by Sam Williams
Gibberish
Paul's desk was on the second floor of the Brown and Johnson building. It was large, a dated brown color from decades past, and covered in paper. It gave the impression Paul had more work than he could handle. Truth was, things had been slow and every day Paul felt he was treading water. He knew he was running out of projects anyone gave a crap about. He also knew if he didn't come up with some new ideas, he was screwed.
He gazed out the window down to the street below. Paul had been excited about getting the window seat until he discovered the tinted glass made the brightest afternoon sky a dismal gray. The view wasn't too stimulating either; just a parking lot and another office building across the way.
Paul pinched the corner of a cardboard envelope poking out of a stack of papers. Wiggling it free, he held it and contemplated mailing it. Then, smacking it against the palm of his hand he thought; now or never. He also thought it was time for the first of the day’s many cigarette breaks. As he stood, he looked to make sure the address was right then tucked the envelope under his arm. He walked from his desk towards the hall, as he did, he didn't notice the loud crash or sound of car alarms from the parking lot below.
He liked taking the back stairs over the elevator. With luck, he would only have to walk past the receptionist, Harriet, who took the mail anyhow. He felt like today just might be okay because when he turned the corner to the lobby, he could see it was empty except for Harriet. Walking towards her, he could see she seemed to be smiling at something.
Oh Lord, what does she think is so funny? She's smiling like an idiot, Paul thought as he approached the reception desk. Harriet was smiling but as Paul got closer he noticed something was wrong. Her smile was distorted and strained. The smile and empty stare were unyielding even when Paul was directly in front of her.
“Are you, eh, okay there Harriet?”
She moved her mouth just enough to respond “eh iehhh hooo.” Her voice was not forced; other than being incoherent gibberish it didn't seem to dictate the duress her face showed. Paul wondered if she might be having a stroke.
He hurried to find help. He remembered Miranda, one of the HR ladies, sat around the corner. Remembering she was the head of the office safety committee, he figured she surely would know what to do. Hurrying around the corner to the hall, he bumped into Randal the national account manager, a man Paul thought of as a slime ball in a Brook Brother's suit.
“Listen, I think something's wrong with Harriet. We might need to call an ambulance or something.” While Paul spoke he watched Randal slowly lose his balance and slide down the wall to a sitting position on the floor. He looked at Randal's face; it was adorned with that same horrible grin.
“ahieeee jeeee,” Randal repeated, sitting on the floor looking disturbing.
The sight of Randal was a bit more than Paul could take. He rushed to find someone else. Heading through the office, at every desk he found one incoherent coworker after another, every face grinning and babbling. His hurried walk turned into a run, slowing only when he remembered he had left his heart medication in his lower desk drawer.
He ducked into the lunch room and found it empty. Short of breath, his face flush, Paul held the back of a chair. He tried to calm himself by telling himself to: "get a grip” and “take deep breaths”. His efforts were short lived. Up on the wall was the TV and like always at this time of day, The Sally Jones show was on (which Paul loathed). But instead of talking about the next miracle diet or celebrity break up, she sat in her plush chair with that by now all too familiar smile, jabbering nonsense.
Paul felt his only salvation might be fresh air and rushed out the back door. Outside he was greeted by the sound of car alarms and the smell of smoke. He avoided the parking lot, taking the route he took every day to his bus stop; a quick cut through the courtyard of the adjacent building to the main street. Swiftly, he followed the sidewalk towards downtown. He hoped to find someone of sound mind to help. The street was filled with stalled cars and collisions. He passed one car engulfed in flames; the driver sat smiling and still while being burned alive.
He was about to give up, with no idea what to do next, when he saw two policemen standing by each other at the end of the block. Their backs to Paul, they seemed to be conversing. Paul moved towards them cautiously. Relief swept over him when he realized he could hear them and understood what they were saying.
“I hate it when a transmitter goes, what a mess,” said the taller officer.
“It'll all be cleaned up in a day or so. Besides, it weeds out the ones that aren't taking the signal anymore,” replied the other.
“Please, can you guys help me?” Paul asked from a few feet behind the men.
“Like this guy.” The man said to his friend as he turned, pulled his gun, and shot Paul dead.
“What's this?” the other officer said. Reaching down, he picked up the envelope lying next to Paul.
Looking at it, his friend shrugged. “Looks like it has postage. Mail it.”
The Hill
There are truly beautiful places in this world; the hill is one of them. Down here in the funk and grime and shadows and fear, you forget that fact sometimes. Today I am going up there; I am going to find the top. It's not easy you know. The twisting roads which lead up are lined with mansions of incredible size and structure, creating what seems an impenetrable maze of canyons.
I have never been told to leave in my past attempts, nor felt welcome. I have yet to encounter anyone while traversing the hill's intimidating slopes. I am not sure how many times I have attempted. I am only sure that each time something sent me back, something scared me.
I swerve my bike into the middle of the road and veer the corner fast to maintain speed as I begin my ascent. The first part of the hill is darker, shadier. The houses here are brick, vine and moss covered. I feel more at home here. It's not as stunning as further up, but beautiful in its own lingering fog way.
As I pass through the mist I am enveloped in a warm yellow light that becomes almost blinding. Here are the big houses. They seem like beautiful vacant monstrosities to me. Each house is a monument to opulence with architecture that seems to defy gravity. The road here turns sharper at the corners and begins to climb at an unreasonable grade.
I feel now as though I might lose my grip. What keeps my tires on the pavement is outside my understanding. With each downward press of my foot I expect to feel the tires lift off into the air. With each house-lined plateau I feel the relief of stable ground. At one plateau I find an empty lot. It gives way to a view of everything below that thrills me to the point of panic, a weird mix of dread and awe.
Farther still the houseless lots outnumber the houses. I come to a large flat area with a monolithic arch and what looks like gigantic turn of the century structures behind it. These building are at least a hundred years older than the homes below. Somehow I know this to be a campus of some sort. Looking out from here I feel like I can touch the sun.
Beyond the campus I find the beginning of the summit. Here it becomes gray again like an overcast October day. It's the point of my journey that feels farther than I have ever been before. Turning, I see it, the estate. The front looks like a Victorian mansion, but it is big beyond reason. The entrance stands like a sentry tower, its windows seem to look down at me, filling me with a dread.
A wrought iron fence surrounds its boundary. My essence tells me to leave but something else calls me to it. I follow the fence inland and far past the face of the hill. The back of the immense and forbidding house gives way to a vast field of mausoleums and grave stones. I try but can't imagine what kind of residents could live in such a structure or leave behind so many dead.
When I finally feel I cannot go on, I stop and peer through the fence. It fills me with wonder and fright. Beautiful marble angels and various stone sculptures adorn its vast expanse. But it's the mausoleums that cause the fear. They seem to lead into the ground like portals into an abyss. I think I see a shadow move among the g
ranite. I watch closer. Something is moving. The fear builds to a point I feel frozen. My only solace is to close my eyes. When I open them I am on the other side of the fence. What was moving is now behind me. I want to run but my legs are paralyzed. Waiting for it, my heart races then skips as I feel pure coldness grasp me. It drags me to the entryway of one of the mausoleums and into darkness beyond comprehension.
There are truly beautiful places in this world…
….
A woman sits in the chair by her son's bed. She sits as she has done so many days. She sits looking at the tubes that feed him and help him breathe. She sits and wonders if he dreams.
Mr. Bagneris
Mr. Bags shows you things, that's what Eric told me before I ran. There was blood everywhere but mostly on the bed. I knew my parents were in that bed and I had an idea what Eric had done to them, but I didn't want to know.
Eric was still my brother, but he was different now. I didn't think he meant me harm but I couldn't stand to be near him. More than anything else it was that change; the perversion of my own blood that sent me running. Like a remade favorite film or song. When someone changes something you know and love, but leaves just enough to still call it the same name, it causes revulsion inside you. It's actually something new but you hate it for what it pretends to be, that thing that you had loved.
When Eric first told me about Mr. Bags, I thought he had made him up to scare me. He had been playing down by the creek in the woods behind our house. The creek was about a half mile from our backyard and I didn't like going down there. Where we lived was typically cloudy anyway but it always seemed dark once you got that far in the woods.
Eric said he was down there exploring when he saw what looked like a part of a dead tree by the water. As he got closer, he could see it was a man who was staring at him. He said he was about to run away but the man called to Eric by name. Figuring it was a neighbor, he got closer. Eric said Mr. Bags was wearing a top hat like ole' Lincoln wore. He had a round face and a grin that almost rose to each ear and his teeth were large. His eyes were big and yellow and his skin was dark and leathery. Eric described him in great detail but said there was something about his appearance that he couldn't put into words.
One thing Eric said he knew wasn't right about Mr. Bags was his feet; they seemed to be buried in the creek muck. His legs rose out of the mud like the stems of some odd plant. He introduced himself as Mr. Bagneris, but said to call him Mr. Bags. He told Eric he knew he was a curious boy. Eric said his voice sounded like Dad's favorite musician, that Louis Armstrong guy. Mr. Bags told Eric he had wonderful things to show him.
He ran away that first day. But Eric was curious. He went back to see if he could find him again. He even dragged me down there but we didn't see anything. He did show me the place he thought he had seen him. It was a muddy bank and it didn't feel like a place I wanted to stay long. It was about a week after that that Eric went down there again and I didn't see him again until I found him covered in blood in our parent's room that night.
I ran out the front door and hid under the porch across the street. I watched the house burn and firemen come. I saw cops come and take Eric away. I stayed under that porch, shivering through the night. The next day, when I felt the coast was clear, I ran across the street and went looking for the creek. Fear had been overtaken by anger and I wanted to find Mr. Bags. I needed to know what he did to my brother.
This time he was right where Eric had pointed out. Mr. Bags looked just as Eric had described: like he was part of the woods and as Eric had said; his feet were buried in the mud. I got close and he called my name.
“Oh boy, you're a curious one too, ain't ya?”
“I want to know what you did to my brother!” I screamed back.
He grinned the biggest grin I had ever seen and said he knew why I was there, said he had it right here, and pulled a little tin box out of his breast pocket. He held the box out to me. I was now as confused as I was angry but I wanted to know. I took the box and opened the lid. Inside it was just a little thin black worm squirming. I said it was just a worm and went to hand it back.
“Well smell it, smell it boy and you will see.”
I didn't see any harm so I held it a safe distance from my nose and took a whiff. I didn't smell anything and went to hand the box back again. Mr. Bags grinned even bigger, I looked in the box and the worm was gone. I put my fingers to my nose just in time to feel the end of it wiggle into my nostril. I collapsed on the ground trying to blow it out as I coughed, while Mr. Bags laughed. Then I stopped thrashing and my eyes opened wide; because I saw what he wanted to show me.
That was twenty years ago and it's been fifteen since I was put in prison. Tonight they're giving me the chair. Hopefully this diary finds a reader and they're curious like we were. If you're reading this and that's you, you find Mr. Bags; he'll show you things.
Scavenger
“You like it, right?”
The way Erica was smiling, there was a certain desperation about it. Tony held the little glass box up to examine it some more. The glass felt as fragile as an eggshell. It was held together at each joint by a minute seam of metal, with no hinges or way to open it. Tony assumed the metal to be lead; touching it didn't set well with his hypochondria. Inside the box was a little human skeleton no bigger than his thumb. Its detail was truly amazing and Tony was at a loss as to what it was made out of. As far as he could tell, it looked like real bone.
“Yeah, it's umm interesting.”
Tony did his best to reassure Erica. But the truth was that the thing gave him the willies.
“I knew you would. I remember when we went down to Mexico and you kept pointing out all those little Day of the Dead dioramas. You always like that morbid stuff.” Her eyes scanned Tony's face for a reaction.
Tony gave her a little smile and head nod to show he agreed as he put the box on the counter. It slouched in its case causing the tiny skeleton's knees to click against the glass. Fearing it was too delicate to sit like that, Tony carefully laid it down. The sight of it lying on its back made the little box look like a tiny coffin.
“You always find the most interesting things babe.”
Tony didn’t mean the statement as a compliment. Erica was always bringing the oddest things home. Most of which he couldn't stand, but he was a man that picked his battles carefully.
“Don't I? I was down at Odds and Ends, you know that little thrift store with all the kitschy stuff? Well they just got a whole bunch of really wacky stuff from an estate sale. When I saw that I knew you'd love it.”
Hugging her he said, “Its great babe. You wanna go down to Pete's and get a burger?”
“Sure.”
It was a rough morning for Tony. He over slept and had the oddest dreams throughout the night. On the way out, he grabbed his keys from the counter and saw the little box. He thought about tossing it in the trash outside but then thought of Erica's angelic face. Tony carefully picked the little box up and took it to the coat closet. Placing it on the shelf above the coat rod, he turned and shut the door.
Out of sight, it didn't take long for Tony to forget about the macabre little parcel. But while the days went by, filled with normal work week routine, the nights had become very difficult. When Tony wasn't having bad dreams, he was awakening with an anxiety he couldn't explain. At first he chalked it up to the copious amounts of coffee he drank throughout the day. A habit Erica had warned him many times about.
When he successfully managed to go through the day without a drop of caffeine he passed out rather early. He woke in the middle of the night with the familiar anxiety. Now awake, he could still hear a patter that had penetrated his dream. It was the scuttle of something tiny running across the wooden floor.
Tony grabbed a little flashlight from his nightstand drawer. Erica was sleeping soundly. Tony did his best to quietly inspect the floor and under the bed. He knew if Erica woke and found out there might be vermin in the apartment she would freak.
After a fruitless search he decided to go back to bed. So as not to upset Erica, he planned to call the landlord from work in the morning.
As he drove home, Tony thought about the landlord's surprised reaction. Mr. Miller had sworn there had never been a rodent problem but said he would have someone out to take a look by the weekend. Opening the apartment door, Tony was greeted by the savory smell of cumin and onions. He expected to find Erica in the kitchen; instead he found her franticly digging through a mountain of shoes that littered their closet floor.
“Babe, you ok?”
Erica turned and sat, looking utterly frustrated.
“Did you take the laces off all my gym shoes?”
“No sweetie, why would I do that?”
“Well they're not here and I wanted to go to the gym. I'll have to get some new ones on the way. There's dinner on the stove.”
With that Erica stood up and threw a pair of sneakers into her waiting bag. She pushed past Tony who stood in the closet doorway equally puzzled by the accusation and the predicament. After Erica left for the gym, Tony grabbed a plate and sat on the couch to enjoy his dinner in front of the TV. Flipping channels, he turned the volume all the way down when he thought he heard a scratching from inside the wall behind him. Tony waited but he didn't hear it again. He turned the sound to the TV back up and continued his dinner.
Erica got back from the gym just as Tony was washing his face. While getting ready for bed, she wrapped her arms around him and gave her best puppy dog look.
“Sorry about earlier, I was just really annoyed.”
“I can't blame you, that's really weird.”
They kissed to make up which led to more kissing, which they only paused to get into bed. Under the covers Erica positioned herself over Tony's chest and moved her face to his. Just before their lips touched she hollered out and jumped off the bed taking most of the covers with her.