In addition, a long counter dominated the right wall, but it was also every bit as bare as the room around it. The only distinguishing feature on the left wall were some partially constructed shelves that RJ had started installing for me. When completed, they would stretch from corner to corner.

  Gazing at the empty store around me, my motivation was circling the drain. I lacked the strength to do any further work tonight. There weren’t many more days before the store’s grand opening, but I was extremely tired from setting up the beds at the inn. For a moment, I considered calling RJ to ask if he was willing to help me do a little night work. But I’d already asked enough from him for one day. Bothering him at such a late hour would need to be paid by more than a week’s worth of meals. I decided to work doubly hard on the shop floor the next day.

  With my new goal already in mind, I picked up a folding chair in the corner nearest the entrance door and carried it to the middle of the incomplete shelves, unfolding it. Sitting down, I briefly savored the relief of getting off my feet, and pulled out my phone.

  A few keystrokes took me to my e-commerce website where I sold enchanted dreamcatchers, designed to catch the good dreams and release the bad. As expected, a number of new orders had come in while I was busy. Thankfully, each day brought in more orders than the last. I was glad to get the extra funds while I finished setting up shop. But on the downside, I needed help.

  Hopefully I’d get some responses to my ad for an office assistant soon. But when I checked my email inbox, there was nothing.

  With a heavy sigh, I put my phone away and walked over to the counter, knocking my hand against the false paneling on the shelf beneath it. From what I understood about this building, back in the day it was used as a place to hide booze during Prohibition. Now, a shiny, gunmetal laptop was stored inside it. Pulling the computer from its cubby and placing it on the counter, I silently lamented how long it took for the computer to boot up.

  After what felt like an eternity of robotic sounds, spinning icons and flashing lights, the computer powered to life. I quickly navigated to my website’s order processing screen and then after another heavy sigh, I began the tedious task of verifying and accepting payments from my online customers. Once that was accomplished, I transferred their shipping addresses to a spreadsheet for mailing labels. While none of the process was particularly difficult, it was labor-intensive and time-consuming. Almost as much as lugging the mattresses.

  By the time I finished prepping the labels, the sun had fully set and it was so dark, I could barely see the store around me. I verified all the orders and hit send on the address labels. A series of hums and grinds could be heard while a black printer methodically did its business. Once it finished humming, I logged off the website, closed up the laptop, and stored it safely away in the counter’s secret compartment.

  Lying next to the printer and its fresh labels were two stacks: shipping envelopes and sealed baggies of dreamcatchers. I put both stacks on the counter along with the printed labels and pulled out a small box of matches from my pocket to light the candle at the end of the counter. Yes, I could have turned on the overhead lights, but there were times when I preferred the old way of things—truth be told, there were many times I missed the old ways. Modern conveniences were certainly convenient but they oftentimes took away from the flavor of yesteryear. And there wasn’t quite anything as lovely as fire-light. The candle emitted enough glow to allow me to stuff and label my customers’ orders. When I finished, there were only a half dozen envelopes and dreamcatchers left. I made a mental note to grab more of them from upstairs in the morning.

  Scooping up the stack of freshly sealed envelopes, I walked outside to deposit them in the lonely mailbox beside my storefront. By now, the day was well and truly gone and Main Street was as quiet as a graveyard. I took a moment or two to breathe in the fresh and crisp Oregon air, of which there was a definite pine scent.

  As busy as I’d just been, that was the easy part of my daily routine. The truly intense part still awaited me upstairs. With that thought echoing in my head, I walked back inside. The right corner door opened up to a flight of stairs that was illuminated by a pair of electric bulb “candles.” They sat on either side of a wooden plaque inscribed in Egyptian hieroglyphs.

  As I approached the door, I said, “Homage to thee, Asar Maa-Khemsu.” At my words, the door swung open and closed behind me once I fully entered the room.

  The stark contrast in size between the downstairs and the apartment I now stood in was striking. The latter was roughly half the size of the counter in length, and no larger than a mattress in width. With the single bed on the back wall, the dresser occupied most of the left wall.

  Yes, I lived above my store, which suited me just fine. In fact, when I’d first received approval to move to Haven Hollow, I’d approached the owner of Hallowed Homes Realty, Ms. Fifi, and requested this exact setup. And the lovely succubus had certainly come through. Interestingly enough, she was the first succubus I’d ever come across and she was nothing like I’d pictured a succubus to be. In fact, she didn’t try to steal my life force at all but was one of the friendliest people I’d ever met. As I understood things, she was dating the only sasquatch in town, the same Roy Osbourne who headed the Council.

  A jackal statue stood as sentry at the base of my bed, and a late nineteenth century phonograph sat on a nightstand beside the door. My small bathroom was off to the right. Though the apartment was certainly small, it suited my needs... at least, my physical needs.

  Glancing at the only framed picture on the dresser, I couldn’t help my sad smile. The photo was taken ten or so years ago and in it, I was standing next to a freckle-faced young woman whose smile could have put the sun to shame. I wondered if the day would ever come when looking at that portrait wouldn’t hurt so much.

  Pushing my melancholic thoughts aside, I got ready for bed, placing my dirty clothes into a laundry bag in a corner next to the chest of drawers. Then I methodically arranged my clothes for the next day after pulling them out from the dresser middle drawer. From the bottom drawer, I selected a set of comfortable light blue pajamas. Viewing my large collection of LPs stacked under the nightstand, I didn’t feel like listening to music. Instead, I placed an incense stick in the holder right in front of the jackal.

  As the local gypsy apothecary, Poppy, had promised me at her shop, the smell of mugwort and wormwood instantly filled the air. Reassured, I crawled into bed, put my glasses on the nightstand beside me and closed my eyes. The entire time, I inhaled the fragrant smoke, gradually drifting off to sleep.

  ***

  With a jolt, I realized I was suddenly standing in my piece of the dream world.

  Vast galaxies of stars stretched above my head and a corridor extending to infinity lay before me. Both sides offered me a number of closed doors in anticipation of my visit. Out of habit, I looked to my right, hoping to see that freckle-cheeked, shining face smiling back at me. The hopeful feeling died the moment I saw no Melody by my side. Nor would I ever again.

  You’d think after two years, I’d remember, I admonished myself. But I found no comfort in the thought.

  A leather pouch full of sand hung on my left side. In my right hand was the astral version of my colorful umbrella.

  Or was the umbrella I had in the real world the copy? I was never sure, but I supposed it was unimportant.

  I quickly noted the first three doors on either side were those of The Haven Hollow Inn. And that could only mean one thing—someone at the inn was struggling with insomnia.

  I started with the nearest door on my left, putting my hand over the knob to sense the room behind it. Pleasant, relaxed feelings floated through the knob into my palm. It indicated my services as a Sandman weren’t required there.

  So, I moved onto the door on the opposite side. The feeling I perceived through that knob was one of oblivion. Either the sleeper had already had their dream or they were too tired to properly have one this night.

  The third Haven Hollow Inn door pulsed with an erotic energy that all but zapped me to the core. Based on the intense feelings I was receiving from it, this sleeper was having a very good dream, one I would allow them to enjoy in private. (I had to pause for a moment or two until the erotic feelings parsed through me).

  The next two doors had good dream vibes like the first one. So, maybe the problem had already resolved itself? Sometimes, just lying on one of my mattresses could fix any sleeping issues one might have. But that notion died as soon as I sensed the energy of the final door. It was harsh and twisted, like battery acid and barbed wire. The only creatures capable of producing such frenetic energy were beings my family had been fighting for more generations than they’d been making mattresses.

  I turned the knob and opened the door.

  The dreamscape was an inchoate swirl of gray clouds that covered the ground, the walls and the ceiling alike. The only things that stood out were two very different figures. One howled in pain as it ran along the ground on all fours. The true features, including its face and body type, were obscured by shadows. Even the voice sounded distorted and lacked any distinguishing characteristics.

  The other figure rode atop the back of the first one. In general, the rider resembled a woman, but the skin was too shiny, and two pairs of wings fluttered on its back. Its head was that of a giant wasp. It laughed maniacally with a slight buzz, using its stinger to jab into the sleeper’s side.

  Ancestral hatred swept through me. The misconception that the mara—or nightmares, as they were more commonly called—rode horses rankled me. It was actually the dreamers themselves that these ghastly tormentors rode, depriving their victims of much-needed rest. I lifted my umbrella and prepared to unfold it when I suddenly felt a sucking sensation pulling me back through the door. Before I knew it, I was out in the corridor again, and the door slammed shut in my face. A second later, the door itself was gone, replaced by a blank wall.

  My anger and frustration aside, I slammed my hand into the door’s former position. Too late I remembered that was the absolute worst thing I could have done. A primal shiver rose up the corridor, echoed in motion by the stars above.

  My body was suddenly being stretched like taffy...

  ***

  Bolting upright in my bed, I found myself drenched in a cold sweat and breathing heavily.

  “Calm yourself, old man,” I whispered to myself as the pounding inside my chest started to slow. I took another deep breath and closed my eyes, imagining my own umbrella swirling before me.

  I got myself under control by doing vase breathing, i.e., filling the belly and upper parts of my lungs with air before slowly exhaling again. The incense had long burned out, so there was nothing but the fresh air coming in through the open window to inhale now. After ten good breaths, I could finally think straight.

  My mind once more in order, I reviewed what had happened. The mara had tormented its victim enough to awaken them from the awful dream they were trapped in. And that was a good thing. Any further sleep they got this night was beyond the reach of any dreams, good or bad. But at least the mara couldn’t torture them any longer.

  To my shame, the mara wasn’t the only exile from the realm of dreams. I’d earned the same with my burst of anger. The corridor had a firm set of rules. One of them was: no violence within its premises, which certainly included the corridor itself. So, I’d effectively spared myself any further duties for the night. I only hoped the other sleepers I was supposed to visit wouldn’t suffer from my negligence.

  My frustration centered on knowing nothing more about Ethel’s guest, the one suffering the night terrors, than I did before. Yes, I’d been able to find the guest who definitely needed my help. But the sleeper’s identity was completely obscured. Was I sensing the right one? I had no clue, as each door in the bed and breakfast was identical to the next. Nothing I could do but try again tomorrow night. I hoped the guest I needed to help would still be checked in then.

  Exhaustion crept up on me. It wasn’t enough to let me sleep. For that, I needed external stimulation and so I sat up and then got out of bed, kneeling before the LP stack. After a minute of digging, I found what I was looking for: the “Heroes” album by David Bowie.

  I stood up and carefully placed the vinyl disc on its B side in the Victrola. Cautiously positioning the ornate needle onto a certain groove, the end of “V-2 Schneider” echoed before I was back under the covers. The deep synthesizer heralded the arrival of the next track, “Sense of Doubt.” Doing a couple more vase breaths in anticipation, I let the music wash over me.

  Gradually, the dark fantasia spun by the artificial notes took its desired effect and I felt my eyelids growing heavy. The track wasn’t even finished when I finally went back to sleep.

  Chapter Three

  I looked over the freshly constructed bed frame with satisfaction before dropping the mattress on it.

  Ten done, thirty-two more to go!

  After glancing around the mostly empty store, once again, the sheer enormity of my task threatened to swallow me up like a tsunami. That’s when the opening notes of the next song on the phonograph, which was now situated on the counter next to the extinguished candle, soothed my ears.

  Light, ethereal guitar notes overlaid with a tenor sax riff played from the antique turntable. Hearing the backup singers crooning, “It ain’t over,” I inhaled a deep whiff of the incense I was burning in the middle of the counter. The Dragon’s Blood instantly relieved my stress, and I was ready to grab the pieces for the next bed frame I was putting together.

  That was when the door opened and Maverick came sauntering in. “Checking in, Sandman,” he called out.

  “Of course,” I answered and greeted him with a smile.

  “Give me the rundown of what you were up to last night,” he replied with a frown. It was always the same—he wanted me to recount where I’d been, with whom, and what I’d been up to. So, I told him, including the part about the person at Ethel’s who was suffering a night terror.

  “Hmm, so did you take care of that?” Maverick asked with little interest. He’d just finished writing down all the particulars about my evening and early morning.

  “Well, not exactly.”

  He looked up from his notepad. “Isn’t that your job?”

  “Well, yes,” I answered.

  “Then?”

  “It’s not quite so simple.”

  He frowned at me. “Well, figure it out for the next time I come by.” Then he showed himself to the front door and pushing the door open with his back, gave me a salute and a ‘ta-ta’ and was gone.

  Maverick was certainly a strange one.

  But, returning to my task at hand, after carefully arranging the bed frame pieces in the places they would be when assembled, I glanced out the open window. Spotting a few passersby in front of my store on the sidewalk, I noticed there weren’t many of them. This late in the morning, though, most of the town residents were either working or at school, depending upon their age.

  The consistently gray skies overhead annoyed me. I’d been here for a week now and couldn’t think of one day when the sun had actually come out. It felt like a permanent rain cloud was hovering above Haven Hollow. Not so much threatening as it was drab.

  I looked at my umbrella in the corner. Although its real use was in the dream world, I liked to carry it with me and had for two years—ever since I’d lost Melody. That umbrella, a family heirloom, which I’d inherited with the art of mattress-making, reminded me of the true necessity I represented… so I forged on—forged through the heartache and the loneliness, all the while reminding myself that I had a job to do—a job for the greater good. My family and I had an important function in this world that few could do. And I knew in my heart that Melody would want me to continue bearing that flag and fighting the good fight. She wouldn’t want it any other way.

  A hollow knocking interrupted my reverie and for a moment, I was irritated by the thought that it might be Maverick come to torment me about something else. But when I glanced up, I couldn’t make out the identity of the figure standing in the doorway. But judging by the slight height and general demeanor, I guessed it must be a woman. My suspicion was confirmed when she spoke.

  “Hello? I’m so sorry to bother you but...” She nervously cleared her throat, putting her hand next to it for emphasis. “I’m looking for Sandman Syd’s.”

  “Then you’ve come to the right place,” I replied with a smile.

  She looked around herself and frowned. “Oh. This doesn’t… doesn’t look like a mattress shop.”

  “Oh, well, that’s because we aren’t quite open yet.”

  “Ah.”

  “How might I help you?”

  “I’m here about the ad for an office assistant that you posted online?”

  A wave of relief washed over me at the news. Finally, someone had responded! “Ah, of course! Please come in.”

  When the woman walked fully into the store, I immediately realized how attractive she was. With her roundish face, striking smile, high cheekbones and a chin that tapered to a point, giving her face a heart shape, she was quite lovely. The faint lines I managed to glimpse under her fairly light makeup prompted me to guess she was in her early forties. Her eyes were very light blue, comparable to glacier ice and so clear, like filtered water. Aside from her eyes, the other eye-catching thing about her was her very long and very blonde straight hair.

  Her angular frame was thin but not enough to call her anorexic. It was hard to tell much about her figure under the professional-looking black pantsuit she wore. A white blouse contrasted beneath her dark coat and she had an ivory brooch of a woman’s cameo fastened at her neck. In her right hand, I saw some loose papers.

  Glancing down at my own clothes, I was nearly mortified when I viewed the overly stained white t-shirt and grungy work jeans I was wearing. I must have been an impressive sight, but not in a good way. Of course, I wasn’t expecting any visitors, with the possible exception of RJ.