horrors2

Syphilicious_.What_Lurks.tex

  1\chapauth{Syphilicious!}
  2\chapter[What Lurks Behind Our Eyes]{What Lurks Behind Our Eyes: The Horrid Reflection Revisited}
  3
  4
  5Thursday night, and everything is quiet. Unusual for me, but in my
  6current settings it should be expected; instead of walking my beat in
  7the thug-infested alleys of our dear city, I am far out in the country,
  8at Old Woman McCannshire's place, engaged in a staring contest with the
  9termites that crawl in and out of the floor of her porch as I wait for
 10her to answer the door. The middle of nowhere does not properly describe
 11my location; I'd been driving so long that I'm probably already halfway
 12out. My name is Luke Bavarius, and I'm a detective, but tonight I appear
 13to be the guy that drives around checking under old biddies' beds for
 14monsters.
 15
 16Even the pranks get men sent out these days. A prank is what I would
 17have thought this would be if I didn't know the old woman calling was
 18too addled to even have a teenager's sense of humor. McCannshire thinks
 19her house is haunted by spirits, and wants one of us ``wonderful young
 20men you have working down there'' to come check it out. I'm almost glad I
 21forgot to bring my spare ammunition for my Beretta out here; I've used
 22that thing enough today considering my nerves are just about as shot as
 23those three bank robbers, and if this goose chase got any more boring
 24I'd probably put it in my mouth and make brain gumbo.
 25
 26The unlatching of bolts awakens me from my reverie, and my head snaps
 27back up into the proper position. ``You win this time, termites,'' I
 28mutter, wiping a thin string of drool from my chin. Slowly, the door
 29creaks open, and I am treated to the sight of Mrs. McCannshire in a
 30wispy white nightgown. Perhaps in the prime of her youth this might have
 31been something I could have tolerated or even enjoyed, but the broad has
 32long been in her more tender years of age, her face has more wrinkles
 33than the wandering Jew's underwear, and her nightgown is greasy with the
 34mysterious secretions of the elderly. I try to focus on the mangy grey
 35poodle she cradles in one arm, a dirty little mutt that she probably
 36pampers like nobody's business. She really fits the picture of an old
 37bag of bones, and as soon as she opens her mouth I can tell how far gone
 38she really she is.
 39
 40``Are you the detective Officer Dent sent over to help with the spirits
 41in my house?'' She speaks slowly and clearly, her eyes twin moons of
 42gawkish innocence. I don't know which kind of dementia would be worse:
 43the flavor Mrs. McCannshire possesses where one is magically returned to
 44the age of nine or the other one where you think the walls are talking
 45to you. Although, considering why I was here, it's possible she suffered
 46from the latter too.
 47
 48``Uh\ldots yes. Yes, ma'am. Officer Dent is my, uh, superior.'' I step past
 49her and walk inside, trying to ignore the subdued growl the mutt in her
 50hands has started up upon sight of me. The place is clean to a point;
 51there are numerous tables and shelves bedecked with pictures and family
 52heirlooms, all meticulously dusted, but the carpet is smeared with dirty
 53pawprints and general dust and filth, it's frayed and ragged material
 54likely not blessed by the gentle touch of a vaccuum cleaner for
 55years. The carpet and walls are an ugly matching beige and all the
 56miscellaneous objects, despite constant care, have lost their
 57luster. The only sign of real color comes from the bathroom behind the
 58door opposite the one I had come in, wherein an even more hideous bright
 59lime green covers the small amount of wall I can see around the door.
 60
 61I turn to face her, reaching into the folds of my trenchcoat and drawing
 62out a pack of cigarettes and my lighter. ``Now, what seems to be the
 63problem here?'' A lazy puff of smoke floats serenely past my raised
 64eyebrow from my now lit cigarette.
 65
 66``Well,'' she says, setting the dog down onto the carpet where it does an
 67annoying little dance around our legs, barking and whining, ``I've been
 68noticing things for several days now, but only this morning did it get
 69really bad. You see, every time I use the bathroom I feel someone is
 70watching me.''
 71
 72``How can you tell?''
 73
 74``Well, at first it was just an uneasy feeling. But then I started
 75hearing voices that would say things that I couldn't make out. Then I
 76started seeing faces out of the corner of my eye or in a reflection. And
 77this is happening quite often, mind you. It's happened every time I go
 78in there, and these days I tend to\ldots oh, how should I say it\ldots
 79do my business more often, mostly because my--''
 80
 81``I understand, I understand,'' I say hurriedly. ``Please, continue.''
 82
 83``Well, uh, this morning, I saw a face in the mirror behind me. And I
 84didn't just see it, either; it was directly behind me, an entire person,
 85and he didn't go away until I turned round.''
 86
 87My eyebrow, having just started to head home for the day, turned
 88right back around and marched up my forehead. This sounded legitimately
 89interesting. Whatever had actually happened, seeing a person plain as
 90day is a lot better than imaginary sounds or tricks of light that even
 91happened to people who weren't sitting outside Death's doorstep in
 92motorized wheelchairs. There is really only one thing to do.
 93
 94``Well, I guess you'll have to show me the bathroom then,
 95Mrs. McCannshire.''
 96
 97``Right you are, dear.'' She seems to notice that my gaze has strayed to
 98the pictures on the small table next to the front door, and as she
 99hobbles past me towards the bathroom she begins to talk about her dead
100husband. Half listening to her talk about the dangers of late term
101prostate cancer and wincing at the intimate descriptions she gives of
102the times she went with him for his checkups, I search for an ashtray
103and find one nestled in between boxes of tissue and stack of gardening
104books. I rub the flame out and leave the stub, resolving not to smoke
105any more until I leave the house. The old woman doesn't need all that
106smoke.
107
108As I join her in the bathroom, I see that her poodle has the same
109idea. It flies past me and sits whining at her feet until she relents
110and picks it up again. I stand next to her and look around the room. The
111mirror is old but clean, and the porcelain throne in the corner is the
112same. I look into the sink, and from the short, curly gray hairs lining
113the rim I deduce that she washes the dog in it; either that or she's
114more up on the trends of women of today than you'd think of a gal her
115age.
116
117The horror of the thought further distracts me, and I begin to develop
118that thousand yard stare as she tells me about the various scary
119encounters she has experienced while voiding her bowels, unnecessarily
120clueing me in on the second part in her stories too. Technically I am
121looking at the hot water handle, but I am miles away, back on a real
122cop's beat or in the arms of a good woman, whichever one does a better
123job of distracting me from her current tale of a mysterious voice
124whispering in what she thinks is Latin and the effects of the creamed
125corn she had with lunch two days ago. Suddenly I spy in the reflection
126from the mirror that the dog has the same idea. The yappy little thing
127now sits silent and unmoving in her arms, staring intently into the eyes
128of its reflection.
129
130At first I am grateful for the relative silence that its new object of
131interest has provided, but after a minute it begins to make my skin go
132all goosey. I've never seen a dog sit that still for anything. I slowly
133move my hand in front of its face, nodding to show Mrs. McCannshire I am
134listening at a pause in her latest story involving the cupboard swinging
135open and almost hitting her in the head and how the fright really helped
136``loosen things, down there''. I pass my hand back in forth in front of
137the dog's vision to no effect. In a moment of clarity I drudge up the
138dog's name out of its owner's ramblings.
139
140``Jasper! Hey, Jasper!'' At once the dog is a flurry of motion, leaping
141out of her hands and latching onto the watch around my wrist with its
142teeth. I stumble backwards into the main room and fall to the floor,
143frantically batting at the hideous ball of fur as it growls like a
144recently castrated bear. Instinct takes over; my mind recognizes when I
145am in a fight for my life even when the opponent is a 15-pound owl
146pellet. Without thinking I wrap the palm of the hand it grips around its
147head and bash it repeatedly against the edge of a bookshelf next to me,
148then stagger to my feet and swing it around the room, screaming to match
149its rabid cries. All of a sudden it flies free with a high pitched yelp
150and collides with the table on which the ashtray rested and the table
151and its contents tumble to the ground.
152
153I approach cautiously, waiting for my opponent to make some sign of
154life. At once the small pile of picture frames and knicknacks erupts as
155Jasper flies straight towards my face.
156
157I have anticipated it; it passes fruitlessly over my head as I lean
158backwards almost parallel to the floor, and I hear its frenzied growling
159suddenly muffled. I push my spine back into place with one hand and spin
160around only to see Jasper hanging from the ledge of a desk, his jaw
161wrapped around it and his teeth grinding into it as if he imagined it to
162be my arm. I act quickly, sparing no mercy. With several steps I come
163upon the helpless creature and I lift a booted foot to hover a foot away
164from the back of its skull.
165
166``Chew on this, pooch.''
167
168There is a loud, wet crack as its skull explodes like a balloon filled
169with bones and blood. It's corpse falls silently to the floor, followed
170by the lower half of his jaw and head. The top half rests on top of the
171desk, firmly embedded into the wood. I curse silently to myself and wipe
172my foot off on the carpet, leaving behind a red smear flecked with hair
173and bits of bone.
174
175All at once I come to my senses, and I turn to see Mrs. McCannshire
176standing at the bathroom door. For a second we both stand staring
177wordlessly at each other, then she utters a soft cry and flees back into
178the bathroom. I hear a soft click as she locks the door behind her.
179
180I sigh and walk over, knocking on the door. ``Mrs. McCannshire, I'm sorry
181about Jasper, okay? I shouldn't have\ldots{} done that, but he was, I mean he
182was attacking me. There was nothing else I could do.''
183
184I continued to apologize while I listened to her sobs, trying to look
185anywhere but back at that head, or that part of it, those sightless eyes
186silently judging me. I've killed people before in my line of work, and I
187see their faces when I close my eyes, but now this mutt was getting to
188me more than any of them ever did. It was an irritable little thing, but
189why did it up and attack me like that? What did it see in that mirror?
190
191I notice that the crying on the other side of the door has stopped, and
192for a moment I feel relief. ``Mrs. McCannshire, if you can just come out
193here we can talk about this. Again, I'm sorry about your dog, but--''
194
195I am interrupted by the click of the lock, and as the door slowly comes
196ajar I help her open it. She stands there, head down, and she looks so
197depressed that I can't help but resume my apologies. ``If there's
198anything I can do to pay you back for what I did, you name it. I really
199can't tell you how sorry I am, I'll get you a new dog, whatever you
200want. I'm sure I\ldots{}''
201
202The look in her eyes when she raises her head is different than what
203you'd think a hysterical old woman would have. They're more intelligent
204than they were before, those eyes, and they seem to possess more menace
205than I assume an old lady like that would be able to muster.
206
207A bony hand wraps around my throat with otherworldy strength, choking
208off the rest of the sentence. She lifts me off my feet, pulls back, and
209for a brief moment everything is serene.
210
211Then I hit the wall. I slide down next to the open front door, and after
212my eyes uncross and the black in front of my eyes goes away I use the
213knob to pull myself up. I check for broken bones and don't find good
214news in the ribs area, but other than that I am fine, if bruised.
215
216``Well, you've got a good arm, I have to give you that.'' I think over my
217options, running my tongue over my teeth. I can't hurt her; she's
218obviously just possessed by whateve possessed that dog in the mirror. I
219have to get the spirit out of her, or incapacitate her, but I don't know
220how to perform exorcisms and at her age a gust of wind could kill
221her. Although if she's able to throw like that maybe she's a lot
222stronger in other ways too. What if I tied her up?
223
224Something makes my train of thought come to a screeching halt. It hasn't
225reached the station, it's gone straight off the tracks. There were no
226survivors.
227
228My brain is recieving messages my tongue shouldn't be sending. It's not
229finding something that should be there. I grab a polished silver cup off
230a table and flash my teeth at my reflection. There's a black square
231where there should be a nice little white one.
232
233I've lost a tooth.
234
235This bitch is going to die.
236
237I toss the cup and pull my piece, my finger already on the
238trigger. Worse men talk about how their guns sing songs that only ever
239have a few notes; that's played out, and anyway my Beretta never saw the
240appeal in singing. It yells, and it only ever needs to raise its voice
241once to win an argument with someone.
242
243As I aim down the sights at the old girl now barrelling towards me from
244accross the room with a horrifying screech, I recall something about not
245having ammunition, and I anticipate the empty little click. Cursing
246wildly, I hurl the gun at her, and it bounces off her forehead
247ineffectively. I reach for the knife strapped to my leg down at my
248ankle, but it is too late; she knocks it out of my hand with one swift
249strike just as I am bringing it up and it clatters against the wall. She
250slams me up against the same patch of wall that I'd said hello to twenty
251seconds ago and holds me at arm's length against the wall, my head more
252than two feet higher than hers and my feet off the ground clattering
253against the wall. Both hands are wrapped around my neck and I am rapidly
254losing oxygen. You need to do something now, I think. Or you're done,
255Luke. You're done.
256
257Frantically my hands search for something, anything, to fight her off
258with, finding nothing. I'm simply too far off the ground to reach
259anything. I turn my head as much as her steel fingers allow, and through
260my darkening vision I can barely see an umbrella stand with one large
261black umbrella in it. In vain I stretch my left hand towards the handle,
262my fingers finding air and then brushing the handle. I strain as hard as
263I can as the pain advances and my sight blackens, and suddenly I have a
264grip, I grasp it with the very tips of my fingers, bring it up to my
265hand. She is laughing now, piercing and mocking, delighting in her
266triumph. She doesn't keep it up for long. I raise the umbrella high
267above my head then stab it down into her open mouth and throat, pushing
268it into her esophagus as she spits and gurgles, her hands clutching even
269tighter at my neck. The handle is just past her teeth, my hand gripping
270it firmly even as she bites into my wrist. I use my thumb to find the
271release and push it up.
272
273The umbrella is spring operated, the fabric edged with sharp metal. Her
274neck evaporates in a cloud of blood and her head shoots up into the
275hair, twirling in the air like a basketball and falling to the ground
276with I and the rest of her body.
277
278After a while, coughing and wheezing, I push her corpse off of me and
279use the blood-soaked umbrella to stand up. As soon as I try to walk
280towards the nearest chair, I stumble and trip over her head. Standing up
281again, I look back down at the bloody mess on the carpet and on me. I
282feel bile rising in my throat, and I turn to run to the bathroom.
283
284I push past the door and stagger to the sink, where I vomit noisily and
285stand for a while, staring into this puddle of my own sick. After what
286seems like forever I look up and into my reflection in the mirror. I am
287hunched over the sink, my hands still grasping the sides, my mouth
288hanging open and a thin trail of vomit hanging from my lower lip. My
289eyes are wet with tears from the choking and the vomiting.
290
291Truly I am a pitiful sight. I give myself a weak smile, as if it will
292cheer me up. I can't help but notice that something is off in my
293reflection, but I can't think what. Then I tongue the gap where my tooth
294used to be. My reflection does not. It still has the full set.
295
296The reflection straightens its back and wipes the vomit away, dries its
297eyes with the sleeve of its shirt, and all I can do is stare in dumb
298incomprehension. It is the same short black hair, the same baby blue
299eyes, the same trenchcoat, the same man, yet it moves of its own free
300will. It is me and yet it is not me.
301
302It has an almost condecending look in its eyes as it reaches down below
303the sink, to its ankle. It comes back up, my knife in its hands, its
304knife, and I cannot move a muscle.
305
306There is a flash of metal. He cuts through my throat like
307cheesecake. The arterial spray gives a good portion of the shitty green
308paint job a new coat from the opposite side of the color wheel. There is
309a brief sense of motion, and I taste ceramic, my body thudding to the
310bathroom floor. I move my mouth wordlessly as red begins to creep along
311the grout in between the white tiles. I hear a shuffle of fabic as my
312other self steps through the mirror and lowers himself from the sink to
313the floor. He steps over my body, taking care to not step in the
314advancing pool of blood.
315
316My vision begins to cloud for the last time as he casts the knife
317absentmindedly down in front me. It slides to a halt next to my
318forehead. He begins to walk towards the front door, then stops, turns
319around. He walks cooly back to me, crouches in front of me, grimacing at
320the blood that is in danger of soiling the knee of his pants. He looks
321me in the eyes, and begins to say something, then thinks better of
322it. He does nothing for a second, simply watches me dying, then reaches
323over, placing an index and middle finger on my eyelids, and then he
324slides them shut.
325
326``Good night, Luke.'' 
327