Hic Sunt Dracones

I've been dreaming of dragons for as long as I can remember.

It’s difficult to say when and how it started. My mother used to say that my legs tended to jerk rapidly in my sleep when I was a baby. So maybe the beasts chased me even before I could walk? My own memories don’t explain anything either. All dreams merge into a long string of chases, desperate searches for cover, running, hot breaths almost searing my back, and then waking up screaming, covered in sweat, entangled in blankets. Sometimes on the floor next to my bed.

Dreams didn’t happen every night. I could sleep like a log for a few days or weeks. I could have other, pleasant dreams. It only made things worse. Because, sooner or later, usually when my fear of going to bed subsided and I ceased to be on my guard, the dragons came again. As scary as ever, their giant toothed maws laughed in my face.

There was this dream about was going out with friends. I could hear them calling me from afar. I grabbed my football, opened the door and stepped outside. And a huge scaly leg suddenly stood in front of me, the ground was shaking with the sounds of dragon footsteps and I realised that my friends’ voices didn’t really sound excited. They sounded terrified.

In another dream, I was sneaking through a garden. Taking care not to be seen I dashed from one hedge to another, hid behind huge boulders appearing on my path. All around me the towering beasts strode heavily, their scales sparkling gold, blue and crimson.

Sooner or later, I would dream of the dark. A silent pool of blackness with me in the middle. Arms outstretched, I would take small steps to orient myself in the unknown area. And then, there would be a sudden snort nearby. Or a screech. Or slow, deep breathing somewhere behind me that could only come from a massive body.

There were also the running dreams of course. Some of them would start innocuously, others felt ominous from the beginning. They always ended in the same way. I would run, panic propelling my clumsy legs forward. Along roads, forest paths or in complete darkness. The place didn’t matter. All that mattered was the thundering sound of huge talons tearing the ground behind me, the narrow lances of flame missing me by half an inch, the smell of my hair burning. The only way to escape was to wake up. I learned to look for a ravine, steep stairs, or just a ladder. Anything that allowed me to jump from great height. I always woke up before I hit the ground.

Mom took me to a counsellor who listened with a compassionate smile. Then asked about my parents, about problems at home. She didn’t get it, not at all.

There were other counsellors after that. There were psychologists, therapists, even researchers. None of them could help. I became a teenager, a young man, a husband even. The latter not for long though. Even my wife had enough eventually. Can’t really blame her. I would have left myself if I could.

In one of my many desperate attempts, I even visited a witch. At least that was what she called herself. She told me about energy attacks and ways to defend myself from them. I laughed. Back home, I discovered a thin book she must have put in my bag. I threw it on the shelf without reading.

The dreams continued.

A few years later, I had to move. The same old story: too many neighbours complaining about screams at night. The police getting interested. Moving out was easier than explaining myself yet again.

While arranging things in my new flat, I found that thin book in one of the boxes. Opened it at random, leafed through the pages. Suddenly, a title caught my eye: How to Block Nightmares.

'Imagine seeing a building in front of you. This building is your mind. Enter and look around. Take note of the floor, the walls, the furniture.

Walk towards two lifts visible in the wall opposite the entrance. The lift on the left goes down, the one on the right goes up. Push the button to go down first.

Note how long the lift descends. When the door opens, step out and see the place where your nightmares live. There is no need to go far. Just take a look, notice how dark and uninviting it is. Then return to the lift. Push the button and go up.

Back where you started, imagine having whatever tools you need to block the door to the lift you have just used. You can lock it and throw out the key or pile up furniture in front of it or do something else. Do whatever makes you certain that the lift will not be used again.

Enter the second lift and go up. Notice how air becomes fresher and more fragrant the higher you go, how radiant and light you are becoming. Step out when the lift stops. Look around, note your surroundings. What is the place like?

Return when you feel rested and refreshed. Take another look at the lifts. See that only one of them works now. Turn away and leave the building of your mind. Congratulations! Unwanted dreams will never bother you again.'

What a stupid book. Why didn’t I get rid of it long ago?

I went to bed for the first time in my new place that night. And, all of a sudden, I was standing in front of a building. A skyscraper of metal and glass, so high that I couldn’t see the end of it. The glass door swished open in front of me. The lobby looked empty. I took in the small fountain gurgling in the centre, plants around it, elegant leather furniture and the discreetly lit reception to the side. The place looked like a luxury hotel.

I hesitated but walked forward. Not a soul in sight. On the wall opposite, two lifts gleaming with polished metal. I knew that they would be there but couldn’t remember why. I have never seen this building before after all.

Two buttons. One arrow pointing down, one pointing up. I pushed the down arrow and the door to my left opened. Dark cherry wood inside. I pushed the button again and the speed made me lurch.

The lift stopped.

I stepped into a narrow tunnel that might have been a cave if not for the walls made of a purple, fleshy substance, pulsating with a changing rhythm that made me nauseous. Anxious, hardly discernible sounds. Scratching, chittering, low grunts and clammy claps. I took a step towards the nearby bend of the tunnel, away from the lift. What was there in the dark? Then I saw it. A tip of a tail. Shiny red scales.

There was no need to wait for more of the beast to become visible. I jumped back with a pounding heart, pushed the button. Managed to catch my breath before the lift stopped, staggered into the lobby again.

I turned back and looked at the closing door. A thought stuck me. If I could use this lift, they could too.

The hammer in my hand appeared out of nowhere. I grabbed a wide wooden board from the pile that wasn’t here before, put it across the door and drove the first nail in.

Then I visited the top floors and the view from there was as beautiful as could be expected. With a new spring in my step, I returned to the lobby again and took a long look at the lifts. Only one of them was visible now. The other one disappeared behind a barricade of wooden planks and metal bars driven deep into the wall. I nodded, satisfied. And woke up.

The dragons disappeared from my dreams. I couldn’t believe it at first. Kept waiting for the nightmares to come back, counting days, weeks and months without them. Then, years.

This was a new life. For the first time I could go to sleep without fear. No screams or bedsheets drenched in sweat. No falling off the bed at night. I could finally hold a job, go on dates, have a life.

Still, my enthusiasm got dulled after a while. I started noticing things. A strangeness of my body. Unexpected voids in my mind. Forgetfulness. Something felt off, too subtle to put a finger on it. I felt restless and unable to move. Wanted to meet people but was too bored to go out. Watched the world through a glass wall. Life seemed dull and without meaning.

I moved again when I retired. The old apartment felt too large and climbing all the steps got too hard for my stiff joints. The new place was closer to the ground. It looked cramped with all my furniture crammed into smaller rooms. I didn’t care.

This was when I found the thin book again. It reminded me of the skyscraper dream. With a sudden start, I realised how different I felt entering it all those years ago. It was the last time I felt truly alive.

I wanted to cry but tears wouldn’t come. My head throbbed and something stirred in my mind. As if I forgot something really important. I settled on the narrow sofa and closed my eyes. Tried to remember.

There it was, the building I’ve seen before, its top in the clouds. But it looked different now.

Dark holes gaped where smooth glass used to gleam and an unknown force has twisted metal panels out of shape. The sliding door no longer worked. Its glass has been shattered and pieces lay on the ground, crunching under my feet. I walked into the darkness inside.

The fountain stood dry, its marble cracked and caked with dried mud. Plants long gone. Graffiti and grime on the walls. The reception looked as if someone went through it with a sledgehammer. My pace quickened. I had to see the lifts.

The barricade held, as sturdy as ever. But the boards were no longer new. Graffiti smeared all across them, puddles of dried vomit on the floor. The other lift no longer had doors. The wood panels inside made it look like a gaping mouth.

There was a tool in my hand again. I started pulling out the nails. One by one. When the last board fell to the floor, I entered and pressed the arrow pointing down.

The narrow corridor was exactly as I remembered it. But this time, I noticed how alive it looked, how it contracted and expanded slightly in tune with my breathing. I turned the corner.

And there it was: a great mound of flesh covered with crimson scales. A spiky tail. Taloned feet.

A wrinkled head descended towards me on a long, sinewy neck. A yellow eye blinked.

I took another step and put my hands on the huge cheeks. Extended my arms as far as they could reach. And hugged the dragon.

All of a sudden, I felt the monster shrinking under my touch, becoming smaller and smaller, its scales more and more delicate. When the transformation ended, I was holding a fluffy red ball cuddled to my chest. And, for the first time in years, I felt alive.

A graceful neck extended and tiny nostrils blew a puff of smoke.

‘You are so beautiful!’, I said.

I felt its breath, delicate and fragrant like a gust of summer breeze. I heard the voice.

‘Thank you. I just needed a hug.’

(1942 words)