Dream Lover – A Flash Fiction Story

It loomed larger than the sky.

To Simon, it looked impossibly big, as if it would blot out the moon itself. He approached it with trepidation. It would happen tonight; he was sure of it. This evening, he would finally see in man what had been haunting his dreams.

For weeks, he hadn’t been able to sleep. Even more worrying, the dreams had begun to haunt his daylight hours. Simon couldn’t get the man’s eyes out of his head. When Simon closed his eyes, all he could see was the man and his body and he could hear the whispering.

It was the whispering that had led him here. Every time he had woken, he grabbed a piece of parchment and had written feverishly, trying to capture the words on paper before they left him, hoping that they would help soothe him. They only drove Simon crazier. All he could see every time he woke were the man’s smile and eyes so dark that they looked black.

However, within those words was the man’s name and a location. Staring at the mausoleum, Simon wondered why the whispering would bring him here. It didn’t matter, he just knew that he had to see the man that had haunted his dreams. Every time the man spoke to him, Simon had heard his words within his whole body and they filled him with longing. The fact that he was so close was so thrilling and frightening at the same time.

As he walked closer, Simon could hear the whispering growing louder. When Simon finally laid his hand on the thick stone door that stood sentinel, the whispers stopped. With some effort, Simon was able to pull the stone door open and he slipped inside.

Looking around, Simon saw only one grave marker. He wondered what he was supposed to do. Was the man from his dreams somehow hiding somewhere within the mausoleum? He walked towards the grave and could only hear more of the soft and salient sounds of the whispers. Looking around him, he saw nothing but shadows but when he turned around one final time, He saw something hanging from a hook that had been hammered into the stone close to the grave marker. It was a pair of goggles.

Taking them off he hook, he examined them. They looked to be aviators’ goggles and there was a slight sheen on the goggles as if they were made of a special type of glass. The whispering returned and increased until he slipped them on and then the whispering stopped again. He adjusted the goggles and made sure they were fastened in place. Then he looked around.

It was hard to believe that he was inside a mausoleum. When he turned around, he saw not a dark and shadowy crypt but a very posh parlour with a piano to one side and a settee on the other. On the settee was the man that had filled his dreams for the past few days. He had the same dark eyes that he had dreamed about for so long, so dark that Simon wanted to swim in them. He had dark stubble covering his chin and Simon wanted to find out what it would feel like to have that stubble rasp across his face.

The man stood and walked towards Simon. He was wearing a loose-fitting poet’s shirt that showed a smattering of chest hair. He had broad shoulders and strong looking arms and he had on black trousers and black leather boots. He was everything that he had been in the dream and he was here in front of him.

“I thought you weren’t real.” Simon said.

The man smiled at Simon. “I get that a lot.”

They stared at each other for a moment until the man reached out to touch Simon’s face. “You’re even more beautiful awake than you were asleep. Your eyes are filled with lust.”

Simon moaned softly. “As are yours. I feel like I’ve waited a lifetime for you.”

“I have waited that long. Say my name. Let me hear it spoken from your lips.”

“Gaston.” Simon said. Saying it out loud filled his body with more than want.

Reaching out for Gaston, Simon was surprised to feel only air and in fact watched as his hand passed through Gaston’s face. It seemed to come apart for a moment, as if it were made of cloud vapour and mist. Simon watched as it reformed like a cloud coming back together and he paused, looking at Gaston and the beauty that he saw within those eyes. He reached out once more and was somehow unsurprised when Gaston came apart and remade himself once more.

“What is this magic?” Simon whispered.

A pained look covered Gaston’s face and Simon watched as a tear slid down his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Simon’s voice was a whisper.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you in the dreams, I only have the power to appear, not to speak. Otherwise I would have told you.”

“Told me what?” Simon asked, fear sliding along his skin.

“Those goggles you are wearing.” Gaston said, pointing at them. “They let you see into my world.”

“What world is that?” Simon didn’t want to hear the answer.

“The world of the dead.”

Simon removed the goggles for a moment and there was nothing in front of him. When he put the back, Gaston had returned. Gaston felt as if a part of him fell away.

“I can’t touch you?” Simon asked. “I’ve wanted nothing more than to hold you close to me!”

“I know, my heart. Fear not, however. Though you cannot touch me, I can touch you.”

Gaston was true to his word. Simon gave himself over to the ghost’s touch and the breeze along his skin and let himself become undone by want. When his world came apart, Simon fell into the darkness and felt the ghost fall with him.

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