Chapter 11

Guinness was down in the basement when I entered the apartment. I ran into the bathroom and splashed water on my face, looking at myself in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot again, and I had bags under them. Yeah, I just hadn't gotten enough sleep lately �" that was it... that is why I was seeing things.

I wiped my face and headed into the living room, pressing the button on the message machine. Three more messages.

“Mr. Clifton, this is Dorothy Jones again. I don't know if you understand the situation, but I have a nightmare that needs to be taken care of. Immediately. I can't get any sleep and cannot function. Please call me.”

“Hello Mr. Clifton, this is Tyrone Phillips. My friend Chuck said you could help me with some dreams I've been having. Please call me back at 555-7472. Thank you.”

“Hello, sir, my name is Jacob Fitzgerald, and I'm having some issues... some issues that I believe you deal with. Call me back... 555-8962.”

“Great... I don't have enough time for sixteen clients. I'm not getting enough sleep as it is,” I muttered to myself, opening the fridge to make myself a sandwich. I could at least make appointments for the most pressing matters, namely this Dorothy Jones. I decided to do so in the morning.

***

“Hello? Is this Ms. Jones?”

“Yes, yes it is...” She sounded tired and annoyed.

“This is Noah Clifton, with the Nightmare Exterminator site.”

“Oh!” Her voice raised, hopeful. “Please, I need some help. Do you usually meet at a customer's house?”

“No, ma'am, I usually have a client come to my apartment for the procedure. Is that do-able?”

“Of course. Where do you live?”

I told her my address and hung up. Guinness had probably just gone to sleep, so I set to tidying up the place in preparation of my client. She arrived twenty minutes later, and I opened the door to the oldest woman I had ever seen. She was crouched over an weathered cane. Her jowls hung low, sallow with age, and her gray, thin hair was cut short and curled in the typical old lady hairstyle. Her eyes were a soft blue, bloodshot and rheumy with age. She smiled up at me, her dentures perfectly white and straight.

“Mr. Clifton, I presume?” she asked, her voice aged and quavering every so slightly.

“Yes, ma'am. Ms. Jones, please come in.”

I made way for her, and she sluggishly began her walk over the threshold, cane clicking softly on the linoleum that covered the entrance to my apartment. I had grabbed a carton of orange juice at the store, and I offered her a glass of it as soon as she sat down. She took it with shaking hands.

“I don't normally have nightmares,” she began wistfully. “...and this one. This one is frightening. I am sitting around a table with three other women, and we are playing a rather intense game of bridge. I leave the room for just a moment to grab my sweater from the bedroom, and when I come back, the ladies have changed into something horrendous. They have gray, bloodless skin and crazed eyes and they smell to high heaven. They chase me down and eat me alive, and I can feel them tearing at my skin with their teeth.”

She gave a shudder.

“I need it to go away, Mr. Clifton. I am unable to get any sleep, and an old lady like myself needs her sleep. It's somewhat of an emergency, you see.”

“Of course,” I agreed. I explained my procedure and asked if there was anyone she knew that could watch over her while she slept. You know, in case she was worried about any funny business.

“Why yes, my grandson, John. I'll call him now.”

She pulled out the most ancient looking cellphone I had ever seen, and began dialing.

“I'll be right back,” I promised, leaving to go get Ralph-E. I knocked on his door quickly, my foot tapping impatiently.

“Yeah?” he answered, eyes red.

“Are you high?”

Ralph-E smiled, “Maybe.”

I sighed.

“I need your help for a job.”

“Sure, sure. I think I can do that.”

“I can go instead,” came Julianna's voice from behind Ralph-E. She bounced up to the door, her face a picture of intrigue and excitement.

“I would love to see your work.”

“Uh...”

Julianna was wearing a low-cut tank top, and I struggled to keep my eyes at face level.

“Sure, that's fine. I just need you to make sure my client's grandson doesn't try and rob me while I'm doing the job.”

“I can do that.”

“Alright, then let's go. Seeya, Ralph-E.”

He waved a hand at me and closed the door behind Julianna. She followed me into the apartment, where Dorothy had finished calling her nephew and was now sipping daintily from the glass of orange juice.

“He should be here in ten minutes,” she informed me.

“Sounds good. This is Julianna; she's going to make sure everything goes smoothly in the real world while you and I are in the dream state.”

It wasn't the first time I'd gotten a cautious look from a client. As I said, client's were usually desperate enough to think I could help, but there was always the nagging fact that I could be a crazy.

“Okay,” she finally said, resolute. “I brought some pills that help me sleep, if that is okay.”

“Perfectly okay. It's always better when a client brings their own medication �" most people don't trust the stuff I have.”

We waited, and seven minutes later, there was a knock at my door.

“Is my grandma here?” came a gasping voice, “I came as soon as I could. She said it was an emergency.”

“Er, well, yes, in a way. Come in.”

I explained my job, and what we were going to do and John quirked an eyebrow.

“Gram...” John said, getting on his knees in front of her and clasping her hands. “Are you sure you want to use your money on this?”

“Most definitely. If Mr. Clifton could help, he would be a lifesaver.”

“Alright,” John conceded after a long pause, “Let's do this, then.”

I nodded, excused myself for a moment, and rushed down to the basement.

“Zombie bridge players,” I said to Guinness, who rubbed sleep from his eyes as he regarded me.

“Sounds fun. I'll go.”

“The more the merrier. Here.”

I gave him his usual beer with the sleeping pill and ran upstairs. It took Dorothy an eon to get down the stairs, as she waved away our desire to carry her down. I settled her onto the mattress, and grabbed my plethora of dream tools.

“One last thing,” I said, watching as she became drowsy. “What are the names of the bridge players?”

“Oh, dear, I don't know. They are random elderly ladies who I don't recognize.”

And with that last bit of bad news, she faded into sleep.

“What is all this?” Julianna asked in awe, her gaze moving across the mountains of cardboard boxes and moss. John seemed to have the same question touching his visage.

“Science experiment. Damn... this is going to hard without the names,” I said, distracted. I glanced at Dorothy, whose eyes had started to twitch in REM.

“I've gotta hurry up,” I told Julianna, who nodded and took a seat in the corner. John took a seat in an old lawn chair by his grandmother, still looking uncomfortable about the entire situation.

I downed my elixir and lied down.