The Old Souls Club

I never wear shoes in my dreams, I tend to float.

The Old Souls Club

Chapter 1

Night terror

It was a whisper caught on a breeze. "Do you love me?" she asked. "Yes," came a nonverbal reply as he nodded his head, his body and mind racked with exhaustion. A sudden loud boom that echoed throughout the landscape caused his body to instinctively flinch. With each successive explosion, he cringed, tightly shutting his eyes, and whispering a silent prayer that it would stop. The bombardment of sound seemed to keep coming, like giant waves crashing down on the seashore in a raging storm. Accompanying the thunderous reverberations, flashes of white light ripped across the dark blue night sky in jagged patterns. He froze, knee-deep in mud, surrounded by bodies. One familiar face looked up at him with its frozen, stunned expression. Rain dripped from the brim of his hat as he glared down with empty eyes at the fallen soldiers. Another cracking boom and he awoke, sitting up, safe in his warm bed.

Fear has a strange effect on mind and body. Waking up soaking wet from excessive sweating and shivering is one result. The fear in Henry Davenport's case was caused by another terrifyingly vivid nightmare. They were a chronic part of his life. Dreams are flawed visions of reality mixed with a fantasy that dissipates upon waking. Nightmares on the other hand leave their victim to figure out where reality lies if there is any, within the horror. Unfortunately, Henry had never been able to work them out. There was no visible pattern, and there was no reality to these night terrors. He never experienced childhood trauma or any teen angst that would cause such nightly horrors. As a young child, Henry had dreams of men in uniform marching through his bedroom. They seemed like toy soldiers, but as he grew into a teenager, things began to change. The soldiers were no longer fun. They were tired, dirty, and bloody. Along with that change came the vivid sound effects of men screaming as they charged the enemy, bombs exploding, and the rat- tat-tat of machine-gunfire. This was all random. Henry never saw any details, until he grew up, that is. Then the soldiers had names. There were distinct voices and he heard orders being belled out which echoed in the dark, then faded in the distance. During college, the dreams increased their intensity. It was then that Henry figured out he was one of those soldiers. He dreamt he was fighting alongside other men mired in deep mud. The acrid smell of yellow smoke choked the air burning his lungs. He awoke coughing violently, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead stinging his eyes. He did not understand why this was happening to him. It was a mystery and one which he badly wanted to solve.

***

Exhausted from another night of restlessness, Henry rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he sat up in bed, reaching up he massaged the back of his neck as he slowly swung both feet off the side of the bed. For a minute he let them dangle, wiggling his toes to get the blood flowing before standing. Why did he always wake up feeling like he had been in a wrestling match and lost? Lowering his feet to the floor, he stood still for a moment then slowly pushed one foot in front of the other as he staggered into the bathroom. Flipping on the faucet handle, he let it run for a few minutes till the temperature was pleasantly cool, not freezing cold, but not luke warm either. Bending over the sink, he splashed the refreshing water on his face trying to rinse away the lingering remains of the nightmare. Lifting his head, he shook the droplets from his face. Pausing for a minute he rested his hands on either side of the sink staring at his dripping wet image in the mirror. He thought to himself, 'This is a hell of a thing, I would love to get some decent sleep.' Inhaling a deeply, he pulled himself up to his full height of six feet as he brushed back the long bangs from his eyes. Snatching up a towel from the metal rack, he ran it over his face a few times. With both hands he balled up the towel and tossed toward the laundry hamper, "He shoots, he scores!" Henry called out in jubilant voice as if he were a star basketball player. With a splat sound the towel hit the tiled wall then slid down into the hamper as he exited the bathroom.