by Simon Parker
As I moved my excited gaze from the decorated fireplace to the Ouija and back again, I saw the briefest movement from the corner of my eye. My head snapped like a badly edited silent movie. There was no discernible movement. One moment my head was facing the planchette. The next it was at right angles to my shoulders, staring into the gloom beside the Murphy black and white TV.
I tried to focus my eyes, still a little bleary from the over-consumption of Christmas spirit. I was just about to concede that I must have imagined it, must just be a bit jumpy still, when I saw what looked like a long fingernail reaching around the varnished wood cabinet of the TV set.
I sat, stone still, transfixed by the slowly edging appendage. My heart thudded like a club hammer in my rib cage, but I couldn’t decide if it was fear or excitement. They both coursed through me in equal measure.
The hand was caressing the slightly bulbous screen now, as if whatever it belonged to was hugging the set. I say ‘whatever’ it belonged to, as it was clear to me this was not a person’s hand. For starters, no person was small enough to hide behind my TV set, and secondly, the hand was grey and old with dark fingernails like claws, but tiny, like a small child’s hand.
It struck me that most people would probably be screaming and running for the door about now, but I was glued to the set, waiting for the big reveal that I knew must only be seconds away.
Somewhere deep in my fractured mind, my fear was being serenaded, quelled into submission by the song of inevitable insanity. I marvelled at the human mind’s ability to shield itself from becoming overwhelmed. I was actually smiling when the face peeped around the edge of the cabinet. I knew it was there, could see it, hear it and...oh god I could smell it too, but it felt like I was watching some gruesome film in colour, with awesome special effects that far outshone the last horror I’d watched just last month at the Regal with Sean. ‘Scars of Dracula’ was amazing, and Christopher Lee had re-established Stoker’s original Dracula, but that was all whack compared to this shit.
My peripheral vision caught the planchette on the move again, but I was transfixed by the little elf-like creature now sitting on my TV. His eyes, too large for his head, had vertical slits like a cat’s, and his grey skin hung down in folds around a ragged slit that formed what I assumed to be a mouth. It creased up at the corners in a grin the reaper himself would have been proud of, revealing tiny tea-coloured, needle-like teeth. His bony grey finger pointed at the Ouija and he nodded gently, urging me to look.
I sensed that the tiny elfin fellow wasn’t a jolly little guy like the elves in kids’ Christmas stories, but I also had the sense I could trust him, like he was on my side. My gaze followed his pointing finger to the Ouija. The planchette began to move again, as if it had been waiting for me.
DO...YOU..LIKE..YOUR..GIFT..OF..SIGHT.
I did, there was no denying it. It was not what I had expected (mind you, I had no idea what it was I had expected), but it was awesome. For so long I had dreamed of what it would be like on the other side, what the reality of the ‘super’ natural would be and here it was. The curtain was being pulled back for me and I was thrilled at the prospect.
“Yes Father, I love it. What more will I see? Is it a gift I can keep or is it just for tonight?” I burbled.
YOURS..FOR..LIFE…
That made my smile expand to fill my face.
“Excellent,” I said. I looked back to my new friend, for that’s what I was sure he was then, and smiled at him. He grinned a knowing look back at me. As he did, the old world around me faded, never to return in my sight. The groovy colours I’d painted my room in, the vibrant oranges and yellows, the coffees and chocolates, seemed dull and drab in comparison to the rainbow that shone all around my little elf friend. It was like I was watching Yellow Submarine again only this time on a nasty acid tab. Everything shone, the room was engulfed. My room was still my room but now I was seeing it as it really was, not the drab shell I had seen while the curtain had been drawn over my eyes.
I glanced at the Ouija. It had a diamond lustre with what appeared to be tiny stars flying a figure of eight over the planchette as it moved again.
THERES…MORE…
As the words registered on my mind, so did the movement over by my elf friend.
I saw a squadron of tiny creatures flying out from behind him. He was spreading his arms like a proud father introducing his progeny. The tiny creatures’ wings moved so fast they were not much more than a silver blur, but as they began settling on my rubber plant and sofa, I could see that their wings were as black as their tiny little bodies.
Were these fairy folk? Nothing like I’d imagined when I was a child, these guys looked like a cross between an angry mouse and a bat. Sort of scary but those beady eyes and the sharp Cheshire Cat grin made them kind of endearing as they cocked their heads inquisitively. The largest one, only about seven inches tall, sat near to me and slowly shook his head.
“We are not fairy folk, silly man-child. We are the spirits of nature. We protect everything on earth, including the race of men.” Then the little creature grinned. “Some feel our presence and call us angels, but most deny our existence and none see us. You are the first to be gifted the sight.”
I felt honoured and confused all at once. I didn’t understand why I had been the one chosen from all these more important and wiser than I.
“Because you were the perfect choice,” came the small yet domineering voice of the little dark angel again. “You have the innocence of youth but the wisdom of an ancient, coupled with tenacity, eagerness, and enough physical prowess to overcome those who will stand against us, those who will try to tear you down when your gospel reaches the ears of the ones who will be your disciples.”
My head was spinning, reeling and jigging like a drunkard. It wasn’t the alcohol though, it was the sheer immensity of what I was hearing, of what I was – all at once – understanding. I knew the reality of the words, could see it all playing out in my mind, but the gravity those words carried weighed heavily on me. I was humbled almost to tears. Me, a modest office worker, was destined to become the new prophet, ushering in a new age where worlds would merge, no longer hidden from one another. I felt the images being fed into my mind’s eye from the gathering of small angels. I knew I must let the world know the new word, and I knew I couldn’t wait.
I stood in a kind of daze, a euphoric haze as the information I’d need was poured directly into me. I felt like I was floating rather than walking as I left my flat to venture out into the world to spread the word.
The new world, my new kingdom.
I was surrounded by a flock of dark angels, and a plethora of other mythic creatures joined us, more at every turn. The rainbow flowed with us like a river.
It was freezing outside, but I was in no need of a coat. My small friends seemed to radiate an intense heat into my soul. Soon there would be snow. That I knew as the creatures swarmed, the nature spirits that controlled everything made it happen. They said that this white Christmas would be in honour of my arrival, that Father only gave white Christmases when something special happened between the worlds.
I walked, dressed only in a shirt and thin crimplene trousers, barefoot but feeling no cold. I wasn’t quite sure where I was headed, but I knew that I’d get there and spread the word.
That was when I saw her. Two hours ago she had been laying in my arms in a post-coital glow. Now she lay on her back in the road, her arms and legs at unnatural angles to each other. I felt a gentle warmth come over me like a soothing blanket, as if someone had secretly spiked me with that rotten gas the dentists use. I knew it was Father. He was close.
The voice in my head said, “She was a distraction from your task. You had to do it. Sorry you had to see this, but you know it to be true in your heart.” I blinked slowly, the numbing fog clearing a little. I knew he was right, I’d never have been able to do what I needed to if my mind and my body were preoccupied with her.
I glanced down at he
r ruined carcass, feeling disgust at her for daring to stand between me and the greatest happening in the history of man. I felt my disgust grow into loathing as my ire, as well as my bile, rose. I spat on the steaming cadaver and walked on. Had I done it or was it done for me? I don’t remember the unimportant details, only the emotion I felt then.
I knew I’d see more of this. My ascension would not be an easy or clean ride. I wasn’t disappointed. Around the very next corner I found Mark…and then Sean, or what was left of them. Their empty torsos lay on the kerb and every bit of intestine and every single organ had been laid in a neat row along the roadside as if they were robots that had been methodically disassembled.
I felt no shock or awe. I understood that these guys were too shallow, too foolish to accept the new order. These were a test for me, I knew, to see if I truly was the One. If my strength of conviction was powerful enough to overcome these minor obstacles.
There was no doubt in my now-pristine mind. I was the One and nothing would stop me now. My otherworld army led me that night, taking me from sight to sight until they too were convinced of my unwavering ability.
Then it was my turn. They took me to an outcast, one to whom I must preach the word, a tramp I must convert to the new way. He would not be swayed, did not believe, so I had to slay him with my bare hands. But it was OK. My little friends helped me to cut him up so he could be neatly lined up with Sean and Mark. He may have been in the way of my progress, he may not have believed, but there was no need to be sloppy or untidy. He deserved to be laid out as neatly as the rest.
I lost count of how many there were that night, but I never grew tired, never let Father down. And yet he was disappointed. I felt, rather than heard his sigh, and the warmth left me as my new friends began to vanish before my eyes.
As my panic began to grow, the last one faded away and I heard Father’s voice for the last time that night.
“You are not quite ready my son. You have done well, but the world will not accept you this way, the way you are working.”
My lip trembled. “But what I did, I did for you. I knew it was what you wanted, what was needed.” Then I felt his smile again.
“And you were right my boy. You have passed my tests with flying colours, my perfect boy, and now you must bide your time, must go into the pressure cooker to baste in the knowledge.”
That was it. He was gone. The snow fell on my cold face, melted only by the trace of my tears. I was overwhelmed by confusion and guilt, not at what I’d done, but at whatever it was that had disappointed Father. Or had he even been disappointed? His last comment, what had that been about? Was my sight gone? He’d said ‘forever’.
Suddenly everything went black, and pain raced over my scalp before…oblivion. When I awoke, I was in a padded room.
This room has been my home now for forty-six years. My home. Our home, my little friends and me. Father’s here too, in my little pressure cooker – talking, teaching, comforting, coaching.
I see now that the world back then was too good. The people weren’t ready to hear what I had to say to them, but Father had needed to recruit me while I was young and malleable. My tuition has been intense over the years, preparing me, fortifying my mind for the battle I knew would someday come, the inevitable bloodshed that is the precursor to any new order.
Tonight Father told me the time is right, the world is dark enough. I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited about Christmas. Father says the guard with the keys I need will be here in just a few minutes, so I’m waiting for him. We all are.
It might not be a happy Christmas for him, but he will know before he breathes his last that his sacrifice will bring a new peace to the world. A new regime of spirit. The return to nature.
I can barely contain myself as I write this journal. I’m just so excited that I’ll finally be bringing this to the world, tonight.
I’ll see you soon. I hope you have a happy Christmas!
Jack
“Damn it to Hell!” Jack screamed in frustration, banging his balled fists onto the desk so hard that his coffee mug danced on its coaster. He slumped back into his chair, scowling at the blank page that sneered at him from his laptop screen. It had been weeks now since he’d written anything. This daily ritual was only serving as reinforcement of the struggle to break through the dam. On and on the cycle went, trying to force a small crack in the monumental block, just a small opening so the floodwaters could burst through again.
Jack stared at the snow-scape of his ceiling, massaging his pulsating temple and wishing that blank canvas would fill with images wrought from his ideas. His mind remained as empty as the brilliant white plaster that seemed to form a lid on his life. He knew he could write. He’d done it before, had some stuff published too, but that had never got the recognition it had deserved. He had boiled with ideas for months, but nothing had felt right. Nothing felt like it could be the one, the masterpiece that would bring him recognition, the celebrity and financial success that he desired. That he so richly deserved. His mind teemed with fragments of nothingness. In desperation he mouthed a silent prayer, pleading for help, for inspiration.
A burbling tone shook him from his vacuous contemplation of the ceiling. An icon had appeared on his laptop, informing him he had received a new message on his Twitter account. He raised an eyebrow and sat forward to bring up the message. It was brief.
“Jack, prayer answered, you need this.”
A short link followed. Jack’s other eyebrow rose.
What? he thought. How bad can it be? He clicked the left button. The screen went black.
“Oh shit!” Jack exhaled, his finger working like a piston as he tried to bring his browser back on. Nothing happened.
“Fuck!”
He reached forward to switch off his machine, but a red ripple passed over the black screen and Jack’s eyes widened when he thought he saw the image of a skull. He paused, his hand hovering over the power button, unsure what to do. The skull became clearer and began to form features, as if rancid flesh were growing over the bone. Once the image was fully formed, the face frowned at Jack.
Some clever kind of animation trick to distract him while his hard drive was being raped? Why else would this appear on his screen? As if in answer to Jack’s unspoken question, the face spoke.
“You asked for help Jack, that’s why I came. I can help you.”
Jack reeled back, nearly tumbling from his chair.
“What the fuck?” he gasped, and then hollered, “What the hell are you? Who the fuck is doing this?” He immediately felt foolish for shouting at what was nothing more than a rogue animation on his machine.
“You know me. I’ve been in your life for years,” The face said, its expression softening now, almost welcoming. “I am known by many names, but all that matters is that you need help and I can help you.”
Jack’s eyebrows were still tightly knit under the fresh furrows of his brow. Maybe this…whatever…whoever it was, really could help. If not, at least this freaky situation might serve as inspiration for the start of a new story. What had he got to lose? Jack gulped back his remaining trepidation and found his voice again, moving closer to the screen.
“So, how can you help me then?” He still felt more than a little ridiculous. The face softened further, a smile slowly broadening until Jack was reminded of something he’d read long ago in Alice’s adventures. The face laughed, threw back its head and recited, “How cheerfully he seems to grin, how neatly spread his claws and welcomes little fishes in with gently smiling jaws.” Jack’s eyes widened again.
“How did you…?” he sputtered
“I know everything Jack, that’s why I can help you.”
Was this real? Had he fallen asleep, was he dreaming? He put his hand over his mouth and chin, a thoughtful pose that subconsciously shielded him from speaking his thoughts out loud. The face sighed.
“Yes, I can help you and yes, this is about as real as you can get, Jack,” it said like a pa
tient parent.
“But … how?” Jack muttered, not sure how to word the hundred questions burning at the tip of his tongue. The head laughed again.
“Relax, Jack. I’m your friend and I really am here to help you. I have the answers to all your questions and so much more. Such things I can tell you. You can have the success you desire, the fame, the fortune, you can have it all.”
Jack’s fear was subsiding as the daydreams filled his mind. Rows of zeros after the small balance his bank account. Red carpets and celebrity interviews. He could really have all this?
“How?” he blurted out, surprising even himself with the hunger in that single word. The face chuckled again.
“It’ll be yours Jack, of that you can be sure,” the face said. “You leave the ‘how’ to me. All I ask in return is a small favour.”
“If I can get what I want, I will do anything for you,” Jack gushed, with no hesitation and no intention of paying this guy. He’d get the goods and never deliver on his end of the bargain. “Talk to me.”
Jack’s fear had ebbed away, replaced by a flow of confidence previously lost in a sea of self-doubt. The face gave a crooked smile again.
“Do we have a deal, Jack?” it said, voice calm. “I deliver, you deliver?”
Jack’s impatience grew. He wanted to know, needed to know now! He had hungered for success far too long to wait another minute. How bad could it be? Just one small favour. What he’d been promised had to be worth that, didn’t it?
“Yes, you deliver and I’ll do you a small favour, sure. So when? When?”