Big Dreams

Rain pattered against glass while I rummaged through old books whose names had become unfamiliar to me. The day seemed to be lasting forever and I wanted nothing more than to be done with it as I continued to scavenge for what I was looking for. I had misplaced it early that morning and I needed it if I wanted to keep my business afloat, improvising could only get me so far. You see, I am, or was, a fortune teller. But lately in the town that I worked in, the big business was in dreams.

Little dreams like those we have when we imagine ourselves in a place different from our own,

Big dreams like those that happen in the middle of the night and we catch our breath because we feel like we might never sleep again.

They were my domain.

But on this day, something was different. I honestly couldn’t tell if it was because I had eaten something to upset my stomach or if maybe there was something to all the hocus pocus that I made a living on, but something just… felt off. After I finally found what I was looking for, a book called “Dreams and Their interpretations”, I began to relax a little. I wouldn’t have to sell my own hair in order to pay for rent. Even though I’ve been doing this sort of thing for a while, it gets hard to remember details in the middle of a session, and freezing up could make me look like a downright fraud. Even though, I suppose, I was. But, at least in my head, my clients understood that what I did wasn’t exactly scientific. They were coming to a fortune shop, not a research facility. 

The bell on my door rang out loudly and I hurriedly moved from the loft where I lived down to my place of business. The decor that I had laid out for clients was nothing special but I tried my best with the revenue I was making. A few candles here and a palmistry hand on the table made for a quaint but still mysterious aura that I liked to manufacture for the experience. I greeted a young woman with dark hair and brown eyes. She had a slight desperation to her gaze but in the moment I was too caught up with myself to notice. She told me her name was Isabelle and that she had been having strange dreams that she wanted to better understand. It seemed like that was the case for most of the people who saw me. She told me about her increasingly worrying sleep paralysis and the things that she had seen during it. Honestly, it was a little freaky. But it didn’t disturb me too much. They were just dreams after all. But what she talked about was strange to say the least. 

She mentioned that she had seen a man hovering over her body while she slept. She said that his eyes were hollow and white and his hands reached for her throat while she desperately tried to wake herself. But every time she realized she was dreaming it didn’t stop. She was trapped in what felt like years until finally at some unknown point the man would release her from her torment and she would jolt to life. She had stopped sleeping and it was interfering with her life, and so she came to me. She said that it felt like her dreams were starting to slip into reality, and she wanted me to perform, and this is a direct quote, “a spell or something” to fix it. 

Of course, this was an easy solution. I told her to come back later that night and together we would perform a rite that would solve these problems for good. As the door shut behind her I started to feel guilty. How could I solve her issues with something I didn’t even believe in myself? I probably should’ve seen the signs at this point but I’m too much of a trooper to give in to my intuition. I could only hope that maybe the placebo effect would aid this poor woman and I’d still get my paycheck.

By the time the sun started to set I rearranged my workspace and sketched out chalk on the floor in the shape of a pentacle. Stereotypical, I know, but whatever helps people think I’m actually doing something. I propped open the door to help get some fresh air into the shop while I worked, and as I turned back around my stomach tied itself in knots. I swore that I saw someone looking through my window, just for a second. But I got closer and it was only my own reflection. Maybe her dreams were seeping into reality, or at the very least they merited a Stephen King adaptation. The sound of my windchimes seemed to consume me as the wind picked up and I finished setting the scene. By the time I had finished there was a circle of chalk and white candles with a central crystal on the floor. It was my favorite crystal. Obsidian. Pitch black, and extremely reflective. She would be arriving any minute.

I was sitting on the floor. It was almost midnight. Her figure appeared on the stoop. Now is when I finally noticed the way she really looked. The gaunt expression, darting pupils, and yellowing teeth. It truly looked like she hadn’t slept in almost a week. I didn’t know whether to feel sorry or afraid but regardless I stood up and greeted her. She grabbed my arms with an unexpected strength and looked deep in my eyes. “Please” She almost sobbed in my ear. The feeling was getting worse. I sat her down where I had been and went around the circle rhythmically ringing a bell but all I could think about was the way she had described the man that morning. He was almost familiar, the way I depicted him in my head. I could see his empty eyes and a smile that was welcoming in the worst way. The way his head was asymmetrical and his eyebrows met together over his nose. My heart dropped when she asked me why I had stopped moving. I hadn’t even noticed.

I continued where I left off before sitting between her and the front of the store. She was focused on something behind me, and it was apparent she was disturbed. I looked into her eyes with curiosity and followed them to where they had become fixed. The open door. 

I felt a growing unease in my stomach and I wanted to run. Whatever was wrong with this woman was not something I should have become involved in. But I stayed. I stayed with her despite how much I wanted to sprint as far away as I could. My rational mind wouldn’t let me leave, or maybe I was simply frozen in fear. But it was unjust. I saw no ghost, no demon or man with a knife that should make me feel scared. But the silence was worse than any of those things. The windchimes had seemingly gone and the sound of the wind no longer grazed my ears. It was all far away now. And all that was left was me, Isabelle, and a thin circle of chalk.