Frankie Newell was nervous.
He did not like visitors. In fact, he didn’t like people at all. Even his father, who owned the farm where Frankie’s little cottage was nestled, didn’t disturb him unless it was critical. Other than his weekly trip into town for groceries, he rarely saw another soul. He could count the number of people who had his address on one hand, yet the knocking at his door came again.
Rap pap pap pap… Rap pap pap pap…
Eight knocks felt very presumptuous to Frankie. Three was polite, and four was borderline acceptable. But eight? It only served to heighten his anxiety. He hugged his cat tightly to his chest as he walked down the hall, unbolted the three locks, and cautiously opened the door.
The man standing in the doorway was short, even compared to Frankie, who was 5’7”. He was almost a dwarf, and he wore a top hat that made his appearance somewhat comical.
“Can I help you?” Frankie eyed the small man’s briefcase apprehensively.
Oh no. A salesman.
“I hope I can help you.”
“Oh. Um. What are you selling then?”
“Dreams,” the little man said.
Frankie waited for the short-statured salesman to elaborate, but he did not.
“What do you mean by… actually, I’m not interested in any vacations or anything else. I have everything I need already, and I’m quite happy. Thank you.”
The little man smiled an excessively toothy grin that made Frankie uncomfortable. “Dreams,” he repeated.
Frankie was bad at social situations. He didn’t understand what this man wanted, so he asked out of polite desperation, hoping that by letting him say his piece, he would go away. “How does one buy dreams exactly?”
“It’s effortless!” the man said, his eyes lighting up. “You simply tell me what kind of dream you want while you sleep tonight. Easy as that!”
Frankie was wracking his brain to find the best way to get rid of this diminutive madman.
“And you’re in luck, my friend! The first customer today to ask about the dreams gets their first one free. No strings attached! It’s a deal that can’t be beaten, and I think you’d agree that no rational person, especially not a clearly smart man such as yourself, could turn this brilliant offer down!”
The little man started pumping his arms in excitement, and Frankie’s discomfort grew.
“I’m very sorry, but—”
“You just tell me what kind of dream, and it will be done tonight!” He paused and leaned in closer. “What do you have to lose?” He winked, and his toothy smile grew even wider.
Frankie wanted more than anything for this conversation to end, but he didn’t know how to end it. However, a small part of him was curious. “So, you’re saying I can have one of these dreams free, and I don’t have to pay or sign up for anything?”
“Correct!” the little man said enthusiastically, hopping from foot to foot. “Just fill out this order form, check the boxes you want, and it’s done. No credit card required!”
He pulled a colorful notepad out of his briefcase, tore off the top sheet, and handed it to Frankie. There were three boxes at the very top to fill out.
Name:
Type of Dream (see legend):
Length of Dream:
Frankie scribbled his name in the first box, then paused at the second. Underneath these questions were dozens of boxes in assorted sizes and varying fonts. He flipped the sheet to the back and saw rows and rows of additional choices. He scanned over these options, which ranged from forest paradise and other euphoric-sounding names near the top, to dreadful options like imprisoned torment at the bottom.
Frankie started reading several of these aloud, and the little man interjected.
“May I make a recommendation?” he flipped the form back over and pointed his stubby finger to an option in the first column.
Exotic Bliss.
“One of the most popular selections. You will love it!”
“I don’t even know what I’m signing up for. How does this work? What does it entail?”
The salesman looked at Frankie the way a sympathetic parent might look at a child, tilting his head in a you’ll see gesture.
“Okay,” Frankie said meekly, feeling overwhelmed and confused.
“You have to check the box.”
He did so, and the small man snatched away the pad with his patented grin. “I’ll handle the rest. Sleep tight tonight, Frankie. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Frankie slid the bolts back into place and stared at the back of his door. The whole interaction had felt like an illusion. He tried to put the surreal episode out of his mind, and by that evening, he had convinced himself that the peculiar man who’d come to his door was deranged. If he saw him again, he would call the police.
That night, Frankie dreamed he was on a tropical island. Yet it wasn’t a dream at all; he felt fully awake. He was walking on a beach, the impossibly white sand warm on his bare toes. His pasty skin wasn’t damp like it usually became at the first hint of sun. Standing on the shore with her ankles in the water was the most beautiful woman Frankie had ever seen. He approached her, feeling no timidness. She turned to look at him and took his hand.
“My name is Bertina,” she said.
They spent hours together, hiking through perfectly cut paths in the lush foliage and wading in the gentle waves. She hung on his every word, marveling at every mundane detail of his life.
At the end of the beach was a magnificent shack with an oversized hammock in front, where she lay her head on his chest as they watched the sun dip under the horizon. He kissed her passionately, in truth his first ever kiss. She told him it was incredible. He didn’t know this type of euphoria existed.
Frankie awoke in his bed feeling indescribable fulfillment, and he wanted more. He knew it had been a dream, yet it felt as tangible as the reality he had returned to. He swung his legs off the side of his bed and recoiled at the sticky carpet underfoot. Downstairs, he ate his cereal without a word, eyeing the door.
Will that funny little man come back?
Can he send me back to the island?
What will it cost?
The cost didn’t matter; he had experienced something remarkable, and he needed it back.
Rap pap pap pap… Rap pap pap pap…
Without thinking, Frankie leaped out of his chair and sprinted down the hall. Realizing how desperate he must seem, he paused, took a few deep breaths, and slowly unbolted the door.
“Oh, you again. Hello.” Frankie tried to sound disinterested, but his voice cracked with the last syllable.
“Just checking back to see how your sample dream was. Would you be interested in purchasing another? Of course, there’s no obligation. I can—”
“I might be interested,” Frankie interjected before he could stop himself.
“Well, all right then.” The little man broke into the same wide smile. “I can do them for longer if you like. The form I previously gave you is the starter form. I have a more… complete form, if you’re interested.”
He popped open his briefcase and brought out a booklet as thick as a Bible. It looked farcical in the man’s short arms.
“This is the full form. Endless combinations, and I can do them for as long as you want. I don’t usually do this”—he flashed his smile—“but I’d like to give you one more freebee. You seem like a stand-up chap, and I can tell you’ll be a good customer. So, here’s my offer—anything you want, and I’ll make it free.”
Frankie couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “I want to go back to that same island. And be with that girl!”
The little man nodded. “Ah, Bertina.” He raised his eyebrows. “An excellent choice.”
He flipped to different pages, meticulously checking boxes as he went.
“How long would you like? Regardless of how long you set the dream for, in real time, it only lasts one normal sleep cycle. I took the liberty of setting your last dream to twelve hours. I hope that was appropriate.”
“How… long can you make them?” asked Frankie.
“Well, dreaming isn’t an exact science. The longest I can safely make a dream is two years. There are dangers to dreams that long, even though you’ll always wake up after around eight actual hours. The passage of time is a precarious thing. There are some in my business who are pushing for longer dreams, even borderline endless dreams. But those bring up moral issues I generally don’t like to broach. One subject tried a hundred year dream. When he woke up the next morning, he was, well… blank. Just a husk. I ended up having to—”
“Then I want ten years. You said any dream for free, and that’s what I want. I don’t care about these supposed dangers; I’d be happy to never see this farmhouse ever again.”
The little man paused, choosing his words carefully. “True, I did say that. But a dream that long, it does things to the psyche. Even experienced dreamers take caution, and when you eventually come back, you will—”
“I don’t care. I want the same dream. The same one. And I want to be with Bertina. You can do that, yes?”
“I can.”
“Then that’s what I want.”
“Well, that’s—”
“Just do it, you stupid midget!” The seething words were out before Frankie could catch himself, and he immediately regretted saying them. He had tried to retain his composure, but he was desperate. He had to go back.
The smile came back to the little man’s face. “Okay, sir. It’s your decision.” He deftly flipped through his order form book, checking boxes and scribbling notes. “Sweet dreams, Mr. Newell.”
Frankie tried to busy himself with his usual work around the farm for the rest of the day, but everything felt hollow. The hours dragged by until he could no longer stand it. At 6pm, Frankie climbed into his truck and drove forty minutes to the nearest convenience store and bought a bottle of melatonin. His drive back took less than half an hour. The instructions on the back of the bottle said that adults should take one to two pills with water. Frankie took four and put his mouth to the sink faucet, sucking water down as fast as he could. He flipped on his alarm out of habit, stripped down to his underwear, and fell into bed.
Frankie opened his eyes to the soothing sound of the tide. He sat up and saw Bertina with her feet in the ocean. He walked barefoot through the sand and put his arm around her waist.
They spent that first night in the shack on the beach, and not a day went by when they weren’t together.
Frankie was peripherally aware of a whole community of people on the island, but they only ever came onto the private beach to clean the shack and bring whatever food Frankie desired. Things didn’t always make sense, but Frankie accepted these inconsistencies without fully recognizing them. His days were filled with swimming in the ocean, moonlit hikes in the warm outdoors, and dining on the finest food he had ever tasted. All with a woman who was as infatuated with him as he was with her.
One day Frankie proposed to Bertina on a rock overlooking the ocean, and she cried tears of joy. Their first child, a boy, was born the following year. The pregnancy felt like a breeze, and Frankie always understood what was needed. There were no doctors on the island, but he never doubted that the baby would be healthy. He loved that baby boy more than he ever knew was possible, and when Bertina became pregnant again, it was Frankie who wept with happiness.
After four years on the island, Frankie began to forget, possibly by choice, that he was in a dream. He needed it to be real. Sometimes, late in the evening after he had tucked in his children and kissed his wife goodnight, he would climb to the roof of their shack and look out at the stars, breathing in the salty ocean air and unable to imagine a more perfect life for himself. Each day was meaningful, and as the years passed and his children grew, Frankie’s gratification never abated.
He was racing his children along the beach when he heard it. A blaring sound from the sky. At first it was faint, like a faraway siren. Then it was all around him, getting louder and louder. Frankie felt his eyelids tighten, as if a hidden layer of skin was peeling itself back, and everything around him started fading. He tried to fight it, but he was powerless.
The alarm screamed. His eyes snapped open in horror, his vision bleary. He lay still in his cold bed, breathing heavily as his mind tried to reconcile what was happening. Frankie knew this bedroom, but it wasn’t his bedroom. His bedroom was in a shack on the beach, where the ocean lapped at the doorway. Not here, where the walls were peeling and the air smelled like dust.
He lurched out of bed. His underwear was wet at the crotch, and everything was spinning.
Rap pap pap pap… Rap pap pap pap…
He waited. Things were coming back to him in fragments, like little shards of terror.
He stumbled down the stairs, his fingers shaking uncontrollably as he fumbled with the locks. The funny little man was standing on the doorstep, his smile wide, staring at him. Staring into him.
“Hello, Frankie. How was the dream?”
“The… the dream? What… where’s my family? My children. Please, I need my two children.”
“I have no idea if you actually have children, Mr. Newell. We spoke yesterday, and you signed up for a dream. A rather long one, which I did not recommend. But here we are, no point dwelling on past misfortunes.”
Frankie stared with his mouth hanging open. The memories of this place were becoming sharper, and the panic continued to rise. “Please. Let me go back. I’ll do anything. You can have everything I own, just please let me go back.”
The little man paused, letting the desperation hang in the air. “Funny you should mention that, because that’s the exact payment I require for another dream.”
“What is?” Frankie pleaded.
“Everything. The first two dreams are free. But the third will cost you all you own. Which isn’t much, to be honest. This farm and everything on it already belong to me. Do you know why?”
The little man gestured up the path to his father’s house and seemed to take immense satisfaction in what he said next. “It’s because your father chose the exact same dream as you. Living on the exact same beach. And get this—with the exact same woman, Bertina. Isn’t that funny!” The little man let out a high-pitched howl as he doubled-over with laughter. He had tears in his eyes.
“I just came from his house, and he said he had two children with her as well. He signed the deed to the farm over to me in exchange for one more dream with her. Surely you can see the humor, Frankie!”
Frankie’s legs gave out, and he fell sideways against the door’s wooden frame, grasping it for support. None of it was real. Bertina wasn’t real. His children weren’t real. But they were his whole world. And his father had… Frankie slumped all the way to the ground and tucked his legs under his chin.
“I have a contract for you. One year from now, if you work hard enough here on my farm, I will give you another dream. You won’t be able to pick up where you left off. That dream is a vapor. But you can have the same dream if you want. Start over. The beach. Bertina. Make new children—I can make them the same if you like. Your father did.”
Frankie rolled onto his side as the vomit forced its way up his throat and soaked the doormat. He looked up at the little man, who was grinning so widely he looked like a character out of a nightmare.
“Where do I sign?”
