The Python of Caspia

by Michael Green

  Maybe if I—

  He poked at it with his fingernail and found it would peel away easily if he tried. He was about to tear it off before the image of The Night Watch shot into his head. He remembered the drum and the symbol.

  There were other words too! More Dutch writing next to the symbol! How could I forget?

  He left the symbol and hopped off his bed, looking for his sketch pad.

  “Where is it?” he whispered angrily.

  He tore through his things and found his backpack. He turned his computer on before opening the sketch pad.

  “Come on—come on!” He flipped through the pages and finally found his first attempt at copying the symbol.

  As the computer booted up, he glanced at the ceiling and back to his sketch pad.

  They look nothing alike.

  But he knew the symbol on his ceiling was a match for the one in the painting. Staring at the intruding mark, his head started to hurt.

  I don’t want to repeat that—better stop staring, it seems to make it worse.

  “Lysander? Come on!” His father called.

  He pulled up the translation page and typed in the words letter by letter. “Can’t we reschedule for next weekend?” He tried to sound helpless and sincere, but came off sounding determined.

  “No, we are going today.”

  “Let’s reschedule. The room’s really coming along—I don’t want to stop now.” He finished typing the sentence, but the translation didn’t make sense. He nearly panicked, but looked back and forth before realizing that he had misspelled a word halfway through.

  His parents were quiet for a moment, he could sense their concern through the door.

  Come on!

  He clicked the translate button as they walked into his room.

  “Wow, it looks great in here,” his mother said.

  His father looked around and agreed, “Yes, it does. Therefore, no reason to delay.”

  “But—”

  “I won’t have you falling over during P.E. and cracking your skull because you’re afraid of how you’ll look. You are getting glasses today,” his father concluded.

  His mother glanced between them nervously.

  Andy relented. He stood up to go but read the translation before stepping away. It said: ‘Guides our steps.’

  He wondered if the translation was off again, but as he put his seatbelt on, the meaning struck.

  The symbol guides our steps.

  He wanted to write it off as an inside joke between artists, but he had seen the same symbol above his bed. He had to take it seriously.

  It guides our steps? But why is it above my bed? How did it get there? Should I tell my parents that I need to see a psychiatrist before the optometrist?

  For a moment, he considered breaking down and admitting everything he had seen.

  They might call off the trip—but it wouldn’t be forever. What did the mouse tell me? Something about the eye exam, or a test. He mentioned seeing—or was it, not seeing, the symbol?

  He considered his parents. They were both tense but his mother more so.

  Maybe they know I’ve gone off the deep end. This might be a trip to the asylum after all.

  His grim hopes were dashed when they pulled into a parking lot and he saw the sign for one Dr. Ropt - Optometrist. They left the car and approached the building.

  Andy stared at the sign and saw different letters appearing above the doctor’s name, like they had been painted over. They glowed and shimmered in a way almost reminiscent of the paintings at the gallery and the symbol above his bed, though the color of this script was chaotic and greasy to look at. These new letters were incomprehensible and from another language, but one unlike any he had ever seen. As he focused, he felt pain and was oddly certain that the letters were pushing his vision away, as if he was not supposed to see them.

  Beneath the alien script were similarly shining letters. These were English, and it took a serious effort to work through them.

  187th Ward—Lord Ziesqe, The Just and Master of Zentule, presiding.

  Andy gawked, and felt certain that he was losing his mind. His head strained with the effort of reading the script, and he had to lean against a car for balance.

  “It’s okay,” his father said, rushing to help him, “just take a second; we’ve got time.”

  He nearly stumbled, but with his father’s help, he kept his feet.

  “What’s wrong?” his mother asked.

  Andy was as truthful as he could be, “My head starts to spin and hurt when I read some things. I can’t stand up, I need to sit down when it happens.”

  “Oh, let him sit,” she said, pulling a water bottle from her purse.

  Andy took a moment and tried not to think about what he had just seen on that sign.

  I just need to stop seeing these things. If I try, it’ll go away eventually. I just need to stop caring, stop feeding it.

  He took a drink and steadied himself. His parents hovered close by, as they walked to the door. Andy sat while they filled out medical forms.

  “Do you have his insurance card?”

  “Yes, it’s here in my wallet.”

  He tried to ignore his parents, and the spinning in his head, by looking around. There was a familiar face in the waiting area. Letty’s mother was sitting across from them.

  “Excuse me,” Andy said.

  The woman looked up.

  “Are you Letty’s mother?”

  The lady gave a slight smile, “So, she has everyone calling her by that name.”

  “Lysette, I mean,” Andy corrected himself. “She just asked me to call her Letty.”

  “Hmm.” The woman grumbled, looking away.

  “My son isn’t fond of his given name either,” his father interjected.

  An odd look bent the woman’s face. She seemed between concern and annoyance. “What is he called?” she asked in a plain voice.

  “We called him Lysander, after a Greek hero.”

  Andy tried not to frown at the adults talking like he wasn’t there.

  “Lysander?” The woman asked, casting an appraising look at Andy. “No wonder he doesn’t like it.”

  Andy wasn’t sure how to respond, the words were insulting, but her voice wasn’t.

  Andy’s father scowled before addressing his family, “Look everyone, it’s a rude person in their natural habitat. They remain calm and neutral after striking, as if that should confuse us and excuse her.”

  Again, the woman had that look of annoyed concern, “Oh no, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that young people are so set on either fitting in or standing out. We both hoped for stand outs; it’s clear with names like theirs, but they simply haven’t grown into them yet.”

  Andy’s parents weren’t sure what to say, neither was he. But the woman continued anyway.

  “What name have you chosen for yourself?” she asked.

  “I go by Andy.”

  She laughed. “See parents, there’s still a trace of your name in that. Andy—Andy, wait, are you the boy who got Lysette in trouble?”

  “I—uhm—” He looked for help from his parents.

  His father gave him a knowing grin and a wide-eyed shrug.

  “Yeah, that was me,” he admitted.

  The woman looked ready to launch into a rant, but the doctor’s assistant came in and called for Andy.

  He gratefully followed the man back into the darker rooms. Computer screens lit the way, and strange instruments covered tables. The man asked him to take a seat.

  After a minute, he heard a creak. He looked over his shoulder and saw another figure sitting in the dark, at a table.

  “Don’t stare, Lice, it’s bad for your eyes.”

  It was Letty. Her voice was drained and heavy.

  “You too?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “It started that day at the museum, right? Dizziness, seeing odd colors? Annoying parents?”

  She let out a small laugh. “Y
es, to all three.”

  Andy wanted to be frank with her about everything he’d seen, but he remembered the last time he tried.

  She’s in a better mood; maybe I can risk it.

  She continued, “They don’t know what’s wrong with my eyes. I’ve been here all morning. They sent for my father, but he was all the way across town.”

  “Why did they send for your father? You’re here for an eye exam. That doesn’t make any sense.”

  She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “I’m defective; they need to cosign the demolition papers.”

  She stared at the ceiling, upset and impudent all at once.

  How can I lighten her up?

  “I met your mother out there,” Andy said, a bit of hesitation in his voice.

  “Oh, God.” Lysette sighed, “What did she do?”

  “Eh—she,” Andy wasn’t sure if he should lie or not.

  Letty straightened out and leaned forward at the delay.

  He knew he had to be honest. “She kind of made fun of my name.”

  Letty thought little of that and leaned away from him. “I kind of make fun of your name.”

  There was silence.

  “I see where you get it,” he said in a sideways tone.

  “Get what?” She asked, disengaged and annoyed again.

  “The attitude,” He said plainly. She gave him a sharp look, but he continued anyway. “That’s the problem with being too smart for your age or group. Your friends put you to work as their queen, making up petty names to bully people with. It’s pretty obvious that you don’t enjoy it.”

  He expected an attack, or possibly a denial, or complete silence. Instead, she asked a question.

  “Have you been seeing those mice? You mentioned one the other day.”

  Yeah, and you chewed my head off for it.

  Now Andy sulked. “I don’t know what’s been going on the past few days. We saw something back at the museum, and I’m still seeing things. But I think we need to get over it. It’s—”

  “So, you have been seeing them. The mice, I mean.”

  Andy wanted to deny everything, but he couldn’t. He had spoken to one last night.

  “Did they come to you last night?” he asked.

  “Yes,” She replied earnestly. “But I failed. They told me not to see it, but never explained what it was.”

  Andy considered that odd. The mice told him not to see the symbol.

  Maybe not seeing it is difficult. But nothing bad happened to her. At least she seems fine.

  Letty shook her head. “I saw something strange on the paper he held up, I think that was what the mice wanted me to ignore. I could barely see it, but I did, and he noticed.”

  “You saw what? The symbol?”

  “Yeah. The Infiniteye.”

  “Infiniteye?” Andy thought about the symbol, and the name made sense.

  “I’m scared. I’m scared of what’s going to happen to me. But I’m thinking that I’m not completely crazy because you’re seeing everything too. Now I don’t know if something bad is coming, or if the whole mouse episode was just—a shared insanity.”

  Andy still felt an urge to deny it, but he knew that it wouldn’t help if he did.

  She continued, half rambling to herself. “How can I know that my crazy head didn’t invent you too?” She reached out and put a finger on his shoulder. “Seems real,” she said before pushing him out of his seat.

  He fell to the floor and nearly pulled the table, and its expensive equipment, down with him.

  “Yeah, at least you’re real,” she spoke through a few breaths of sad laughter.

  “You!” An attendant came back and spotted Andy getting back into his chair. “What are you doing? Never mind—you’re wanted in room two, Mr. Vanavarre. And you,” he spoke to Letty, “you still need to wait for your father. Please stay out of trouble.”

  Andy stood and endured the glare from the assistant as he headed for room two. He heard Letty repeating his last name over and over, trying to get a feel for it.

  Great, now she’ll make fun of my last name too—and why the hell did she knock me out of the chair?

  “This way, please.” The assistant glowered at him as they passed an office door that was slightly ajar.

  “Marvin?” a cold voice called out as they passed.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Would you come in here for a moment?”

  Marvin sat Andy down in a chair some distance from the door and walked into the office.

  “Is the girl’s father here?”

  “No sir, and you have another waiting. Symptoms sound like tetrachromacy—I think the two know each other. What should we do?”

  “First of all, close the door.”

  Marvin shut the door.

  What did I just hear? Tet—something—omacy?

  Andy stood and inched towards the door. He put his ear against it but could barely make out what they were saying.

  “There’s nothing to do about the boy. I’ll test him. If it’s drastic we’ll have them make two trips, if not—”

  “But Master, if the girl disappears—they know each other; I even saw the parents speaking. It won’t work.”

  There was a pause. Andy felt like backing away from the door. He forced himself to keep from shrinking away.

  “How long have I been doing this? Is this your first year? Are you forgetting your place?” the speaker left long pauses between each question.

  “Master, I—”

  “Who created you?”

  Andy only heard a dull mumble in reply.

  “What is your purpose?” The doctor continued.

  “To serve.”

  Silence.

  There was a quaver of desperation in Marvin’s voice, “My concern is only for you. Two of them so intertwined—please, this situation calls for immediate response, we need to remove them from the population.”

  Remove them from the population! Andy strained over the words, certain he must have misheard, but they echoed, in blank certainty, through his mind.

  Andy stumbled backwards in fear, and nearly crashed into the wall.

  Are they going to kill us? This is just an optometrist’s office—

  He heard a loud crackle coming from the doctor’s office and a purple light flashed under the door.

  Andy rushed back to his seat and tried to get his breathing under control.

  The door opened and out came an unfamiliar face.

  The doctor.

  He looked around and saw Andy sitting quietly.

  “Hello there, young man,” he said, approaching. “I hear you’ve been experiencing a little dizziness and head pain.”

  Andy wanted to scream and run, but he could only stare at the doctor’s face. He saw lines there that didn’t belong. There was a glow burning in the pits of his eyes. His teeth shone in the dull light as he smiled through his introduction.

  “I’m Doctor Ropt, and you are Andy, correct?” The doctor held out his hand.

  “Yes, sir.” Andy forced himself to shake the doctor’s hand. It felt cold and oddly smooth, like it was hairless.

  “I hear you know another one of my patients.”

  Andy nodded.

  “Are you friends?”

  Andy paused. “Not really, sir.”

  The doctor chuckled heartily. “No need for that, young man; doctor is fine. Come on then, let’s get a look at your eyes.”

  The doctor shone a light at his face and looked closely.

  “What color eyes would you say you have?”

  “Greenish blue, sir.”

  “Mhh—has anyone ever said you have violet eyes?”

  Andy stuttered, “N-no, sir.”

  The doctor tilted his head in thought. “There is a rare condition—easily treated—that your symptoms match. Curiously, the sufferers of this condition can experience a fluctuation or gradual change in eye color at about your age. Certain pharmaceuticals and foods can help treat this condition—carrot
s, for instance,” the doctor paused, expectantly.

  Andy shook his head.

  The doctor smiled. “We’ll get you figured out in no time.” He led Andy back to the room where he last saw Letty. She was gone.

  “Take a seat, please—yes, there behind that machine.” Andy did as he was told.

  “Look here.” Andy obeyed and felt a sudden blast of air hit his eyes. He reeled back in shock and felt the doctor’s hand holding him in place. He felt the muscles around his eyes tense like they did at the museum.

  Andy felt his chest clench at what he saw. Sheets of bright light shed off the doctor’s body. The outline of his form had changed, his face looked bottom heavy and his skull and nose were smoother, but the light kept Andy from seeing more than a silhouette.

  “Okay, it’ll just be a few minutes wait,” the doctor said, as if nothing was wrong.

  He was about to walk away when something caught his attention and he leaned forward with his instrument to look into Andy’s eyes again. Andy saw more than he wanted.

  What is he?

  The doctor had purple flesh.

  Andy bit down on his cheeks to keep himself from screaming.

  “How does the world look?” The doctor asked in his cool voice.

  Andy felt his head start to spin and throb. He took a deep breath and focused his eyes on the floor. “I’m a little dizzy sir, but everything looks fine.”

  “Hmm. You don’t see anything strange?”

  Andy stared into the two burning pits that were the doctor’s eyes. “No sir.”

  He nodded. “It’ll just be a minute. Wait here, please.”

  Andy suffered through the next few agonizing minutes by keeping his eyes closed. He wanted to find Letty. Holding onto the table barely helped him to stand. He knew that a step in any direction would be disaster. He sat back down and waited for the spinning to stop.

  “Andy, my boy. How are those eyes?” The doctor put a hand on his shoulder and had him look up. “You’re ready to come back and have a look at a few slides for me.” The doctor paused for a moment, “No one has ever told you that you have violet eyes?”

  Andy shook his head, and followed the doctor, grabbing at furniture or the walls for support.

  “Right.” The doctor carried a clipboard and was marking a page before he noticed Andy’s behavior. “Dizzy—hmm, take your time now, don’t rush. How long have you been unbalanced like this?”