Bad Dreams

Posted: March 25, 2014 by writingsprint in Fantasy
Tags: , , , ,

dreamcatcherCarl started inside. The dog kept barking at the jar. Mr. Traumer held up his hand. “Oreo! Guard!” Oreo came to attention, ears up, head up, tail straight. He ran to the back of the house. Mr. Traumer smiled. “He’ll check every window and door in the house until I tell him to stop. He’ll bark if he sees one of these.”

Mr. Traumer led the way into the house. He put the jar down on the kitchen table and opened the curtains. The sky was beginning to turn purple outside. “Can I get you some coffee?”

Carl was riding adrenaline. He still couldn’t believe that Mr. Traumer knew about the… whatever these things were. “Answers would be better.”

“Kids. Always in a hurry. Well, I’m having coffee.” Mr. Traumer fired up his automatic coffee maker and sat down at the table. He gestured for Carl to sit. He did. Carl kept an eye on the fairy vampire in the jar. It was banging against the jar over and over again, hitting the side toward the living room. “I did tell you not to paint over the dreamcatchers when you bought the house, didn’t I?”

Carl ignored him. “So what is this thing, and what do I do about it?”

“Do I look like an authority? I don’t know what it is. My grandfather was full-blood Chippewa. He built the house there because it was the only land he could afford. He said it attracted bad bawedjigewin—”

“Bad who?”

“Bad dreams. He painted the dreamcatchers when he built it. When I moved into the house, I painted over them, too. Then these disgusting buggers started showing up. I used bug spray. Fly strips. Fly paper. They work, but more of them keep coming. And they’re smart. One night I woke up feeling like I had the flu, covered in bites, with my wrists and ankles tied up with fly strips. That’s when I called my grandfather.”

Carl rubbed his forehead. He couldn’t read lips but he swore the evil glow bug was swearing at him. Oreo trotted through the room, sniffing at the windows. He growled and kept his eyes on the jar as he walked by the kitchen table. Mr. Traumer scratched the dog’s back. Oreo ignored him. The dog was all business. Carl asked, “Can we call your grandfather?”

“Grandfather passed on ten years ago. My father didn’t carry on the tradition.”

“So… what, do I just hire somebody to paint new dreamcatchers for me?”

Mr. Traumer shook his head. “It’s not that easy. You’ll need an honest-to-God Native American shaman to come to your house and paint them. Same goes if you buy them. The dreamcatchers outside are the genuine article. I traded for them with a Chippewa in Ontario.”

“Traded? How much?”

Mr. Traumer sighed. “A collection of rookie baseball cards dating back to 1939. Very, very nice ones.”

“Would he settle for an old velvet Elvis that my grandfather left me?”

“You’ll have to take that up with him.”

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Comments
  1. A.D. Everard says:

    Nice touch, I love that the solution is not going to be as easy as getting any old dreamcatchers. This is good (love Oreo, too). 🙂

    Like

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