The Nocturnal Vol 1 : The Awakening

Chapter 2 part 1

I understood then that I might leave empty-handed. He didn't really leave me much choice, I had to put my cards on the table and give him the real reason for my coming.

- 'I wish to write down my dreams,' I admitted with a breath.

Tim, who until then had been performing his text in a theatrical way, stopped. I had just caught his attention and his tension went down.

- 'What dreams are you talking about? Of those to become rich, powerful, famous? To become an astronaut, a doctor or whatever?'

- 'No, dreams I have every night when I fall asleep.'

- 'But what else? Give me an example.'

And while I told him my morning dream out of obligation, my empathy made me say that he was touched by the images of this universe. I even had the impression that the many wrinkles on his face were fading and he was getting younger. My story ended, a heavy silence began to float when, after a long sigh, Tim invited me to follow him upstairs. I seemed to have passed the test of the local Cerberus and could now access the treasure.

At the top of the small spiral staircase that we slowly climbed, there were long bookshelves on which the famous notebooks were stored. There was a prodigious quantity, all ordered with the greatest care, classified by colour, size and even by material. With my eyes wide open, I methodically examined each shelf, row by row. Delicately, I put my fingers on the binders, stroking them one by one, when one of them called out to me. Made of both soft leather and bark, its soft and rough touch took me out of my contemplation.

- 'Well, that's an interesting choice,' said the owner of a mysterious look when he recovered the structure.

- 'Why do you say that?' I asked frowning, as I walked away from the shelf.

I didn't expect a positive reaction from him. I didn't expect a reaction at all, actually.

- 'This notebook is nothing ordinary. Just like you, he has a history. A story that began hundreds of years ago, if not more. Its paper comes from a willow tree in which a powerful forest elf lived. In ancient times, the Romans used to say a prayer to dislodge these magical beings from the old trees they wanted to cut down. One day, one of the loggers who didn't believe in these stories didn't say the incantation, and the elf who lived there got trapped. It is said that its power is now trapped in the notebooks that were made from its wood. He's asleep.'

- 'There are only legends...' I protested falsely jaded.

- 'Who spoke of legends?' he strangled himself. 'Don't you believe in magic, you, the great dreamer? Do you think events are just matter of chance? You think you chose your notebook, but it was really it that chose you. It's been waiting for you. Look, he said as he handed me the book.'

I grabbed the book and gently passed my hand over the cover, the softness of the leather contrasting with the roughness of the bark. I opened it and scrolled through the leaves starting at the end. A beautiful thick white paper that emitted the smell so characteristic of old books. At first glance, there was nothing special or fantastic about it, but on the last page, when I had finished scrolling through them all, a tiny inscription appeared.

The Dream shatters the silence.

Was that a sign? I frowned again and looked over the inscription again. In any case, I had just found the grimoire of my dreams. From the corner of my eye, I noticed the slight smile on the owner's lips, who seemed almost as happy as I was. Strange... Nevertheless, when the time came to pay, I understood his contentment better. The price was a little high, the equivalent of nine months' pocket money. I will have to ease off a little bit on theatres and all the other expenses that my parents consider " secondary ". I will also try to negotiate an increase with them by finding a plausible excuse later. I took the credit card out of my wallet and handed it to the owner.

- 'What do you plan to do with this piece of plastic?'

- 'To pay,' I naively replied.

- 'I don't have a machine, I only take cash!'

- 'I don't walk around with that kind of money on me.'

- 'You have a distributor around the corner. Don't worry, I'll keep your book.'

I hurried to make a withdrawal and come back. I put the tickets on the old counter and watched him avidly count the result of his sale.

Nevertheless, I greeted him and left his shop with a smile on my face. I was proud of myself. An exhilarating and rather new feeling. This morning had been rich in "real" adventures. I briefly recalled the multitude of treasures in this old shop and the contrast between its rich interior and its worrying facade. Suddenly, my stomach began to twist in all directions. The clock in the street indicated 1:30 pm, which further increased my hunger. I rushed home: a small one-level house, bordered by a few metres of garden, not to say a small garden, in a residential area in the inner suburbs. It resembled the neighbour's house, which resembled the neighbour's house, which itself resembled all the houses of other neighbours. Copy-and-paste of one another.

When I finally got home, I headed straight to my favourite room, the kitchen. The house was empty. A prince in his kingdom. My parents, bakers by trade, were often absent, whether for their work, which took them an infinite amount of time, or for their leisure time. A situation which, I must confess, was not to displease me. I gathered on the table a crispy bread baguette from Dad's oven, ham, fruity Gruyere, fresh salad and virgin olive oil from the mill in order to make a good sandwich as I liked them. It smelled the nice taste of Provence! Every time I finished my baguette, the image of my mother telling me that it was better to have me on picture rather than at the dinner table came to my mind. I finished cleaning the table before I went to my room.