Sight Unseen

by Andrew Neiderman

  “I tell you what I remember. What else can I tell you?” she asked suspiciously.

  “You know the things I mean,” he said. He didn’t fully understand himself why he said that. It seemed the right thing to say. This time, when he looked at her, however, she looked afraid. Her lower lip quivered, and she brought her hands closer to her body.

  “You should go to sleep soon. Tomorrow’s a school day.” She turned to go back to the kitchen, but he stopped her.

  “There’s more than just the dreams now,” he said. When she looked back at him, her face was whiter. “I can do things.”

  “Don’t talk about them,” she said quickly. She looked behind her to see if anyone had heard what he said. He lowered his voice.

  “But I’m telling only you.”

  “Not even me. No one. Such talk…such talk brings trouble. Don’t talk.”

  “What trouble?”

  “Trouble, trouble.” She lowered her voice and widened her eyes in such a way that it frightened him. “Forget these ideas. Go to sleep, David.”

  He shook his head.

  “You’re going to have to talk to me,” he said. He sounded so definite that he surprised himself. “These things won’t stop.”

  He waited for her anger, but it didn’t come. Instead, she looked sad. She shook her head and left him.

  He went to the opened blinds of his living room window and stared out at the road for a moment. Suddenly, without his even drawing the images up out of his bank of memories, he saw Diane Jones standing at her window looking out at him. In a moment her breasts had captured him. He saw now that he was a prisoner of the memory, but this was different from the other memories and images that had been occurring.

  From this one, he had no desire to escape.

  During the next few days, he noticed that he began to feel different when he awoke in the morning. Now he would feel great relief. He awoke from sleep abruptly, fleeing from it like a prisoner just released. He didn’t like the loss of control that he experienced when he slept. He could conjure and control his thoughts and images only for that short time before he fell into unconsciousness. After that, something else took over, something that he suspected reached back even before his own birth. It frightened him, and so he smiled gratefully at the sunlight of morning.

  Besides, there were other things happening to him now, things that he looked forward to during the waking hours. He was like a puppy just developing the ability to see. The whole world began to change before him. So much looked surprisingly different. When he left the house in the morning to take his secret path to school, he had to travel more slowly because he began noticing things he had never noticed before, things that were right nearby. What he saw was the potential in them.

  He would stop at the bottom of the back porch steps and look around the yard. There was a magical change that lasted only a few moments, but a change that, nevertheless, had a traumatic effect on him. All of the saplings were suddenly full-grown trees. More mature trees were older, fuller. Cleared spaces were covered with wild bushes and new saplings. The thin little forest between his house and the school looked more like a veritable jungle: branches filled with rich, green leaves, bushes wider and deeper, the heart of the woods thicker.

  Then he would close his eyes and open them again to return his yard to its current state. Not believing what he now saw, he moved forward cautiously, expecting the magic to return at any moment. He couldn’t predict when it would happen.

  One time while he was brushing his teeth after breakfast, another face appeared to him in the bathroom mirror. It was his face, but much older and fuller. There was gray in his light brown hair and even a tinge of gray in his unshaven beard. The sight frightened him and he stepped back, his heart beating madly. After a moment the image dissolved and his present face returned, the look of shock and surprise printed over it.

  These flashes of the future continued to be both exciting and frightening. More and more often, David would stop paying attention in class. He was vaguely aware of the teacher’s voice droning on, but he would doodle on his notebook paper and feel himself drifting. It was almost as though he were disappearing. He would lift his head slowly and look about the room to see if any of his classmates were having a similar reaction. Some looked as though they were. But recently, he found that whenever he did this and concentrated on one student or another, things would happen.

  Today, David lifted his head and looked at Bobby Ryan, a slim, light brown-haired boy, who was an only child, too. Bobby’s father worked for the lumber company. He was a big man with a Joe Palooka face. He had a heart with an arrow through it tattooed on his right forearm. But up to now, Bobby took after his mother more than he did his father. He had his mother’s slim frame and her diminutive features. In grade school, he had looked like a cherub. He had always been quiet, with friends like himself, introspective and withdrawn.

  But David liked Bobby Ryan, and from time to time he had befriended him. Actually, Bobby was a year older than all the other boys in the class. His parents were transient, and he entered school nearly a year after he should have. However, he would be able to drive and buy alcoholic beverages before any of his classmates could. David knew that, like so many other older boys, Bobby would become popular then, even though the popularity might be short lived. He had seen it happen to other boys who were older than their classmates.

  Bobby acknowledged his glance and nodded silently. Mr. Pepridge was going over something in science that he had gone over only two days ago. The sixty-five-year-old bald-headed science teacher was getting more and more forgetful, confusing students with their older brothers and sisters, students he had had before. Now, he often assigned the same homework twice. Once he gave them a test he had given them only a week before. No one said anything and everyone did exceedingly well.

  David looked down. When he looked up and turned again to Bobby, he saw that Bobby had leaned back in his seat, letting his head fall to the side facing him. Slowly the sight before him began to change. Students seated behind and around him evaporated into thin air. The classroom faded away, and he no longer heard Mr. Pepridge’s voice at all.

  The picture that now dominated was most horrible: Bobby Ryan’s head was resting on the back of a car seat and instead of a school desk around him, there was broken glass and twisted metal. His head and face were smashed, as if he had been thrown forward in his car seat and driven into the windshield. Blood streaked down from a tremendous gash in his forehead. The thin red lines ran over his cheeks and down the sides of his chin. His nose was a pulpy mess, and the white of his face bone showed through the ripped skin of his cheeks and nose.

  The sight was so gruesome and shocking that David couldn’t prevent himself from releasing a groan of horror. Mr. Pepridge stopped his explanation, and the entire class turned David’s way. He had his hands over his eyes, and his face had paled considerably. Mr. Pepridge’s look of annoyance turned to a look of concern. He came around his desk to David.

  “What is it?” he asked. “Are you in pain?”

  David released his fingers gently, lowering his hands reluctantly, little by little. Mr. Pepridge’s look of confusion brought David back to reality. He turned toward Bobby Ryan and stared at the puzzled light-haired boy, whose face looked smooth and untouched. No one spoke. Everyone had been frightened by David’s outburst.

  Now he felt somewhat embarrassed. The color returned to his cheeks quickly. He straightened up in his seat and stammered an explanation.

  “I saw something…horrible.”

  “What? What are you talking about, young man?”

  David looked at his classmates, their faces still frozen in astonishment. Then he looked up at Mr. Pepridge. The teacher’s heavy eyebrows rose emphatically, creating deep creases in his dry, scaly forehead.

  “Sorry,” David said. How could he explain it? They would all think he was crazy, Mr. Pepridge especially. He looked down quickly, hoping Mr. Pepridge would just move on an
d continue his redundant lecture. He didn’t.

  “If this is some kind of a joke, I don’t find it a bit funny. We have some serious work to do here, and if you can’t sit and do it like the others, you’ll have to go see the principal. Is that clear?”

  David nodded without looking up. He knew that Mr. Pepridge would stand there for a few moments to emphasize his statements until he felt he was in complete control of his classroom again. Then and only then would he move back to his desk. He would glare at him from time to time throughout the remainder of the class period. David sat as still as a statue, wishing that he could really disappear. He couldn’t help but catch the smiles on some of his friends’ faces, but did his best to ignore them.

  When the bell rang to end the period, he couldn’t wait to get out of the room, but Mr. Pepridge surprised him. He called out his name and ordered him to remain. The others looked at him cautiously, some still smiling gleefully, others looking sympathetic as they left the class. He waited until the room emptied and then went to Mr. Pepridge’s desk.

  The science teacher had his grade book opened. David anticipated the tact he would take. He could hear the words before they were said, and when they were finally said, they sounded more like echoes.

  “Your attendance record is good; your grades are good. I don’t understand your behavior today. Why did you do that and disrupt my class?”

  “I told you, Mr. Pepridge. I saw something horrible and forgot where I was for a moment.”

  Mr. Pepridge stared up at him, exploring his face and searching for signs that would give him a satisfactory explanation. He saw only sincerity and that confused him. The boy didn’t look like he was trying to get away with something. Almost thirty-seven years of teaching experience had given him the ability to distinguish the cutups from the serious-minded students. He had always considered David one of the serious ones.

  “What horrible thing did you see?”

  David hesitated a moment and then he thought, maybe it’s time to tell someone else, someone other than his grandmother. Who better than a science teacher? Perhaps he could explain what was happening.

  “A friend’s face, smashed. He was dead in his seat. Bleeding,” he added, punching out the word so dramatically it made Mr. Pepridge sit back.

  “What?”

  “It was just something that came to me, a picture. I didn’t mean to shout. Really. I couldn’t help it. It’s not the first time something like that happened. These pictures just come to me.”

  Mr. Pepridge’s soft face twisted with confusion. His right eyebrow lifted as he pulled the corner of his mouth into his cheek. David had to look away.

  “What kind of talk is this?”

  “I’m telling you the truth, Mr. Pepridge.”

  Mr. Pepridge stared at him for a long moment. The clamor of students passing in the hallways drifted in to them. The teacher shook his head.

  “Look, David, you’ve got a good record up to now, so I’m going to overlook this, but if something like this happens again, I’ll certainly ask your mother to come to school. Understand?”

  “Yes sir,” he said sadly.

  “I mean it, we’ll call in your mother.”

  “Yes sir,” he repeated. He knew instinctively that nothing like that would happen.

  “All right,” Mr. Pepridge said and David turned to leave. “Wait a minute,” the teacher called out. “You’re not drinking any alcoholic beverages, are you?”

  “No sir.”

  “Because if you are, you’re not going to be able to hide it from people, especially from teachers who see you every day. I’m sure you heard about those two senior boys who were caught in the locker room yesterday.”

  “That’s not it; it’s something else. I can’t explain it, but…”

  “Uh-huh.” Mr. Pepridge stared at him analytically for a moment. “All right, if you move quickly, you can get to your next class without being late and without needing a late pass. If I have to give you a late pass, I’ll have to report all this to the principal.”

  “Okay,” David said and shot out of his room. Mr. Pepridge had no vision, he thought. The teacher was locked in a room with no windows, only mirrors. He was sorry that he had attempted to confide in such a man.

  However, he was glad that Mr. Pepridge had kept him after class. Since there was so little time now to get to his next class, he had no time to stop in the hall to talk and to answer questions his friends would have. He made it to math just before the late bell rang.

  Tony Martin, who sat next to him, smiled widely.

  “What the hell happened?” he asked leaning over, but before David could say a word, Mr. Rosenfield announced a surprise quiz.

  David failed it. He couldn’t get his mind to function; he couldn’t remember the material or work out the problems. By the time the quiz was finished, he had barely scribbled out some guesses. Although the vision of Bobby Ryan’s battered face diminished, there was still enough of it vivid in his memory to keep him from paying attention to anything else.

  After class, when his friends finally gathered around him for an explanation, he told them he had just gotten fed up with Mr. Pepridge’s monotone voice and he had to let it out. There was no way he could tell them what really had happened. They were surprised at his explanation, but they understood and accepted it. Tony and Rube even admired him for what he had done. Tony nicknamed him Tarzan because of the guttural sound he had made. It caught on and for the remainder of the school day, his friends and other students kidded him about it. He didn’t mind it; it took his attention away from the horrible images.

  In fact, just toward the end of the final period of the day, during social studies class, he let out another sound deliberately when Mr. Kissen turned his back on the class to complete an outline on the blackboard. The class roared.

  Mr. Kissen turned around angrily, but he had no idea who had made the sound. David was the last boy he would expect to have done it. Most everyone wore the same idiotic, innocent smile on his face. Mr. Kissen warned them to control such outbursts and then, feeling the need to enforce his warning, added an additional homework question to their assignment. There were groans, and when the bell rang, some of the students were bitching at David in the hallway.

  When David left the school grounds, he felt like a hero. Some of the older boys had heard about his antics, too, and they congratulated him.

  Plans were made to meet down by Rosenblatt’s drugstore to play some against-the-wall, so he hurried home to change his clothes and grab a glass of milk and a piece of whatever cake his grandmother had made. He envisioned a cinnamon bun, and his mouth watered in anticipation. He wasn’t disappointed.

  After he changed his clothes, she sat and watched him gobble it down, telling him how bad it was for him to eat so quickly. She threatened to stop baking him things if he continued to do this. He nodded, pretending to take her advice.

  David debated whether or not to tell her about the things that had been happening to him the last few days and about what had happened in Mr. Pepridge’s class, but he feared the possibility of her thinking him sick and keeping him at home. Before he could decide, however, the radio became filled with static and she went to fix it.

  “See you later, Grandma,” he said and rushed out the front door before she could go through the list of various dangers to avoid in the village. He had them memorized anyway: Watch how you cross the street; stay away from the train tracks; don’t ride in anyone’s car without first asking his mother’s or her permission.

  He laughed to himself and broke out into a run as he headed down Hassan’s Hill. His upper body seemed out of control as he lunged forward. He snapped his legs out as fast as he could to catch himself from crashing down into the macadam. Rejuvenated by his milk and cake and the horrible images of Bobby Ryan’s face dwindling even further, he went forward with tremendous energy. His muscles felt full of life and strength. He felt as though he could actually fly if he wanted to.

  When
he turned the corner at Chonin’s garage and headed down the main street of Centerville, he saw a pigeon drop from the movie house roof and swoop down to feast on some remnants of the spilled garbage can in the alley between Selznow’s grocery and the garage. As he watched the pigeon glide, he sensed the feeling of flight. It was as though he could put himself into the bird and ride along with it. The vicarious experience was the most exhilarating thing that occurred all day. It made him feel light and happy.

  When he reached the pigeon, now strutting cautiously around the crumbs and tidbits, he stopped and looked directly into its face. It showed no fear, even though he was quite close to it. Usually, birds would burst into flight when someone came within striking distance.

  But suddenly he saw himself the way the pigeon would see him. He saw his friendly, calm look. He saw how harmless he appeared. What got him was the angle: He was looking up at himself as though he were as low as the bird.

  Finally, the sound of someone’s slamming the lid on a garbage can across the street shattered the moment and sent the pigeon lunging upward, climbing into the security of the wind. He watched it as it flew until it landed back on the movie house roof, but the vision he had seen when the bird was on the sidewalk was too enticing to forget. He stood there staring up at it, concentrating, willing himself to be on that roof.

  When he closed his eyes, he could see an aerial view of the village. His friends were already playing against-the-wall at Rosenblatt’s drugstore. They looked tiny and moved like puppets. The entire village was toylike, reminding him of the cutout town he got when he mailed away the coupons on the back of the cereal box.

  The vision urged him forward, but when he opened his eyes again, the pigeon was gone. He thought about it for a moment and then broke out into a run, taking long, graceful strides, moving over the sidewalk as though there were springs in his legs.