Chapter 9

I awoke early the next morning to a knock at my door. And by early, I mean noon.

“Just a minute,” I yelled from inside, rushing to brush my teeth, look presentable, and pick up the empty beer bottles and kibble bags Guinness had left after an early morning of kids shows. I was sure it was Julianna, and I put on a genuine smile as I opened the door.

“Mr. Clifton,” came a loud, English voice. A portly, older gentlemen met my gaze, and he spoke from under a sizable mustache, gray with age. His hair was also gray. Well, what was left of it. Only a few sad strands remained, and he had gelled them in the usual comb-over.

“Yes, that's me,” I answered, stumbling over my words in surprise at my guest.

“You're from the website, then? The Nightmare Exterminator one?”

“Yup, that's me.”

“Excellent. I am in need of your services.”

There was a pause, and it took me a few sleep-addled moments to realize he expected to be let in.

“Oh, er, come in, Mister...?”

“Morris. Conrad Avery Ellsmere Morris the third.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

He waddled past me into the living room, his eyes widening as he roved the scene of dirty laundry and snack wrappers.

“My apologies,” I said, “I have a messy room-mate.”

“Ah. Indeed. No worries, my lad.”

He sat on the couch, which groaned under the weight.

“I am having a bit of an issue with my dreams, Mr. Clifton.”

I checked my fridge for anything other than vodka, found nothing, then filled up two glasses of tap water, offering one to Mr. Morris and sipping on my own.

He continued.

“I used to have this stuffed bear as a child. It was brown and had buttons for eyes and the stuffing coming out of one arm from so much use. Now, I used to dream of my bear all of the time. He seemed to follow me and help me out whenever I was in trouble or stressed out over something from work. This was true until about a week ago. Suddenly my bear protector was real. It was a massive grizzly, with the same button eyes, and it chases me to no end in my nightmare, gnashing its teeth.”

It was then I interrupted Mr. Morris, my hand clenching my glass harder than I meant to.

“Did this bear have a name?”

“Mr. Wiggles.”

I tried to hide a smile. Somehow, a man-eating bear with that name took all the danger out of it.

“I'm serious, Mr. Clifton. You'll see when you... do whatever it is you do. What is it you do, anyway?”

I explained in detail my procedure, then asked if Mr. Morris had anyone that could accompany him should he be uncomfortable falling asleep in an apartment with a strange man.

“Hm. No one comes to mind. I haven't had much sleep in a week, and I don't mind doing this alone. I can read people rather well, and I can tell you are a fine, upstanding citizen and not someone who would sell my kidney on the black market.”

“Don't worry,” I affirmed, “You'll just be asleep, not doped up. You'd know if I were stealing your kidney, and besides, blood makes me woozy.”

“Very well. Can we do the procedure now?”

“Are you tired enough to sleep?”

“Of course. As I said, I haven't slept much this entire week.”

“Then yes. Just give me one moment to get the beds ready.”

I rushed downstairs into the basement, whispering for Guinness to wake up.

“Noah! Noah!” he yelled, emerging from one of the cardboard boxes. “Look!”

I did. His beard had grown back completely and was parted and tied behind him in its usual style.

“What happened?”

“I don't know, I had never cut my beard before. Must be a gnome thing. Pretty impressive, huh?”

“Yeah, sure. I need you to hide. We have a client.”

“Can I come along?”

His eyes grew large and watery, and he clasped his hands before him, pleadingly.

“Alright,” I conceded, “Here. Drink up and hide.”

I handed him a beer and half an Ambien and shoo'ed him off into the cardboard boxes.

I then led Mr. Morris down into the dim basement where I indicated the mattress.

“Your website said the extermination could cost anywhere from five-hundred to a grand. How much would you guess this one would cost?”

Seeing as how I was dealing with a bear named Mr. Wiggles...

“About six hundred, give or take a hundred in case I get injured.”

Mr. Morris nodded. “Alright. Just lie down, then?”

“Yup.”

I had already turned to my locker of items, attaching the dreamcatcher to my belt, stuffing the journal in my pants, grabbing my hockey stick, and making sure I had smelling salts this time. I attached the small pouch of it to my belt as well.

“Did you need any help sleeping?” I asked again, shaking a bottle of sleeping pills in my hand.

“Er, no. That is quite alright.”

“Suit yourself. But if you wake up before I've had time to deal with...” I coughed away a snicker, “Mr. Wiggles, it'll cost extra to go back in.”

“Believe me, Mr. Clifton, I'll have no trouble staying asleep. I am not a light sleeper.”

I nodded, and downed my magic elixir of sleeping pills before settling down on the bed.