The Conjurer's Charm - The Dream Catcher series (BOOK 1)

4.2 || Easter island ||

Maintaining a frozen muteness for the rest of the day, neither Garron nor Hale cared to speak to him. Every attempt Garron made to cheer up his grandson didn't reach his desired expectation; he wanted to see him enjoying, but his face proved otherwise. He knew bringing up the topic again would irk him, and restricted himself forcefully to keep it that way.

Meals on the first day of the island were served at a dining house at the cabin. Rice, Carpaccio, Tuna, Ceviche were some of the delicacies the tourists tasted and filled their stomachs with. The serving system was done by a waiter, who bought them the food they ordered.

"You need to eat with both your tongue and mind, Alo," said Garron, who noticed that Alwold wasn't involving indulgently with his food.

"No, I'm full, thank you," he replied dully.

His whole day was occupied inside his mind rather than outside, his insides were somewhat aching whenever he thought about his late-night visions and he was too hesitant to seek remedy from anyone, especially from those he knew.

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He spent his evening, daydreaming on the bed at the cabin after convincing Hale and Garron to go to the beach without him. And his night passed the same way as his afternoon; he forced himself to stay awake. Gladly, Hale who noticed him having his eyes open was true to her word and didn't ask him why. Garron slept quickly enough, and Alwold wearing his pyjamas sat hunched with his knees close to his chest on the floor before the glass door, gazing absent-mindedly at the half-moon hanging close to the sea. His mind was agitated as he stared at it, uncertainly as though he could read the answers written on its bright white surface. He sighed heavily, his breath returning with the breeze that hit him. The Moai statues stood like tall silhouettes against the night light. The open curtains behind the glass door let the pearl-white moonlight intrude their cabin and wash it with its brightness. The waves were much stronger and high on this night, but the crashing sound of it wasn't strong to keep Alwold awake for he was beginning to feel his eyes close.

His head felt heavy each time his eyes shut, and he wasn't submitting himself to sleep. After countless times of swinging his tired head, he thought that maybe he could rest thinking that one night's dream wouldn't do any harm, and was on the point of getting up when he noticed movement on the faraway beach.

Something was walking, tall and like a stick. His squinted eyes caught sight of a small black figure, a silhouette, traipsing its way on the coast. When curiosity sprung alive, Alwold turned to ensure if both Hale and his grandfather were asleep. Then he slowly slid open the glass door and went through the narrow opening.

His drowsiness began to wear off now that his attention commanded consciousness. He saw a man on the far coast on his way to—he didn't know where but wanted to see where he was going. Wrinkling his eyelids, he yielded his face out from the balcony farther to get a closer view of the object but pulled himself back after he thought he could be noticeable to anyone at this time awake. He crouched behind the handrail and watched this man now disappearing and reappearing back as he ran past the five monolithic silhouettes, endlessly running to a stop Alwold was curious to find out where. It came to him as a great shock when he stopped by the Moai that stood separated and away from its sibling rocks, facing the inward island. A trillion questions raged inside his head now: Was he a thief? A pirate who wrecked on the shore? What did this man know of this statue? Why is he out at this time of the night? Could he have dreamt of what I dreamt too? But how can two people have the same dream? How can he dream of it the same day as he did then?

His vision was momentarily disabled as he wandered along with these questions in his head; he wondered why on earth at this time of the night someone would give up their sleep to a suspiciously unworthy business, but then he noticed the man acting strange—He revolved around the statue, as though he was searching for something. He toddled on the ground, then hopped around it, examined its face and ran his hands around every area of the rocky surface he could reach. He pressed his face to the chin of the Moai and peered up inside its nostrils. This made Alwold think—It was only that night he dreamt of sliding down through the throat of that Moai statue, and maybe he was trying to find a way in.