NIGHT DREAMS  (Part 1 of 2)

by Richard Banks                 

                   

         Theo asks if I'm okay. The question is as repetitive as the dream and should be irritating; it is irritating. Of course I'm not okay but angry words will only make things worse. He switches on the bedside lamp and, with a towel, wipes the perspiration from my face.

     “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

     Each time I do he listens patiently, hoping, like me, that this time I will remember something new, something that will jog my memory, for the nightmare concerns the past, my past, of that I am certain. So here we go again: it is night, I am awake, looking out through a window into the red eyes of the gorgon that's come to destroy me. The creature is shrieking, screaming. It has opened the window and is climbing in.  There's no time to lose. If I am to survive I must get away through a closed door but there are bars that separate me from the door. I try to squeeze through them but they are too narrow, too high. The creature moves slowly across the floor, its black silhouette becoming larger until it looms over me. It brings a heavy blackness that falls down on me, choking me, snuffing out all semblance of light. I have only seconds to live. I start counting, knowing that by seven I will be dead. I reach six, scream, scream again, keep screaming. I'm awake.

     “And all this happens in the old house?” says Theo.

     I tell him, yes, but he knows I'm not sure. How can I be sure? I was only four when we moved to London.

     “And it's the old house that's on your birth certificate?”

     “Yes.”

     Theo has a plan but not one I am going to like. As I thought, it involves going back to Milsea. “Confront your demons,” he says.

     Prat! Who needs demons when you have a gorgon? But he's right of course. It makes sense to go back to the house, see what memories it brings back. Perhaps by just going there, the nightmare will stop. One thing I'm sure of is that if I don't get sorted, Theo will leave. It's only a matter of time; he wouldn't be the first.

    

                                                       **********

 

      We set off after breakfast. If nothing else it will be a day out by the sea. When we arrive the sun is shining which is just as well because Milsea is a mess. It's inner-city deprivation by the sea. The only good thing about the town is the sky above it. Thirty years ago it had a working port, now there are shut down places on every street. We park outside a boarded-up house.

     Theo has a map of the town he's downloaded from the net. We set off to find Linklater Street where the old house is, or was; who knows if it still exists. I'm half hoping it doesn't; then we find it, a grey brick Edwardian villa that's doing its level best to fit into the neighbourhood. It's dirty, the paint's peeling and there's fungus on the wall. Oh, joy! I look long and hard at the five steps leading up to the front door. Do I remember them? I think I do. The rest of the building I don't. It doesn't help that the house is now a boarding house, Panchos. The name's on the fanlight above the door.

     “Well​?” says Theo, “Any memories?”

     I remind him that I left here when I was four, that the house was different then. It must have been. Dad was a chartered surveyor; he would never have lived in a slum like this.

     “So, that was twenty years ago?”

     I say yes, except that it was twenty-three years ago; that's one secret I'm keeping to myself!

     Theo looks thoughtful. “That's not long after the port closed. Guess your Dad saw the way things were going and sold up while he could still get a decent offer.”

     “I guess so. Lord knows why he bought it in the first place. It's far too big for three people.”

     “And then there was one.”

     I say nothing, there's no need. We've been through all this before. Theo's a good listener. There's not much I haven't told him about the car crash in which Mum and Dad died and the twelve years I spent in foster homes. He knows I'm tensing up but keeps digging. “And no-one's ever said anything that explains what your dream is all about; the red eyes, the bars in the room, the gorgon. I mean, why a gorgon? That's something out of Greek mythology. How weird is that, but it must mean something.”

     “No doubt it does, but the something, whatever it is, goes back to when I was a small child. I don't remember what it is. How can I! Mum and Dad never said, and there's no one left who can tell me.”

     Theo says sorry, he didn't mean to upset me but I'm the one who should be sorry. I shouldn't have got uptight; he's only trying to help. He gives me a hug. We kiss. It doesn't matter that there's this man in a string vest leering at us from a first floor window; this is a moment I don't want to pass. Theo has similar thoughts. “Let's get a room,” he whispers.

     I think he's joking but he isn't.

       “What in this doss-house? You must be crazy!”

     He looks embarrassed and pretends that he only wants us to go inside so I can see where I used to live. “Isn't that what we came for?”

     It is, so in we go. There's a man in the office at the end of the hallway. If his name isn't Pancho it should be. He looks like a Mexican villain in a spaghetti western; greasy, swarthy and unshaven – all he's lacking is a sombrero. He seems surprised to see us. We don't fit in here. He knows it, so do we. 

     Theo asks if he has any vacant rooms. Pancho says he does. It will cost us £10 for the night. Even if we only want it for the afternoon it will still cost £10. If we want fresh sheets they will cost another £10. He recommends room twelve, it has a sea view and a door that locks. Theo gives the man a £20 note. I think he's expecting £10 back, instead, he's handed two sheets and a key.

     The room's on the second floor. When we get there we find a narrow corridor with four doors on either side. We're just in time for the cabaret. A couple are arguing, then it all kicks-off and they're shouting unsweet nothings at each other. A door at the far end bursts open and a girl, minus the clothes she arrived in, is pushed out into the corridor. The door slams shut behind her. My Sir Galahad is all for going to her aid but this girl don't need no saving. She pushes hard against the door and when that doesn't work she leans back and kicks it for all she's worth with the flat of her foot. The door jerks open and back in she goes.

     Theo is thoroughly turned on by this. He's in the mood big time. We might have new sheets but there's no time to spread them. No time for me to say no, but by now I'm not sure what I'm wanting to say. The bed we're on must be the noisiest in the hotel, if not the world, resting on the world's creakiest floor. Theo sounds like he's having an asthma attack and though I'm trying not to add to the racket I might just as well join in. Well, what the heck, we're only here for the day! Theo eventually brings proceedings to a conclusion, rolls across the narrow bed, teeters on the edge and disappears over the side with a resounding crash. The window rattles and a guy in the room below cheers and shouts out something I have no intention of repeating. Theo crawls back into bed. When he recovers his breath he asks me what I think about the room.

     I tell him that, “it goes up and down quite a lot.”

     “No, seriously,” he says, “do you recognise anything about it?”

     This is rather detracting from the afterglow I should be feeling, but I sit up and take careful note of all four walls. As walls go they seem very much of a muchness; covered in yellowing wood-chip, they are as unremarkable as the emulsioned ceiling. My attention shifts to the sash cord window with its view of the harbour. There's a balcony outside with a cast iron balustrade that goes from one end of the building to the other. Do I remember any of this? I'm not sure.

     Theo raps the wall on my side of the bed with his knuckles and declares it to be a stud wall, whatever that is. He thinks our room and the next one were once a much larger room that was divided into two when the house became a hotel. What else has changed, I wonder. Is there anything that's still the way it was?        

     Theo, however, is trying to stay positive. “Look,” he says, “we don't have to be out of the room until morning, so why don't we spend the night here.”

     “Why?” I ask. “Haven't you had enough excitement for one day?” 

     Theo's logical brain is working overtime. “Look,” he says, “all we know for certain is that your dream takes place in this building during the hours of darkness. If you dream what you do, here, tonight, what better chance is there of you remembering?”

     “And if I don't remember?”

     “Then at least we've tried.”

     So apparently there's nothing to lose unless we're murdered in our sleep. I agree, on two conditions: one, that he buys me dinner, and two, we don't come back here until at least 11pm.

     Theo retrieves his boxer shorts from the floor but is in no hurry to put them on. “It's only 3pm,” he says. “What are we going to do until dinner?” Two hours later we finally leave the hotel, under the watchful eye of Pancho, who gives Theo an approving nod; he knows a satisfied customer when he sees one.

[To be continued]

Copyright Richard Banks