A Good Night's Sleep

Once there was a man who wanted a good night’s sleep. He could not have it. He had obligations, and work, and when he did fall asleep he often had strange dreams, sometimes terrifying, and occasionally he experienced a waking nightmare upon waking, sleep paralysis. All he wanted was a good night’s sleep. To fix this, the man, Cysgaf, went to the town healer.

“Please, ma’am, I need something to help me sleep, I can’t get a good night’s sleep. Nightmares again… you remember. .” Cysgaf begged of the little wizened old woman.

“Ah, Hello there Cysgaf. It’s been awhile.” The old woman rasped out, Sitting in her mossy hut, herbs, glassware, and ceramic containers lining the walls, it had a moist and murky feeling, that somehow was brought together to make a cozy home. It smelled of earth and dirt. The woman herself was laboring over a cauldron, not of potion, but of soup. “Still having sleep troubles? I remember when you were a wee lad, your parents were so troubled over their little son… Ah but that was such a long time ago. Let us see what we can get for you.” The woman left her soup with a final slice of potato dropped and plopped into the mix, a thoroughly intoxicating aroma filling Cysgaf’s nostrils. The old woman turned and went rummaging amongst her shelves of potions, poultices, and salves, finally coming to rest on a soporific. “If I remember correctly, just any old tea won’t do, you’ll be needing the strong stuff. Never before had such a young child needed such a large dose of… ah but anyway,” The old lady removed a dark ceramic bottle from an uppermost shelf, she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach it. She then handed it to Cysgaf. “A fourth of this, every night, right before sleep. Don’t drink any alcohol with it, I would suggest keeping a glass of water nearby. It’s not a good taste, but it should numb your tongue. We’ll discuss payment on your next visit. I would recommend getting some food together though, I’m almost out of taters.” The old woman gave a quick cackle as she ushered the relentlessly thankful Cysgaf out of her hovel.

Cysgaf returned home, a small and lonely little hut, it was cozy however, and he was quite fond of it. It was nestled in town, the last gift from his parents. It had two rooms, one with a bed, and one with his fireplace, food, table, chairs, and all his tools. Cysgaf was essentially the town handyman, he was apprenticed to the blacksmith, but the blacksmith seldom needed his help, so he was also apprenticed to the carpenter. He did whatever needed doing, especially if what needed doing was fairly trivial. It wasn’t a very stable, or paying, career, but he got by.

Night soon feel, and Cysgaf was ready for bed. He was, as ever, extremely tired, and settled down for night before the sun fell. He was excited, it had been forever since he had felt what being truly awake was like. Cysgaf drank a fourth of the soporific, like he was supposed to, and snuggled down into his bed, on which he had spent far too much money insuring that it was comfortable. And he slept. It was the best sleep he had slept in the past couple of years, deep, dark, and dreamless. But then he woke up. It was still dark, and he was filled with irrational terror. He couldn’t move a muscle, and he was quickly covered in cold sweat. As his eyes came into focus he noticed a large menacing figure at the foot of his bed, and his terror heightened, his heart filled with searing ice. Then he could move, the figure faded, and he heaved out deep, rasping breaths. As he settled down, he heard a soft voice “Rise and shine,” He looked about his small bedroom, and didn’t see anyone. ‘Must have been part of the sleep paralysis,’ Cysgaf hoped. He sighed as he got up, and went to make breakfast. He was more awake than he had been in a long time, but he was still a victim of his waking nightmares, it fouled his good mood. The day passed as he quickly became cheerful, however, the feeling of being awake pushing his early morning terror away. He waved to and chatted with those he passed in the streets, and performed his work with energy and joy. But as the night approached, he grew more and more nervous. He hated his waking nightmares more than his sleeping ones, and he grew more tired, one night of reclaimed sleep not catching him up with all the lost ones. So he returned home, happy glow fading with each step.

After his afternoon rituals, he settled down for bedtime. He held the soporific in his hand, looking at it with a thoughtful expression on his face. Finally making his decision, he poured out two doses of the substance, and drank them. ‘That should get me some sleep,’ thought Cysgaf. And it did get him sleep. The sleep was not calm, it was turbulent, and violent. Not once did he wake up, the soporific kept him asleep, no matter how much his body wanted him awake. He was hammered with nightmarish images, constantly covered in a sheet of sweat, he let out several screams, but still, his mind stayed locked in sleep. He stayed this way until the drug went through his system, through sweat and digestion, and he woke up, with a pounding headache, a raw, parched throat, and an unmoving body. Terror filled him, and his eyes raced across the room, searching for whatever nightmare his mind had conjured for him. He found it in his doorway, where a tall, wide man stood with a strangely shaped head. The two halves of his face met sharply, leaving the median of his face a jutting, and sharp looking vertical curve. His arms and hands possessed similar curves, though they were muted by the strange man’s heavy clothing, what Cysgaf could see clearly, on the hands, looked wickedly sharp, but covered in skin. His two half mouth’s smiled together, his eyes both focused on Cysgaf. Then he spoke.

“Hello,” His voice was soft, and gentle. “That trifle won’t help you sleep.” The man gestured to the bottle of Soporific. The smile widened “Only I can do that.” The eyes crinkled and sparkled in a mockery of benevolence and joy. “Might I offer a pact?” The smile widened, it was far wider a smile than any human could make, thanks to the strange shape of his face.

Cysgaf couldn’t answer the man, Cysgaf couldn’t move. “Don’t worry, take you time” The man lifted his foot, and slowly moved it forward. Cysgaf wanted this waking nightmare to end. They had the potential to last for quite a long time. The man kept his foot slowly moving forward, and slowly took a step, moving his body forward with it. The movement contained an inhuman level of patience and lack of any sort of haste. When the man had fully finished taking the step, he vanished. Cysgaf, relaxed his tensed body, breathing heavily. Then he got up, and got ready for his day.

It was a practiced motion, moving about with a nearly dead brain. He was exhausted, and he trudged through the day, it was all a blur, then night fell once more. He took the last dose of the drug, hoping it would work like it did the first time, but it didn’t. This time his nightmares kept waking him up, until the final one, especially horrifying, woke him up, and his body was frozen. The man reappeared right in the same spot he left from. He was standing just like he had been when he had left, and his face held the same expression. “Ready?” His gentle voice asked. Cysgaf still could not answer, the paralysis held him. “That’s fine. I have time.” And the man took another mind bendingly slow step. When he finished he vanished.

That day Cysgaf forgot to go to the healer. While he was working he struck his fingers with his hammer several times, and in frustration he went home early, drank all the alcohol he owned, and collapsed on his bed. It happened again. The man appeared, offered his pact, and took a step further. This went on for several days, each night he was beset with nightmares, waking and screaming before awaking one final time, frozen in place. Each night the man took another step, getting closer, and closer. Each day Cysgaf’s situation deteriorated, until finally he couldn’t even leave his home he was so tired. He stayed there all day, falling asleep and waking screaming, until finally the morning of the next day came. He was frozen in place, and the man appeared directly to his left. He was but a few inches away, looming over him. Then the man bent over, smile widening. “Ready for a good night’s sleep?” The curved median of the man’s face touched Cysgaf’s nose, and Cysgaf screamed. “Ah-ha! Ready, I see!” Then the man vanished. Cysgaf sat up and sobbed. Then his door was flung open, and a group of men stomped in. He recognized several villagers, they looked shameful, stony, and resolute. A stranger stood with them, he was outfitted in armor covered with ritualistic symbols, and around his hands boiled a faint golden light, his head swiveled about the room, eyes closed. “Yes.” Spoke the man, in a solemn and self-important voice. “This is the place, something was here.” His head stopped on Cysgaf, and his eyes open. They were flat, empty things, lacking any sort of emotion. “And it touched this one. I think a pact was set.”

One of the villagers nodded, Mellar, he had often employed Cysgaf for horseshoes and nails. “Aye, the poor lad’s always ‘ad trouble sleepin’, and recently he’s been spendin’ all night screamin’ and screamin’. He walks about fallin asleep on his feet and trippin’ over chickens. He damn near broke his ‘and with that ‘ammer of his. And he refuses to see that old healer woman.”

“Yes,” Spoke the armored man. “I’ve seen this before. Bring him outside.” The man turned, and the villagers grabbed Cysgaf, who weakly protested.

“W..w...where, what? Mellar, what’s going on?” Cysgaf’s words softly fell out of his mouth. He was far too tired to resist his bearers.

“Quiet now Gaf, somethin’s wrong with you. Host Seafied is here to help. It…” Mellar trailed off. “Well, jus’ quiet down now.” They walked Cysgaf out of his house. Into the damp morning air. It had rained last night, and he hadn’t even noticed. The armored man stood next to a ditch, it was filled with muddy water, sluggishly flowing. He pointed to the ground next to him.

“Kneel.” And Cysgaf was forced to kneel in the mud. The boiling light around the man’s

left hand thickened, and he reached out, placing the hand on Cysgaf’s head. It burned, and Cysgaf let out a quick scream, at which the villager’s all flinched, and the man’s flat gaze became more hollow. Then his scream trailed off as his head numbed. The numbness spread and spread, traveling down his neck and filling his limbs, each finger numbed separately. A cold followed the numb. The man sighed. “He is not going to survive.” The villagers started shouting.

“You told us he’d be fine-” “Murderer!” “What do you mean? He’s a good person…”

The armored man held up his free hand. “I didn’t intend for him to die. His imminent death was always a possibility. I am sorry.” The man shoved Cysgaf into the muddy ditch, which caused some weak cries of protest to erupt from the villagers, and from Cysgaf. Cysgaf’s was far weaker. “You may reclaim his remains after the water flows over him for several hours, the way you prepare his body is very important. First, you must-” Cysgaf stopped hearing the man.

Cysgaf numbly lay in the ditch, water up to his ears, he was freezing. Then the man with the sharp face looked down at him. No one else seemed to see him, though the armored man paused in his instructions about for a few seconds, a look of concentration on his face. The angular faced man gave a soft chuckle. “My part of the Pact fulfilled. And I didn’t even have to lift a finger. Now for yours.” Cysgaf didn’t notice whether the man stayed or vanished. Cysgaf hardly noticed that he was so numb he couldn’t feel anything at all. Cysgaf didn’t notice when he closed his eyes. All he wanted was a good night’s sleep.