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“I’m here to see the Archivist.” Martin overheard a blond-haired woman in a grey and blue suit tell Rosie. He’d only been working at the Magnus Institute for a couple of months and yet it was something he’d started to hear quite often. People would come to the Institute if they were having bad dreams, ask to see the Archivist, and apparently he would get rid of the nightmare. It wasn’t the weirdest thing he’d heard about in his time working at the Magnus Institute, his job involved helping people learn about the paranormal, but what made him curious was the fact that it seemed like very few people had actually seen this “Archivist.” Even the archival assistants only caught a glimpse of him every once in a while.
“It’s like working with an urban legend,” Tim had mentioned the previous week while he and Martin were having lunch in the canteen. He was a nice guy- nice enough anyway- who worked in research and seemed to think he was a lot funnier than he actually was. Tim had short brown hair that he always seemed to keep styled with some kind of gel, mischievous brown eyes that made him look like he was plotting something, and a strong jawline. It wasn’t surprising that he had a lot of admirers, and many people wondered why he’d decided to work at the Institute when he could probably get a job anywhere.
“Well, we don’t really work with them, do we?” Martin responded, emptying the bag he’d brought with him. “Sure, it’s the same building, but completely different departments.”
“Alright, we technically work in the same place as an urban legend.” Tim took a large bite of his sandwich before continuing to speak, “I looked online and people have written about this guy on forums, how he literally will eat your nightmare for you. Makes me wish I actually had recurring nightmares so I could pay him a visit.”
“Wait, he actually eats nightmares? How does someone eat a nightmare?” Martin couldn’t stop himself from asking the question.
“Dunno, they didn’t say, but they did say that this Archivist guy is legit, he will get rid of your nightmare. The only catch is he forces you to relive it. You have to take him through it so he can find the source of the nightmare,” Tim said through another bite of sandwich. “It can be kinda traumatizing for people.Some of them have suppressed memories and he causes them to remember everything.”
Martin felt a chill go down his spine at that, his own recurring dream fresh in his head. “I can imagine.”
“That’s not all though, he has had a few dissatisfied customers. Apparently some people came to him so they could get to the bottom of a nightmare and weren’t happy with what they found out. Others have asked him to change a dream and complained that he made things worse.” Laughing, Tim threw his sandwich wrapper at the bin, only to miss and have to throw it away properly. “Anyway, I don’t feel sorry for those people. He did what they asked him to do. They only have themselves to blame.”
“I guess so...” Martin had responded before trying to change the subject. He didn’t want to think about nightmares any more than he had to.
Now, seeing the woman in gray and blue asking about this mysterious Archivist, he couldn’t help but think back to that conversation, about all the strange things he’d heard. Rosie seemed to notice him standing nearby and perked up. “Oh! Martin, I didn’t see you there!” She exclaimed cheerfully. “Would you be a dear and bring Mrs. Popham down to see the Archivist?”
If he were being honest with himself, Martin really didn’t want to go in the Archives, down the long flights of stairs to the bottom of the institute. They were unnaturally cold, even for an old building with faulty heating, and he always got the feeling that he was being watched. However, he couldn’t say no to Rosie. He was still a relatively new hire and she was such a sweet woman, he'd hate to disappoint her. “Sure.” He shrugged. “Follow me, Mrs...”
“Popham. Laura Popham.”
“Right. Follow me, Mrs. Popham.” Martin started off towards the stairs and heard her footsteps stop upon seeing them.
“Oh, is he downstairs?” she asked, biting her lower lip nervously. “I... I just don’t like being underground.”
“Er, the Archives are downstairs, yes,” Martin replied, somewhat confused by her behavior. “Does this have something to do with your nightmare?”
“Y-yes. I went caving with my sister a few months ago and we got trapped. She was never found, and ever since I’ve dreamt that I was back in that cave, looking for her. Then the walls start to close in on me, but I know I need to find her so I keep going until I can no longer move.” Laura took a deep breath as though to calm herself. “I don’t really feel comfortable going underground now.”
“Well, that’s where the Archives are... The Archivist doesn’t really leave them, or so I hear.” Martin tried to make his voice sound casual, but her dream... Trying to find someone but unable to do so. It was hauntingly familiar.
“Alright, I’m coming.” She started to follow again, and Martin just led the way down the stairs until they reached the hallway at the bottom. The door at the end was marked with a brass plaque that seemed to have never gotten polished, etched with the word “Archives.” He opened it and poked his head in, looking for anyone he recognized.
Martin had only been into the Archives a couple of times, when he needed to find information about a case that had been closed, but it was as unorganized as ever. Bookshelves of files lined the walls, most of them in boxes that had been labeled in thick, black marker. “H-M” read one box, while the one next to it was labeled “1975-1980,” and the next simply had “fire” written on it in a messy scrawl. Farther back were more rows of shelves, probably in a similar state of disarray, and yet more boxes lay on the floor. In the center of the room were two groups of six desks, all of them empty. A screensaver played on one computer. It had clearly been in use recently, but its owner was nowhere to be found. On the opposite wall were two doors, the plaque on one reading “Head Archivist” in equally dingy brass. There seemed to be a sign on the other door but Martin was too far away to make out what it said.
A man emerged from the second room, which looked like some sort of office, and with the help of a cane, he began making his way towards them. He was short, a good head shorter than Martin, with shoulder-length dark hair streaked through with grey, his eyes partially hidden by black-rimmed glasses. He was fairly good-looking, although he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his eyes had smudges of the deepest purple beneath them and he seemed to be swaying on his feet. He definitely would be more attractive without the scowl. Martin guessed he was an archival assistant, he knew there were a handful of assistants but he’d only met one or two.
“Can I help you?” the man asked in an annoyed voice, peering up at Martin like he was guilty of wasting valuable time.
“Oh, yes!” Martin started, his mind blanking when he met the man’s startling green eyes. They seemed to look right through Martin, sending a shiver down his spine. “We’re looking for the Archivist, is he in?”
Instead of answering, the man simply looked at Laura in that same manner, as though appraising her. Finally he returned his gaze to Martin. “Yes, I’m here,” he replied, his expression having changed slightly. His brows were still furrowed but the look in his eyes seemed more appraising than annoyed. “Have we met?”
“R-right! I’m Martin Blackwood, I work in the library, and this is Laura Popham!” Martin stammered, holding out a hand that the Archivist merely stared at.
“Jonathan Sims.” The Archivist, Jonathan apparently, took turns looking at each of them in turn. “Which of you wanted to see me?”
“M-me.” Laura took a step forward, causing Jonathan to retreat a step so his personal space wasn’t intruded upon. He was an inch or so taller than she was so they were almost eye-to-eye as she continued speaking, “Please help me with my nightmare!”
“Very well.” Jonathan gestured for Laura to follow him and started back towards his office. “Did you need my help too?” he called out over his shoulder, and it took a second for Martin to realize the question was directed at him. The memory of his own nightmare came back, and it took all his willpower for him to shake his head.
“Do you need me to wait for you to finish?” Martin asked, as they retreated into the dimly-lit office.
“No, thank you. Not unless Mrs. Popham is incapable of finding her way out of here unaided,” Jonathan replied before shutting the door.
Martin looked around the Archives, at the boxes of files and empty desks, and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “So, finally met Jon?” a voice came from behind him and he turned to see Emma, one of the archival assistants was in the doorway. She had long, blonde hair tied into a ponytail and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses rested on her nose, making her brown eyes seem larger than they probably were.
“Jon?” It was somewhat embarrassing how high-pitched his voice sounded to his own ears.
“Yeah, the Archivist, we just call him Jon. He doesn’t seem to mind,” Emma replied, squeezing past Martin and making her way over to one of the desks, moving the mouse and getting rid of the screensaver. “If he does, he hasn’t said anything. He’s not our boss, that’s Gertrude, but Elias brought him here a few years ago and he just... lives here now.”
Gertrude- she had to mean Gertrude Robinson, head archivist for the institute- but why did they have an Archivist as well? “Do you know anything about him? Is he human?” Martin once again couldn’t stop himself from asking about the mysterious Archivist.
“Dunno, I don’t see him much and he never talks about himself. I think he used to be human though.” She glanced up at Martin before returning her attention to the computer. “Is there anything else you need, or can I get back to work?”
With a sigh of resignation, Martin left the Archives and started his long climb up the many flights of stairs, thinking about the Archivist. Just who was he? How had he come to live in the Institute? Did he really eat dreams? He had so many questions and the answer to all of them was sitting at a desk several floors below his feet.
“Wait, you met the Archivist?” Tim let out a whistle of surprise as they ate lunch together later that day. “The spooky urban legend living in the basement?”
“What’s this about an urban legend?” Sasha, another one of the researchers, grabbed a chair and flopped into it. She had long reddish-brown hair and brown eyes that were partially obscured by round glasses, she and Tim had introduced themselves to Martin the day he’d started and had done their best to make him feel welcome.
“Get this, Sash,” Tim elbowed her in the side, causing her to recoil slightly. “Martin here met the infamous Archivist.”
Sasha’s eyes widened behind her glasses. “Get out.”
“That’s what he says. Would Martin lie to us?”
“Spill, you have to tell us what happened,” Sasha added, poking a fork into her lunch, which looked to be some kind of pasta dish. Both Tim and Sasha were staring at him, so Martin recounted what had happened when he’d gone to the Archives, every underwhelming detail. He figured they were probably disappointed with his story, but when he looked up he saw they were gaping at him.
“What?” Martin couldn’t help but ask. The way they were looking at him was starting to make him anxious.
“Dude, you met the Archivist, the one people write about online. You don’t see how cool that is?” Tim gave him a sly smile.
“We should look up this ‘Jonathan Sims’ guy, if Emma says she thinks he used to be human. Maybe we can find out about who he was.” Sasha pointed her fork at Martin. “I’m curious as to how he became the ‘Archivist’ in the first place. How does someone just become a dream-eater?”
“What even is a dream-eater?” Tim added, pulling out his phone and typing something into it. “Aha! According to the internet, it’s some kind of Pokemon move, or some video game monster”
“That is entirely unhelpful considering we have a real one downstairs and I don’t think we’re in a video game.” Martin sighed, taking a sip from his mug of tea only to realize it had gone cold.
“Wait, I’ve got one hit. There’s some kind of dream-eater in mythology.” Tim flipped his phone around to show a picture of a creature with an elephant-like snout and tusks, leering over a sleeping woman. “That the guy you saw?”
“Definitely not, I would have noticed the tusks.”
“You sure? Maybe he can brainwash people into thinking they’re attractive guys to avoid suspicion.” Martin glared at Tim, who just shrugged. “Look, he’s not human, who knows what else he can do?”
“I never said he was attractive.”
“Didn’t have to, it was written all over your face,” Sasha chimed in before taking another bite of pasta.
“Look, I barely spoke to him and he seemed irritated by my being there. Besides, like you said, he isn’t human.”
“I don’t think being human has anything to do with finding someone attractive, especially if he used to be human at one point. I wish we had an excuse to talk to him.”
The conversation petered out at that point, and Martin had thought that the rest of his day might be fairly ordinary. He couldn’t help returning to the Archives later, he was worried that Mrs. Popham wouldn’t be able to find her way back by herself. Before he even entered the room, he heard shouting from behind the door.
“How dare you accuse me of such things!” Pushing the door open a crack Martin could see Laura was trying to close the space between her and the Archivist but for every step she took he took one back, resulting in her forcing him against a wall. “I asked you to get rid of my nightmare! I never asked you to show me such lies.”
“I am incapable of showing lies, Mrs. Popham,” The Archivist replied, and although his voice was calm, his clenched fists shook slightly. “I can only take you into your dream, what you saw was the truth.”
“You’re claiming I would actually abandon my sister and save myself? How dare you?”
“Once again, I can only show you the truth. What seems to have happened when the two of you went caving was this: there was a cave in and when time was short, you panicked and left your sister behind. You convinced yourself that if you helped her, you’d both die. That is what would have most likely happened but it does not change the outcome. Due to the stress and shock of the incident you forgot what happened in the cave, and your repressed memories became a nightmare.” Martin wasn’t sure what was scarier, the incident that the Archivist was explaining, or how calm he was while he explained it.
“I’m reporting you to your boss, you can’t just lie to people like this!” Laura turned to leave and pushed past Martin as though he wasn’t there, he started to go after her but she seemed to not need him.
“Leave her.” The Archivist- no Jon, Martin had forgotten that was his name- folded his arms over his chest and sighed. “That happens often, people don’t like finding out the truth.”
“Oh... Alright.” Martin wasn’t sure what to say in response, but despite how calm Jon sounded, he still seemed rattled. “Are you okay?”
“What?” The face Jon made was so funny Martin was sad he wasn’t able to take a picture of it. His eyebrows rose so high they practically vanished into his hairline, his mouth opening in surprise.
“You seem shaken... Can I get you anything? Tea, maybe?”
“I can’t drink tea. I can’t have any normal food or drink,” Jon replied, a little sadly. He appeared less tired than he had earlier, but he still seemed worn out.
“What do you eat then?”
“Nightmares, anything else makes me sick. It’s sad,” Jon sighed, looking almost wistful. “I think I used to like tea.”
“Used to?” Martin asked, hoping that he wasn’t being rude by asking so many questions. He wasn’t sure why he was so excited to get a chance to talk to the mysterious Archivist.
“I don’t think I was always like this, eating dreams. I think I was human... Once.” Jon drummed his fingers on the handle of his cane, biting his lip as though deep in thought.
“You don’t remember?”
“No, I don’t remember anything past a few years ago, waking up and realizing what I was. I knew my name, that I now lived for nightmares, and very little else.” Sighing, Jon glanced up at the ceiling. “Elias found me a few months later, after I’d attracted some attention because I was starving. I don’t blame those people for being scared of me, I must have seemed terrifying to them. I'd approach strangers who I knew suffered from bad dreams and asked if I could help them. I hung out in an alley, I can’t handle crowds and I no longer need to sleep. It was a place I could hide in, and people learned they could come to me if they had a nightmare they wanted to get rid of.
“What did Elias do?” Martin asked, fascinated by what he was hearing.
“He claimed to have followed the rumors towards me, and upon looking at me asked me if I wanted to make a deal with him. He talked about this Institute, how it chronicles tales of the supernatural, and mentioned that he thought having a section about dreams would be a good addition. I’d get a place to live and all the nightmares I could ever want, all I had to do was make a record of the dreams.”
“How do you do that?” Martin asked, somewhat afraid of the answer.
“Do you want me to show you?” Jon stared at Martin again, the way he had earlier that day. “I can see you’ve got a particularly troublesome little nightmare you’ve been dealing with for a long time.”
“N-no.” Once again it took a lot of effort to refuse, but he wasn’t in the right state of mind to deal with his own dreams, let alone bring someone else into them. “Have you tried to look up something about your past? Surely if you were human there has to be some kind of record you left behind.”
Jon sighed, leaning up against the wall. “I don’t see what good it would do me, learning who I was. I can’t change who I am now. My past is a mystery I don’t care to solve.”
“Alright, different question. Do you like eating nightmares?”
“Yes, they’re delicious. Each one tastes different, depending on what the dream is like. The most satisfying are the ones dripping with blood.” Once again, Martin wasn’t sure whether it was what Jon had said that made his skin crawl or just the way he said it, as though he could still taste the blood on his lips.
“That’s... horrifying.”
“Is it now? You humans eat meat, I’ve been told a good number of people enjoy bloody steaks. How are nightmares different?”
“I don’t feel comfortable discussing blood, if that’s alright with you.” Martin realized he’d been talking at length with Jon, something he wasn’t sure anyone else had done. Emma had even mentioned that the Archivist never answered her questions. “Wait, why are you letting me do this?”
“Do... What exactly?”
“Ask you questions, as far as I know nobody has been able to get a straight answer from you.”
“Maybe because you’re the first human I’ve met that has been concerned for me.” Jon's eyes looked sad, their vivid green color somewhat dulled.
“Really? That’s... That’s really sad actually. What about Elias?” Martin asked. “He let you live here?”
“Elias and I have an agreement, I don’t really work for him. He let me stay here so I’d add to his collection, if I stop archiving these nightmares he’d probably kick me out.” Jon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “The rest of the Archival staff tolerate me, although I don’t think Gertrude trusts me. That woman seems like she’s familiar with beings that aren’t human. All the dreamers that come to see me are only polite to me because they are scared of me, plus they need me. You saw it yourself, how that woman got mad at me for not showing her what she wanted. Once I’d done my job, she had no problems being rude to me.”
“You just let people treat you like that? You still have feelings, don’t you?”
“Not as you humans would put it, I can recognize emotions but anything I do feel is murky. I occasionally feel something akin to sadness or anger, but it’s brief and I go back to living my life as usual.”
“Do you mind me asking you these questions?” Martin finally thought to ask, having realized that he was coming awfully close to being thought of as rude.
“Not really, besides the handful of dreamers I get per week I spend a lot of time doing nothing. Elias sometimes asks me to do some assistant work but I get the feeling I make the others uneasy. Still, I do occasionally look for statements about me, or others like me. If I find proof that I’m not the only dream-eater out there, maybe I can figure out what I’m supposed to be doing.”
Martin hadn’t considered that Jon might not be the only Archivist out there, if he’d simply woken up as a dream-eater it was likely there were more like him.
“Have you found any?” he asked, interested in the topic. “Statements, I mean.”
“Not really, I think there was one person who came across me before I came to the Institute but that’s it. Maybe there aren’t many in England.”
Glancing at the clock, Martin realized that his break ended five minutes ago. “Sorry, I have to go. Break’s over.”
Jon merely stared at him, his expression as bored as it had been when they’d first met. “Alright.”
“Would... Would you mind if I came back?”
“No.” There was nothing else for Martin to do but leave, return to the library and try to work. Tim stopped by to ask where he’d gone, his eyes glinting with amusement, and Martin figured that he must have an idea what had happened but feigned ignorance.
“Bathroom.”
“For twenty minutes?” Tim’s eyes widened. “Are you sick?”
“Can you let me work, Tim?” Martin tried to brush him off, pretending to be interested in the report he’d been reading since he’d gotten back. It was actually kind of interesting so until Tim placed one hand on his shoulder he’d forgotten about the conversation he was ignoring.
“You went to the Archives again, didn’t you?” Tim smirked knowingly and Martin pushed his hand aside. “I was in the lobby when that lady who’d seen the Archivist came back, boy was she mad. She said something to Rosie about filing a complaint. Did you see what happened?”
“She saw something she didn’t like, and claimed the Archivist was lying to her.”
“So you did see him.”
Martin’s cheeks flushed at being caught in the lie. “I went to see if she could find her way upstairs without getting lost, the basement is a mess. The last thing we need is to lose someone in Artifact Storage.”
“True, but she came back by herself. I didn’t see you with her.”
“Look, Tim.” Martin looked up at his coworker, frowning in annoyance. “I got back late and I’m trying to make up for it. Please let me work.”
Mercifully, Tim obeyed, and Martin almost sagged in relief. Trying to return his attention to the report in front of him was futile, whatever had grabbed him a few minutes ago was gone. His mind was still reeling from what he’d learned about the Archivist- no, about Jon. Jon was, well, he wasn’t human, that was a given, but he was still a person. He seemed so lost, living only for nightmares and having no idea what his past was. Martin was a caretaker by nature, he had difficulty walking past someone who clearly needed help.
Sighing, it was evident that he was not going to get any work done that day, he turned his computer on. Opening a new browser, he went to Google and searched for the name “Jonathan Sims.” Unsurprisingly, Martin was hit with hundreds, if not thousands of results. Narrowing his search down to England gave him fewer results, but not enough to go off of. He wished that he worked in research so he could look into Jon. Technically, the Archivist was classified as something supernatural that would be beneficial to have more knowledge about, but he doubted the Institute would consider it a good use of his time, even if he was a researcher. Elias might not even let someone look into Jon at all.
“You came back.” Jon’s voice was soft when Martin entered the Archives after clocking out a week later. The Archivist was seated at one of the empty desks, a file spread out across it as though he’d been in the middle of reading it, his cane seemed to have fallen over and lay on the floor. His green eyes were wide as he stared at Martin, an expression of confusion on his face.
“Y-Yes?” Martin wrung his hands, unsure of what to say. “Should I not have?”
Jon was silent for a moment before he answered, his mouth opening and closing several times. He got to his feet, picking up the fallen cane and tapping his fingers against the wood. “I’ve never had anyone take an... An interest in me before. Most people can’t wait to get away from me.”
“Because you’re not human?” Before Jon could answer, the door to the Archives opened and a woman entered the dimly-lit room. She had chin-length hair that had been dyed a vibrant shade of blue, although her dark roots were starting to show. She was shorter than Jon was, but not by much, and as she drew nearer it was easy to make out the curl to her lip and furious look in her brown eyes.
“Hi, can we help you with something?” Martin asked, but whoever this woman was, she ignored him once she spotted Jon.
“You.” The woman’s voice was low and accusatory, her eyes narrowing into a glare as she looked Jon up and down. “Have you been here all this time?”
“I- I’m sorry, do I know you?” At first glance, Jon seemed unfazed by whatever it was that was going on, but upon closer inspection, Martin saw that wasn’t the case. Jon’s hands were shaking slightly, he was leaning on the cane more heavily.
“Really?” The woman snapped, marching forward until she was almost nose-to-nose with Jon. “You’ve been missing for years ! Georgie’s been worried sick! Do you even know what you-”
“Okay, time out!” Martin shoved an arm between them, pushing the woman away from Jon. He looked smaller than usual, his eyes no longer the vivid green they had been. He seemed shaken, unnerved by whatever had just happened. “First off, who are you?”
“Melanie.” The woman practically snarled, still glaring at Jon with such ferocity that Martin wondered just how she knew him. “Melanie King.”
“Alright...” Martin could have sworn he’d heard the name Melanie King before but now wasn’t the time to figure out where. “You know Jon?”
“Yes!” Melanie threw up her hands in exasperation. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be so mad at the bastard!”
“Jonathan Sims?”
“Yes! What are you getting at?”
Glancing over at where Jon stood, Martin saw that he seemed pale, his body curling in on itself. Something was clearly wrong with him and Martin wasn’t sure what to do. “Excuse me for a second.” He ended up practically carrying Jon into his office, which seemed almost bare apart from a desk, a couple of battered chairs, and some filing cabinets. Martin gently placed him in one of the chairs and leaned his cane against the desk before returning to the Archives.
Melanie waited for him, arms folded across her chest, brow furrowed. “What is going on here?”
“I... I’m not sure of the whole story myself.” Martin wasn’t sure what to say to her, it was clear that she’d known Jon before he had become the Archivist, but Jon didn’t remember her. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“I don’t want a bloody cup of tea, I want answers! I came to this place- despite its reputation- because-” Martin cut her off there.
“Have you heard of the Archivist?”
“The nightmare guy? Sure. One of the guys I work with talked about them. Why do you-”
“Jon’s the Archivist, that’s why he’s here.” It seemed best to just get everything out, explain what he could anyway. “He doesn’t remember his life before becoming... Becoming what he is.”
Melanie glared at him, clearly not believing a word he’d just said. “Who are you?”
“What?”
“You seem pretty chummy, who are you? Are you covering for him?”
“N-No! I work in the library, I just met Jon a few days ago!” Martin stammered, unsure of what to do next.
“Ms. King,” a voice rang out from the entrance to the Archives and Martin saw Elias standing in the doorway. Despite the fact Elias was his boss, he couldn’t help being unsettled by the man. It never seemed like coincidence when he appeared. “If you are not going to give your statement quietly I am going to have to ask you to leave. I can’t have you disturbing my employees.”
Pointing a finger at the door to Jon’s office, Melanie growled. “Forgive me for getting upset when I see someone who went missing years ago, sitting around like the people he left behind don’t matter. He has no idea what he did to-”
“That is not the man you once knew.” Elias’s eyes were ice blue and just as cold. His hair had once been brown but was now almost entirely gray, although his face was unlined save for a few smile lines and crow's feet. He looked like a businessman, not someone who owned an institute dedicated to the supernatural. “That is my Archivist, and I ask you not to disturb his work.”
“What happened to him?” Melanie demanded, and Martin half-expected her to stomp her foot in anger. “He suddenly goes missing and just turns into a nightmare person?”
“I honestly have no idea. When I found him on the streets he had already become the creature you see now. I offered him a place to stay and a job. That is all I know.” Elias sighed. “Gertrude seems to be out right now, please come back another day to make your statement.”
“I want answers!”
“We do not have them for you. I have already told you all I know about Jon. You are disturbing my employees and I kindly request that you leave. I will not ask you again.”
With an angry huff, Melanie turned on her heel and stomped out of the Archives, leaving Martin to realize he was now alone with Elias. Before he had time to panic about being asked what he was doing in the Archives since he didn’t exactly work there, Elias addressed him. “Can you check on Jon for me? You seem closer to him than I am and I’d like to make sure he’s not too-” Elias glanced at the office door. “Shaken, by what just happened.”
“Sure.” Martin’s brain was still racing with all that he’d just witnessed, the new information he was trying to process. That woman, Melanie, she knew Jon. Before he’d become the Archivist. Part of him wanted to chase her down, to ask her just what she knew. He couldn’t though, not just because he’d be disobeying Elias, but because he needed to see if Jon was ok. Melanie might visit again, then he could ask her.
Cracking open the door to Jon’s office once more, Martin saw that he hadn’t moved from the chair. He’d drawn his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on top of them. “Jon?” Martin asked hesitantly. “Are you alright?”
Lifting his head a few inches, Jon stared at Martin with unfocused eyes. “I’ve... I’ve been better.” He massaged a spot above his left eye with the palm of his hand. “I think... I think something started coming back to me, a memory maybe.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“It doesn’t feel like a good memory.” Jon shook his head sadly before dropping his head back on top of his knees. “I think I want to remember, to find out who I was before I was the Archivist, but I’m not sure.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Martin took a few tentative steps into the office, closing the door behind him. His first impression hadn’t been wrong, the room really was bare. No pictures decorated the walls, and the only thing that seemed out-of-place on his desk was an old-fashioned tape recorder. It stood out among the papers and pens, causing Martin to wonder if Jon also had a fondness for retro things.
“I... I don’t know, to be honest.” Jon let out a breath and glanced up at Martin again. “I think I’m afraid of my memories coming back. I want to know who I was, but I’m scared that if I find out... What if there was a reason I forgot everything?”
Martin took a deep breath, he knew what to say but he wasn’t keen on actually saying it. “Do you want my nightmare?”
Jon’s eyes widened at that. “What?”
“My nightmare, did you want to eat it or-”
“I do...” Jon narrowed his eyes. “I also know you’ve been having it, what, three to four times a week for the past few months. I’m just surprised you're offering now when you didn’t let me take care of it when I asked about it last time.”
“I...” Martin gulped, trying not to think about the dream that had been haunting him. “I don’t want to go through it. Tim told me about what you do, how people have to experience their nightmares in order for you to help them.” He sighed. “I... I don’t want to go in there, but if it will help you...”
“It will. I haven’t had a good nightmare in weeks, maybe over a month.” Jon unfolded his legs, blinking slowly as his gaze became more focused. “The few people who have come to see me, their dreams were... Unsatisfying.”
Martin wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. Jon had mentioned that he preferred bloody nightmares but if that was the case he was going to be disappointed. Martin’s dream was probably too clean for his palate. “Just... Just don’t judge me too much.”
“I won’t.” Jon bit his lower lip, brows narrowing. “Do you mind if I make a record of your nightmare? I can add a filing note so nobody looks at it, or give you a fake name, but Elias...” He trailed off, suddenly unable to meet Martin’s eyes.
Martin did get it, Elias’ deal with Jon meant that if Jon wanted to continue living in the Archives he had to document the nightmares he ate. That didn’t mean the thought of Elias reading about what his employees dreamt about was particularly appealing to him. “Sure.”
“Take a seat.” Jon gestured to the empty chair before his desk and pulled the tape recorder towards him, grabbing his cane with the other hand. Martin sat down, wishing that he had a more comfortable chair to sit in. “Right then. Statement of Martin Blackwood, on his recurring nightmare about his mother.” He pressed the record button with one thin finger. “Sleep now, leave this world behind.”
Martin didn’t have to wonder where he was for very long. The long hallways, with their white tile floors and spotless walls were so horribly familiar to him that it took mere seconds to recognize them. From somewhere in the distance he heard his mother’s voice, calling to him. He couldn’t tell what she was saying, only that her tone of voice was panicked, desperate. She needed him to help her, if only he could find her.
“This is a dreary place.” With a start Martin realized he’d forgotten that Jon would be there with him. “A hospital? Would explain the smell.”
There was a chemical scent to the air that Martin had never really noticed before. Was it because of Jon? Because he was experiencing the nightmare differently? “A care facility. My mother lives here.”
“I’m guessing your relationship with her is strained?” Jon continued to look around, taking in the flickering lights that illuminated the uncomfortable chairs lining the walls. This place seemed to combine parts of the facility: the waiting room where he sat for what felt like hours , the long hallways that he rarely ever walked down, the closed doors that never opened.
“She’s sick,” Martin replied, not wanting to elaborate. He knew that he’d offered his nightmare up to Jon, but that didn’t mean he was willing to go into detail about how she was avoiding him.
Sensing his discomfort, Jon stared down one of the corridors. “You just need to find her, right?”
“Yeah. I guess so.” Martin did try to look for his mother every time he had this nightmare, running down hallway after hallway, trying to open doors but finding them locked. Eventually he’d manage to open one, only to end up in another endless hall. His mother’s voice was consistent, always calling out to him for help, but no matter how he tried, she never sounded any closer.
“Do you know which room she’s staying in?”
“What?”
“Is there a room number or anything? Some way for us to find her?” Jon looked the hallway over, taking in the seemingly endless number of doors.
“Three-hundred and sixty-two.” Martin hadn’t realized that he’d memorized the number.
“This hall seems to be the six-hundreds,” Jon looked down the other hall, his expression unreadable. “This one’s in the thousands.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s a dream, it doesn’t have to make sense.” Leaning on his cane, Jon sighed. “Which one should we go down?”
“You’re letting me choose? You don’t know?” Martin was surprised, he’d expected Jon to have some supernatural ability to find his mother.
“This is your nightmare, Martin. I’m not the one who can find her.” Martin blinked at him, and Jon let out a breath. “I can’t manipulate your dream, I’m just a bystander here.”
“Left.” There wasn’t any particular reason that Martin picked a direction, he just knew it was better than standing around. It didn’t seem to matter at first, the numbers on the doors they passed had no pattern, the end of the hallway never seemed to grow any closer, and his mother’s voice didn’t become any clearer. After what felt like half an hour of walking, he stopped. “Is this doing anything? I feel like all this walking is pointless.”
Jon stared at him, his gaze calm as he looked Martin over. “Do you want to find her?”
“What do you mean?” Martin’s voice sounded wrong to his own ears. Higher-pitched, maybe? “She’s my mum, she needs me.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.” Jon sank to the floor, his back against the wall as he stretched his left leg out in front of him. “Do you want to find your mother? Or is there some part of you that hopes you don’t find her?”
“Why- Why would you say that?”
“You mentioned she’s sick, that’s the reason she stays here. You claim she needs you and yet your nightmare is being unable to find her.” Jon stared at him, those green eyes seeming to see through him. “I suspect a part of you doesn’t want to find her, which is why we can’t.”
It was as though his nightmare was a puzzle he’d been struggling to solve but now the pieces had started to line up. “I took care of her for years... I dropped out of school to care for her, I spent so much of my life looking after her and then she suddenly wanted to move here. She never answers my calls, never lets me see her.”
“You resent her for it.” It wasn’t a question, it was as though Jon were merely stating a fact. “You gave up so much for her, your childhood, getting an education. Then she pushed you away without warning, without explanation.”
“Yes.” In his heart Martin knew what Jon was saying was true. He did feel some animosity towards his mother for how she treated him. She’d always been difficult, but he felt like there was a reason she acted so harshly towards him. He just wasn’t entirely sure what it was, or if he wanted to find out.
“I told you already, this is a dream. You can do whatever you want in here. You can tell your mother how you feel about her.” Jon rose to his feet, leaning on the wall for support. “You know how to find her, you just have to allow yourself to do so.”
Thinking about it, Martin realized he did know. He’d stared at the facility’s map for long enough in the waiting room that it was practically ingrained in his mind. He knew which hallway he needed to take, where to turn, where the door would be.
“Follow me.” For once, Martin felt like he was in control of this nightmare. It took a matter of minutes before they were in front of a pristine white door, 362 in gleaming silver numbers. He took a deep breath and reached for the handle.
His mother’s room was just as he remembered, although Martin had only seen it a handful of times. The walls had been painted a pale yellow, he supposed it was meant to be a calming color, but the flickering lightbulb always made it look sickly. The far wall held a window, partially hidden behind white curtains, but nothing was visible through it. His mother sat in a chair next to the bed, unmoving. Her long, grey hair hid her face but Martin could tell by her posture that she wasn’t pleased to see him. Her hands rested in her lap, mostly covered by the maroon jumper she wore, but he could see that they’d been clenched into fists.
“You called for me?” Martin tried his best to keep his voice steady, but it was hard. Just the sight of her made him uneasy, he already felt his shoulders tense in preparation for whatever scolding she’d give him.
“Why are you here?” Her voice was cold, sending a chill down his spine. When Martin didn’t answer, his mother raised her head, her hair shifting enough for him to see her glaring at him. He had her eyes but hers seemed colder, harsher in the dim light. “What are you doing here, Martin?”
His courage had abandoned him. He wanted to run, to leave this place so he didn’t have to feel the full force of her anger. Then a hand rested on his shoulder and Martin turned to see Jon was still there, his green eyes somehow comforting. Right, he’d almost forgotten that this was a dream.
“I came...” Despite knowing that none of this was real, that this wasn’t really his mother it was still hard to muster up the courage to speak his mind. “I came to say goodbye.”
“What?” It was just one word but it seemed sharp as a knife, slicing through his resolve.
“I think I get it, why you treat me the way you do. I tried to ignore it, to pretend that maybe it was because you're sick, but that’s not it.” He sighed, clenching his fists and pressing them to his sides to keep them from shaking. “You don’t like me. I don’t know why, maybe you hate the way I fuss over you. Maybe it’s something else. Still, you’ve gone so far out of your way to ignore me, to push me away, and I can’t think of another reason why.”
His mother’s eyes narrowed even more. “I don’t dislike you, Martin.” For a brief moment Martin felt hope flutter in his chest. Then he saw the look on her face and he knew it was for nothing. “I hate you.”
Jon’s hand on his shoulder tightened, but Martin felt like it was closing around his heart. He knew this was a dream, but this version of his mother had been created from his own mind. It was how he saw her, how he believed she saw him. She wouldn’t have said that if it wasn’t what he believed deep, deep down. It hurt, yes, but it also felt freeing. Like he didn’t have to try to make her love him anymore, because she never would.
“Martin...” Jon’s voice was quiet and understanding, as though he were trying to be comforting.
“I’m fine, Jon.” Martin took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”
His mother hadn’t moved from her chair, hadn’t done more than lift her head. It was like she was waiting for him to respond. A part of Martin thought he understood what was happening. She wanted him to be sad, to cry and grovel for her to forgive and love him. This caricature of his mother wanted him to be miserable. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction, even in a dream.
“I’m sorry, mum.” Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes but he blinked them away. He would not let her see him cry. “I’m sorry that nothing I do is ever good enough. I’m sorry that I can’t be the son you wanted me to be, whoever that was.” Martin stared his mother directly in the eye as he continued to speak. “I am not, however, going to apologize for who I am.”
“You’re a disappointment.” While her words felt like a slap to the face he was expecting them now, and was able to brush away the pain.
“To you, maybe. To others I’m kind. I’m funny. I’m hardworking.” Martin sighed, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “I’m proud of who I’ve become, even if you aren’t.”
Without waiting for a response, Martin turned on his heel and walked out of the room. He continued down the hallway until he felt like he was far enough away that she couldn’t hear him. Then Martin sat down heavily, his back against the wall, and cried. He wasn’t quite sure just why he was crying, whether he was sad from the realization that his mother probably did hate him or relief that he no longer felt the need to please her.
“Are you alright?” Martin looked up to see Jon standing over him, one hand fiddling with a loose thread on his purple jumper. “I am aware that sometimes... Dreams can be a bit overwhelming...”
“It’s... I’m fine.” Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand Martin got to his feet. “I kinda knew all along, how she felt about me. I just didn’t want to accept it.” He tried to take deep breaths and calm down. “I feel better though. I know it wasn’t really her, but it still felt good to tell her how I felt.”
“That can also happen.” It was strange, seeing this man who walked through nightmares regularly, looking so uncomfortable when it came to dealing with human emotions. It was a bit cute, the way his cheeks darkened and he bit his lip as he struggled to avoid meeting Martin’s gaze.
“Thank you, Jon.” The color in Jon’s cheeks only deepened.
“What?”
“Thank you.” Martin managed a shaky smile. “I... I know that I didn’t want to deal with this nightmare, with her. I was in denial, about my mother. I knew, y’know. I knew she hated me, deep down. I just didn’t want to admit it. Some part of me kept hoping that if I tried hard enough she’d love me.”
“Martin-” Jon tried to say something but Martin cut him off.
“I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of lying to myself.” It felt good to say the words aloud, like an affirmation to himself. “I gave up so much of my life trying to make her love me, but clearly nothing I do will be enough. So I’m done with her. I can’t live my life trying to please someone who will never be happy with anything I do.”
To Martin’s surprise, Jon offered up a shy smile, his eyes shining in a manner that wasn’t supernatural. “Ready to go back?”
“Yeah. I think I am.” It was the truth. He no longer had to fear coming back to this place. He might never visit the care facility again, not unless he was asked to. Martin could live his life the way he wanted to, without fear of his mother’s disapproval.
“It’s time to wake up.” The dream fell away into static.
Martin lifted his head and blinked several times as the room came into focus. He didn’t remember where he was at first, or what had happened. Why had he fallen asleep in such an uncomfortable chair?
“Are you alright?” A familiar voice pierced through the fog clouding his thoughts and he squinted to see a man staring at him from behind a desk, green eyes concerned. Right. He’d let Jon do his nightmare thing. Bits of the dream were coming back to him, and for once he felt well-rested.
“‘M fine.” Martin yawned and stretched.
“Some people find the transition back to the waking world a bit... Disconcerting. Especially if they didn’t like what their nightmare had to show them.” Jon pressed the eject button on the tape recorder and took something out of it. The object was shaped like a cassette tape, but oddly transparent. An image shifted inside it, and when Martin squinted he could see the endless hallways he’d left behind. Jon held the object up to the light, examining it.
“Is... Is that my nightmare?” His voice sounded oddly high-pitched to his own ears.
“Yes. The recorder compresses it into a tangible form.” Martin watched as Jon brought the tape to his mouth and took a bite from it, chewing it slowly as though savoring the flavor. His stomach churned, he’d forgotten about how Jon actually ate the dreams. “It’s a bit sour. You’ve been in pain a long time.”
“What?”
“Your nightmare, it’s like a grape that’s gone bad. That usually means the dreamer has been suffering for a while. You should have seen me sooner.”
“Forgive me for not wanting to share that with a stranger.” Martin muttered, and Jon’s eyes widened.
“I didn’t- I just mean that...” He sighed and ran a hand down his face before taking another bite of the dream. “I wish I could have helped you before now. I know we’re practically strangers, but still...”
Heat flooded Martin’s cheeks. He hadn’t meant for Jon to hear that, hadn’t meant to sound so ungrateful. “You did help me. I...” He sighed. “I don’t like asking for help, that’s all.”
The clock on the wall chimed and Martin realized with a jolt that it was already eight PM. He’d meant to go grocery shopping after work. “I should be going, I didn’t expect things to take so long and-” He stopped, seeing the light leave Jon’s eyes. “Thank you, I appreciate you helping me.”
“You’re welcome.” Jon’s voice was quiet as Martin left, and it took all his willpower not to look back before he closed the office door.
“Wait, you’re telling me that not only did you meet the Archivist, but he actually ate your nightmare?” Tim’s mouth hung open, his sandwich forgotten in his hand. It had been nice to have the weekend to process what had happened with Jon, but Martin felt like he’d had to share it when he returned to the Institute on Monday. “What was it like?”
“Kinda freeing? I feel a lot better than I did.” Martin took a bite of his takeaway, chewing it thoughtfully.
“I tried to go down to the Archives and see him the other day, but he wasn’t there. One of the assistants told me he was busy.” Tim frowned and Sasha shot him a look. “What? We know he’s real, I wanted to meet the guy. See if he’s as attractive as Martin seems to think he is.”
“Tim!” Martin felt his cheeks flush. He hadn’t actually described Jon in any detail, not to them. His interactions with Jon, what had happened when that woman had visited, going into his nightmare. They felt private, like if he were to share his experiences with Tim or Sasha they wouldn’t feel as special. It was probably nothing, being the Archivist, Jon dealt with loads of people, went into tons of nightmares. Still, Martin wanted to believe that there might be some connection between the two of them.
“What? I just wanted to-”
“Um...” Martin looked up from his food to see Jon standing there, next to their table. He wore a different jumper than he had on Friday, green instead of purple, and a dark blue skirt that fell to his ankles. It was unfair how nice he looked. “I just wanted to check if you were alright, after everything that happened Friday.”
“Y- Yeah, I’m good. Do you always check on people you help?” Martin felt the need to ask. He didn’t want to get his hopes up.
“Wait-” Tim pointed at Jon with his half-eaten sandwich. “Are you the Archivist? The nightmare guy?”
To his credit Jon didn’t get angry, or run away at Tim’s lack of tact. “I... Yes? I’m the Archivist.”
Tim shot Martin a sidelong glance that Martin thought he understood without having to ask. Really? You find this attractive?
“Huh, Martin wasn’t lying. You are real.”
“Tim!”
“Fine, fine.” Tim raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Sash and I can find another table to gossip at.”
“No, I wasn’t planning on staying long.” Jon nibbled at his lower lip, his cheeks were flushed again and he didn’t look any of them in the eye. “I don’t usually see most of my clients again, so I don’t have the ability to check up on them. I wasn’t sure you’d be in the canteen but I figured I should look.”
“Thank you, Jon. I appreciate it.”
“I’m glad you’re doing better. If you need my help again don’t hesitate to ask.” Without giving anyone a chance to respond Jon walked away, leaving Martin to deal with his friends.
“So...” Sasha took a sip of her drink. “That happened.”
“That’s the Archivist? Him?” Tim let out a breath. “Not at all what I expected from ‘guy who eats nightmares.’ He dresses like a grandmother.”
“What did you expect?” Martin took another bite of his curry but he no longer felt hungry. Why had Jon come to check on him? Was it just out of concern or was there something more?
“He looks so... human.” Sasha muttered. “I can’t imagine what it’s like.”
“Is that really your type, Martin?” Tim waggled his eyebrows.
“Leave it, Tim. Does it matter?”
Martin ignored them. He really didn’t care what they thought about his taste in men, or anything else for that matter. He felt different now that he was free from the nightmare that had been plaguing him for months. Lighter. More confident. Like he might be able to tell Tim to mind his own business for once.
Still, there were some things that he couldn’t stop thinking about. The girl who’d come to ask for Jon’s help had known who he was, before he became the Archivist. People had been looking for him, he’d just disappeared one day and become something that was no longer human. Apparently he looked the same as he used to, he shared the same name, and yet there was no record of him online. Some part of him was jealous of the girl, that she had known a Jon that Martin might never get the chance to see. Another part of him was sad that Jon couldn’t remember any of that life, and that the thought of getting his memories back was more terrifying than the nightmares he ate.
The Archivist, a dream-eater, a man with no recollection of his past. It was a mystery that Martin longed to unravel, to learn the truth about just how Jon had ended up the way he was. There was more to it though. Martin had seen the look on Jon’s face when he’d been yelled at by the girl. The terror in his eyes as she berated him, despite not even knowing who she was.
He wanted to know more about Jon, the man was so mysterious and he was curious as to just what had happened to him. There was more to it though, Martin was a caretaker by nature. He’d cared for his mother for most of his life, and while he would no longer do that, that didn’t mean that the urge to look after people was gone. Jon needed help. He needed a friend to talk to, to have someone willing to listen to him talk about the gruesome nightmares he visited or to take his mind off how bored he was.
A friend.
Well, it was a good place to start.