The Dream Catcher's Diary - A Short Story
Fiction Issue #1
Writer’s Note: This is quite different from my typical writing here. It is a short story-ish that I wrote a while ago. I would love to hear your feedback (Feel free to comment, DM, or email) :)
Billy slept in his bed, his mother asleep in the next room. The air was cool outside his window and the moon was nowhere to be found. His room was swallowed in darkness, but a darker figure stood beside him, towering over his bedside.
Tall and slender, he stood motionless, his eyes fixed on Billy’s calm face, the one kids have when they’re peacefully asleep. A dark cloak covered him, except for his face, merely skin and bones, pale as moonlight if only the moon was out.
Slowly, he removed a small book that fit nicely in his palm. The book was brown and black and red and orange, all colors mixed as if the bottles of paint that contained them had been knocked over carelessly. It had no name, no markings on its cover, as if intentionally kept blank to avoid eyes that need to be avoided.
He opened a page in the middle, and waited, calmly, for Billy’s dreams. After all, he was the Dream Catcher.
“Who are you?”
The Dream Catcher’s eyes went wide, and white, the black in them no longer there. Impossible. An eternity of dreamcatching, an infinite number of dreams caught, and never in his existence had he seen something like this.
This night, he could not feel Billy waking up, like he normally would. There were no dreams, the Dream Catcher had been waiting. How then? He did not know what to do. This was not something that happened, ever.
“I am the Dream Catcher,” he said, nonchalantly, not wanting to show his shock.
Billy sat upright in his bed, his legs under his warm blanket. He did not scream. He did not fear. Something was not right in this night.
Minutes had passed. Both looked at each other, none spoke a word. Then, the Dream Catcher spoke, slight irritation in his voice.
“You should not be awake.”
“You should not be in my room,” Billy said, instantly. It was a fair point.
“It is my duty to be in this room. I am in every room, all at once, every night.”
“It’s not nice to be in people’s rooms without their permission. Mama said so just last week when I sneaked into Rosy’s room when she was in the kitchen with her mom.”
“I see. But such rules do not apply to me. I must be in people’s rooms if I am to do my work.”
“What is your work?”
“I take your dreams, the good and the bad, and put them away.”
“All of my dreams?”
“Yes,” he hesitated, then went on matter-of-factly, “Well, most of them anyways. And not just yours.“
Billy sat there, pondering. It was a lot for a 12-year-old boy. He would’ve liked to ask his mother about all this, but Billy knew this was no matter for grown-ups. He could’ve asked his father, but he was an adult too, not to mention, Billy had never seen him or talked to him. We simply didn’t talk about him in the Maynard household.
The Dream Catcher carefully walked over to the window. He looked out into the moonless night, deep in his thoughts. He did not know what to do. There was no one to tell, to ask. No master puppeteer or manager to report to. He was alone, forever bound to do this. He wasn’t a genie that came out of a bottle. He was simply there, like the creation of the Universe.
Billy was looking at the Dream Catcher, and thinking what would happen if his mother walked into his room. That, Billy thought, would not be ideal. Grown-ups did not respond well to ghostlike figures. Then, he spotted a small book poking out of one of Dream Catcher’s pockets.
“What is that?” he asked.
“What is what?” the Dream Catcher said without looking at him.
“That little book.”
“Something you’re not supposed to see.” He pushed it deeper into his pocket with one bony finger.
“But I already saw it.”
The Dream Catcher sighed. He was stuck in a situation he did not know how to get out of. Might as well entertain the boy’s curiosity, he thought.
He turned and walked over to the other side of the room where Billy’s small desk sat. He wrapped his long fingers around the neck of the wooden chair, slowly dragged it across the floor, and took a seat next to Billy. Gracefully, he pulled out his diary and flipped through the pages.
“This…is my diary. The book of all dreams, all that have ever been dreamed but not that are yet to be dreamed.”
“You mean, most. Because some dreams escape you? Because you’re not great at your job?” Billy said with an innocent smirk, if smirks could ever be innocent.
“Yes. Most dreams. But…”
“Can I see it?” Billy cut him off.
The Dream Catcher stared at Billy, his eyes intense. He had never been asked this question, ever. Well, no one had ever had a conversation with him before.
But this was a line not to be crossed. The Dream Catcher knew this.
“I’m afraid not. That cannot be.”
“Why?”
“Because it cannot. No whys and why nots. Some lines are not to be crossed.”
There were no more questions. The two sat there, quietly, until Billy was asleep and the Dream Catcher had missed many dreams of many people. The morning came and the Dream Catcher was nowhere to be found when Billy woke up. The chair sat still where the Dream Catcher had sat.
A few nights went by. Billy would doze off waiting for the Dream Catcher. He had briefly thought of mentioning it to his mother over breakfast one morning, but the toast had burnt and Billy had dropped a glass bowl, and so he thought better of it.
It was a fortnight later, Mrs. Maynard was working late.
The moon was full and bright, its pale light coming through the window and gently filling up Billy’s room.
Billy was deep asleep when a cold, skinny finger poked him in the center of his forehead. Another gentle poke and then another one. Nothing.
The Dream Catcher hesitated. Perhaps, this was a bad idea. He should leave, he thought. Forget this whole matter and go back to catching dreams, like he did each night.
But, how had the boy woken up without his knowledge? The matter was too important, too tricky, too personal.
He gave Billy’s head another gentle, hesitating poke. Then, exasperated, one final poke, without hesitation or gentleness. Two eyes stared back at him.
It was fair to say that both felt a touch of relief.
“You’re back,” said Billy, rubbing his eyes.
“Matters remain unresolved. And I do not like that,” said the Dream Catcher, taking a seat like he had a fortnight before.
“Are you here to show me your diary?” Billy smiled.
“I am here to ask you. How did you wake up without my knowledge? Such a thing is not possible.”
“Aren’t you the expert? You tell me.”
“If I could tell you, I would not be here now, would I?”
“Asking a 12-year-old doesn’t seem like the smartest idea, does it?”
The Dream Catcher sighed.
“Don’t you have like some expert or like a Master Dream Catcher that you could go ask? Or maybe another one of you?”
“Another one of me? A Master Dream Catcher?” the Dream Catcher felt insulted, his patience thinning. “There is no another one of me, boy. There is no master Dream Catcher, unless you’re referring to me! I am the master and the grandmaster. I am not just a Dream Catcher. I am THE DREAM CATCHER!!!”
The thin man in the dark cloak was on his feet. His eyes had turned black, the white in them had disappeared. You could tell he was angry. And so could Billy.
“Gee, I’m sorry. Don’t take it so personal. I was just asking.”
The Dream Catcher sighed, rubbing his temple gently. “I know. I apologize. I am not used to talking to mortals. I am not used to talking at all.”
Silence.
“Can I ask you a question?” Billy asked. He had been wanting to ask the Dream Catcher this question as soon as he had woken up the morning after that first night. It had been weighing on him since and it was the reason he had wanted the Dream Catcher to return.
“Yes, you may ask. I cannot stop you. But I cannot guarantee an answer.”
Billy nodded.
“Why do I…” Billy hesitated. He wanted to be careful with his words. “What dreams do I see? I never remember any, ever. Other kids tell me their dreams. At least the parts they remember. But… I never remember any at all. Do I even dream? Do you always catch all my dreams?”
The Dream Catcher sat in his seat, quiet like a meditating monk. He knew the answer, of course. But he looked at Billy’s innocent eyes and hesitated.
Silence followed silence, until it didn’t.
“Do you know why I catch the dreams mortals dream, Billy?” It was the first time he said Billy’s name.
Billy shook his head.
“Because mortal minds would get too heavy if they remembered all their dreams. My own mind would get too heavy, and I am not even a mortal being. Not like you, anyways. That is why I put the dreams in my diary. And the diary is what gets heavy. Not my mind and not yours. Reality is hard enough for you mortals, dreams would only sink you further.”
“But as I said before, I am not perfect. Sometimes, I miss dreams. Little pieces. Those pieces are what people remember, some good, some nightmares. Sometimes, a dream is so deep that even if I catch it, it may have left an imprint on a mind. Like gashes on a stone left by the flowing water of a river. You can take all the water out but one look at the stones and you can tell there once flowed a river.”
“Do you understand all this, Billy?”
Billy nodded.
“You do dream, Billy. I cannot tell you the dreams you dream. That, I’m afraid is forbidden. But rest assured, you do dream. It may be that the dreams are not deep enough to leave an imprint on your mind, or it may be that the dreams are so deep that your sleeping mind buries them away, hiding them from your waking mind. Which one it is, I am no one to say.”
But the Dream Catcher, of course, knew which one it was. He had always known, for he knew all dreams that had ever been dreamed. Some secrets are best left untouched, he thought.
“I shall leave now. I will return with a solution to our problem.”
The Dream Catcher stood up, and started toward the window. He stood in the window, the moonlight making his face paler.
“On second thought, perhaps it might be best to simply forget all about this matter. If you can promise to keep it a secret. And you shall never see me again,” the Dream Catcher said, his eyes fixed on the moon.
Billy remained silent. He didn’t want the Dream Catcher to go away. There was something else weighing on Billy’s mind. A dream.
“Very well, then,” the Dream Catcher said, “I will return tomorrow night. You have until then to think. If you can promise, that would be the end of our problem. But remember, a promise is not to be taken lightly.”
And then the Dream Catcher was gone, leaving Billy in his room, alone.
The next morning, Billy sat in the kitchen. It was a Sunday morning, and the Maynard household made waffles every Sunday morning.
Billy sat looking at the plate of chocolate chip waffles in front of him. But his mind had been somewhere else all morning. The waffles lay there, untouched.
“What happened, dear? Why so quiet today? Aren’t you hungry?” said Mrs. Maynard. She brought her own plate of chocolate chip waffles, and a cup of black coffee with a little bit of cream, to the table and sat across Billy.
The faint sunlight filtered through the square window next to them, kissing them softly on one side of their faces.
“Oh umm. Nothing. Just a bit sleepy, I guess,” Billy lied. Now, Billy could be a good liar, but his mother could always tell, as is the nature of mothers.
“Well, it’s good for a change. Now I know what people mean by a quiet Sunday morning.” She smiled. She had always had a beautiful smile.
Billy gave a half-hearted smile. This concerned Mrs. Maynard.
“Billy, what is it, dear? Did something happen at school?” she reached across the table and put her hands on top of Billy’s.
“Can I ask you a question, Mom?” Billy asked, avoiding his mother’s anxious brown eyes.
Billy had never asked his mother this before. Usually, he simply asked questions.
“Oh, kiddo. Of course, you can.”
“You won’t be mad? Promise?”
“Of course not, you know that.”
“Promise?”
“Pinky promise,” she said with a reassuring smile.
The kitchen lay silent for a few seconds, then Billy asked a question that had never been asked in the Maynard household. It was an unwritten rule, for as long as Billy could remember. Not only that, Billy had never even thought about it before. Not until the night he had met the Dream Catcher.
“Where is Dad?” the silence broke. And then filled the house again, just as quickly.
Mrs. Maynard sat frozen. The air was knocked out of her lungs. Her heart might as well have stopped pumping blood through her body.
They never talked about Billy’s dad, as if he had never existed.
It might have been a few minutes before she started to breathe and could feel her heart beat again.
“You’ve never asked me that before, Billy,” she said, her voice heavy.
“I know.”
“Why then? Why today?”
“I…” Billy considered telling her the truth. The truth was simple and honest. But Billy felt he could not be honest, not today, not about this. He did not understand it himself, not entirely, why he had asked his mother about his father. Why after all those years? He could not understand it, and so he thought his mother would not understand it either. What could have been simple and honest, was now simply dishonest. “I just…Rosy has a dad. And Jack. And everyone at school. I thought maybe I…” his voice trailed off.
“Billy, I…” Mrs. Maynard herself doubted if she should choose the truth or the lie. The truth was honest but not simple. And so she chose the truth. “I don’t remember, Billy.”
“You don’t remember?”
“Years ago, when you were little, there was an incident. I don’t remember what it was just like I don’t remember when it was exactly just like I don’t remember anything before it. It’s almost like a forgotten dream.”
“There was a time when I tried to remember but after a while, I gave up. I had you to worry about and take care of. So that’s what I did. It’s why we don’t know anybody except a few people in this town. I don’t remember any of it.”
“It’s as if one day, out of nowhere, it was just you and me, and this town. So I just lived with it. And that is all there is to it.”
Mrs. Maynard’s eyes welled with tears that flowed down her cheeks like an autumn rain, the faded scars in her heart turned back into bleeding wounds.
Billy walked over to his mother. “I’m sorry, mom. I will never ask about him again. Please don’t cry.”
No other words were spoken that morning. Billy hugged his mother, hoping his tears might ease her pain somehow. Her pain hurt him like it was his own. It was Billy and his mother in this world, in this small town, and it had always been that way, for as long as he could remember. He did not want to hurt her. No more questions.
Not to her, at least.
The moon shone even brighter the next night. The wind was strong and the leaves held onto the trees like a child holds onto her mother’s hand in a crowded street. Billy sat on his bed, waiting, his legs dangling from the edge of the bed facing the window. The wooden chair sat in front of him, empty. Until it wasn’t.
A tall figure sat in front of him, his dark cloak touched the floor.
The cloak was dark, not black. Black is a color, like any other color, and you could tell black. But the cloak could not be black, it was as if it didn’t have any color at all. It was absent of all color. Like gazing into a black hole at the edge of the Universe.
“Evening, Billy,” said the Dream Catcher, a slight smile on his face for the briefest of moments. He did not want to believe it, not yet, but it felt nice talking to someone.
“Evening, Dreamcatcher?” Billy said, unsure if that was his actual name. “Is that your real name?”
“Real name? Are there not real names, Billy?” the Dream Catcher asked calmly.
“I guess there are. Like Rosy isn’t her real name. It’s Rose but we all call her Rosy.”
“Rosy is a nice name. And she has nice dreams, I would know. And yes, you can call me the Dream Catcher. The only one.”
“Did your mom give you that name?”
The Dream Catcher wasn’t sure if it was a genuine question or if he was being mocked by a 12-year-old kid. He scratched his eyebrow.
“I gave it to myself,” he said at last, hoping that would end the discussion.
It did.
Then, the Dream Catcher asked, “Now, the matter at hand. Have you given any thought to my question last night?”
“Yes, I have given some thought to the matter at hand,” Billy said, imitating the Dream Catcher.
“Do not mock me, kid.”
“You are too serious, Dream Catcher. And can we give you a different name? Like a nickname? Your name feels weird to say out loud. And to be honest with you, it’s not even a proper name. It’s more like a job title.”
The Dream Catcher realized it was going to be another long night. He had hoped for a quick resolution. A fool’s hope. He liked his mortal contact a bit less now.
“I would prefer if you don’t,” he said at last.
“Maybe we could call you Dreamy. Or Catchy! No, that’s no good.”
The Dream Catcher buried his face in his hands.
“Alright, fine. I’ll keep calling you the Dream Catcher.” Billy said, seeing his ideas weren’t being appreciated.
“Thank you,” said the Dream Catcher, “Now can we get back to what’s important. Do you, Billy Maynard, swear on your dreams and on your mind, sleeping and waking, to never reveal me to anyone, ever. You are not to mention my name, not my existence, not our tryst. You are to forget me like all your dreams. Do you promise?”
“I promise…” Billy started. The Dream Catcher’s lips started to curl into a slight smile. “But first, I have a wish. Or a condition let’s say, since you’re not a Genie.” Billy finished.
The smile on the Dream Catcher’s face disappeared just as quickly as it had come. He could just show Billy all his dreams, all at once, and make him lose his mind. He hadn’t done it in the last few hundred years. It was an option, though. No, he couldn’t do it to a kid, he thought. That would be too cruel. He could simply take Billy with him. But he wondered if Billy would ever stop talking. He wanted to avoid a fate where someone would call him ‘Catchy’. So he dropped that thought as well.
At a loss for options, he finally said. “What is the condition?”
“Not so fast. Do you, the Dream Catcher, lord of all dreams that have been dreamed but not of the dreams that will be dreamed, because you lack imagination, swear on your neversleeping mind, and that diary you love so much, that once you hear my condition, you will not hesitate but grant me that wish?” Billy said, standing on his bed, again imitating the Dream Catcher.
“I do not swear any such swears, kid.” The Dream Catcher said, calmly and casually.
“Bummer.”
“But, I can swear that I will give it fair consideration once I hear it. If it seems reasonable, I might grant you your wish.”
“That seems kind of wishy-washy to me.”
“That is all you can get.”
Billy considered it for a moment. Then, told the Dream Catcher his condition.
“Absolutely not!” The Dream Catcher blasted.
“Oh come on.”
“I cannot and shall not give you my diary. It is not to be toyed with. The price is too high.”
Of course, Billy had known this. There was no way he would get his diary. Then he told the Dream Catcher his real condition.
“I have a question I need to ask. And if you give me an honest answer, I swear I will never reveal your name or existence to anyone.”
“The question being?” The Dream Catcher did not want to be tricked.
“No. No more games, Dream Catcher. A swear for a swear. Do you swear you will answer honestly?” Billy asked, his voice serious and strong.
The Dream Catcher took a moment. There were truths and there were half-truths and omitted truths. He did not need to lie. He agreed.
“I swear. But remember, one question. No more. No less.”
“Can you tell me anything about…” Billy caught himself. That was the wrong way to phrase the question. He could not waste his one chance.
“Tell me about my dad,” he said.
“That…is not a question. You must ask a question,” said the Dream Catcher.
Billy stood there, thinking and trying to phrase his question properly. He thought of loopholes that might be used against him. Then, he asked.
“Do I ever dream about my dad?”
The Dream Catcher was somewhat relieved. He knew the answer, the truth. But, the Dream Catcher also knew the truth had a steep price. So, he lied, or chose an omitted truth. It was a moral gray area at best.
“No,” was all he said.
“Okay,” said Billy, disappointed.
“A swear for a swear,” said the Dream Catcher.
“That is true. But…”
“No, but. No if, kid. A swear for a swear!”
“What is the price of a lie?” asked Billy. The Dream Catcher hesitated. He felt the scales tip slowly out of his favor.
“If a swear is broken, if a lie is told, the price is high. The one who has been wronged shall name the price,” he said.
Billy let the words sink in. “You lied to me.”
“There is no ground for your claim.” He smiled knowingly.
“Is that so?”
The Dream Catcher looked puzzled.
“I saw him. The night I woke up. The night I saw you the first time. I saw my dad.”
The Dream Catcher’s eyes went dark and he was up on his feet. “Impossible! Do not lie to me, kid! You don’t know what I am capable of!!” The Dream Catcher was furious.
“I’m not lying!”
“You don’t even remember your dreams. You don’t remember any of your dreams. You said so yourself.”
“And I was honest. Until that night. It is the only dream I remember as if it’s the only dream I have ever dreamed. At first, I did not realize it was my father. I saw a man in my dream. It was almost as if it was a memory. But I realized over the last few days, it had to be my father. I just know!”
“You lie!” the Dream Catcher pulled Billy by the collar of his t-shirt and Billy’s feet dangled above the floor of his room. The moonlight formed a shadow of their figures on the wall across. They both stood in front of the window. Well, the Dream Catcher stood while Billy hung in the air, held by the Dream Catcher’s hands.
“I’M NOT LYING!!!” Billy shouted, loud enough to wake his mother and all the mothers in the neighborhood. But nothing happened. Nobody woke up.
Billy did not try to wriggle his way out and he did not try to fight. He stared directly into the Dream Catcher’s dark and hollow eyes. The Dream Catcher was furious and so was Billy.
This was his chance, his only chance, to know the truth about his father. He knew he could never ask his mother again and if not her, then who? The cloaked figure in his room was his only chance.
He needed the answers.
The Dream Catcher saw the resolve in Billy’s eyes. He knew those eyes could not lie. Liars are easy to tell, he thought. He put him down and straightened Billy’s clothes, and his hair. He held him by his shoulders, his grip firm yet gentle.
“I did not see you dream that night. There was no dream. Not that night,” he said, his voice calm.
“But I saw it. I saw my father. I have never seen him, not even a picture. But I know it was him. And then I woke up and saw you.”
“This…is most interesting. A hidden dream. This has never happened before. Not in decades. Not in centuries. Not in forever.”
“Can dreams be hidden from you?”
“They cannot. That is why this intrigues me. That is why we must fear.”
“We?” If Billy had no fear before, it was slowly finding its way to him.
“Yes, we. It is your dream, hidden from me. That binds us in this. Tell me what the dream was.”
“I…I don’t remember the dream. Not exactly. I just remember the face of the man. That is all I remember.”
“The rest of it must be buried deep within you, then.”
“Or my mind could have erased it?”
“Let’s hope it’s the first one.”
“Why?”
The Dream Catcher looked at the moon. He took a deep breath, the cool air filled up his lungs, if he had lungs. He held the air within him, and closed his eyes. He stood there, motionless. Billy looked at him, closely for the first time.
He could see the Dream Catcher’s skin. Flawless. But something was different about it. His hair moved slowly with the breeze, almost as if they were floating in water, and so did his cloak. He saw a cut on the Dream Catcher’s temple and one on his left cheek, close to the eye. It was the first time he noticed them. They must have faded a long time ago, maybe centuries ago, but just a hint remained. Almost invisible.
The Dream Catcher released his breath and came to life. He looked at Billy. A sadness filled his eyes, more pity than sadness. There was only one way out of this. And he pitied it had to be this beautiful twelve year old boy. Billy looked at the Dream Catcher’s eyes. He must have sensed the sadness and the pity because a strong fear gripped him like a rope, tightening around his body.
“There is only one way, I’m afraid,” said the Dream Catcher, finally.
Billy stood silent. It was his turn to be motionless.
Slowly, gracefully, the Dream Catcher pulled out his diary from his pocket. He took Billy’s hand in his own and placed it on top of the diary. The diary of all dreams, of many colors and as old as the Dream Catcher, lay between the Dream Catcher’s palm and Billy’s palm. The diary, that held all dreams that had ever been dreamed. Except for one dream. Billy’s dream. The only hidden dream that must be found.
Then Billy heard a smooth voice, a voice that sounded almost hollow, a voice he knew to be of the dark-cloaked figure.
“We must unearth the dream from within you. We must find it. And for that, we must go into my diary.”
The moonlight flowed through the same window. The curtains fluttered in the cool breeze. But there was no one in the room now. Not anymore. Billy was no longer in the world of mortals. He was in the Dream Catcher’s diary.