Dark Dream

20. Davo's Slow Becoming

While his best friend, Spud, had been away, Davo had been going through some changes.

Unwashed, unshaven, the days slipped one-to-another. Night followed day, day followed night in a slow waltz through the memories of his mind. He seldom ate or slept - his mind raced, his feeling of detachment growing.

The sun was setting through the grimy, dust layered, window. His face felt its warmth diminish as his thoughts wormed their way deeper and deeper.

As a child he'd always had a fascination with out-of-body experiences. Telepathy, mind control, invisibility, paranormal and the occult. He'd read books and watched tv documentaries, so fostering a keen interest. Over time, when his attempts to move objects or read thoughts had failed, so had his obsessive and childish interest.

Today, things were different. Over days and weeks of sitting silently in his chair, with no distractions, he was starting to explore these concepts and ideas once more. He started to sense and explore the world around himself, probing its reality, sensing its possibilities.

He floated unseen down the hallways, past battered and scratched flat doorways. Most of the lights, broken and need of replacement, held pockets of dire gloom where discarded syringes, fag stumps, broken bottles, littered small corners of bleak stained concrete. He could even smell; whether real or imagined; the stale scent of human decay and urine emanating from the very fabric of the building itself.

All of these things he was familiar with from his short stay at the flat. No different from the empty multi storey car parks, except that those were cleaner and more secure, with working CCTV cameras and security guards. Cars held more value, he guessed. People, less so.

Following his senses he explored the familiar decay of the forgotten. All strangers to him, their lives mini dramas of drink, drugs and violence. A simmering subculture held together by lack of hope in the future and a desire to block out the past, the present and the swift decline that loomed ahead. Somehow he knew that his search would lead to minds of the weak and the lonely. Behind closed doors they would be hidden away but tonight they would have company.

He heard couples arguing, babies crying, dogs barking, doors slamming, televisions blaring and the constant throb of cars in the streets, below. All muffled but all encompassing. Life was all around, in all its splendor. Broken dreams, bitter hatreds, the grinding futility of their short and pointless lives, all playing out the repetitive cycle of day to day wants, addictions, celebrity gossip, TV soaps and watching football down the local.

He sensed occupant after occupant, felt their warm, read their thoughts. Some flats were empty, some were being used for cannabis cultivation. The smell was intoxicating. Growers tending to them were normally students or immigrants. Electric meters were easily tampered with and most were likely fire hazards but the money they could make made the risks seem worthwhile.

Yet more flats were taken up by young couples, some by groups of spice addicts. Davo kept searching. Down darkened stairwells he travelled, he went in search with no real plan and followed only his instincts.

Finally he came to a black painted doorway. Scratches in the flat surface, around the door lock suggested past attempts to gain entry. A spyhole, as with all the many doors, hovered before him in the gloom, picking out the nearest light. Something felt different about this door and the space beyond. It felt empty but he knew that it wasn't. Unlike the other pockets of life's containment, this place went unseen to him. Without fleshy hands or attached body, Davo passed through the door and into the darkened hallway beyond - a chill of anticipation mounting at the prospect at what he might find within.

A wall of silence prevailed. Moving silently down the hallway, he tried to follow his intuition. Was this real or imagined (?), he didn't know. It felt real. Every time he'd done this in the confines of his friend's apartment, it had felt increasingly real. As real as his life was at the moment. Maybe he was going mad without knowing. Maybe it was the knowing that was sending him mad. He pressed on, there was no going back. He had to know, it's always the knowing that hooked him.

Of late, he'd lost the ability to rationalise things. Maybe he was mad and just dreaming all of this. Maybe be, maybe not. But if he wasn't, he had to find out. The possibilities were just too tantalising to ignore.

Many doors lead off the pitch black hallway. Bedrooms, bathroom, kitchen. Some doors were open, others were shut, but only one quietly beckoned him. Beyond it he felt a silent presence, a soul in quiet slumber. But something more profound, he sensed someone awaiting him.

Passing through the flimsy plywood and the corrugated interior of the door felt like nothing at all to Davo's ethereal form, but on another level, it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. In the room he found a motionless figure, its form hidden behind the high backrest of a black leather chair, sitting as if dead in the middle of a quiet empty room. Chin resting, as if holding an invisible violin.

Moonlight flooded in from the large sliding doors that led out onto the balcony. Murky due to years of grim. No other light existed.

Davo hesitated before finally approaching. Who was this figure that sat so patiently? More to the point, why did he feel both fear and anticipation?

The human form was thin, his dark cloths nondescript. No style or fashion, just functional, worn merely for warmth. His hair appeared shinny, maybe greasy, unkempt. Then as if welcoming his gaze, the figure's head rested back on the headrest of the worn leather armchair.

With start and after much study, Davo realised who the person was. How he'd not known himself, his own face, the moment he'd seen himself, he did not know. How he'd come full circle without knowing, he couldn't fathom.

Looking at his own sleeping or meditating self, he felt both revulsion and love. Had he really let himself go and not known it till this moment? Had his life unravelled so far that he could only see the truth when he no longer knew himself?

Davo paused and moved closer to the sleeping form, mesmerised by the smallest detail. As a boy he'd believed in many things that he'd later, in adulthood, think of as pure fantasy. Now, if his gut instinct was right and he wasn't going crazy, he'd know the answer to many of those early questions.

Virtual hairs on the back of his non existent neck stood up, as if sensing something was about to happen. Instinctively he began to meditate on the figure before him, deciding what first to change, to mold. Starting with the nose. He'd never much liked it. It was hooked, like a pirate. Thankfully no warts and not very hairy; but still, he could do better.

He felt a build up of what felt like static electricity and ozone as he began to shape reality for the first time. With barely invisible hands he started to mold the nose he desired. Mostly subtracting, rather than adding. Once awake he'd finally have solid, tangible, proof that he was either mad or bordering on what he felt was the first glimmer of superhuman abilities. Only time would tell but for now he had work to do.

Hours passed by like minutes. His dedication and concentration left him mildly amused, amazed and downright shocked, all in that order.

Witchery was afoot and he was at its centre.