by Kevin Tilley
The events of the day have him deeply disturbed and he feels the need to visit The Den. That's what he calls the place he is approaching. He doesn't know if it has an official name. He doesn't care. It has become his one place of sanctuary in a world he no longer can call his.
The entrance to The Den is easily missed -- waiting at the end of a long pathway hidden between two aging buildings. He walks by the front of the path two times before he finally spots it. A small iron gate, which serves to further hinder the path's view from the sidewalk, signals his arrival at the correct address. If he paid more attention to details he would find a way to readily recognize the path long before reaching it. A landmark on one side or the other. A shop across the street. A design of brickwork on one of the adjacent buildings. But he enjoys the mystery and feeling of relief he experiences when finally stumbling upon the 'secret entrance.'
He pushes the gate and walks in the narrow space between the two buildings. He feels along the wall of the building on his right as he makes his way. He always does this. Who knows why? His habits are his own. And they help to ease his mind. He reaches the end of the path and comes to a door which, as usual, is slightly ajar. He pulls the door and is immediately greeted by the soft light from a hanging lamp. The location of the lamp is designed to keep visitors from falling down the stairs he now stands before...which he now begins to descend.
He is assisted on his journey downward by a series of wall-mounted lamps, installed every 5 steps or so for safety purposes. The lamps also serve to illuminate a number of paintings which look as though they have hung on the staircase wall for hundreds of years. At the top is a painting of a large ship out at sea. Waves are crushing the ship's hull and men are falling overboard. What few lifeboats available are dangerously filled beyond capacity. The sky is the color of soot and the sea reflects its bleak overview. Compared with the paintings further down, this is a cheerful depiction of men at play in an indifferent world. It's when the world starts to pay attention that things get really scary. As evidenced by the following painting.
He eyes the second painting with keen interest. He's passed it many times before but only gave it the occasional cursory glance. A figure in the painting grabs his attention -- standing before a great crevice torn into the earth. People are being herded into the crevice by small creatures which resemble nothing he's ever imagined. The doomed are chained together at the neck and the faces of those closest to the crevice, who can see clearly the flames awaiting them, reveal a terror that seems to convey their full understanding of the crime for which they are being punished. They know there is no forgiveness for their complicity. They know there is nothing but simple justice. He assumes the figure which initially gained his attention was some sort of demonic character but upon closer examination he appears to be a relatively ordinary man. Tall. Thin. Clad in dark garments. The detail which gives his heart cause for pause is the cane which the figure holds in his hand as he oversees the proceedings.
He looks away and hurries down the staircase, past a number of other paintings which, if he were to bother looking, would surely deepen the level of trepidation currently coursing through his veins.
An open room awaits him at the bottom. It is dimly lit and filled with a haze of smoke. Tables are scattered about in a haphazard fashion, some with lone occupants, others empty. He walks toward one end of the room and approaches a long bar. No one sits at the bar. House rules. You get your drink, say your peace and take a seat at one of the open tables. Standing on the other side of the bar, looking the same every time he comes in, is the Caretaker of the Dispossessed. At least that's how he refers to this fellow. The Caretaker has never given a name and he's never asked. Such things are beyond relevance.
"I see you're continuing 'the work'", the Caretaker observes.
He looks at the ledgers and other papers he has rested on the bar and nods.
"That's good. I'm glad to hear you're keeping busy. The rest of this lot just sits around all day moaning to themselves."
He turns around and takes a look at his fellow derelicts seated throughout The Den. Recognizing a few. Noticing the odd new face. All with the same vacant expression. Again, he nods.
"Something's troubling you..." in the midst of pouring a pint of ale. "What is it?", handing him the ale.
"A tall man. Thin. Carrying a cane. Looked right at me today. Not just at me. In me. And he walked toward me. He seemed so calm and determined."
"What happened?"
"Nothing, He stopped. I must have slipped from his view. He said something, though. He's after me."
"You're sounding paranoid. Common for people in your state."
"That's not all. Earlier, after I'd finished in the park, I saw a poster in a shop window with my face on it. Below my face were the words 'Be Aware', which just so happens to be the words the man with the cane spoke to me. So yeah, I'm feeling a bit paranoid."
"Hmmm, I've been getting this a lot lately. Everybody's seeing posters with their face on them. My theory, it's a drawing of some nobody you're all seeing and thinking it looks just like you. Wouldn't be so strange. Look at you, running around the park, defying the Crew -- naturally you're going to be on edge. The mind plays tricks. Simple as that."
"And what about the man?"
"Okay, I'll indulge you for a moment. If the face on the poster was yours then there are a few possibilities. The man could have become 'aware' of you and therefore you were able to be seen by him. Perhaps he approached to get a closer look or to warn you of the poster's existence."
"What's the other possibility?...the one you're reluctant to tell me."
"The man is an Agent. And he's here to take you. And he won't stop until he completes his mission. Happy?"
The Caretaker smiles and wipes down the bar in a self-satisfied manner.
"Listen... I'm going to drink this beer. And then I'm going to come back and get another. And I'm going to drink that one. And after I've done this a few times you're going to tell me more about this man."
. . .
He turns on his heels with a certain flair, scooping up his papers from the bar in mid twirl, and makes his way to an open table on the other side of the room. Along the way, the sound of the other patrons resting their mugs of beer on the wooden table tops begins to create a rhythm. He finds himself moving with the beat, getting into the flow. And the sound grows louder as everybody, while firmly minding their own business, now begins to join in.
At the center of the room he stops, looks around, and hops on the nearest table. He then smashes his foot against the table top and points to the Caretaker who, being quite familiar with the antics of certain regulars, just happens to be strapping on an accordion.
Against the backdrop of a sweet melody, he begins to croon.
Welcome all my sad, sad friends!
Welcome to our Happy Li'l Den.
You've gone from productive citizens
To ghostly, forgotten denizens.
Out of step from the latest trends...
But you'll always get a table here.
(He jumps from the table and begins to weave in and out of the crowd, who slowly begin to look up.)
Welcome to this strange, disturbing plane.
Where nothing and everything is the same.
Where you never went and you never came,
And your life is spilling down the drain.
(whispering into a patron's ear)
Have you seen the odd gent with the cane?...
Yes, you'll always get a good table here.
The barkeep is a wonder.
Without him we would blunder.
(Accentuated with a few extra chords from the accordion.)
Never charging for a mug of beer.
He's always there to lend an ear,
And keep us all in healthy fear,
With tales of Agents drawing near,
To that regular spot in the rear...
(Pointing to a
table at the back of the room which he then rushes toward. The music and rhythm build to a crescendo and stop suddenly as he arrives.)
Everybody!
(All joining in with mugs aloft.)
You'll always get the best table here!
The patrons slam their beers down in unison.
He sits.