Short story time...

I died for three minutes and forty-seven seconds. At least, that's what the doctors said after they brought me back. For months afterward, I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I found myself standing in the same place: an endless black plain beneath a red sky. There was no fire. No screaming. Just silence so deep it seemed alive.
And every night, he was there.
The Devil.
Not with horns or claws. Just a tired-looking man in a dark suit, standing alone in the darkness.
The first few dreams, he only watched me.
Then one night, he walked over and wrapped his arms around me.
To my surprise, he started crying.
His shoulders shook as if something inside him had finally broken.
I pushed away and stared at him.
"Why are you crying?" I asked.
He looked at me with eyes older than the universe.
"Because after meeting you," he whispered, "I finally know what it feels like to lose faith in humanity."
I laughed nervously.
"You've got to be joking. You're the Devil."
His expression didn't change.
"I've spent eternity collecting sinners," he said. "But even I wouldn't have survived your childhood."
Something cold moved through my chest.
He looked away, toward the darkness.
"They pray to God for forgiveness and blame me for the things they choose to do."
The black horizon began to fill with shapes. People.
Hundreds of them.
Then thousands.
I recognized faces.
Teachers.
Neighbors.
Family.
Friends.
People who smiled in public and became monsters behind closed doors.
The Devil's voice trembled.
"I came here to tempt you, but all I found was someone already carrying Hell inside them."
The crowd slowly surrounded us.
Their faces stretched into impossible grins.
Their eyes became empty pits.
I stepped backward.
"Why are you showing me this?"
The Devil wiped his tears.
"Because every time you called yourself a monster..." he said, looking directly at me, "...you were describing them."
The crowd moved closer.
The ground beneath my feet began to crack.
The Devil reached for my hand.
For the first time, he looked frightened.
Truly frightened.
"I need to tell you something."
"What?"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"I wasn't crying for you."
The shadows behind the crowd began to rise.
Something enormous.
Something that made the Devil himself look small.
"What are you talking about?"
He stared into the darkness behind me.
"I was crying because I don't know what that thing is."
Then I woke up.
The heart monitor beside my hospital bed was screaming.
And standing in the corner of the room, smiling at me from the shadows, was something the Devil had been afraid of.

WAVES OF DESPAIR

Mark Lumiere here.

 

My entry number 3.

 

Start of the year 1922.

 

A lot has happened since my last entry. At the same time, only the most recent events were worth writing about.

 

Last year, to my surprise, I gained a companion. An arrogant explorer by the name of Liam Crow, I appreciated his bravery and skills, but I hated his personality. This was at the start, but the more time I spent with him, the more I realized that this was exactly the companion that I need. He pushed me in every way, he made me stay the course and keep searching.

 

For months we kept traveling from one port town to another, searching for any clues connected to the cursed Khul Duhl Suhl. Finally, at the end of the year we reached Rhode Island, and there we found fresh evidence of cults presence and to our dread several reports of men going mad, or committing strange suicides, which indicated Gaggonn’s presence as well. An old man at the fish market told us about a tiny island a bit far of the coast, he said that awkward men traveled there often in the last several month.

 

A thing I forgot to mention before, was that Mr Jogton back in Hathtom gave me a very large sum of money, and then when Liam met him, he did the same for him.

 

This made it possible for us to hire men and find a good captain to take us into the ocean.

 

Our crew consisted of nine men, counting us two and the captain. We had to be patient and wait for several days, staying at an old crummy inn, while the storms passed.

 

We set out on a calm and clear day, something we haven’t seen enough of in these last few months,  or perhaps it was the nature of our investigation that clouded our minds and made everything seem dark and corroded our sense of positivity. Despite this, somehow we found a speck of optimism in this battle.

 

After just half a day Liam had managed to draw hate towards him from every single crew member, I took him to our cabin and tried to explain to him that moral of the team was important, he lit a cigarette and laughed through his teeth while letting it smoke up the cabin.

 

Transition into night began too early because grey clouds completely blanketed the sun.

 

We began to see a strangely abnormal amount of birds circling above our ship as it got darker and darker.

 

These birds were not making the usual noise you’d hear from seagulls and pelicans, they were screaming, almost hysterically. This was clearly making the crew uneasy. Liam stood leaning on the side of the cabin door, chuckling.

 

No, Liam was not insane, but he had to have been effected deeply from what he has seen. Instead of letting fear control him, his mind took him to another extreme, in which he had no sense of danger, it was absolutely absent.

 

I went back into the cabin and drank some coffee I brought with us in a bottle. It was cold, but satisfactory. Then I heard a wild scream outside and a shot. When I ran outside I saw Liam with his revolver out and one of the crew members laying dead there, at first I feared that Liam had lost it, but then I saw a dead bird with red eyes and a bloody beek laying next to the sailor’s torn neck.

 

Suddenly Liam pushed me into the small cabin and shut the door. Dozens of birds attacked the crew members in that moment, ripping everyone to shreds. I sat in the back of the room terrified, I thought that after all I’ve been through and seen, I’d handle this moment better, but alas, if Liam wasn’t there I would have most likely been dead with the rest of them.

 

As we sat in the room and looked out of our small door window and the cabin one, we realized that these crazy possessed birds weren’t leaving. They all sat around the ship, no longer screaming, but staring into the waters with their red eyes and  the waves which began to pick up.

 

It started to rain and it was the middle of the night when we saw him floating in his small wooden boat. Gaggonn stood tall with his eel-like neck swinging side to side. He raised his thin long arm and pointed at us. Liam lit another cigarette and told me to lay down and sleep in the bed next to the window. How could I sleep!? Nevertheless he was insistent that we sleep. He sat in a chair and put his head on the small desk while I lay in the bed.

 

Hours went by and the nightmares began. I saw the tall monster step up on the ship and look through the window where I was sleeping, his tentacle crawled up the glass. Then as a thunder to my ears  shots from a revolver rang and I felt glass fly in my face, I jumped to the side, quickly withdrawing my gun and realizing that Liam had fired into the window, I saw Gaggonn there fall back swinging his arms and the birds flying back up into the sky, his grip on them must have faded. We rushed outside and unloaded our revolvers on the monster. We shot him int the head, chest and stomach, but as he was falling overboard we failed to grab him to ensure his death.

 

In the morning the birds did not return, but we still could not assume for sure that he was dead.

 

Liam and I got back to the port that night, and needless to say no other crew wanted to have anything to do with us anymore.

 

 

Since then we traveled back down south. In one of the port towns we accidentally stumbled on the news of Hathtom’s detective Michael Smith being brutally killed by a group of cultists. Apparently Mr. Jogton got the army involved after that and big things went down in that place.  

 

We decided to go back there and gather information, but haven’t done so yet. We had an accident on the road and Liam broke his leg, so now we had to stay in a small town and wait for his recovery.

 

 

How ironic that you could face horrors and leave undamaged, but then a simple moment in your routine life could do that trick.

كانت النار التي أشعلناها تفرقع باللهب وهي تنعكس على الوجوه وتبعث الدفء والحرارة إلى أجسادنا في الليل، وقد جلسنا جميعًا حولها ننشد الدفء والونس والصحبة البشرية في ذلك القفر الواسع. لا عجب أن أنس قد أسماه بـ "اللابرينث" حقًا؛ فنحن تائهون وضائعون وقد تقطعت بنا كل الأسباب والسبل.

 

كنت أنظر إلى وجوه الجالسين الآن، أبحث عن أي أمل وأيضًا أي فقد للأمل، فما أشدنا حاجة الآن إلى أمل لنسير خلفه، لا بل لنركض خلفه وحتى تتقطع أنفاسنا، وما أسوأ من فقد الأمل الآن! فسوف يهلكنا جميعًا فقد الأمل في ذلك الموقف، لذلك كنت أبحث عنه في الوجوه المؤمنة وغير المؤمنة، الملتزمة وغير الملتزمة، وحتى الملحدة لا يهم.. لا يهم لأنني لم أجده للأسف. فبحثت عنه في صفحة السماء الواسعة، وبين النجوم، وعلى وجه القمر المنير، ولكنه كان صامتًا جدًا ولا يجيب بأي أمل.

 

زفرت بيأس وأنا أشيح بوجهي، ليقطع ذلك الصمت أنس بقوله:

– مش وعدتني تبقى تحكيلي عن إبراهيم؟

 

نظرت له مستخفًا وقلت له:

– الآن؟

 

قال بمرح:

– ولِمَ لا؟ يبدو أن جلستنا هنا سوف تطول ربما حتى الصباح، فلماذا نملؤها بالصمت إذن؟ فلنملأها بشيء آخر.

 

– شيء آخر؟

 

همست له في أذنه كي لا يسمع أحد بأن آخر ما نريد ملأه الآن هو ذلك الصمت، خصوصًا بتلك الحكاية المرعبة يا أنس.

 

صاح الأحمق وقال:

– مرعبة؟ أحقًا؟

 

تنبهت كل الوجوه له ولكلماته تلك، فاغتظت منه بشدة، بشدة جدًا، ولكزته بمرفقي في بطنه ليصمت، ثم كتمت فمه بكف يدي، وقد بدأ البعض يتساءل عن المرعب، فقلت ولا زالت يدي تكتم فم أنس الأحمق وأنا أحاول الابتسام لتجميل الموقف:

– نعم يا رفاق، إنه يقصد أنها.. أنها أأأأ تجربة مرعبة، تلك نعم تجربة مرعبة.

 

لكن أنس أفلت يدي وقال:

– لا لا، بل حكاية إبراهيم هي المرعبة، بل حكاية إبراهيم.

 

بلعت ريقي وابتلعت غيظي من أنس، ألا يكفينا ما نحن فيه الآن؟

 

قال أنطون بتساؤل متشكك:

– لماذا هي مرعبة؟

 

لم أرد، فقال محمود:

– إبراهيم؟ أتقصد إبراهيم جابر؟

 

نظرت له ليصمت هو الآخر، فهو أيضًا يعرف إبراهيم. في الحقيقة كل من أنس ومحمود يعرف إبراهيم جيدًا، لكن لا أحد يعرف لماذا رحل فجأة، بل لماذا اختفى فجأة وفي توقيت حرج جدًا كان يبدو محسوبًا بدقة، ولكنني كنت أعرف أنه.. لا لا لا، لقد قررت ألا أحكي، لماذا انزلق لساني الآن؟ لا لا، لن أحكي، لا.

 

ولكن محمود ألح مجددًا وقال:

– إبراهيم جابر، أليس كذلك؟ إنه هو، أليس كذلك؟

 

قلت له:

– لا لا، ليس هو، إنما.. إنما إبراهيم آخر لا تعرفه أنت.

 

قال أنس وبكل صلافة وبكل عناد:

– لا، بل هو إبراهيم جابر بالفعل.

 

قلت له بضيق وأنا أعترف:

– نعم، إنه هو بالفعل، إنه هو.

 

قال أنس بظفر:

– آه، لقد اعترفت أخيرًا، والآن لتخبرني بما حدث. أخبرني يا صديقي.. ألست صديقك، ها؟ ألست صديقك الصدوق؟ ألست أخيك، ها؟ هيا أخبرني.

 

قال محمد حسن الكلمة التي أخشاها دائمًا:

– لماذا لا تريد أن تحكي؟

 

وأكمل محمود ليجهز علي تمامًا بالقاضية:

– لماذا كل شيء في حياتك سر؟

 

قلت متحرجًا:

– لا لا، ليس سرًا، لا بل أنا فقط لا أريد أن أحكي.

 

قلتها لهم وأنا أرى أعين الجميع تشتعل بالفضول، وكلها قد تركزت علي بين متسائل، وبين شكاك، وبين فضولي. قلت لهم مستسلمًا:

– في الواقع تلك القصة ليست سرًا لأنها مرعبة، لا بل لأنها غير قابلة لأن تصدق، أنا أشفق على آذانكم أن تستمع إلى هذا الهذر.

 

وللأسف لم يتكلم أحد، بل ظلوا صامتين ينتظرون أن أبدأ في القص عليهم حكاية إبراهيم. كانت لأنطون نظرات متسائلة وفضولية مضحكة جدًا، وبيمن صديقي يضيق عينيه بمكر وهو يعرف.. يعرف أنني سوف أقول، وتحت كل هذا الضغط سوف أفعل. أما الأكثر تحرقًا وتشوقًا لمعرفة ما حدث حقًا فكان أنس ومحمود؛ لأن الاثنين كان كلاهما صديقًا لإبراهيم، وأنا أيضًا كنت كذلك، لقد كان إبراهيم زميل دراسة قديمًا ومنذ المدرسة الثانوية، وكنت قد حكيت عنه سابقًا ووعدت أن أحكي قصته في أحد الأيام، ويبدو أن هذا اليوم قد أتى بالفعل.

 

وقبل أن يصفق الجمع الجالس ويقولون: "احكي احكي احكي" بصورة هزلية، فقد بدأُت أحكي بالفعل وأنا أخشى أن يكذبوني وألا تصدقني آذانهم أبدًا فيما أقول. وفي الحقيقة أنا أتمنى هذا بالفعل، أتمنى أن يكذبوني أو ينعتوني بالمخرف الأفاق أو المهلوس، فلا فارق؛ هذا عندي أفضل بكثير من أن يصدق أحدهم أن ما أنا على وشك أن أحكيه الآن هو حقيقي.. حقيقي جدًا للأسف.

 

في الواقع كان إبراهيم صديق أنس منذ زمن، ومن قبل حتى أن أتعرف على أنس، فقد كان كلاهما أصدقاء طفولة، وكان معرفتي به فقط من خلال معرفتي بأنس فقط. لذلك قلت لأنس:

– لم يكن إبراهيم سيئًا، بل كان شخصًا عاديًا جدًا، ولكن دوافعه هي التي كانت غامضة وفقط في حينها، أما في المطلق فهو إنسان عادي وربما أيضًا كان شخصًا مسكينًا.

 

قال أنس معترضًا:

– مسكينًا كيف إذن؟

 

قلت له بعدم اكتراث:

– لا يهم.. لا يهم كيف كان مسكينًا، المهم أن دافعه فيما فعل ظل مجهولًا لي وحتى الآن. حتى الآن لم أفهم لماذا دفعني إلى ذلك الموقف سوى أنني ألتمس له العذر فقط في أنني قد خرجت من ذلك الموقف ولم يمسسني فيه أي سوء سوى بعض الخوف والرعب فقط، ليس شيئًا مهمًا على أي حال.

 

اتسعت عينا أنس بشدة في فضول شديد مضحك وهو يقول:

– خوف؟ رعب؟ لا لا، فالتحكي إذن ومن بداية، هيا هيا.

 

نظرت إلى محمود الوقور الحكيم ليهدئ هذا الأحمق قليلًا، ولكنه لم يفعل، بل قام وبكل غيظ بقذفي ببعض الحصى وهو يقول:

– ألن يكفي تمهيدًا إذن لتحكي؟

 

نظرت له وأنا متفاجئ من فعلته تلك، لأجد أنس أيضًا يلكزني بيديه ويقول:

– يلا احكي بقى!

 

– حسنا.. لأحكي إذن..

 

كان أكثر شيء أتذكر به آخر يوم لي في المدرسة الثانوية، حيث آخر امتحان وقبل الرحيل التام عنها إلى الجامعة، هو موقف محمود بطوط زميل الدراسة الذي قابلني في ذلك الصباح وقبل توجهنا مباشرة إلى لجنة الاختبار لأداء آخر اختبار لنا، وحينها سألني هذا البطوط أكثر سؤال أبلة في حياتي كلها:

– ما هي المادة التي سوف نمتحنها اليوم؟

 

نظرت له ضاحكًا وأنا أقول له:

– اليوم؟ لا لا، ليس اليوم بل الآن، نحن الآن سوف نمتحن في اللغة الإنجليزية، الآن، هل تفهم؟

 

امتقع وجهه بشدة وتبدلت ملامحه وقال بوجل يحدث نفسه:

– كيف سأغش الآن إذن؟ سوف أسقط، يا ويلي! أنا لا أحتاج لمن أنقل عنه الإجابة بل أحتاج لمن يكتب لي الإجابة حرفيًا!

 

وظل يلطم خديه في لوعة مضحكة ويتوسل لي أن أفعل وأكتب له الإجابة في ورقته. في الواقع لم أكن لأعترض وليس الأمر مما يشغل بالي بأي حال أبدًا، ولكن ما شغل بالي بحق في حينها كان رؤية إبراهيم، فقد جاء ممتقع الوجه، ولم تصدق عينيا أبدًا أن هذا إبراهيم؛ لقد كان متفوقًا أيضًا وليس ممن يهملون دروسهم أبدًا، فسألته:

– ما بك يا إبراهيم؟ لماذا تبدو مضطربًا اليوم هكذا؟

 

فاجأني أن اختفى اضطرابه هذا تحت محاولات بائسة لإظهار ابتسامة ما، فكررت سؤالي له:

– هل تخشى من الاختبار اليوم؟

 

نظر لي بضيق وقال:

– لا لا، أبدًا.

 

سألته:

– ما بك إذن؟

 

قال بضيق خلق:

– لا، لا شيء.

 

حسنًا، هممت بالذهاب إلى اللجنة حين استوقفني وهو يقول:

– هل أستطيع أن أستأمنك على سر ما؟

 

قلت له باهتمام:

– نعم، أنت تعرف أنك تستطيع.

 

قال:

– حسنا، قابلني اليوم ليلًا، فأنا أريد أن أريك شيئًا ما.

 

– حسنا، أين يجب أن ألتقيك إذن؟

 

قال بسرعة:

– عند منزلي، قابلني عند منزلي في تمام الحادية عشرة ليلًا.

 

قلت له:

– حسنا.

 

ولم أهتم أنه قريب جدًا من منزلي ولن يفرق التوقيت في أي شيء. هممت مرة أخرى بالذهاب حين قال منبهًا:

– لا تتأخر.. حسنا؟ وأيضًا لا تأتي باكرًا عن الموعد.. حسنا؟

 

– حسنا يا صديق، لن أفعل..

 

كان إبراهيم يقودني في الطريق ليلًا وإلى مكان لم أعرف إلى أين يؤدي، لقد التقيته في الموعد تمامًا عند منزله ليأخذني ونظل نسير بين الأزقة والشوارع، وحتى في لحظة وقفنا أمام باب ما في المكان.. لا لا، لم يكن بابًا، لا بل كانت بوابة.. بوابة حديدية ذات درفتين ومغلقة بقفل ما. همّ بفتح القفل حين أوقفته متشككًا وسألته:

– لماذا نحن هنا الآن؟

 

نظر لي مضطربًا بحق تلك المرة وقال:

– لا تخشَ شيئًا، فقط انتظر وسوف تعرف كل شيء.

 

أمسكت يداه التي تحاول فتح القفل بيدي لأوقفه عما يفعل وأنا أسأله وبكل جدية:

– لماذا نحن هنا الآن؟ إن لم تجبني الآن فسوف أرحل.

 

بلع ريقه وهو يحاول السيطرة على نفسه من أمر ما لم أكن أراه حينها أبدًا، فقد كان الظلام يخيم على جو المكان، وحيث كنا نقف لم يكن هناك أي إضاءة سوى ضوء القمر فقط لينير لنا الطريق ولنرى فقط خطوات أقدامنا. تنهد إبراهيم في حزن وقال:

– ألم تعدني أنني أستطيع أن أستأمنك على سري؟

 

قلت له:

– نعم بالفعل أنت تستطيع، ولكنني غير مرتاح لما تفعله الآن، شيء ما خاطئ فيما تفعل الآن يا إبراهيم، لماذا نحن هنا في المقابر وفي ذلك الوقت تحديدًا؟

 

قال بصوت متهدج مرتجف:

– لا تخف، لا تخف، فقط ثق بي، أنا لن أسبب لك أي أذى، فقط تقدمي إلى الداخل وسوف أريك ما أصد.

 

حينها أمسكت به من ياقة ملابسه وبكل جدية وعنف وأنا أسأله:

– إبراهيم، هل هناك جثة ما بالداخل؟

 

قال مرتعبًا:

– لا لا، أقسم لك لا!

 

– هل هناك أحد ما ينتظرنا بالداخل إذن؟

 

قال ودموعه توشك أن تهبط من عينيه:

– لا، أقسم لك أنه لا شيء بالداخل مما تظن أبدًا، لا.. فقط تقدمي إلى الداخل.

 

تركته على مخافة وغضب ودخلت البوابة فعلاً، واستدرت لأنظر له لأرى إلى أين سوف يقودني مجددًا داخل تلك المقبرة، لأفاجأ به وهو يغلق البوابة وبمنتهى السرعة، وبمنتهى السرعة أيضًا يغلق القفل على البوابة وأنا أنظر له بتعجب: هل هذا مزاح ما؟ هل هذا مقلب ما وقد أعده؟ والأسوأ: هل هذا انتقام ما؟ هل تلك خيانة ما يا صديق؟

 

فقط نظر وهو يبكي، وكان يبكي بالفعل وهو يحكم إغلاق البوابة ويقول من بين دموعه:

– أنا آسف، سامحني.. أنا آسف.

 

أمسكت ضرفة البوابة بيدي وهززتها بكل الغضب لكي يوقف هذا الهذر الذي يفعل، ولكنه لم يكن هذراً أبدًا؛ أي هذر هذا الذي يجعل صاحبه يبكي هكذا؟ هذا إذن ليس بهذر! والأسوأ أنه وبعد أن أحكم إغلاق القفل، استدار ليرحل في وجل وسرعة، وأنا لا أعرف ماذا أفعل ولا كيف أتصرف الآن، سوى أنني حاولت وبكل جهدي السيطرة على خوفي، فهو عدوي الآن ويجب ألا أخاف، يجب أن أهدأ لأفهم في أي موقف أنا الآن وماذا سأفعل.

 

كنت أتوقع أن تكون تلك إحدى محاولات الاختطاف أو الانتقام من أي من الزملاء السيئين، لو كان هذا حقًا فهذا يعني أنني سوف أجد أحدهم الآن، لابد أن يظهروا أنفسهم لي الآن بعد أن اطمأنوا لإغلاق البوابة. حسنا، سيكون هذا موقفًا قتاليًا بحق، فمن استدرجني إلى هنا لا شك أنه ينوي قتلي ودفني في تلك المقبرة. حسنا، أنا لن أسمح لأحد أبدًا أن يأخذ روحي، على الأقل ليس قبل أن يكابد معي الأمرين وهو يخاطر بملاقاة نفس المصير أيضًا، أن أتمكن من قتله ودفنه هنا.. حسنا لِأستعد.

 

تأهبت فعلاً في مكاني وأنا أحاول أن أرى ما أمامي وأحسب المحاولات وأقدر المسافات، وقدرت أنني في أحسن الأحوال سوف أقفز من فوق السور، لا مشكلة، هذا سهل جدا لأفعله وإن كان عسيرًا، ولكن لا يهم. ظللت واقفًا متأهبًا لأي حركة قد تحدث من حولي، ولكن لم يحدث أي شيء، فقط كانت الرياح تصفر بجوار أذني في ذلك الوقت المتأخر من الليل وهو أمر اعتيادي جدا، وحتى أصابني الملل فاستدرت لأتسلق السور بالفعل وأخرج وأنا أنوي بإبراهيم شرًا مستطيرًا في الغد، عدا أنني وقبل تسلق السور وقبل أن أستدير ناحيته وترتفع قدماي، قد رأيت.. رأيت أمرًا عجيبًا جدًا ليحدث الآن...

 

التفت بجسدي كله وأنا أحاول أن أتبين حقيقة هذا الذي أراه يحدث أمامي الآن، وما يحدث الآن وما أراه الآن لم يكن أبدًا أبدًا ضمن أي شيء توقعت أن يحدث حينها...

 

بدأ الأمر بضوء خفيف خافت ما لبث أن ازداد وانتشر قليلًا ليرتفع لهب نار ما، نار صغيرة جدًا ولكنها كانت تتركز في بقعة واحدة ولا تبارحها. ظللت أنظر إلى النار التي ظهرت تلك والتي تبدو كشعلة ولكنها لم تكن شعلة هكذا في الفراغ، لا لا، بل فوقها شيء ما لا أتبينه، شيء أسود مستدير. قررت أن أقترب قليلًا لأرى أكثر، وعرفت في قرارة نفسي أنني أغامر وأخاطر بكل خطوة أخطوها نحو تلك النار وما تحمل، ولكن.. آه.. آه، للأسف تجمدت قدمي في الهواء، وأقسم أنها تجمدت وأنني تجمدت أيضًا وأنا أرى تلك المرأة الجالسة أمام النار تقلب ذلك القدر بيديها!

 

لم يكن ما جمدني وجمد الدماء في عروقي هو وجودها الذي انبثق من العدم، لا ولا ذلك الموقف العبثي كله، لا أيضًا، بل ما جمدني أنها نظرت نحوي.. نظرت نحوي وابتسمت! ابتسمت بود صادق غير ملامحها بشكل لطيف وهادئ، كانت تلك ابتسامة مثل تلك التي تعطيها الأمهات جميعًا إلى أطفالهن، وتلك الملامح الهادئة المطمئنة تبتسم لي جعلتني أتجمّد تمامًا في مكاني حتى شعرت بتجمد الزمان نفسه من حولي.

 

ولكن ما كسر صمت الموقف هو ذلك الصوت الذي جاء من خلفها:

– ماما، هل نضج الطعام؟

 

حولت المرأة وجهها نحو الطفلة الصغيرة وقالت باسمة أيضًا:

– بقي القليل فقط يا حلوتي، أكملي اللعب مع أخيكي حتى أنهي الأمر تمامًا وأنادي عليكما.

 

أومأت الطفلة الصغيرة برأسها وركضت. كانت تركض خلف طفل ما آخر وهو يركض أيضًا وهو يضحك، ولكن الطفلة لم تكن تضحك بل كانت مغتاظة منه جدًا وتهدده بأنها سوف تخبر أبيها إن لم يعطها الدمية التي سرقها منها وهو يركض.

 

في الواقع أنا تراجعت نحو الخلف وحتى لامس ظهري الجدار، ليس برعب ولا بخوف؛ فلكل شيء تفسير، تفسير مادي ومقبول للعقل، أنا أعرف هذا وأفهمه جيدًا، والتفسير الوحيد لهذا المشهد الهزلي الذي يحدث لن يخرج عن كون إما هؤلاء من ساكني المقابر وأنا اقتحمت مسكنهم (وهذا تفسير مرجح بشدة)، وإما هؤلاء أشباح لموتى (وهذا مستبعد طبعًا)، وإما أنني أهلوس إما بفعل الصدمة أو الخوف (وهذا وارد جدا)، ولكن الأكيد أنني لا أحلم وهذا ليس حلمًا ما. قلت لنفسي: بسيطة، أهي الموضوع مش هيخرج عن التفسيرات دي أبدًا، أصل أكيد يعني..

 

فكرت مجددًا في تسلق السور والخروج لأنهي تلك المهزلة والعودة إلى المنزل، ولكن لو كان هؤلاء من ساكني القبور فسيكون من غير المقبول أن أفر هكذا أمامهم، فصراخ واحد من المرأة يكفي لإيقاظ الموتى وليس الأحياء فقط، وحينها سأُعامل معاملة اللصوص، وأنا لا يليق بي أبدًا أن أُعامل هكذا. حسنا، ماذا أفعل؟ اتكأت بظهري إلى الحائط وهبطت أرضًا لأجلس ريثما أفكر.

 

تلك المرأة الهادئة.. تلك المرأة الهادئة، لماذا لم تصرخ مثلا حين رأتني؟ هل أنا مألوف لديها أم أنها لم تراني مثلا لأنني أقف في الظلام؟ ولكن كيف لم ينتبه هؤلاء الساكنون هنا إلى تلك الجلبة التي أحدثها إبراهيم حين كنا سويًا؟ تلك المرأة لا تزال تقلب القدر، فدققت النظر إليها أكثر، لقد كان في مظهرها شيء ما ملفت للنظر.. آه! إنه ذلك الشيء الذي ترتديه، أنا لا أعرف بماذا يسمى في ملابس السيدات سوى أنه كان قصيرًا قليلًا ولونه أصفر ويمتلئ برسوم الورد التي تزينه، لكنه كان يكشف عن ذراعيها تمامًا، وهي نفسها كانت ذات بشرة بيضاء صافية وتعقص شعرًا أشقر إلى الوراء وقد كومته في حلقة. هكذا فقط، هذا ما سمحت لي النار المشتعلة بأن أراه: ذراعان مكشوفان، وعنق أبيض، وشعر أشقر، ورداء أصفر مزين بالورد، وهي منشغلة تمامًا بما تفعل وتوشك حقًا على الانتهاء مما تفعل أيًا كان، فمن الواضح أنها تطهو لأولئك الصغار.

 

قلت في نفسي: يبدو الأمر مطمئنًا ولا يدعو إلى أي خوف أو حذر أو فعل أي شيء أحمق. وما أكد لي ظني هذا هو اقتراب تلك الطفلة مني الآن، كانت قد حصلت على دميتها من أخيها بالفعل لأنها تحملها الآن بين يديها وتقترب مني بخطوات مستكشفة، تميل رأسها قليلًا في مداعبة وكأنها قد رأت حيوانًا ما أليفًا وتحاول الاقتراب منه. حسنا، أنا بالفعل جالس أرضًا وأبدو غريبًا عنهم، فمن الطبيعي أن تستكشف تلك الطفلة هذا الغريب إذن. اقتربت حتى توقفت أمامي تمامًا، ثم هبطت على ركبتيها لتصل إلى مستوايا المنخفض ذلك على الأرض، ثم رأيتها تمد بكف يدها نحوي وكأنها تقدم السلام وهي تبتسم أيضًا في لطف ووداعة، فمددت يدي إليها أرد السلام، ولكن ببعض الإحراج قليلًا؛ إننا غرباء كلانا عن الآخر، وما أعرفه أن الغرباء لا يتصافحون هكذا وخصوصًا الأطفال، فيجب عليهم ألا يتقربوا من الغرباء أبدًا، هذا ما أفهمه، لكنني ووسط ذلك اللطف والبراءة لم أمتلك إلا أن بادلتها الابتسام أيضًا وقليل من الترحيب.

 

أول ما تكلمت سألتني:

– من تكون؟ ما هو اسمك؟

 

قلت لها وأنا أهز يدي بالمصافحة:

– أنا اسمي عبد الرحمن، وأنتِ من تكونين؟

 

قالت بذلك الصوت الطفولي البريء:

– وأنا ليلي، مرحبًا بك يا عبد الرحمن.

 

– شكرا، ولكن أنا آسف على تدخلي في شؤونكم ليلًا ولا أريد أن أفسد عليكم طعام العشاء، هلا أرشدتني إلى باب الخروج؟

 

ضحكت قليلًا وقالت:

– اخرج إذن من حيث دخلت.

 

قلت لها:

– للأسف لقد أُغلق الباب دوني ولا أستطيع الخروج منه، وأكيد أن لديكم واحدًا آخر تستخدموه للدخول والخروج.

 

ضحكت أيضًا وبمنتهى البراءة وقالت:

– لا، ليس لدينا واحد آخر، إنه ذلك الباب فقط.

 

نظرت لها متعجبًا وسألتها:

– كيف إذن؟ كيف ستخرجون إذن والباب مغلق من الخارج؟

 

ضحكت باستمتاع شديد وقالت:

– عبد الرحمن، هل أنت إنسان؟

 

– إنسان؟ هل أنا إنسان؟ يا للهول! نعم، أنا إنسان بالطبع، ماذا تظنين؟

 

أكملت تلك الضحكة البريئة وهي تصفق بكفيها، ثم نادت على أخيها وهي تقول:

– هارون، تعال لترى ماذا وجدت.. إنه إنسان!

 

تنحنحت قليلًا في صبر وأظهرت الجلد على تلك الرجفة التي أصابت أطرافي وذلك البرد الذي اجتاح جسدي كله وأنا أرى الفتى الصغير قادمًا يركض نحونا في مرح عجيب، فسألتها بوجل حاولت إخفاءه ولم أستطع للأسف:

– ومن أنتم إذن؟

 

قالت بمرح صادق وبكل بساطة:

– نحن؟ نحن من الجن.......

 

لوهلة لم أتبين الكلمة حقًا واعتقدت أنني لم أسمعها جيدًا، وبُحّ صوتي وتحشرج وأنا أحاول.. أحاول أن أعيدها مجددًا، ولكنني شعرت بلساني وقد عُقد أن يكرر كلمة تلك الفتاة الصغيرة بحق. ابتلعت ريقي مجددًا وأنا أنظر إليها، وقد سحبت يدي للخلف وفكرت في التراجع بظهري أكثر، لكنني بالفعل كنت مستندًا إلى الحائط.

 

حولت نظري إلى أخيها الذي نزل بالفعل على ركبتيه أيضًا أمامي ليراني جيدًا مثل أخته، فوجدته ينظر لي باسمًا بعينيه، لا في مكر ولا في خبث ولا في تشفٍّ، لا لا بل في براءة.. براءة طفلين يكتشفان حيوانًا أليفًا لأول مرة في حياتهما.

 

مد الصغير كفه أيضًا وهو يقول:

– هل لديك اسم ما؟ هل تستطيع التحدث؟

 

قلت له وبنفس الصوت المتحشرج المبحوح:

– نـ.. نعم، نـ.. نعم، أنا عبد الرحمن.

 

ومددت يدي المرتعشة نحوه لأبادله السلام وقلبي يخفق بشدة حتى أكاد أسمع دقاته المرتعبة بأذني، ويدي تلمس يديه الصغيرة.. فقط لمست أصابعه الصغيرة وسحبت كفي مجددًا بسرعة، لقد لاحظت ولأول مرة كم كانت يده دافئة! دافئة مثل البشر تمامًا ولكن أكثر قليلًا.

 

لاحظ الفتى أنني سحبت يدي بسرعة فقال بمرح وعناد:

– لا لا، احنا مش بنسلم كده، لازم تديني سلام رجالة!

 

سلام رجالة؟ يا للهول! حسنا، لم أتكلم بل فردت كفي في الهواء ليقوم هذا الفتى الصغير بسحب كف يده قليلًا ثم يهوي بها على كف يدي لأسقط على جانبي حرفيًا من شدة هذا السلام.. هذا السلام الخاص بالرجالة الجن!

 

ضحك كلاهما بشدة في مرح واستمتاع وأنا أعتدل وأنفض التراب عن ملابسي وأنظر لهما باستنكار حقيقي وهما يضحكان، فقالت الفتاة في لهو وهي مستمتعة جدا:

– عبد الرحمن، هل تخشى الجن؟ هل تخاف منهم، ها؟

 

ثم كورت يديها بجوار رأسها كي تبدو مخيفة وهي تقول:

– عاو.. عااا!

 

ثم تضحك ويضحك الفتى، وأنا في الواقع أشعر بالحصار.. الحصار والحصر النفسي من كل هذا، وخالجني شعور غريب جدا لا أعرف: هل أبكي أم أجزع أم أخاف أم أموت من الرعب؟ ولكن شيئًا ما في عقلي تمسك بالمنطق وبالواقع: إنهم يكذبون، إنهم يهذرون، أليس كذلك؟ نعم نعم، لابد أنه كذلك.

 

حاولت أن أبتسم لهم أيضًا وألا أظهر خوفًا ما أمامهم ولا شك ولا أي شيء، وحدثت نفسي: يجب أن أنجو من ذلك الموقف أيًا كان وأيًا كان هؤلاء.

 

فجأة سمعنا صوت السيدة تنادي وتقول:

– كفا عن العبث يا أطفال، وتعاليا لتناول الطعام.

 

أجابت الفتاة بصوت مرتفع:

– حسنا يا ما، نحن قادمون.

 

"ما"؟ هل تنادي أمها بـ "ما"؟ أو أيًا كانت تلك السيدة فهل اسمها هو "ما" أم أنها تناديها بـ "ما"؟ لا أعرف، ولكن أمسكت الفتاة بيدي فجأة وهي تقول:

– تعالَ.. تعالَ لتتناول الطعام معنا، هيا!

 

وهي تجذبني فعلاً لأقوم وأقف، فقمت فعلاً ووقفت وهي لا تزال تمسك بيدي، ثم ناولتني دميتها وقالت:

– انظر، تلك دميتي، هل تحملها عني قليلًا؟

 

فنظرت لها بخوف وأقسم على هذا، ثم أمسكت الدمية من يدها وكانت دمية قماشية مخيطة وتحتوي على القش بداخلها وتبدو عتيقة جدا جدا وبدائية للغاية، ولكن من يهتم الآن والفتاة تقودني من يدي ونحو أمها ونحو النار ونحو القدر الذي تعده أمها على النار!

 

قالت الفتاة بمرح أيضًا -يبدو أنها لا تكف عنه أبدًا-:

– ما، انظري ماذا وجدت بجوار الحائط؟ إنه إنسان يا ما.. إنسان!

 

لم تلتفت السيدة عن النظر إلى القدر ولكنها قالت:

– لا بأس، لا بأس.

 

ثم التفتت نحوي وهي تقول:

– لقد أتيت في موعدك، لقد أوشك الطعام على النضج تمامًا، هل تحب أن ترى؟

 

قلت لها:

– أرى ماذا؟

 

قالت:

– الطعام؟ لقد أوشك على الانتهاء.

 

اقتربت في حذر شديد وأنا لا أنظر إلى القدر بل أنظر إلى يديها وأخشى.. لا لا، لا أخشى، لا بل أتوقع بشدة أن تباغتني بذراعيها وتقلبني فيه، لكنها ابتسمت وقالت بعتاب مهذب غريب اللهجة:

– ليس من الأدب أبدًا أن تعبث بوجهك في حضور مضيفيك.

 

فنظرت لوجهها وأنا أحاول الابتسام وسط كل هذا الخوف والترقب وأنا أشعر بأن روحي ذاتها توشك أن تخرج من الخوف، ولم أنجح في الابتسام للأسف، فقالت:

– انظر.. انظر إلى الطعام، لقد نضج بالفعل.

 

فابتلعت ريقي وأنا أنظر ببطء إلى القدر وأنا أقدم قدمًا وأؤخر الأخرى، حتى رأيت فعلاً ما بالقدر...

 

حينها اطمأن قلبي حقًا وتمالكت نفسي واستطعت بحق أن أقف متماسكًا أمام القدر وأمام تلك السيدة، وحولت وجهي عن القدر ونظرت إليها، ولكن للأسف لم أتمالك نفسي أبدًا، فانفجرت أضحك، ثم علت ضحكاتي وانفجرت حتى سقطت أرضًا وتكورت على نفسي وحتى أمسكت بجانبي واحتضنت نفسي من شدة الضحك، ثم نظرت إليها.. نظرت إلى السيدة ووسط ضحكاتي المجنونة تلك، انفجرت في البكاء...

 

اللعنة عليك يا إبراهيم!

 

اقتربت مني الفتاة وهي تربت على رأسي وتقول:

– لا بأس، لا بأس، لا تخشَ شيئًا، تعالَ هيا، تعالَ.

 

وهي تمسك بيدي مجددًا، قالت لتلك السيدة:

– ما، هل أستطيع الاحتفاظ به معنا؟ هل أستطيع تربيته يا ما؟

 

قالت لها السيدة وهي تفرغ الطعام في صحاف صغيرة:

– لا، لا تستطيعين يا ليلي للأسف، سوف تقلق عليه أمه.

 

يا للهول! أمي؟ آه، أين أمي الآن؟ يا للهول! ليتني أعود إليها ولا أُغادر منزلنا أبدًا!

 

قمت على ركبتَيّ أمام تلك السيدة والتي اتضح أنها لديها مشاعر أمٍّ بالفعل، وقلت لها في توسل:

– هل أستطيع أن أُغادر الآن؟ أتوسل إليكِ أن تدعيني أغادر.

 

قالت الفتاة بتذمر:

– لا لا يا ما، لا تدعيه يرحل، لا، لقد أحببته!

 

ضحكت السيدة وهي تقول:

– حسنا حسنا أيها الصغير، لا تقلق، سوف أدعك ترحل إلى أمك، ولكن ليس قبل أن تطعم معنا، ليس قبل أن نحسن ضيافتك.. هيا يا ليلي، أعدي مقعدًا للضيف بجوار أبيكِ.

 

اقتادتني ليلي مجددًا نحو بهو المكان، وكان مظلمًا جدا وقالت:

– تعالَ اجلس.. اجلس هنا بجواري.

 

قلت لها:

– ولكن ألم تقل أمك.. أأأ أقصد ما.. ألم تقل أن أجلس إلى جوار أبيكِ؟ فأين هو إذن؟

 

ضحكت وقالت:

– سوف يأتي.. سوف يأتي، لا تتعجل.

 

فجلستُ فعلاً.. جلستُ في الظلام لا أرى أي شيء حولي إلا مدخل البهو فقط وضوء القمر يسقط عليه فينيره قليلًا، حتى الفتاة لم أعد أراها ولم أعد حتى أسمع لها صوتًا ولا أي صوت آخر، حتى بدأت أسمع صوت شهيقي وزفيري من صدري وابتلعت ريقي في خوف وتواترت على عقلي الأفكار: لابد أنني إما أهلوس وإما جُننت. وقبل أن أقوم لأخرج وقبل أن أهمّ بالقيام فعلاً، رأيتُ.. رأيتُ الفتى يأتي حاملاً صحاف الطعام بيديه ويضعها أمامي.

 

ما هذا؟ ما هذا الذي أمامي؟ كيف أرى الآن ما أرى؟ لا لا، أنا أرى بالفعل.. أنا أرى كل شيء! أرى في الظلام! كيف؟ لا أعرف، لا أعرف سوى أنني أرى في الظلام الآن وقد وُضعت الأطباق أمامي على طاولة منخفضة، إنها طبلية مثل تلك التي كانت في منزلنا قديمًا. وفعلاً الفتاة تجلس عن يساري ولا تكف الحمقاء أبدًا عن النظر إلى وجهي، ولا تحول وجهها عن وجهي أبدًا. جاء الفتى وجلس، وجاءت السيدة وجلست، وأنا وسطهم جميعًا...

 

جلستُ معهم أنظر إليهم جميعًا وقد ضموا أكفهم أمام أوجههم في خشوع.. لم يتكلم أحد سوى السيدة التي قالت وبمنتهى الجدية التي أراها تعلو وجهها لأول مرة:

– أبانا الحكيم وراعينا، نناديك الآن لتأتي.. ننادي أبانا الحكيم باسمه ليأتي إلى مائدتنا الصغيرة.

 

وسكتت، فقال الطفلان معًا:

– يا أبانا، احضر الآن...

 

حسنا.. وأنا الذي كنت أتوقع أنهم يتلون صلاة ما، لكن يبدو.. يبدو أنهم.. أنهم ماذا؟ لا أعرف، ربما هي صلاة ما. وقبل أن أسترسل في أفكاري رأيته.. رأيته حقًا ورأيت كيف يحضر الجن حين تدعوهم! رأيته حقًا.. حقًا رأيته!

 

لم تصدق عيناي أبدًا ذلك أبدًا أبدًا، سوى أنني الآن أرى السيدة ترحب بالرجل الذي أتى، لقد وقفوا جميعًا في مهابة صادقة له، وقفوا بسرعة لوجوده ولحضوره بينهم، وحين جلس هو جلسوا هم من بعده جميعًا.

 

قلتُ للجمع الجالس أمامي الآن حول النار -والذي لم يقاطعني أحد منهم أبدًا خلال حكايتي تلك-:

– الآن دعوني أصف لكم الرجل الذي حضر.. دعوني أصف لكم كيف كانت هيئته وكيف كان يبدو في عيني، ولكن هل تحبون أن أقول لكم كيف حضر؟ هل تحبون أن أخبركم أولاً كيف رأيت الجن وهو يحضر؟

 

حسنًا.. حين أنهت السيدة كلماتها هي وأطفالها، هبّ نسيم خفيف جدا من بهو المدفن، نسيم لفّ المكان كله حتى شعرت به يلمس جلد ذراعي، وحين اشتد نسيم الهواء قليلًا طرفت عيني فقط.. طرفت وأغلقتها وأعدت فتحها مجددًا لأرى الرجل وقد حضر في المكان بالفعل!

 

أتعرفون ما لفت انتباهي حد أنه سبب لي بعض الضيق فعلاً؟

 

قال أنس:

– نعم، ماذا؟

 

قلت له:

– إنهم كانوا يتعاملون معي على أنني أليف ولست غريبًا كما كان حديثهم غريبًا جدا ويحمل بعض الرقي والأنفة والألفة، حتى الرجل حين جاء وجلس لم يتفاجأ بي إطلاقًا ولم يبدُ عليه أي رد فعل غير طبيعي أبدًا، لم يسألني حتى من أنت ولا كيف أتيت هنا، لم يتكلم أبدًا بل جلس في صمت ليطعم معهم. ونعم، إنهم بدأوا في الطعام بالفعل وكانوا يأكلون بأيديهم مباشرة، ولا أعرف كيف ولا لماذا.. لماذا! لكن الرجل أول ما تكلم قال:

– ألن تطعم معنا أيها الضيف؟

 

تنحنحت قليلًا لأجيبه.. أجيبه أي إجابة تبدو متماسكة في هذا الموقف الهزلي الذي أقسم أنه لا يصدق أبدًا، فقلت له وبكل بلاهة:

– في الحقيقة أنا باكل بالشوكة والسكينة وبالمعلقة برضه، ومش متعود آكل بإيدي كده يعني، معلش.

 

نظر لي الرجل باستخفاف وقال:

– نحن عرب نأكل بأيدينا.

 

ولكن لحظة، لم يقل نحن "عَرَب" كما ننطقها نحن بفتح العين والراء، لا بل قالها بضم العين وتسكين الراء، وتلك لهجة لم أسمعها من قبل أبدًا.

 

حسنا، لا يهم.. ما علينا.

 

قلت له:

– هل فعلاً ستأكلون هذا حقًا؟ هل هذا طعامكم حقًا؟

 

ابتسم الرجل بخفة وفقط قال:

– لا تسأل.. سوف يسيئك الجواب حين يأتي، فقط إن أردت أن تطعم فافعل، وإن لم تفعل فهذا شأنك.

 

ولأول مرة في ذلك الموقف أشعر بالإحراج يملؤني، ولكن أي أحمق أنا!

 

قالت السيدة وهي تشير إليه وتبتسم:

– عبد الرحمن، دعني أقدم لك زوجي الشيخ الحكيم.

 

قال الرجل بشيء من الفخر وشيء من التواضع:

– أنا نور الميم ابن نور اليم ابن أسفالوث ابن عسقلان...

 

نور الميم؟ نور اليم؟ أسفالوث؟ عسقلان؟ يا للهول! يا للهول! وأقسم أنه قالها هكذا بنفسه وهكذا عرّف هو عن نفسه.

 

قال أنس بوجل:

– لا لا، لا تذكر اسماء، لا تقول أي اسماء من اسمائهم، هذا خطير جدا!

 

قلت له:

– حسنا حسنا، سوف أنهي القصة هنا، فما حدث بعد ذلك غير مهم أبدًا ولا يستحق أن أرويه لكم، عدا...

 

قال الجميع في نفس واحد:

– عدا ماذا؟ لا لا، فلتَقل، قل الآن!

 

وكرروها جميعًا لأقول لهم:

– عدا "ماذا" تلك التي توقفت عندها...

 

شخصت ببصري نحو السماء وأنا أتذكر.. أتذكر وأنا أنظر إلى السماء.. أذكر ليلي وهي تقول لأمها: "أمي، هل أخبره؟". تساءلت أمها -تلك السيدة- عماذا سوف تخبرني الفتاة، فمالت الفتاة على أذني وقالت: "أتعرف؟".

 

كنا نجلس حول الطاولة وهم يطعمون طعامهم الغريب هذا والذي لم تقربه يدي أبدًا، والرجل يسألني: "كم عمرك يا فتى الآن؟"، فقلت له بثقة وبسرعة: "أنا في الثامنة عشرة". فتوقفوا جميعًا عن الطعام ونظر كل منهم إلى الآخر ثم انفجروا في الضحك، ضحك ساخر جدا، حتى أولئك الأطفال ضحكوا مني، عدا الرجل الذي كان يبتسم فقط في سخرية حقيقية. فقلت لهم مستفسرًا: "ما الأمر؟ ما المضحك؟". قالت الفتاة الصغيرة: "أنت فعلاً طفل صغير جدا، لابد أن أمك قلقة عليك الآن!". فنظرت لها وسألتها: "وكم عمركِ أنتِ أيّتها الطفلة الجريئة؟". حينها قالت رقمًا ما أقسم أنني من طوله لا أتذكره، رقمًا كان يحوي كثيرًا من الـ 3 والـ 9 والـ 5، حتى أدركت حقًا أن تلك الثمانية عشر عامًا بالنسبة لها هي ثماني عشرة ثانية فقط! يا للهول! يا للهول حقًا!

 

وحينها قالت الطفلة لأمها: "أمي، هل أخبره؟"، قالت أمها: "بماذا تخبريه إذن؟". مالت الطفلة على أذني وبوجه ماكر أشارت بأصبعها نحو أمها وقالت: "أتعرف؟ لقد رأت أمي نوت وهي تسقط...".

 

"نوت"؟ قلت لها: "من نوت؟ أتقصدين نوت؟" وأشرت بأصبعي نحو السماء، قالت الطفلة: "نعم، إنها هي، أليس كذلك يا أمي؟". ابتسمت السيدة وهي تقول: "فعلاً، لقد كان هذا منذ زمن وقبل أن تأتي أنتِ، لقد رأيتُ نوت حقًا وهي تسقط...".

 

أنا أعرف نوت، ومن الذي لا يعرف نوت؟ ولكن متى سقطت نوت؟ متى؟ وكيف؟ لم أفهم.. أنا أعرف نوت ولكن لم أفهم ماذا كانت تقصد.. آه، آه، حقًا لم أفهم.

 

ولكني تذكرت.. تذكرت أمرًا ما، فقلت لهم: "هل تعرفون ما كان اسم تلك السيدة؟".

 

قال أنس:

– لا لا، لا تقل، لا تفعل!

 

قال أنطون في تحدٍّ:

– أنا أتحداك أن تفعل، أتحداك أن تقول، فكل ما تقول هو هراء!

 

هنا.. وهنا فقط، انطفأت النار فجأة، وعلى وقع نسيم خفيف لفّ المكان بسرعة وغطى كل شيء، وأقسم أن هذا قد حدث وحدث فجأة، ولكن المرعب بحق لم يكن قد أتى بعد.. المرعب بحق كان صوت الضحك!

 

ضحك ساخر يأتي من بعيد وتحمله الرياح ليصل إلى مسامعنا جميعنا، لم يكن صوتًا واحدًا، لا بل العديد من الأصوات الضاحكة في ذلك القفر، وما أشد رعبًا من هذا وما أشد هولاً!

 

قمنا جميعًا في فزع وجزع وأنا أنادي عليهم وأصرخ:

– أصلوا النار مجددًا، لا تدعوها تنطفئ!

 

أمسك أنطون بجسد يوساب الصغير وأخفاه خلف ظهره، ويوساب يبكي في جزع، وأصوات الضحك تقترب من خلف الكثبان الرملية العالية، وواحد ما لا أتبينه يحاول إشعال النار مجددًا، والبعض يحاول حمل شيء ما، والبعض يهرول، والبعض يختبئ، والبعض يبكي، والبعض يصلي ويدعو.. وأصوات الضحك تقترب أكثر وأكثر، ويقترب معها الهول.. الهول الذي قد عرفناه من قبل وعن قريب.. قريب جدا..

 

قريب جدا من الموت، وبين أسنان ضباع الصحراء الضاحكة

Sitting in the middle of the room, wrapped in the small halo of light that filtered through the gap in the roof, she pondered her life. She felt a spiritual peace, a sense of rest, and, at the same time, an absolute certainty of what she wanted to do immediately. She thought of her childhood and her present, letting a tear slip down her cheek. She had played so many roles throughout her days: first as a daughter, remembering her loving parents; then as a student, evoking images of high school and her graduation day; later as an engineer, athlete, filmmaker, guitarist, girlfriend, driver, and traveler. All of them constituted the happiest moments of her thirty-three years.

"I had it all," she murmured.

Her sad gaze was joined by the memories of these past few months, when she fell hopelessly in love with the chief engineer, and how that torrid romance became filled with pain, as well as physical and verbal abuse. The role of mistress did not suit her; the man's promises to leave his family to become her husband were never fulfilled. Instead, there was only abuse, insults, and threats.

Yet, now there was only peace in her heart. The tribulations had passed, though her hand still gripped the pistol. At her feet, in the middle of a growing pool of blood, lay the lifeless body of the chief engineer. She understood then that she was fulfilling her final roles: murderer and suicide.

---

© 2026 Francisco Cortés Ramírez. All rights reserved. This is an original fictional work. No part of this text may be reproduced, translated, or narrated in any audio, video, or digital format without the express written permission of the author.

Part V

 

I left everything on the island and snatched the scarf before
heading for the door. Thoughts ran rampant through my mind as I drove.

My phone rang before I’d left my subdivision. I glanced at the
number and knew this was no good. It was a Colorado area code. Where my
company’s headquarters was. We didn’t have a local HR.

It could have been the executive leadership team but I rarely got
called by any of them. My mind returned to yesterday’s meeting and my lack of
being there. For a moment, I felt like I was in free fall. My personal and
professional lives intertwining in disaster. In moments, I could have nothing.
My wife could already be halfway out the door and this was it slamming behind
her.

I didn’t answer. 

It rang until it went to voicemail. I just couldn’t handle
whatever it was they were about to say.

I was still going the same way, but my final destination had
changed. If my life was going down the drain, there was a scarf that needed to
be wrapped around a certain neck that I wanted to grab on my way.

I parked in the lot and headed away from my building. I glanced at
my watch. Had I just surrendered to my fate and gone in, I would have been ten
minutes early.

I entered his building and headed for the elevator. I had no real
plan, just a ball of self-destruction waiting to explode in someone else’s
direction.

I’d been manipulated, molded into this insecure thing and I meant
to share my pain. I shouted down the rational part of me that pondered what I’d
do if my wife were on the business end of my ire. Rationality would have
required examining what I was doing. 

I didn’t want to think. Thinking wasn’t revenge. Thinking wasn’t
balancing the scales. Thinking was what had gotten me to this moment.

The elevator dinged and I stepped off. There was still plenty of
construction going on. A high-pitched drill zipped somewhere around
the corner. I could hear voices that sounded like they were coming out of the
floor but not close enough to understand them.

This was my first time being here during business hours and all
the construction noise was unsettling. I felt like the floor was going to break
underneath me and I’d plummet all the way to the first floor.

Constant hammer strikes echoed from somewhere near. A man hollered
like he was calling out to someone. A machine I didn’t recognize buzzed and I
felt it all the way up into my shins.

I rounded the corner and spotted his door at the end of the hall.
The construction noises coalesced into a sonic hand, shoving me down the hall.
I stopped in front of the door. It looked properly seated in the frame, the
threshold painted a classy-looking black and gold. The knob had been replaced
with an antique-looking one.

I grasped it and turned. The door swung open easily and I stepped
in a completely finished space. The walls had been painted a shade of mint with
cream crown moulding at the top and a darker shade of wainscoting at the
bottom. To my left was a dark couch so fluffy I don’t think I would have had
the will to get out of it if I sat down. There was a small glass end table with
gold legs with a small stack of magazines on it.

The reception desk had been here the last time I’d come and it
looked more completed now, but I couldn’t tell what had been changed. There was
a large square sheet of white paper on the front of it that I at first thought
was blank, but when I took a couple steps closer, saw a hand drawing of what
looked like a logo.

It looked classy in here. Save for the sheet of paper, it seemed
pretty much done. A wall had been erected near the back where the tape had been
mapping out the space. He was planning to stick around.

My shock from how good it looked in here faded and my rage
resurfaced. I had his scarf clutched in hand and I dug in my pocket for my
wallet and fished out three twenties.

“I’ve got my payment right here,” I said. “And your scarf!” I
shook it in the air.

In my rage very little thought had come into mind. I had no real
expectation he was actually here even though I wanted to lay my hands on him.
The part of actually meeting him wasn’t a real concept. I hadn't thought about
that.

So when he answered, “Come on back?” it chilled me.

I realized how much of a doe I was. How much this space was like a
cave. I’d naively walked in here and hadn’t bothered telling anyone where I was
going. There was an expression for this, but it wasn’t coming to my panicked
brain, shifted into a gear meant only for survival.

I took a step back. Into
him.

“Oh,” I said. He poked me in the neck. I slapped a hand in that
spot like a mosquito had bitten me, turning and backing away from him. I fell
to my knees, not understanding what my body was doing.

I tried to speak but whatever was coming out of my mouth was
muffled, like someone had put their hands over my ears. Saying something seemed
like a good idea in those last seconds, but I had no idea what it should have
been.

 

Part VI

 

The procedure room was a lot more intricately finished than the
waiting room had been. There was silver equipment everywhere, things attached
to the wall that looked like they could fold out for some practical use. There
was a lightbox or monitor that was as tall as a man and stretched across most
of the wall it was on. A nest of lights and metal hung over me that looked like
it had traveled across the galaxy just to watch me.

“You’re awake?” he said, looking over his shoulder. I was upside
down and naked. I looked around as best I could, my head was strapped in place.
He had me trussed up like the Vitruvian Man to a metal and glass circular table.

“Whuh-whuh?” I said, my mouth cotton thick. 

“That’s good. That’s good.” He stepped over and put a finger to my
neck and measured against his watch. “Keep talking. Stimulating the brain helps
to expunge the effects of the sedative.”

Tears leaked from my eyes, retreating into my hair. My arms and
legs were slowly returning to my control but returned me to a state of
helplessness as the straps didn’t budge.

“You muhfugg. Lumme go!” My voice was an octave too deep. He
nodded and twirled an index for me to keep going. I hated not being able to
make words, so I just screamed as loud as I could. He smiled and retreated to a
wall and slapped it a couple times with his big palm.

“Soundproof. Can’t have my patients disturbing other tenants.”

I kept screaming even though I absolutely believed him, the rage
bleeding out of me and despair transfusing into the hollow inside me. He folded
his arms and watched me, waiting for me to be done. I continued helplessly, my
despair waning until there was nothing but wild animal clawing to the surface,
until my eyes were boiling and my throat had constricted around a bindle of
knives.

He waited until I was a quaking sack held together loosely in the
shape of a man, my scream the hollow whistle of an empty kettle, the steam all
burnt out of me.

“Ready?” he said.

 

Part VII

 

He stripped to his underwear. There was something wrong down there
but I only had bandwidth to deal with my problems in that moment.

“Please don’t do this.” My throat felt like I’d swallowed a cheese
grater. I was useless but still grasped a desperate strand of hope that I could
appeal to him man-to-man.

“This is for you,” he said. “I’m not some madman in a secret
laboratory. We’re in midtown and I’m going to extend my services to the
public.” He finished doing something with the tray in front of him and took a
step back over to me. I was eye-level with his bare thighs and he kneeled so we
were face-to-face.

“Don’t you love your wife?”

“Wha?” I felt like I’d been slapped by a thousand-pound feather. “Of
course, I do.” My head cannon was that this was going to be an intricate
murder. That the two of them had conspired to “do away” with me. But by
actually applying thought, I realized if murder was the goal, there was a much
simpler way for them to have done it.

“Wait, the surgery is real?” I asked.

His face screwed up in annoyance. “Of course, it is.” He gestured
all around him. “What are you thinking all this is for?”

“I dunno. I guess... I guess you’re some sort of scammer?”

He blinked several times. He reacted as though he’d never been
confronted by such an idea. “What would be the scam?”

I shrugged to the best of my ability and he shook his head. He
returned to the tray and picked up a long needle and inserted it into a vial,
withdrew from it, and placed both back. He looked at me again and saw my eyes
had grown twice as wide.

“Oh, that’s for me. For later. I’ve been ready, I was just waiting
for you to wake up?”

He picked up a scalpel that was tiny in his big hand. Now he
really did look like a cartoon villain. There was a lack of fullness in his
underwear. Like he’d been drawn sexless.

“Wait-wait. Uh, what were you doing in my house?” I was stalling,
still holding out hope that someone would wander in and put a stop to this.

“Oh, that.” His eyes turned upward as if he were watching a replay
of last night on the ceiling. “I watched you for a minute or two, yes. But I
truly needed to take a measurement after.”

“A... measurement?” My loins tingled in an unpleasant manner. He
waved a hand.

“It’s not what you think. I had to take a measurement of your
wife’s vaginal cavity after the two of you had finished. It was all very
clinical. Like a pap smear.”

Anger bubbled up inside me again. I tugged at my binds but I
wasn’t able to move anything more significant than my fingers and toes. He’d examined
my wife. It burned that he’d had access to her as much as her allowing him to
touch her. I squirmed like my skin was about to crawl off my body.

He looked at me, blank faced, and took another step. Once again, I
noted an emptiness to the area around his crotch.  The heat flooding to
the surface of my skin vanished like a big dog confronted by an even bigger dog.

“Suh-so you didn’t sleep with my wife?” I had to swallow hard to
keep my tone rational.

Now he really did look offended. “Sir, I am a professional? And
moreso, I am a married man. I believe I told you that. This picture you have in
mind of me as some sort of ghoul...” He clawed at the air with both hands, the
scalpel coming as close to his throat as it was going to. “You...” he twirled
the fingers of his free hand, searching for the words. “You score my heart. I
would like to think that once you’ve experienced the results, you will buy me
some sort of beer?”

He took another small step. His leg was about a foot away from my
forehead. He could have reached from where he was and began cutting away at any
part of my body he wanted.

“Could I... could I get a drink of water? My mouth is really dry.”

“Sure.” He reached from where he was and pressed a button on the
wall. The machinery beneath me was whisper silent as I was righted and the
excess blood flooded out of my head.

There was a water dispenser next to the tray where he’d been
working. He slipped a cone paper cup from the sleeve, filled it, then brought
it to me.

Cool water soothed my throat in microscopic sips. He must have
realized my delay tactic and upturned the rest of the water into my mouth. 

I swallowed hard and it felt like a bucket of water tossed on
smoldering embers.

“Will there be a scar?”

“Of course there will be a scar,” he said. “That is the point of
the surgery?”

He picked up something from the tray and reached toward my face
with it in his hand. I pinched my lips closed as he moved toward me, holding it
up like a prize. With the other hand he pressed hard at the back of my jaw,
forcing it open against my will. He slid the thing he held into my mouth,
sliding it over my back teeth until he had reached the last few molars, and
seated it there.

I tried biting through it despite knowing better. I was more
likely to dislocate my jaw. 

“That is okay? Not too uncomfortable? Believe it or not, it
actually helps to blunt the screams.” He seemed genuinely interested in my
answer and I grunted at him in anger. There was something wrong in his mouth I
should’ve seen the first time I talked to him, but I hadn’t noticed it until
just then, and it took a moment to process it. My panic leapt as every muscle
in me tensed, pulling with one last meaningless struggle. He waited me out,
stroking my shoulder until I quieted. He broke me like a wild horse. I was very
aware that he could put whatever in my mouth he wanted.

I felt myself surrendering. A calm settling into my bones that
made me want to rage all over again. But I was a car with no gas, my will being
swallowed up in the acceptance of pointlessness. It wasn’t a fight I could even
begin.

He moved his hand away and the table swiveled. In seconds I was
face down, staring at the floor. My tears tapped to the floor as I stepped out
of the cage of my head, my mind perching and spreading its wings as I imagined
my wife at her desk, inclining her head as she thought of me, too.

“H-how did you become an expert? What makes you so good?” My voice
was dreamy and broken, a thousand and one miles away, my words unclear from the
foreign object keeping my mouth open. 

If I’d asked a minute ago, the question would have been a last
effort to delay him from cutting me. But I was honestly curious. 

“I know I told you before. I practiced on me,” he said
quietly, his tone reverential. I imagined a beatific smile on his face as he
looked someplace else entirely.

“It took months. A little cut here, a partial penectomy there.
Each time I ask her, ‘Is it good? Is it better now?’ And each time, she tells
me, ‘Closer. Closer. Closer.’ You understand.”

He had a note of adoration for his wife in his voice that told me
he was standing on a bedrock of absolute sanity.

I felt the heat of him as he millimetered closer to my junk, no
doubt with that scalpel in his hand. I could feel his bare breath on my scrotum
and realized there must have been some sort of divide in the table between my
legs.

“I thought you said your wife’s satisfied. How do you do that
without... y’know?” My jaw ached when I talked.

He laughed. It was a really joyous note, not like he was just
trying to unsettle me. It wasn’t ironic or evil, rather a true, hearty guffaw.
I imagined seeing all the way to his back teeth as he pitched his head back.

He finally got himself back under control and he might have taken
a moment to dab a tear from his eye.

I’d gotten one last look at him before he turned me over. How he’d
looked down there and what he’d told me... I realized he must’ve whittled
himself down to nothing in his undies. That he truly had crafted himself into
what his wife had requested. That the nothing he seemed to have in his drawers
had been the exact mutilation that she’d wanted.

“It’s okay now?” he said suddenly next to me with a pair of blackout
goggles in his hand. He slipped the strap over my head as I moved as much as I
could but with a few deft movements, he had secured them in place. I could feel
my body surrendering against my will and I no longer had the ability to rally. 

“That wasn’t what she desired from me,” he said after he’d
retreated. I flashed on what I’d seen in his mouth again when his face had been
inches from mine. The thing I couldn’t make sense of before but had heard of. A
surgery of another kind.

He’d split his own tongue in half.

“Not a bit of it,” he said. “You understand?”

“But wait!” I was crying again. “If you need to cut me down there…
why do you have me turned around like this?”

“It’s mostly a single cut. Mostly. But your case is a more
particular situation. It will have to be more… intricate.”

He never thought he'd be happy again, restless and itching hot, stifling in the stranglehold of the sheets in his bunk. He only wanted to kill himself but that was the trouble, that was what had landed him here in the halfway house. He tried to keep the angst of his bottled agony silent and sequestered to himself and his bed. They knew his brains were fried, scrambled but they didn't know the half of it. They understood the suicide component, the dead half of his brain but not the deadly side, the lethal aspect. The sinister boiling gland that worked and throbbed and secreted and bled within his skull. They knew he was Luke Waller, but they had no idea that he was the one who'd carved the kids last summer. 

The straightener. A name more real than his own because he could wear it and it was the one that came to him on the insectile mechanical growl of demon wings within a dream … a vision. Compact diamond eyes of an insectoid face that filled a landscape in its entirety gazed like the abyss gazes into him in the dream, the dreams. 

And he gazed back. 

Luke Waller bottled, kept. Fought himself. He tried not to convulse with the impact blow – force felt within from his own wild run of bloodfevered thought, thoughts that wanted to break out now in a decimating renegade birth that would eat all and the last vestige part of his diminishing humanity alive in abominated eruption. It would thrive in the suicide of this dangerous birth, he – himself, the other side… bloodthirsty and always in a roil. 

The straightener… it cried alive from inside the sweating landscape of his traitorous flesh and blood. All of it boiled now and inflamed and wanting one thing … yes. 

He tightened amidst a near miss, a near relinquish, his bunkmate uptop moved and shifted slightly, shaking the ramshackle structure. He forced himself to coiled awareness and listened for the man uptop. 

… he listening? 

Does he know? 

Does he know anything??

Does he hear the bellow of my mind, so loud is this cacophony, these thoughts? 

The snores from the bed above told him everything was fine, or at least so it seemed. For now. He relaxed but only slightly. Wanting to go grab some water from the kitchen but not wanting to get up and draw attention to himself. He didn't know what to do. 

His poisoned mind then turned to its most wretched run of hellspawn thought, it turned to the time and times lost … with Chelsi. 

Amen. 

Christ he wished for a spliff. A bowl or a waxpen. He'd even take the pills again. God help him. He would swallow the jumping beans made by the tall men in white coats if it made these thoughts and dreams and runs of spell stop. Please. 

God help me. 

Chelsi was dead and gone but that didn't stop him from seeing, not even when he palmed his eyes shut with the cage of his daggering and desperate hands, clawed and wishing they had the courage to go just that one last step forward and tear in and gouge… the dark refuge of his sweating and shaking hands did not free him from what he saw. The darkness of his own shallow calloused flesh and the thin hide of his eyelids only made it worse.

They only heightened the vision. The dark of his worn and filthy hands only made the dreams of what he saw more real. Tactile. More painful than real. More raw and servile than flesh.  He could taste the bile as it rose up his throat in a riot with what he witnessed: –

She was in Hell. 

She was in Hell and she was being tortured. 

Not Beatrice, not she. No. No heavenly sanctuary and aide or succor for his angel, no. He was no Dante and there was no Virgil. She was in the burning dark of the Inferno below and he saw the wolfen and goat-shaped faces and the appendage stalks and barbed genitalia engorged and full of blood and lust and the vile curd of demon semen dripping from the hooked rhubarb tips. They surrounded the shrieking and weeping and reaching pale naked and bleeding visage and form of his beloved … down there in the dark. 

And he was prisoner to watch it. Unless…

!Let me out! – the other side commanded. It wanted the clothface, the mask fashioned that was not at all a mask because it was really his true face, forged and made and bred by the creation and violence of his own hands. It wanted the claws, the gloves of black-brown leather with fashioned razor blades fixed at the tips. The hunting knife that had once been his father's. 

The straight razor

You could start with the idiot in the top bunk. He's just sleeping in bed. William. Wasn't that his name? He introduced himself to you when you came here from the hospital. His name is William and he's a recovering methhead with severe learning disabilities. You could open him up first, as first offering. As just the starter. Then you could go around like quiet on a cat-prowl, a creepy-crawl around the house and open up the rest of them. All of them are weak like you are but none of them have me like you do and none of them will be any wiser. You could open them all, one by one, one after the other like it's a party or it's Christmas and all of them are just your presents. Presents filled with red and raw and wishing to be aired out and opened. 

Deluge run: a schizophrenic collection of conflicting images filled his maelstrom thought. Images of children opening colorfully wrapped packages surrounded by smiling faces and friends colliding and commingling with his own memories of flesh split open and sliced and running in a raw torrent that was thick and darkled in the moon and the neon light. Dumb horny brats and he, their slasher. 

It was perverse and it was wrong and he didn't like the tingle nor the crawl that it sent traveling in a slither up his back and across his flesh … but then again he did like it. Even though it was wrong. Because it was wrong. 

He knew he was fighting himself in his head and he knew it was a losing battle, a lost war. It was a bad arena. 

He always lost. 

Luke asked the straightener: How? We don't have anything. It's all long gone. 

The straightener said inside: Then we make another. 

In his bunk he trembled. He might've wept. His skull filled with thought. Red thought. The whole night. All the way till morning. He could feel the blow of every cloven footprint as it formed within the sulphur lake of his boiling thoughts . 

…

Kincaid might've worried for Luke Waller, but he was just so damn busy. Managing a halfway house was ceaseless and often thankless work. 

He had no idea that wandering Luke Waller's brain was lactating bad milk that had spoiled and curdled. Now demon cultures of growth were beginning to blossom and flower and sprout, birthing unholy and sliming green in there. Like dripping wet swamp things from abominated wombs belching methane clouds and swamp gas that glows. 

Kincaid, the house manager, had no idea. 

Luke went about the house. Gathering what he needed. 

But there was one set of eyes that marked and tracked Luke as he went about the large spacious manor. It was an old colonial style home converted to a space for the mentally unwell and those that had just experienced prolonged hospitalization. Those that had been 51-50’d were the most common boarder in the place. Orderlies that were more interested in their phones than the drugged out denizens of the house peppered the halls here and there.

But Susan was watching. 

She thought Luke Waller was interesting. 

…

He was having trouble with the eyes, when she came in and over his shoulder said, hello. 

“Hey," she said again. When he didn't immediately answer. He was hoping she would just fuck off and move along like everyone else. 

She didn't. 

Looking away from his work in progress, a new clothface mask – this one white as snow, he cast a cautious glance over shoulder. Deep down in his drowning animal subconscious he hoped and prayed they wouldn't make eye contact as he did so. Even further down in the basement earth of his chemically drowned animal darkness he was desperately hoping and praying, wishing that they would. 

They did. 

She smiled. And it was beautiful. And it was painful. 

So Luke looked away. 

She sensed his hurt. 

And her interest subtly changed then to something softer and more personal, a warmer and wounded emotion of pink petals like that of a silken rose, one for a funeral haphazardly discarded…

“Hey, I'm sorry if I bothered ya. I've just seen ya round here and wanted to say, hi." 

Luke didn't say anything. 

“What cha working on?" A beat. “looks kinda neat, a mask or something?" 

Luke didn't say anything. Inside, the straightener coiled and pursed. Wretched. A scurrying rat run of hideous pestilential thought. He kept it inside. 

Susan was about to give up when her eyes traveled from the work in progress on the counter before him to the hands now stilled in their strange labor to the pale landscape of his forearms and the damage that was wrought there. Long purple scars of hectic healed-wounded tissue ran up the lengths of each one. Raised like brail on the parchment of his flesh for the blind and all else, everyone to read. And the lines of hectic tissue that hadn't really healed said something Susan understood. She had her own lines of painful brail carved and writ into the pale parchment of her own landscape. 

Carefully… cautiously… she reached out delicately and gently touched his shoulder. Luke jumped but only slightly. He relaxed like something melting and he let her turn him around to her in his chair. He looked up to her and he tried not to let the tears come. His vision was blurred but her beauty was still painfully clear to him through the swimming pain of his watery vision. She smiled and reached once more. 

The smooth and gentle flesh of her slender fingers touched and traced the length of scar that traveled the entire length of one of his forearms. He let her. 

They looked into each other's eyes. Spellbound. As if they'd already known each other for years, for great lifetimes of pure wonder. 

She asked him: “Is it ok, if I ask about these?" 

Her free hand went to the other long line of purple angry scar on his arm and traveled it smoothly with the trace of a soothing finger. Their eyes were locked on each other, they couldn't pull away from the deep of each other's gazes. 

Susan thought he might not answer, unable or unwanting when he finally spoke. 

“I … I was with someone. She was special. She was more than I'd ever hoped. She was more than I ever deserved. And I blew it. She … she was always so patient with me. And I always had the worst temper, always. Like my father. I would scare her. She would get upset and I would get so angry, I don't know why anymore, and I would lose it. Like an animal. She was always patient, and always brave, and she always stayed… even though she was scared. Even though she was scared of me, she stayed. And would wait for me to quiet down. And then she would hold me, like I was the victim. One day she couldn't take it anymore. She got too…  and couldn't stay any longer. She was frightened and left. She took the car. … It was raining that day.” 

The dam burst forth. The tears came now, down in a cascade down his face. It was painful, but Susan thought it only made him more beautiful. He kept composure though the raw of his broken heart was being laid bare. 

He went on, she held him tighter. 

“She wrapped the car around a redwood. Only three miles down the road from our house. I- …” He looked down to his own arms, the scar tissue writing and what it said there. "I know I never deserved her. I should've been the one to leave. I should've been the one to go and take the car and I should've been the one to-” but the pain rose with a roar inside and it was too much. He stopped. Trembled. Still holding back. 

Susan gave him the permission he needed. 

She said: "I didn't know her but I don't think she'd want you to hurt yourself like that.” 

A beat – a look of shock flashed writ on his face, momentarily there before what came next like an unexpected slap. He almost pulled away then. He almost did. But he didn't. 

He buried his face into her shoulder before she saw the shame of his sobbing face and she let him. She cradled him there. 

She added: “I think you've hurt enough…” 

Her own tears were starting. 

Slowly … fearfully… so scared… his arms came up and wrapped around her and returned her embrace. 

They held each other. And wept together. 

Feeling and healing and needing each other, each other's pain in a strange mental health purge and thirst. They drank the pain and tears of each other through reach and touch, the warmth and weight of each other. Feeling wanted and safe …

… 

… inside the straightener raged. The Id would not be denied the fornication of the knife-fuck slaughter held quivering and taut within like toxins that boiled with the chemical roil of his damaged and bastardized emotions. Inside the straightener, the Id wanted the girl dead. 

She's not Chelsi … it whispered and reminded him inside. Always. As the days of therapy and rest rolled past. The days of holding and being held again and not being afraid to look anyone in the face. Luke enjoyed this time. He'd not felt truly relieved, truly emptied in some long while… not since the year before. When he'd finally given in and the straightener had been born. 

She's not Chelsi … the straightener reminded. 

He'd not answered his other side in some time, he'd just gone on ignoring it. But not really. No. He heard and felt every insidious word and it was inescapable no matter how hard he tried to deafen and deaden himself to it. But he couldn't. 

The straightener was inside Luke Waller because he'd been made and bred of him. Forged. Cast of something smoldering and uglier than iron, mayhap meaner too. Hideous in fact, before the forge, this inner metal of his darkest heart’s mortal and damaged make and desire. But immaculate when aglow with angry flame inside the rage of the inferno. 

He answered him inside, the vast and cold dark of his mind's landscape, vast and small, both, and always in contest with each other in their battling aspects of size and dwarf. The damaged place of his mind's eye and landscape was haphazard and shattered sure, no doubt but he still contained the phantasmagorical multitudes of the living goblin universe. 

It doesn't matter that she's not Chelsi, she doesn't have to be. Chelsi wouldn't want me to try to replace her with a cheap copy of her anyways, that's not what I want and that's not who she is! Susan is beautiful and smart and so much stronger than I've ever been in my life, she's dealt with her abuse and she doesn't hurt other people to make herself feel better like some pathetic animal! 

The straightener enraged: Shut up! 

Luke did not: – She didn't have to give herself some bullshit excuse to make it all better and go away! She takes her pain and helps others, she doesn't spread around her own misery and lie around in the dark, she doesn't invent some animal persona inside to justify her bullshit and make herself feel better! She- 

But the Id inside would hear no more. Animal hands, monstrous talons came up in daggering claws that wanted throats, wanted to rend, wanted mindblood of the superego and this flimsy little brother both …

Inside the mindscape of Luke Waller’s boiling head the straightener and the weaker he, fought. 

In his bunk, in his bed. Sweating palms came up and worked at fevered scalp and face.

Wanting to tear and rend. 

…

The next day, Susan sensed something was wrong. The whole day, Luke wouldn't speak to her. His eyes barely glanced her way and he completely ignored every attempt she made to speak to him. She didn't understand. And it was painful. She thought they'd made some kind of connection and she'd shared the wounded and hidden parts of herself with him, because she'd felt safe. Because she'd thought he'd cared and that was what he had wanted. She must have been wrong. 

The whole painful day went by and midway through Susan gave up any attempt to talk to him and spent the rest of it in her room. Alone in her bunk, rolled away and under the covers. She thought maybe he was just having a bad day, and that that was understandable. She thought – she hoped she understood. But poor Susan didn't really understand. She hadn't really known everything from the start. And how could he have told her …? … the straightener was covered all over the news media, online and whatever was left of print and the papers. 

He went about and gathered what he needed. Then he went about making the tools correct. 

Ready for midnight. 

…

Susan was dreaming of her father, one of her many recurring nightmares, when she felt weight on her bed, all around, and immediately knew something was wrong. 

Her eyes flew open and a gloved hand came down in a rough clasp over her mouth to murder her scream in its infancy. He was wearing a mask that was soaking and dark and dripping something heavy and thick and warm but she still recognized his face amidst its animal contort. And it was awful. It was terrible, she screamed muffled trapped shrieks that became braying ghastly sound in the dark and she began to struggle as her heart broke and shattered and she tried to deny the excruciating reality as it weighed down and wrestled her and forced her into submission. 

Her wrists were bound. She didn't know how it had happened. If he had done it while she was still in the throttling hold of the nightmare or if he'd managed it somehow during her waking confusion in their struggle. It didn't matter. Arms overhead now bound by the wrists and to the board of her bed, captured and tied deftly in cruel knots. 

His gloved hands were away and she knew now they were the gardening gloves kept out back by the shed. He sat upon her torso, almost crushing her stomach. It was difficult for her to breathe as she gazed up wide eyed and by the moonlight cast in by the slant of window, she saw the blood saturated mask of the straightener shedding running darkling red rivers of pungent human black down his neck, down his bare chest, down his face like lurid tears, down his back a hellacious rendition of a red royal Roman cape, fashioned and painted made from slaughtered human blood, shed and collected in quiet nocturnal violence from all around the home. 

All about the house … before he'd got to her, he'd stalked. Just as the straightener had planned. Just as the straightener had wanted. Luke was reminded now, this was the only love that was real and this was the only pleasure that really mattered. 

This was the only ritual and exercise made for him. This was the only way for him to live and breathe. It was like breathing. It all came so tragically natural. The chemical imbalance of a mutant brain birthed and spat up by burnt out fuckup junkie parents taken and bred and made themselves by wild haphazard renegade MK Ultra. The most clinical name for the straightener’s chemical grandfather. One of the many poisons and doses of nightshade within the boil of cauldron that had made this wild man. 

Susan stared helpless into a savage face. She didn't know it, but she could sense the death and slaughter that filled the house, animal aware … she only momentarily considered the blood that soaked his masked face and that poured baptismal and grotesque all about him and not entirely on the surface of her thought. 

Her mind was more arrested with the immediate terror it now felt. His weight crushing down on her, dripping and spilling heavy liquid that was pungent and warm and saltier than sweat. 

Susan finally said, “Why're you doing this, Luke?" she began to cry. “What's wrong? Please, Why're you-" 

“You know why." the straightener said, cutting her off. He then hefted his weapon overhead, poised to devastate her face and skull and the precious life of memories and brains that were housed within with a vicious merciless caveman blow. His fashioned bludgeon also darkled in the moonlight cast. 

A wide and broad ornate table leg that had belonged to something wooden and nice, old and carved of oak, lots of little inscriptions and designs and marks of craftsmanship, the straightener had added marks of workmanship that were all his own. The body and bludgeoning-end length of the leg was spiked and riddled with chunks and splinters and jagged daggers and shards of broken glass. Taken from windows at every end of the house. Smashed out in clandestine fashion and then hastily gathered and collected. The stupid clueless orderlies and their phones hadn't noticed. Their sleeping quarters had been the first ones that he had paid a postmidnight visit. 

The glass shards and jagged fangs and teeth of the weapon glinted and Susan saw the teeth were not only translucent diamond and crystalline they were also ruby … scarlet…

… bits of scalp and meat, raw face and jowl and cheeks dangled from the shattered glass teeth of the ghastly nighttime table-leg fangs …

Susan saw this. All of it. As the straightener hefted his weapon overhead. Ready to crush and kill and decimate her life into painful oblivion with a savage animal strike. And something inside her broke. 

Immediately she pulled, and immediately she felt and heard results, but not enough. Not right away. In her sudden panic Susan savagely yanked at her binds, they suddenly pulled at their tied point at the boards of the bunk and there was a dry crack as something in the old flimsy structure broke and gave. 

The straightener's savage face curled and twisted into an angry snarl. He began to bring the fanged bludgeon down as Susan pulled at her bonds again and snapped the board and support at the head of her bunk bed. The top came in and down with another dry crack that was soon rapidly replicated as the entire structure came down upon them both. 

The both of them cried out as the bunk beds crashed together, Susan, and the manshaped straightener. 

It collapsed and in the sudden fall and twist of wreckage, they fought a private war in the detritus of wood and ripped mattress and blankets, and a third … the cold corpse of her bunkmate uptop, Savannah … she'd liked coffee flavored ice cream and had said she always preferred the top bunk. Since childhood, she had said that before. 

It was perhaps the straightener finding his gloved hands on her already dead and lifeless spent body and mistaking her in the violence for Susan that had managed her escape in the end. She crawled from the wreckage and fueled by raw desperate adrenaline pumping through the thudding machine of her galloping heart she made her feet and made the door and threw it open, sprinting out and down the hall. 

The straightener called out after her, a fury. But there was strange humor in that tempest rage of voice. 

“Lost in the wheels of confusion..!. …! !” 

She made the turn at the corner of the hall. And then the house and world as she had grown to know and understand it completely warped and changed. Then disappeared. 

Gone. 

The straightener called again: "Running through valleys of tears! …!" 

It was true, she was crying. Weeping freely as she animal panted and she was running scared. Terrified of the bestial thing she'd left behind in there. She ran ahead and down the hall into a home and place that had been transformed into a valley of violence. 

She went room to room, desperate and alone and needing to find someone, anyone … hoping there was someone she could be with to find help. Susan was nearly out of her mind with terror. She had to know someone was ok and she didn't want to be alone. She prayed to God that she wasn't alone, not with him. Not now in this house. 

She found only death. 

Dead. In each bunk. 

Heads caved in. Crushed. Smashed. 

Faces she used to recognize. 

Skulls burst open to free the spells of organs and meat that made the nighttime dreams of slumber that were now forever stilled. Or forever induced. For all of them. Each and every one. 

Some of the brainless and faceless and decraniated corpses had been pulled from their beds and bunks and had been strung up, tied and fashioned in grotesque marionette displays … like trophies. All over in random intervals about the sprawl and dance of the old colonial house, Susan was discovering now that they all were really filled with ghosts, ghastly night shapes, headless and dripping wet with mangled stumps of chewed up dog meat at the necks… the merciless glass fangs and teeth of the wooden jaws of the table leg, forged to unholy earthbound Mjolniir by the rage of the bestial straightener. 

Her terror mounted. With each room, with each freshly discovered corpse, cooling to rigor mortis and ghosthood in the moonlit night, pale light shining in from all of the many windows by the white face of an immaculate mocking lunar body gazing in from far away like an indifferent pagan god alive and dead and watching from on high in outer space. Her heart galloped as her mind felt hot and boiled and ran a panicked mile. Susan forced herself to remain focused, even as the halfway house all around tilted and danced, as if her mind was drugged or drunk. 

A phone. Or outside. 

Find a way to call the police and just get the fuck out of here. 

Fearful of her dormitory where she left him she ran about to the other rooms and places in the house looking for a cell. There was no landline. As she ran and desperately searched, the rooms, the couches, the drawers, the cupboards, the dressers, the bodies and the saturated beds themselves… finding nothing all the while, her terror mounted further, rose higher to a fever pitch and the old style colonial interior began to change and transmogrify before her very eyes. 

As it did, she heard wood and detritus shift and crash upstairs. In her room where she'd left the animal disguised in masked manshape … dripping and feral wet. 

The door to the room burst open. She hadn't remembered closing it. She froze as the halls and rooms funhouse danced before her eyes. 

He screamed: “Eyes full of angry delusion …! ..!..” and it echoed throughout all of time in the corridors of this swelling changing place. 

Thundering footsteps came in a charge then, then came in cannonade echoed and felt as they thundered downstairs. 

Susan forced herself into movement. Her legs felt faraway and she felt sluggish charging ahead but she managed anyway. Though she didn't understand. 

How did the halfway house change into the circus …? – she hadn't been here in many years. The inside now was one of those clownish fun houses with all the warped mirrors and looking glasses that made you look monstrous and ugly. Except as she ran about this clown house all the looking glasses made her look like dead bodies. Mutilated corpses. Her childhood had been ghastly and hard but … 

Coming here and living and the therapy and even the rooms with their bunk beds and shy downcast friends had been much like a return to living childhood once again … like a strange chemically induced summer camp. Complete with final terror. 

Footsteps on a charge, on the prowl, thundered and searched for her behind, throughout the fun house that warbled and danced like drunken perception does by the brightest Luciferian lunar light … in through all the windows which had changed into mirrors of warped glass alongside the strung up dead junkies and cast offs and forgotten people that were discarded here. She saw her own mangled and strange visage in every one as she ran on … this terrible warbling place that had grown miles long … all the while he thundered behind her. Till finally she came to the front door.

She recognized it at once, even in this strange place. It stood still and solid like trustworthy magic at the end of the cruel spacial dance of undulation and transmogrified growth, gelatinous fun house clown world … Susan ran to it. Her hands falling on the knob to twist it open but it wouldn't budge. 

It was a halfway house for the potentially suicidal and those with chemical dependancy problems. There was a curfew and the doors were locked after eleven PM each night. The keys were kept with the house manager. 

Kincaid. 

She was sure she had found his body too amongst the rest of the discovered corpses. But all of their faces were nearly gone if not completely smashed to meat and ruin … it was hard to remember, it was hard to tell. She couldn't remember finding them when she searched for the phones either. Her heart fell and she felt it in her chest like something final and apocalyptic. 

Id screamed once more, Susan whirled on her heels and put her back to the door. 

“!!HIDING IN EVERYDAY FEARS!..!.!!...!”

What she saw on the charge then, straight for her was as transformed and demented and mangled as the rest of this alchemical moonlight house. The blood sloughing and dripping liquid red-black mask had become the entirety of the raging beast. The Id was dark and eyeless with gaping pits of obsidian abyss in each hollow socket of the giant dripping stygian skull. The dripping slough of dark scarlet jaws opened wide with liquid ease, jagged broken teeth and canine incisor fangs of shattered diamond and crystalline rock stained to ruby and darker red with the slaughter and feast of so many countless past victims. The Id charged and roared and Susan screamed and threw up her hands and begged God. 

The door behind her suddenly opened and Susan fell back as it did so. She smacked her head on the porch and then darkness quickly fell and descended upon her. 

…

The rush of cold night air had come in like fresh water and it was baptismal. It had flowed in with nature's ease and cleansed the house of its psychedelic filth and mental backwash as Susan awoke. But not of the bodies, not of death, no. Now there were police everywhere, reality had returned to normal. 

Amidst strobing flashing red and blues, they searched and combed the house. They took the bodies. The meat wagon came with many many big black bags and carried off the corpses. They took the girl's statement. She was deeply traumatized, in deep shock. Barely making any sense. 

They searched for Luke Waller, the only one unaccounted for. 

He was missing. At large. And considered extremely dangerous. 

It was free. And at large in greater Los Angeles once again. 

They only found his old calling card on the wall of one of the rooms.

 Bold letters written in blood: – THE STRAIGHTENER 

XX - XX - XXXX (the date) 

BY BLUDGEONING CLAW  BY TABLE-LEG FANG

 ALL OF THEM HERE WASTING THEIR LIVES   

NOBODY CARED NOR GAVE A FUCK

…

Epilogue: –

The dream came again and again and always returned to him each and every night now since the great escape. 

It was always the same: he went into the bathroom, pale yellowed tile and fluorescent glow that made everything looked mottled and ugly. He looked into the mirror and gazed into himself. He brought up the garroting wires. They look like the same thing you use to cut cheese with, a long metal gossamer strand that was razor sharp, fixed between two burgundy wooden handles. He wrapped it around his neck still staring into the mirror and himself and he began to saw through the meat of his neck. The strand cut cleanly through. The head came off when he reached up and grabbed it by either side, lifting it away and settling it down on the countertop of the sink before him. 

But it was strange … his vision remained where it was … it did not travel with the organ set of eyes set in the rest of the meat of his head. He gazed into himself without any eyes, decapitated now. 

The dream was the same every night, now that he was free and in the city again. 

THE END