Dreams are funny things, you know. Have you ever had a dream that felt so real, that you were certain that it was, in fact, reality? You have if you have woken and felt that you were not truly awake. Almost like you are still in the dream, finding a way through it.

What if this reality was strange? That deep down, you know it can't be true. You know you are dreaming, but let the dream sweet you away on a marvelous adventure.

Of course, there are always undesirable dreams and nightmares. Places in which our deepest secrets and darkest fears rear their heads and confront us, ready to tear their teeth through our sleeping throats. Even if these visions aren't monsters, there are always teeth that grip us. Have you ever tried to scream in a dream, yet found you were unable? The jaws of fear most likely had you clutched in their grasp.

And yet, what of the nights where everything is dark? When you are falling asleep one moment, and waking the next? No picture, no sensations, no adventures in between those waking moments? The times when you've either felt that you've truly slept or haven't even closed your eyes.

Yes, dreams are funny, lucid things, you know. And yet... what if they were real? That it wasn't just your cortex interpretation fluctuating, but you really, and truly, were living a separate life?

It's absurd, I know. Impossible? Of course. But then again, I've always been one to believe in the impossible.

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The first time I slipped over, I believe, was when I was four. I have a pretty good memory, at least of my dreams and this incident has become a big part of my life. I had changed into my new frilly nightgown from my Nan and snuggled into my warm bed, ready for sleep. It felt like seconds later that I was awake, lying on the ground, and I was cold. I stood up and found that I was in a forest, and it was winter. There was snow up to my ankles and without knowing what else to do, I began walking. I called out for help a few times, but was only rewarded with the sound of my own voice echoing my call back at me.

I don't know how long I wandered that day, but it felt like a long time, before I got so tired, that I had to sit down and rest. I was so cold. I couldn't feel my feet. I felt so miserable. I sat down between two tall pine trees and lay back, letting my eyes close and tried to sleep. Eventually, I managed to and once I had, I immediately woke up again, and I was in my own room.

At first, I was relieved until I realized that I was still so cold, and I couldn't feel my feet. I started crying. Quietly at first, but then louder and louder until my mother came in and found me. No one could ever explain how a four year old managed to get mild frostbite and pneumonia in the middle of summer, without leaving her bed.

No one believed I had been in my bed all night, of course. My parents... I think they thought I'd snuck out and played in our huge freezer for a little too long, then climbed back into bed. Either way, they installed cameras in my room after that incident. They didn't know what else to do.

I did travel to that place many times after, but I always knew what to do. Sit down and go to sleep so I could get back. At first, it frightened me. It was always those woods. It was suddenly all I dreamed about, if I happened to dream, which thankfully, I didn't all the time. It was either blackness or the cold, wintery forest.

It was a little after my fifth birthday that I figured out how the item thing worked. Whatever I wore to bed, was what I woke up with in the other world. I began going to in my clothes, with a sweater on. I even started wearing boots. My parents thought it was because I was paranoid that this would happen again, but I did it so that I could continue walking to get out of the woods. Maybe once I was out, the dreams would stop.

The dreams continued as long as I can remember. I was in that forest for four more years. I was nine when I finally got out, and it was always winter. But... how do you explain that, when every time those video tapes of me sleeping, I hadn't moved an inch? Impossible? Yes. True? I'm pretty sure it is...

This is the story of my dreams, because if I don't write it, no one will know and I don't know how much longer I will be permitted to travel. The other world... it can be dangerous and I've never died there but I imagine if I do... well... I don't want to think about that. This is my story. The story of Aislin Nestor, the Dream Walker.