The Porpinaut

The protector of dreams is a force to be reckoned with.

A light was on in the room.  Edison’s scalp prickled as he realized that his creaking footsteps would have been heard by anyone in there.  He stared at the open door, waiting to see a moving shadow over the light that spilled like a ribbon into the dusty hallway.  He saw nothing move but the cobwebs, heard nothing but the wind through the gaps in the walls.  He remembered to shut off his flashlight, and contemplated backing down the stairs, but that would be heard as well.  Was someone in that room?  Had they found the old leather trunk and what was inside?  Edison shifted the pack on his back.  What would he do with the load that he was carrying if he couldn’t get to that trunk?  Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.  There was nothing left to do.  He would go on ahead into the room.

He approached slowly, still listening.  He still heard nothing, and when he finally peeked inside the lighted area he saw nothing but the sheet-covered furniture from decades past, and the source of light.  The leather trunk was standing wide open where he’d left it next to the covered couch, but there was light flowing from it like a rolling fog.  Edison stood still once again, trying to decide what was happening in the trunk.  He finally walked over, feeling suddenly sick as the waves of warmth and coolness from the flowing glow around his feet.  Looking inside, he saw that the dream pods he’d been collecting for weeks and weeks had somehow broken open and the dreams were escaping! 

“No!” Edison yelled.  “Why are you opening!?”  He cried at the misty glow that was dissipating as it flowed out.  He leaned down with open hands, absentmindedly trying to scoop the foggy light back into the trunk.  “My dreams!  … My dreams are lost!” 

“These dreams are stolen,” a voice accused, clear and deep from behind Edison in the darkness.  Edison’s spine felt like it had frozen and split, his movements stilled with fear.  “They can’t be returned to their owners,” the voice continued.  “But I wasn’t going to let you have them either.  You don’t deserve them.  They were never yours.”  The voice approached at Edison’s shoulder, a rustling of fabric made of twilight and hope whispered close, and all thoughts abandoned the thief’s head.  All of his efforts toward success, elation, covert manipulation, all was lost with one word that burned the edges of his soul: Porpinaut.

Edison began to shake, and he didn’t want to turn around, but knew he had to face the legendary protector of dreams.  Some didn’t believe in the man, but stories always persisted and were even added-to.  He was known to track down dreams that had been lost or given-up on, saving them for a future destiny.    Slowly, he turned and looked up into a bearded, stern face wrinkled with time and responsibility.  Eyes the color of a deep orange sunset pierced Edison’s with a gaze of disappointment.  The thief suddenly felt that the father he never knew was confronting him like a child.  But if the stories were true, Edison wouldn’t just be grounded or whipped.

The cloak of a starry night rippled from around the imposing figure as he reached a large, callused hand to take Edison firmly by the arm.  Edison became helpless as he was pulled into the ancient being’s presence.  “What are you doing with the dreams, Edison?” 

“M-my… My Lord,” the weasel didn’t dare squirm.  “I �" “  Here he paused.  Only because if he said it he would be found out and punished by someone just as powerful.  The Porpinaut’s breath heaved an impatient sigh, brushing Edison’s cheek with an acidic tingle, and Edison closed his eyes tight.  If Edison didn’t tell this man, he would be horribly punished.  A tear squeezed out of his squinched eyes.  “My Lord, it’s for Ego.  Ego sent me to collect them and send him two hundred when I got them.”  His voice quivered.  He thought of the lonely ledges of the Forgetting where Ego said he’d be banished if he didn’t succeed.  He imagined never seeing another human again, no food but the barest nutrients from the grasses and dirt clods of the cliffs.  No breeze, no rain, no sun, no shelter.  Nothing but the Forgetting.

“Ego.”  The Porpinaut’s voice of stone dropped the name into the middle of the room and he seemed to look at it.  From under furrowed brows his eyes darkened and glimmered.  His grip on Edison’s arm loosened but didn’t let go.  “You were wise to tell me.”  He looked down at Edison whose eyes were open and glassy with hope.  What would happen to him now?  Would he be spared by the Porpinaut who undoubtedly knew what was in store for him when Ego found out? 

The cape of night sky flared as the Porpinaut’s free arm reached out and took Edison’s pack from his back.  The orange eyes flared like a salted flame as he met the thief’s stare.  “You were not wise to take these from their rightful owners.”  He set the bag behind him, and with the same hand he reached into a pouch at his side.  He was not letting go of Edison’s arm.  Without thinking, Edison started squirming.  He’d heard of what could happen to those who crossed the Porpinaut, dream giver and guardian.  The hand came from the pouch with a darkly glowing orb nestled in the thick fingers.  The glow flickered like a storm the size of a grape, and Edison recognized it for what it was.  Frightened eyes pleaded with the Porpinaut’s solemn gaze. 

“No-“ Edison shook his head as he began to cry.  “No, please �"“ He started trying in earnest to get away from the Porpinaut’s vice grip.  He knew, from the legends, that once you eat a nightmare you are trapped within it forever.  Edison wept, and he finally stopped trying, his lips open in a cry of terror when the Porpinaut pushed the nightmare into his mouth.  With a choking sob Edison’s eyes glazed over and he became completely still, living but forever lost in the horror of the world that had entered him. 

The Porpinaut lowered the limp body onto a sheeted chair.  The dreams in the leather trunk were ruined for sure, having been days old, stale and turning into nightmares.  The dreams behind him in the bag could still be put to use.  His night sky closed around the legend as he looked at the dimming fog on the floor.  Peering up at the windows of the dark room, he growled, “Ego.” 

He knew where he had to go next.

           

             

Author's Note

I actually wrote a less dark rendition of the Porpinaut first. It's available on Kindle. This one was a try-out to see if I liked it and wanted to cultivate it. If you let me know what you think, that'd be great.