Tales Of The Horror Inducing Kind (2) To my credit, I was even able to avert confrontations with the astonishingly beautiful Irene. She would peer over her cubicle from time to time, seeing if she could not spot me, but I was far more cunning than she knew. I had spoken with a male colleague beforehand and managed to exchange cubicles with him. When she was to speak with him about my whereabouts, I simply advised him to inform her I had been relocated. She looked about wailfully, and I shared her pain. Perhaps after I'd overpowered my demons, she and I would embark on a few tastefully done engagements, and I would ask her to be my wife soon thereafter. On one of my days off the phone rang, and I was about to answer when I was hindered by a pair of eyes hovering over the receiver, prohibiting me from any further action. Well, I certainly wasn't going to disobey them, so I refrained from answering and allowed its ring to fill the apartment. This was the first time I had seen the eyes in awhile, and it dawned on me that perhaps they were protecting me from some outside force or influence. Yes, I was beginning to feel free again, but alas, it would only last for a season... A most horrid time I can recall started at work while I was stationed at my newfound cubicle. A very nondescript cubicle it was: its outer region bathed in baby blue, like all the others, and innards devoid of anything that would tempt me in the least, and definitely free of anything that might provoke those loathsome eyes from returning. Just the thought of them sent chills down my spine. Well, it was during this time that the provocative wonder herself, the quintessential beauty, Irene, impeded toward me. How had she found me? I made myself busy and pretended not to notice her, knowing all too well what her presence could do to me. "Ben? Is it really you? Martin told me you had been relocated, but I didn't know it was just to another cubicle," said Irene ecstatically. Her sweet, angelic voice oscillated through the air to my ear lobes, beckoning after me, but I certainly wasn't going to look up toward her. No no. "Ben," she reiterated, "is everything alright? I've been trying to contact you, but you haven't been answering your phone." "I'll be fine," said I, still not acknowledging her in a visual sense. "I just need to be left alone for awhile." "I don't know what's going on, but...you've been acting weird. Is there something you want to tell me? An episode of twitching began, but I sat silent, acting as if all was well and remaining entrenched in my paper work. "You're not on any drugs, are you," said Irene with a hint of uncertainty. "If so, that's OK. We can get you some help." My nervous twitching increased and I turned my head toward the aisle. I was showing progress these past few days. I couldn't possibly look upon her, not now, nor here, or anywhere. To embrace her would be akin to inviting the eyes over for a weekend or two. "Please talk with me. I want to help you. I...care for you." With that, she placed her hand on my shoulder and I jerked back with surprising vigor. She looked at me in utter dismay, and it was then that I beheld a pair of eyes, staring at me in one of the room's corners, mounted on the wall like a surveillance camera. I shrieked and scurried off to the exit, ruffling papers and disturbing coworkers. I walked briskly along the city streets, passing many an on comer, and reflecting on what had happened. I hadn't spotted the eyes. My guess was that they were still at the firm. But how would I explain my behavior to Irene, or to my other coworkers? I began to fear the worst, that I was to be terminated, let go, released, and that I'd never see Irene again. Never be immersed by such beauty...again. Such thoughts formed throughout my psyche. The negativity was getting the better of me, so I tried focusing on something else. Nature perhaps. The sun glared down toward me, sort of like the eyes, and its warmth gave me a strange security; cumulus clouds marched above me, which shared the color of the cone of the eye; and a firm, cool breeze pushed against me, which caused small grains of earth to fly in my eyes. Yes, the tranquility of nature had subdued me, and I closed my eyes to become one with it all, and when I opened them...when I opened them, I saw eyes. Lots of them. They were everywhere, swarming about like little, white-winged butterflies with dots on their backs and trailing after on comers. I swivelled about to see if I could spot my parasitic little friend. Nothing. I repeated my actions and still the same. I endeavored once more and this time I came pupil to pupil with a big, bulging pair of eyes, much bigger than those I had come accustomed to. This was all just too much for me, and I ran away in horror. "Why? Why?! Why, why, why, why, why, why, why?!" I kept asking myself. People watched as I careened past them, and some even got in their little quips at my expense, but I cared not. I was concerned of only one thing: ridding myself of those eyes. I entered my apartment, panting and out of breath, and immediately secured the locks on the door. With my back against the door, I slid to the floor and placed my face in my hands, reflecting on the day that was. My employment was most definitely over. I'd have to scrimmage for a new job in the morning, and Irene's enrapturing beauty I was to behold no more. I neglected to think about it all, but I couldn't help but to. These were the issues at hand, and I had to face them. I pondered awhile and decided I'd take an early retirement for the day. I removed my face from my hands and was taken aghast. The eyes, here, they dwelled here, here and everywhere! There were eyes populating the monitor of the television, eyes camped around and about the windows and the curtains, there were even eyes engraved in the door of which I was resting! I leaped to my feet and looked about in horror. And it was then that I finally decided that this could go on no longer, it would be either me or the eyes. I hastened toward my eye-cluttered closet, fumbled around in it a bit, extracted a baseball bat, and bashed at the first pair of eyes I saw. It dispelled. The joy was immense, and I could hardly restrain myself. I had found a way to defeat them! "Did you see that, you bothersome little devils," said I to the eyes. "I will win yet!" The eyes, they blinked collectively. This was the only time they'd ever done so, and it occurred to me that they were frightened. I went through the apartment in a tirade, sparing no eye in sight. The eyes clustered along the glass table were to be shattered by the impact of my swing. Eyes riddled along the walls evaporated as I made contact, leaving numerous cracks and indentations in the walls. The eyes engraved in the television monitor looked up scarcely at me as I pulled back to strike, sending them into oblivion. There was a succession of beats against the door, people informing me to cease that racket, but I couldn't do so, as there were still eyes left to be dealt with. And when the last eye had vanished from sight, I stood amongst the rubble as the victor. Panting. Loud beats emanated from the door and I proceeded to answer. It was the men in blue. "Is there something I can help you with officers?" They were very apprehensive toward me, the officers were. They entered the apartment, looking to and fro, questioning me. I told them about the eyes, and how they had tormented me so, and how I had endeavored to rid myself of them. They requested that I come along with them, but I declined, stating that the eyes were no more. They insisted, and I resisted still, with my baseball bat. They then resorted to force of their own, brandishing batons, and I, still resisting, was escorted to their squad car. And so here I am. I don't open my eyes that much anymore. I don't want to, because if I do I'll see them, and since they took my baseball bat away I can't get rid of them. But on occasion, I do have to open them, to eat. The nice men in white bring me a variety of veggie’s and meats and I just sit here in this corner, eating, watching the eyes trot about behind them. If only they knew as I knew. Sir Vincent DeGalle Valentine was busying himself with writing the conclusion to Kent Rezner's "Those Omnipresent Eyes", while sipping on a glass of Sherry, when--rather unexpectedly--he heard a light tapping on the door to his study. Who could it be? He had already sent Martha the maid home so that he could have complete silence as he sorted through those stories that would be in his fan focused anthology. He suddenly realized that she might've been returning for some unspecified purpose. She did--after all--possess a copy of the master key to the mansion. He let loose a sigh and gingerly strolled to the door, but when he arrived no one was there to greet him. Strange, he thought. Perhaps it's just my imagination playing tricks on me. He headed back toward his desk and he could see that it was raining with intensity. He repositioned himself in his chair and began writing. Ah yes, that was a rather brilliant piece. I must remind myself to send a letter of congratulations to Mr. Rezner, as I was completely absorbed by the predicament of Ben with those eyes... He let out a chuckle. He was very pleased with the way the anthology was shaping up... But don't get me wrong. That's not to say that Daniel Marrow's piece wasn't as comparably good as Kent Rezner's. Both had their strong points, and--you may have noticed (which I'm sure you did)--both focused on the inward struggle, which, as you know being my fans, is a topic that I love to explore. But fret not, my loyal readership. For those of you who had a special place for "The Centipedes" know that I'll also be sending a letter of congratulations to Daniel Marrow as well. In fact, I'll be sending a letter of congratulations to all authors whom I accept to participate in this anthology. Perhaps now it would be best to share with you how this story came to be. Just as Daniel Marrow gave me information concerning the origin of his tale, so too did Kent Rezner share with me how his story was birthed. The protagonist, Ben, is a patient at an asylum in Dublin, Ireland. Kent Rezner is one of the administrators of the facility and he asked for specific information from Ben in order to pen this tale. I, for one, think he did an incredible job writing it. Now, let us continue. Our next story comes to us from the states by an author who goes by the name of Adrian Belfast and is entitled "The Rivals." Adrian Belfast sat transfixed in front of his computer working on his latest creation. Adrian was an aspiring writer. He had been writing now for a little over five years time, and the progress that he had made was evident. He went from writing nothing more than pointless drivel to some really compelling pieces of literature, at least he'd say so. He was especially drawn to the fantasy and horror genres. The piece that he was working on at this moment actually happened to be horror in nature. To say that Adrian was a driven lad would perhaps be a bit of an understatement. He relished the opportunity to share his works with others, which is why he joined an online writer's community. Just about everything about Writers Of Tomorrow.com resonated with the college student; from the private email accounts to the way reviews were handled. Even when getting spammed, Adrian would look the other way as if it wasn't that big a deal. As long as he was improving his craft, nothing else really mattered. Then something happened. It was a regular day, just like any other day. Adrian was surfing his newfound writers community for some good fiction to read when he chanced upon the work of a fellow named Lucas Slaughter. Upon reading Lucas' bio, Adrian discovered that Lucas attended the same university as he did and was also interested in reading and writing horror fiction. Adrian's interest was piqued. Upon further inspection of his bio, Adrian noticed that Lucas was one year his senior. Well let's see how good this cat really is, thought Adrian to himself. And so Adrian busied himself reading over the work of Lucas Slaughter's, and to his utter and complete astonishment, the cat--as he so eloquently put it--turned out to be quite the writer. His stories, thought Adrian to himself as he continued to read through a work of Lucas', they are so full of the inexplicable and unexplainable. Raw emotion fills every corner, every crevice. The man is a poet if there ever was one. How could he possibly get this good being the age that he is now? It was a mystery to the young Adrian Belfast. It would take years to develop this kind of talent, thought Adrian to himself. Where did it come from? Indeed. It seemed to Adrian that Lucas had matured well for someone his age. I must meet him, he thought to himself. So Adrian busied himself with writing a review for one of Lucas' horror stories. He praised it wholeheartedly, saying that it was some of the best--if not the best--unpublished fiction he had ever had the chance to read. But while one side of Adrian could not help but to heap praise upon praise on the works of Lucas Slaughter, another side was seething. It's unfair, thought Adrian to himself, as he pounded the desk with his fist. How can he be so good, at such a young age? Then the thought came that perhaps the problem lies not with Lucas, but with himself. Maybe it's not him, thought Adrian to himself. Maybe it's me. Perhaps Adrian Belfast doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence as Lucas Slaughter, he thought. Now the young Adrian drifted into a long and lasting depression. His face fell into his hands all while the computer screen still shined with the works of Lucas Slaughter. Adrian fell asleep at his desk. He was glad to put such a devastating night--in the intermediate years of his aspirations to be a writer--behind him. Adrian had discovered that Lucas was on the journalism team at the university and was set on meeting him after he finished going to all of his classes. Adrian had three classes to attend, Speech 101, Math 113, and English 150. All through those classes, however, his focus was intensely on meeting Lucas. He could care less what was going on in class when there was someone out there--and so close, mind you--who commanded the English language like Lucas did. Finding the journalism room was easy enough. Adrian had walked past it a number of times in his tenure at the university. When he got there, a number of individuals were huddled around in a circle discussing issues relevant to the newspaper, such as politics, rate increases in tuition, and things of that nature. A lone young male stood from his seat to question Adrian. "Can I help you?" said the unknown young man. Adrian was at first at a loss how to form what he wanted to say. He then summoned up enough courage and spoke. "I'm hoping that you can. I'm looking for a Lucas Slaughter," said Adrian with a bit of uncertainty. "That's me," said the young man. "I'm Lucas Slaughter." Adrian's first impressions of Lucas were that he was an incredibly good looking young male, with nary a blemish on his white cheeks. I guess that's something else he's beaten up on me with, thought Adrian to himself. He was quite disgusted with his perceived impotency. "Could I talk to you for uh--oh I don't know--a few minutes?" Lucas looked around at his group for approval. No one seemed to object. "Yeah sure," said Lucas. "I'll be right out." Adrian waited in the hallway for Lucas to arrive. He had not practiced in his head what he wanted to say. The thought had come earlier on that perhaps spontaneity would be best in this situation and Adrian had succumbed to it. Lucas came out of the classroom in a short while. He had his backpack strapped along his shoulders. "So--you wanted to see me?" "Yes," began Adrian. "I did. My name's Adrian, Adrian Belfast. Look--I know that like--we're total strangers and all, but I just had this incredible desire to want to get to know you." Here the expression on Lucas' face was one of bewilderment. He had no idea what Adrian was trying to say. Adrian saw this and sought to correct it. "Perhaps it would be best if I started here then: I'm a writer, and last night I saw some of your writings on the Internet. Now--" "--Ah, so that's where I recognized your name from," said Lucas with a sigh of relief. "You're Adrian Belfast, the guy who sent a review to my short story last night." "Yes," said Adrian. "Well, put her there!" said Lucas as he reached for Adrian's hand. Adrian was a little put-off by this but shook his hand anyway. "Hey, look here, that was some awful nice things you said about my story. I was especially moved when you said, 'In my opinion, this should be in print.'" "Yes, well--it was a really great story." "So," began Lucas as he elbowed Adrian in his rib cage, "you got any plans for later on tonight?" "Tonight?" began Adrian. Adrian hadn't anticipated this. He only wanted to get to know Lucas a little, possibly get him to look over some of his writings to offer a suggestion here or an evaluation there. Adrian was silent for a short while. Acting impulsively, he thought, might prove to be the way to go. It's always a good idea to keep your enemies relatively within reaching distance, he thought. "Nothing," said Adrian Belfast. "What did you have in mind?" Adrian was online again. He was currently looking over even more of Lucas' works. One story, in particular, caught his interest. It was about a young man who walked unseen to the human eye, but not by science, mind you. It was through social conditions. Incredible, thought Adrian to himself. If I could only manage to secure a fraction of the talent of this here gentlemen I'd be set for life. Adrian, though, didn't have too much time to read through stories on the Internet. He had to meet Lucas at the journalism room at 7:00. Lucas--it seems--was putting on a recital at the edge of town and he wanted Adrian to partake of his glory. What an egotistical son-of-a--that won't help matters much, thought Adrian to himself. It was 6:45. Adrian had to get ready. Lucas had inquired if Adrian had a shirt and tie, and of course a nice pair of pants. Adrian did--in fact--have quite a few of them. He put on his favorite ensemble and headed out of the door of the dorm. There was a few mischievous youngsters in the hallway, one young man chasing another here, another young man spanking another young man with a towel there. Adrian made it to the journalism class with time to spare. Lucas was waiting for him. "I see you made it," said Lucas. "Yup," said Adrian. "I sure did." "You ready to go? It never hurts to be early." "Sure," began Adrian. "We can leave now if you wish." Lucas led Adrian to a brand new--at least it looked brand new to him--baby blue Porsche.
Copyright © 2004 Michael Harris |