Spinetinglers Anthology 2008

by Nolene-Patricia Dougan

  The Greatest Trick

  by Nolene-Patricia Dougan

  “The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist.” A few days ago, that was just a line from a movie, but not anymore....

  My name is Gabriella Smith, and for the last year and a half, I have been experiencing nightmares. Nothing too unusual, or so I thought. I go to sleep and dream that I awake, unaware that I am still sleeping. I look over at the clock by my bedside, and every night, it reads the same time, three o’clock in the morning. I thump my fist on my bed in frustration, angry that I have woken up, when I know I have to get up early the next day.

  I stare over at the book on my bedside table; it doesn't look very stimulating. I decide hot milk may be the best answer. I get up and switch on the stove. When the milk is ready, I drink it down, but it does not have the desired effect. I sit in front of the TV, knowing that if I turn it on, I won't get any sleep. After a few minutes, I give up on the idea of sleep altogether – better to be tired than bored. I turn on the television; unnatural light radiates throughout the darkness.

  A strange programme is always on. I see a man who is standing in the corner of a well-lit, empty room. He is dressed in a black suit, which is in stark contrast to the bright, white light that fills this room. The man is leaning on a cane, giving me the impression that he is old. I can't see his face, as he is looking at the floor, not letting me verify my impression. He speaks without lifting his eyes.

  "You know I don't exist," he says in a soft, gentle voice.

  "I know, of course you don't exist," I answer, as if I know exactly what he means.

  "That's right, keep believing that," his voice now seems almost hypnotic, as if he is trying to put me under some strange spell. My first instinct is to repel this man’s uncertain power over me.

  “Or else?” I answer defiantly. I surprise myself by this defiance, as I have no idea what I am defying.

  “Come now, are we not friends?” He states, his every word seems beguiling. My resolve to defy him stiffens.

  “I will believe what I want to believe.” He lifts his cane and slams it back to the floor in anger.

  “What are you, nothing more than a miscegenation, you dare to speak to me with such disrespect.” With these words, the man leaps from the screen. His nose practically touches mine before he stops his rapid movement. He isn’t old at all; he is young and handsome. His hair is black and hangs down to his shoulders. His skin is pale, almost luminous, but nothing can take my gaze away from his deep, black eyes. I see something in them; I see a glimpse of a world full of fire and torment, where abandoned souls are cursed to remain for all eternity.

  “Listen to me,” he says, his words still filled with venom. “You know I don’t exist,” his voice is now soft and specious, and somehow looking into his eyes, I am instantly convinced he doesn’t exist. He is a figment, a fantasy, a dream.

  “You don't exist, I know that,” I answer.

  “Good, good.” He whispers, while retreating back into the screen, his movement is slow and ethereal. He resumes his initial position, leaning on his cane and staring at the floor.

  At this moment, I always wake up with a start and realise that I have been dreaming. I must have walked in my sleep, as I am now sitting in the armchair in front of the TV.

  Every night, I have this dream and I have no idea what it means. I think about it for a few seconds when I awake, but as I fall back to sleep, I forget; I don't think of it during the day, as if it's a perfectly normal dream to have. Yesterday, this changed.

  I was on my way to work and was running late as usual. I was putting on my jacket, while closing my front door, grabbing my keys, and running to my car. As I was about to put the key in the door I felt a breeze gently caressing my face. It distracted me, and my hastened fluster stopped immediately. Across the road, a child was riding a tricycle. I heard the usual noises that accompanied such an event, the squeak of the wheels and the faint, breathy giggles of a child filled with enthusiasm. I looked up and the child looked at me and grinned, which made me smile. I had never seen this child before. I was immediately concerned that her parents were not with her, but the child did not seem concerned at all, which put me at ease. I watched her for another few seconds. I was about to go over to ask her where her mother and father were, but I was stopped in my tracks, as I saw her father hurriedly approach his child. He started to speak to her.

  “You're doing good, Imogen,” he said, reassuring his daughter.

  Tenuously attached to the handlebars of her bike was a small, stuffed, rather weather-beaten, bear. The breeze that had touched my face now meandered over to the pair and dislodged the small bear from its unstable perch. The tricycle immediately halted when Imogen saw the bear fall, and she was about to climb off her bike to get it. But her father stopped her.

  “No, honey, I’ll get it,” the father said gently.

  I was suddenly struck by a feeling of dread, as the man walked out onto the road. In the near distance, a car turned the corner abruptly, and gained speed as it travelled up the street. The driver did not see Imogen’s father, as he was bending down to pick up the toy. The car hit him with such an impact that I knew he was killed instantly. I immediately ran across the road with the intention of covering the little girl's eyes. She was too young to see her father bleeding in the street. I picked her up and tried to turn her away but she wanted to see her father. She looked down at his mangled body, and I could not help but look myself.

  To my amazement, just for an instant, I saw the man from my dream. He lifted his finger to his mouth and uttered, “Shhh! Remember, I don't exist.” He dived into the body that was lying on the ground and disappeared. The dead man was not disturbed by this action, but somehow I knew something had been taken from him. Those words rattled through my mind. Remember, I don’t exist. I immediately forgot about the appearance of the man from my dream, as if something or someone had purged it from my memory.

  I was still holding the little girl when I heard the shrill sirens of an ambulance and a few police cars. They rapidly came to a stop beside me, and an officer got out of one of them and ran over to the body.

  “We’re too late,” he exclaimed.

  You don't say, I thought.

  The young officer quickly glanced up at me and said, “That’s not quite what I meant.” I looked over at him, slightly confused by his last statement. He answered me as if he had heard my thought. I was distracted from my confusion by the paramedics, lifting and loading the body onto a stretcher.

  “Are you the mother?” One of the other officers asked me.

  “No, I live across the street, I saw it happen,” I answered

  “What about this guy here, was he speeding?” the officer pointed to the driver, who was completely distraught. He had brought his car to a sudden stop, after realising he had hit someone. “No, no more than he should have been; it was a complete accident, no one’s fault,” I replied.

  “Would you mind coming down to the station to make a statement?” The young officer asked.

  “Of course not, anything I can do,” I replied.

  When I reached the station, the child was taken from me and given to her overwrought mother. The mother thanked me for looking after her child. I felt completely sorry for this woman; what was her life going to be like for the next five or ten years? Would she ever get over this...? Would her daughter? A cross hung around the mother’s neck, and somehow I was comforted. I wasn’t religious myself, but I thought a belief in something may help people like her get through the troubled times ahead.

  The young officer came over and interrupted my thoughts.

  “If you wouldn't mind coming with me to make your statement?” he asked.

  “Lead the way,” I answered, and I followed him down a long corridor to the last interview room on the right. He shut the door behind us and we both sat down.

  “What were you thinking?" he said abruptly with an accusatory tone.
>
  “Excuse me?” I replied.

  “He was right there, and you did nothing,” he persisted.

  “What do you mean? I’m not a doctor, I couldn’t have done anything. And even if I was, that man was beyond a doctor’s help.”

  “Don’t play games with me, I know what you are. We’re the same; we are Celestial Miscegenations, Soul Protectors. You should know me by sight.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” With this, I got up to leave.

  “You can't walk out on me. We have a lot of work to do!” He shouted, but I ignored him, thinking it was obviously some sort of sick joke. I looked over at the two-way mirror, imagining the other policemen were standing behind it, laughing at me. As I placed my hand on the door, he grabbed my arm and twirled me around.

  “You know what I am talking about. Look at my eyes.” He held my face, so I had no choice but to do what he demanded. His eyes were deep and blue, and I was sure I could see something behind them. It was a land of blue skies, green forests, and sweeping valleys; just looking at it filled me with a sense of peace. I was instantly reminded of my dream. It was the first time I had thought about my dream during the day. I began to get very frightened. I pushed him away; he flew back toward the other wall with great force. I never realised how strong I actually was until this moment. As I ran away from him, he called after me, but I didn't listen. I had had my fill of him for one afternoon.

  That night, I was afraid to go to sleep. I hadn’t thought about my dream before; maybe a few seconds after I awoke, but nothing more than that. Now, it was all I could think about. That policeman, what was he talking about? That word he used, miscegenation, the man from my dream had called me that. It was a word I have not heard very often, but now I had heard it twice in one day.

  When my clock struck twelve, I heard a knock on the door. I wouldn’t usually answer it at this hour, but I knew who it was.

  I opened my front door and there he was. The young police officer asked me if he could come in.

  I heard myself say, “Of course.” He was not in his police uniform anymore, he was wearing sneakers, baggy, ripped jeans, and an Iron Maiden tee shirt. He carried two six-packs of beer, which he placed on my kitchen table, and then kicked out a chair and sat down. He was making himself at home.

  “Well...” He began.

  “Well what?” I shrugged my shoulders in response.

  “Well, you’re certainly more receptive to my presence than you were this afternoon.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Chael, Chael Smyth; Smyth with a ‘y’.”

  “Chael, that’s an unusual name.”

  “It’s an old name, an ancient one, it means celestial.”

  “We have the same last name,” I stated.

  “Maybe we’re related,” Chael answered with a smirk.

  “We couldn’t be; my name is spelled with an ‘i’.” I responded.

  He smiled as he removed the cap of one of the bottles of beer with his teeth. He spat the cap out in an effort to propel it into the nearby bin. He came close, but he missed, the bottle cap fell to the floor with a muffled clatter. “Funny that a name meaning angel or celestial...,” he continued. “And then the same last name, a very common last name... it's a mystery.” Chael said with a wry smile.

  “It’s not strange at all, many people have similar names and we are nothing alike.”

  “Have a beer,” he offered. I took the bottle of beer from his hand and removed the cap with my teeth. I then proceeded to spit the bottle top into the bin. I never missed.

  “Oh you're right, we’re completely different,” Chael said sarcastically. At this, I became irritated with him. “Sit down, relax,” he said, sensing my slightly heightened chagrin. I accepted his offer and sat down with him.

  What do you want from me?” I asked.”

  “I want you to know and remember what you are,” he stated.

  “Then tell me what I am.”

  “What you are is older than this country, maybe even older than time itself.” He spoke with a mocking enthusiasm.

  “You are speaking in riddles, are you trying to impress me?”

  “Not at all,” he stated and then sighed. “I’ll cut to the chase. Do you remember your old Bible stories?" He continued.

  “I don’t believe in God, I’m an atheist.” I succinctly stated. This statement made Chael smile.

  “An atheist, that’s a new one, ok... well are you aware that there are quite a few billion people in this world who do believe in some sort of deity?”

  “I am...” I was growing increasingly more exasperated by his patronising tone. “Get on with it.” I said in frustration.

  “Have you heard of the fallen angels?”

  “Are you going to tell me I am a fallen angel?” I said sceptically.

  “No, not quite, you know the story; the fallen angels, they had an eye for the daughters of men. They were cast out of heaven for getting entirely too close to those very hot human honeys.”

  His blithesomeness seemed more annoying to me than his sarcasm.

  “Well,” he continued, “do you think that all those angels who slept with all those women didn't have any offspring? You and I are products of those many unions.”

  I sat down, astonished. “That can't be true.” His story was laughable.

  “Of course it’s true. Think about it, Gabriella, do you remember your parents?”

  “They died when I was young.”

  “Nonsense. You can’t remember them because for thousands of years, we’ve been fighting our fathers to get people’s souls into heaven.”

  I got up from my seat.

  “That's not true; I haven't been fighting for human souls. I’m an accountant. I am the most boring person you could meet. I don’t even go out that much. The only fight I ever had was with Mary Jane Robb. She ripped my brand new Wendy House when I was nine. I punched her in the face and knocked her over. She immediately got up, kicked me in the shin, and then proceeded to batter me over the head with her Chatty Cathy. She knocked me out! I was out for three whole hours! You see, biblical battles are not my thing. What kind of ancient warrior gets knocked out by a Chatty Cathy?”

  “What did your parents say when you came to?” he said, interrupting my brief tirade.

  “They said...” I was about to relay what punishment my parents had bestowed on both of us for fighting, but for some reason, I couldn’t remember. I thought about it for a few moments, but the images seemed to be fracturing. I replayed the event again and again in my mind, but it was distorted now. I was seeing flashes of something else interspersed with my most enduring memory from childhood. Instead of fighting with a nine-year-old over a Wendy House on a sunny day in a garden, I was fighting with a grown woman. Mary Jane Robb now looked nearly thirty. Sitting in the spot where the ripped, red door of my Wendy house should have been was a woman in a ripped, red dress. The woman was clutching a child and was in floods of tears. Instead of a sunny day in summer, it was raining. I was standing in the middle of a storm, thunder flashes striking the ground all around me. A thought echoed through my mind. This never happened, you are getting confused. This memory melted away, and again I was faced with the nine-year-old version of Mary Jane hitting me over the head with her doll. I then heard the click of Chael’s fingers. He was trying to snap me out of this brief, self-induced trance.

  “Come back to me,” he said. I looked over at him. “Where’d you go?” he continued.

  “Nowhere, I thought I saw something, a fight on a hill top during a stormy night.”

  “You’re remembering.”

  “No, I don’t think so... I don’t know.” By this time, the images of the stormy night had now nearly completely faded.

  “What did you see when you looked into my eyes this morning?” Chael asked.

  “I saw a peaceful place.”

  “Everyone sees something different. You saw a peaceful land, because that is what you
crave. And why would you crave that if you were a boring accountant? You want peace, because for centuries, you’ve been fighting a war.”

  Another violent vision crept into my mind. I placed my hands over my eyes, trying to block it out, but it was useless. I pulled my hands away from my face, and I was struck still by what I saw. My hands, they were covered in blood. A single drop of blood fell from my hand and splashed onto the bright, white floor below. I started to hurriedly pat them together, trying to wipe the blood away. I ran over to the sink, but as I turned on the tap, the blood disappeared as quickly as it came.

  “What’s wrong?” Chael asked.

  “My hands were covered in blood. Or, at least I thought they were.” I responded.

  He smirked and said. “Now that’s trippy, no more beer for you!” He pulled his two six-packs over beside him, his gesture stating that the rest of the beer was all his.

  “Why can’t I remember any of this clearly?” I was starting to believe him; I knew, I think, I knew all along he was telling the truth.

  “I’m not sure,” Chael answered. “I have seen you before, about a century ago, but we didn't speak. You knew who you were then.”

  “Can we die?” I asked.

  “No, but we can get trapped in Hell, and believe me that's not pleasant,”

  “I’ve been having these strange dreams for a year or more. I see a man in a room and he is telling me that he doesn't exist. He jumps out at me and warns me not to believe in him, and when I look into his eyes, I see what I now know is Hell.”

  “You see your Hell, it is different for everyone. When kids look into my eyes, they see Disneyland without any height restrictions or queues.” He said flippantly.

  “So what is Heaven like?” I asked.

  “That part is hazy. I doubt you and I will ever experience it completely. You see, we were never really supposed to exist, we don’t really belong anywhere.” His voice for the first time seemed serious and poignant.