On a warm summer night, most of the residents in the coastal town were in a deep slumber, much like the town itself. The headlights of the occasional passing car illuminated the large, waterfront homes. The lighthouse, the stones of which began to crumble from the structure years ago, still functioned. While recent efforts had been made to update the infrastructure of the coastal town, particularly a set of streetlights, the lighthouse remained one of the few sources of light available to the town at night.
On this night, nary the fluttering of an owl’s wings or the scurrying of its prey could be heard. Yet, one young man stirred. In one of these large houses, the Vittorans resided. The white paneling only slightly beginning to peel from the salty air. A consequence of residing so near to the ocean. A well-manicured lawn, maintained by a slew of laborers, surrounded the coastal home.
In the sprawling backyard, croquet equipment remained set. The young, adopted son of the Vittorans had played the sport earlier that day with friends at a barbecue the Vittorans held to celebrate the young man’s coming move to university. After each side had taken a few turns, the friends decided that croquet was not the sport for them and raced the short distance to the beach. They swam for an hour while their parents finished the preparations. Just as they did before, the friends raced back to the party once the food was complete. While they ate, the friends shared stories of their time together in high school, and the young man, in particular, recounted inside jokes the friends held.
After eating their meal, the friends returned to the beach and built a small bonfire. At that time, many of the parents who had accompanied their children returned to their homes, allowing their children to enjoy the vestiges of this phase of their lives. At the time, the young man rejoiced with his friends. Slowly, each began to depart retreating to the comfort of his or her home. Eventually, only the young man remained. For some time, he stayed by the fire, but even the fire was beginning to depart. Sleep encroached, dulled his senses, and weighed his eyelids down. Before returning to the home, he doused the fire and cast one last glance out to the ocean and to the crumbling lighthouse. Satisfied that the fire was out, he walked to the French doors at the back of the house. Pausing for a brief moment, he readied himself, opened the doors, and walked through.
***
The young man spent some time preparing for sleep. His efforts became more lackadaisical as he went on. Unable to prolong further, he laid his head to the firm pillow on his bed. He closed his eyes and prayed for peaceful sleep. That prayer would go unheard.
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After two hours or so of tossing and turning, the young man jolted from the restless sleep that plagued him. Sweat poured from him and his t-shirt clung to his chest. He looked to the clock that lay on his bedside table. It read 2:33 a.m. Of course, he thought to himself. Since he was removed from his home, his waking at this time was near ritualistic and completely unintentional. His problem was that nightmares afflicted him, and moreover, he has never been able to actually remember the nightmares. While it seemed that his subconscious erased the terrifying images, it did little to help him resolve the issue. He knew that the nightmares had to do with the night that he was removed, but he had no way to remember the specific events of that night.
Instead, he did what he did every night. He tossed the comforter off of him, rose from the bed, walked to the en suite bathroom, and splashed cool water on his face. After taking a few deep breaths and counting to ten, he grabbed a hand towel, which had been hanging from a metal hoop to the right of the mirror, in which he saw his duplicate staring back at him.
After a few more deep breaths, he left the bathroom and slowly walked to his dresser, which sat right below the large window that looked out onto the ocean. As he did earlier, he cast a long glance over the calm waters. Having his fill of the placid water, he reached down for a small essential oil diffuser. This was the last in a long line of suggestions that his therapist had made to help calm the persistent night terrors. Prior to the diffuser, the therapist had recommended 15 minutes of yoga before bed, and before that, she thought deep meditation would be the trick. To date, none of her recommendations have prevented the intrusions.
From the top drawer of the dresser he retrieved a small bottle and sprinkled some of the contents into the water that sat in the basin of the diffuser. Within seconds, the room filled with the floral and slightly herbal scent of lavender. His therapist had recounted all of the so-called benefits of lavender essential oil, and so, he figured he would give it a shot. However, after having tried the lavender for nearly ten days, he could report that it did not ease his unconscious mind, but at this point, he had grew accustomed to the scent and didn’t mind continuing to have it permeate the air in his room.
After taking a few deep breaths of the lavender-laced air, he returned to his bed. Once again, he laid his head on the firm pillow. Trying to divert his mind’s focus, he counted the few glow-in-the-dark stars that remained on his ceiling. He hadn’t removed any of the stars, but the adhesive hanging them must have begun to wear thin as a new star would fall to the ground every couple of days. It was almost as if the stars were counting down the time in this second home of his. Within a few minutes, the heft of a fresh sleep began to wash over him. He was thankful that the dark abyss of sleep didn’t delay too much in returning to him this night. Within minutes, he was able to sink back into unconsciousness.
With that, one more troubled resident of the coastal town succumbed to deep slumber. The sun would soon cross the horizon, but until then, the dark of night and eerie silence would dampen the coastal town.