''Send me your young, your innocent and helpless.''
Holloway turned and faced the mirror that hung behind his desk. It was then he saw, above his reflection, the image of a grotesque face, a face masked in evil. The eyes bulged and cast a yellowish glow, the cheeks were sunken and the mouth was a wide almost lipless slash. Then the Thing spoke.
“You have no reason to fear me, Jackson. I am your creation. It was your imagination combined with some of nature’s magic that has called me from my slumber,” it said.
It spoke in a strange, almost hypnotic voice. Holloway found he was unable to utter a word. He stood motionless as the apparition moved around the desk toward the center of the library; Holloway collapsed into his chair.
“We’ve had a bit of fun tonight, you and me,” it continued. “Let me tell you all about it.”
As Holloway slumped in the chair the villainous creature verbally drew a scene of violence and bloodlust so vivid that Holloway nearly retched. He described every detail of the murder and the mutilation that followed. The ghoul watched the changes in the face of his host and savored each moment. By the time he had finished Holloway looked as lifeless as the victim’s corpse this monster had just described.
“What is it that you want of me?” Holloway implored.
“Why, I want you to tell my story. I want you to tell the entire world my story. It’s our story, really. But don’t worry, I’ll keep our little secret to myself.”
“What did I have to do with all this?”
“I told you, it was the power of your thoughts that combined with the mold is some tainted rye bread that allowed me to come through from the netherworld. When the sad fool whose body I inhabit ate that foul sandwich it allowed me to enter your world and possess his worthless carcass. You have it there in your notes! Ergot; it’s the mechanism that alters the mind and opens that doorway of mind to me and others of my ilk”
He laughed and Holloway cringed.
“We have a great deal of work ahead of us. But the night is young,” again he rejoined his remarks with insidious laughter. With reluctance Holloway turned to his laptop and began to compose the story as it was related to him. He showed no emotion this time as the Thing retold his tale.
Holloway paused as the Thing detailed the workings of the human mind and how he is able to corrupt the Id; compromise it and possess it as his own. Could all this be real? He pondered the question as his fingers feverishly took down every word. In the end he was drained and nearly collapsed onto the oak desk. He slept a dreamless sleep.
He had no idea how long he had slept. A bell seemed to have been ringing in his head. His brain eventually translated the sound to that of the telephone on the side table across the room. He felt awkward as he attempted to cross the room to answer. Consciousness returned grudgingly and granted no reprieve.
As his mind cleared, he felt as an amnesiac might that had awakened to find himself among strangers; strangers he had known his entire life. His sense of déjà vu heightened as he lifted the receiver of the phone.
“Hello!” he said.
“Jack! Turn on your T.V. There’s been another murder,” sputtered the voice on the phone.
“Who is this?”
“It’s me, Brad. You’re editor. No nonsense. Turn on the NEWS!”
“You mean David? Dave Miller is my editor.”
“Christ, Jackson. I’ve been your editor for two years. Brad Mueller. Now turn on the television. And call me back in the morning. We really have to talk.”
He couldn’t shake the sense of how foreign the room felt and yet how familiar it was.
He reached for the remote and the images from the screen only added to Holloway’s confused frame of mind. The local reporter hammered out the facts like a teletype.
“Police officials have offered no explanation for whom or what is behind these bizarre murders. They are keeping this one under raps as the investigators continue to comb the crime scene for clues. The Commissioner has called a NEWS conference for 8:00 a.m. and will be making a statement. In addition, the Medical Examiner is expected to provide some information into the nature of the slayings.”
The reporter paused as emergency personnel moved passed. They were removing the victim on a stretcher as a bloody hand dropped ominously to the pavement. The cameraman moved in close with cold professionalism, catching the gruesome scene in detail.
“For God’s sake, pick that up and get her to the Morgue,” bellowed the detective, “Can’t you two do anything right?”
Detective Dugan was a “seen it all” police veteran who hated incompetence and sloppy police work. “Get a Forensic Tech to collect the scraps of material from this dumpster” he commanded. “I don’t want to be here all night.”
The NEWS crew from Channel 12 continued to crowd the investigators hoping for explicit shots of the crime scene. “We will continue to bring you updates as the investigation unfolds here near Market Square.” The reporter turned his microphone in the direction of Detective Lt. Dugan.
“Get that damn thing out of my face.” He responded.
“We’re going out live, Sgt.”
“It’s Lt.! Lt. Arthur Dugan! And I don’t give a rat’s ass about you reporters. I’ve got a job to do here and if you persist in getting in our way I’ll haul you in for OBSTRUCTION!”
Holloway watched the flickering screen; his body was nearly in a state of rigor. “It’s all true. It happened just as that demon said.” Despite seeing it with his own eyes he still could not comprehend the possibility of it.
To be continued.
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