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Hob’s still yet to see the creature under his bed — his beloved Nightmare, his Dream of the dark — but since that first night he now falls asleep with his hand held in its strange hold and stars upon his ceiling every night. Before he knows it, half a year has passed and his friends have all started giving him sly grins when he begs off late nights out after only their second stop. He knows they all think he’s gotten himself a beau and being shy…which he supposes isn’t entirely wrong, but…he certainly isn’t about to try to explain his interest in what most people would consider horror film worthy.
He doesn’t care though and if he didn’t think his friends would drag him to the doctor for the admission he’d proudly tell them he’s interested. Incredibly so, such that each new morning when he wakes without the creature’s hand still in his and the sheets on the other side of his bed still undisturbed he’s left feeling utterly bereft despite his perfect sleep. Despite that he often finds a warm breakfast and cuppa awaiting him in the kitchen when he gets up.
One night, he falls asleep on the couch in front of the TV, never making it to his bed. He dreams of a pale man, all sharp angles and shadows and severity. He is striking in every way, his skin as luminous as the moon. The man moves with a strange fluidity that makes Hob’s mind shudder, the dreamscape quaking in response to his instinctive fear. It is the movement of a predator or at least something that he has no defense against. His skin feels electrified as the man approaches and he sees that not only is the man’s flowing robe and hair as black as obsidian, but so are his eyes and his nails.
He paints a striking picture and while klaxon bells continue ringing in his mind, Hob cannot help but list into the man’s space. They are now toe-to-toe and the man, Hob realizes, is preternaturally tall, towering over him such that he feels the strain in his neck as he looks up into the colorless man’s face. No, not colorless he sees as his eyes settle on lips ruby-red.
The unnatural contrast of the man should be terrifying. Some part of him understands this, but whatever flames of fear he should be feeling are decidedly of ardor and desire instead. He leans up onto his tip-toes craving to close the scant distance remaining between them when those captivating lips part to reveal a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth as a deeply sonorous voice rolls over him like a physical wave. “Hob…why do you not take better care of yourself?”
Embarrassment floods him and his cheeks burn as he tries to formulate a response. Though he never gets the chance as suddenly a familiar cool-warm sensation bleeds through the dream like a low lying mist. The feeling pools around his ankles until he finds he’s no longer standing and is instead now lying in a field of grass beneath an endless sea of stars. It’s breathtaking! He’s never seen so many stars in his life, light always bleeding in along the horizon from the ever-present glow of humanity’s progress.
Then he feels the familiar cool-warmth of the creature’s hand slotting with his own. He sighs contentedly before realization strikes. He knows these stars! They are the ones that shine forth from his Dream’s eyes upon his ceiling when they hold hands as he sleeps. The cool-warm hold on his hand squeezes gently as his breath comes in short gasps as he catalogs the innumerable multitudes of stars he was never able to perceive before. His brain finally registers the greater solidity of the fingers intertwined with his own and as he looks down he realizes that the hand belongs to the pale man he had just met. “My Dream?”
Again he finds himself buoyed upon the wave of that rumbling voice as a chuckle emerges from beside him. Hob drags his eyes away from the moon-white hand entwined with his own and finds the man laying next to him with a smirk upon his lips. “Yes, your Dream as you have named me, though you are the only one to ever do so.”
“Oh? What are you called then?”
“Hm, many things. Though I think none that will please you to hear named.” Hob frowns as he imagines the names others might have directed at this unbelievable creature. His Dream cocks an eyebrow and chuckles again, tracing the downward turn of his mouth and the crease in his brows. “Think no further of such things, Hob. I am pleased to claim your naming.”
He’s still alone when he wakes in the morning, but Hob can’t help but smile as he finds himself now tucked in his bed and the sheets on the other side rumpled.