"I'm Viktor. It's nice to finally meet you."

Time stops for a second as I try to process that brief but eerie sentence. For starters, his name instantly sends shivers down my spine. Viktor. The man behind that ominous painting that almost had me spiraling. He pronounces it differently than how I did; when I tried, it felt natural and light, with an enigmatic and foreign aftertaste. When he does, it sounds like royalty; like it should be called with head held high and reverence. It is that much more magnetic.

But the second thing that leaves me with my jaw hanging slightly open is a detail that I can't help but notice right away. Finally.

It's nice to finally meet you.

Thoughts rush into my brain all at once, and I can hardly organize them. What is he trying to say with that? Does he know me? Has he been waiting for me? Am I missing something here? I'm sure I've never seen him; he's not a man that can be forgotten, I could bet my life on that. He also doesn't seem like the type of person to choose his words recklessly, I'm positive. There's something in the way he speaks that lets me know he doesn't do it just to exchange a few pleasantries. He talks with purpose and meaning.

So it must not be a coincidence that he let that one thing slip out.

Silence hangs over our heads like a heavy blanket, and I can see him studying my reaction, as if testing me. As if waiting for my next move. But unfortunately, I cannot offer much besides a dubious reply.

"Finally? What do you mean?" I say, still slightly flustered, and I almost regret it as soon as I'm finished.

Viktor purses his lips, and for many, it would be an almost invisible movement to detect; but for me, who's been staring at him as if a ghost had just risen from the sea, it is impossible not to catch. He seems to be pondering, maybe on what to say next, before smiling innocently.

"Well, it's just that I've heard from Sylvia that someone would be moving here soon. I assume it's you, since your face is new to me."

"Right... Yes, I came here this afternoon. I thought I'd look around a bit. Actually..." I'm not sure if I should continue with my sentence, but something inside of me is telling me to do it. I want to surprise him. His eyes give me the impression that what I've told him so far wasn't what he wanted, and it might be just my mind toying with me once again, but one thing I'm sure of, no matter how strange and incomprehensible it is: I don't want to bore him. "You know, there's a painting in the house I'm buying from Sylvia. I think it's yours. She seems to be a fan."

"Oh?"

Viktor's ears perk up, his whole demeanor shifting ever so slightly. I caught his attention.

To be truthful, it's not only a desire to impress him that is motivating me. After all, that painting is still a mystery; and it just so happens that his creator is sitting right in front of me. So, it may go against the alarm system built within me, but I should probably take the chance to try and understand what is going on. Or at the very least, allow myself to clear some doubts.

"I remember selling it to her husband. I thought it would look great in their home. Did you like it, Ezra?"

There's a twinkle in his eyes, but it could as well just be the reflection of the moon above us. However, I can't ignore the childish, unintentional grin cracking the side of his lips.

I swallow, my throat dry, a feeling similar to fear rising to my chest.

"No. The technique is good I think, but the image is just... scary. I hated it."

Silence.

Nothing but silence surrounds us, the only exception being the crashing of the waves against the rocks.

That is, until Viktor laughs.

A genuine, infectious laugh.

He throws his head back, placing a hand on his belly to maintain his posture. There are tears forming in his eyes, and he's so absorbed in the amusement he's feeling that I notice he's beginning to slip off of the nook he's sitting in.

"Hey, be careful...!"

I lunge forward, grabbing him by his arm, trying to stop him from falling over and into the sea. Viktor calms down slowly, and I feel his fingers brush against my knuckles, only to hold them shortly after. He looks at me, wiping the single tear that managed to make its way across his cheek, and I realize then that not only have I grabbed his attention, I've entertained him. Not in the comedic, "jokes between friends" way. No. I've entertained him enough to awaken something in him.

He leans towards me, hand still latched onto mine, his face coming merely a few inches from my own.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"We agree on that." His eyes suddenly shrink, turning into two crescent moons.

"I like you, Ezra. I'm sure we will get along."

***

It's almost three in the morning when I make my way back home. After Viktor had said that, an uneasy feeling had come over me. Realizing I wouldn't get much more on that painting out of him, and that I probably needed time to organize my thoughts, I had quickly said my goodbye, and wished him a good evening.

"Don't be a stranger."

That was the last thing he said, before turning his attention back to the water and the notebook he had been holding before my interruption.

Sighing, I make my way towards the stairs, before stopping in my tracks. Do I really want to sleep there?

My immediate answer is no. But perhaps due to our encounter, something inside of me akin to pride begins whispering in my ear that I should just get over myself and go to sleep under that cursed painting. After all, what could possibly go wrong? Filled with resolution, I decide to keep walking, all the way to the bedroom and in front of the bed.

After slipping under the covers, with an ominous feeling brewing in the pit of my stomach, I finally turn off the lights. The world turns black, setting the scene on my first day in Saltwater.

Unsurprisingly, what I find waiting for me after my waking mind has been set to sleep is a familiar, gloomy beach. With an equally familiar silhouette towering over me.

Just like in my previous dream, I'm sitting closer to him than usual, my heartbeat as fast and frantic as ever.

But this time, the sea is much more violent. And with it, the voice calling for me.

You came.

I look out at the waves, eyes wide open with shock. What? I had never, ever heard the sea whisper anything besides "Come back." What was happening now? Why was it suddenly changing?

You came, Ezra.

There's another noise now, a bit lower, a bit deeper, a bit worse. It sounds like laughing. It sounds like laughing, but in my ears it feels like needles. It's a raw and uncomfortable laughter, one that is seeping with evil, that I can tell right away is malignant both in intent and tone. But its sound is so feeble and distant, that I cannot make much out of it.

I turn to the silhouette, fear gripping my throat, my jaw clenched so tight I can feel my teeth aching. I must not forget him. I must not let him move. But when I turn to him, he's standing still as always.

Only one thing is different this time.

My eyes shift to his hands, resting on the sides of the chair he's always sitting in. Unlike in the other dreams, where I would find them clenching into fists, they are relaxed. And his index finger is pointing somewhere.

I follow it, confusion almost overtaking my terror, until I see it.

There's writing on the sand. Hurried, scrambled writing, that must have been made shortly before I arrived.

Why are you here?

***

Sunlight shines on my face as I wake up, my whole body covered in sweat and the duvet thrown onto the ground.

Opening my eyes, the first image to greet me is that of the painting. It's almost funny how my misfortune seems to be permeating every aspect of my life. Before, I could at the very least find comfort and peace in my own bed after escaping from the nightmares. Now, I am forced to see them again, as if laughing at me.

I sigh, my head full with too many thoughts, and I force myself to sit up and out of the bed. I don't know what's going on.

I don't know why this last dream was so different. It makes sense to think that the change would be due to my moving to Saltwater, but still, why would that be connected? Why would this town be relevant? Why would my mind have been telling me for so long to come here, a place I have never been in my whole life?

And, most importantly, what is the meaning of the writing on the sand? Is it the man that wrote it? But why? Why would he not simply speak? And why, if all along my dreams have been telling me to come to Saltwater, would he be asking for my reasoning?

It doesn't make any sense. And frankly, I don't think I want it to, nor do I want to think too deeply about it. Not today. I've spent so long mulling over a possible explanation, that maybe I deserve to have a normal day for once. Just this once.

I change clothes quickly, and make my way outside. I want to clear my head a bit, and even if last night's walk wasn't of any help, maybe the sun will bring me some serenity.

Once again, my feet take the lead, and I allow them to; after all, it's not like I have a map or any knowledge of this city, so I might as well explore. This time, however, I am walking in the opposite direction. Contrary to yesterday, it seems that the more I walk, the more the streets turn busy, with townsfolk walking around in their heavy coats and children running with their hands held together. The bells from the campanile in the town square ring, and a few of them gasp, fastening their pace, probably late for school.

It's nice. I do realize that Saltwater is quite gloomy; however, it seems that today the clouds have allowed for the sun to stretch his rays a little bit further than usual, warming the cobblestone and bringing life to the flowers on the various windowsills.

It doesn't take much longer before I reach an opening in the road, coming face to face with a beautiful albeit a bit dilapidated fountain in the middle, and a small church to the side. Here, I can now see various stalls, each of them selling something different, ranging from clothes to meats to, of course, fresh fish.

It's the town square, arguably the most lived-in area of Saltwater. I take a deep breath in, enjoying the smell of roasted chestnuts being served at one of the stalls, and I slowly begin making my way all around. This is what I needed.

Compared to the city I grew up in, this is certainly not my usual scenery. Not at all. But still, there's something about it that is making me feel truly at home, like I've never felt before. Maybe it's because this is the type of place I would read about in books or see in animated movies, but it feels so nostalgic and tender in my heart that I could almost tear up.

So this is what peace feels like.

It doesn't matter what happened last night. It doesn't matter what happened in my dream. It doesn't matter who Viktor is, and it doesn't matter what my connection to Saltwater stems from. None of it matters. Right now, I just want to feel normal.

And as this thought dances around in my mind, something in the distance catches my attention. I squint a little, walking towards it a bit faster. It's a wooden sign, much older than any other I've seen in the square, with the letters painted on it already mostly faded. Still, I can't help but be fascinated by it, and for some reason, before I can make any actual decision, my feet lead me forward and into the doorway.

This, I think, this could be useful.

Lighthouse Library.