A/N: Originally written on April 1, 2014 after my younger sister had nightmares and a scene from my dream previous my waking up; planned to be the 28th chapter of 'Ensemble of Shards'; second version given as a gift to a dear friend on his seventeenth birthday, and this final rendering an entrant to a writing competition hosted by @RinaPOV.
~
Jakob Bennett was an actor. He was fourteen, and was pretty good at it. And, of course, Jakob Bennett was also something else. Though, I don’t know which way to put it in. The other thing he was can be hard to pin down.
Well, you know, a mare is a sort of horse, which you can ride. But nightmares aren’t the sort of horses you could ever ride on. So it wouldn’t be correct to say that Jakob Bennett was a nightmare rider. Jakob Bennett had the nightmares riding him.
--
The nightmares had started when Jakob was eight. The first one had something to do about a cold, cold lake, in a far-off place, with the blackest pine trees circling it. And Jakob was in the lake, the chilly blue-green of it engulfing him. He could not get out, however he tried.
Jakob screamed awake, and his parents came to his aid, asking what was wrong. He lied, and murmured that it was a mouse that must’ve scurried over him. They put the blankets over Jakob again, and went back to their room, whispering about pest control. But Jakob couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night. And he tip-toed over to a drawer which had a night-light that he said he was too old for to use.
The second night held another nightmare. Jakob didn’t breathe a word of this when he went down to the breakfast table, looking weary-eyed. It wouldn’t have made a change anyway, as he had forgotten that he had a bad dream the night before. He thought he had played too much on his DS video game, tired from repeating levels over and over.
But when darkness fell, the memory of it returned. He tried not to sleep, head propped up on a pillow. But gradually, his eyelids gave up. The nightmare tip-toed into his dreams.
Jakob awoke, and found tears dripping on his cheeks, and staining his blanket densely. He clicked his night-light open, and thankfully he flew into a dreamless sleep. Though, there would be a shadow sometimes, creeping on the edges of his slumbering mind. Yet he remembered the night-light, and the darkness would leave.
Two weeks he kept the light on. But the nightmares grew stronger. The night-light made no difference. Two years did they haunt him with no cure.
He could not feel himself anymore, this tiredness weighed on his school and acting career. On the night when he saw blood on his fist - he had bit down on it - he wanted the secret out. His mother took him to a therapist at day.
“You have bitten your fist, kicked your bedpost, cried awake, couldn’t move, and found yourself in the town park at dawn? Hm... Yes... Oh? You don’t remember you had this dream last night?” The specialist flipped some notes and wrote some more.
“This is pavor nocturnus, or Night Terror, my dear. Children eventually grow out of this disorder. But I suggest we meet more times after this.” She looked at Mrs. Bennett, and smiled.
The counseling was alright, but it wasn’t enough. Then they tried medicine: diazepam, antidepressants, for eight months, and they lessened the terrors for two more years. It was good, only one nightmare a week or none at all, a contrast to Jakob’s day-to-day terror spell from the former years.
“Mom,” Jakob said before sleeping. “Didn’t she say that children outgrow this? I’m thirteen.”
“They’ll go away tonight, hon.”
Jakob felt the fluffy bedcovers on him, a goodnight-kiss, and heard the door click close. He rubbed his eyes and felt the night-light switch by his nightstand. Feeling safe, he yawned.
A few minutes after Jakob was sound asleep, the door clicked open. His mother walked in, as silent as a cat. She glanced at the night-light by her son’s side, and could not stop the tears trickling away from her eyes. She knelt to his side with soft carpet brushing her knees, clasped her palms, and began to pray for Jakob.
--
Presently, Jakob and his mother were on their way to the movie set. The dawning sun shone over the sleek, black Land Rover. Jakob leaned on his window, tired with the lack of sleep. He played with the window switch, and stared at the moving pavements and grey highways glinting with sunlight. Slowly, his green eyes closed. His fingers found the empty paper bag of his McDonald’s breakfast, and placed it away from his lap.
Jakob always - since he turned fourteen, and as people whose fear have long passed still do anything to prevent them from coming back - slept when it was afternoon or if he really, really had to, at night when all the lights in the house were turned on. But nowadays, after he was cast into his first film, he found it hard to do just that.
Mrs. Bennett smiled from the driver’s seat, seeing her son grasp sleep peacefully through the mirror above the dashboard. But she lifted her eyebrows in concern when she remembered that the set would only be forty-five minutes away and he would have to wake up.
Jakob reviewed his script before his scene came on. (He didn’t really need to; after all the crew dubbed him “Jakob Two-Takes” for his perfect deliverance on set, but it doesn’t hurt to check.) Then his green eyes flickered in terror when he read one of the scenes he had skimmed over yesterday.
No, Jakob. You have to calm yourself. You can do it - after all, it’s just acting. He banged the script over his head.
“Jakob!” called the director.
He drew in a long breath, and went to the director beckoning him by the kitchen.
--
“You didn’t have to do this, Mom.”
J.J. gave his parents a look which had a lash of accusation. Then, he relaxed, but with the anger still evident.
“Good night.”
They watched him loudly push his chair back to the table, and leave the room. J.J. climbed up the stairs in a huff. He turned the gold-tinted knob of his bedroom door, not giving any notice to the ‘Keep Out’, and the Stephen Hawking signs on it. He went inside and slumped upright on his bed.
“Cut!”
--
Jakob flopped on a plastic chair for his hour-long break. There was another scene he had to do later, so he decided to get some sleep. It was five o’clock in the afternoon, and as long as it was light outside it was alright, he thought.
--
The sun had almost gone down when he woke up. The white script was on his lap, unmoved. He got up and walked over to his mother, who was arranging some props on the set to his right. Mrs. Bennett saw Jakob wave the script at her. She read the part where Jakob's finger was pointing at. The finger was trembling.
“Look, Jakob, you can do this,” she told him in a soft tone. “It’s only acting, hon.”
He hugged her suddenly, and she saw the glint of tears in his eyes.
“Son… I know it’s the trauma from the night--“ Jakob was softly sobbing. She thought it better not to say the word. “But you have to act this, Jack. Do it for J.J., do it for me. Hey, I’ll even ask the director to shorten the scene. Okay?”
She pat his back and ruffled his thick ginger hair. Jakob rearranged himself, rubbed his eyes, and trembled, “Okay.”
The bedroom was darkened, set for J.J., Jakob's character, to be filmed in for a short scene. Jakob sat on the bed, trying to push back the fear. Calm down, he said to himself, You have to calm down. You have to feel as J.J. feels, not what Jakob Bennett feels, for now. For just a short, short moment, they can film it and it’s over, quickly, and you will never have to do it again.
The director walked to him, and briefly whispered, “Remember, you are going to fall asleep. And after a few moments you have to wake up. Wake up as if you were bound deep under the water, and when your bated breath cannot hold you, you surface on the lake.”
Jakob gulped, and muttered, “Thanks for the vivid representation.” Even if he forgot all his past nightmares, the first one would always be clear like the ring of a bell. He caught his mother giving a thumbs-up, encouragingly. Reluctantly, he slid himself between the fleecy, dark blue bedcovers.
“Action!”
J.J. gave a sigh, and brushed the goldish ginger hair covering his forehead with a slightly shaking hand.
Mrs. Bennett looked on from behind the cameras, waiting for him to close his eyes. Her petition for this scene to be cut short had been approved. Especially the one where J.J. had to be shaking and kicking the pillows in agony. Thankfully, all he had to act now was closing his eyes and opening them again. That wouldn’t really be difficult for a nightmare parasomniac.
But Jakob was struggling to keep control of his self as he was lying down in the darkness. No, J.J. mustn’t feel what Jakob Bennett feels… J.J. … is supposed to dream about the parents, and not Jakob dreaming the… dreaming the… nightmares…
Mrs. Bennett saw Jakob with his eyes still wide open on the bed. Oh, Jakob, my word…
“Cut. Jakob Two-Takes, let’s have another take,” sympathized the director. Jakob blinked and took a sharp breath. “Take Two.”
Then the cameras rolled. J.J. prolonged his eyes from closing. It’s too dark… I can’t… close them… screamed the Jakob inside. The terror was beginning to lightly wrap him.
“Cut!” His mother went to the bedside. “Jakob Mikhael Bennett. Do as you are told.” Jakob looked at her with dark, pleading eyes on the verge of tears. She kissed him on the forehead. “Let’s go,” said the director. The cameramen clicked play.
Jakob closed his eyes.
“Jakob! Jakob! Jakob!” The crew scattered all around him, efforts in vain. His mother fell on her knees, the tears shaking her fragile frame. Jakob always woke up from the nightmare when she shook him to wake up to her, those hard nights back then. And she would comfort him until the tears stopped falling. Anything, anything, just to save her beloved son from the fear.
The icy lake was there. He gave a last, desperate cry, held his breath, and dove in from the quay as the pine trees began to crash down on him.
“Jakob! Jakob! Wake up! Wake—“
Jakob didn’t open his eyes.
