The Sandman

“Have you heard those stories about the Sandman and his children? You know, the folklore about how the Sandman rips out children’s eyes and feeds them to his kids? Or maybe that is just a horror movie, I can’t really remember now . . . anyway, I don’t think they’re true,” I said, swirling my wine in its glass with a small frown dipping my brow.

“I saw him - the Sandman’s son,” a hysteric burst of laughter escaped me. "It sounds crazy when I say it out loud! Ahem, sorry, hm.” I waved an apology to the table next to ours who I had disturbed from their meal.

“But it’s true. I had this dream - and I never usually dream - where I saw him. He wasn’t a child, per say, not like you would think, although it was hard to tell because he wasn’t really human, you know? Maybe it wasn’t even a him, but there was just this crazy palpable air about him, you know? Like I could just tell.”

My eyes fixated on the tablecloth, not really seeing the waiter clear away our plates while my mind was stuck in another place.

“Like I said, I never dream, or if I do I have never in my life remembered them. That’s the way it has always been, until last Wednesday. The dream world was exactly like my bedroom, completely identical. My mirror covered in pictures of my pets was there, the glow of the digital screen of my fan lit up just enough of the room that I could see and not trip if I needed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, my phone light was flashing while it was charging, I could feel the breeze from my fan shifting the air in the room. . . it all felt so real, you know?”

Memories of the night held up like steel in my mind, no details had faded away like they would from my day-to-day mundane life. I knew it was impossible to forget this night, it was burned into my brain. My eyes grew wider while I stared at the tablecloth.

“I thought it was a shadow, at first, you know those shifting shapes you get when you look at the darkness for too long and start to overthink it? It didn’t seem to swim like the other shapes and shadows do in my room, it was too solid. It stood there for a few minutes and I just stared at it, trying to rationalize it into something else, but I couldn’t. I wonder now if it meant to be seen or if it didn’t expect me to see it.”

“After a while it finally moved, and when it did I heard the strangest noise. It seemed too loud to be clothing shifting or rubbing material like when a person might move. It was a strange sound, almost like running water, or the sound of sifting dirt with a shovel, or raking through dirt, maybe? I couldn’t pinpoint it until it got closer to my bed and into the glow of the fan light. His skin wasn’t skin; I could see it moving and shifting and sliding across his form. He got closer again and I realized it was sand moving across his shape, and with every step he took closer to me mounds of sand rose from the wooden floor to meet his feet, just materializing from thin air, you know?”

My frown deepened and I shifted uncomfortably in my chair while taking another sip of my wine.

“I was terrified, everything looked and felt so real. The experience of an intruding monster in my bedroom felt genuine. Even though I was scared as hell, I couldn’t bring myself to move, I just froze up. He knelt by my bedside, his knee resting on a bed of sand, and he waited. I don’t know what he expected me to do, was I supposed to talk to him? I just sat there like an idiot with my mouth open. I could hear the sound of rushing sand and these tiny sounds like glass pieces hitting each other: chink chink. Glass is made from sand, you know, so I guess that makes sense. The sand wasn’t falling from his body, it kept shifting around and flowing across him, not one grain falling. I wondered if there was skin underneath it all, a regular man beneath the monster, but I couldn’t find my words to speak to him to know how humanish or how monsterish he was. I just choked up.”

“His arm reached for me and I just sat there watching and waiting for what he was going to do to me, expecting my own death, you know? As he leaned forward I could see some kind of definition in the sand to see the shape of his face. He had pits for eyes, sand rushing in and out of the sockets missing eyeballs. A small lump in the middle of his face I think was a nose, but I don’t think he could actually smell using it. The way the sand shaped his mouth put me at ease. I think I saw the sand lift and dip in a way that he was smiling. . . yeah, I think he was smiling at me.”

“I still couldn’t speak, but like I said before there was this weird air about him, like I could tell a lot just by being in his presence. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me when I saw his smile. I think he just wanted to help. I sometimes suffer from insomnia and was up for hours that night before the dream happened.”

“So when his hand reached out to me, the sand began to leave his figure from the tips of his fingers and swim through the air toward me. Four thin streams of sand floated to me and hit me, going through my hair over my head like someone running fingers through my hair giving a massage. The flow increased and the sand rushed down my body to my toes and all of a sudden it felt like I was a kid again buried under the sand at the beach. I was covered, my limbs felt so heavy but I had never felt so calm and relaxed in my life. The stillness of my usually restless legs, the clear mind . . . it was like the sand had brushed away all my problems. He stood up with that same crooked smile in place and raised his hand almost like a wave, I think. The dream ended there. And I have dreamed and slept well every night since.”

I shook my head with a smile.

“It has to be one of the weirdest experiences of my life. I wonder if maybe it was the sandman himself visiting me? I thought the tale went that they only visited children in their sleep. Ha, this really is turning into a dreamy date! Sorry, I think I talked your ear off. Did you ever get a dream like this when you were a kid?”

I raised my eyes to Tim who had taken me on a very sweet first date at a woodfire pizza and pasta restaurant. He had been so chatty at the start of the night and a great listener whenever I began to babble. He was the first person I told about my dream.

Tim was waving down the waiter for the bill when I looked across at him. He froze with his hand in mid air for a moment like he was trying to remember what I said, a blank look on his face. After three seconds he quickly grabbed his glass of Merlot and tipped it up to take a giant mouthful, eyes darting to me while he turned his head to look for the waiter with the bill.

There was only so much wine left it in the glass though, only so much to fill his mouth with before he was finished and had to face me again with a confused expression on his face.

‘Uh, no, I don’t think so,’ he said quietly.

The bill was sat at the table and Tim nodded, paying with cash plus a tip for our waiter.

“Oh, sorry, let me chip in for my half.” I scrambled for my purse.

“Don’t worry about it, Grace,” he said with a sweet smile. “I am happy to pay.”

“Thanks. This has been really good tonight, I am really glad we did this.”

Tim hesitated. It was only very briefly, but I saw it. "Uh, yeah. Look. I have to get home now to feed my dog. Um, Grace, before I go . . ." He paused with an apologetic look. "I don’t want to alarm you, but maybe you should buy some new locks for your doors at home. I never had that dream as a kid, but I saw that sandman in my room, too. The difference is I screamed and -”

His expression was fearful, like he was reliving bad memories. He quickly shook his head and pasted a hard smile on his lips, waving over his shoulder as he left.

"Bye Grace, 'till next time!"

He left quickly, almost running.

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