The Extra-dimensional Pioneer Of Fiction [Draft]

Weeks at the Smith farm had turned Arlo into an unlikely local celebrity. Word of his accurate divination of Mr. Smith's heart condition spread like wildfire through the small community, fueled by Mrs. Smith's enthusiastic storytelling. What began as a few curious neighbors stopping by for readings soon turned into a steady stream of visitors, each seeking guidance, reassurance, or a glimpse into their futures.

Arlo found himself busier than he had anticipated. Every session brought a new challenge. Some came with health concerns. Old Man Haggerty arrived at dawn, demanding to know if his arthritic hands would heal before harvest. Mrs. Donovan, her voice trembling, asked if her son's silence since enlisting was a sign he'd never return from overseas. Even the high school football coach stopped by, gruffly requesting a prediction for Friday's game.

"Tell me straight," the coach had said, squinting under his cap. "Do we win by two touchdowns or three?"

And then there were the romantics—mostly young women—who wanted him to reveal the identity of their soulmates. Arlo had to suppress a groan every time they gushed about their love lives.

Girls in pastel sweaters and feathered hair giggled through his door, hearts aflutter.

"Does Bobby Miller truly like me?" one sighed, twirling her hair. "Or is he just being nice?"

"Can't you just… I don't know… feel my soulmate's initials?" another pleaded, thrusting forward a crumpled love note.

"Can't you just download a dating app?" he muttered under his breath one evening after a particularly exhausting session. "Oh, right. Forty years too early for Tinder."

But the acting as a seer was massively paying off. His System notifications appeared in the his HUD which kept him informed of his progress:

[Notification: Seer Potion Digestion Progress: 70%]

[Skill Level Up!]

[Enhanced Memory Leveled Up to Level 7]

[Spirit Vision Leveled Up to Level 4]

[Danger Intuition Leveled Up to Level 4]

[Divination Arts & Ritualistic Magic Mastery Leveled Up to Level 4]

The improvements were undeniable. His [Enhanced Memory] allowed him to recall details with pinpoint accuracy, making each reading more convincing. [Spirit Vision] had become second nature; he no longer needed to tap his glabella to activate it. His [Danger Intuition] buzzed faintly at times, warning him of subtle shifts in people's emotions or intentions, it become more accurate.

As Arlo set his divination tools on the table one afternoon, he leaned back in his chair, reflecting on how far he'd come. Acting as a seer wasn't just about performing readings; it was about understanding the human condition. People came to him with their hopes, fears, and uncertainties, and he realized the responsibility that came with it.

"To help others interpret revelations and guide them," he mused aloud, recalling a line from his notes on seer philosophy. "But never forget to respect fate. Never let it go to your head."

The words felt heavier now than they had weeks ago. Arlo had seen how easily people could become dependent on his insights, how his interpretations could shape their decisions. He had to tread carefully, always mindful of the fine line between guidance and manipulation.

One evening, a middle-aged man arrived at the Smith farm, seeking Arlo's help. His voice trembled as he explained his predicament—a family rift that had left him estranged from his sister. He wanted to know if reconciliation was possible. Arlo activated his Spirit Vision and performed a reading, he saw was Dark in color which mean worry, sorrow, and silence. He concluded that this man have a deep emotional wounds and a path toward healing. The man left with tears in his eyes, thanking Arlo profusely.

Moments like that reminded Arlo why he kept going. It wasn't just about the potion digestion or skill levels. It was about the connections he forged with people, however brief. Yet, he couldn't ignore the nagging thought that this lifestyle was merely a temporary phase.

"I need something bigger," Arlo said to himself later that night, staring out at the dark fields beyond the farm. The digestion progress had slowed, and he knew it was time to step things up. But how? The answer wasn't clear, and that bothered him.

........

The morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of Arlo's room, waking him from a dreamless sleep. Stretching lazily, he let out a small groan and rubbed his face. Weeks at the Smith farm had turned into an unexpected routine.

Each day, he balanced a growing reputation as a seer with quiet moments to refine his skills. Today felt no different, yet he knew the grind to perfect his craft wasn't over.

Downstairs, the house was already alive with the hum of activity. Mrs. Smith's cheerful humming mixed with the clatter of dishes, and the faint aroma of fresh bread drifted into his room. Pulling himself out of bed, Arlo dressed quickly, throwing on his usual jeans and a simple shirt.

In the dining room, Mrs. Smith greeted him warmly. "Good morning, Arlo! Hungry?"

Arlo nodded as he took a seat. "Morning, Mrs. Smith. Smells amazing, as usual."

Downstairs, the kitchen brimmed with warmth. Mrs. Smith slid a plate of eggs toward him, her apron dusted with flour. "Eat up, dear. You're skin and bones!"

Henry peered over his newspaper, eyes crinkling. "Heard Edna Fischer's spreading rumors you've got angel blood. Says only a saint could've saved my ticker."

Arlo nearly choked on his toast. "Angel blood? Seriously?"

"Small towns need their myths," Mrs. Smith said, refilling his coffee. "But you've done real good, Arlo. Maggie finally patched things up with her sister after your reading."

Henry Smith had become a regular advocate for Arlo's "gift," often encouraging neighbors to come for readings or health checks. It was endearing, but it also kept Arlo on his toes.

"You've been busy lately, young man," Henry said, his voice gruff but kind. "Half the town seems to be talking about you now. Got folks lining up for your fortune-telling."

Arlo chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "Word travels fast in small towns. I just hope I'm not causing any trouble."

"Nonsense," Mrs. Smith said, placing a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of him. "You've been a blessing to this community. Just yesterday, Maggie from the general store said your reading helped her figure out some family issues. You've got a real gift, Arlo."

He tried to wave off the praise, but their gratitude was palpable. It was moments like these that reminded him why he kept up the charade. Even if this was a stepping stone for his potion's digestion, the smiles and relief on their faces were genuine.

.......

After breakfast, Arlo retreated to the backyard for some fresh air. The Smiths' farmland stretched endlessly, dotted with neatly plowed fields and the occasional scarecrow.

Living as a seer had taught him something profound: it wasn't just about predicting the future. It was about guiding people, helping them interpret the cryptic messages they received and navigate their lives. He'd learned to respect the fragility of human hopes and fears.

"You can't let it get to your head," Arlo murmured, recalling the second acting method of a seer from the novel. "To help others interpret revelations and guide them in a better direction; yet constantly maintain one's fear and respect towards fate. One cannot be too egoistical, too proud, or blindly believe one's interpretations."

His musings were interrupted by the faint sound of a car approaching. Turning toward the driveway, he spotted a familiar face—a young woman who'd come for a reading the previous week. She waved enthusiastically, her excitement almost infectious.

It was Lisa Carter, the baker's daughter, waving like a pageant queen. "Mr. Seer! You were right—Tommy asked me to prom!"

Arlo forced a smile. "Told you he'd notice if you stopped tripping him 'accidentally.'"

The girl flushed but grinned. "Well, your advice last time was spot-on. I think I found that Tommy who could be the one. I just wanted to thank you!"

Arlo nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral. Inside, he was cringing at the idea of playing cupid. "Glad I could help. Just don't forget to let things happen naturally. Fate's a tricky thing—you can't force it."

She thrust a box into his hands still-warm snickerdoodles. "Mom says you're too skinny! Bye!"

Arlo groaned silently, Why hell do they concern with my body, I'm slim not skinny this is body shamming.

The Lisa beamed and drove off, leaving Arlo standing alone. He sighed, shaking his head. "Seer by day, romance consultant by… also day. Who needs a dating app when you've got me?"

"Right," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "I've been coasting for too long. Time to ramp things up." Back inside, the Smiths were preparing to head to town, but not before Mrs. Smith reminded him to take care of himself.

"Don't work too hard, Arlo," she said with a knowing smile. "You're young—enjoy life a little."

"I'll try, Mrs. Smith," he replied, though his mind was already racing with plans. He needed a new strategy, something to push his abilities further and finally reach 100%.

As he sat back down at the kitchen table, Arlo opened his BrainLink and began mapping out his next steps. The road ahead wasn't clear, but one thing was certain: he wasn't stopping until he mastered his craft.

=================================================

Arlo was in the living room, reviewing the day's schedule, when Mrs. Smith called him to the telephone.

"It's for you," she said, handing over the receiver with an intrigued smile.

"Hello?" Arlo said, slightly wary.

A soft, nervous voice answered. "Hi, is this Arlo Leeroy? My name is Tina Gray. I've heard about you… and I was hoping you could help me."

Arlo's heart skipped a beat. Tina Gray? The name immediately clicked in his mind. She was one of Nancy Thompson's friends from A Nightmare on Elm Street. He kept his tone even. "Yes, this is Arlo. What do you need help with?"

"It's… about these dreams I've been having," Tina said hesitantly. "They're… disturbing, and I don't know what they mean."

Dreams. Arlo's mind raced. This was it—the direct connection to Freddy Krueger's narrative. "Of course, I can help. Let's meet. What time works for you?"

They settled on that evening, and Tina gave him her address. After hanging up, Arlo sat back, his thoughts a whirlwind. He'd stepped directly into the heart of the A Nightmare on Elm Street plotline.

.......

[Springwood: 620 Elm Street]

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Arlo approached the address Tina had provided. The modest house looked like a classic 1980s suburban home—well-kept lawn, clean white walls, and a warm glow from the inside lights. Arlo knocked on the door, and it was opened almost immediately.

Tina stood there, a nervous but striking young woman. Her blonde hair framed her delicate features, and her wide eyes carried a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"You must be Arlo," she said, stepping aside to let him in.

"Yes. Thanks for having me," Arlo replied. Inwardly, he reminded himself that Tina was only 16, and he was not about to entertain any inappropriate thoughts. "I hope I can help."

Inside the living room, two other familiar faces greeted him. Nancy Thompson, her dark eyes sharp and intelligent, and Glen Lantz, casually leaning on the armrest with an easy smile. Arlo blinked as he recognized Glen—or rather, a young Johnny Depp. So this is where Captain Jack Sparrow got his start, he thought with a faint grin.

"Hey, you're the seer everyone's been talking about," Glen said, his voice tinged with skepticism. "People are saying you can predict the future or something."

Arlo shrugged modestly. "Something like that. I try to help where I can."

Nancy's eyes narrowed slightly. "I think I saw you near the neighborhood the other week."

"Guilty," Arlo admitted with a disarming smile. "I'm new to Springwood and was just sightseeing."

They all took seats in the living room, and Arlo noticed the unease in Tina's posture. He decided to ease into the session. "So, Tina, you mentioned having troubling dreams. Do you want to tell me more about them?"

"It's hard to explain," Tina began, her voice shaky. "It's this man… he has knives for fingers and a burned face. He's always in the shadows, chasing me. It feels so real."

Arlo nodded, carefully hiding his recognition of the description. "Dreams like that can carry meaning, but they can also reflect stress or fears. Let's explore it together."

Nancy and Glen exchanged a glance, and Nancy leaned forward. "You're saying you can actually make sense of what these dreams mean?"

"I can try," Arlo said, his tone serious. "Dreams often carry symbols, but sometimes they're warnings. My goal is to help Tina interpret what her subconscious might be telling her."

The room fell silent as Arlo began laying out his tools—candles, tarot cards, a topaz pendulum, and a notebook. He wasn't sure how much of this would translate into tangible progress against Freddy Krueger, but he needed to establish trust with these characters.

"Let's start with a Tarot Reading," he said. "It might give us some clarity."

Tina nodded nervously, and as Arlo began his divination, he couldn't shake the weight of what was coming. Freddy Krueger wasn't just a figment of imagination here, he was a real, looming threat. But if Arlo played his cards right, he could tilt the odds in their favor.