Chapter 1: The Unremarkable Remarkable Man
Harold Fiddlesworth was perhaps the most ordinary man ever to exist in the town of Blunderidge. He was so ordinary that, on the day the census takers came, they accidentally counted him twice, simply because they couldn’t believe they’d already encountered someone so utterly unmemorable. Harold’s job was as the assistant to the deputy manager of the Stationery Supply Cupboard at the Blunderidge Office of Planning and Zoning, which is as thrilling as it sounds.
Yet, Harold harbored something most wouldn’t suspect: an imagination so wild that it frequently threatened to derail his daily life. For example, on Tuesday afternoons, he sometimes accidentally stapled his tie to his chair, convinced he was tethering himself to the deck of a pirate ship. On more than one occasion, he signed documents as “Sir Harold, Earl of Reams,” much to the concern of his supervisor, Mrs. Plonk.
The only thing that separated Harold from the other cubicle-dwellers of Blunderidge was his nightly routine. As the sun dipped beyond the town’s modest skyline, Harold would sit in his creaky armchair, gaze wistfully at the horizon, and mutter, I wonder what it’s like out there, beyond the horizon. Then he would nod off and plunge headfirst into the kind of dreams that would make even a narcoleptic insomniac jealous.
Chapter 2: The Dream Dispatch Department
On one particularly drizzly Wednesday, Harold fell asleep just after his second helping of cheese and pickle sandwiches. He awoke (in the dream sense) on a vast, floating sofa that glided over an ocean the color of raspberry cordial. Above him, clouds shaped like office supplies drifted lazily, and the air smelled faintly of toner.
Harold sat up and, to his astonishment, found himself being piloted by an enormous, talking pigeon wearing a monocle and a waistcoat patterned with crossword puzzles.
Welcome to the Dream Dispatch Department, cooed the pigeon, whose name tag read “Reginald.” We specialize in delivering dreams beyond the horizon, where reality has the decency to mind its own business.
Harold blinked, unsure whether to question the pigeon or the floating sofa, but ultimately decided to accept both out of politeness. Before he could ask more, Reginald handed him a leaflet labeled, “So, You’ve Found Yourself in a Dream Beyond the Horizon: A Beginner’s Guide.”
The leaflet advised Harold to fasten his seatbelt, avoid the cheese gremlins, and, above all, never sign anything in green ink. As Reginald steered the sofa towards a cluster of floating islands shaped like punctuation marks, Harold felt a familiar tingle of excitement. Here, at last, was a place where the limits of his imagination were the only boundaries in sight.
Chapter 3: Tea with the Queen of Commas
The first stop on their journey was the Isle of Commas, a small, lush island dotted with curly palm trees and attended by a population of sentient semicolons. Reginald informed Harold that he had an audience with Her Majestic Pause, Queen Comma the Third.
The Queen, a rotund and regal figure with a crown shaped like an Oxford comma, greeted Harold with a bemused smile. She invited him to tea, which was served in cups made from recycled ellipses and accompanied by scones that paused halfway between crumbly and moist.
During tea, Harold was asked about his dreams. He confessed that, in the waking world, his greatest adventure was once using a red pen instead of a black one when filling out procurement forms.
The Queen gasped, fanning herself with a hyphen. Such daring! But here, beyond the horizon, adventure is compulsory.
Harold, feeling brave, enquired whether he might see what lay further afield. The Queen agreed, warning him to beware the Apostrophe Bandits and to never, under any circumstances, split an infinitive without adult supervision.
Suitably fortified with tea and scones, Harold rejoined Reginald on the floating sofa, eager for what lay ahead.
Chapter 4: The Cheese Gremlins and the Nightmare Noodle
As Reginald piloted the sofa towards their next destination—a city built entirely of cheese—Harold remembered the leaflet’s warning about cheese gremlins. He asked about them, and Reginald looked grave.
Cheese gremlins, he explained, are mischief-makers who can curdle even the sweetest of dreams. They lurk in the shadows of cheese wheels, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting daydreamers and sprinkle their thoughts with doubt and insecurity.
No sooner had Reginald spoken than a chorus of giggles erupted from behind a large wheel of Double Gloucester. Suddenly, a swarm of tiny, green-haired creatures leapt onto the sofa, pelting Harold with tiny cubes of blue cheese. The sofa wobbled dangerously.
Harold, thinking quickly, distracted the gremlins with a game of “Name the Cheese.” For every cheese they could name that ended in “bert,” he would award a point. The gremlins, competitive to a fault, were soon so engrossed in the game that they forgot about causing chaos.
At that moment, a giant, tentacled noodle—known in these parts as a Nightmare Noodle—burst up from the fondue fountain, its many arms flailing. The gremlins screamed and fled, leaving Harold and Reginald to deal with the menacing pasta.
Thinking fast, Harold offered the noodle a compliment on its impressive al dente texture. The noodle, apparently unused to kindness, blushed (which is quite a sight in a noodle) and retreated back into the cheese city, leaving behind only a faint scent of parmesan and relief.
Chapter 5: The Bureau of Bonkers Bureaucracy
With the cheese city receding into the distance, Reginald directed the sofa toward what appeared to be a gigantic, spinning file cabinet. This, he explained, was the Bureau of Bonkers Bureaucracy—a place where the forms filled out in dreams determine what happens in the waking world.
Upon entering, Harold was greeted by a stern-looking walrus in a bowler hat, who demanded they fill out Form 7b: Application for Additional Adventure. The queue stretched as far as the eye could see, populated by an eclectic mix of dreamers: a unicorn with a clipboard, a tap-dancing octopus, and someone who looked suspiciously like Mrs. Plonk.
After an eternity spent in line (or perhaps only a few minutes, time being a flexible thing in dreams), Harold finally reached the front. The walrus peered at his form.
Reason for Adventure? he intoned.
Harold thought for a moment. Because I’ve never had one, he replied.
The walrus blinked, then stamped the form with a flourish. He handed Harold a purple umbrella and a map, then directed him to Door Number 42B—The Gateway to Beyond the Beyond.
As Harold and Reginald passed through the door, they found themselves in a landscape even stranger than the last: skies filled with flying toasters, rivers of orange soda, and mountains that rearranged themselves according to the mood of nearby giraffes.
Chapter 6: The Mountains of Mirth and the Giraffe Orchestra
The sofa sailed over the Mountains of Mirth, so named because any traveler who passed through was compelled to laugh uncontrollably. Harold, unused to such glee, snorted so hard that he nearly fell off the sofa.
Below, a herd of giraffes played violin, cello, and, in one case, the bagpipes. The music was exhilarating, a rollicking tune called The Waltz of the Wandering Wombat. Reginald explained that the giraffes took requests.
Harold requested a medley of classic rock anthems, and the giraffes obliged, performing a surprisingly soulful rendition of Stairway to Heaven. As he listened, Harold felt something shift inside him—a sense of possibility he hadn’t known since childhood.
For the first time, he wondered whether the world, both dream and waking, might be more extraordinary than he’d ever imagined.
Chapter 7: The Perilous Plains of Possibility
Beyond the Mountains of Mirth stretched the Perilous Plains of Possibility, a place where anything could happen, and usually did. Reginald cautioned Harold to think only positive thoughts, as the land was shaped by the dreams of those who passed through.
Harold, nervous, tried to think of pleasant things: a warm fire, a friendly dog, unlimited biscuits. Immediately, the plains blossomed with biscuit trees, a pack of golden retrievers appeared, and a cozy hearth materialized beside the path.
But as they journeyed further, Harold’s anxieties crept in. What if he failed at adventure? What if he woke up and nothing changed? Instantly, the sky darkened, and a rain of overdue library books pelted the ground.
Reginald, unfazed, handed Harold a thought-polishing cloth. Just give your worries a little shine, he suggested. Harold concentrated, and the clouds parted, revealing a double rainbow and a unicorn offering free advice on existential dread.
Harold realized that, in the Plains, he was the architect of his own fate—a lesson that, he suspected, might apply elsewhere as well.
Chapter 8: The Return of Mrs. Plonk
Just as Harold began to feel comfortable with his new-found agency, a familiar figure appeared on the horizon: Mrs. Plonk, clipboard in hand, her expression a mixture of sternness and suppressed amusement.
Harold, is that you? I’m here on behalf of the Bureau of Dream Quality Assurance.
Mrs. Plonk explained that she was responsible for ensuring that dreams remained within acceptable parameters of whimsy and did not breach the International Absurdity Accord (1974).
Harold, emboldened by giraffe music and biscuit trees, stood tall (or as tall as one can on a floating sofa). He invited Mrs. Plonk to join them and, to everyone’s surprise, she accepted. The sofa groaned but managed to stay aloft as Reginald recalibrated their course towards the Final Frontier of Dreamdom: The Horizon Beyond.
Chapter 9: The Horizon Beyond
The sofa approached the Horizon Beyond, a shimmering barrier of light and possibility. No dreamer had ever crossed it without changing, Reginald intoned, a hint of reverence in his voice.
As they drew closer, the sofa slowed, Reginald donned his best hat, and Mrs. Plonk practiced looking imposing. Harold, heart racing, wondered what lay on the other side.
A voice boomed from the Horizon: To cross, you must answer a riddle.
Harold gulped, but nodded. The voice continued: What can you find only when you stop looking for it, is both yours and everyone else’s, and is never further away than your next thought?
Harold thought hard. He considered cheese, biro pens, staplers, and even scones, but the answer eluded him. Then he remembered the Plains of Possibility, the giraffes, the Queen of Commas, and, most of all, the feeling he had when he let go of doubt and embraced adventure.
It’s wonder, he said.
The Horizon shimmered, then parted, revealing a world more beautiful than any dream he’d ever had. The sofa glided through, with Harold, Mrs. Plonk, and Reginald all gasping in delight.
Chapter 10: Waking Up (Almost)
On the other side of the Horizon Beyond, Harold found himself in a place without rules or forms—just endless possibilities. He ran through fields of flying books, danced with tap-dancing robots, and shared jokes with Reginald and Mrs. Plonk, who surprised everyone by revealing a talent for stand-up comedy.
But as all dreams must, this one began to fade. Harold felt himself rising, the sofa dissolving, Reginald and Mrs. Plonk waving goodbye as the world receded.
He awoke in his armchair in Blunderidge, the sun peeking over the horizon. For a moment, he wondered if it had all been a dream—or perhaps something more.
As he prepared for work, Harold noticed a purple umbrella by the door. And when he arrived at the Office of Planning and Zoning, he greeted Mrs. Plonk with a conspiratorial wink. She smiled, then handed him a form labeled Application for Additional Adventure.
Chapter 11: A New Dawn in Blunderidge
From that day on, Harold’s life in Blunderidge was never quite as ordinary as before. He brought a sense of wonder to everything he did—even the Stationery Supply Cupboard seemed to sparkle with possibility.
He started a lunchtime club called Dreams Beyond the Horizon, inviting colleagues to share their wildest dreams over scones and tea. Attendance was surprisingly high.
Sometimes, he would catch Mrs. Plonk humming the Waltz of the Wandering Wombat. Occasionally, a mysterious pigeon in a waistcoat would appear on the windowsill, cooing softly as if to remind Harold that adventure was always just a dream away.
Harold no longer waited for the horizon to come to him. Instead, he chased it, day and night, confident that dreams—especially the ones beyond the horizon—were worth pursuing, both in sleep and in waking life.
And if, on the rare occasion, someone found a purple umbrella in the Stationery Supply Cupboard, they knew precisely who to thank.
The End