The Boy and the Nigthmare , David Kelečić
„Do you want me to kill him?“
The boy sat on the cold pavement, beneath the last lamp post in the village. It was late summer and the increasingly longer night were not warm enough to wear short sleeves. If it were day, a stream of black ants would be running along the road, the ants collecting light straws to take them deep underground. The boy, however, never went there during the day and at night the only thing he could see was his shadow, cast by the last lamp on the cold street. That place had been his other home for many evenings.
The Nightmare knew that the boy had not been thinking about anything in particular. Like a dark cloud, a conscious shadow, she would go through the village over the same road as it had for centuries. The boy would wait for her there, at the end of her journey. Even though he was a lot younger than her, they repeated the ritual long enough that she considered him a part of her nightly routine. Both were creatures of routine and it was a similarity she appreciated.
She approached him from the darker side, where there was less light. The boy was always considerate and sat slighty further away from the lamp so she could have more shade. The light did not bother her, but she felt that this was the way it is supposed to be. They were all matters of habit.
The boy did not react to her arrival even though he could feel her coming close. She coalesced part of her darkness under the pavement and sat by the boy. It was polite understanding that they developed towards each other over the years: he would move further away from the lamp and she would sit next to him. At first she found it unusual, but she could understand that it was important to the boy. It was human. It was a ritual they did together and the Nightmare appreciated rituals.
She waited observing the night. The boy was the only one awake in the village, at least on her route. A long time ago, a single house was located at the spot under the lamp post. It was at a time when she was still acquiring her habits. There was food at the house, the final dreams in the village where she could satisfy her hunger. While the dreams and the house have been long gone, long even from her perspective, her nature compelled her to pass that way. And so she repeated every night until one time a lamp post appeared there and some time later the boy who sat underneath it.
Watching him, he seemed more burdened than usual. She felt a plethora of dark thoughts and heavy dreams gathering within his youthful body. The Nightmare fed on such dreams while roaming, but the boy never slept neear her. It did not matter for her, however, because she always reached the last lamp full. She prefered to merely sit by his side and respect the new custom, wondering how she so readily accepted him.
The boy slowly modified the balanced nature of their relationship by forcing the Nightmare to slightly change. At first it was very difficult and felt like torture, but with time, as was with every repetitive thing, it became easier, like a new habit. Sensing that it was time, she mimicked part of the boy's body and coalesced some of her darkness in order to form vocal chords, a tongue and teeth.
„We are here“ – she would whisper, words carried by the wind. There was no need to say more, she had said all that was important and could wait. The Nightmare always had time.
She thought about habits while waiting for the silent pause to end. They were good and it was how she existed. When the boy had first appeared at the end of her path, she ignored him, but the boy was persistent. He repeated his ritual every night and the Nightmare respected creatures with rituals. With time they formed a bond, a relationship comprising of several tiny changes they did for each other.
„We are here“ – he would quietly confirm later, respecting the Nightmare's need for a pause. As the night passed, she would always observe him like a mute witness. Most of the time he would sit in silence, but sometimes words would pour out and with words came tears. It was difficult for the Nightmare to follow the words, there were too many changes in too short of a time. The Nightmare, on the other hand, understood tears and tears were heavy and revealed the boy's story like liquid coal.
„You are in pain“ – she would say later, words she repeated every night. It was her way of letting him know she understood why he sat next to her. She sometimes wondered whether the boy realised how much darkness had gathered within him, much more than was usual. Over time, she learned to consider this as another form of habit, like someone's dreams were always full of the darkness on which she fed.
One night while sharing the pavement, the boy cried for the longest time. The Nightmare calmly watched as the wind carried the boy's palpable pain far into the darkness. That time, however, the boy broke their usual order and did something which deeply disturbed her. He moved his hand from his shaking knees and reached into her darkness. He could not feel anything at first, but he found the only part of her he could grab with his fingers, the small dense part she used to sit next to him. At that moment the Nightmare almost flew from the spot. The order was disturbed. Nevertheless, she did not move, aware that it would only further make things worse, make them more chaotic.
She remained there uneasy watching the teary boy clinging to the only tangible thing she had. She had watched him for a long time until she decided to coalesce the rest of her darkness and became a cold and firm shadow. He hugged her and wailed on. While his pain dripped from his eyes on her shadow, she surprised herself by asking a question.
„Do you want me to kill him?“
Instead of answering, the boy cried more and it made her calm. She knew the boy understood the power behind the question and how hard it would be for her. His silence and touch let her know that she need not worry, that he will not ask of her to change her habits so much. She felt grateful.
Their ritual had nonetheless changed. Occasionally his darkness was too heavy a burden to carry and the Nightmare would allow him to touch her. She comforted him in ways she could not completely understand. In moments like those she became used to asking the new question. It was part of the routine. While ever aware of the weight it had for her and the change it would cause, she was still ready to go that far. Fortunately, the boy never asked it of her and the Nightmare wanted things to stay as they were. She was used to sitting with him under the last lamp post in the street, watching him. Habits were a good thing.
*
One night, the boy did not come. The Nightmare had, as always, coalesced part of her darkness and sat underneath the lamp, closer to the dark. She confirmed she was there, even though the boy was not around to hear it. After some time, she coalesced the rest to become firm so the boy, had he been there, could wrap his arms around her. Respecting her own habits, she asked the same question as she did so many nights before. Deep inside, however, she felt distress.
The following evening the Nightmare passed the same route she took for centuries. She wanted to hurry, but held her usual speed. Finally, reaching the last part of her journey, she saw that the boy was not there. No doubt he must have already known how used she was to him. Distraught like never before, she decided to do something that scared her above all else – break her habit and look for the boy.
She followed the trail of the boy's tears back into the village. Far from her usual nightly routine, she flowed through yet unseen streets of her village. She almost ran back to the lamp, but an unknown drive made her continue. Finally, she found the house in which the boy usually slept.
The house was empty, but the Nightmare felt the heaviness with which the walls and furniture were laced, more so than in any house she passed by. She made her shadow absorb the blackness of the memories hidden in the weeping walls and then she saw what happened.
Like every night, the boy's father attacked his mother. He hit her in the face with an empty bottle, but this time her dreams had been drained forever. The boy's burdens had exploded in response and he attacked his father. The family habit was broken. The father's journey had reached its end.
The Nightmare did not understand human customs, but she understood that the boy changed all of his habits. She could not possibly approve, there were too many sudden changes at the same time. The Nightmare offered to do this a long time ago, but fortunately, the boy never asked it of her, respecting her peace to the very end.
Slowly, she went back through the village to the last lamp post in the street. She sat on the pavement, coalescing part of her darkness. Some time later, she became firm again so the boy, had he been there, could hug her.
„Do you want me to kill him?“
The Nightmare always respected her habits.