Prologue

The nightmares were too sweet.

The God of Dreams could still remember the night he first tasted one and his mouth salivated at the memory. Nothing in his memory was ever fragmented as his mind was whole and absolute. He could remember the human, her name, where she lived and what she looked like. He could remember every millisecond of the nightmare and oh, how it tasted.

He was supposed to banish the nightmares and send them to his realm to be locked in his infinite basement, the pinnacle and most terrifying moment of the nightmare captured as a painting for eternity. He would then give the person a pleasant dream which he would later feast on not due to hunger but to keep his soul pure.

And yet on that cool moonlit night as he stood towering over Josie Williams in her bedroom at 26 Holly Lane in Oxford a strange urge fell over him. He watched her twitch and writhe in subconscious fear as curiosity filled and completely overwhelmed him.

Josie was only young, a new born. She was not as ugly as most babies and had what most humans would class as a cute face for her age.

A lone curl of blonde hung down the middle of her forehead and her cheeks were rosy and chubby. Her room was overly girly and her parents were clearly too excited to have a daughter. Pink walls, pink carpet, pink crib, pink blanket. Pink everything. If the girl had any sense she would grow up with a phobia of the colour.

It was enough to give him a headache although he had never suffered from such inconveniences. His hatred of the decor was a minor nuisance and he had to make sure she slept, just like he had to make sure everybody in the world slept. Although he usually kept a schedule he had found himself in her room before anyone else's. He had bypassed many houses and many souls just to reach her. It was as if something was calling to him and stirring a part of his soul that had been hidden for millennia.

It would later be unknown to him as to why after so long the evil part of his soul had chosen to surface on that night. Maybe it was sick of being restrained. Maybe he was evil all along.

He could never see nightmares as they were trapped deep within the mind yet there was no mistaking the whimpers of terror, the beads of sweat peppering foreheads and the violent thrashing as their muscles spasmed in gut wrenching panic.

Josie was a prime example of the effects of unconscious fear.

Strangely it was not her nightmare that had drawn him to her. It was just a normal job, newborns and children struggle to sleep on their own and require some persuasion. The God of Dreams had done as he always did, removed a small pouch that resembled an old and faded coin purse from his coat and sprinkled iridescent sand on to her eyelids. She fell asleep in seconds and yet her nightmare was instantaneous. This was a rare thing especially for one so young. She was new to this world, her soul almost completely pure and untainted. She should have nothing to fear. She should not be having nightmares.

The God of Dreams scratched his head as he watched her twitching and writhing while that strange compulsion and curiosity further filled his mind. To him dreams and nightmares were always perceived as we humans would see a piece of fruit. The nightmares always looked rotten and the dreams always looked succulent. But tonight was different. Everything was different.

Despite how rotten and rancid nightmares looked he had always wondered what they tasted like. Just because something appeared to be horrible didn't mean that's how it was. He had stared into humans souls since the beginning of time and he learned very quickly that humans liked to put up fronts and walls to cower behind. Some hiding a crueller more twisted soul inside themselves while portraying someone who was sickeningly innocent. Others put on a horrible front just because they were scared of being hurt further. Humans put on many faces but those were the most common.

The God of Dreams led a strange existence as curiosity was his main emotion. He had been alive since before time itself and although he could no longer remember how he came into being he remembered his curiosity and the questions. He had infinite questions then and he had infinite questions now. Time was reluctant to provide answers and when one thing was answered another five took its place.

As he stared all the more at Josie's face new questions bubbled to the surface of his brain.

What if nightmares held a front just like humans? Dreams looked lovely but always tasted like ash as if they had lost all purity in seconds or died eons ago. What of nightmares where the opposite?

He always kept the form of a human just in case he was ever seen (not that that would ever happen) and he tugged on the back of his neck as his mind whirred.

His soul was completely pure so... Surely one nightmare wouldn’t hurt?

He nibbled his lip as he tried to foresee the consequences this action would have on him but it was a hazy mystery. There were no others like him in the world so it was up to him. All of what he had become had been based on instinct and a Voice deep within himself that always knew what to do. He would have been lost without The Voice and he often wondered what would have become of his existence without it.

The curiosity within him burned with a white hot urgency and he knew he was powerless to resist the temptation. Even though he was a God he still had an Achilles heel. His curiosity was what fuelled his existence and what would warp it.  

Sighing in resignation he placed his palm on to Josie's head and she stiffened at his icy touch. Despite her closed eyes her expression softened and her muscles relaxed. She even gave a tiny sigh of contentment. When he flashed on her nightmare he couldn't help but notice how ripe and juicy it was. Plus the root of it was bizarre. She didn't fear anything in this world due to her age yet she was dreaming of fear. Fear was what she was afraid of and what she was dreaming of.

His mouth salivated and his stomach grumbled. Both were new and unusual sensations he had never experienced before.

What would be better than the first nightmare of someone’s life?

He never ate the dreams of the elderly or the sick. They contaminated even the deepest depths of their subconscious and the dreams tasted acrid and vile as if they had died years ago. He soon learned that the dreams of the young were best. All their lives ahead of them with their dreams still in one piece, still waiting to be splintered by their own limitations and others expectations. And yet he couldn’t help but wonder would a nightmare ever go bad? Or would the opposite rules apply?

As people aged they became more aware of what a cesspit of evil and violence the world really was and although they hid it well deep within their souls they all trembled and became ever more fearful with each passing year. Would nightmares taste better as people aged and time passed just like a fine vintage?

More questions. More curiosity. More damnation.

The God of Dreams scratched his head all the more. It was the first time he had truly thought about nightmares in such a peculiar and tantalising way.

His mouth salivated all the more.

He still had to try one.

Just one.

And then no more.

Surely one wouldn’t hurt?