Published: 31 Oct 2021
Dream Catcher
Mrs. Lopez noticed the smell first and told her neighbor, Mrs. Greyson, who came over and agreed that something was going bad next door.
“Who’s renting the place now since the Sancho’s moved out?” Mrs. Greyson wondered.
“I’ve seen him once or twice coming in late at night, but he didn’t look like somebody I wanted to talk to. They rent to just anybody now, you know,” said her neighbor. “Should we knock and see if he’s all right?”
“Go ahead.”
No one answered the knock, but the stink was stronger at the door, so they called the maintenance man, old Mr. Daniels, to come and check it out. It took him almost an hour to come around because these two women called him more than any other resident, and it was usually for something minor.
Mrs. Greyson recognized the sweet stench of rotting meat and anticipated what lay beyond the door with a mixture of dread and excited delight. Whatever was in there would be a source of gossip for weeks.
“Wasting my time,” the old man muttered to himself as he knocked on the door of apartment nine. With the two women peering over his shoulder, he unlocked the door and opened it a bit. The stink of decay hit their noses like tear gas and the three of them gagged.
Mr. Daniels quickly slammed the door shut and called the police. The women had only had a glimpse of the dim interior, but it was enough to see the corpse on the floor, its bloated face staring at the ceiling. There were flies everywhere.
Officer Pierce told his Sargent, “The stiff’s name is Monroe, Jesse Allen Monroe. He was a drifter, a drunk, and an ex-con. Did a hard twenty for assaulting a couple of little kids and nearly killing one. If you ask me, the world is a better place now that he’s gone.”
“Cause of death?” the Sargent asked, sounding bored.
“Coroner is unsure, pending autopsy. Probably heart attack. He said the guy had no marks on him, but the expression on his face looked like he got scared to death.”
People in white coveralls and masks had come and cleaned the place to make it livable, but the stink would linger for a while. Now, Mrs. Greyson watched the maintenance man carrying out boxes of trash from the dead man’s apartment and depositing them on the curb for the trash pickup. There wasn’t much there that she could see, but since she had a frugal nature and hated to see things go to waste, she sauntered casually out to get a closer look, just in case there was anything of value. The apartment had been furnished, so there were no large items to be looked over, but there was a box of mismatched dishes and glasses, some cheap flatware, and nasty pots and pans. Not something she wanted to touch. The old man should have had a wife to clean up for him.
“He was probably too nasty to get a wife,” she mused. Even at her advanced age, she would never have taken in a man like him. He just didn’t feel right.
Now, all that was left of him was a box of old magazines, worn out shoes, threadbare clothing, and assorted junk. A pitiful little pile of possessions to mark the culmination of a life. Then, something of color caught her eye, a flash of red sticking out from under a pile of shirts, so she prodded at it with her toe.
“What in the world?” she thought as she picked out a wooden circle all decorated with colorful strings, beads, and feathers. The string was woven around the center of the ring and looked sort of like a spider web, or a crocheted doily. She held it up and admired it for a minute, watching the sun sparkle on the glass beads and wondered what it was.
She must have wondered aloud because Mr. Daniels said, “It’s one of them there dream catchers that the Indians make. You know, supposed to hang it over your bed and it makes you dream good stuff.”
“Pretty thing, isn’t it?” she said. “Maybe I’ll give it a try. See if it makes me dream about a handsome man tonight.”
Mr. Daniels chuckled and said softly, “A dream man is the only kind you’ll get.”
Mrs. Greyson pretended not to hear and took the artifact up to her apartment. A widow, Gloria Greyson had lived in the apartment building for ten years since her husband had died. At the age of fifty she had not had an easy life so far. Her childhood was spent in near poverty, her teenage years were depressing and so when a handsome man asked her to marry him it seemed like a perfect escape to a better life. Unfortunately, that man had been a disappointment, a drunk and abusive man. She was glad when he died drunk, his car wrapped around a light pole.
Gloria had long ago given up any belief in magic, so when she put the raggedy weaving over her bed she didn’t really hope for good dreams, she just thought it was pretty.
That night she dreamed of her late husband, Earl, and once again she found herself being beaten and abused. She awoke from the nightmare sweating and crying. It was dawn before she was able to calm herself down.
Mrs. Lopez knocked on her door to see if she was all right. “I thought I heard you crying out last night,” her neighbor said. “I thought I better check on you.”
Mrs. Greyson told her, “I just had a terrible dream. Bill was beating me up again and I couldn’t fight back. It was just so real.”
“Men like that never seem to want to go away,” Mrs. Lopez said.
That night Mrs. Greyson dreamed bad things again. She saw the face of the dead man, that drifter, Monroe, and he was stabbing people and laughing. She dreamed of dead bodies, she dreamed of anger, she dreamed of vengeance. When she awoke, she still was angry, and she couldn’t understand why. Later in the morning, over a cup of coffee, she confessed to her neighbor that she was having nightmares.
“Ever since I got this here thing, old Daniels called it a dreamcatcher, I can’t sleep like I used to sleep.”
Her neighbor gasped at the hoop with its feathers and beads and shook her head, not wanting to touch it. She said, “That thing gives me a bad feeling. I don’t like it. I’d throw it away. If you want to know more about it, you should take it to that gift shop over by the reservation. There’s an old shaman there who knows that stuff. Ask him if it’s bad.”
The next day Mrs. Greyson walked into the gift shop with the thing in a paper bag. She didn’t want to touch it directly. The shop smelled of spices and smoke, a pleasant fragrance that seemed to calm her. After asking, she was directed to the back where a very normal looking man sat watching television. Like most whites she expected to see a weathered elderly man with colorful clothing and feathers or something.
Instead, she found a nicely spoken man who would be at home in any city.
“Good morning,” he greeted her, looking up from the television. “How may I help you?”
She hesitated, but asked, “Are you the Shaman?”
“I am ”a” shaman of the Lakota tribe. I am Enapay, but you can call me Bill. Why would a nice lady like you need a shaman?”
Mrs. Greyson turned the bag up and let the dreamcatcher slide out onto the tabletop. “I was hoping you could tell me about this thing. I found it in the trash, and someone told me that it would give me good dreams. All I’ve had are nightmares, horrible nightmares, ever since I hung it up.”
Enapay picked it up and held it up to the light to examine it for several seconds. Then he sighed and said, “Dreams are the realm of Iktome, the spider god. He is a trickster god, part spider, part man. He is not always a good god. Dreamcatchers were originally made by the Ojibwe tribe many years ago, but now many tribes make them to sell to white tourists. Do you see how these threads in the center are broken and hanging down? Dreamcatchers don’t only catch dreams; they also store them. These broken threads may very well be leaking dreams back out to you. If a previous owner stored bad dreams in it then he may have been an evil man. Don’t worry. Just throw it away and maybe the bad dreams will stop.”
Shaken by the man’s warning, she knew it was time to dump the thing. “Thank you,” she said, “How much do I owe you for your time?”
“My time is free,” he said with a smile. “You might buy something from the shop while you are here.”
Once outside, with a bundle of dried sage in her hand, she tossed the wicked device in a trash can and felt relieved to see the end of it. She had a nice cup of tea when she got home. When she went to bed that night she looked forward to a good night’s rest.
She awoke the next morning to find a bloody knife in the bed with her. Confused and frightened she scrubbed the blade and hid it away. After washing her hands and arm, she yanked the sheet from the bed along with her nightgown and bleached them in the washer. She felt sick with horror. She didn’t want to think about where the knife had come from, but she couldn’t shake the vague, misty memory of stabbing something.
Later that morning the body of her neighbor was found in her apartment. Mrs. Lopez had several knife wounds in her torso. Although she was questioned by the police about what she might have heard, Mrs. Greyson said that she had slept through any altercation and heard nothing. She was never suspected. She immediately moved back east to live with her daughter.
After Mrs. Greyson left the gift shop, a car pulled up. The car had a license plate from California and contained a family of three, dad, mom, and young son. The father, Mr. Richards, had been driving for two hours and needed a break. His wife, Nancy, needed a restroom and their twelve-year-old son, Zane, wanted to buy a gift for his best friend, Anthony.
“Mom, can I have some money,” Zane asked.
“Why?” she asked.
“I want to get Ant a tee shirt.”
“Pick one out and I’ll pay for it after I use the restroom. Now move, I really have to go.”
While his dad stretched his legs and walked around, Zane wandered through the store and admired some of the jewelry and books and pottery. He knew that Ant wouldn’t be interested in any of those, so he found the tee shirts and looked through them until he found one with a picture of a drum and drum beater. It was colorful and Zane thought it was pretty. By the time he made his choice his mother had returned to pay for it. Zane imagined his friend’s happiness when he saw the gift.
Zane and Ant were more than just friends. There had been a growing attraction between for more than a year, and as the Richards had prepared for their vacation Ant gave Zane a kiss on the lips that had left both of them breathless and excited.
Walking out of the gift shop, Zane spotted something colorful in a trash barrel just outside the door. He picked up the object and liked the colorful threads, feathers, and beads. He thought that it was too pretty to have been thrown away, so he held it up for the clerk to see and asked, “Hey, this is in the trash. Can I have it?”
The woman glanced up and nodded, so he took it.
As they continued their trip, he held up the shirt for his father to see. His mom spotted the other thing he held and said, “What’s that thing you have there? I thought you didn’t have any more money.”
“It was in the trash barrel. They said I could have it. I don’t know what it is, but I like it,” Zane said.
His father looked in the mirror at it and told him that it was called a dream catcher. He knew a little bit about them, and Zane found it interesting. He decided to hang it over his bed at home.
While they all three had fun on their vacation and had seen many wonderful places and things, they were relieved to sleep once again in their own beds. Zane was especially glad because he had not been sleeping too well the past few days. He had been bothered by troubling dreams. There was not much that he could remember about them, but he always woke up tired and uneasy. Now that he was home, he hung his dream catcher and went to bed expecting to have sweet dreams, filled with happiness that he would see Anthony the next day.
That night he found himself in a grey land, a dark desert of stones and dead plants. There was no sun in the sky. He was filled with a sense of dread, like some unknown danger lurked nearby. As he looked around trying to see what it might be, he caught glimpses of a sneering face that seemed to taunt him before disappearing again and again. It was an ugly, mean looking man with greasy hair and sharp teeth that grinned at him. The man appeared closer and closer, never speaking, just grinning.
Zane cried, “Who are you? What do you want? Leave me alone, Mister. Stay away from me.”
The man raised a large knife and lunged, but Zane fell back and yelled. He opened his eyes and found that he was still in his bed, tangled in the sheets. His heart raced and his breath came in gasps. It took a long time for him to fall asleep again. The next day, Zane was still freaked out by the nightmare. It had seemed too real, and he couldn’t get it out of his mind, so he decided to think about Anthony instead.
Ant and Zane met in the first grade and had immediately become pals. There was something indescribable about the adorable blonde that made Zane feel good when he was near. It was more than being pretty, Ant was also very brave and good, so it seemed like destiny when Ant and his parents moved from a house several streets over into a house on the very next block from Zane and his parents.
After seven years of sleepovers, bike rides, birthday parties, and fun the boys were even closer. With the memory of Ant’s parting kiss still on his lips, Zane hurried through breakfast, eager to get to Ant’s house, but the doorbell rang, the door opened, and his friend’s voice called out, “Anybody home?”
Zane had a mouth full of pancakes, so he waved his friend in and pointed to a chair. Ant sat down and Mrs. Richards invited him to have some breakfast. “Help yourself to some pancakes and sausage, Anthony. There’s plenty,” she said with a smile. Anthony was almost like her second son.
“No thanks, Ma’am. I just ate.”
“Well, Zane has been cramming his pancakes down so he could rush over to see you.”
Zane swallowed and said, “Hey, Ant. What’s up?”
“I’m glad you guys are back. It’s been boring here without you. Did you have a good time?”
“Yeah, it was pretty good. I got something for you,” Zane said as he washed his food down with some milk and pushed his plate away.
“Take your plate to the kitchen if you’re finished,” his mother admonished with a smile. She knew how eager he had been to see his pal again.
Ant followed Zane to the kitchen and then up to his bedroom. “I got you something. Here,” Zane said, handing his friend a paper bag.
“I love it,” Ant said, holding the shirt up to his chest. “I’m going to put it on.” He took off the shirt he was wearing and stood up.
Zane couldn’t keep from looking at his friend’s bare chest. Ant had a flat stomach and was developing some definition in his pecs. Zane thought his friend looked pretty good.
“It fits just right,” Ant said as he showed off his gift. He bent down and kissed Zane on the cheek. “Thanks a lot. I love it. I’ll have to think of something to give you now.”
Feeling rather daring, Zane said, “How about another kiss.”
Ant beamed and as Zane stood up, he embraced him and closed his eyes and kissed his lips. He gave him a serious kiss, and Zane returned it.
Several seconds later they parted, and Zane said, “Whoa. That was nice. You’re my best friend, Ant.”
“Yeah, I am your best friend, and you are mine.” They kissed again.
Then they sat on the bed and held hands while they got caught up on what each of them had missed.
“…and outside of this trading post, gift shop kinda place, I found this. It was in a trash can, but they said I could have it. Dad called it a dream catcher. It’s supposed to help me sleep. It’s not working so far though.”
Ant looked up at the thing hanging over the bed. “It’s pretty. I like the colors. Why isn’t it working?”
“I don’t know. I had a bad dream last night. It was really scary.”
Ant kissed him again and said, “Well, try to dream about me tonight.”
That night, Zane fell asleep thinking about his friend’s lips on his. He smiled as he dozed off, but he quickly realized that his bedroom was changing around him. The walls had turned grey and there were shadows everywhere. His bed felt damp and too warm. Throwing back the covers he saw that he was lying in a mass of insects, black and shiny things that were crawling all over him. He leapt from the bed and brushed them off of his body, but now he was standing on a slimy carpet that squished under his feet. He ran for his bedroom door, but it was stuck. Something unseen was forming behind him. He didn’t want to turn and look, he just sensed it growing more solid, more dangerous. He yanked on the doorknob with all his might, and finally it opened. Launching himself through the door, he ran down the stairs. Every step he took his feet his feet felt heavy, as if they were encased in concrete. The thing was coming. Why couldn’t he run faster? Feeling that he was just about to be touched by something evil, he screamed. Then he found that he was back in his bed and the room had returned to normal. He was awake, sweating, and scared. His legs were tangled in the covers, and he realized then why running had felt so difficult.
When he could see his friend, Zane told him about the dream. Ant wondered why he kept having bad dreams, and was it really something to do with the fetish hanging over his bed?
“Let’s google it and find out more,” he said. They did a search and didn’t find very much about them. A lot of the information was just about where to buy them. There were some paragraphs about the history of dream catchers and the myths behind them, and there was a lot of stuff about cultural appropriation, but nothing about what they wanted to know.
One thing that Ant noticed was that the Ojibwe were also called Chippewas. “Do you remember when we talked about native Americans in history class? Johnny Cowen said that his grandfather was from the Chippewa tribe. We should see if he could help us. Maybe ask his grandfather about them. Johnny is one of my Facebook friends.”
They got in touch with Johnny that morning and rode their bikes to his house that afternoon. Johnny and his grandfather were sitting in the backyard under the shade of huge elm tree that seemed to cover most of the yard. They sat at a round wooden table, weathered by years of outdoor exposure, and had a pitcher of lemonade and two extra glasses before them.
“Hey guys, sit with us and have some lemonade,” Johnny said with a smile. As the boys sat, he introduced the old man. “This is my grandpa.”
“Hi Mister Cowen,” said Zane.
Ant nodded and said, “I’m pleased to meet you, Sir.”
The grandfather certainly looked like a native American, with his cheekbones and long hair. His coloring was also darker than Johnny’s.
His hair was streaked with grey and was tied back behind his head. He looked at them quietly at first and then, in a voice that was surprisingly deep, he said, “Young Johnny says that you have questions for me. What would you wish to know?”
Zane tells him about the dream catcher and the bad dreams he was having since he found it. “I wondered if it was really causing me to have bad dreams,” he said.
“My grandfather, many years ago, told me of a woman who did many terrible things, hurt many people, and even committed murder. She was put to death by the tribal elders and her possessions distributed to the tribe. The young man who took her dream catcher began to act badly. It was determined that the dream catcher was broken and was returning the evil dreams that she had put in it. He had to destroy the thing, and eventually the dreams stopped.”
“How do we destroy it? I mean, can we just tear it up, or put it in the garbage?” Zane asked.
“The dream world is the domain of Iktome, the spider god. It is a dark place, so it is best to burn the thing so that is ends in light and dispels the darkness. But before you destroy it, you should pray to Iktome for protection. Iktome is sometimes a good god and sometimes a bad god. He is the trickster, appearing as half man, half spider. You must make a charm to appease Iktome. I will tell you how. Wear it around your neck when you burn the dream catcher.”
The old man took a small leather bag from is shirt pocket. It was a drawstring bag that contained something soft and dry. He said, “In this spirit bag is sage and some other herbs and a stone. You must add some dead bugs, as an offering to Iktome, and find a spider web to put in it. Before you tie it up, you must spit in it so that its magic is tied to you. Remember, wear it around your neck while you burn the dream catcher and for six days and nights after. I hope you will be safe.”
Ant and Zane listened with open mouths as they began to realize the seriousness of their situation. They thanked the old man and rode home.
“Where are we going to find a spider web?” Zane wondered.
Ant suggested that they look in the park where there were lots of bushes. It didn’t take long to discover a very large one that was strung between two trees, blocking the path. Ant almost ran right into it and the fat, yellow spider that sat in the middle of it. It almost seemed a shame to tear it down, but Zane used a stick to remove the spider first and placed it gently on a leaf so that he could remove the web. As he did so he offered silent thanks to Iktome.
Back home they found a couple of dead flies on the windowsill. Ant thought that it would be good to offer something fresh, so they found some crickets in the flower bed. They killed the crickets with a pin and added them to the bag. That being done, Zane spit a nice gob into the bag and tied it up and put it around his neck.
“When are you going to burn it?” Ant asked.
“I’ll do it tonight. I want to get it over with.”
Unfortunately, it was not to be. Zane’s parents announced that they were taking both boys out to dinner and to a movie. Ant’s parents had given permission for him to go as long as he was home by bedtime. By the time they got back though, it was past their bedtime and Zane didn’t have a chance to rid himself of the dark object. Instead, he put it in the outside trash can, hoping that keeping it away from him would help.
That night the dream came again, the barren, grey land, the lurking, grinning face that kept appearing. The feeling of dread and danger were overwhelming, and he twisted and turned in his sleep. There was a voice, oily and sneering, which kept telling him to be still, to relax and not be afraid. A voice that, dripped with malice. He heard a name, Jesse Monroe, and knew that this was his enemy. Remembering the amulet around his neck, Zane grasped it and cried for Iktome to help him.
“I don’t know who the hell Iktommy is, but there ain’t nobody gonna help you Kid. Not here in this nightmare world. I’m the king here,” the voice said. With a laugh, the man finally made himself known. He stood atop a boulder and looked down at the boy, holding a large knife in his hand.
“What do you want? Don’t hurt me. I haven’t done anything to you,” Zane pleaded.
“You got something I want, Boy. Something I need.”
“W-what? I don’t have anything.”
The man laughed loudly and said, “Boy, I need your body. That’s what I gotta have. See, I’m going to kill you here in this dream world and when I wake up, I will be in your body. Jesse Monroe will be reborn. I will walk the world again, so world, beware. Jesse Monroe is a-coming back.”
Monroe leapt from the rock and landed in front of Zane, slashing the deadly blade, and nearly hitting the boy. Zane ran as fast as he could, but once again his legs seemed to be running through water. He couldn’t run fast enough. Jesse was right behind him, laughing and slashing. He seemed to be toying with him.
Zane grasped the charm again and cried out for Iktome to help him. Then, off to the side, he saw movement. A round patch of earth lifted up and from the dark hole underneath it a giant spider emerged. Zane had seen trapdoor spiders before, but never anything this huge and weird.
Monroe stopped and stared at the monster. “What the fuck is that?” he cried.
Before anyone could answer, Iktome raced forward and spun a rope of white webbing around him. Zane was unable to look away. Iktome had a hard, shiny black thorax that was covered with sharp spikes, and six long legs underneath. His rear body was a fat, pulpy sack, covered in coarse hair. Lumps and bumps crawled under his skin as he pulled more spider rope from his spinnerets. The most shocking aspect of the spider god was the human torso that rose from the front of the thorax. It was like a centaur’s human half, with two strong arms and massive muscles. The skin was dark, almost purplish, and the face was shiny and hard. There appeared to be several eyes and from the mouth protruded two chelicerae that dripped slime.
As Iktome quickly bound his prey, Monroe continued to scream in horror and frustration. His knife was useless, and it quickly fell to the ground as he was dragged into the spider’s lair.
Iktome paused for a moment and looked at Zane, who stood frozen and shaking with fear. The god spoke one word in an eerie voice that rang with happiness, “Meat,” and disappeared into its lair with its prize.
The grey world around him began to turn hazy and unclear.
Suddenly Zane woke up in his bed, damp with sweat, and shaking. It was a couple of hours before he could force himself to get out of bed. Eager to be rid of the cursed object, the following evening, he took it out to the family fire pit in the backyard. There had not been a fire in it since the fourth of July, but there was still some kindling and a few sticks of firewood in the garage. Zane laid the fire and lit it. Ant had come to witness the destruction. Once the fire was going, and the flames were high enough, he put the thing right in the center. Immediately the feathers and the string burned away. The circle of bent willow sprang apart when the strings that bound it were gone. The wood was the last part to burn, but the beads fell down into the coals and Zane hoped they would lose their power.
“And that’s that,” Ant said with a relieved sigh. “No more nightmares for my best friend.”
The End
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