Sam's eyelids lifted as a big yawn groaned out loud. He smiled and lightly caressed Sarah's arm as she snoozed. He gazed at the window of his flat bedroom window, to the trees brushing the window outside. A peaceful start to the day.
He clapped. A murmur of disapproval emerged from Sarah as she pulled the quilt over her head.
"Ah, so good. Feel that, babe."
"What?" Sarah turned over to face his unwelcome early morning grin.
"That's the Saturday feeling. A weekend away from my shitty job." He slapped her buttock.
"Hey," Sarah's words were muffled under the quilt. "Don't say that about your job." She then pushed the quilt away to face him. “That job pays for your flat. Or do you prefer living with Mum and Dad?”
Sam shrugged and kissed her. "It's true." He looked into her eyes and smiled. "I don't want you to worry, but I could leave that job like…now. And not care."
Sarah rubbed her forehead. "Okay. Just leave the job, and look for another and hope you get interviews, which you will. It’s really early. And no caffeine yet. Why stay in it if you hate it? There are lots of IT jobs in the city."
Sam sighed. "That's it. I've had it with IT jobs. Yeah, it pays okay, and I'm doing my job well. But it's just a job, not everything, you know.” A cheeky smirk. “Like you."
Sarah slipped back under the duvet, fist tugged at it over her head. "Too tired for your soppy early morning stuff." She then bolted up and kissed his cheek. "But I love it."
"What would you like to do? I think I'm all for a park stroll, then a meal at the castle park pub later."
"Sleep more. My hangover says I'd like to sleep a bit more."
She hid away under the duvet again.
Sam leapt upright and jumped on the bed. "No more sleep for Sarah, no more sleep for sleepy Sarah."
He chanted the mockery a few times.
"Oh, go away. Let me sleep."
"I'm not getting up until you do, so." Sam jumped off the bed, hissing in pain as his foot awkwardly hit the floor. "Fuck."
Sarah sniggered as she threw the quilt away. "That's what you get for waking me up."
Sam pulled a bitter face, hobbling slightly. "I was going to run some errands today. We're almost out of milk. But after we shower, I’ll pick up milk for coffee and have a bit of breakfast. Let's get out of this flat."
"Fine."
"Fine. Taking a shower. Bagels, once I'm out?"
"Yes, please. And a very strong coffee."
"Coming soon."
Sam trotted to the shower.
***
An hour later.
Sam and Sarah straddled across the sofa as the news channel reported. Sarah kept nodding off, her head resting on Sam's lap, still in her pyjamas.
"Not still sleepy."
"We got back so late last night. Damn cocktails."
"Why drink so many?"
Sarah rose to a crouched position on the sofa. "I blame Rose for showing up."
"Your sister knows how to drink a place dry. She bought me..."
Ding. Sam's phone lit up on the table.
Sarah reached for a mug of coffee. "She sure does. I quite like the idea of fresh air, a stroll, actually."
Sam's complexion melted somewhat as he read a message. "One moment, babe. You might as well get ready. I'm ready for a hair of the dog, a very hairy dog."
"You want to drink again today?"
Sam flicked through a message; a solemn face had replaced his earlier cheery one.
"Yeah, why not? It's the weekend."
Sarah took in his bothered face. "Something up."
Sam tried to fake a smile. "Oh, just a guy at work. Stupid shit, nothing. Give me a sec. And get yourself ready."
He strode into the kitchen.
Sam tapped a screen button, opening Messenger. A shaky finger hovered over a new text from a lady named MELISSA.
He tapped.
The message with a blonde lady wearing a big smile drew heavy breaths from him.
Hey, Sam. Been a week. Not heard from you. It meant something for me. Call me.
Sam pressed a hand to his temple.
Frantic fingers tapped as he grimaced.
Sorry but that was a mistake. Please don't contact me again.
"Sam."
Sarah stood in the kitchen doorway and startled the heck out of a panicked Sam.
"Jesus."
"Someone's on edge."
Sam thought quickly as he closed the messenger window.
"You just crept up on me, Sarah."
Sarah sniggered. "What's up? Been jittery since that phone message."
Sam, gobsmacked, allowed a burst of laughter. "Yeah, sure. Guys in work, planning a night out. But I don't really..."
"Like them much."
Sam nodded. "Maybe it's me. I'm hating my job. Maybe if I liked my job more, I'd give them a break."
Sarah wrapped her arms around him. "Didn't know you hated your work so much. Try a night with your work buddies. Maybe they are not so bad if you get to know them."
A sheepish grin returned. "Yep, maybe I should socialise a bit more with them, you know, team bonding and all that crap. I guess it's not the same."
"You haven't tried to connect with them outside of work. You don't need my permission to go out and play. Get to know them. It's been months. They can't be that bad."
Sam rolled his eyes. "I know that." He gripped her waist. "I only want to spend time with you."
"Awww, nice but I know it's been a little harder since most of your friends moved away. Except the one."
"Yep, still got Ricky."
Sarah sighed. "Yeah. Too much drinking when you two meet up. Bet the two of you drank all the bars last weekend when I was visiting my folks."
Sam dwelled on the mistake he made.
While out with a secret harbouring Ricky.
"Okay, I'm starved. Doing some bagels, then we go out, yep?"
Sarah trotted off to the shower. He waited for the sound of the water spraying, enough to drown a call, placed the bagels under the grill and tapped a number.
"Ricky."
"Yo mate. Or should I say, stud?"
"It's no longer funny. She contacted me, demanding we meet."
"Are you?"
"No. Told her to go away. Shit, why did I do that?"
"As drunk as you were, anyone was a go. Why the hell did you give her your number?"
Sam listened for the shower for a moment, still running. "No idea. I hardly recall a thing. Can't believe I did that. It's the stupidest thing I've ever done."
"Like I said, boy, you were in a pissed state. I did try to pull you away. I was the single one, but the hottie goes for the one who's taken."
Sam wiped swelling sweat beads from his forehead. He felt a little nauseous. Shame filled his every thought as he tried to recollect the reason for his weakness. Sarah was too good for him. That’s what Sam kept telling himself.
"Sam, you aren't seriously saying you can't remember getting it on with her?"
"Telling you, mate, Vague. That's it. But what I remember is damning enough."
"Wow, Vague. You can't remember banging her in your place? That's a shocking thing to expect me to believe."
"Whatever," Sam tapped his lips with the phone for a second.
"Hopefully, she'll get that it's going nowhere. I may bump into you later. I'll be watching rugby later, so maybe see you. And remember."
"What?"
"Delete those messages and block her. And never be an idiot again. Sarah is amazing."
Sam slapped his forehead. "Yes, I know, I know that. Love her. I was weak and stupid last weekend."
"Later, Sam."
A burning scent filled the kitchen.
"Shit, the bagels." Sam placed his phone on a table.
Sarah sniffed as she walked into the kitchen, wrapped in a towel.
Sam yanked a half burnt bagel off the grill and dropped it to a plate. "Sorry, honey. Got a little distracted."
“Use the toaster next time. You have to keep an eye on them under the grill.”
Sam nodded as he pressed his lips and nervous eyes darted about.
Beep.
Sam's phone.
Sarah gazed at the screen; her jaw fell a little.
Sam followed her line of sight in horror at the message on the screen.
Contempt filled Sarah's face as she glared at Sam. His lips trembled as he feared the worst, and words of any meaning that mattered, just escaped him as he peered into Sarah's moist eyes.
She held the phone up so the screen faced a defeated Sam. He read the text.
I loved our night too much. You make love so well. I'm disappointed but I get that you're with someone. No probs. Maybe see you when you're single. Bye then.
"So, who's Melissa?"
***
Rounds fired off from the Kalashnikov rifle. Sam loved these moments of mayhem and bloodshed, a shooting game provided brief cathartic release from the pain of her loss each day.
Losing Sarah.
Several months had passed yet each day was as painful as the previous. An unrelenting stabbing pain, wounds unhealed by time.
Sam dwelled on that day.
The insulating affair. The phone message that ended his time with her.
Only days from asking for Sarah’s hand after living together for a year, a life with precious Sarah, bang, in an instant, it all changed. Not a day went by without thoughts drifting to introspective periods about why he cheated.
The affair. Sam’s monumental regret. He loved Sarah, and Sam wondered why he allowed infidelity through the door. One slip with a local wife on the hunt for fun while the cat was away. A few gropes at a bar and a casual ‘Come back to my place’ and Sam made the biggest mistake.
The healing power of time was of no use. Months passed by and her face lit up like a still photograph every time he closed tired eyes.
He slapped a cheek and tried to dismiss the memory as he dropped the PlayStation controller onto the carpet. Around eight to nine hours of solid Sunday gaming can make you dizzy, unplugged from the world, despite that being the whole point. So close to the action, Sam needed to step away from the console to re-connect with the real world.
“So, what’s my name? Ah yes, Sam.”
Dazed, he rubbed strained eyes.
A higher score bested the previous one. No triumph, just an exercise in stress management and escape. He’d tried many escapist directions: taken long weekends away by himself, a few days far off in Scotland failed to help as did a week in Ibiza - nothing worked. Everywhere he travelled, Sarah’s face haunted him.
“She’s probably with someone else now.” He muttered and then crunched up inside at the thought of that. “Don’t do that, Sam.”
He regarded the clock with an unhappy mix of dread and disappointment. Just fourteen hours before tethered to lines of code and a blinking cursor awaiting input. Programming. Used to be a love, but now meaningless data at work. Nothing excited him anymore, not the job, nada.
Life in Cardiff back at Mum and Dad’s home grew weary. He’d agreed to leave the flat with Sarah and look for another place. His enthusiasm waned. He couldn’t be bothered with finding a place and then being alone. So, back at the folks' home it is. Sam couldn’t bother himself with renting a place of his own yet. He felt he may go mad living by himself anyway, in a place where every room would feel stale and empty.
Without her.
“I am still young though”, Sam uttered to the emptiness of his childhood abode as he dwelled on the past.
Nothing here for me now. Time to move on, Sam told himself with conviction. As rapture came, a glance at Sarah’s toppled framed photograph held its gaze. The frame, face down, for many weeks while Sam tried to avoid her image. For weeks, a trembling palm held the frame close to a thumping chest. He tried to resist for a little while. A moment followed, one of sadness and trapped emotions.
He punched the air. Angst weighed heavily.
“If only you were still here with me, Sarah.” Sam wished to weep for the umpteenth time as he caressed the photograph frame, hoping for some tactile warmth. He’d tried to beg for her forgiveness. But to no avail. She was done.
He snapped out of reminiscing and kicked a paper bin, sending it reeling against a wall.
Sam reached over for the facedown framed photo of Sarah.
A nervous hand froze before it touched the frame, fist clenched and thumped his head. He reached out again, then withdrew a shaky hand.
“You were one thing going right for me.”
He focused on a positive memory: a fine day as she posed in the frame, unable to prop it up as he reached for the photograph. It felt good, her smile, her laugh, her warmth, but fingers just hovered over the toppled photograph.
He adored her. No twenty-something-year-old crush. It felt real. Sarah, an attractive girl, pulled many a gaze from lots of other blokes around town.
Sam’s sad eyes stared vacantly at the old bedroom walls from childhood. And as far as it concerned his parents, still a child.
“I am just past twenty-four now. Should not be living with my damn folks. Boy, how did I end up here?” The question drifted along a frustrated sigh. He felt the words stab at a fractured sanity.
Sam flipped open his laptop to go rant on Facebook, an older machine and sluggish with firing up. No patience forthcoming for an aged computer. He slammed the lid shut and picked up the smartphone.
“Screw you, shitty computer.” He bellowed to the room’s emptiness, aware of echoes drifting down the stairs. “Anyhow, I know I’m going insane. Who cares if my parents think I am nuts?”
Tap. Facebook flashed up.
“Ah,” he pondered, “don’t actually want to say anything, just bored, nothing to say, really.”
It was that moment, a passing time-wasting phase when the need to vent something - anything - on social media pecked at the mind until unleashed on followers. Soft words flowed as if to calm frustrations. “Just a reflex. Pick up the phone and tap Facebook. Nothing to shout about today. More bored than I realised.”
He tapped his fingers on the screen, then snorted. “How bored can you get?”
A heavy sigh.
Ring.
Ricky.
“Hi mate.”
“Yo Sam. Up to much? I’m heading over to Wetherspoons for a pint. I bet you could use a drink.”
“Probably could use several. Yeah. I’ll catch you up.”
“Okay, see you in a bit.”
“OK,” Sam muttered as he ended the call. “Here goes.” He tapped away on the Facebook page. “I hate work....I hate...my life...I hate...” He paused as though a long list of grievances grew to mention. “Screw it, I hate everything.”
Not wanting to come across as a moaning narcissist, he scrubbed the words away with a thumb on the backspace.
It all clawed at him. The regrets and dissatisfaction mixed to create a cauldron of extreme unhappiness, forced to drink from daily. He could handle life at Mum and Dad’s place, no cataclysm. A brief daily respite from facing people at the job and trying to give a shit. Losing Sarah just swelled daily like chronic pain.
Sam closed his eyes tight. A broken up mutter slid out. “Surely, it will be better. I have to move on at some point.”
He gripped the phone as though wanting to crush a stress ball.
In a hard flip, the phone spun to a messy desk. Nothing to say on Facebook at all. It slid across the surface and almost sent his mouse off the far edge. With that, and yet another long sigh, he headed downstairs and to the kitchen. Mum and Dad watched Comic Relief on BBC1.
“Hot choco anyone? I’m heading out after that.”
A slumbering dad turned his neck, the usual tardy response when Sam asked a question during a TV show. “Um, no thanks Sam. Meeting Rick?”
“Yep. And again, hoping not to bump into her if she’s with someone.”
“You need to move on, lad.”
“You sleeping or watching that crap?”
“It’s not crap, Sam, moody bugger today, aren’t you?” Mum bellowed back, almost sliding off the armchair.
Moody every day Mam as I hate this pathetic world, Sam thought. Perhaps a few words would suffice. “Yep, that is me, just hate these charity shows. Plenty of rich people can solve the world’s problems today if they bothered to...”
Dad shushed him.
Sam frowned, shook his head. He disliked being shushed.
“Fine.”
He poured a steaming hot chocolate and scaled the stairs back to his room two or three steps at a time, liquid teetering over the cup's edge as he leapt. He shut the door.
There, a moment of relief.
Sam pressed his palm on the door and smiled. It felt good, like his door erected a barrier between him and the disappointing world beyond.
A comfortable disconnect.
He sank into a creaky armchair and regarded the bedroom. Sometimes not even mass digital destruction achieved via his console controller to blast the shit out of some rogue soldiers quelled his frustrations. Nope. Even if he tried every time to paint the face of his boss, for example, on one of the digital faces. On Monday, she whips up yet another mundane database task exclusive to Sam's ‘to do’ list.
He tapped his head and sipped on a steamy hot chocolate. Sitting on the desk, the ID badge.
Sam Wright Developer LDX5456
His name, the job, all meaningless like the identity code and the notion of another eight hours at the day job pecked at his skull: another migraine swelled.
Sam smothered his face in sweaty palms.
He wished. The wish of wishes. He buried remorse deep and searched, pleaded for help, scratching at the door to hope, begging for answers.
Sam allowed tired eyelids to close.
He grabbed a jacket and headed out to meet Ricky.
***
That was a drunken night with Ricky. Sam stirred on his bed and caressed a sore head. He reached for a pint glass of water on the bedside cabinet. And drunk almost all of it. He rubbed his face and rose from the bed, and sank into the armchair.
And nodded off.
Bleep. His phone lit up.
He woke up and scooped it up, and focused tired eyes on the screen. A text arrived. Sam tapped up his Gmail. The subject read: Dreams Come True. Just type it, send it, believe it. He also noticed two hours had passed in the land of nod.
He snorted a horse noise, followed by a snigger. “Okay, what is this spam shit?”
Strange how outright outrageous subject lines still tempt even the wisest of folks. The link wasn't looking like the usual spammy links. The link domain read as dreamscometrue.com. Not some spoof domain.
“Well, the grammar is fine. It’s got https at the front of the link. Hmmm.”
Dreams come true. Sam took in the words. And boy, did he have dreams with one in particular.
“But just a website. What the hell? I’m getting a new phone soon.”
Sam tapped up the message. A window opened with a page with no text and only showed a download button. The anti-virus checker remained in an idle state, no warnings on the incoming file. And the page had not redirected.
Sam clicked it.
The app downloaded, then a prompt to install.
Sam thought hard again before a swift dismissal of foreboding thoughts of infecting the phone.
“Just an app.”
Click.
The screen flashed a series of white screens with one-second intervals, as though something had just taken control of the phone.
“Stupid me. No Sam. Why click it??!”
White flashes pulsed with increased rapid blinks, creating a hypnotic strobe. Sam averted his eyes. In the room’s dim light, the blinking screen hurt. Then the screen faded to black.
He tapped the screen. Nothing. He tried the power switch. Nothing.
“You utter plonker, Sam! Good thing a new phone is on the way.”
A burst of rock music almost caused him to drop the phone. It was Meatloaf, Rock-and-roll dreams come through blasting out of the phone. It vibrated as the music blared out.
Sam lowered the volume.
Then a cheesy American digitised voice dominated the speakers as the words ‘Dreams Come True’ formed on the screen.
Welcome Sam. Welcome to Dreams Come True.
He winced and lowered the volume a tad more. “What? How did you know my name?”
Your pathway to habitual happiness and unlimited desires. Our guarantee and just a few words away. Do not be alarmed, Sam. Welcome to our domain. Your dream will come true today. Please log in with your Facebook account, and our dashboard will connect you to your deepest dreams, your desires. All will be true today.
Sam felt chilled and calmed his voice to a whisper. “Again. Am I speaking to someone here? And how do you know my name? Clever app. How did it do that?”
No response. Just a static button read: Sign in with Facebook.
He felt exhilarated. Curiosity had aroused enough to take a plunge.
“Screw it. Must have got my name from there, creepy AI programming.”
He tapped the button. The white flashes started again. The screen faded to black, then a white rounded text window with a flashing animated star-shaped cursor that contracted and expanded. Nothing else.
No menu, No instructions. A mere blank window and a cursor.
“So, now what?”
The voice crackled through.
Type feed to see dreams in the making. To make your dreams come true, type your chosen path, your desires, your dreams. Be greedy. It must be a dream for you, your needs. Take them now.
Sam dismissed impossible thoughts that this is anything but a web app. “Why concern over a silly fake app promising to make dreams come true?”
He typed the word FEED.
Streams of data scrolled fast from the bottom upwards, so fast he could not read the text. Then it slowed, scrolled a little, then stopped.
“Is this a joke?”
Sam read one line to the next, one typed dream after another from hundreds of online users.
Give me millions today
I want a car right now
No more bills for me
That last one gave him a chuckle. He scrolled up to see more of the typed requests from wishing users.
One line made him recoil. “My God.”
Kill my dickhead dad now
“This is bollocks, what are people doing? Just a way to vent frustrations somewhere. Seems a pointless site to me.” Sam scrolled further, and as he did, the texts were less and less benign.
Give my boss a heart attack
Send my sister to hell
I want to die
“How do you close this...whatever it is?”
The window dissolved, wallpaper filled the screen.
“Cool, voice operated...so I just say close. So, what the hell is this, and what is on my phone?”
Sam fired up Google after exhaling profusely on a quick search for dreams come true app on Google’s play store found nothing about the app. He tried some broader search terms on Google Search such as dreams will come true app and dreamscometrue app but still nothing.
Buzz. Buzzzzzz. Coldplay’s ‘One I Love’ followed.
Significant. Sam’s favourite song, played the first night he slept with Sarah. Not Rock-and-roll Dreams this time.
The app knew somehow or delivered a quite wild guess.
The phone blinked and vibrated.
Sam grabbed it. The splash screen had opened.
Dreams Come True. Your fantasies today.
“Shit, how do you stop that?”
The splash screen displayed a swirl of shimmering pastel colours. Then the voice started again.
Sam, you have not asked for your dreams. You do have dreams. We know you do. Let our magical app give you your life back today.
Sam trembled. This app controlled the phone.
“Just bullshit...close!”
The screen failed to fade away this time. A cursor pulsated with shades of yellow.
This must be a hoax, but it knew something about him. Bemused, he stared at the screen. The voice emerged again - same digitised version of some loud-mouthed haughty American salesman.
Type your dreams, type your desires. What do you want, Sam? You know you have needs; we know you have needs, just type them and glory will be yours.
“Hello.” For a moment, he wanted to be sure a two-way conversation ensued.
Hello Sam!
The chair arched back, almost keeling over as he flinched.
The voice rambled on.
C’mon Sam, why waste such precious moments? Haven’t you wasted enough years? That mundane job to pay the bills, living at your folks’ home, that place of solitary confinement you call a room of yours where you so enjoy games. You like games, Sam? And Sarah, your lovely Sarah, don’t you want her back?
“Who are you? This is far past a joke now. How can you know about her? How do I remove this app? This is invading my privacy. There are laws, schmuck.” Sam continued to roar into the phone. “Who are you? How do you know so much about me?”
Think of me as the board game of life. Just spin the wheel, Sam. Type your desires. Go on, try it. I dare you, Sam.
Silence. He sat upright, frozen. “OK, if I do, will you erm...piss off?”
Of course, Sam, but we have a sneaky feeling you will want more.
He wanted to believe, no way to deny that.
“Take a chance. Obvious farce, so w-t-f on that.”
He paused and glanced across the desk at the framed photograph, and propped it up with haste this time: a picture of Sarah. His girl, at least until over a year ago, the glass cracked by a frustrated toss across the room some time ago while trying to avoid her face.
“This is stupid. I have to wait and you,” Sam stroked the cracked glass along the contours of flaming red hair, “will come back. So, let's try this bullshit, I...”
Sam felt that throat lump, a yearning for his lost love, and felt himself sink. And all while feeling pretty much like a sucker.
He returned to the phone and typed.
Give me Sarah back
A shaky finger hovered over the enter button.
A quick tap.
His eyes shut tight.
Something smooth, pure rapture, euphoria the likes of which never witnessed before, rushed fast in tandem with new unfolding memories. Fresh feelings, unique experiences as though a missing jigsaw piece in his life just inserted back into place. Happiness and new memories spent with Sarah. Months had passed since he felt able to smile.
He beamed.
Sam flicked through the phone address book to her number. He had removed it.
Should be in the phonebook, if something granted the wish. He scrolled through numbers.
Sarah.
Her phone book entry made him gulp. “No way. Of course. Hey, you. I…I have new memories,” he said with a gasp, "But it never happened. Events in my life have changed.” He recalled the breakup as new memories flooded through, yet still the breakup was remembered too.
The affair.
He remembered it but a new memory swelled. How he dismissed the adulteress wife at the bar and walked away.
Yet even so, Sam held a clear memory of her upset face on seeing the text.
Two versions of the same day in memory, but just one reality - time reshaped, sculpted by a wish.
He tapped on SARAH.
It rang.
“Sam. Why are you phoning me?”
He had not noticed. So oblivious while focused on the phone screen.
He was back in his flat.
Sam uttered no words and sprung from the couch he used to sit on, back in his old flat. His chest thumped as Sarah approached, wiping her hair after a shower.
In a stutter, Sam squeezed strained words out. “Hi...Sarah...good to see...you...sorry...just wanted to...erm..”
“You okay, babe?”
“Yes, yes, just wanted to say...” He thought quickly. “I hit your name on my phone accidentally.” He curled his hands into tight fists and looked away. A muffled YES followed, streaming tears, a beaming smile, heartbeat racing.
“Ok...why are you crying?”
She placed a hand on his cheek. Sam clutched her in a tight hug. And then smiled at her. “Can a guy be happy to see his wonderful girlfriend?”
She smiled back. “Okay. I guess.”
“Next weekend, let’s go find a hotel somewhere.” Sam’s tone became an excited string of fast words as he bottled up breaths to calm down. “Nice hotel, you and me, dinner, a few pubs. How about that?”
Sarah giggled. “Sure, you're treating me, can’t wait. What’s with you though? This is sudden, not usually one for not planning ahead, you. Love it. Love the random idea. Let’s do it.”
“Things are gonna change there, babe, promise, changes are starting right now.”
He glanced at the glow of the app cursor on the phone screen on the low table.
Sarah chuckled. “Looking forward to more of these surprise changes.”
“Ok. You can expect.” Sam paced through many thoughts. “Many changes, babe.”
“Okay. I’m getting dressed. Let’s curl up and watch a film later.”
Sam nodded like an excited child. “Sure, and maybe, grab a drink somewhere this afternoon.”
Sarah curled her lips and sent him a seductive gaze. “I’ve just showered.” She trotted off.
Sam threw up his arms. “Oh, yeah.”
He looked for the photograph. It was perched on a bookcase shelf. He smoothed over the photograph–no cracks, no longer damaged.
And of course.
He examined the phone as though cradling the discovery of a precious artifact. “How powerful are you?”
The power of dreams, Sam. If you can dream it, it is yours.
He was no longer bothered by the digital voice. “Should I be afraid? I mean, is this for real? Am I in a coma, or what?”
As real as dreams coming true. And that is what we do, make dreams a reality.
“I’ll be just a few minutes, babe.”
Sam sank into the chair. He still felt doubt despite the magical happenings of the last ten minutes. He glanced over his shoulder. Sarah had closed the bedroom door, where she patiently waited.
“How is this possible? Who are you? What are you, really?”
We tempt people who have needs, desires, and take away the pain of denial, of compromise, of having less than a perfect life.
Sam struggled to come to terms with the supernatural events unfolding. Hands shaky, a finger tapped the coffee table.
“So, not clear on who you are. Okay, so, what,” His voice croaked, “three wishes and all that?”
Until you have fulfilled your heart’s desires. Time to be earnest about your heart’s desire. As many as you want. Tell me when you are done wishing by saying your dreams are all fulfilled and we will stop granting.
He raised a curious eyebrow, bit his nails as he gazed upon the flashing cursor.
“What is this WE part? Are you some kind of magical fortune teller?”
You have been living a lie since you lost her. That lie telling you your life is meaningless. Now you can live the life you really want again. And get it right this time.
“How did you find me? How do you know so much about me?”
Your entire timeline is as clear to us as my voice is to you right now.
“What do you mean you scrolled through Facebook streams? That is some programming.”
We can see everything, Sam. Just believe in us. Make another wish.
He put on a hard thinking face, blank stares at the phone. “Okay. And what is in it for you? All these wishes, you say. You just gave my girlfriend back to me, who had most definitely chosen to never speak to me again. You changed events this past year. I have new memories. Got my Sarah back. What do you want from me?”
All will be revealed, Sam.
“A clue, maybe? Money?”
No money, ever, Sam.
“My soul?”
The voice chuckled.
No, Sam. Not your soul.
He yearned too much, Sam dismissed any cynicism and refrained from questioning further. Sarah was back in his life. That mattered too much. But something swelled within despite caution talking back at him, a taste of power, of greed.
A burning desire to want more.
“Okay, well, I will think about it. Turning you off for just a short while. If I can. Can I close you? One thing I don’t like, you seem to fire up and not when I open you.”
We know when you are ready to make a wish.
“Interesting. Weird, but interesting.”
Ok Sam, till your next wish.
Before he could say the word, the screen blinked, and returned to the phone’s static wallpaper.
***
The next weekend, he and Sarah took off after work for a few days. As promised, Sam picked out a luxury hotel in the Lake District and swept her away for what grew into one of their most memorable times together, paid for with a wish.
Simple.
The next day, he quit the job so despised but spoke nothing of it to prying Mum and Dad. If he wanted cash, the funds were just a wish away. He paid off credit card debts and gave Mum a boatload of cash just to show deep love and appreciation. The gobsmacked parents paid off their mortgage. A simple wish, and the money showed as a transfer from Sam the next second. The shock almost keeled over Mum.
Then Sam grew weary of the flat. He still had the bad memory of his breakup attached to it, despite that day being scrubbed from existence.
He sought a plush apartment, an unashamed upgrade to a riverbank penthouse. Most of the week, he and Sarah thrived like a married couple there, loving each other’s company as usual.
Her smile as crystal eyes met Sam’s. Sarah’s focus never swayed from Sam’s yearning eyes.
She warmed to every moment with him.
Things were great before. Now time together sowed the seeds of paradise. The warmth together was mutual. Intense happiness on equal terms. They adored each other’s every little quirk while basking in day to day sincere heartfelt joy.
Her face, every touch, warmed Sam more than ever.
He swept Sarah away for the most extravagant of times. They had a picnic by Lake Windermere, drank wine, rolled around, made love, returned to the hotel, splashed out on a three course meal, and then back to the room to make love again. Then again each month, a new holiday wish: Paris, New York, Australia. No money worries, no worries at all. Just the ability to spend and live - the dream.
As dreams can come true.
Bliss.
Typing the letters of dreams had opened a new door into a world of pure ecstasy. Sam lapped up every moment.
They strolled arm in arm along the road to the penthouse tower. A cold breeze stirred empty crisp packets tossed to the roadside and brushed over tree trunks and branches. Sam hugged Sarah outside the tower block as he kissed her.
“Told you I had surprises in store. Lots of changes.”
“Hmmm. More, please.” Sarah held a longing stare.
His eyes lived through a different tale, entwined with one where their strong relationship did not exist. “We should do this more. And so, how about, two weeks in Florida?”
Sarah wanted to visit Fort Lauderdale. She gasped. “Oh, I could eat you alive right now.”
Sam cupped her chin. He wanted to fill her in on how many wishes had transformed both their lives. “There is nothing we can’t have, nothing we can’t possess, anymore.”
She bore a questionable face. “Yes, great, but how?”
“Left my job and got a better one.”
“You left your job, you never mentioned that. Still, it seems like you’ve fallen onto a load of cash. You win the lottery? Just told no one? Look, I’m ecstatic over all this. Just…”
“What bestest most beautiful girl?”
Sarah sniggered. “Ok silly. Well, must be a big pay raise, your new job? Where is your new job?”
Sam thought for a second. A lie he’d concocted now required. “Running my own business now as a computer consultant. Getting paid a lovely high five figures a month. Plus, I win at the horse races. Money is not an issue anymore. Accept it.”
The horse races part - no lie. The app picked out hot winners every Saturday.
No job, though. Just wishes to the bank account.
Sarah’s eyes danced with a sparkle that lit up her and Sam’s world.
Pitter, patter.
Large clouds brushed across a tar-black sky. Raindrops tapped on their temples.
“Oh no, time to…”
“Get inside.” Sarah clasped Sam’s arm and ushered him towards the apartment building's front door. As they entered and heavy rainfall battered car roof tops, they failed to notice an onlooker.
A figure shrunk into the street darkness, watching, waiting.
A shadow. A humanoid shape, but just a black mass, rigid, floating.
The silhouette crouched down.
And crawled away into a nearby drain.
***
The next day, Sam pondered on recent events and mulled over a magic wand: the phone. The app started up, blinks, quick flashes of white light. A blank chat screen expanded its bright yellow borders.
The pulsating cursor waited.
At any other time, the way it opened would have sent a chill down his spine.
But not for a while. Now the phone served as a wand and time to wield.
A million ideas blossomed in his psyche. And he wanted it all. A holiday here, another there. Time for other types of wishes, ones not focused on Sarah.
So, he typed.
I wanta number ofitems.
He paused. “I can just buy anything. Hmmm. How about we bypass eBay or Amazon or any website. And…” Sam started typing. “Just make things appear.”
A shiny new Ferrari and another glorious two week holiday booked in an exotic location. Much thanks. Super. Awesome.
Within moments, no puff of smoke, the items revealed themselves. Two tickets lay next to each other on the coffee table. He peered out the apartment window’s expansive cityscape view and took a deep breath.
“Okay,” Sam clapped and rushed for the elevator.
At the roadside apartment block car park where Sam kept a space: the latest wish was parked, a crimson Ferrari 458 Italia, shining against the afternoon sunlight.
Sam salivated.
No reason to stop, dreams are eternal.
And now in the palm of his hand, to observe as each blossomed into a rich reality. Sam knew he could just wish for millions or billions, but to win the lottery presented a big wish off the bucket list - and more fun to win it, anyway.
He thought.
“I never actually… win anything. Okay.”
And he typed.
I want to win the lottery
The following evening, his Euro Millions numbers came up, smooth matches, and an even smoother bank of a cheque for just over €15,000,000.
Boy, Greed can really eat you alive, if you let it, he thought as his mind bubbled with spending ideas.
Life had changed for Sam.
And Sarah.
He bought a home, a detached country house for him and Sarah, close to town.
Later that summer, they married.
Could go on. Dreams never end. Sam could conjure up many ideas for further wishes. Then he realised.
He no longer wished for anything.
The day of fulfilment had arrived.
He held all needs in his grasp: own estate, the girl of his dreams, and devoted wife, no financial issues.
Love. Wealth. Perfection. Living the dream.
As dreams come true.
***
A storm raged outside Sam’s country home and thrashed against the charm and character of lavish acreage. The enviable views were shrouded in dark sheets of rain spitting on the countryside. Soft rock music echoed through the four floors, through the stately rooms and into the master suite, where Sam and Sarah curled up on a sofa.
“Maybe we should get a butler to open those hardwood doors of ours and bring us stuff.”
Sarah chuckled. “Just because we’re wealthy, don’t have to be lazy.” She slapped his knees. “I’m off to cook up lobster. Want some?”
Sam nodded. “Grab the champagne while there.”
Sarah scuttled off for the kitchen. He cast a beady eye on his phone and realised something. No wishes for some time for anything and almost forgotten when the app flashed up last.
The phone lit up.
The same fanfare music played its ten second Rock and Rolls Dreams Come True Meatloaf overture, the Dreams Come True splash screen fired up.
Sam hunched forward. He had forgotten how this app somehow knew every thought and wondered if Sarah had heard Meatloaf’s digital voice.
Still a buried secret.
It seems that you have stopped wishing Sam. Is that true?
Sam gulped and sent a nervous expression in the kitchen’s direction where Sarah scuttered about preparing lobster salad dishes.
She can’t hear us right now. Think I picked a good moment.
“Good moment!” Sam growled. “You almost gave me a heart attack.” He sighed. “You read my thoughts right. I was telling myself I had stopped wishing and yes, no more wishes. Thank you...whatever you are.”
I count…
A wheel of shimmering colour spun on the screen. Then a list: Sam’s wishes listed in chronological order as short sentences.
A lot of wishes. Okay, on to the next phase.
Sam’s eyes moved back and forth. “What? Next phase?”
If a pin dropped, even one petal from a bunch of flowers in a nearby vase, it would break the silence filling the lounge.
Sam froze as he tightened his grip on the phone.
The chat window filled the screen.
Glad to have your attention, Sam.
Sam threw the phone across the carpet.
The screen flashed, white to black to white.
We have to talk, Sam. You need to respond to us. It’s your turn now to give something back.
Sam felt his limbs shake. One gasp expelled after another. He tried to hold his breath and he gulped down to stay quiet. He grabbed the phone off the carpet.
“Sam, supper ready soon.” Sarah had strolled back into the lounge suite.
Sam bolted for the study slide doors. As he did, Sarah regarded him with confusion as they almost collided with each other. “Sarah, I need to...” Sam’s brow was a sheet of sweat. “Just finish up here, and then we can sit down. Only quick work stuff.”
Sarah gazed with a loosened posture and pursed lips at Sam’s nervous grip on the study doors. “Honey, what’s wrong, you look terrified.”
She placed plates of steamy lobster and salad on a coffee table and strode towards him.
How right she was? Sam placed a hand on her shoulder. “Nothing to worry about, just some deal I am on has gone sour, nothing major, but I have to...Erm...sort it out now.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“NO!” He almost spat the word. “Just a bit of a misunderstanding. Why don’t you start your lobster? Pour us some champagne and I’ll be with you shortly.”
“Okay, but I want more about this deal, after.” Sarah, hesitant, eyebrows raised, headed back to the lounge sofa.
Sam slammed the doors shut and turned a key. They bolted, locked.
He snatched the phone, a tight grip.
“What the hell do you want?”
I told you. Just need something from you and we’re done.
Sam muttered a response. “What do you want?”
A body Sam, for one of my team.
A trembling jaw dropped as though it wished to disconnect from his skull.
Can be yours, or someone you know. We love making human dreams come true. It gives us what we need by giving you what you need.
Sam fell to the carpet as though his legs morphed into jelly. “What...do...you mean...a body?”
That’s the deal. One of my team is on the way now.
“What...what do you want?” Sam squealed.
Sarah heard on the other side of the study doors. “Sam?”
Fastened. She yanked on the handle but to no avail.
Now I realise that you had your dreams granted and we will let you keep all. Except for one.
Sarah yanked at the doors. “Sam, open these doors!”
You don’t need to name someone as we have chosen. You see, it must be someone close to you or it won’t be precious enough a gift for us.
“Look, you can have all this back. I don’t want it, the money, everything. Probably should have asked for the small print. Wasn’t aware this was a contract. Just don’t hurt Sarah.” Sam quivered, a panic-stricken man, struck by a fear never experienced.
The most precious person in your life, a very worthy choice for us. It was not meant to be Sam. She left you. You cheated on her. You messed with fate when you brought her back. She was not destined to be with you, Sam, anyway. That affair was meant to end it. That’s how we chose you. Made your pain more intense, your yearning for her more real, and your need to have her back more passionate. Take stock of the situation. You have millions, a life to die for. But you do not have to. Just give us Sarah.
“NO!” Sam screamed.
“Sam, open this door now!” Sarah pounded at the door.
It’s coming and will take her...
Sam whipped the curtains of the bay window open and peered out onto the front porch. Nothing, just a downpour.
“What’s coming? What? There must be something else you want from me...name something...anything.”
Just a body Sam, we need physical beings from your world so our team can exist here. And then...we can feed…
The front doorbell rang. Sarah made her way for the door.
“Sarah, don’t answer it!!!”
Sam sprinted towards the doors.
Electrical streaks of lightning bolts emanated from the phone screen, searing his skin and darted along convulsing limbs to his eyes. He collapsed.
And passed out.
Sarah approached the front door.
Something scratched at the timber.
She looked through the spy hole.
Nothing.
She turned the handle. “Who is it?”
No reply. She huffed and opened the door.
A rush of air brushed over her body as a shape, a silhouette, a mass of blackened smoke hovered there reaching out a black hand, curved fingers that bent at the joints. Its hooked shape rested on Sarah’s shoulder as fear of the menacing thing at the door silenced any words that tried to emerge.
Sarah’s hair swept behind as though caught in a wind tunnel as she set her eyes on the spectral visitor.
A scream began but faded to a muffle, a dying echo throughout the house.
***
Sam came to. He hoisted himself up, strands of saliva hung from pale lips. The phone lay in grey smoke nearby. He unlocked the doors and slid them open almost tripping over himself as he made for the hallway.
The front door bashed against the wall as cold wind rushes carried leaves and sprays of rainwater into the hallway.
“Sarah!” Sam shouted until his voice strained to near silence. “SARAH!!”
A chilly hand, sharp, grubby nails and pallid skin, rested on his shoulder from the rear.
“Honey,” Sarah’s throaty voice said.
From outside, a shrill scream died as the wind howled.
The front door closed.
***
Some time later.
The flashing lights of several police vehicles filled the house driveway. Inside, the coroner stared in disbelief. Many of the policemen lacked the stomach for the carnage strewn across the lounge.
Crimson washed walls of the suite and its blood-soaked carpet.
Outside, hidden in the brush’s darkness alongside the driveway entrance, a figure observed.
Sarah.
She smiled. Her hand tucked into a coat pocket and fished out a phone. She tapped up the app, a deep cold stare waited for the voice.
Hello Sarah. That is you now. Where are you today? Enjoying the first days as a human. That’s you now, a new name and a new body. How’s it going?
A short pause, then she spoke. “Been feeding here. Thank you.”
The voice of the American emerged. Same penetrating tone.
Well done. We are on the way to releasing more as more humans invite us into their bodies. The power of wishes. Enjoy your new existence on Earth darling. Promised you your dream of escaping Purgatory would happen. Wishes do happen in Hell, dear. See you soon.
“I most definitely will.” Sarah slid her tongue over what blood remained on wet fingers and tapped the end call button.
A series of crunches as she crushed the mobile phone and scattered bits of plastic to the ground. She turned, slid her hands in the coat pockets and strolled down the street.
It found a body. And it fed well.
Inside the lounge, the focus was on what remained of Sam. The forensic team snapped photographs. Seated atop a glass table, Sam’s ripped head rested in a puddle of blood. His face, a terrified snapshot of life’s final moment.
Sam’s eyes, plucked out, eaten.
Nearby, his half-eaten cadaver remains on the carpet. A carcase with many parts missing, all that remained of Sam. His clothes were torn off. Penis and scrotum ripped away, leaving a fleshy cavity. Vital organs removed. Mutilated. Days had passed before the police showed up after Sam’s concerned parents wondered about his whereabouts. The air was dank and musty. The area around the body filled with that rotting meat aroma ready to turn the strongest of stomachs.
Blood had ceased to flow from many wounds where Sarah, a new Sarah, enjoyed her first meal.
As though intended, a framed photograph of Sam and Sarah left perched next to the severed head. The picture of a happy couple at their wedding captured a lost moment.
A moment never meant to be.
A heart-shaped blood smear on the glass presented a macabre sense of humour.
The scene marked the price of Sam’s happiness.
Cost of wishes.
Price of dreams paid in full.