The story I will be telling you is among the numerous fabrications of the human mind. It is of such absolute preposterous origins that sane men and women like yourselves and I could not hold with such nonsense. Indeed we would not! We have progressed and could well establish that fine line between reality and fiction; we do not believe in the claims of the dreamers and stargazers.
He jumped out of bed at 2 a.m, went to his bookshelf, and took out “The Land of Stories”, a book his mother used to read him when he was younger. It was too large for his seven-year-old hands.
He flipped through the pages of the heavy book franctically under the blankets and the torchlight. With a gasp, he stopped and his eyes squinted.