A Good Night’s Sleep
Cooper’s mom pulls into what used to be her own driveway a few minutes after Hilter finishes wrapping up the leftover pizza. After one last quick chat about how parents can be parents – “Trust me,” Hilter told him, “I know a thing or two about how nutty parents can be. Just be patient with them. They may not always act like it, but they do love you very much.” – Cooper calmly walks out the front door and across the lawn. He’s walking a little taller than he was when his mom dropped him off this morning, and when she asks him how the appointment went after he climbs into the back seat of the car, he tells her (without cursing, mind you) that it went well, that he doesn’t think he’ll need to come back, and that he’s accepted that David is resting in peace now. Also, he tells her he doesn’t think he’ll need to carry his dad’s knife around anymore. This last makes Cooper’s mom very happy, and you know what? It makes Cooper happy, too. For the first time since they moved out of the old house on Fricker Drive, Cooper is looking forward to a good night’s sleep.
Mister Hilter Odolf Williamson, on the other hand, is looking at a long, long stretch of night ahead of him. He has a lot of notes to type up from today’s double session, even all the Nazi stuff. It’s not that the Nazi stuff holds weight as far as reality is concerned, but it goes to show how the human mind will cling to the bizarre and fantastical when true reality is subpar in comparison. At the beginning of the session, Cooper was more than merely convinced that his hometown was harboring a troupe of Nazi scientists; after he went back into the woods and saw… well, whatever he saw… in other words, after he had a cathartic experience, he so readily and easily distanced himself from the fantastical in preference to true reality. Sure, he still believes his The Serpent is real, and he believes there is a strange man living in a ratty shack back in the woods he used to explore, but… in truth, Hilter believes that ratty shack may be real, as well.
In truth, Scotty Mells isn’t the only one who’s seen that shack in his dreams, that old ratty shack with the plywood door standing in a clearing at the end of a wide dirt trail somewhere deep in the forest. Hilter has seen it too, in fact Hilter has seen it many times, but not since he moved to Fricker Drive. Why did the dreams of the ratty shack stop when he moved to Fricker Drive? And why did he move out to Fricker Drive in the first place?
Hilter takes a deep breath. “I was just taking a drive and I saw the house was for sale, that’s all.”
But Hilter Odolf Williamson isn’t one to just take a drive, he’s more the type to go for a walk, he said it himself today. Was the shack in his dreams just a manifestation of his feelings towards the bungalow he used to live in up in New York? Or was he drawn to Fricker Drive by a metaphysical force of some sort? Was that random drive he took more than a merely convenient incident?
“Stop it,” he commands himself. “You’re thinking too far into it, just like the shit about the disappearing older brothers. It’s a coincidence. You have work to do. Get to it and go to bed, things will be clear in the morning.”
And so Hilter stops thinking and starts typing, and he doesn’t stop until the notes are transcribed. He does get to bed, much later than Cooper does, mind you, but he does get to bed eventually, and for the first time since he’s moved to Fricker Drive, Hilter dreams of the old ratty shack. There’s nobody living inside of it now; knickknacks and mundane decorative items are strewn about on the floor and piled up high in the corners. There’s what appears to be a section of a felled tree draped in a red tablecloth stood up in the middle of the room… and there’s something on top of it. Something egg-shaped, but it’s not the egg Cooper was talking about, it’s not glowing, it’s… it’s…
Hilter wakes up surrounded by bleak darkness. He checks the digital alarm clock next to his bed – three’thirty-three on the dot. His body is covered in sweat, he’s totally out of breath, his mind is spinning faster than it was when he was transcribing his notes.
“Just calm down, Hilter,” Hilter says to himself. “It was just a dream, it might not mean anything.”
‘But what if it wasn’t, what if it does mean something?’ says Hilter’s brain, which seems to have a mind of its own.
“If it wasn’t… well, then it will lead to something. Until then, there’s no point in pursuing a wild goose.”
‘Fair enough,’ grumbles Hilter’s brain. It is not very good, and it does not last the rest of the night, but eventually, Hilter does get to sleep.
Hello Commons, this has been the last subchapter of the twelfth story from Convenient Incidents, an anthology of fifteen interconnected short stories which revolve around a man by the name of Hilter Odolf Williamson.
Convenient Incidents is part of the Third Spiral, an anthology of sorts called The Here and Now which is comprised of stories told from the various planes of Existence.
Convenient Incidents is available to read for free in its entirety on my website. Click here to check it out.
I’ve written a few other books, too. Click here to see the list.
If you like Convenient Incidents and would like to help support my work, click here and buy an autographed copy of the book (or anything else!) from my store. Alternatively, you can snag a cheaper (and unsigned) copy from Amazon by clicking here OR you can buy the ebook for even cheaper here.
If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thank you for being there. Be well Commons~