Tommy held up the knife. “You see this? If you don’t stop this right now, I’m putting the sharp end in your eyeball. How do you think that will feel?” He was trying to sound confident and tough, but wasn’t sure he was pulling it off. The face still did not respond.
“Alright, I warned you!” Tommy brought up the knife and poked the face in its cheek, but nothing happened. There was no cry of pain or surprise. The face just stared at him with that same loathing look it always had. Tommy felt the anxiety burning in his stomach and he brought the knife up for a second, harder stab. He put the tip on the cheek and pushed as hard as he could, trying to break the flesh. But it was no use. No matter how much force he placed behind the knife, he wasn’t getting through.
Slightly out of breath he took a step back, looking in the eyes of the mysterious face in his wall. In the back of his head he heard a whisper he desperately wanted to ignore. You’re insane Tommy boy. The solitude and cheap microwave meals finally got to you. Nothing but rolling marbles up here now. Tommy shook his head, trying to shut himself up.
He dropped the knife and went into the supply closet to get a hammer. He grabbed the wooden handle and smiled when he felt the weight of it in his hand. Tommy went back to the face and held up the hammer.
“Last chance,” he said, not getting a response. Tommy swung the hammer forward and felt it land on the crooked nose with a deep thump. But it didn’t matter. It was as if he was hitting a wall. The face didn’t even flinch when he brought down the hammer again, getting more frustrated and frightened with each blow. It just kept on looking him straight in the eyes.
Eventually someone knocked on his door, telling him to stop the noise. Tommy ran to open it and saw the next door neighbour, a chubby guy in his forties who just got divorced, named Antony.
“Antony, come in now. I need to show you something,” Tommy said.
“Look Tom, I ain’t got time for this. Can you just keep the noise down, I got the baby coming over today and I wanna make sure she gets some sleep,” he said. Tommy was already pulling his arm.
“Alright, I’ll stop. But please, just come see this,” he said. Finally Antony shrugged and stepped inside, following Tommy to the bedroom. To the face that was staring at him.
Tommy stopped next to it and looked at Antony, waiting for a response. But nothing happened. Antony just looked at him with a question forming on his lips.
“Well, what is it then?” he said. Tommy couldn’t believe it. The face was so obviously there for him, why couldn’t Antony see it? Tony looked at the bed and back to Tommy with a worried look on his face.
“Look Tom, I don’t know why you brought me in your bedroom, but I ain’t funny or anything. No offense pal, I just don’t swing that way,” he said with a smile and a soft laugh that made Tommy’s stomach burn.
Tommy looked at the face again. “Yea no, I was just thinking about putting up some shelves here and wondered if they would look good.”
Antony told him they would look fantastic and went home. As soon as the door closed, Tommy fell down to his knees with his head against the cold wood of his outside door. He had a headache and his stomach was begging him for food, but every time he thought about eating something, he felt like he was going to be sick. It was that face. That damn face on his wall which was only visible for him and would not go away, no matter how hard he hammered at it.
3.
He didn’t get much sleep over the coming few days. Whenever he turned off the lights, he knew that face was watching him. He tried sleeping with his nightlight on, but the shadows it threw on the wall just made the face look even more frightening. At one point he pulled his blanket over his head, but after fifteen minutes of shallow breathing and sweating like a madman, he gave that up as well.
Tommy was sitting in the living room one day with a piece of tasteless toast in his hands, thinking about what to do with his new roommate. He had invited Jennifer from across the hall inside, hoping she would be able to see the face, but she had just stared around blankly without seeing anything. Two more people had come inside and seen nothing. He was the only one who saw it. He gave up trying to hit or stab it. No matter what he did, it didn’t respond, and if he became too loud the neighbours came knocking on his door. Tommy had even thought about calling someone for help, like the cops or something. But he didn’t want to stand there in a seemingly empty room only to be committed into a mental hospital shortly afterwards.
He dropped the unfinished toast on the ground. He didn’t care about cleaning it up anymore. In fact ever since the face had appeared, he hadn’t done much cleaning at all. A fine layer of dust had appeared all over the apartment and the corners were filled with crumbs, hairs and all kinds of filth. Tommy rubbed his hands through his eyes and yawned, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He looked up and saw the face gliding over the wall until it was on the kitchen wall opposite of him. His mouth fell open and he trembled in his chair. The face stopped moving and kept on staring at him, just as it had always done.
“What do you want?” he said, not even expecting a response anymore. A thought occurred to him. He looked at his bedroom and ran towards it, the face following him along the wall. If he could reach his room and close the door, then maybe the face wouldn’t be able to get inside. Tommy sprinted across his small apartment as fast as he could. He reached his room and threw the door shut, pushing his shoulder against it. He heard the soft sliding sound of the face stop on the other side and he started laughing.
“I got you now!” he shouted. He heard a few more frustrated sliding sounds and then something new. It sounded like something being pushed down into sand, a grinding sound almost. Tommy stepped away from the door and he saw the face slowly coming through the wood. First the nose appeared, followed by the eyebrows and those disapproving lips. Eventually the hateful eyes came through and the face was back where it belonged: right in front of him.
Tommy stepped back until his legs hit the bed and he fell on his back. He closed his eyes while the face moved to the ceiling to hang above him. He felt tears coming and did nothing to stop them. He was so tired. He just wanted it to be over, to sleep and be rid of this damn face.
But it wasn’t that simple. The face wasn’t planning on going away any time soon. It definitely wasn’t leaving just because he asked nicely. It was here to stay.
He spend that night in front in front of the TV watching commercials on repeat while the face hovered next to it, never completely out of sight. Tommy tried to ignore it, but whenever he managed to, the face moved until he would look at it again. His phone was next to him and he thought about calling someone, his mom or dad. Maybe Tyler, his ex. But he didn’t. He wondered what the point would even be. They wouldn’t see the face and even if he did tell them, they would never believe him. They would probably just think he wanted some attention.
Something moved next to the TV and Tommy watched as the face started growing. Before it was human sized, but now it became bigger until it was almost as big as his television set. Tommy just sighed. He didn’t care anymore. He didn’t want to care anymore. The phone fell out of his hand and to the floor, where it bounced around with a few deep thuds. Tommy didn’t pick it up.
4.
He was walking on the bridge when a guy stopped him. Instinctively he looked over his shoulder, at the face which clung to his shirt. The guy didn’t see it, but it still made him feel uncomfortable and part of him just wanted to go home.
“Don’t you live on Franklin Drive? The apartment building next to the deli?” he said. Tommy lifted his eyebrows.
“Yes, how do you know that?” he said. The guy laughed and Tommy felt something new. He looked at his short blonde hair, black jeans with homemade holes in it and black shirt with some metal band logo on it and smiled.
“I live in the building across from you. I usually see you come and go but sometimes I get a look in your bedroom, which is a total creep thing to say,” he said with another laugh which Tommy shared.
“But, who will I worship then?” he said. Tommy laughed genuinely and looked at him again. He wondered how he had never seen him before.
“I’m Tommy,” he said. “Which you probably already knew.”
“Mitch, pleasure to meet you, oh holy one.”
Tommy felt something tugging at his back and his thoughts went back to the face which was still there. He frowned for a second and Mitch noticed.
“I’m sorry, I’ll let you be on your way,” he said and he passed him with a polite smile. He pushed his teeth together and turned around, ignoring the frantically moving face on his back.
“Hey, you want to get something to drink?”
He said he’d love that.
They hit it off immediately. Drinks at the bar turned into drinks at home. Mitch started spending the night at his place and Tommy slept like a baby every time. One morning he woke up to find him gone and the face moving around the room, constantly growing and shrinking to get his attention. It made his head ache and he hurried to the living room, where Mitch was eating breakfast while wearing one of his shirts.
“Sorry, I was hungry and you were still sleeping,” he said. The face moved behind Mitch and started growing even bigger. The nose came forward and pushed against his back. The lips made the table go up from the floor and the eyes became big black pools of hate.
Mitch looked at him with a worried look in his face.
“Tom, are you ok?” he said. He opened his mouth but couldn’t get any words out. The face kept growing until it covered every wall of his apartment. Everywhere he looked, he saw that malicious face staring back at him. He placed his hands on his head and felt his chest rise and fall in quick bursts of air. Somewhere in the distance a voice called out to him, but Tommy didn’t hear it. All he saw and heard, was that face moving around him. Consuming him. Claiming him as its own private property.
Tears were running down his face and Tommy fell on his knees.
“I can’t. Please, stop. I can’t take this anymore. Please,” he sobbed. He covered his face with his hands and cried in them. A hand touched his shoulder and he pushed it away, seeing Mitch his shocked expression through his fingers.
“Leave me alone. Please, just leave me. I can’t have you. It won’t let me have you. Please,” he said before the sobbing became too much and he could say nothing but blabbering words.
He got up and ran to the door. Tommy pulled it open and ran out, the face right behind him. It grew again, filling up the hallway and making it impossible to ignore. Mitch called after him, but it was too late. The face had won.
He turned the corner and felt a sharp pain in his thigh which made him suck air through his teeth. Tommy looked down and saw teeth around his leg. There was a grin on the gigantic face, as if to say “Gotcha!” Tommy tried to pull his leg free, but the grip was too tight. The face started moving and he fell down. With unbelievable speed he moved through the building, approaching the stairwell. The face pulled him through and started going up, to the roof.
“No, no someone help me!” Tommy shouted. He tried to grab hold of something, but the face wouldn’t let him. Every time his fingers grabbed something, it bit down harder on his leg until he had no choice but to let go.
A door banged open and Tommy felt a flash of pain as the sudden sunlight burned his eyes. He heard the crunching sound of gravel underneath him and saw the edge of the roof come closer. He knew what the face was doing. It had been working towards this moment since the first time it appeared before him.
A tear rolled down his face, but Tommy wasn’t sad anymore. A serene calmness fell over him. It was as if the world held nothing for him anymore and all the pain and misery had disappeared.
The face let go of his leg and Tommy fell down. He passed the window where Mitch was standing. He turned away before Tommy hit the ground and screamed as a face had appeared on the wall.
THE END
CSS HUNLEY by Lonnie Bricker
"Why are we still here?" Augustus Miller, Auggie to his friends, voiced what he assumed the other six members of the H.L. Hunley's crew were thinking. He wanted to be back at the docks, in the barracks, anywhere but in an uncomfortable chair in the lavish hallway outside General Beauregard's office.
"Least you got a place to sit." Arnold Becker looked the bust of a famous South Carolinian up and down, and then, ignoring Corporal Carlsen's frown, patted the top of its marble head. "Me and stone face here, we get stuck standin'." In a show of comradery, Arnold wrapped an arm around the bust. "Won't any you fellers give ol' stone face a place ta sit? Poor fella's been standin' here since…" He made a show of running a finger across the gold nameplate on the base of the bust. "…eighteen sixty three. Shoot, that's last year."
From behind the closed door, General Beauregard's raised voice silenced their laughter. "I do not require a lieutenant to remind me of earlier orders issued by this command. Let me assure you, I recall each one as if I'd only just written it, and am acutely aware of when they contradict each other. However, to avoid any possible confusion, and since you are the only officer this particular order affects, I will clarify my intent. I am rescinding my previous order specifying that the Hunley will only attack from the surface. You will attack tonight, and while submerged." Though he spoke only to Lieutenant Dixon, the entirety of the general's diatribe carried to the hallway where Auggie and the rest of the crew of the H.L. Hunley sat.
"With all due respect, sir, the men would benefit from a delay of a week." If not for the deathly stillness outside the office, Lieutenant Dixon's calm reply might have gone unheard by his men.
"Five minutes ago, you were assuring me the men were ready, and that your injury would not trouble you. Has something changed, Lieutenant?"
"No sir."
"The tides will be perfect tonight, and there will be a full moon, which means the blockaders won't be expecting an attack. We know the Housatonic will be on post. You will attack, or I will have you tried for cowardice in the face of the enemy and hanged. Am I clear, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir."
"You are dismissed."
The door opened and Lieutenant George Dixon marched out of the office. Every bit the southern gentleman, long blond curls hung around his ears, that, when combined with his gray uniform, added a bit of cavalier dash to the handsome young man that even the sling on his left arm could not completely dispel. "Corporal, take the men and check the Hunley over. We sail tonight." He had not stopped walking as he spoke and rounded the corner of the hall as he finished.
"Ya'll heard the man." Corporal Carlsen's Alabama drawl stretched those four words into eight. The crew formed up in two ragged lines and marched down the wide hallway. Auggie and Arnold fell in behind privates Frank Collins, Joseph Ridgaway, James Wicks, and Charles Lumpkin.
Unlike a typical army camp, Beauregard's headquarters was a commandeered mansion near the heart of the city—the plantation house his predecessor had used proved to be too far from the pomp of the city's nightlife, or so the rumor mill would have it. That meant marching through the bustling city just after lunch, when its citizens crowded its hard-packed dirt streets. Men too old, or too rich, to be forced into military service greeted each other outside private gentleman's clubs while women stood in front of store windows bemoaning the war and the difficulty it created in acquiring the latest European fashions.
Auggie didn't need to see heads turning or hear conversations die to know their stares followed the misfit crew. They were all small men—the four-foot interior height of the Hunley required that—but their stature was not what drew the attention of the people they passed. Every member of the fish boat’s crew, except the lieutenant, suffered from a disfigurement severe enough to keep him from normal military service, but not from volunteering to serve aboard the Hunley. To a man, they were happy with the assignment
and the Confederacy was glad enough not to risk whole men on something as crazy as a boat traveling underwater.
"Think it's true what they say about the lieutenant?" Auggie had heard several fantastical stories.
"Heard he got shot at Shiloh," Arnold said. He winked at a group of young women with his one good eye; a patch covered the other, which he'd lost during the First Manassas. Paper fans and titters fluttered, reminding Auggie of a brood of chickens. "Heard he spit the bullet out."
"Thought the bullet hit a gold coin or something." Though a crutch performed the duties of his missing right leg, Frank maintained both his place in the formation and the step with an easy lope.
"I heard it from a sergeant who served with him." Arnold was walking backward now, trying not to let the women from his sight. "Spit it right out on the ground."
"If he can spit out a bullet, how come he's still wearing that sling?" Frank adjusted his crutch on the fly, while balanced on his good leg. "Heard that animal attacked him before he got here."
"Auggie said it happened at the last…" Arnold lowered his voice, trying to sound frightening, "full moon." He sounded more loony than scary.
Frank shrugged. "I say it's a good omen, working for a man like that. If we sink—"
Women forgotten, Arnold spun on the other man. "You shouldn't say that. You could jinx us."
The admonishment, however, came too late to banish the seed of disaster. Auggie pictured water filling the four-foot tall, two-foot wide tube that was the Hunley. Thirteen men had already died in the craft, unable to escape through its two small hatches. In his vision, Lieutenant Dixon stood at the bow of the submersible and spit out a bullet.
"There will be no more talk of jinxes, or animals that ain't animals." Corporal Carlsen's voice brought Auggie back to reality, just as, in his daydream, water rushed in through the rear hatch. The marched the rest of the way as silently as the stares that followed them. The fishy, saltwater smell of the docks hit them long before they reached the forty-foot long H.L. Hunley. It floated beside, but well below, one of the finger piers jutting from the main dock. "You know the drill."
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