Midnight Shriek

The Sandman

Hark, Muse, for the mightiest of nightmares may plague you otherwise. The furious and infamous dream weaver is angered. He prowls the streets of the Hollywood hills in the moonlight, pacing between alleys and bars, bringing sweet dreams to the children and vicious maras set free on the adults.  So sing sweet, muse, for should you speak out on him, he may taunt your sleepy dreams.

The man of yellow, Benzedrine, may spin around and around on the carousel, the king of nightmares at his side, his back, his neck, always pressed close and murmuring the most glamorous of daydreams to him. Trapped of his own hubris and creative mind, doomed forever to sing the words of the Sandman whispered in his ear.
"You can feign innocence with full knowledge of oneself,
Courteous chivalry faintly veiling your boisterous heroism,
Time, Time, Time, have you told another yet?
I apologize, I happened to have lost a hold on my Love."
He sang, dizzy from the lights and the carousel spinning.

Every day another celebrity came to fame, and every day another came to rest in Faded Memory, washed up on another shore, far from Hollywood Hills' own. The Hills last all seasons, all the time. The most popular for vacation would be the Hills themselves, "Pueblo de Los Angeles Caidos" abbreviated L.A. to stand for "The Angels." There are the Autumn Oakwoods, " اوكوود الخريف " a common residential area for the young ones, the dreamers being played like puppets by corporate, the new fad, the newest merch line.

The Vindictive Sandman lives in the Verboten Forrest, where the hellish demons arise and roam, the dreams are woven like tapestries and churned out into the world like candy bars. Pixies dance and demons play there, the twisty, charred, black branches that seemingly creep closer as you walk, birds and bugs and snakes spying on you with golden ember eyes.

The nightmare spinster paced the floor of his silver cottage, ornate and excessive. It looked like it was made of mercury, silvery and smooth and wavering. The fireplace was cold, ashes of a blazing roar thrown about inside, ruminants of warm destruction. Forth from the black flames would demons arise, born and dying on a spinning cycle. The sandman paid no mind, for he ruled all and none would touch him if they valued their sanity and life.

The sandman would never sleep, his weary-eyed gaze accompanied with bruise-like circles beneath his eyes, his eyelids lowering rhythmically in time with his spinning wheel's beat ever so slowly before he would catch himself. Never, not once in his lifetime had he fallen asleep, as it could be dangerous for the worlds inhabitants.

Then soon the dream weaver would return to the cheery, bright carousel, whisper into Benzedrine's ear, and repeat his actions. There was only one instance when his routine would change. Once, after the work of the carousel, the beautiful, golden, doll-like Doctor Benzedrine invited him over to his home for a cup of tea.

There is one thing the Sandman cannot resist, besides the torment of people around him, and this one folly is the good sir, Doctor Benzedrine. The doctor is calm, sweet, and gentle. He calculates every move, works meticulously and rarely makes a mistake. He is clad in an all three piece suit with a pocket watch and cravat, as well as a top hat. He makes his moves diligently.

The Sandman enters the foyer, inspecting all the art on the walls. Feathers, potion bottles, and books of every kind litter the room like a birds nest woven with yarn and straw. The Kind Benzedrine offers him a mug of tea with a silky smooth smile, "Jasmine, with honey and lavender." he says, placing it snugly into Sandman's hands.

He would greet the smile back as a raven would crow, a dip of his head in a jerky nod, his smile painted over his face so long and permanent that it would startle one to see a true grin, accompanied with a melancholy quiet, "Thank you, Mister Benzedrine." They sit down by Benzedrine's fireplace, alive and warm, crackling and smelling of maple wood, almost sweet like spun sugar or fairy floss. Sandman downs his tea, finding himself calm like a serene lake, and find solace in Benzedrine's home and presence. He sinks into Benzedrine's teddy bear brown velvet armchair, quietly admiring his features in the warmth of the fire light. He notes to him, "You have such flawless porcelain skin, and dazzling apple green eyes. Everything about you is perfect, it's no wonder you're the darling star of the Hills."