The Stranger - Max Frei [63]
I built an elegant barricade of amulets and touched my neck to make sure that the magic rag was still there. Then I lay down in bed with a distinct feeling of despair. I flipped through a book for a while. Sleep crept into my eyes stealthily and quickly, although at first I was sure that today’s experiment might fail due to “technical difficulties.” To tell the truth, I usually get insomnia from fear and stress. But not tonight. I felt as though I’d been pumped full of sleeping pills; and I bet that Freddy Kruger next door had seen to it that his patient had no problems with fitful sleep. I must remember to ask Juffin whether that was true, I thought, falling asleep. Then again, why bother. Wasn’t it obvious?
This time the nightmare wasn’t as horrid. I was conscious of the fact that I was sleeping. I remembered who I was, why I was there, what I was waiting for, and so forth. I didn’t feel Juffin’s presence, but at least I knew who he was subconsciously.
I lay on my dining room table again, in the usual ostentatious serving-dish pose. The curtains, of course, had been parted by some invisible jerk, so I couldn’t escape the lovely view of the ancient palace. My heart tightened in terror, as if an invisible hand was giving me painful intramuscular injections, but for the moment I had the strength to resist. To my great surprise, I even started getting angry. Of course, anger didn’t help me in any way; but then again, I didn’t know what would happen next. In any case, I latched onto this rage, as it seemed to me to be one of the better alternatives to fear.
Some wretch won’t let me get a good night’s sleep in my own house, which I pay good money for, for crying out loud! Some foul, loathsome thing is preventing me from getting any rest! And instead of a suspenseful nightmare, I am being subjected to this moronic boredom, I told myself angrily. I did all I could to get myself worked up. And I ended up getting myself worked up with a vengeance.
Good show, Max! Juffin’s voice in my head interrupted my furious inner monologue. Good show, and it’s working! Now try to be scared again. Your fright is excellent bait. If you don’t show any fear at all, this thing might leave you alone. And we have to lure it out of its foxhole somehow. Be a good boy now, act as if you’re giving up.
It’s easy enough to tell someone to “be scared.” By then I was ready to go on a rampage and smash everything in sight. On the crest of my own righteous anger, I think I was nearing victory over the horrible stupor that had turned me into the most helpless creature in the universe.
One good thing about this kind of situation is that if you really want to be frightened, then all the scary stories in the world of nightmares are at your disposal. I needed only to focus on the dark triangular window in the house across the street, and the pathway of sand leading from it, and all my anger turned to a fear that was almost panic. By way of experiment, and for my own emotional well-being, as well, I tried to get angry again. It worked! I enjoyed being able to change my own mood at will. Not having to choose the lesser of two evils, but rather having both at my command—that was variety for you!
At last I managed to find a balance between fear and anger: to be frightened, but not to the point of losing all other feeling; to be angry, but to remain conscious of my own helplessness.
Then the hand inside the darkness again threw a fistful of sand, then another, and another. The ghostly path between our windows grew longer. An eternity went by, and a second eternity followed. As a third eternity drew to a close, my heart again tried to refuse to take part in the drama, but I was able to negotiate with it. I could have woken up, but I didn’t feel like waiting until tomorrow to see the next episode. If Juffin wanted to get a glimpse of the star in this matinée, I would try to give him the pleasure. I would tolerate as much as I could, and then just a bit more. It was sort of like going to the dentist: the kind of