CARTER – The Nightmare

The Chronicles of Samuel Carter – Chapter Four

Aug 02, 2023

Foreword

This is the fourth of seven chapters of Part One of The Chronicles of Samuel Carter, where our main protagonist, Samuel, is tormented by nightmares.

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Part One

The Nightmare

Upon his return to London, he barely slept, night after night, trapped in the same nightmare, a black block of stone inside a chamber. A feeling of dread and panic strangled his senses. The stone cracked open with the poisonous hissing of a thousand snakes. Darkness spread around him, and inside, even darker, a shape emanating a humming sound, utter despair and death, a cosmic eye, a lidless stare, void of life, suffocating him. Gasping for air, his pulse throbbing in his ears, he would lie awake, listening to the sounds of the night, thankful for every familiar noise. The gurgling flush of a toilet, the creaking of floorboards, the slow drip of a leaking faucet somewhere above, the rhythmic thumping from the bedroom next door, the sudden convulsive coughing of Mrs Saganaki across the hall, drowned by the obligatory wailing of sirens followed by the hydraulic heaving of a garbage truck, culminating in the schizophrenic howling of little Rooster, irrevocably announcing the break of day.

He got out of bed naked and shuffled to the kitchen in his pink slippers, one of the many things that once belonged to his mother, still lingering in the apartment, like the mauve blossom kimono he gave her on her last birthday, never worn until now. Rifling through the cupboard, he found the sealed boxes of Gunpowder tea he had bought her years ago. All cups were dirty, and the sink was full of dishes from before the expedition, crusted fossils from another life. Incomprehensible how everything had changed in such a short span, yet here he was, not one clean cup left.

The tea tasted stale. “Drink your tea,” his mother would have said. So he drank. The doorbell rang; he wanted to ignore it.

“Mr Carter. Are you home, Mr Carter?” It was Mrs Saganaki.

She knew he was home. The bell was her instrument of inescapable summoning. A sudden urge came over him. He wanted to set that old crone on fire. Melt the foul flesh from her rotten bones. A shrieking, shrivelling torch of misery and malice. He gulped, horrified by the temptation.

Mrs Saganaki rang again, “Mr Carter!”

He closed his kimono and went to the door, opening it enough to peek out.

“Mr Carter. Did I wake you? I’m terribly sorry, but the mailman dropped this off for you while you were gone. I thought I best give it to you now before I leave. It’s from the institute!”

“Thank you, Mrs Saganaki.”

“Is everything alright, dear?” she leaned forward as he drew the envelope in, hoping to catch a glimpse of any morsel fit to fuel later discourse.

“Yes, thank you,” he closed the door, leaning against it and slowly sank to the floor. Opening the letter, he read, “…requesting your immediate presence—” He repeated the words, struggling to grasp their meaning.

Stirred by the clacking of heels across the hall, followed by hushed voices, he knew the coven had convened.

“What did he say? Did they sack him? Did you ask about the apartment?” rasped Mrs T in her deep, smoke-ridden voice.

“He had it coming. Anyone could see. Remember last year? Running off like that at her funeral, what a disgrace that was,” harped Mrs E in her high pitch.

“He didn’t say anything, really. Good lord, the look of him… Unshaven, uncombed and wearing her kimono! Completely off his rocker, no doubt about it,” said Mrs Saganaki.

“Oh my goodness, she’d turn in her grave, she would,” declared Mrs E.

“Terrible, terrible affair that. What a shame. He will have to sell the apartment in the end,” said Mrs T.

Heels clattered. A door opened, then closed. He could hear them no more.

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