I’ve been seeing signs everywhere ever since I last saw her. It got so bad and was so disconcerting that I had to do a long, voluntary stay at a psych ward to catch a break. But once it became clear that my problems were rooted in reality and that I wasn’t losing my mind, I decided that I needed some answers from my friend, or at least someone like her. I was honest in the psyche ward about what happened and what I was planning to do. I recieved positive encouragement and assistance. They gave me some pocket money and sent me on my way home via train, with various numbers to call and information to retain. While going through the papers, I noticed that one of the numbers belonged to a ‘Sandman’. There was even a “The” preceeding it. I felt a brew of curiosity and disbelief, if the mixture was served in a cup hewn from a polymer blend of fear and finality that was now mine to keep.
My world was inverted. Otherworldly things seem to exist, even God, and there are respectable professionals that have degrees that don’t bat an eye when you tell them that your friend had spikes coming out of her body or that you now experience strange coincidences that seem to indicate the presence of significant or strange pieces of information, people, choices or events at hand, which tend to be reality altering and witnessed by multiple people. Even police officers have been acting differently. They act as though they know me, they’re friendly, and they even give me rides and pocket money or food when I tell them what I’m up to. I want to trust them, but I’m suspicious of the timing and how they know me, since I’ve been avoiding situations that involve police my whole life. One of them knew my address and I’d never met him before or showed him my ID.
I could drone on for days about the relatively minor strange occurences, but I’d like to focus on what happened yesterday after I got home, showered, and charged my phone. I decided to call my friend first, since we might be able to go to the Sandman together to get some answers. A brief conversation revealed that the Sandman was the friend that she wanted to introduce to me all those months ago. She’d been waiting to go with me this whole time and hadn’t met him yet.
We agreed to meet up and call him together. She arrived at my house in an uber 30 minutes later. Choosing not to mention her lack of spikes, I welcomed her in and dialed the number and put the phone on speaker as it rang. A groggy sounding voice picked up on the other end:
“Hello? …Ray? ….[My friend’s name]? It’s about time. I have things to tell you. I’ve sent you an Uber. We can talk more when you get here. See you soon.”
He hung up shortly after his final word. Our attention immediately went out the front door and sure enough, there was a yellow Volkswagen Beetle trundling to a stop in front of my house. Ignoring a pang of existential fear at the seemingly contrived timing and make/model, I led the way out the door and locked it behind me.
The Uber ride was normal, even though we took a series of backroads that I didn’t recognize.
We were dropped off in front of a large house that looked exactly like one of my neighbors’ houses, except painted a different color. In fact, I could see a house just like mine, exactly where it would be on my street in relation to where I was standing. I felt a deep aversion and looked back towards the open door of the house we were dropped off at.
Wordlessly, we stepped into darkness cut with the faint amber of candlelight.
“Don’t be scared,” called the groggy voice from the phone.
We followed it to a sizable room in the back of the house where The Sandman seemed to rise from out of the ground.
He was carrying a large scythe, had eyeballs covered in what appeared to be a layer of sand, and had a very pronounced hunch to his back.
The sight of him was apalling, yet made me feel drowzy. It wasn’t a good feeling.
My friend didn’t seem to mind.
“So,” began the Sandman, “You’re both awake.”
“Aware that things are not as they seem, although not fully aware of the fundamentals.”
“I am the Sandman. I primarily preside over sleep, but I am also that which you might call the grim reaper; sleep is not so much a cousin of death, as it is a side on the very same coin.”
“But just the way unconsciousness comes in many forms, there are also varied states of waking. There is another like me, who presides over many of the states of waking, but it is missing. In its place are Those Who Hate To Be Seen. Things that defy knowledge. Things that escape the eyes of the people. Things that I want you to see. Things that I want you both to experience.”
He let the words hang for a minute before continuing,
“I will be giving you dreams. Dreams that were not meant for you until now. You we interpret these dreams and seek out those which hate to be sought. We will make room for the return of the creator.”
Those last were like a beacon of light in an otherwise darkening world.
“Not all signs are to be trusted,” he continued as my eyelids strained to stay open.
“Not all miracles are the same…”
He continued talking, and I fought hard to stay awake, but before I knew it, I was waking up safe and sound in my bed.
I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t expect to fall asleep, but I definitely underestimated the quality of it.
I’m still trying to fully remember my dream, but as soon as I do, I’ll give my friend a call, and we’ll see what we’re up against. Then I’ll share whatever I learn or see.