The staff cafeteria in the Triton hotel was raucous as usual. Groups of Housekeeping staff chatted noisily while the women from Bookings guffawed at the flirtatious attempts of the Maintenance team. Despite the cacophony, Finch had to fight to keep his eyes open.
At his table in the corner, he tried to focus on the salad before him. His vision blurred, making the food blend together in an unfocused mess. On top of this, his left wrist ached from when – he assumed – he had slept awkwardly on it a few nights ago.
‘Teddy, you ain’t looking so hot. You okay, man?’
Finch looked over to Nazia Mahmud at the next table and gave her a feeble smile.
‘I haven’t been sleeping very well,’ he croaked.
‘Mate, you need to get out of here before you drop,’ Nazia said.
Finch nodded as he got wearily to his feet. Forgetting his lunch, he left the dining room and stumbled through the tiled corridors to his office. Falling into his cushioned chair, he resisted the urge to rest his head on the desk, instead hitting control, alt and delete on his keyboard. When the screen failed to come to life, he looked down at the keys. His vision swam and he was unable to discern the correct buttons.
I’ll just close my eyes to rest them a moment, he thought.
When Finch dreamed, he normally took on the persona of Mae B. Naughty and she was usually in one exotic location or another. On the few occasions he dreamed as himself, he would often find himself in familiar places which had been transposed to unrealistic settings; his bedroom which was somehow a cabin on the Titanic, or his local park which existed in the shadow of the Great Pyramids.
To find himself in his office was as unsettling as the sounds coming from the stationery cupboard. A sporadic hiss of air was accompanied by the thud of something heavy hitting the door. The pounding continued and the door rattled in its frame.
Finch knew that whatever was behind the door would break free in mere moments.
Breaking the silence between them, Erin asked the red-haired woman, ‘What do you mean, I can help you?’
‘The majority of the visitors to the dream realm are mere passengers,’ the woman begins. ‘They flit from scene to scene, travelling as though they are at the mercy of another’s narrative. So unaware are they of the reality of this land, they pass through as if they are – pardon the pun – asleep. You, on the other hand,’ she continues, ‘not only possess the ability to acknowledge your surroundings but you also have the talent to affect them.’
With a wave of her arm, the redhead indicates the fallen porcelain clowns, the remnants of what had been a terrifying monster.
Erin raised her hand and pointed an accusatory finger at the stranger.
‘Go away,’ she barked. The woman’s face creases, whether in amusement or confusion Erin could not tell. ‘See,’ Erin said, ‘I don’t have control. I can’t get rid of you.’
‘I am not a dream,’ the woman says.
‘You’re in my dream,’ Erin said. ‘So if you’re not a figment of my imagination… are you the god of dreams? What’s his name? Moriarty? Mobius?’
‘I am nothing as grand as Morpheus,’ the woman says with a chuckle. ‘I am merely a woman, a woman who has led an interesting life.’
Erin looked her up and down, taking in the smooth skin, flat belly and tight calves.
‘You’re eighteen if you’re a day,’ she said. ‘You haven’t lived long enough to apply any kind of adjective to your life.’
‘The ravages of time cannot reach me here, but I assure you I have been here for far more than eighteen years.’
‘So are you telling me you’re the custodian of dream land?’ Erin asked sarcastically.
Tilting her head to one side as though pondering the title, the redhead replies, ‘Yes, I suppose that’s exactly what I am.’
Erin felt a knot lodge in her stomach as she considered the strange woman’s intentions.
‘And you want me to become your successor?’ Erin said.
The woman’s eyes widen at Erin’s words. ‘Goodness, no,’ she blurts. ‘Even were it in my power, I would not condemn someone to this role. Since taking this mantle I have not left this place. I have missed my family growing up, my parents passing away. I have had no life of my own to speak of.’
‘You said you’d had an interesting life.’
‘Passing through the minds of the sleepers,’ the woman explains, ‘I have experienced wild and wondrous things. I have witnessed empires rise. I have dined with all the great minds of history. I have travelled to the deepest places of the oceans.
‘But all of this pales to insignificance compared to the talent you possess.’
Hesitantly, Erin asked, ‘And what talent is that?’
‘My dear, you are…’ the woman pauses a moment before finishing: ‘a dreamcatcher.’
After a second’s confusion, Erin said, ‘One of those decorative hoop things?’
‘No, you’re the real deal,’ the redhead says. She points again to the fallen ornaments. ‘Look at what you did to the giant clown. You have the ability to quell nightmares. Not just yours, but other peoples’.’
‘Yeah, but I can’t share other people’s dreams,’ Erin argued.
‘Oh no?’ the woman says with a wry smile. Turning to face the wall, she bends down to reach the skirting board. Sliding her nails underneath, she pulls the wall up as easily as if it were a roller-door.
Beyond the opening, Erin saw a small office. Three of the four desks were unoccupied.
Glancing back at Erin over her shoulder, the redhead says, ‘Follow me.’
The thunderous clamour at the stationery cupboard door dictated Finch’s heartbeat. As the pounding increased in both volume and violence, his pulse raced to match the tempo. He was convinced that when the door finally collapsed, so his heart would explode. At least he would be spared the horror of seeing what beast was trapped within.
The next thud was followed by the snap of breaking wood. A crack had appeared in the door frame. One more blow and the portal would give way.
Finch was not sure if this were real or a dream. On the one hand, a nightmare entity was trying to break into his office which told him he must be asleep. On the other, he could feel the tension in his limbs and neck, taste the salty sweat dripping onto his lips. Never before had he experienced the nuances of such subtle sensations in a dream, not even in his dreams of a sexual nature.
The arrival of the two women confirmed he was not awake, though this realisation did nothing to calm his fraught nerves.
The wall to his right lifted up as though it were nothing more than a sliding panel, revealing a short redhead and an older blonde. They stepped in to the room and the wall – without descending – became solid once more.
‘This is not your dream,’ the shorter woman says to her companion.
Before the other woman could reply, the final crash sounded at the cupboard door. The crack of splitting wood tore through the air as the frame gave way and the door dropped to the ground with the boom of a tomb lid closing. Dust billowed up, obscuring the opening but not covering the rasping of exhaled breath beyond.
‘What’s in there?’ the blonde asked, giving voice to Finch’s own thoughts.
With a guttural cry that Finch felt in his bowels, the creature stepped into view. Cloven feet supported muscle-bound legs which, like the torso, arms and hands, appeared human. But this likeness did not extend to the head.
A wide jaw jutted forward above which sat a shiny black nose with huge nostrils. The long face stretched up and back, with eyes fixed at the side of the head beneath furry ears which stuck straight out. On the crown, a mop of curly hair rested between two long, curved horns. The nostrils flared as the grey beast snorted, its head turning as though seeking a red cape to charge.
‘A minotaur,’ the redhead announces, and Finch was shocked to hear amusement rather than horror in her tone.
Setting its gaze on Finch, the monster shot forward, smashing through his colleague’s desk between them.
‘Get it,’ the woman shouts.
Finch pushed against his own desk, sending his wheeled chair into the wall behind him. He was left with no further room to escape the charge.
The minotaur lowered its head and shook it violently from side to side. Keyboard, monitor, inboxes, privacy board; all were thrown aside as the vicious horns tore through them. Pressing forward, the creature began to destroy Finch’s desk.
The older woman jumped forward, hollering and waving her arms. The creature ignored her as it continued to turn Finch’s desk into firewood.
‘Why is it not working,’ she cried out to her friend.
With the last of Finch’s protection now scattered around, he held out his hands in a futile attempt to protect himself. He felt the warmth of the minotaur’s breath as it neared. The creature stepped closer. Finch felt the hot, wet nose touch his palms…
…then the beast was gone.
Before his stunned gaze, there was only the ruin of two desks and two women sporting expressions of surprise.
‘What just happened?’ the blonde asked.
With her voice steeped in awe, the other woman stares at Finch and says, ‘A dream breaker.’
Comments