Joseph very much enjoyed spending his weekends exploring Providence Street. Although he liked the Cathedral at the end of Providence Boulevard, having visited it many times, it was the dark, narrow and cold Providence Street, with its crumbling memories of a more glorious past that attracted him.

Joseph was very tired that weekend. In fact, he hadn’t been sleeping that well, with a strange, recurring dream haunting him, paired with terrifying sleep paralysis. He couldn’t clearly remember the dreams, they were sort of immersed in a dark fog, with shapes that were almost anthropomorphic - with the “almost” qualifier being the eerie part.

Joseph knew that although those shapes resembled something human, they were absolutely not, but the details were lost in the mist. And then there was a voice, whispering very softly, almost like a child’s voice:

– Wake up… wake up… wake… up…

Begging for Joseph to wake up. The mist would get thicker and thicker, until it felt dense like water, then denser, hard to breathe, like drowning in stone.

– Wake up… wake up… wake… up…

In these dreams, Joseph tried to remain quiet, so as to not draw attention to the eerie shapes, but eventually they noticed his presence, his smell, and started to move towards him.

– Wake up… wake up… wake… up…

At that point in the dream, Joseph was in a semi-awake state, aware that he was dreaming, but also conscious; the shapes started to take form - cursed forms, horrific forms, incredibly evil - and Joseph couldn’t move, neither in dream, nor in reality.

– Wake up… wake up… wake… up…

The evil emanating from those shapes became unbearable, physically painful, oppressive. He somehow knew that he had to make his body move to break the dream, but only after much effort he finally could, exhausted, and too afraid to go back to sleep. And all the time, while struggling to move, he continued to hear the voice whispering “wake up… wake up… wake… up…”, becoming more and more desperate as Joseph remained frozen, dreaming, awake, and struggling to move.

Joseph decided to stop at his favorite place - the quaint used book store, with its old and rare books, and the exotic shopkeeper, who seemed to know all of its books by heart. Joseph enjoyed spending his afternoons there, reading the old books with their fantastic and yet disturbingly realistic stories.

As Joseph walked in the bookstore and greeted the shopkeeper, he mentioned that Joseph looked a bit paler than usual; Joseph mentioned his lack of sleep and strange dreams, and then asked the old man if he had any books about dreams.

The shopkeeper looked at Joseph with his piercing black eyes for a long time, and then said he did, but, given the nature of Joseph’s dreams, he said it was probably not a good idea for Joseph to read it. In fact, he strongly recommended that Joseph stayed away from that book, or any serious books about dreams, and politely but firmly recommended that Joseph took some time off work and traveled somewhere distant, the farther, the better.

Joseph, of course, was intrigued by those words, and told the old man he would definitely be interested about reading more, as the fantasies from those dusty, old books could actually provide some relief to Joseph’s predicament, just like fantasizing about something serious can lighten up the mood a bit.

Joseph noticed a slight change in the otherwise polite expression of the old man when he said the word “fantasies”, but didn’t make much of it. The shopkeeper took another long look at Joseph, and finally grabbed an elegantly bound volume from one of the shelves, and gave it to Joseph while still advising him against it, but Joseph had already made up his mind. The book title was a single word, “Morpheus”, written in elegant gothic penmanship. The ornaments of the letters extended through the entire cover in an intricate but worn out design that at some point represented something, but it was far too faded to be identified. Joseph, however, felt a shiver go down his spine, since they immediately reminded him of the shapes of his dreams.

Joseph took a chair and made himself comfortable, and started going over the book. And later he wished he had not done so.

The book started with a quick explanation of the dual nature of our world, and how certain frequencies could cut through the fabric of the universe, putting the evil side in touch with the good side. Joseph was familiar with the concept, having read “A Brief History of Light” and other books that discussed in detail how those frequencies could send good or evil manifestations across.

The book then equated consciousness, deep sleep, and dreams as the soul switching to different sound patterns, which reminded Joseph of the different brain waves that we experience when we are awake, dreaming, or in deep sleep. Joseph thought it was amazing to see such a modern concept discussed in such an old book.

According to the book, the sound pattern that corresponds to dreaming is very close to the frequency required to tear the fabric of the universe, and that sometimes small variations cause a tear to actually happen, resulting in what we call nightmares. Those tears provide a glimpse of “what’s on the other side”, which is obviously an unpleasant experience, but not as unpleasant as actually visiting the other side. According to the book, the discomfort caused by that fleeting glimpse was usually enough to bring the person back to consciousness and therefore change the vibration pattern, thus closing the tear with no major repercussions. Unfortunately, there was a possibility that more serious consequences could arise from that experience.

At this point, Joseph paused for a moment. This whole thing made too much sense - in a chilling way. He reconsidered the shopkeeper’s advice: leave immediately, ask for some time off from work, and go somewhere distant. However, his curiosity got the best of the situation, and he kept reading.

It was already night when Joseph reached that point - in fact, almost morning. The shopkeeper was still around; Joseph apologized for keeping him for so long, returned the book, and went for a walk in the crisp night air until it was time to go to the office. He wouldn’t dare go to sleep after reading what he had read that night.

The day at the office was uneventful, except for the fact that Joseph was extremely tired, but still too excited by what he had read. After Joseph went back home, he followed his usual night ritual, but once he was comfortably in bed, he couldn’t stop thinking about the dreams and what he had read in the book. After hours of turning and tossing, he finally started to fall asleep, just to wake up scared as a mist started to make its way in his dream. He decided that perhaps sleeping was not a good idea, so he made some strong coffee and watched stupid action movies for the rest of the night to stay awake.

This happened again for a few nights, with Joseph not having the courage to sleep. Of course, this was taking a toll on Joseph’s ability to function and even think clearly.

After a week, Joseph decided to see a doctor. He was hesitant - how could he explain the mist and the evil without sounding crazy? But an entire week without sleep was too much, Joseph needed help.

Joseph concocted a story about anxiety, nightmares and night terrors, and how they were preventing him from sleeping, without going into too much detail. The doctor was really concerned, and asked Joseph to check into a hospital, so they could give him proper sleeping medication and monitor his sleep. Reluctantly, Joseph agreed.

The nurses hooked up all sorts of wires to his head, and started a line to control the administration of sleeping drugs. Joseph felt more and more relaxed; during that period when you are starting to sleep but still somewhat conscious, Joseph started to dream - and it was a nice dream, he was walking on a sunny trail in the forest, a gentle and pleasant breeze touching his face… But then dusk came, and with the night that followed, a mist…

– Wake up… wake up… wake… up…

But Joseph didn’t wake up this time.

He is now in a psychiatric ward, wearing a straitjacket, in a padded cell, screaming words in a coarse, raspy voice, words that seem to follow a structure, but don’t belong to any language…