The following is an account of a gathering of the VIV writing collective. All names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.
Epilogue – The Final Morning
I was disappointed that of everyone who had eaten the rarebit, I never had a nightmare or strange dream over the course of our summit in Wilmington. Then I realized that, not only had the rarebit warped reality around me and my friends for about a week, but the black figure who persisted across the dreams of my contributors, had reared his head to all of us in the form of Ellison Colston. It was as if all of the dreams that we had in the wake of the rarebit were foreshadowing Max’s arrival with news about a man, a spectre, who had haunted Ladoga for years despite the fact that he’d spent the better part of a decade on death row.
Maybe Welsh Rarebit does have magical or mysterious qualities that elicit dreams, or maybe the specific ingredients used by chefs dictates whether those who consume it will have strange dreams. But, from my perspective, after our experience in Wilmington, there is no way to say definitively that it doesn’t cause strange dreams or even nightmares.
I will leave you all with this one last anecdote. As we all packed our bags the next morning and made sure the home we’d rented was cleaner than we’d found it, we stood on the front porch hugging and saying goodbye.
“You’re always my chief,” Gabby reassured me and this made me very happy to hear. News of the first VIV had really upset her and I thought that if anyone would leave our collective as a consequence of Max’s revelations, it would be her. But ultimately she understood the need I felt to protect my friend.
Then Max emerged from the front door. His face seemed long and pale, like he had seen a ghost and we all asked him what was wrong.
“Maybe it was ’cause of the intense conversation we were having all day yesterday, but I had some crazy dreams.”
We all looked at each other with worry in our eyes.
“More than one?” Sabrina asked him.
“Yeah,” Max continued, “I kept waking up, and every time I went back to sleep I had a different dream. They weren’t scary, they weren’t even really connected or anything, but in every dream, Ellison Colston showed up wearing all black with a hood. I’ve never had dreams like that, I’ve been corresponding with him for about a year now. It was like he was all in my brain last night.”
Everyone stared at one another, unsure if Max was confirming what we thought about the rarebit. We told him about the rarebit and all the dreams that had been recounted over the trip.
“Sorry,” I said genuinely, “I hope you don’t think we tricked you or anything.”
“So it’s real then?” he asked. “The rarebit makes you have dreams?”
I told him that I’d eaten the rarebit on multiple occasions and never had the dream, so it didn’t seem completely true.
“It’s weird though,” he said with a smile. “I’m glad you didn’t tell me about it before I ate it. That seems like confirmation of something.”
We talked and slowly packed up our cars. No one was really ready to leave and get back to their real lives, we all wanted another day to laze around, go to the beach, and discuss our writing plans. But eventually, I was waving goodbye to the last car as it turned onto the street in front of the house. And then I was pulling out myself, eager for the next time we all found the time to get away again.
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