Hilda's Nightmare

“I’m not the Queen’s lover!” I said a little louder than I meant to. “Just another servant.”

“Ah, that would explain why she was in a sour mood when she returned from her excursion,” Gordon said. “And here I thought it was because she had a particularly nasty fight with the guardian of the temple.”

I remembered the beating I had received from Priscilla a few hours ago. My bones may have been healed, but my pride certainly hadn't.

“She did fight the guardian,” I said glumly. “She fought me. Nearly killed me, come to think of it. Then she healed me. Then she left me behind. Now I'm talking to a cat.”

"Sound like a complicated relationship."

"It's not like that! I promise."

Gordon climbed onto one of the dining room table chairs as if to get a better look at me. He examined me as if I were some kind of novelty at a museum.

“We have heard much about you over the years, good sir, oh so very much about you,” he said. “To see you here pilfering our food like a common vagabond today of all days is pleasant if unexpected. Truly, a serendipity. Though I must say you are not quite seven feet tall as our Queen made you out to be. Nor as well built.”

“I'm pretty dang fit!" I defended.

Gordon's tail swished back and forth as he rested his head on his paws.

“Our Queen spent the last seven years waiting every day in eager expectation of your arrival,” he said.

“Every day?”

Gordon sighed.

“Not a day would go by without some heartfelt mention of your name."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"I broke her heart, didn't I?" I said quietly.

"Yes, you did. But because you are new, I will let this insult slide just this once."

I shook my head. Just when I thought the nightmare couldn't get worse, it did.

“Maybe I should have just gone along with it,” I groaned.

Gordon nodded his head. It was quite funny to see a cat nodding as if he were a person.

"She's here though, right?" I asked. "I'm in the right house?"

"Yes. She is in her room upstairs, crying her heart out."

I remembered hearing a woman wailing while I was still outside the house.

There's no way that was her, I thought. There's just no way. Priscilla does not cry, and she certainly doesn't weep.

"Like I said," I said quickly. "I already told her I wasn't her lover, so no use trying to pretend I’m someone I’m not."

I returned to my meal. The food was still warm, thankfully.

"You could have entertained her,” the cat said.

I set my fork down.

“For how long? I take three minutes to enter this nightmare and now my friend is in her thirties while I am still in my twenties! Priscilla thought I was an imposter and nearly killed me for it. Then she thought I was her lover and left me to freeze in the rain when I told her I wasn’t. For all I know, you're just another part of this nightmare trying to kill me.”

Gordon looked at me blankly before nuzzling me on the arm.

“Apologizes,” he said. “I don’t have full control over my cat-like instincts. At this moment, all I want to do is nuzzle your arm because you seem upset.”

I almost pushed him away out of spite but let him be. He was only a cat, after all. I patted him on the head. He continued to nuzzle me as he purred deeply. As flustered as I was, I couldn't stay too angry in the presence of a cat.

“You really are a cat,” I muttered.

“More,” Gordon sighed.

After petting him for a few minutes, grateful to take my mind off of my dismal situation, I reluctantly returned to my half-finished plate of Thanksgiving food. The food was surprisingly good. I wondered who was had prepared it.

“I'm going to finish eating,” I asked. “I probably should have asked before stuffing my face.”

“Please, eat more,” he replied. “You’re the only one that seems remotely interested in the meals I prepare as of late.”

"You're the chef?"

"Why of course! It's the only meaningful way I can contribute to our group."

The cat is the cook, I thought. I'm not even surprised anymore.

The food helped me calm down a bit, as it always did. By the time I finished my first plate, I knew I was partially cranky because I was hangry. Gordon seemed quite pleased as I dumped the second glob of cranberry sauce on my plate and took another swig of cider.

"You seem like you've been here a while," I said. "Can you tell me who made this nightmare?”

“That would be my master, Hilda,” the cat said. “I believe she is your lord’s-”

“Step-mother, yes,” I said, baring my teeth.

“You know her,” he said, surprised.

"Yeah, I know her," I replied. "Hilda’s nightmare toxins, best in the world, am I right?"

"Without a doubt," the cat replied. "Every sound, every taste, every sensation I have experienced in the dream is indistinguishable from the real world. It's a shame this dream is meant to our prison."

Gordon shuddered when he said sensation. No doubt he was thinking of a painful memory. But I didn't miss the fact that he had called Hilda his master, much like Iris did.

“I must ask why one of Hilda's goons are stuck in a nightmare with the rest of us.”

“I don’t entirely remember,” he replied calmly. “However, even those who have forgotten everything about themselves in this dream know that Hilda is responsible for creating it. My master made it very clear that everyone stuck in the dream was guilty of something momentous to deserve this fate.”

He opened my mouth slightly. Moments later, a small white card materialized between his jaws.

“Perhaps this will explain my condition better,” he said, walking over to my feet.

I took the laminated card from his jaws and held it out in front of me. It read:

You have failed me for the last time, Gordon.

Curse: Cat

“I didn’t realize being a cat was a curse,” I said.

“It most certainly is,” he said, spitting out the card disdainfully. The moment the card hit the table, it evaporated into the air, leaving nothing behind. “For one, I can never again eat chocolate or drink the sweet nectar that is coffee. Raisins are also out of the question.”

Gordon raised his paws and stared down at them as if they were his hands.

“Now, I do not know what I did to deserve being turned into a literal cat, but I also cannot leave this house without being atomized by the elements,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Meaning that if I leave this house without the proper equipment, I will be struck repeatedly by freak lightning bolts until I am reduced to ashes,” he said. “And yes, I have already been reduced to ashes once before. Not something I want to experience again”

The cat said ashes with such pain that there was no doubt he still remembered what being atomized felt like.

“Nine lives," I said.

“Not quite,” the cat sighed. “No one can truly die in this dream, not even me. They just return to life after some time, usually. But every time they do, they lose a part of their memory.”

Priscilla, I thought.

“Die too many times, and you become a mindless monster that preys on the others in the dream,” he said.

“And if you die as a monster?” I asked.

"My friend, even death is no escape from this nightmare," he replied. "Even the most insignificant of monsters eventually stitch themselves back together after a week or two or three. A horrendous fate I would like to avoid, one I advise you to avoid as well."

A heaviness hung in the air as it became quiet enough to hear the crackling of the fire from the living room. If what Gordon was saying was true, Priscilla must have died several times already since she didn’t seem to remember key details about me. She wasn’t a monster yet, but I didn’t like the fact that she was closer to becoming one.

“I’m a terrible guardian,” I said. “I’ve let my lord die multiple times.”

“Your lord is the only one of our group that has yet to die,” Gordon said.

“Oh. Good! That's really good to hear! But, I wonder, why doesn't she remember things about me. Important things?”

“All of us entered the Nightmare with some memories missing,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve forgotten things too.”

I remembered how I couldn’t recall what time of the year it was in the outside world.

Perhaps the cat spoke the truth.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” I said. “I mean good that Priscilla hasn't died yet, bad for the rest of you.”

The cat looked at the pictures on the wall. I looked back at the pictures on the wall and remembered the two graves I saw outside the porch.

“We have lost two companions to the dream, one not too long ago,” the cat said. “The empty grave outside is for our most recent loss.”

Okay, the grave's not for me. Cool.

“I’m sorry," I said.

“Not at all,” Gordon said. “We were planning to hold a proper funeral for her once our Queen defeated the guardian of the temple. But since we are pressed for time, I’m afraid that may not happen at all.”

I heard footsteps stomp down the stairs in the living room. Gordon and I looked at each other before we rose from the dining room table and rushed back into the living room.

We found Priscilla standing at the bottom of the staircase. She had removed her white cloak that had completely covered her clothing before, revealing a beautiful red leather duster, a white blouse, a pair of black pants, and a pair of black hunting boots worn from use. There was a huge rose encircled by a circle of cruel thorns embossed onto the back of her duster. The rose looked as if it was made by directly burning the material instead of pressing it with a stamp.

The lightning sleeve she had nearly killed me with still covered her right hand like an assassin's glove. Its two missing spikes had been duly replaced. Her wing, the Irukandji, was nowhere to be seen, likely tucked away underneath her duster. Her eyes were red and swollen. She looked angry enough to tear down the entire lodge with her bare hands.

Priscilla turned to face us. My heart skipped a beat, but her wrathful gaze soon shifted to Gordon instead. She was angry, angry enough to kill. And when she spoke, the entire room tingled with electricity.

“Where is Fraysser?”