“Yep.”

  “Sounds nice to have stayed in one place all along,” I said before sipping my drink again.

  “Haven Hollow is definitely a place unlike any other.”

  I studied her with interest, wondering if she had any idea about all the strange goings-on here. “How do you mean?”

  She smiled. “You’ll see in time.”

  I decided not to press the subject and, instead, changed it. “So, you graduated from Haven High?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Bailey confirmed.

  “What compelled you to stay here all these years?”

  She cleared her throat, “I guess I just like this silly town.”

  My curiosity was interrupted when Marla returned with our orders.

  “Here we are,” she announced, “One special...” She placed the plate in front of me. “And one special, no tomato,” she added, setting the plate in front of Bailey, who appeared stunned.

  Bailey lifted off the bun on her plate and seeing no tomato, she smiled and asked Marla, “You heard me?”

  “Tole ya I was psychic,” Marla said with a soft chuckle. “When an SOS enters my brain concernin’ somethin’ a customer don’t want, I hafta pay real close attention. Enjoy your meal!”

  Bailey’s expression was total awe as Marla left our booth. Leaning closer to me, she asked, “Wow, guess I’m going to have to take back what I said about her… well, minus the southern part. She’s still as southern as my right foot.”

  I laughed and picked up my sandwich. Bailey tried out her fries. We ate in companionable silence, but by the time she finished her fries, she began to visibly droop as if she were exhausted.

  “Bailey?” I said with audible concern, “are you all right? You look like you’re about to fall asleep.”

  “Huh?” Bailey replied, blinking and shaking her head vigorously. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just... tired.” I couldn’t help but think back to the person suffering night terrors at the inn.

  “Have you had trouble sleeping recently?”

  Bailey grinned. “I should have guessed that’d be the first question you’d ask!”

  “Ha, guilty as charged.”

  She opened her eyes again, letting her exhaustion show. “I’ve had a rough time trying to sleep for the last three nights.” Her head dropped a little before she realized it and she made a valiant effort to keep it level.

  “Why don’t you come in tomorrow at ten or so?” I suggested. “That should give you plenty of time to rest and catch up on those sleepless nights.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Bailey agreed. “Almost as good as this sandwich.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  She grinned at me. “Thanks, Syd, I’m glad you ended up here.”

  “So am I,” I answered and for the first time since moving here, actually meant it.

  Once we walked outside, the fresh air seemed to clear Bailey’s head immediately. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m feeling that second wind now. I think I’ll head back to Ethel’s and get some rest before my big day tomorrow.”

  I patted her arm affectionately. “Until tomorrow then, Bailey.”

  “Until tomorrow,” she repeated and then just stood there for another second. “And, Syd?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you so much for this opportunity. You don’t know how much it means to me.”

  I smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  She nodded, gave me a little wave and then hurried on her way. As she walked away from me, I pondered whether she could be the one victimized by the mara. If so, maybe I’d solved her problem just by hiring her—money problems were definitely one of the prime reasons people lost sleep. For reasons unknown to me, the thought of helping her felt good.

  Chapter Five

  At sunset, I finally decided to call it a day, at least so far as the store was concerned.

  I proudly stared at the two rows of completed beds, twelve in all, that now half-filled the floor. One more row before my first batch of merchandise was ready to sell. Everything seemed rosy, and I was feeling very optimistic. A couple of inquisitive potential customers looked in on me while I was completing the last bed assembly and luckily neither of them was Maverick.

  RJ showed up after lunch and constructed and installed more wall shelving. The new shelves covered three-quarters of the wall, and in no time, they would be complete. I told him about Bailey and he couldn’t say enough nice things about her. Apparently, he knew her fairly well, and he was sure to mention (more than once) that he believed she was single. While I appreciated his interest in my dating life, I still wasn’t ready to think about moving on. Not when my love for Melody was still fully present and accounted for.

  Thankfully, the online dreamcatcher sales continued to pour in. I had no spare time between putting the beds together and changing the LPs on the phonograph, yet I managed to stuff the envelopes and attach the labels. My last task for the working day was dropping the packages in the mailbox.

  What a relief it is to have an office assistant to do all of this starting tomorrow, I thought with a smile. And as soon as an image of Bailey came to mind, I found my smile widening.

  I liked her. She seemed to have spunk, and I hoped this would be the start of a great working relationship as well as a friendship. Gods knew I could use all the friends I could get, owing to the fact that the only person I knew well in Haven Hollow was RJ.

  While locking up for the night, the end of “Burn The Midnight Lamp” played on the phonograph. It was the final track on the A-side of Jimi Hendrix’s “Electric Ladyland” album. I carefully lifted the needle off the vinyl before stowing the album back into its sleeve. Once upon a time, it had been my favorite album when I was a bachelor, hoping to find my one true love. Eventually I did, and she introduced me to the delights of Bowie.

  I didn’t let the thought of Melody go any further. Such thoughts always led me to places I’d rather not go. Instead, I distracted myself by gathering up the LPs, tucking them under my arm and carrying them and the phonograph back upstairs.

  As the apartment door closed behind me, I dropped the LPs on the bed before putting the phonograph back on its table. The antique Victrola was the first thing my grandfather bought after immigrating to America in the early 1920s. He never expected the rock albums my father played on it later but I’m sure he’d be glad to know the old player never stopped playing. Unfortunately, I’d lost my father and my grandfather—both in the line of fire. Such was the risk in being a sandman—we had many enemies.

  As I put the LPs down, I spotted one on top of the stack: David Bowie’s “Hunky Dory.” A flood of melancholy and dread overtook me. Nonetheless, I lifted it off the stack before putting the other albums I’d been playing all day back where they belonged. The feeling of sadness and remembrance persisted.

  I kept telling myself: it’s just a song, one of many on an album I like to play all the time. What’s the matter with me? Surely I can make it to the end this time. Yet, as soon as I heard the chorus, I had to lift the needle up, switch off the Victrola and endure the pain of renewed grief. I stared at Melody in the photograph I kept on the dresser. Her smiling face only made my pain worse.

  The saddest part was: I couldn’t cry. My grief was so deep that my tears didn’t affect it. In the last two years since Melody had transitioned to the next world, I had never been able to shed one tear. Perhaps that was why I felt her death so fully—I’d never grieved it, never cried.

  Crying was not an easy thing for a Sandman, in general. While getting initiated as a Sandman by my father, the sand of our trade was deliberately blown into my eyes. Crying has been excessively difficult for me ever since that day.

  I put the album back in its sleeve, and gently placed it at the very bottom of the LP stack. Then I walked over to Melody’s photo and stroked the image of her perfect face, wishing with all my heart it were the real thing. I lost much more than a wife when she died. I lost a huge chunk of myself, my identity. I still felt married to her which was a strange realization in and of itself.

  I stared at Mel’s photograph for a little longer and then kissing my index and middle fingers, I tenderly placed them on her lips.

  My eyes then drifted towards the jackal statue at the foot of the bed, and I once more debated whether or not to ask the one who weighed hearts in the Hall of Judgment if he could arrange a conference with Melody. Maybe I needed to ask Osiris. This wasn’t the first time I’d thought of the idea, of course, but every other time the thought occurred to me, I immediately dismissed it. The old gods had much more serious matters to deal with than one lowly Sandman suffering from a broken heart.

  Melody was dead, and I had to learn how to accept it. I knew the truth, but that didn’t mean I could accept it.

  The turmoil in my heart made sleeping difficult. I walked towards the bathroom and filled up the tub. Now seemed like the ideal time to test out the complimentary bath bomb I’d received from Poppy’s Potions. It was meant to release tension—just what the doctor ordered.

  Or, in this case, the Sandman.

  ***

  No sooner did I shut my eyes, than I found myself standing inside the dream corridor once again. I expected the bath bomb to relax me, but had no idea it could drain off all my tension. After making a mental note to get more of them the next day, my eyes returned to the fifth door of the previous night.

  I knew it was a breach of the usual protocol, but I strode right over to the door and put my hand above the knob. The moment I felt the same pain and despair that I had the previous night, I wrenched the door open and walked in. Once more, gray mist covered everything and the mara rode the tormented sleeper with delight. Just as the last time I’d witnessed this scene, the physical details that could help me identify the sleeper remained opaque.

  It took everything I had to resist the strong urge to beat the mara over the head with my umbrella. Instead, I put the umbrella directly in front of the mounted mara, making it come to a halt, lest it fall off the sleeper.

  One look at me and it all but sneered, “Sssssandman...”

  “Why are you disturbing this one’s sleep?” I asked, my hereditary fury emerging.

  “And what are you doing, daring to spoil my sport?” the mara snapped back. “After all, I have not come here uninvited.” That made me pause because no one in his or her right mind would invite a mara.

  “However you came, you won’t leave until you exhaust your victim... if then.”

  An arrogant look appeared on the mara’s face. “We must resist fighting one another or we risk destroying our mutual prize.”

  I pretended to nod my acknowledgment and said, “It’s not a prize, but a person who deserves peaceful rest.”

  “Sheer semantics...” Then the mara’s expression changed—to one of interest. “What do you propose to settle this dispute?”

  “May I set up the terms of the challenge?”

  “You may,” the mara answered. “The complete terms.”

  That alarmed me. No mara had ever conceded all claims in my experience. For this foul creature to do so, I could only wonder what it meant earlier about being “invited.” But those were matters I had to settle after I freed the sleeper from this literal nightmare.

  I drew myself up before declaring, “A joust.”

  The mara cooed with delight. “That’s one I’ve not heard in some time. It shall be a pleasure to eject you forthwith from this dream.”

  While it spoke, I pulled out a handful of sand from my pouch and blew it in front of me. “The pleasure, I assure you, will be all mine.”

  At the floating sand cloud, I aimed my open umbrella and began twirling it into a rapid spin. Looking through the colorful fabric, I focused my thoughts and concentrated them to create a noble steed, a stallion to carry me. To this, I visualized a lance leaning against the steed, razor-sharp. Atop the ancient weapon lay a small buckler shield, wide enough to block an adversary’s blow but small enough to move about freely. When the moment felt right, I lowered the umbrella and saw all the things I’d conjured in place of the sand cloud.

  Walking over to my mount, I noticed the already-mounted mara. Reaching inside its own mouth, the nightmare extracted a lance made of pure shadow. After a moment, the mara managed to pull the shadow lance completely free of its throat. When it did, the unearthly weapon moaned and howled as the mara adjusted its wretched grip upon it. No doubt, this weapon was made from the harvested essence of other sleepers this creature tormented on the regular.

  I mounted my steed after picking up my conjured weapons, and said, “Until one of us is unseated?”

  “Agreed,” the mara replied, turning its mount towards the opposite end of the undefined ‘field’. I squinted to see how far back the mara truly was when it finished riding the sleeper and moved to its starting position.

  Jousting was a precise and brutal skill where timing and flawless aim meant everything. The slightest miscalculation could cause me to lose the contest in seconds. My sand horse was beginning to get restless when I saw the mara charging me.

  I responded in kind, hurtling headlong at my ancient familial foe. Aiming my lance at the rapidly advancing nightmare, suddenly its dark lance smashed into my raised shield. The mara’s weapon shattered on impact. The harsh sand that comprised the shield was blown into my face when it repelled the lance like water off a duck’s back. When I looked over my shoulder, the mara was wearing a triumphant grin on its face, and its damned lance regenerated itself.

  Determined not to get caught unawares again, I initiated the charge this time. I moved my shield up and down while using my lance to probe the air for the mara’s presence. Hitting nothing but air, I watched the mara move at an almost languid pace. Then suddenly, it landed on top of me from nowhere. This time, both our lances struck and hit their targets. A cloud of sand flew into both of our faces from the impact. We barely managed to stay atop our mounts as we rode past one another. I was amazed the mara’s lance remained in one piece.

  The floating sand refused to leave as I turned around and glimpsed the mara clearly through the cloud. My last blow had been hard enough to stagger it. The next hit would definitely result in the end of the match.

  The mara made the sleeper gallop once more, but I stayed still for a moment. I watched the mara going forwards and backwards across the gray “field.” There was a pattern to its comings and goings and I patiently waited until it was halfway to me. Then and only then did I charge it.

  At the last second, I aimed my lance not where the mara was but where I knew it would be. A jolting impact braced my arm as the weapon struck true. The mara screamed in rage and pain as it was hurled off the sleeper’s back at last. The moment it touched the ground, the sleeper rose and lifted up his or her head before screaming.

  “No! You said you’d stay! You promised me!”

  “I promised you’d be safe as long as I was atop you,” the mara countered, painfully rising to its feet. Then it smirked and added, “But the Sandman knocked me off, so consider our contract null and void, dreamer. Unpleasant dreams befall you.” Stooping in an ironic bow, the mara was summarily swallowed up by the gray mist around us.

  “Noooooooo!” the sleeper screamed, running headlong towards the spot where the mara had stood just a few short moments ago. The sleeper even tried digging through the mist to unearth the nightmare that lay beneath. I rode my virtual horse over and threw down my lance and shield—which both poofed! into sand clouds upon my release. Jumping off my horse, I held the sleeper’s shoulders.

  “Easy now,” I said. “You’re safe and no one can hurt you.”

  “It can!” the sleeper screamed. “It can hurt me still! And it’s coming!”

  I still had no idea whom this sleeper was, not even whether or not it was a man or woman. The voice was too distorted and the form and shape of the sleeper’s body were indistinct. I plumped up the freshly made sand clouds for the sleeper to recline on when I heard a hiss. It was loud and clear.

  A second or so later, a great blackness began to grow that overtook the gray mist on the ground, spreading like a malignant cancer. Green, unblinking eyes stared out of the blackness before another hiss surrounded us. Two sets of white fangs flashed below the eyes as the hiss rose in pitch, ready to swallow us both whole…

  ***

  For the second time in as many nights, I was jolted from my sleep.

  No cold sweats this time, but a palpable dread and rapidly beating heart encapsulated some of the terror I felt. Being in the presence of that thing told me why the sleeper had made an ill-advised pact with the mara. While not as formidable as the monstrosity I’d just escaped from, the mara dealt with more powerful players and those more powerful players would certainly be more frightening to a dreamer. Such was the reason why this particular dreamer had struck a bargain with the mara—the mara was protecting him or her from something far worse. Now I realized I’d just broken that pact, putting the unknown sleeper in terrible danger.

  I rubbed my neck and thought some more. It was still a bad bargain for the sleeper any way you looked at it. A chthonic creature like that could never be content to let a mara hold it at bay forever. At best, the sleeper had bought a small amount of dubious safety that had subsequently been snatched away.

  All the while, I could only wonder: what could have terrified the sleeper so much, that he or she would choose to make a pact with the mara in the first place?

  Chapter Six

  Daylight was just starting to silhouette the incessant clouds that hovered above Haven Hollow when I knocked on the inn’s back door.

  It was all I could do not to lean against it. Two bad nights of no rest were taking their toll on me. The overwhelming exhaustion was creeping into my bones. My mind kept wandering, and I had to constantly blink my eyes to keep them open. My muscles ached so much from lack of sleep that even my glasses seemed too heavy on my nose.