Three Truths and Other Unsettling Tales

by Thomas O

  Inside, his little baby granddaughter turned her head and looked at him, unharmed in the still-cool oven. He pulled her out and held her closely.

  After checking the baby to make sure she was unharmed, he debated whether or not he should call the police, but he intrinsically knew that the little man wouldn’t be found, and that his story would make no sense to anyone. Instead, he walked carefully to the couch and comforted her. He willed his arms to stop trembling, though he knew there was only one thing that would truly calm him. His fingers twitched in anticipation of going home and playing his keyboard.

  Brady was in his hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling. Around him, machines beeped and whirred. And even though he could no longer communicate, he was aware of what was going on around him.

  “He could go at any time,” the doctor advised his family. “Stay nearby.” Everyone was there, everyone he loved, anyway. Next to him sat his granddaughter, the same one who’d been saved from the oven twenty-five years earlier. She held onto his hand tenderly. The rest of his family, through their teary eyes, assured one another that he’d lived a great life, and that he was moving on to his next great adventure, whatever that might be.

  Brady smiled inwardly and agreed with them. Don’t be sad for me. I wouldn’t change a damn thing, he thought.

  The machine beeped.

  No, not a damn thing.

  The machine stopped beeping.

  Brady smiled as his lungs expelled their last bit of air. Then, the oddest thing of all happened to him - he didn’t die. He was still lying in his bed, fully aware of his surroundings, as the doctor came and listened for his heartbeat.

  “He’s passed,” the doctor said solemnly.

  But that’s not true, Brady thought as he witnessed his family comfort one another. His eyes darted around the room in confusion. I’m still here. His body remained breathless. A movement in the corner of the room caught his eye, and there he saw the little man, standing with his arms folded across his chest. Despite the fact that they’d had several close encounters over his lifetime, Brady had never gotten the chance to really stare at him. And now that he could see him clearly, he thought that the little man looked like a breathing corpse.

  The color left Brady’s vision, like a television flickering into black and white. His family became as still as statues and there was no more sobbing, no more comforting. He observed the little man walk from the room.

  Cautiously, Brady sat up. “Carla?” he said to his wife. She remained motionless. He pulled the medical devices and monitors from his body and stepped down from the bed. From outside of his hospital room he could hear croaky mutterings, almost sounding like an invitation to follow. He took an uncertain step toward the door and found that he could walk without difficulty. He took one last look back at his family and then left the room.

  The hospital was abandoned. Its silent hallways seemed to pulse with gray light that bathed the dingy walls. Around the corner is where he found the little man, standing in the middle of the corridor. Oddly, Brady felt no fear of the menacing person who’d popped up throughout his life. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Hollings,” the little man answered.

  “Am I dead?”

  “Still alive,” the little man responded. “Still falling.”

  “Still falling? From where?”

  “From the building.”

  Brady shook his head. “That’s not possible. That was over sixty years ago.”

  “No. Only two seconds.”

  The weight of the little man’s words pulled Brady to the floor, where he sat on the cold tile. “I’m imagining all this? This is all in my mind?”

  “Nearly a whole life. Compressed. By me.”

  “Carla, the kids, they were never real?”

  With a furrowed brow, the little man thought through his response. “In a billion years the world will be a barren rock. Who will be left to say what was genuine and what wasn’t?”

  Brady shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Suddenly, Brady was no longer standing in a hallway, but a large room that was so dimly lit that he couldn’t see to the walls. A spotlight lit up a corner, and Brady saw a piano illuminated in the circle of light.

  “Almost done. Finish your sonata,” the little man croaked.

  “That’s what this is all about? A song?”

  “Yes.”

  Brady stood up and walked over to the piano. He looked down at his fingers, which were no longer gnarled with age, but resembled the vigorous hands of his construction worker days.

  Anticipation – waiting – the little man watched eagerly. “I heard you play the first movement yesterday. Most beautiful song. When I realized you were going to die, I wanted to give you a chance to finish.”

  “But you terrorized me...”

  “When did you write? Only when you were scared or upset. I had to encourage you, from time to time.”

  Brady thought back to all the times when Hollings had terrorized him. It was after Charlotte had been kidnapped that he worked on his second movement. And when Carla and the kids disappeared for a day – after he got them back, he spent the next two sleepless nights composing most of the third movement. He slowly began to understand what the little man was telling him. After the incident with his granddaughter in the oven, he nearly finished the song, going back and filling in all the blank spaces he’d left behind.

  The song, his song, played in his head and swirled around in his memory. He recalled all the times when he felt distressed or sad, and he realized that he’d sought refuge in composing during those times.

  “You gave me a whole lifetime to write a song,” Brady said, speaking to himself as much as he was to the little man.

  “Yes. Without a lifetime of experienced behind you, your sonata would be a lie.” He then pointed to the piano. “Honor your family by finishing.”

  Moving with a grace and confidence that his body hadn’t felt in ages, the now youthful Brady pulled up the bench and sat down. Did he feel anger? Sadness? Love? He wasn’t even sure. He wiggled his fingers before placing them upon the keys. The sonata only needed a few finishing touches. Mostly he had to pin down a few chords in the last movement. Time stopped as Brady, who seemed to be immune from fatigue and hunger, ironed out every last detail of his masterpiece in the following hours, or possibly days.

  “Done!” Brady shouted when every last note had found its home. He looked around, but the little man was nowhere to be found. Behind him a large door loomed. Fog rolled along the floor, eerily illuminated by light seeping in from under the threshold. He stood up and approached the door. A full length mirror greeted him, which allowed him the opportunity to adjust the bowtie of the tuxedo he was all-of-the-sudden wearing. He smiled at the reflection of his twenty-seven-year-old self. When he was ready, the door opened to reveal the stage of an expansive concert hall, its seats filled with eager concertgoers. Their low murmur settled into complete silence as Brady stepped into the hall. A large grand piano sat center-stage.

  Upon surveying the crowd, Brady spotted Carla at the center of the hall. She appeared as she did when they first met. She was flanked by their children and grandchildren. Behind her sat the little man with a large, excited smile upon his face. He made a motion with his hand, encouraging Brady to step to the piano. Brady did as he was told and sat down while a thousand patrons watched in anticipation. He placed his fingers on the keys. He played his life.

  As the final notes faded out, the crowd gave an uproarious response – a two-minute standing ovation that made the walls shake. Tears formed in the eyes of Hollings. He made a bowing motion to Brady, which cued Brady himself to take a long bow. His children looked at him adoringly. He could see Carla mouthing, “I love you.” Brady took it all in, right up until the moment when the sound of the crowd faded and was replaced by the sound of a woman screaming on the sidewalk below him.

  Brady Hollis fell forty-seven floors and died.

  The Beast of the Rur
z Valley

  The fur-covered beast stood on its hind legs and howled in anger. Merely ten feet away, thirteen-year-old Antonio stepped closer and raised his dagger. Had the beast not been held back by a chain staked to the ground, it surely would’ve charged the boy. Behind Antonio, a middle-aged man aimed a revolver at the beast’s heart, though his finger was confidently off the trigger.

  “Any second now,” the man whispered as if Antonio could hear him. “Whatever you do, don’t turn your back to it.”

  Enraged by the youth who was carefully advancing toward him, the growling beast, twice as tall as the boy, pulled against the chain with all of its might. The iron links creaked, groaned, and then gave way with a sickening snap. The man with the gun, Magnus, could see Antonio tense up as the beast freed itself. He shifted his finger to the trigger, but a second later the boy’s shoulders relaxed. Yes, that’s it, Magnus thought. Crouch low. Get under it.

  The beast moved quickly toward Antonio, but the boy, faster than most men, darted out of the way. A claw lashed out, but it caught only a few wisps of Antonio’s hair as he went to his knee.

  A smile graced Magnus’s lips. You’ve got him, boy, he thought with satisfaction.

  Rising up, Antonio thrust his dagger into the beast’s stomach. He pushed upward with all of his strength until the silver tip of his dagger penetrated the heart. The creature looked skyward and howled in agony. Antonio pushed even harder on the butt of the knife, while warm blood from the creature dripped down his arm. A final, desperate slash came from the beast. Antonio dodged this attempt without even removing his hand from the knife. The creature gave one last pathetic wail and collapsed to the ground.

  Antonio stood up proudly to his full height while Magnus stepped toward him and put his hand on his shoulder. Before them, the body of the creature began to transform. Its elongated nose and sharp teeth began to retract. Bones cracked as they reformed to their original shapes. The fur seemed to disappear, and the coal grey eyes took on a more pleasant shade of brown.

  “Did you know the chain would break?” Antonio asked of his mentor.

  Magnus gave a knowing grin. “You must always be prepared for the unexpected,” he said. He noticed Antonio frown. “I wouldn’t have allowed it to happen if I didn’t think you were ready for it,” he added.

  The naked body of a local farmer was laid out where the beast had fallen. “I knew this man,” Antonio said matter-of-factly. “His name is Jonathan Franklin.”

  Magnus shook his head. “Jonathan Franklin died three months ago when he was attacked. This thing here is simply a remnant, a left-over from what he once was. That’s something you must always remember, Antonio. These creatures have no humanity left, even during the daytime when they pretend to be who they once were. They’re remorseless killers, sent by the devil himself.”

  The two of them left the body and walked onto the grounds of a nearby cathedral, which was surrounded by several comfortable looking cottages. “Your father would be proud of you,” Magnus commented to the boy. “You’re already far braver and more skilled than any man in this province.”

  Antonio gave a rare smile. “Even you?”

  Magnus held his fist up in mock anger. “Don’t get cocky,” he said with a laugh. “Let’s go eat. Angelica has made us soup. Clean up before you join us.”

  Magnus disappeared into one of the cabins while Antonio washed off the blood in a trough of water. From the cathedral, two robed men exited and approached the body of Jonathan Franklin. Together, they carted the corpse to a graveyard and unceremoniously buried it.

  TWENTY YEARS LATER

  The residents of the Rurz Valley kept mostly to themselves. Antonio figured that there were maybe ten settlements that dotted the valley floor, with some small farms interspersed throughout. He’d seen places like this before, and places like this weren’t very special, although this particular valley had the distinction of being the hiding place of the final surviving creature. Somewhere, nestled between Alcander Peak and Hangman’s Ridge, it roamed. This creature was desperate – it seemed to intrinsically know that it was the last of its kind. Three years earlier, its ilk had inhabited the hillsides and hollows in much greater numbers, but that was when Antonio rallied his team of hunters and drove them to greatness. They’d been far more successful than any of the teams that had come before them, even the teams headed by Magnus himself.

  With a holy command from Cardinal Walster, the group had started their latest mission numbering five men and three dogs. Now, after several bloody encounters, they were down to only two men and one dog. But even with their losses, their successes had been far greater. Antonio had trained his men well, and he was relentless, absolutely relentless, in his pursuit. The team did their hunting at night, as the creatures themselves did.

  At dawn, Antonio and his sole surviving human team member, Edmond, made their daytime camp just outside one of the valley’s insignificant settlements. Unable to sleep, Edmond ventured into the town and returned two hours later accompanied by a young woman – even at that early hour he’d managed to find reasonably priced companionship. Antonio stared at him disapprovingly, even though he tacitly allowed such liaisons. Let him have his moment of happiness. He can reckon with God on his own, he thought. Billy the dog sniffed at the new arrival before circling and lying back down.

  A few minutes later various grunts and groans filled the campsite as Edmond and his new lover consummated their relationship. Antonio, in his bedroll, simply prayed. Soon the noises ceased, and a low conversation could be heard from the two temporary lovers.

  “So, you hunt those wolf-men?” the female voice questioned.

  “Yes. They’re animal by night – human by day. They eat people to survive, but every once in a while, when their numbers thin, they allow someone to survive their attacks.”

  The woman listened with admiration. “Looks like I should give you another one for free,” she said with a laugh. Before Edmond could agree, the woman perked up as she suddenly remembered something. “Wait! There was a man in town yesterday who said he was looking for a group of hunters like you.”

  “Who?” Edmond demanded.

  “His name was... Mag-something.”

  Antonio shot up from his bedroll. “Magnus?”

  “Yes! That’s right, Magnus was his name. I think he’s still in town.”

  Antonio shouted to the dog, “Billy, go find Magnus!”

  Billy’s ears perked up. His intelligent eyes narrowed as his snout raised and sniffed the air.

  “Let’s go,” Antonio ordered. Edmond, struggling to get his pants on, stumbled as he tried to keep up with Antonio and Billy.

  The dog honed in on Magnus in a matter of minutes, giving an excited yelp when he saw him walking outside one of the buildings.

  “Magnus!” Antonio yelled to his mentor.

  Magnus turned toward the men with a relieved smile on his face. “Thank God I found you! I was praying you would stop by this town.”

  The men greeted each other with an embrace. “You got my letter?” Antonio asked of Magnus.

  “Yes, and I’ve consulted with the Cardinal.”

  “And?”

  “We believe that you’re correct. This is the last one. There are no further reports of attacks anywhere.”

  Edmond came running up to them, still buttoning his shirt. “Did I hear him correctly? This truly is the last of the creatures?” he asked.

  “Hello Edmond,” Magnus said. “Yes, the beast you’re currently tracking is the last of its kind, assuming you’ve been careful.”

  “There have been no survivors of its attacks,” Antonio assured him. “It’s desperate and injured. We’ll soon have him.”

  “Injured? How so?”

  “We already had a run-in with it. I put a dagger in its right eye,” Antonio said as he made a stabbing motion. “Unfortunately it managed to get away. That was two days ago.”

  Edmond nodded in agreement. “It doesn’t have much fight left in it
. We’re honored that you came to witness our final victory.”

  “I came to make sure you two don’t muck everything up. Cardinal’s orders.”

  “We’re glad to have you,” Antonio said earnestly, “but you already know we’ll succeed in our task.”

  A small smile broke through the creases in the older man’s face. “You’ve far exceeded any expectations that we could’ve possibly had for you. No team has ever been this successful.”

  “Many friends have sacrificed their lives so that we could get to this point,” Antonio said. “But for now, we’re in need of rest if we’re to continue the hunt.”

  “Of course you are,” Magnus said. “You’re camped outside of town I assume. Gather your things and bring them here. I have a room at the inn we can share.”

  The two men did as Magnus instructed, hauling their belongings to the inn and making themselves comfortable. It was the first true rest either of them had gotten in months. They were woken late in the afternoon by Magnus. “I’ve had the innkeeper prepare us a meal,” he told them. “Let’s eat.”

  Antonio and Edmond rose from their slumber and joined Magnus in the tavern, where they ate a hearty soup. “It appears as if rest has suited you well,” Magnus told the men as they ate. “Maybe you’d benefit from staying here another day.”

  Antonio put his spoon down and looked at Magnus oddly. “With all due respect, we’ll get all the rest we need after we kill the beast.”

  “Of course,” said Magnus.

  Edmond thought he saw a look of annoyance flash across Antonio’s face, but quickly decided that he’d imagined it. The suggestion wasn’t made again, and the men finished their dinner while relaying the details of their most recent adventures to Magnus.

  At sunset, the men and the dog, determined and ready, headed out into the woods. Antonio, leading them with an unwavering gait, pushed through the overhanging vines and the thickened brush. They kept their lanterns dim as not to attract unwanted attention, and for an hour they walked in silence. Even their footsteps made no noise, so it was startling when Magnus abruptly broke the peace. “Are you sure we’re headed in the correct direction?”