The soft crunch of dirt and stray grass roots crunched beneath my boots as I made my way out of the thoroughfare between my house and the town proper. The air surrounding me was the light blue predicating sunrise when the visibility of day had yet to lose the veneer of night. As such, my surroundings were depopulated since only the earliest risers, or the latest sleepers would share the streets for the morning commute of one in my position. It was always a romantic scenery as if I was a phantom walking an abandoned earth, but nine years of the same routine had dulled this sense of wonder to the buzzing of a nostalgic melody. For the most part, it would accompany me as static background thought, but every once in a while in a fit of light headedness it would wash over me with the same strength as the first day I made this trek. Everyday I hoped that feeling would sneak up on me like a bandit out of the alleyway, but the more I yearned the more I would invite monotony in its stead, just as I found myself doing this day.

  Like clockwork I met my first neighbor of this mystical hour, Charlie Yuld. He wore a denim jacket over a white shirt with red bandana wraped around his neck. He always seemed to be chewing on the end of some kind of weed causing his eyes to squint slightly. In conjunction with his slightly greying five o'clock shadow, it made him look older than his 47 years. He stepped off his rickety porch with a bucket in hand, splashing the contents over the ground of the small barn that acted as an appendage to his place of business. Despite its floor resembling dirt, or at least a very tough clay, it did not muddy from the water which spilled across its breadth. He pulled a large brush from the wall of the shed and began vigorously scrubbing the droppings and filth left by the animals. He did this every morning I passed by to make the grounds presentable to those that would frequent his abode throughout the day.

  Mister Yuld had come up with the novel idea of opening a small homely restaurant with a petting zoo attached. Thanks to this his home and business was composed with a purposefully rickity barn appearance and thatched roofing that used layers of hay, unlike the general off-white wooden two story houses that surrounded it. Or the red brick one story establishments that were sparsley dispersed down the road I travel. Children would play with the animals as their parents dined during breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was quite the popular spot in our humble town, but if his costumers saw what I saw every morning before his efforts to make the place presentable bore fruit, they would most likely have second thoughts about taking there meals so close to these animals. But that was precisely why he was so diligent, and why he was one of the few awake during my hours. As long as he could keep the filth from their sights, they would never question it. In that sense his job and mine were much the same.

  He leaned his neck over his slouched and tense shoulders to look in my direction as I passed and gave me a nod. I nodded in return without offering any more words. We were a familiar sight to each other despite the fact we’ve hardly heard each other’s voices, though I will occasionally catch a gruff “mornin” from him. I was always cordial with the townsfolk, but never openly friendly, staying within the range of acquaintances among the faces I recognized. I felt a sort of guilty discomfort around them, knowing that I routinely laid eyes on the waste of their minds, laid out just like the excrement covering Yuld’s barn. I don’t think it was something they minded. In fact, I don’t think it was something they really understood since it was a sight kept from the eyes of those not in my profession, but I still felt uncomfortable knowing I’ve seen more of them than I’ve had any right to.

  Not to mention what I’ve seen itself. Its not as if I can make out perfectly what the waste would entail in regards to their character or even match the detritus to the face that left it, but the idea that any given person I pass might be the source of haunting images I’ve witnessed is a chilling prospect. It was hard to imagine a straight laced man like Charlie could be the source of the festering mold of fears and fetishes, but it was hard to believe the things I witnessed came from any of these simple townsfolk. On my more wistful days I’ve considered putting it out of my mind and maybe even visiting picnic pets, the name of his establishment, on my way home from work. I don’t mind the fact that I’ve seen the mess he hides from others, I know none of his regulars ever got sick from his food and I see a much more disturbing mess on a regular basis, but when the time comes, I always walk right passed. I wonder what Mister Yuld would think if I suddenly showed up at his door step for once after all these years? I wonder if he thinks seeing him cleaning is the reason I’m one of the few locals that have never set foot in his diner?

  Pondering this, I heard the muffled cacophony of aggressively murmuring voices and shuffling feet. A ruckus, if a quiet one, at this time of day was usually a sign of one of my other regular neighbors and indeed I could tell from one of the voices that it was Chester Rieflake the elderly village drunk. Unlike Mister Yuld, I never found Chester in the same place doing the same thing, if I found him at all. Despite his dangerous slovenly behavior, I had taken quite a liking to this old man. Most likely because the bleached mind of an alcoholic leaves very little trace in the ether ways, and that’s if they even find reason to use them at all. I believe priestesses of ages passed were said to take a small dose of liquor before traversing the ways, though they would never have put themselves as deep in the cups as this man since they were meant to maintain a life of purity. Mister Rieflake may be a nuisance for the rest of the village, but he was none to me. I would even slip him coin from time to time although I knew it didn’t really help him.

  As the murmured voices began to become clearer, I was surprised by the conversation I heard taking place. I usually found Chester muttering to himself while limply sauntering with a bottle in hand, so I figured if he was speaking to anyone it would have either been a villager whose home he stumbled into by mistake, or the constable awoken to straighten him out if he was being particularly noisy. Instead, I discovered him beset by two evangelists of the church of the dreamless. I call them evangelist, but they were more like strongarms. They wore white tunics with black leggings and sleeves sticking out. Around their scalps they wore a golden circlet that held the image of a closed eye on the center of their foreheads. They were both young and strapping, with well defined chins and toned muscles which made for a poor image when they were both surrounding a beleaguered old man with a cocky swagger.

  I was not surprised that they would be harassing a drunk with what they considered sermons, but I was surprised they would be in our village at all. My mind went to the skirmishes I’ve heard rumors of towards the border. Could there have been an increase in hostilities? It’s said that where tragedy walked, the dreamless would follow like vultures. I would normally consider it none of my business and put it out of my mind, but if the army’s scrubbers were killed my own life could be uprooted.

  You would think that we are easily replaceable. It may take place in a dream, but in practice it’s no different than low level manual labor. In a sense we were, just not immediately. It took real effort to maintain a consistent and practical image of something as simple as a mop and then we also needed to keep from spreading our own filth within the ways as we cleaned. That being said the craft wasn’t anything extraordinarily deep either, anyone could learn it passably well in two to three years time, but no one wanted to. It was an unpopular if respected job. So, if scrubbers on the front line died, they couldn’t simply send the soldiers into the ways to do the cleaning. New scrubbers would have to be recruited by the locals. Luckily it didn’t happen often. It might sound like a viable tactic on paper, but both sides would suffer if the cleaning stopped. But accidents happened and the more intense the fighting, the more likely there will be unintended casualties. I shivered hoping my time in service would never come.”

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Shouldn’t you be more afraid old man? They said one was seen across the boarder recently. A sleepwalker. They say they come for the wicked and the pathetic.” A look of intense anxiety was on Chesters’s face, and he was clearly suffering from their taunting. I felt bad, but it would only make the situation worse if I interjected. They hated my kind more than anything. “Leave me be. There are many people more wicked than I even in this village alone. Why would a sleepwalker seek me out of all people.” Sleepwalker was a term the church used for demons. They claimed they were born of the ether ways, from stockpiles of filth, and that they sought the hearts of those that gave birth to them. I didn’t think this was anything more than propaganda by the dreamless who opposed the use of the ether ways by the masses. In all my years cleaning I’ve never seen anything to substantiate their claim and have never heard of evidence found by fellow scrubbers either.

  “Wicked? Perhaps not. They do say the dirtier the liver the cleaner the heart, but surely there’s no one in this village more pathetic than yourself. Just imagine it. Eternal life but frozen as you were at death. You could pickle yourself all you want, but you would never reach the grave. You wouldn’t be able to cure your alcoholism either. You’d spend the lifespan of this earth drinking yourself to death.” The anxiety plastered on Chester’s face increased as he nervously licked his lips. “You have to accept their favor. I would never…” Suddenly a loud crack echoed across the empty roads. One of the two had slapped the elderly man harshly across the face. “Those are lies! A sinner like you would never be given the opportunity. It could be only a matter of days for it to make its way here. I suggest you clean up your act before it’s too late.”

  Mister Rieflake, who had fallen to the ground, finally met my eyes as I passed him by and I could see pleading within them. Briskly I averted my gaze and continued on my way. In my periphery I could see profound sorrow on his face. I had hurt him today, but the dreamless would not have let me go easily and I simply wished to make my way to work. They eyed me harshly as I passed but didn’t say anything. I’m sure they knew that the probability of me being a scrubber at this hour was high, but as long as I didn’t say anything, neither would they.

  Out of sorts, I continued the rest of my commute while trying to erase the look of Mister Rieflake’s face from my mind. I assured myself that by tomorrow he will have forgotten all about the harassment he suffered today and be back to his usual carousing.

  Nearing my destination, I spied someone who would most likely be my final neighbor for this morning, seeing as I was only a hairsbreadth from work. She had beautiful auburn hair that blended in well with our town’s rustic atmosphere. She had both curves and heft, just the right amount to be appreciated by the tavern goers where she worked as a bar maid. She was the bridge between the likes of Charlie and Chester, likely making her way home from revelries to sleep until it was her time to work a shift. When she saw me, she winked with her bright blue inviting eyes that shone with a jovial passion in the turquoise morning shadow. I simply nodded in response, reflecting none of the invitation she sent in my direction. She would often make passes at me both in the morning and afternoon when I was leaving work and she was starting hers. It wasn’t anything too surprising that I would be in her sights. I was reasonably attractive and in my prime and my position was both secure and well respected but not so celebrated as to put me beyond the reach of a tavern maid. But I always cooly ignored her advances while remaining respectful. I had seen too much. Guilt at cheating, twisted kinks, depraved desires, and obsessive possessiveness. I saw the detritus of these emotions left by the very townspeople I lived amongst on a regular basis. I couldn’t bring myself to trust in something like a relationship or the charming smile of a village maiden. With a heavy heart I finally reached my destination wishing I could have made the transition holding the magic of the morning atmosphere rather than festering doubts and anxieties.

  I knocked on the door to a shed that resembled the barracks that were used by armies and spied the light of a candle approaching the window. The door cracked opened and a hunched, almost gnome like man, peaked through. “Well, if it isn’t Douglass, the finest scrubber our town, nay, this world has to offer. Make yourself at home and I’ll prepare your tonic.” He wore what almost appeared as a night gown, but was infact the uniform of a scrubber attendant. It didn't quite drape as far as a gown would since its primary purpose was to protect his own clothes from stains when mixing the tonic. Underneath I could see his brown pressed suit. With his stature he would almost look like an elf in it, but I knew it ws a keepsake of his former proffesion. He shuffled away and began mixing herbs into a small cup. I hung my brown leather jacket up on a rack and removed my boots. “I’m sure you say that to all the scrubbers, Rayngo.” He laughed himself into a wheezing cough. “Of course! Of course! But that’s all just lip service. I only mean it when I say it to you.” I smiled. We go through this routine everyday I work, but he never seems to grow tired of it. He finished the mixture and brought the teacup to me on a small plater. “Here you are lad. Drink up. Here’s to another day sleeping on the job.” I lifted the cup towards my grinning lips. “Someday you’re gonna get tired of that joke.” But I stopped just short of pressing the cup to my lips as I saw something unusual in the room beyond me.” The cots, usually containing only one to two other people, were almost all full.

  “Well, what’s all this then.” Only three scrubbers worked in this town. We each had two days off so most days it would be two of us working, while one day a week it would be three. By a quick count it seemed there were seven here not including myself. “Oh yes, that. Well, they’re all from the capital apart from Bennie. I’m sure you heard of the trouble by the border and I’m sorry to say this but I’m sure you understand what it means yes?” I sighed heavily as my heart sunk. With this many sent it wouldn’t be a matter of a couple of dead scrubbers. It would be multiple locations. We would all be sent apart from one and that one would be rotated weakly. This was a serious emergency. How had it even reached this point? I thought of the demon the dreamless mentioned and a chill ran through my bones.

  I looked over my new coworkers and suddenly started. Among them was a pale doll like beauty. She had wispy black hair like silken spider webs, eyelashes like subtle feathered fans, a rose tinge on her pale cheeks, and light pink unpronounced lips. Anyone might be drawn in by her ethereal fairness, but what had shocked me had been the slight whimsical and almost content smirk on her face. I felt a small sense of nausea well up in me. It was like seeing a surgeon grinning as they cut open their patient. Around her all the other scrubbers had the same placid tense expressions on their face. Our bodies didn’t show much when we were in the ether ways, but this was always the same. Rayngo had told me he caught a grimace on me before, but even that is unusual and I’m not sure I believe him. I almost asked him what her story was but then thought better of it.

  “What does this mean for today? For my pay?” “Not to worry. Not to worry. With all of you here it should only take you three hours to finish, but you’ll still be paid as if you worked a full shift. Isn’t your fault it’s like this after all.” It was hardly a silver lining considering what the source of the issue entailed. Sourly I finally brought the cup to my lips, not looking forward to the coming days, and drank the bitter draught in one gulp. I laid myself down in my cot and closed my eyes in preparation for a hard day’s work.