Eyes

by Gary Weston

breakfasts I set off and parked by the side of the road. At that moment, I could have been the only man on the planet. I made my way to the start of the path that led up to the cave. I say a path, but how long ago and why? Why did anyone come here? From the start of the path I could hear vehicles and activity in the nearby village of Little Cragsnor. Perhaps one to investigate later for a beer and a ploughman's lunch. If only...

  The path was somewhere between uninviting and treacherous. Instead of being a barrier, it convinced me even more it was an inspired choice of a place for the safe seclusion of my goods. I'd estimated it to be a mere thirty yards to the cave from my lofty position on the hill. Each one of those yards took five minutes to make them yield so a hard climb up the path took a good forty minutes.

  You may need to consider things like that as you come to the end of this entry. I'm weak now. I see the page, and I see my hand shaking as I try to write. My will to go on is running low. What I saw, no eyes should see. I'm finding it hard to concentrate. I took sleeping tablets, perhaps too many. But something, I don't know, something deep inside my head, tells me this is important. I must confess, thinking anything right now...all the time I see...it...them. Asleep, if I've been blessed with a few moments or awake when the image becomes so tangible I could reach out and touch...dear God, no.

  But follow me up that path, through the overgrown vegetation to finally reach, exhausted, dripping in sweat, hands and shirt ripped from the overgrowth, the mouth of that cave, the bag of jewels strapped to my waist. I didn't enter right away, but sat on the path, trying to catch my breath. It was with some effort and reluctance I got to my feet. Above me the osprey hovered, looking for prey, but with one eye on me. That wonderful creature had nothing to fear from me; that bird symbolised all that what was right with the world. I felt humble in its presence.

  I entered the cave, glad I'd had the foresight to bring a flash-light. Not a big cave in diameter, but it surprised me with its depth. I let the light reveal the caves secrets and conclusions came easily. Several condoms, beer bottles and even the odd undergarment were scattered about the sandy ground and had been there for a very long time. I must confess a wry smile as the true meaning of the cave became evident. The villagers of Little Cragsnor used this cave as a free, short term hotel room. If those sandstone walls could only speak. But for some unknown reason, at that moment anyway unknown, the cave hadn't been used for many years for such romantic interludes. Few couples intending a night of passion would ever hack their way up that path to the cave.

  Thoughts of passion were the furthest from my mind at that moment. I just needed to find a place to hide the bag of jewels. At the far end of the small cave I saw a crevice. It was a perfect size for the bag. I crammed it in there, picked up as many loose rocks as I could find and covered up the jewels. You would have to know what you were looking for to find it. That may or may not be important to you, dear reader. It was time to head back down that path. It is at that moment when I turned around and saw them.

  What I saw was so unexpected and terrifying I instantly froze in my tracks. My body took on a life of its own, with a heartbeat not of this world but in a world where breathing was so alien I had to will my lungs to work. My eyes saw them, but any logical understanding of what I could see was warped by the instinctive knowledge that what was before me was beyond human comprehension. They hung there, about one yard in front of my face, bloody tendrils hanging down, glistening obscenely in the light from the torch. They stared at me, in a coldly, hateful way, as if I were the intruder into their world. My body reacted in many different ways at once. I needed to throw up. I needed to urinate. More importantly, I needed to keep breathing. I edged sideways to them, moving slowly to the mouth of the cave, all the time watching them watching me.

  Perhaps you will dismiss this as the shaky ramblings of a deranged old man. But, to my dying day, and I suspect that will be sooner rather than later, this is the truth as I understand it. Before me in that dimly lit cave where osprey circle the air for prey just outside, were eyes. Once human, strangely blue, slightly sad, blood weeping eyes.

  Strike me down dead if I lie....but you are already reading my journal so then I have to take my demise as a given. They hung there, just above human height. A pair of human eyes. They were between me and the mouth of the cave, just staring at me and as I moved, the eyes moved. I moved a little more, but so did the eyes. I watched them; they surely watched me. Although terrified, two things forced their way into my mind. Go and grab the jewels and run as fast as I could out of this hell hole.

  I slowly moved to the bag of jewels, but the eyes floated in front of me, merely inches from my face. I tried to step around them to get to my jewels, but they remained in front of me. In the light from the torch I could clearly see them and I could see my own reflection mirrored in them. I lunged with the intention of reaching my bag but still they were there.

  This was impossible. Had I lost my mind? I closed my own eyes and willed the apparition to disappear. Even with my eyes shut, I could see them, staring at me. I opened my eyes and there they still were. They moved closer to my face and I had to flinch back so they didn't touch me, for surely I would lose my mind if I ever felt those evil eyes on my skin.

  I moved backwards and my heel caught a rock and I fell to the ground. The eyes hovered above me, the bloody tendrils almost touching my face. Digging my heels into the dirt floor, I pushed myself along on my back. As I moved, the eyes moved. I rolled over and I DID feel the tendrils touch the back of my neck.

  Scrambling to my feet I raced to the exit of the cave leaving behind the torch and my bag of jewels. I ran like a madman down that path, crashing through the overgrowth, my clothes, my flesh, ripped by the thorns and the branches. At the end of the path, blooded, exhausted, my mouth as dry as sandpaper, my mind mostly gone completely, I turned, terrified that those ghastly eyes had followed me, determined to haunt me until my dying day. I almost collapsed to my knees with relief that they were gone.

  Confused, unsure of my bearings, I took a wrong direction and instead of finding my car, I came to the village of Little Cragsnor. Across the street was a public house, the Cragsnor Arms. I entered the pub, finding only the landlord preparing for the lunchtime trade. He looked at me suspiciously and who could blame him for that? With my clothes dirty and torn, my dishevelled hair and my arms and face scratched, I must have looked a sight.

  I took out my wallet and his opinion of me went up several notches. I was still unable to speak, so I tapped one of the beer pulls and he pulled me a pint. I was so dry I downed it in one go. The beer revived me sufficiently to ask for another. As he pulled the pint, he enquired if I was all right. I managed to nod to indicate I was all right, but in truth I had never felt so not all right in my life. I could not tell him what had happened, or what I had seen, for fear of him thinking I was crazy, perhaps even escaped from an institute for the criminally insane. I did however say one word, hoping that would be sufficient an explanation. I said cave.

  For a moment, he looked puzzled. Then an expression of understanding crossed his face. He told me this tale. The cave was locally named the Lovers Cave. For as long as there had been a village it had been used by courting couples, but mostly people cheating on their husbands and wives, using the cave to conduct their affairs. But seventy years ago, there was a terrible murder. Driven mad by jealousy, a man had taken his lover to the cave, killed her with a knife and cut out her eyes. With the deed done, he walked into the police station and confessed his crime, for which he was hanged. The curious thing was, the woman's eyes were never found. During his confession, the man had told the police he had seen his lover looking at another man. So incensed had he become, he swore she would never look at another man ever again. It came as no surprise to me when the landlord said no one ever went near the cave again.

  I purchased a bottle of whiskey from the landlord then I left the pub and found my car and returned to the rented cottage. I lay on the bed and closed my eyes an
d immediately they were there in my head. Those ghastly eyes just staring at me. I had drunk half the bottle by the time I fell asleep but I dreamt of the eyes. I got out of bed and made myself a boiled egg and toast, but as I cut the top off the egg, all I could see was an eye staring up at me. Instantly I vomited. I staggered to the bathroom to clean myself up and was horrified at the way I looked in the mirror.

  My face was dirty and scratched and small pieces of foliage were embedded in my hair. I thought for a moment that I could see the eyes hovering behind me. I turned quickly and saw nothing. It was just my imagination. I showered, hoping to wash the nightmare away. Believe me when I say there is no soap strong enough to do that. They are constantly with me now, awake or asleep. I have no escape from them. I can no longer eat. My only chance to sleep is with the assistance of sleeping tablets, but I find myself taking more of these each night, and pray they will give me some respite from my living nightmare. They do not. I haven't left the cottage since that day, and now I feel too weak and if the truth be known, I am past caring. I no longer even care about the bag I left