by David Kempf
“Sorry,” said Christopher.
“That’s okay. Do you mind if I call you Chris?”
“Call me what you like, but I prefer Christopher.”
“I see.”
“Now I guess I’m the one being a bit pretentious.” Christopher smiled.
“No. That’s not the way I see it.”
“Good.”
“Okay, Christopher. I really liked your short stories. They were quite enjoyable.”
“Were they professional?”
“That’s not terminology with which I’m comfortable.”
“Okay…..”
“They were good.”
“Do you think they could be published?”
“Yes. They need some work but they are in the ballpark.”
“Okay.”
“Some work. I didn’t say too much,” the professor said.
“Am I a talented amateur or semi-professional?”
“Both. We all are.”
“What?” Christopher was confused.
“Everyone needs some work. Everyone does. Your stories have a lot going for them. They have so much going for them that I can’t wait to read some more!”
“Really?” Christopher’s face was one of ecstatic joy. Truth be told, he looked like he was experiencing more ecstasy than Sarah had. Still, the professor imagined the more intense rapture for Sarah had been stealing his crystal, not sleeping with him.
“Don’t worry, Christopher. You’re doing good work.”
“What was your favorite part?”
“Well, for one, the twist endings were great. You know how much I liked twist endings from my own writing.”
“I do,” Christopher agreed.
“The endings were quite clever.”
“Dr. Wells, I’m so thrilled.”
“Don’t be,” the professor said.
“I am. You know I have a whole lot I could show you,” Christopher added eagerly.
“Yes. I thought that you might,” answered the professor. “There is a longer short story assignment towards the end of this fall semester. I think you’ll do very well.”
“Thank you.” Christopher smiled.
The mood in the room seemed to be warm and lighthearted, but Christopher could tell what was coming next. To the professor, this wasn’t just a private appointment or love-fest regarding the short horror stories. Christopher knew Dr. Wells would change the tone to much more serious matters. Sarah Nolan. He would want to know where she was. He would want to know all about the night they went out for coffee. And, sure enough, the questions began.
“Christopher, I was wondering…do you know why Sarah didn’t attend class today?”
“I think she said she wasn’t feeling well.”
“When did she tell you that?” The professor fixed his gaze on Christopher.
“Well, the night we went out for coffee, she said that she might be coming down with something.”
“I see.”
“Perhaps whatever she had didn’t go away in time for today’s class,” Christopher said. “She probably should have called you.”
“Yes. She seemed like a responsible student.”
“Yes.” Christopher agreed.
“Well now, enough about Sarah.” The professor smiled and the mood in the room lightened slightly.
“That’s okay, Dr. Wells. We can talk about whatever you want to talk about.”
“In time, we will. Believe me, we will.”
“Can we talk a little more about my work?” Christopher asked.
“Yes. Please continue.”
“I wanted to know if you thought the stories contained the right amount of violence or terror. Were they too old fashioned? Could they have been updated?”
“Well, those are some fairly loaded questions,” the professor answered.
“Okay.”
“You’re just getting started. What type of story you write is completely subjective. It’s up to you what level of violence or terror goes into it. The whole thing is your child. Raise it the way you like. I personally find your stories to be sort of old fashioned, which I like. I have old fashioned ideas because I’m so old!”
“Come on. You’re not that old, Dr. Wells.”
“I’m older than I look,” the professor said with a wink. “Anyway, you can update other stories or keep them old style. It’s really up to you. You can update stories and make them modern or current. It’s okay to write about the past as well. Hell, the extreme future or past makes for great dark fiction.”
“It does. I know exactly what you mean.” Christopher nodded thoughtfully.
“I hope so. You were a film major here when you were a freshman,” stated the professor.
“Yes. That was a long time ago.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Novels are less expensive to produce than movies.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” the professor asked.
“Yes, but I don’t think we should go into it.”
“What is it?”
“If you must know, I’ll tell you.” Christopher said.
“Come on. I need to know we can have trust,” the professor encouraged.
“The film professor here is …..” Christopher sighed.
“I know. He’s inept.”
“Inept?” Christopher asked.
“You know, incompetent.”
Christopher had no wish to offend Dr. Wells about a colleague, but his feelings about the film teacher were quite strong. This illustrious school took the noble profession of filmmaking and handed it over to be taught by an alcoholic fool. Professor Dennis Lynch – an imbecile – was the only man teaching at this university without a doctorate. If Christopher’s dreams of learning film weren’t crushed by this idiot, then it would almost be funny. It wasn’t. The whole thing was tragic for him. Christopher had dreamed of being both a best-selling author and a gifted director. His family could not afford to send him to another coast for film school. The sad truth was that he had already found himself in huge debt at Donnis.
“He’s much worse than that,” Christopher said.
“Oh, he is,” the professor agreed.
“Yes. You know what he is!”
“What is he?” asked the professor.
“He’s a fucking drunken idiot!” Christopher blurted out.
“I know he is!” The professor started to laugh out loud. His delightful noise was infectious and Christopher started to laugh himself. He couldn’t believe he was laughing at all. He didn’t know what he was laughing about. Was it relief from the pain that Lynch had caused him? Could it have been the fact that Wells was straightforward enough to admit the school had an idiot for an instructor? He didn’t know but he was having a good time. The young man had put so much energy into entering film contests over the years that it had worn him out. He even had thoughts of selling his soul to win a national film contest. That was silly, although it could make a good story.
“I’m so glad you agree,” laughed Christopher.
“Let’s keep that to ourselves.”
“No problem, Dr. Wells.”
“Tell me more about yourself, Christopher.”
This was the part of the meeting that he was dreading somewhat. Here was this famous, world-traveling author and intellectual talking to him. What could he possibly have in common with him? Sure, he could talk writing, but he was nothing more than a small town boy. He had big dreams in his little town but little practical, hands-on, life experience.
“Well, I’m from Shakertown,” Christopher began.
“Do you still practice the faith?”
“No. I just….”
“Christopher, I’m joking,” the professor said, smiling.
“Okay.”
“What attracted you to novels and movies?”
“It helped me fantasize about not being in Shakertown.”
“I see,” said the professor.
“I’ve always wa
nted to know what life was all about and the meaning of it all. I also enjoy pretending to be in places I will never see and to speak with people I will never meet.”
“What do you like about the horror genre?” the professor asked.
“It’s not all I like,” Christopher replied.
“What else do you enjoy?”
“Horror’s cousin.”
“Yes. Mystery,” nodded the professor.
“I also like science fiction, history and comedy,” Christopher added.
“I see.”
“There is a lot of good stuff out there to read.”
“Yes.”
“I just prefer horror.”
“Why?”
“I guess because, to me, it’s the most honest form of fiction out there,” Christopher said.
“I see.”
“Really, it is,” said Christopher. “Life is full of terror and unspeakable horror. Why would you want to shut it out and pretend it doesn’t exist?”
“There is so much real fear and terror in the world that people would like a form of escape to forget about it. That escape is called fiction,” said the professor.
“I agree.”
“You and I write dark fiction.”
“I believe it’s the best way to deal with real life horrors, Dr. .Wells. It’s also got the most potential for creativity.”
“That’s what people say about fantasy books but I would tend to disagree with them. Writing good fiction of any kind is very difficult. When you throw in the supernatural, it’s even tougher. I think folks like us have our work cut out for us.”
“Indeed, we do,” Christopher agreed with a smile.
“You know what else, Chris?”
“What?” Christopher asked.
“I’m sorry. You prefer Christopher.”
“Whatever you want to call me is fine.”
“Anyway, we have to make the unbelievable believable. That’s truly a challenge. Most difficult job there is. I think the suspension of disbelief we create is the most courageous writing that there is. Bar none!”
“I agree completely.” Christopher was beginning to really relax and enjoy the wonderfully intellectually stimulating company of Dr. Wells. He couldn’t believe that he felt so deeply inferior and unworthy only a few moments ago. Now he felt confident; almost as if he was already a protégé to the professor. This little meeting was probably the greatest moment of his life. He could never let anyone know that. Dr. Wells would think him nothing more than a country bumpkin. It was better to play it cool for now, even if that meant being a little pretentious.
“I would like to think I achieved in making true believers in supernatural evil with my one and only novel.”
“You did!” Christopher said enthusiastically.
“Good.”
“Why did you only write one book?”
“I thought we were talking about you, Christopher.”
“Sorry.”
“That’s okay. You didn’t hit a nerve so please relax. I said everything I had to say in that one book. Anything else that I had to say about horror and the supernatural didn’t fit the novel form.”
“You were okay with just writing short stories after that?”
“Sure,” said the professor.
“I would eventually like to write novels exclusively.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“What do you mean?” asked Christopher.
“The story controls you. You have no control over the story. It’s almost as if it has a life of its own.”
“Oh.”
“You’ll understand as you get older.”
“I hope so,” said Christopher.
“You will. The creatures in my story controlled me almost as if they were my masters.”
“Those were some nasty characters. I would hate to see you be subservient to them in real life.”
“I don’t think it’s all as bad as you might think. There are benefits to serving wicked supernatural beings that are bent on the destruction of man.”
“Why? Do they have a good dental plan?”
The professor began to laugh very long and hard. So much so that he let out a little belch. This made both student and mentor laugh all the more.
“That’s wonderful, Chris. I’m telling you all the great artists have a refined sense of humor. Forgive my hiccup. Don’t let anyone tell you that they don’t because they do. Dane put all his enemies in hellfire for the fun of it. Pope put his enemies into the land of the stupid. A witty and wicked sense of humor is the sign of a winner.”
“No argument there.”
“Even I try to put some good humor in my work. I realize that’s not what I’m known for.”
“You’re known for being a stuffy professor.”
“Okay. That was funny but you’re taking a big risk there.”
“I’ve read you work. You love taking extravagant risks.”
“I do,” agreed the professor.
“Why?”
“How the hell else will you know if you’re good or not?”
“I don’t follow,” said Christopher, raising an eyebrow.
“Sure you do. Listen. Now everyone can write about vampires or werewolves or robots from the future.”
“It seems like they do,” Christopher agreed.
“They do.”
“So they can sell tons of books and make lots of money.”
“Yes.” The professor nodded.
“What the hell is wrong with that?”
“Nothing is wrong with that, per se.”
“I don’t get it. What’s your point, Dr. Wells?”
“If they want to make millions and have their works become a movie or television mini-series, that’s fine. The thing is that deep down inside, every writer has an artist who’s screaming to come out.”
“Screaming?” Christopher asked.
“Yes.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s simple enough. You write what you know and what you most want to write about. In your case, it’s what truly disturbs you. Maybe you won’t get a movie deal or make much money but you’ve been true to yourself.”
“I see,” Christopher nodded.
“Yes.”
“Writing a great book is its own reward.”
“Being true to yourself and what frightens you is the true reward for artists like us,” said the professor.
“Okay but don’t you want to make any money?”
“Chris, I don’t want to be a starving artist but I don’t want to feast on mediocrity and second rate ideas.”
“Some people like vampires and zombies.”
“That’s fine, but most of us know they aren’t real.”
“Nothing supernatural is real.”
“Young man, I never said that.” The professor raised an eyebrow.
“Do you mean to say you believe in the creatures in your novel?”
“Indeed, I do.”
“That’s insane,” laughed Christopher.
“A thin line between genius and insanity is all around us.”
“Can you prove that these things exist?” Christopher asked.
“Yes.”
“How soon can you do that for me?”
“I can do it very soon.”
“Could you do it tonight?”
“Sure,” the professor said.
“Good.”
“I just need one thing from you.”
“You can have whatever you want.”
“I want Sarah Nolan.”
“From what I’ve heard, you’ve already had her.” Christopher smiled.
“You’re very amusing. Please bring her with you.”
“I don’t know where she is.”
“I think you do,” the professor said, looking intently at Christopher.
“Do you wish harm on her?” asked Christopher.
“No. I want to make her every wish come true.”
Christopher
wasn’t sure if he could trust this strange old man now. He did not wish to reveal what Sarah had told him in confidence the night they went out for coffee. On the other hand, it was too funny to hear this crazy old bastard telling him the things in his novel were real. What a good time they would have. The honor of paying a visit to this world famous author was reason enough to go. Add to that the fact that the professor was going to show him a magic trick that he possibly never showed anyone else before. It was irresistible. Christopher had heard many great stories about what a fine magician Henry David Wells was in his youth. He was so good; in fact, that he came close to dropping out of college. That may not have meant no book; but it surely would have meant no teaching career.
“Great. I’ll bring her as my date; or do you want to see her again?” Christopher asked.
“I’m about to make you a great offer here. Please don’t jest about what I need from you,” the professor replied.
“Okay.”
“I think our meeting is about to end, Chris.”
“Didn’t you want me to tell you something about my life?”
“You mean where you live and grew up. Perhaps what your parents are like. Do you mean that kind of stuff?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think it is necessary; no offense.”
“You make a good point. I know where you’re going now.”
“Yes. Please let your work, your fictional world, tell me who Christopher Wisdom is. The one you want to describe is the Chris who came about by random chance. The created Chris is the one I would like to meet. I can never meet him in the real world. Only through dark fiction can I be introduced to him.”
“That’s true. The real Chris is quite dull.”
“I’m not speaking with him now. The real Chris has yet to show himself. I can’t wait to introduce him to my masters.”
“Dr. Wells, this is great. You sound so damn convincing. I’ll bet you were one of the best magicians around in your day.”
“I still am.”
“That’s easy for me to believe. Can I have directions to your home?”
“Magic is like writing. Suspension of disbelief is required with both.”
“That’s quite true,” Christopher agreed.
“I have to teach my next class soon. Here are your directions.”
“Good enough.”
“See you tonight at ten, Chris. Don’t forget to bring a friend.”
