by Brian Hodge
“God, I don’t remember, Randall,” he said robotically, a parody of his former self. “That was years ago.”
“Let me give you a hint. You were looking out the window, and you told me it was your favorite aphorism. You told me that you would never quote it to Syd, saying that he would not understand.”
Syd moved stepped up to me, his inky eyes widening in rage. “Leave him the fuck alone.”
“He doesn’t know because it’s not him, Syd. All these people are just creations of your own mind and those fucking aliens you have wired into your whacked out brain.”
“Shut up,” he hissed, his voice taking on a dangerous edge.
“But, Syd, he would know. He has it tattooed on the center of his back. That’s how important it was to him. It said, ‘We’re all sitting in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars’.”
“I said shut the fuck up!” He howled, spinning me around and hurling me into the view screen. I hit the glass hard, my breath shooting out of my lungs like the firing of a gun.
He was on me then, a pearl handled straight razor in his hand, a blade he had carried with him since we were kids. “I will send you to the other side,” he said, the spiders stuck to the eye in his forehead obscenely. His rotting breath shot into my face, entering my nostrils like a physical entity.
I felt the blade slicing painfully into the skin of my neck. “It won’t be me,” I wheezed. “Just a half assed mirror image of your decaying mind. You aren’t raising the dead, Syd, only your memories. You aren’t striking back at God.”
“You’ll understand, Randall,” he said, a golden teardrop falling down his cheek. “You’ll understand when I bring you back.”
I actually heard the ripping sound of my own throat, saw my crimson blood splattering into his snow-white face. I fell backwards and stared through the glass into space. I knew I wasn’t coming back. Oddly, I didn’t care that I was dying.
I stared into Sydney Vale’s black eyes, noticing a glimmer of light in their murky depths, a dim shimmering over the blackness. He squeezed my arm, a final gesture before I went to the other side.
I turn away from a friend I once loved and look through the window.
Stars twinkle in my dying eyes, oscillate to the shallow beating of my heart as blood soaks my shirt. Remembering all I have lost, countless friends who died for nothing, I notice Syd’s moon-like face reflected on the glass, a dim milky gleam on an endless black canvas. The glowing red eye in the center of his head throbs like a heart among the stars.
I look past his reflection—Syd’s sharp breathing the only sound—and let my gaze drift into the immense darkness of space.
The Dark Reality of Bannen Wilde
“I can see into your mind,” the oily man said, his dark eyes narrowing into glassy points. He leaned back and studied her expression, a shy smile on his face.
Amy turned away just as his scent hit her nostrils—a combination of dead flowers and sweat. “I think you have the wrong person.”
She knew how dangerous it would be to take the subway this time of night, but she had little choice. Her funds had been scarce as of late, forcing her to sell the car. Life had been hellish since her husband had been murdered mysteriously outside their apartment. Now, she was sitting here in the nearly empty subway car with this psychotic, nothing but a sleeping passenger to prevent any violence he might do against her. She thought of how good a warm bath and the classical music of Handel would make her feel and hoped the man would go away.
The strange man did not answer her statement at first. Instead he just stared at her, smile widening, red lips stretching over his misshapen teeth. His white face was unnaturally smooth, marked only by two long scars that snaked from his fiery eyes to his chin, offering the illusion his teardrops had been made of acid and had burned roads into the flesh. Stringy black hair fell from his pale head like greasy, ebony ropes and his ears jutted out from his skull. His massive height gave him a freakish appearance. Tight black clothing encased his wiry frame, arms extending from his body in stick-like branches. A dark trench coat waved around him like a dream, undulating softly to its own hidden wind. He wiggled his serpent-like fingers back and forth, tongue darting out, licking his thin lips sensually.
“I, too, like the music of Handel,” the man purred. His voice had a liquid inflection to it, each word having a singsong quality. “It makes me feel so…divine, as if I can reach my hand out and touch heaven for the briefest of moments. There are not a lot of things out there that can make one feel like that, Amy.”
She froze, her hands digging into her purse as she tried to remember if she had spoken her thoughts aloud. When Amy realized she found the man arousing, she wanted to run.
“Weren’t you listening to me, Amy,” he said, moving forward, his voice reverberating around the car. “I told you I can see into your mind. Do you think I’m a madman? Not many have lived long after thinking Bannen Wilde was a madman.”
Amy swallowed, uncomfortable at how small the subway car suddenly seemed.
“It doesn’t suddenly seem small. These cars are not very big. Why?” He leaned in closer, head cocking to the side as he grinned, ebony pupils pulsing to the beat of his heart. His teeth were irregularly long and white and she could smell his cloying candy-tainted breath. “It’s okay to be afraid, you know. Fear helps some people stay alive. It’s an instinct far too many ignore.”
He looked up and closed his eyes. Amy could see his eyeballs moving from behind his lids like a sleeper lost in his own erotic dreams.
“God gave you that sense to protect you when you are in danger,” he continued, his voice soothing.
Wilde’s eyes fluttered open with sound of butterfly wings and he stared down at her, grinding his crooked teeth before he spoke. “You should listen to that fear, Amy. It saves wild animals from a certain death.”
“What the hell are you?” Amy asked, wishing the sleeping passenger at the end of the car would wake up.
“Oh, he’s not sleeping,” Wilde said. He walked to the end of the car and lifted up the head, exposing gaping eye sockets before letting the victim fall forward and onto the floor.
Amy shrieked and ran toward the back of the car.
“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you!” he shouted. “The world is a different place there!”
She pulled at the door, hurling herself forward into the car ahead.
The first impression she got as she stepped into the next car was she was looking at an incredibly life-like painting. Frozen passengers surrounded her, the bodies as still as stone. The beat of the train going over the tracks was the only sound.
The inside of the train had an ornate, almost Victorian appearance. The lighting was dim, giving an eerie cast to the faces of the motionless passengers. For a brief moment, she was so stunned by what she was seeing she almost forgot about her pursuer. Exhaling sharply, she whipped around to face him, her throat ready to fire a scream into the silent car.
She looked through a window. The railroad tracks faded into the darkness as they were devoured by the night. Large, twisted trees walled the track, offering the illusion they were hurling through an eerie, nightmare induced-tunnel.
Amy turned around to face the ghostly passengers, biting her lip to prevent herself from sobbing aloud.
Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, she chanted in her mind like a mantra, staring at the passengers with wide eyes.
One passenger in particular caught her attention, and she crept forward to get a better look.
His clear blue eyes looked through her, the eyes of a doll. He had a teacup to his open mouth. A thick mustache drooped over his upper lip and his tongue protruded out. His hair was oiled and parted in the middle, an older style. His face appeared hard, as if it was made of wax.
Amy put her finger in the cup to feel if the tea was solid. Her finger touched a hard surface, the tea as stiff as its unfortunate passenger. She put her finger out tentatively and touched the man’s cheek.
The man’s blue eyes flicked up at her, stared at her for a few penetrating seconds, and immediately darted back down at the teacup.
Amy fell backwards and stared around at the passengers as if they would soon detonate into life. Standing up slowly, as if moving too fast would bring them upon her, she studied her surroundings for a possible way out.
To her right was a beautiful woman, mouth opened in silent laughter. In the seat next to her, a little girl was frozen in mid-speech. The scene gave her the impression the child had said something the woman had found funny.
Some passengers stared out of the dark windows, watching the trees fly by perpetually. Others slept, their bodies so still they appeared to be corpses.
A soft titter interrupted the silence and Amy stood rigid, staring around the room in a panicked effort to find the source.
She knew it was from the man in the last car. What did he say his name was? Bannen, Bannen Wilde, she thought. Just saying his name made her tingle in ways that terrified, giving her the impression she was being charmed by a monster that would consume her flesh.
She turned toward each passenger with a corrupting feel of dread, her legs shaking. The woman who was frozen in mid-laughter was looking at her now. Was she doing that before?
The little girl began to nod, the rest of her body as still as a photograph. “I told you not to come in here, Amy,” she said with Wilde’s voice, eyes glowing in the gloomy lighting of the train car.
The rest of the passengers began to emit wet ripping noises, almost if their organs were being torn apart from the inside. Their flesh undulated—the skin on the face appearing to breathe as it rose gently up and down.
The laughing woman’s throat swelled, stretching forward tautly as the skin convulsed. Her head fell back before exploding open in a discharge of spiders—thousands of them spewing forth like vomit. The sounds of tearing flesh filled the train car. The other passengers fell apart, spiders jumping from their mutilated corpses and onto the carpeted floor.
Screaming, her vocal cords almost snapping from the strain, Amy fled.
The next car was similar to the first, its modern feel quite apparent by the up to date advertisements that dotted the surrounding walls. The lights of the tunnel flashed across the window, giving a disconcerting strobe effect.
Bannen Wilde was standing at the end of the car, arms stretched out in an obscene crucifixion pose. His elongated head was down toward the floor and he looked up, a menacing smile flaring up underneath his fierce eyes, his rope-like hair flowing to a phantom wind.
“Yes, Amy. I am real,” he said, his voice a lecherous purr. Bringing his arms down to his side like the beginnings of a mysterious dance, he widened his smile.
Amy felt her sanity pouring away. When she heard the strange giggling, she was astonished to find out it was her own. Part of her knew she was being seduced somehow, but she no longer felt fear. “What do you want?” she asked, surprised at how little she cared at what would happen to her.
“I want to corrupt you, Amy,” Wilde said, moving forward elegantly, his hips swaying like a dancer. “I want you to stay in my world.”
“I don’t understand,” Amy said, her brain shrieking as she realized she wanted to embrace him. “You’re doing something to me. I find you repulsive.”
“You are drawn to me, Amy,” he whispered, stepping so close he was only inches away. He leaned forward, smelling her neck, letting his nose drag across her flesh as his hot breath entered her ear like a soothing drug. “Is that so hard to understand? Didn’t you ever feel you had a soul mate? I can give you everything. There is nothing I cannot manipulate. Nothing can touch me. And if you stay with me, Amy, nothing will touch us. We will have eternity to share and the threads of reality will be ours to cut or tie as we so choose.”
Her breath came out in whispers of air, her skin trembling. She was stunned at how badly she wanted him to touch her. “Please, let me go.”
“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” he said, kissing her ear, sliding his hot tongue across the lobe. “I want you to join me, Amy. I want you with me. I exist outside of reality, outside of time. Would you not want to live in that kind of world? A world where you cannot age or be harmed by physical objects? A world where you can be as powerful as you want to be? There are no limits, Amy. None.”
By this point, she was lost. Although Amy knew she was being mesmerized by the man who stood before her, she did not care.
The subway car stopped, and a young man entered, walkman headphones surrounding his head. The man’s blond hair was cut short, and he was wearing a black concert t-shirt. He seemed oblivious to Amy and Wilde’s presence, walking right by them like they did not exist. An elderly man in a fedora and an old ratty suit also entered the car, sat down, and buried his head in a newspaper.
“They can’t see us,” Wilde said, reading her thoughts as he ran his slender fingers through her dark hair. “That’s the beauty of where I exist. No one can see us. We can watch anything we want. The private most soul-searching moments are ours to view. We are not even limited to this time frame, history is ours to view or manipulate. Have you ever felt you had done something before? Walked into a room and felt it was different somehow? That means a Manipulator reshaped your reality. That’s what I do, Amy. I manipulate reality. You can do that, too.”
Amy shivered and leaned back, enjoying the way his touch felt, like an acid tinged razor upon her flesh. Wilde kissed her, darting his tongue into her mouth, filling it with his oddly sweet taste. She kissed him back, running her hands over his protruding ribs, enjoying the way his hard bones felt underneath his clothing. Some part of her mind remembered what she used to be, but she felt Bannen Wilde inside her, pushing her thoughts away.
“I want you to see what I see, Amy. When we are done, you will be able to read my thoughts as easily as I can yours. I have been lonely, so lonely. I want someone to share eternity with.”
She removed her dress, letting it fall to her ankles.
Wilde let his sharp nails penetrate her pantyhose, tearing the material away like flesh, running his long fingers through her pubic hair. The subway car lurched forward as he entered Amy—the floor vibrating underneath them as they hurled into the tunnel.
Black tears were streaming down the sides of Amy’s face—her eyes clenched tightly shut, teeth biting into her lip so hard she began to bleed down the sides of her face. She began to sense Wilde’s thoughts as he rammed himself into her—his fingers entrenched deeply into her hair. Those thoughts made her giddy, each one offering her more power than the next.
The man with the walkman was nodding his head to his music, unaware of what was going on only feet away. The old man continued to read, his lips moving softly.
Amy was screaming when he came, feeling the last bit of herself die inside her mind. It was like a rebirth. Her flesh had lost all color, and was now as white as Wilde’s.
Wilde pulled out of her, a ghostly smile on his bone-white face. His eyes danced joyously in their sockets. “You are mine.”
Amy smiled back, taking Wilde’s hand in hers. She studied her white flesh, marveling at how silky it looked. Gazing around, she was awed at her ability to see everything. Not just details of the car but everything immediately beyond.
She could feel the touch of every lover, caressing her skin in ways she did not realize was possible. The knife of every murderer entered her body as she stared into the multiple threads of reality, cutting deep into her flesh, twisting in. She saw every possibility and she closed her eyes and moaned, overwhelmed by such power, yet hungry for it.
She was able to see Bannen’s thoughts now, and they excited her. The world they existed in was outside of her normal reality. Even time was nothing to her now, it was like she had been living on a single thread, only to see there were millions of others once she was given the ability to perceive them. He thought of himself as a Manipulator, a predator who had worlds of bodies to play with.
“A
nd you are mine,” she said, finally noticing her own body at the other end of the car. It looked like she was sleeping, her head back, eyes closed.
“That is but a shell,” Wilde purred. “You are in my world now.”
“Our world,” she corrected him, her voice an exhilarated whisper. For a brief moment, she grieved for what she once was, but the thought left her as quickly as it came. Smiling, she turned to face her lover. “I’m hungry.”
Wilde laughed, staring down at the old man, his head turning to the side like an animal studying prey. Reaching out his hand, his fingers wiggling in strange patterns, he sliced a wound across the man’s throat. Blood sprayed into the air, splattering Wilde’s pale face in crimson droplets.
Amy grinned and launched herself onto the victim, her now-sharp teeth gnashing into his skull. She did not even think it odd when she swallowed his ear, crunching the cartilage between her teeth.
The old man screamed as they fed, his body undulating back and forth to what seemed like invisible puppet strings. Deep wounds opened up on his face as flesh disappeared in fountains of blood.
When they were done feeding, Amy leaned over and kissed Wilde, sharing the old man’s blood with the writhing of their tongues. As they tasted each other, the old man continued to shriek, filling the car with obscene background music.
Wilde pulled away, his face splattered with the blood of their victim, eyes glowing on his scarlet face. “This is only the beginning, my love,” he said.
They kissed again, rolling around on the mutilated flesh of their victim, enjoying the sound of the old man’s screams in the closed confine of the subway car.
Standing Betwixt Worlds in Delightful Agony
I started hurting myself as a way to deal with stress. During one particularly brutal week in graduate school, I began to cut myself with a razor blade. After an hour of carving thin red lines into my chest, I could not believe how good I felt. It was as if every problem that had ever bothered me had been torn away from my psyche, followed by an adrenaline rush of pure joy. Watching, as the razor sliced so cleanly into my soft flesh, was exhilarating. The way that the blood would bead up behind the blade made me feel like a talented painter, my body being the macabre canvas. Somehow it gave me the feeling of control that I so desperately needed.