Somnia

7

Noahie Valk — Sat, 07 Mar 2026 00:00:00 +0000

The smell of wet roses was still strong in the living room. I looked over to the jar of that brown herb on the coffee table. Whatever it was, I knew that it had a strong effect. I pointed over to the jar. "That stuff there—what is that anyway?" I asked Harry.

He chuckled. "Oh man, Chuck. It's like freshman year all over again."

"Freshman year?"

"Yeah, of high school, you dope."

"Oh."

Harry took the jar and held it in his hand, twisted his wrist, and examined the herb. I could see a small scar by his thumb. "You, my friend, have access to the best shaka in the whole country right here. Grown straight from Winston County. Fumes so good it makes your whole body quake."

"Quake?"

"Yeah, you feel the world shake a little bit when you smoke it. But it's pretty mild stuff. Nice and pleasant. Always a good time. Wanna celebrate your entry back into reality with a hit?"

That made me nervous. It seemed that if this world weren't real, Harry—and probably most of the people in it—had no idea. Still, I didn't feel so inclined to believe myself just yet. Either way, I felt like it would help if I had something to take the edge off. I gave him a small nod.

"Alright then, I'll load you up a bowl," Harry said as he pinched some of it out of the jar and packed it into the pipe. The pipe itself looked rather dirty. There was a bunch of burnt herb and what looked to be some kind of resin in there. Harry loaded the pipe to the brim with the shaka, and handed me the pipe and that yellow lighter he got from Stu. "I guess if there's one good thing from your brain damage, it's that you get to experience the shaka shakes for the first time all over again," Harry grinned. I put the pipe to my mouth and lit the herb. A cloud of smoke formed in the pipe, and I inhaled. Immediately as the smoke hit the back of my throat, I began to cough loudly.

As I was coughing, my whole body began to feel airy, and it felt as if every hair on my body began to vibrate. I could almost hear my entire body hum. When I stopped coughing, I felt the quake Harry had described. He was right that it felt pleasant. Somehow, I felt less anxious and closer to something resembling peace. I saw a light purple vapor all over the room, as if the room was covered in some kind of transparent fog. I sat back on the couch and took it in for a moment. "Harry, is it normal for me to be seeing—purple?"

"Purple? What are you talking about, man?" Harry cocked his brow.

"I don't know. I just see this, like, light purple vapor all over the room."

"Are you sure it isn't the smoke you're seeing?"

"No, I see the smoke too. The purple vapor. It's, like, enveloped around the smoke. It's a totally separate thing."

Harry stroked his beard. "Yeah, that's trippy. Never quaked and saw purple before." He sat there for a moment and continued to stroke his beard in thought. "Must be because of that moon dust, man. Shit's probably still in your system. You feel alright, though?"

I took a deep breath and let out a long and slow exhale. "Best I've felt all day so far."

"Voluptuous vibrations, brother. Good stuff." Harry let out a light chuckle and sat back on the couch. "Man, I still can't believe you don't remember shit. That's gotta be something else."

"Yeah." I didn't want to spook Harry about certain details from the letter. I had a feeling that he'd probably just think it was delirious rambling, but I didn't want to take any chances. "Say, you know a place called Excelsior?"

Harry looked over at me. His eyes looked cloudy. It was a clear case of the shaka shakes, it seemed. "Well, you knew it better than me. That's your spot, man."

"My spot? Like I own it?"

"You basically should at this point with how much you go there," Harry replied, eyes still cloudy. "You're there almost every day at this point. They always give me free drinks when I show up with your crazy ass."

"Free drinks? Like you get them or I get them or—"

"Oh, right, brain damage," Harry said. "It's a pretty happening bar downtown. All Knights of the Round Table themed and shit. They even got this big plastic prop of the sword in the stone and whatnot. People love taking pictures with that stupid thing."

A bar. That sounded like the exact place an idiot with a drug problem would spend most of his days at.

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6

Noahie Valk — Fri, 06 Mar 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Once my nose got used to the smell of my room, I went to the plastic white drawers. They were two large drawers, and dust covered the entire piece of furniture. I opened the top drawer, and inside there was an assortment of small items: deodorant, cheap jewelry, condoms, and several crystals of different kinds. On top of all of it was a loose sheet of paper, face down. I could see writing in black ink on the other side. I took the sheet of paper and read the note.
Note to self:
If you're reading this and have no idea what's going on, the moon dust worked. You've finally gotten past the first stage. If things go according to plan, everything else will fall into place. Don't concern yourself with most things. Everything you see around you is a lie. Don't believe in any of it for a second. You were meant to go back to that place, but there are people out there who want to stop you. We had to wipe your memories so that you wouldn't be attached to this world anymore. Don't worry, none of it is real. Harry and Stu aren't real, even if they seem like it. No one is. You have to act fast before your memories start coming back. Meet Summer at Excelsior. She'll help you.
2627 Park Ave
I checked the bottom drawer. Inside there was a laptop, a cellphone, and a wallet. I took out the cellphone and wallet. The cellphone was an antiquated model with a traditional number pad. I turned the cellphone on and started looking through it. No contacts. No messages. According to the operating system, there was a SIM card inside, so it had service. I opened the wallet. There was nothing in it except for several hundred-dollar bills. I took the money out and counted it. Three thousand dollars cash. I put the phone and wallet in my pockets. I lifted the laptop out of the drawer, and underneath it was a large pile of hundred-dollar bills. I set the laptop on the floor next to me, took all the money out, and counted it. Eight thousand three hundred dollars.
It seemed that, evidently, I was some kind of lunatic.
But I couldn't understand why I seemed more level-headed. Clearly, the guy who was supposed to be me had his head completely screwed off. For some reason, I was a paranoid dipshit. None of this seemed to make any sense. First stage? Nothing is real? It all felt like some kind of practical joke. I also couldn't understand why I wouldn't want my memories to come back. If I had to go back to some place, it wouldn't make sense for me to not even know where I've been. I must be some kind of idiot, but that wouldn't explain how I found myself with thousands of dollars in cash seemingly thrown into a cheap plastic set of drawers. And if there are people who want to stop me, it seemed ridiculous that I wouldn't know who they were.
I put the loose cash back in the drawer. I looked at the laptop, and it was a small silver thing with a bunch of stickers on it. One sticker said "2RARE2DIE" in a punk-looking font. Another was a wacky drawing of some floating eye monster. Another was a drawing of a sword that had the word "Excelsior" engraved in it. I decided that I didn't need more of my insanity to parse through, so I put the laptop back in the drawer and closed it. I left my room, closed the door behind me, and walked down the hallway back to the living room. That smell of wet roses was even more pungent. I saw Harry sitting on the couch drinking a beer. He was still shirtless.
"Still got that brain damage, pal?" Harry asked, sipping his beer.
I took a seat next to him. "Apparently amnesia is a common side effect of the moon dust," I said. "That's what the reports on Room of Mush said, anyway."
"Yeah, I'd take what a lot of those guys on there say with a grain of salt. Lots of them just make shit up to scare people."
I winced. "Why?"
"Eh, people with nothing better to do, I guess. Just how the internet is these days, man. Oh, you gotta remember the internet, right?"
"Vaguely," I said. I sat there and thought about it for a few moments. "You use it on your computer and read stuff, watch videos, right? All the computers are connected."
"That's what they say, anyway. I don't know how any of that shit works, and I don't want to. Gives me the creeps, honestly. People watch these videos of Mexican guys getting their heads cut off with chainsaws and they think it's cool. Fuck that shit. I just wanna blow my glass and smoke some grass, know what I mean?"
"Blow your glass?"
Harry picked up his pipe off the table and showed it to me. "Who do you think made this beauty? Been blowing glass since I was twelve, bucko. Best in the business."
It made me sad that I didn't remember.
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5

Noahie Valk — Thu, 05 Mar 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Stu let out a light chuckle. "Okay, Chuck, I know you went a bit off the deep end last night, but let's be serious here," Stu said. "Clearly you've still got some of that moon dust in your system. I'm sure your memories will come back sooner or later." He swiveled his chair to face his computer. He shook the mouse a bit, and his computer monitors lit up. On one monitor, it was black and filled with text of different colors. It looked like he had a text editor of some kind open, but I was a bit too far away to read what the text said. On the other monitor, there was another wall of text, but the background was white. Most of the text was black, but on the left margin most of the text was blue.
Stu made several swift motions on his keyboard and began typing. The other monitor loaded to a different wall of text, but at the top of the screen was a picture of what looked like moon dust. Stu sat there briefly and scanned through the page. I could tell that even though he was exhausted, his synapses were zapping quickly. His head swiveled to and fro in small and fast motions. After a brief pause, he swiveled his chair back around to face me.
"Well, according to Room of Mush, it looks like retrograde amnesia is a common side effect of the moon dust. These reports say that most people who ingest a high-concentrated dose have it for upwards of—" Stu swiveled his chair back around to face the monitor, referenced the text, and swiveled back around. "A few days. You should start getting your memories back by the middle of this week. Until then, maybe try to relax a little, Chuck."
"So what you're saying is that the memories will start to just—come back? How does that work?" I asked.
"I don't know, Chuck. I'm a programmer, not a neuroscientist," Stu responded. "Look, you'll figure this out. Just stay calm. You're one of the smartest guys I know, even if you have a drug problem."
I sat there and contemplated for a moment. "So, according to—what was it again? Room of Mush?"
"Oh, right, amnesia," Stu said. "It's a website where people talk about trip reports from all the psychedelics they take. You were the one who told me about it, funny enough. Guess the shoe's on the other foot now."
"I guess so," I said. "I wonder if I can maybe jog some memories back. That sounds like something that would work."
"Oh, that gives me an idea," Stu said. "Maybe you can use this as an opportunity to, I don't know, clean your fucking room. It's disgusting in there, Chuck, and I'm afraid your stink is gonna infest my room if you don't do something about it."
I took the cue and got up from Stu's bed. I headed to the door and opened it. I turned around and saw Stu immediately get back to that wall of colored text on the other monitor. His fingers glided across the keyboard. It was impressive how he could deflect me so well. Clearly he's had some practice. I thought of saying something on the way out, but thought better of it. I walked out of Stu's room and closed the door behind me. Immediately to my left, at the end of the hallway, there was a door that looked in similar condition to Stu's. White paint. Chipped wood. I figured that if it was anyone's room, it would be mine.
I turned the knob and opened the door. Immediately a wave of body odor hit my nose. For some strange reason, I couldn't believe that I let myself live like this. After fully opening the door, the bedroom I saw looked ransacked. There were dirty clothes scattered all over the floor. A large white mattress sat on top of a cheap wooden box spring. The mattress had a large brown stain on it. There was a white blanket laying lazily on top of the mattress, and I was afraid to touch it. There was a small plastic white set of drawers next to the mattress. I walked toward the closet and opened another chipped white door. It was empty save for a few loose articles of dirty clothes and what looked to be a deflated air mattress.
Incredibly, the mattress was supposed to be an upgrade.
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4

Noahie Valk — Mon, 02 Mar 2026 00:00:00 +0000

I looked out the window in the living room. It was a bright afternoon and the neighborhood outside seemed quiet. The apartments outside looked old and somewhat dilapidated, like it would take more than a fresh coat of paint to bring them out of that state they were in. There were cars parked along each side of the street outside the apartment. Large trees loomed over most of the cars, and most of the cars were covered in bird shit. Still, there was a certain quaintness about this neighborhood, like it felt truly lived in. I was sure it had seen a lot.
Harry and I were quiet for a few moments as we both tried to take this new reality in. The fact that I didn't know who he or Stu were seemed to really sink in with him in those moments. He was looking down, seemed caught up in his own thoughts. I knew that if I were him, I'd feel something akin to grief if a friend that I lived with forgot who I was. But it was harder to empathize since I didn't know who I was either. I wasn't sure why I decided to take that moon dust in the first place, why it seemed to allure me in such a way that I was willing to forget everything. Maybe I didn't know that would happen.
Maybe I did.
When Harry told me that Stu was a programmer, that set something off in my brain. For the first time since I'd been awake, I felt a spark in my head, like something was trying to get me back to where I was. I knew that if anyone could help pin down what happened, it would be Stu. I walked down the hallway, keeping my steps light so as not to creak the floorboards. I approached Stu's door. It was an old wooden door with an aging coat of white paint. There were a few scratches on it and some of the paint had been chipped off. I could hear a faint clacking of keys from behind the door. I knocked softly.
"Stu, it's me," I said. The clacking stopped. I waited a few moments and then saw the knob turn and the door open slowly. Stu was standing there stiffly, and he looked tired. Up close, I could see the bags under his eyes behind his glasses. His eyes looked flat, like there was no light in them, but that something deeper inside kept him going. Underneath his clean and pragmatic exterior was someone deeply exhausted, but he didn't let up his act for a second, even if I could see past it.
"What is it, Chuck?" he said, his voice airy.
"We gotta talk, need to figure out what happened last night. Can I come in?"
He took a deep breath and let out a sigh. Even though he was tired, I could tell that he still had deep reserves of patience left in him. "Come on in," he said. He opened the door further and motioned me to come inside. His room was much cleaner than the rest of the apartment. There was a neatly made Japanese mattress on the floor with navy blue bedsheets and white pillow covers without a speck on them. The room was scant of decorations. There were no posters, knickknacks, or any other personally identifying items. The room felt almost barren, except for a desk tucked neatly in the corner of the room. On top of the desk was a large black computer tower humming quietly and two large display monitors that looked like sleek black mirrors. Next to the monitors was a black keyboard and mouse. It made the rest of the room pall in comparison. Next to the desk was a fancy black chair that had clearly seen some miles.
Stu walked over to his desk and sat down in his chair, his body fitting it like a well-worn baseball glove. He motioned over to the bed. "You can sit on the bed, Chuck," he said. I went over to the bed and squatted down into it, sitting cross-legged and holding my back up with the pillows. Stu sat there in his chair, leaning back and studying me. His gears were turning, but he kept quiet.
"So last night—"
"Chuck, you were acting like a damn fool," Stu said. "The whole night you were snorting that moon dust, going on and on. You didn't say a single word that made any sense. What's worse, I've got a deadline coming up on Monday to push ten code monkeys' worth of production code, and you kept barging in here to tell me all kinds of stupid bullshit. I couldn't get any sleep because of you, and now I'm having to crunch even harder since you spent all night wasting my time."
"What kind of stupid bullshit?" I asked.
"My God, Chuck, I barely even remember. It was so incomprehensible I couldn't tell what you were thinking. You stayed up most of the night yammering on about stupid philosophy—or conspiracy theories or whatever."
"Like what?"
He pinched his nose and began stammering in frustration. "I—I don't even know. You just kept saying the word 'psyop' over and over again. Kept refusing to explain what that was. You were delirious, okay? Absolutely insane, and now you have brain damage." He took his hand off his nose and gave me that same stern look he did to Harry. "I can't have you acting like an idiot too, Chuck. I already deal with enough of Harry's idiocy."
"Stu, you don't understand. I lost all my memories, all of them. I didn't know who you were until Harry said your name."
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3

Noahie Valk — Sun, 01 Mar 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Chuck.
I didn't remember being given that name. I figured that it would be best not to make that known to these guys so as not to raise any further suspicion. I couldn't understand why I didn't remember anything about myself. It seemed that I should've had a clear grasp on at least that. I had no idea who I was at all, really. I had no idea where I was, where I had been, or what "moon dust" even was. It felt as if I was just planted into a body, wiped of all its memories, and expected to just keep going as if nothing had ever happened. I was thankful that these two guys in this apartment, even if I didn't know who they were, seemed to trust me. I knew that if I wanted to figure any of this out, I'd have to rely on them.
Stu walked down the hallway past the stairs with the bag of moon dust in his hand, and Harry followed him. "Oh, come on, Stu," Harry said. "At least let me sell it to someone and get some of our money back." Stu ignored him and proceeded to open a door. I heard a slam come from the end of the hallway, then a toilet flush. Harry pounded on the door. "Are you serious, man?!" I walked down the hallway and saw Harry standing in front of the door with his hands on his hips, pacing around the door. The door opened and Stu walked out. He gave Harry a stern look. Even though he was shorter and smaller than Harry, he didn't seem intimidated at all. Harry, despite his larger stature, held a gentle disposition.
"Man, I'm not even gonna get my money back," Harry said, looking away from Stu, who was still giving him that look.
"Maybe instead of buying street drugs, you should try coming up with last month's rent," Stu said. He walked past Harry, walked into his room, and closed the door behind him. Harry walked toward me with his head down, looking like a displeased puppy. He walked past me back to the living room. I followed him. He sat back down on the couch, leaned back, and put his hands over his face.
"Oh man, Chuck," he groaned. "There was at least four hundred bucks' worth of moon dust still in there." He took his hands off his face and looked at me. "The least you could've done was finish it."
"I don't remember doing any at all," I responded.
"Oh, right, brain damage," Harry said. "So, you really don't remember shit, do you?" I shook my head.
"Man, that moon dust really fucked you up. I'm glad you were the guinea pig, though. Shit really does wipe you completely."
"What exactly even is that stuff?" I asked. "Why did we even get it in the first place?"
Harry sat up and clapped his hands together and rubbed them. "Ah, right, moon dust," he said. "So it's supposed to be this rock that can only be found on the side of some mountain somewhere in—I wanna say Asia?" He paused briefly. "Anyway, people say that some monks used it for thousands of years to, like, tap into the spirit world and go to other planets and shit. Supposed to be like acid, ketamine, shrooms, molly, and peyote all at once. Makes you trip like a motherfucker, man."
I thought back on the purple orb. I wasn't sure if that was because of the moon dust. It wouldn't explain the lost memories. "And I took this stuff?" I asked.
"Oh yeah," Harry said. "You were the one who wanted to try it out. Said you wanted to 'figure out what was really going on' or something like that. I tried telling you we should've gone out to that New Year's party downtown and try to chase some tail, but you were dead set."
"And so I was just here, on this couch, doing moon dust?" I asked.
"I'm pretty sure, yeah," Harry said. "I ended up going to that party, but it was a total bust. Struck out. I came back here and saw you passed out here on the couch, figured you had a good time."
"And what about Stu?" I asked. "What was he doing while I was here doing moon dust?"
"He was just in his room working. Guy's a total boner these days. Never wants to go out and have fun anymore, just stays in his room click-clacking away on his computer."
"And what does he do for work, exactly?"
"He's a programmer."
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2

Noahie Valk — Thu, 26 Feb 2026 00:00:00 +0000

The hairy shirtless man sitting next to me on the couch started laughing.
"Oh, man, how far down the deep end did you go last night?" he said. I continued blankly staring at him. I had no idea who he was. There wasn't a single memory of him in my mind. There weren't any memories of the apartment we were in either. My only memories were loose blank abstractions, fuzzy images at best. The last thing I most vividly remembered was that black void with the purple orb. Now I was in this random apartment sitting next to some big, sweaty guy who seemed like he knew more than he let on. After a few seconds, he realized I was serious. His expression changed. His brow lowered.
"You really don't know who I am, do you?" he asked. I shook my head.
"Do you mind telling me how I got here?" I asked.
"Okay, before we end up figuring this whole amnesia thing you've got going on here, let me get another hit in." He lit the pipe and inhaled another large cloud of smoke. He exhaled slowly, but started to cough as the smoke came back out of him. "Whew, shit, alright. Let's figure this out. What do you last remember?"
"I was in this black void. A purple orb spoke to me—said something about angels being real, or some crazy thing like that," I said. "Then I woke up here."
"Anything before that?"
"Not really. I have vague ideas. Like I remember being in a field at one point. Somewhere in the distance there was a fire. Not a whole lot I really remember from it, though."
He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "So what you're saying is that you have no idea who I am? Like at all?"
"I really don't. Never seen you before in my life."
He chuckled. "Welp, so much for making a lasting impression. But seriously, that's it? Do you remember who you are?"
"Yeah, I think so. I'm—"
A loud ring came from the hairy guy's shorts. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a cellphone. He answered it.
"Yo, what's up, Stu?" he said. He sat there listening to the other voice on the line. "Yeah, yeah, I'll give it back to you. You gotta come out here. Chuck's got some serious amnesia or something. Spooky." He hung up the phone. The door in the hallway past the stairs opened, and footsteps creaked the floorboards. A balding man with glasses walked into the living room. He was short and thin. A neat button-up white shirt clung tightly onto his torso, and his navy slacks did the same to his legs. On his feet were black socks, not a speck on them. He looked at me and squinted, then adjusted his glasses.
"Well, you look like shit, Chuck," he said. "I told you to lay off that stuff, and what do you do? Finish a whole eight-ball yourself. Now look at you." He paused, took his glasses off, pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "You know that stuff gives you brain damage, right?"
"What stuff?" I asked. The shirtless, hairy man began to laugh loudly. Stu covered his eyes with his palms, tilted his head upward, and groaned.
"Oh my God, I think Chuck actually has brain damage. I knew it," Stu said. "If you have any of it left, get rid of it."
The shirtless, hairy man began to rummage through the coffee table. He picked up a small plastic resealable bag that had a white sugar-looking substance in it. He flicked the bag. "Looks like you were wrong, Stu-boy," he said. "Chuck didn't even go through half the eight-ball." Stu stepped forward and snatched the bag from the shirtless, hairy man. He was more athletic than he looked. "And he never will," Stu said. "This is going straight down the toilet. Let whatever mutants are in the sewers deal with it."
The shirtless, hairy man bolted up from the couch. "Hey, wait a second. We paid good money for that moon dust. That shit cost six hundred for the eight-ball," he said. "Let me hold onto it."
Stu put his hand up and turned his head. "You don't need any more either, Harry," he said.
"Last thing we need is two brain-damaged idiots in this house."
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1

Noahie Valk — Fri, 20 Feb 2026 00:00:00 +0000

"The angels are real. Listen to them."
I woke up in a haze, not sure of where I was or where I'd been. The light felt soft on my eyes, but my vision was hazy. I was lying on someone's couch. It smelled like cigarette butts. I decided to stay there for a while to recollect what happened, but it didn't seem like I fully could. All I remembered was a black void. I couldn't feel my body at all. I wouldn't say I was floating, but just there. In the void, I could feel a light coming from the distance. As it grew and came closer, I started to feel afraid. Then it showed up all at once.
It was a glowing orb of some kind, but it was pure light. In the center, it had a dark purple hue. Further out from the center, the hue was lighter. Even though it made me afraid, I knew that it was peaceful. Strangely enough, I felt a sense of comfort alongside the fear. I don't remember anything else.
I was in someone's living room. There was a small glass coffee table in front of me. I turned my head and saw an assortment of trash, loose glass pipes, and ash sprinkled throughout. I looked above me and saw a ceiling fan spinning slowly. After several minutes, I sat up on the couch. My head felt airy. I wasn't in pain, just disoriented. Next to the couch was a set of stairs leading up to a door. From behind the door, I could hear rustling and squeaking.
"Ah, shit!" a voice shouted from behind the door.
There was more rustling and squeaking. I heard what sounded like glass clanking. It was silent for several seconds, and then the door flung open. A man came outside the door. He had an athletic build and a long, bushy beard. He didn't have a shirt on, but was wearing beige drawstring shorts. He was carrying a glass pipe. The stairs creaked loudly as he walked down them. He saw me, and his face lit up.
"Oh, you're awake before me today? Well, how about that," he said. "I guess I'll take that as a good omen for the new year."
He shuffled over and took a seat next to me on the couch. After rummaging around the coffee table, he turned to me. "You know where that lighter went?" he asked. I was still feeling disoriented and wasn't sure how to answer. I avoided eye contact with him. He snapped his fingers around my face. "You're not even booted up all the way yet, are you? I'll figure something out." He jolted up from the couch and walked past the staircase down a hallway. I couldn't see past it.
Then I heard what sounded like a pounding on a door. "Yo, Stu, open up. I need a light," he said. A few seconds went by. I heard a louder pounding on the door. "Stu, there's no way you're not awake, man. It's already three o'clock," he continued. After that, I heard what sounded like a door creaking open. Another few seconds went by. "Hey, thanks, man," he said in a softer voice. I heard his heavy footsteps coming closer and saw him come back to the couch. In his other hand was a small yellow lighter. He plopped back down onto the couch next to me, set the lighter and pipe down, and picked up a small glass jar on the table. There was some kind of herb in there—small, crushed brown leaves. He pinched some out and loaded it into the pipe's bowl. After putting the pipe up to his mouth, he lit the bowl and inhaled the smoke spinning inside the pipe. He held it in for a moment and let out a strong exhale. The odor from the smoke was pungent and smelled like wet roses.
"Whew, ain't nothin' like a wake-and-quake, right?" he said, looking toward me. I still couldn't process what was going on. I stared at him blankly. "Hey, are you doing alright?" he asked.
"Who are you?"
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