver’s future success and fortune in life. The round, bubbly woman was vague with them at first, but as they both turned to leave, an oversized marshmallow of a hand reached out, grabbed Oliver, and pulled him close. She whispered some bizarre words into his ear, telling him that a magical key had been buried in the basement in a secret, undiscovered place within his school. Oliver vividly recalled the words of this mysterious seer.

You are a young Dreamweaver. You do not fathom how lucky you are, nor are you aware of the dangers of finding one of the mythical keys of Aramis. These keys have been sought out for centuries by scientists and sinners all over the world. It would be very unfortunate if they were to fall into the wrong hands. But …

She pulled Oliver uncomfortably closer to her as his eyes lit up with anticipation. Her breath reeked foul, and long, piercing hairs popped through every crevice on her mole-covered face.

I know that with you, the fate of this key and its powers will rest in good hands.

Oliver’s father didn’t like what this vagabond lady had to say to his hopeful son and quickly removed him from her tent.

That’s not what I wanted you to hear at all. However, she did make it sound that this key could be worth millions!

Oliver’s eyes lit up at the prospect that this key could snag him his life’s fortune at an instant, not that his future inheritance was anything to sneeze at. He was obviously taught well by his parents, who more often than not explained to young Oliver the importance of money, rather than the moral values, principles, and integrity, a sixth grade pupil would need ingrained into the very fiber of his being, as he began his journey into adolescence, eventually into adulthood.

As bright as Oliver was, he was a little more cold hearted in his intentions toward getting whatever he wanted out of life than first impressions would reveal, thanks to his parents. To understand the boy would be to understand his desire to conquer every obstacle that ever came his way, at all costs.

First of all, Oliver was as lazy as a horse. His parents’ servants did everything for him , from making his bed to changing his socks to tying his shoes. He was dressed and bathed and had no desire to groom himself, since it was all done for him.

He thought about himself and what he wanted, materially of course, more than anything else in life.

Oliver cheated, stole, lied, manipulated, was envious and greedy, and was always looking down upon the less fortunate. He was undisputedly a chip off the old block.

On many occasions his parents had found themselves in the headmaster’s office, talking about Oliver’s insolence and disrespect for authority.

He even has the audacity to nod off and daydream in class, and quite frequently I might add, the headmaster complained.

Why will you not let him sleep more hours at night?

"Absolutely not! Too much sleep makes one’s mind dull. How can our boy contemplate his future success, wealth, and power in life while sleeping and dreaming? It is a preposterous