Nightmare 
K Nights®

“Dreams are the royal road to the unconscious” - Sigmund Freud. 

But be careful where you tread!

Selene blinks against the grey drizzle, scanning the crowded agora for reason - anything that lends credence to her situation. Long cobbled streets, threatening to twist an ankle. Red-brick buildings. The scent of damp earth rising from the gashes in the pavement. Definitely England. Maybe. But something feels off. Disconcerting. 

Too many people, Selene thinks, as she tries to manoeuvre through. The press of bodies compresses around her, feeding the claustrophobia that has taunted her since childhood. She pushes through, but each step feels puppeted, as though invisible strings are pulling at her emotions and planting panic directly into her chest. She knows she is dreaming, she always does, but this dream feels obfuscated. Every step, every breath triggers an intense cacophony of fractal-like emotions, as if something is orchestrating her. She is a sheet of music. But who is the conductor of this symphony? 

“Watch it!” a market trader snaps as she almost knocks over a table of vapes trying to get out of the way of the sheer number of people. What’s wrong? Why am I running? Why am I scared? She cannot answer her own questions, she just knows she has to escape the suffocating chaos. Her legs heavy, her heels slowing her down. You’re dreaming, Selene. You can get out. Breathe. A wave of calm washes over her, but the unease remains as she rounds a corner and runs straight into the path of a palpable veil of darkness.

“Bloody hell, what was going on there?” Selene gasps awake, heart pounding, the vision of the dream still sharp in her mind. 

The darkness she ran into lingers, like a thousand pinpricks beneath her skin. She stares at the ceiling; eyes on the ornate cornices that decorate the ceiling, body heavy against the mattress. The ringing of her heartbeat in her ears drowning out the silence. Selene strums her fingers on the bed before wiping the damp from her forehead. She plants her hands down next to her and pushes herself up. Spine against the headboard. Eyes locked on the wall in front of her. She does not blink. 

“Snap out of it, Selene,” she mutters as life clicks back into place. She uses every ounce of energy she has and leans over the side of the bed. She pulls out a battered and dog-eared notebook from the darkness beneath her bed. Flicking to a blank page she writes, Big, black shadow – pinpricks all over as I passed through it. 

The notebook is her profane ritual. Knowing when she is dreaming is one thing, managing it is another. Selene has seen many therapists in her time and every single one of them becomes obsessed with her ability to remain conscious inside her own subconscious. Ironically, it is the advice from the one therapist who did not believe her that helps the most. They had told her to write down what she saw - moving the dream from unreality to reality, crossing that veil and giving her unconscious life, like a twisted Dr. Frankenstein. Selene learnt that this is the only way to let go of the dream - to physically see it and then to leave it safely on the paper, exactly where it belongs. Separate. Safe. Contained.  

Selene closes the notebook and lies back on her bed for one last second of quiet before work. At twenty-two, with average grades and no connections to fall back on, she does what she can to stay under the radar. The UK care system trained her well. How to keep her head down, how to survive. Her small one-bedroom flat, though modest, was all hers. The sanctuary she had always craved. The only home that has ever felt real. Her thick, black hair and olive skin set her apart wherever she goes, but here, at least, she belongs. 

Selene takes one last look in the mirror, her hair clipped up, her shirt buttoned and her name badge pinned in place. The perfectly constructed façade, a simulacrum she presents to the outside world, stares back, and for a fleeting second, she wonders if it is truly hers.

With a final, calming breath, she straightens her collar and turns off the light. She is ready. She is ready for the night shift. 

Selene comes alive at night, always has. She jests that whoever named her must have known her long before she knew herself. With a name which echoes the crescent blade that slices through the sky at night, it only makes sense. There is a tranquility to the night. A stillness. A quietness that gives her absolute autonomy. It is that connection that helped her work her way up to a junior management position at The Lantern Hotel. Many of her predecessors had treated the night shift as a chance to slack off, but not her. She is six months into the role, and she loves it. It is a job that illuminates her and her soul. 

Arriving at The Lantern, Selene makes her way to the staff room, nodding to Jeff, the security guard, on her way in. “Morning,” he jokes, like he always does. It is their little inside joke, and Selene offers a small smile. She knows he has a bit of a crush on her, but she keeps things polite, distant. For all of his quirks, Jeff’s companionship is a small comfort in the long, silent nights.  

Just as she reaches the break room and picks up her walkie-talkie, Brenda’s voice crackles “Selene. Can we get the handover finished quickly tonight; I need to leave as soon as I can.” Placing the device to her lips,  she presses the talk button and replies, “of course Brenda. I’ll come up to the office now.” 

Brenda is a solid boss. Down to earth and blunt, but also fair. She values loyalty and commitment above anything else, something that Selene has always appreciated. As Selene walks down the brightly lit hallways, the fluorescent bulbs in the rectangular lights buzz faintly, the comforting, calming cream walls stretch for what feels like aeons towards the pinnacle of black, the vanishing point. The stark contrast between the bulbs and the veiled darkness whispers a faint inaudible pull back into her dream, sending chills up her spine and down her arms. It feels so intrusively close to her, as if she has stepped into someone else’s fear. “Hmmmm,” she murmurs to herself, “you didn’t stay in my notebook tonight, did you.” 

The residual fear remains, creeping, lurking, lurching towards her, it is intensely unsettling; disquieting even. Maybe this dream needs more unpacking than a few hurried notes scribbled down could provide. 

Selene arrives at the duty manager’s office - the room which she will occupy for part of her shift - and opens the door. The lingering memory of the darkness dissipates quickly as the strong scent of Chanel fills her nostrils. Brenda’s go-to eau de parfum. It is another one Selene’s and Jeff’s inside jokes; they say, you can smell Brenda coming before you see her.

“Ahh Selene, fabulous!” Brenda greets her, barely looking up from the desk. “We’re fully booked tonight. No issues, no issues” she says, a touch flustered, rifling through paperwork as if trying to locate something specific. “Oh, except for room 228. The lights have packed up again. Could you get someone to look at them.”

“Yes of course. No problem. Is there anything else you would like me to do before morning?” Selene asks, anticipating the answer. “No, no, just do what you normally do and look after the place.” Brenda replies, finally pulling out the staff rota and stuffing it into her oversized handbag. Selene knows what that means, it is Brenda’s way of saying she wants the office tidy and organised by morning. 

“Right, I’m off, I need to pick Mike up tonight,” Brenda says, already halfway out the door. “Have a good evening and I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks Selene.” With a quick wave, Brenda disappears down the long hallway, her heels clicking as the scent of Chanel loiters in her wake. 

Selene lowers herself into the large managerial chair, the supple languid leather engulfing her as she comes to rest. She breathes a long sigh as she surveys the day’s proceedings spread out before her. Brenda is excellent at managing a large hotel, but not so great at keeping everything in order. That is where Selene’s skills come into play. She thrives in the quiet, night-shift calm, organising the chaos that the day leaves behind. 

The next few hours fly by as she works through a mountain-sized pile of paperwork. Though the hotel has digitised its processes, Brenda still insists on paper, leaving Selene with scribbled notes on printouts; her unofficial to-do list. Paying invoices, emailing guests, gathering feedback, tackling payroll issues and of course, adding another maintenance request for room 228. The work itself is cyclical in nature; an ouroboros of work really. However, Selene enjoys the monotony, the structure, the bringing of form and order to the chaos. Echoing her personal life, this environment is where Selene most feels at home. 

Just as she places the last piece of paper in its proper folder, her walkie-talkie crackles to life. “Selene, it’s nearly midnight, are we off for a walk round?” Jeff’s familiar voice comes through. 

“Yeah, I’ve just finished here. On my way. We’ll need to stop at 228, it’s in need again” she responds, locking the computer and putting it on standby. “No probs. I’ll meet you at the lift.” 

Jeff and Selene walk the floors every three hours during the night, a routine they established to keep an eye on things and ensure guests were not causing trouble. Over the past six months, she had seen her fair share of hallway mishaps - guests locked out in less-than-ideal attire, a few ladies of the night slipping out as dawn crept over the horizon, and more late-night arguments between couples than she cared to remember. 

The hallway walks were her idea - a way to handle incidents without involving housekeeping - and Jeff had happily volunteered to join her. 

As they stroll through the hushed, dimly lit hallways, the usual quiet lingers in the air. Only their own footsteps and the faint murmur of TVs from guest rooms break the silence. They move past each door without a word, casting each other side glances and smirks that say it all – some guests are watching the pay-per-view channels, while others are indulging in the ‘live action’ equivalent. 

But as they approach room 228, Selene’s smile retreats. She has handled maintenance issues in this room before, however tonight, commands a strange unease. Prickles crawl over her skin as she feels the same sensation she felt only hours before, déjà vu. 

The hallway suddenly seems colder, despite the lingering heat from the walls. She feels an inexplicable pull towards the chipboard door; the call of the void as the dream once did. 

“You alright?” Jeff asks, noticing her hesitation. His concerned expression reassures her and she feels grateful he is there. “Yeah, just…. a bit of déjà vu,” she replies, forcing a small smile. 

“I’m not surprised.” Jeff shrugs, thinking her reaction has to do with the room’s persistent issues. “This room has been a nightmare.”

“You’re not wrong.” Selene replies, almost laughing at the double meaning in his words. But the chill running down her spine makes it impossible to shake off the feeling. 

Reaching for her key card, she unlocks the door and pushes it open. A faint stale smell rushes out, and she stands still, facing the intense darkness within. As Jeff steps through the doorway and heads towards the main electrical switch, Selene freezes. She cannot move a muscle. Her entire body locks into place, a shock creeps over her as she takes in the sight before her. 

In the faint pulsing glow of the hallway, she can see her own reflection staring back at her in the window, or is it? This simulacrum is something abnormal, different, frightening. It is her face, her eyes, her very being, but her clothes are mismatched. Replacing her managerial suit is a low-cut top and a leather jacket. Its expression jesting, almost mocking, it feels almost…cognisant, as if she is looking into the eyes of someone else. The gaze is not watching, but studying, unblinking, learning, as though waiting for her to make the next move on the chessboard. But whose eyes are they? 

“Selene?” Jeff’s voice is muffled as he fumbles with the light switch, oblivious to her horror. But Selene cannot tear her eyes away from the figure in the window. She hears the drum of her heartbeat in her ears; pinpricks of fear creeping over her skin, the exact same feeling from her dream, as the reflection’s lips curve into a slight, knowing smile – a smile she is certain she did not make. 

“Selene?” Jeff calls again, snapping her out of her trance. He flicks the light on and in that instant, the reflection vanishes. 

“I’ve found the problem. There’s an exposed wire with this switch.” Jeff mutters, fiddling with the wiring. “It’s only a temporary fix, but at least we know it’s not serious.”

Jeff glances at Selene. “Are you ok? You’re white as a ghost!” 

Selene’s eyes shift slowly to meet his, as if breaking free from an invisible hold. “I’m… not feeling great, Jeff,” she manages to say, her voice barely above a whisper. Worriedly, Jeff steps closer, guiding her out of the room. “Let’s get you a cuppa. Everything’s fine here.” 

As they leave, Jeff switches off the light and closes the door. Selene casts one last glance over her shoulder at room 228, the uneasy feeling settling over her again. Even with the door shut, she cannot shake the sense that her reflection – or whatever it is – is still there, waiting for her to return, lurking in the darkness.