Alex and The Gruff (A Tale of Horror)

by C. Sean McGee

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The Man walked along the corridor and he flicked every switch that he passed, making sure to turn off every light so that darkness shadowed his every step and was ever there, looking over his shoulder and ready to swallow every next step he would leave behind. He passed five doors on the way to the sixth, where Alex was being kept. Neither of the doors had handles on them. But they were all heavily bolted.

  The Man placed the box he was carrying neatly on the floor. He took the chain from around his neck and he took his time looking for the right keys. There were two of them and they were marked differently to the others.

  He preferred to mark the keys with special grooves. This way it was easier to tell the keys apart. Sometimes he needed to lock or to open the doors without any lights on, especially if the children were sleeping and he needed to sneak them out for grooming. It was better to do it in the dark so they couldn’t tell that he was coming. That way they wouldn’t kick and fuss. He didn’t like it much when the children made a fuss.

  Once he found the right key, The Man slid it into the lock. This as well he had become some kind of artist at doing. Again because clanking the keys around and fumbling for a lock like a normal person would do, wouldn’t at all help in him keeping his visit a surprise.

  The Man enjoyed surprises. He had never really had one himself. He mainly prepared surprises for The Gruff because it was the one thing in the world that he loved. As fun as it must have been for The Gruff to receive surprises, The Man enjoyed even more to be the author and the giver of those surprises.

  He loved the planning. He loved the suspense. He loved the sound a person made when they were surprised. When people were angry for instance, they would breathe out and their words would carry with that breath. Most of the time, when The Gruff was mad, his breath was like a clap of thunder.

  When most people were surprised, though, their voice would travel inwards and you could hear it riding the wave of fright back inside their bellies. The Man, he liked to listen to the sound of bent expectations. It reminded him of the beach. He’d never been to one personally, but he’d seen pictures before. And the sound a person makes when they are surprised, it reminded him of how the tides receded quickly and swallowed all of the shallow water, just before a tsunami hit. The Man made an art form out of making every moment, one that could take your breath away.

  The key slid into the lock and it didn’t clink and it didn’t clank. It was like a light breeze passing through a hole in a fence. He didn’t jerk the key, he turned it gently. That was important, to guide the key and to not force it. The lock clicked into place and it called out to nobody but himself. Sometimes locks made a big scene when they were opened or closed. Everybody could hear. But that’s not the lock’s fault. That really comes down to the person and whether or not they cared about how they opened or closed doors. A big part of The Man’s day was sneaking things in and out of rooms; most of the time when the children were asleep on the floor or watching cartoons.

  The Man turned the second lock and then he took the chain of keys and he put it around his neck. He always held the sides out before he put it on. He liked to slide the chain over his head calmly so the keys didn’t jingle and so they didn’t scratch against his eye. He was really careful not to accidentally hurt himself. It sounds silly, but something as simple as a little scratch could get infected and he was really far away from anybody who could help him if he got hurt or anything.

  Alex was asleep. He was curled in a ball at the far end of the room where The Man had left him hours ago. He still hadn’t changed out of the towel that was offering him little warmth.

  The Man liked this time. He liked it when the children were asleep. It meant he could do whatever he needed to do without having to worry too much. He liked to sneak around. He wore his socks most of the time because they made his feet really quiet. Also, it was fun to slide up and down the corridor. He couldn’t slide very far but if he got a run up, he could slide maybe a couple of meters or something. It was really fun.

  The Gruff didn’t like it, though.

  The Man picked up the box from the floor and he moved slowly into the room. He put the box on the ground and he took out some things and then put them on the floor. There was a pack of cards, a board game, a small radio, a newspaper and some candy. The Man was about to take one of the candies for himself, but he heard a grumble coming from inside the box and so he put it back but he looked at it and he thought about having taken it. It wasn’t fair that he didn’t get to eat the candy anymore. He still liked it. He still wanted it.

  Finally, The Man reached into the box and he took out The Gruff. He placed him on the floor close to Alex’s face. Alex was breathing so heavy. The Man could have been wearing tap dancing shoes and he wouldn’t have woken the child up. All the children were like this on their first couple of nights. The chloroform gave them a kind of hangover and they slept really heavy. It made it easy for sneaking in and out.

  He thought about dressing Alex. He looked really cold. His skin was all bumpy from the cold draft that was running under the door. Though he was deep in sleep, The Man could see that the cold would rouse him at some point. His toes were all curled up and the ends of his fingers too, they were all curled as well. He probably wouldn’t wake up completely, but he’d started moving around pretty soon and that would make it difficult to get his legs into the pajamas.

  He decided to let him be.

  The Man snuggled The Gruff against Alex and then took the empty box and shuffled out of the room. He closed the door quietly behind himself and then went through his quiet ritual of taking the key chain from around his neck, rubbing against each key to find the right one and slowly lifting it to the height of the lock so it could slide in without any bother and any noise. He locked the door and then he turned to the corridor.

  At night, the dungeon was very dark. Without light, it was impossible to see anything. You wouldn’t even see your own hand if you held it right to your eyes. The one surprise that The Man did like to give to himself was at night.

  On most nights, and just like tonight, he would turn off the lights so he couldn’t see anything in front, behind or even to each side of him. He wouldn’t close his eyes, though. He would like to keep them open. It was scarier having your eyes open and not being able to see a thing. It was easier to shut them and to pretend the dark was of your own making.

  The Man liked to keep them open.

  He would take a light breath. Nothing too deep; he didn’t want to wake up any of the children. Then he would run. He would run for about ten or fifteen steps and then he would throw out his left leg and he would lean back on his right and he would slide down the corridor through the darkness.

  The Man loved the feeling of his body in flight. He especially loved it when his senses were cut short. The feeling of not knowing were the end was excited him. He had to just feel it as he was running and then when he was sliding, there was nothing he could do but either go with it or just brace himself for a heavy fall.

  He loved the feeling. It was indescribable. He would shout out loud, but he would shout out loud inside of himself. He could hear himself shouting in his mind, but he would never move his lips and he’d never make a sound.

  It was always strange, though, right at the end, when he had stopped. He would feel around blindly looking for a wall, a door or the end of the corridor. He’d never just walk around either. He always did this thing where he would duck really low and slide, what he thought was forwards, really slowly and holding his right foot with his right hand and stretch out into the dark with his left hand, stretching so much that just his index finger poked through the darkness and felt for shapes. That was the best part, the anticipation of knowing just where he was and the fear of maybe that not being true.

  The far room, room one, was his own and unlike the others, his door had a handle. He liked to take the same care in turning the handle as he did unlocking all of the other rooms. When he slowed everything down,
it made him feel like he was connected to all the spaces in the world. He didn’t rush himself and so he found them.

  The Man turned on the light and he stood in front of the mirror. As he undressed, he stared at himself as if he was staring at a complete stranger. He’d gotten older since this morning. His belly was hanging a little bit lower.

  This was one of those bad surprises. The one where you’re expecting to see yourself and then you look in the mirror but there’s someone else there and every time you move, they move too. And the person is old and they’re fat and they’re not at all like you would be if you imagined yourself that old.

  The thing is you’re not that old. You’re still a kid. And that’s someone else standing there in the mirror doing all those things that you’re doing. And you don’t know what you look like anymore because you keep seeing them and you haven’t seen yourself in so long that you can’t remember what you even looked like to begin with.

  The Man stood in front of the mirror with a small razor that he ran over the round of his head. And he was so delicate. He didn’t scratch himself at all. And when his head was soft and clean, he ran the razor over his chest and around his nipples and under his belly button and he had to lift his belly so he could get the hairs that grew underneath.

  Once again, his hand glided over his chest and cut away every single hair but there was not a scratch to his skin whatsoever.

  Then, when his chest was soft and clean, he ran the razor down his groin and between his legs and then on and between his buttocks. And once again, each hair was removed without a nick or a scratch on his skin. And then, when his groin and his buttocks were soft and clean, he ran the razor down the length of his legs, from his hips down to his ankles and he cut every hair down to the skin and all without a single scratch.

  He stood in front of the mirror, soft and clean and not a single hair on his body. But still, the reflection looking back was not his own. He turned to the left and he turned to the right. He tried to look at himself from a thousand different angles. Still he couldn’t see where his reflection was hiding. Still, that man was there and even without the hair on his body, he couldn’t find himself.

  The boy must be there, somewhere.

  The Man turned away from the mirror. He put the razor down on the table beside his bed. He stood in front of a wall that was covered in newspaper clippings. They were all cut out crudely and they were taped on top of each other and they were spread out over the entire wall. There was a mother and father on each article and they were carrying a teddy bear or a t-shirt or something that reminded them of their child that had been kidnapped. They looked so very sad; like they would do anything to get them back.

  The Man stared at the wall of articles for some time and then he dressed in his white pajamas and he turned off the light and he went to sleep. That night he dreamt he could fly.