Ever Dream This Man? - Session 2

Horror fiction told through the medium of a solo journaling RPG. My playthrough of "Ever Dream This Man?" by Adam Vass and World Champ Game Co.

This is a continuation of the series I started recently documenting the narrative of my playthrough of Ever Dream This Man? by Adam Vass and World Champ Game Co., a lightweight tabletop RPG that sees players diving into their recurring nightmares to uncover the truth behind an entity that appears in their dreams known only as This Man.

If you haven’t read my write-up of Session 1, I recommend clicking the link below to check it out. There you’ll be able to find a quick explanation of the game and how it plays, my initial set-up for my game, a link to the Spotify playlist I am using as inspiration, as well as the narrative results of my first few prompts.

Are you back from Session 1? Great, let’s hop right back into the story that came out of my second session!

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Song 3: Brave as a Noun - AJJ

The dream sleep is only a blink, then the world returns. When you wake, you will be dreaming. The car is gone, Rita Marquez’s house and all the partygoers are gone, Stu is gone, That Man is gone. It is daytime, I think. I’m surrounded by dense, shady green. Only the barest traces of blue sky peek in through the canopy. But these are not trees. It is tall, tall, impossibly tall grass. My hands are dug into dirt, but they are not hands, they are little pink paws. They muss and fuss at fur running all around my plump body. I try to shake off a weight pulling down my hind quarters, and whip myself with a tail.

I scamper off through the undergrowth of a meadow in search of morsels.

I make it out of the tall grass into a more open patch, and I feel the sun and wind for the first time. The breeze is warm and carries promising smells with it. Morsels to the east, I suspect. I trace the delicious currents back to their start. They bring me to the base of a massive gnarled walnut tree. Gathered there about the soil and leaf litter is a whole host of woodland creatures. There is a fire pit in their center where some animals dance and sing while others cook for a feast that will soon fill the long tables that line the perimeter of the party.

A gerbil bounds up to me, tells me she’s happy to see me. I say I’m happy too, because she’s an old friend. They are all old friends. She tells me I’m just in time. For what? For The Wailing, of course. Of course.

We join the throng of beasts that has formed a circle around the fire. A vole begins drumming on the empty husk of a walnut. There is a quartet of squirrels blowing melodies out of flutes gnawed from grass blades. A bird or two offer harmonies with their own sweet voices. And then we all begin to sing. It is a jaunty song we have sung a thousand times for a thousand generations.

Oh, the hollow of our days

To toil and toil and fade away

To watch our loves become the earth

To know our bones become our worth

Oh, the hollow of our days

To delight and to decay

To grab hold of simple pleasures

To lose more in unfair measures

So wail, wail, wail for the breathing

Joined in pain, a chorus gained

To mollify the grieving

Wail, wail, wail for a life

Full of sadness

Full of sickness

Full of strife

I am crying. Gerbil is confused.

What’s wrong, Mouse? This is a happy song.

Is it?

Well, no. But it makes us happy to sing it!

It does?

Well, no. But it makes us happy to know we hurt together.

That doesn’t make me happy. I would prefer to only sing real happy songs. I would prefer no one hurts.

Gerbil looks at me like I have two heads. She doesn’t understand. Beauty can’t come from pain. Beauty should come from beautiful things, not pain. Pain is ugly. And life is pain, ergo. There is no joy in this. No relief.

I take my leave of the party. Gerbil begs me to stay, but I won’t. I dash to the roots of the walnut tree and find a cramped nook to squeeze myself in. I think I’ll stay here forever. A little mouse in a little hole beneath the walnut tree, nestled tightly, unbothered and unchallenged, stuck until my body returns to the dirt.

What do you think of that, sir?

I can see him looming like a tower in the distance. Watching as he does. The revelers pay him no mind, but he is all I see. A long time passes as I waste away. But he never moves, just watches, the only change in him a coif of hair that has grown over the months.

I’m onto your game. If I’m going to die here, it will be my choice, is that it? Is that what you want?

What do you want?

Graphic elements taken from this photo by Imansyah Muhamad Putera on Unsplash

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Things are still looking bad, gang. I’ve manifested too many features of That Man too soon, and I’ve already had to move to the next Phase. If my luck doesn’t change, my character is not going to have the mental fortitude to take That Man down. Hopefully, we’ll get some breathing room next session.

If you enjoyed this, read on! Session 3 is up now.