by David Kempf
“If I must do it then I will make it quick. Have mercy on me, my masters,” said the voice, growing louder. “Have mercy on me. I’m doing it now.”
“You must. We command it,” said the monsters.
Now he was really starting to understand what might be going on here. The masters asked the man to do something foul to prove his loyalty or because they were displeased with him.
“Oh, God,” said the man. “How terrible!” he screamed in the night.
Christopher came to some terrifying conclusions. First, these things meant business when someone messed up. Second, and more terrible, was that the man’s voice was familiar. It was Dr. Wells crying out to those things. Christopher’s final and most frightening thought was that he had already surrendered his will to them. He was practically a slave already!
“Do not look at me, Chris!” screamed Wells like a lunatic.
“Don’t worry. I don’t wish to look at you, Henry!” Christopher answered him.
“Good. Now go!”
Christopher could see part of Dr. Wells. He looked like a shadow, as the night’s fog and darkness were covering him up. He could tell that he was wearing black. Dr. Wells was hunched over like a hunchback. There was an open grave. Christopher did not wish to look but something inside of him forced him to look anyway. He saw a dug up grave with an open coffin at the bottom of it. The remains of what used to be a man were half hanging out of the damn coffin. That was enough for him. Christopher turned tail and ran like hell away from what he saw. The hell with being seduced and becoming a great writer of dark fiction, he thought. This was real life so it shouldn’t resemble an unending nightmare.
“I’m sorry, Chris. Please forgive me,” said Dr. Wells.
“Nothing to be sorry about, Henry,” Chris answered him back as he continued to run.
“I’m afraid there is. Yes, there is!”
Christopher was no athlete. Still, he was running so fast and furious that he thought his adrenaline was going to make him explode. Now his fear was in control instead of those damn things. His natural evolutionary human impulse to fight for survival was working. He still wanted to be a great writer but not at the expense of his life or his soul. Natural impulse for surviving, he thought. I’m human, he thought. Darwin was beating the living hell out of Dante now.
“I’m sorry, Chris. You must see this. They command it.”
Christopher stopped abruptly. He couldn’t move. Something was paralyzing him. Something unnatural and not of this world, he thought. The masters were doing this to him. He began to scream but it was to no avail. Then, oddly, he found himself walking backwards against his will.
“I wish you did not have to see this,” said Dr. Wells.
“I know,” Christopher answered.
“The masters don’t grant your every wish when you’re their servant.”
“I was wondering,” Christopher said, smiling. The whole thing was so surreal. Too bizarre for words, it was. “Wondering how in your book you described them so well. The masters were believable, but I thought they just existed in your head.”
“No. They’re real,” Dr. Wells assured.
“I know that now,” Christopher said.
“They’re going to be your masters soon as well, Christopher.”
“I know,” Christopher said.
“They want you to look at me, Christopher.”
“I don’t want to do that,” he answered.
“You must!” Dr. Wells insisted.
Christopher turned around and gazed at the most horrific thing his eyes had ever seen. A bald, pale white creature was standing over a dead body, eating its rotted flesh. The monster had big, glowing red eyes and long fingernails covered in dirt and gore. Pieces of the corpse fell from the monster’s toothless, foul mouth.
“Dear God in Heaven!” Christopher screamed.
“Now you know,” the creature said.
“It’s you!” Christopher screamed.
The slow, terrible realization that this creature was Dr. Wells was too overwhelming. Christopher fainted.
Chapter 6
Christopher was afraid of many terrible creatures. They would hide under his bed and he, like most kids, would have to put the covers over his face. Even though the monsters could still hear him breathing, they were powerless for the most part. They typically went away in a matter of a few minutes. George and Madeline were good parents to Christopher. They kept the creatures away and comforted him when he had night terrors. Now it was happening again. They heard their adult son, now in college, screaming in the middle of the night.
“Oh God, he’s a demon!” screamed Christopher.
“What’s wrong, son?” asked his dad.
“A nightmare I guess. A really, really bad nightmare,” he answered.
“Just relax. Maybe watch some television or have something warm to drink,” said his mom.
“What am I, ten years old?” he asked.
“She’s just trying to help, Christopher,” said his father.
“I know, Dad.”
Now came the part that made no sense at all. How could it? He had been a witness to dark spectacles with a girl who was no longer human. Then the images of the future had arrived. The crème de la crème was seeing Wells as some kind of low level vampire feasting on flesh and blood. Could this have all been a dream? He wasn’t sure anymore.
“I told you to watch some television,” said his dad.
“I know,” he answered.
“So, go do it. I know you’re not ready to sleep yet.”
“Okay.”
“Good.”
He and his dad watched some TV together just like they used to in the good old days when he was a kid. His dad handed him the remote, no small gesture on George’s part, and smiled. Christopher flicked around a bit. The channel came on some late night, horror movie channel. There was a zombie feasting on a girl’s arm. Christopher’s father saw the look of discomfort on his face and shook his head ‘no.’
“I don’t want to watch that,” said his dad.
“How about some comedy TV shows then?” Christopher asked.
“Good. Don’t wake up your mom.”
“I won’t.”
He flicked around until he saw some old movie with a guy who kept falling down. He was a waiter in a restaurant. The customers seemed really agitated and his boss kept threatening to fire him if he didn’t get his act together.
“Now this is good,” his dad said.
“I should think,” said Christopher.
“You should be watching this,” said his dad. “I think all that horror stuff you write gives you nightmares on occasion.”
“This is the first nightmare I’ve had in a long, long time, Dad.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve never had such dreams, Dad. Not like this. They’re so real and so terrible. I thought this stuff really happened to me. I really did.”
“Was the entire dream bad?” he asked curiously.
“No.”
“I’m glad some was good.”
“There was this girl…” Christopher started.
“Good,” his dad nodded.
“Let me finish,” said Christopher.
“Sure.”
“She was beautiful but she wasn’t the same as she was in my class. She was possessed or not of this world and my professor….”
“Who, the Wells guy you’re always talking about?”
“Yes. He was like this graveyard fiend or something.”
“I think I know what’s going on here, kiddo,” said his dad.
“You do?”
“Sure thing, I do.”
“Please enlighten me,” Christopher said.
“You’re so obsessed with these two people that they’ve found their way into your subconscious. Are you disappointed in them or something? Maybe you thought they were something that they really weren’t.”
“That’s an understatement,” stated Christopher.
&n
bsp; “Bear with me here,” his dad replied.
“Okay.”
“Good. So maybe they’re a couple of phonies and you’re disappointed,” his dad suggested.
“No. They’re the genuine thing, all right. They’re both exactly what they’ve always been,” said Christopher.
This was becoming a great moment between father and son. These moments had been few during his lifetime with his father. No sports or big band music ever came from Christopher Wisdom. All things dark and morbid made him happy. Dark fiction and Goth music delighted him. This was not very easy for his mom and dad to understand, especially his father. Why watch people getting hacked to death when you could watch a movie that would make you laugh? It didn’t make any damn sense. Were there not enough horrors in everyday life to suffice? George Wisdom thought so. So did his beautiful wife, Madeline. They still loved their weird little son who liked to write things that made people afraid and superstitious. But, now they were watching a funny movie.
“This is pretty funny,” said his dad.
“Yes. It really is,” Christopher agreed.
“Glad to see you laugh. Sometimes I thought that you forgot how.”
“No, I didn’t forget. It’s just that I didn’t think there was a hell of a lot to laugh about in the world,” said Christopher.
“I think I understand,” nodded his dad.
“You know I’ve written some funny short stories. Believe it or not, I did.”
“Are they really funny or is the humor sarcastic and pessimistic?” his dad asked.
“Okay. You got me, Dad,” grinned Christopher.
George soon fell asleep. He wasn’t really good at staying up late, as he usually went to bed very early. Still, he sometimes woke up in the middle of the night. Tonight was one of those nights, but it was the screams of his son that woke him.
“Go to bed, Dad.”
“Okay. Good,” said his dad.
Christopher watched his father crawl back into bed with his mom, and fall asleep quickly once again. Christopher laughed, which felt good. Then he started watching the rest of that silly movie. It was just what he needed. Positive feelings and belly laughs were good things to bring with you into your dreams. That’s just what he wished to do. The nightmares needed to be cast out. Maybe he should write comedy. Real comedy that makes people happy, he thought. Perhaps all the horror and suspense had seen its last sunrise or sundown, as the case may be. Christopher thought that he would drop out of Wells’ class. He didn’t need this kind of aggravation. Maybe he would even join a church; he could use the seeds of faith in his life. One thing was for sure. He didn’t want such realistic nightmares ever again. No. Think happy thoughts and dream happy dreams. Christopher fell into a deep sleep.
A terrible scream came from outside.
“What is it now?” said Christopher, very tired.
A fog had rolled in. He opened up his shades and heard a terrible scratching sound. Then he heard that scream, that inhuman scream, again. It sounded like scores of people crying out in pain. Like a torture chamber, he thought to himself, as déjà vu set in. It’s Wells. It wasn’t a nightmare, it was real. I just chose to believe it wasn’t real. A defense mechanism, he thought. I fooled myself, he thought. The figure at the window cried out once again to him. That hideous scream let out and then it spoke with a normal, human voice.
“Let me inside, Christopher.”
He watched those long black nails scratch at the window, those nails that were covered in human flesh.
“No! You may not enter here. You are not invited!” Christopher exclaimed.
“So be it.” Christopher watched with disbelief as the Wells thing began to disappear. Its pale, dead, white skin faded away. The glowing red eyes became dark. The scratching sounds came to an abrupt stop.
“Thank God,” he whispered to himself.
He ran outside his room, without any thinking or hesitation. Christopher needed to warn his parents. Then he felt the hand over his mouth, the human hand of Dr. Wells.
“Stay still, be quiet, and do what I say,” said Wells.
“Okay,” Christopher whispered back to him.
“I have no wish to harm your parents. I’ve put them into a trance. They won’t remember anything that has happened. Will you comply?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.”
He removed his hand from Christopher’s mouth. Then he turned around slowly and revealed that he appeared to be perfectly normal. He was, in fact, Henry David Wells.
“How did you enter my home? I didn’t invite you.”
“My kind does not need to be invited. Now get all of your stories and get in my car. We have much to discuss,” said Dr. Wells.
“Don’t harm my mom and dad,” Christopher implored.
“I won’t.”
“Okay, Henry.”
It wasn’t long before they arrived at Christopher’s original destination, the home of Dr. Wells. It was not exactly how he imagined it. It was much darker, creepier and more mysterious than he had envisioned in his mind’s eye. The antiques, the trophy heads of slain animals on the wall, and the huge fireplace all merged to create a sense of subconscious menace.
“What do you want from me, Henry?”
“It’s not so much what I want, Chris.”
“Oh,” he answered nervously.
“It’s what they want,” explained Dr. Wells.
“The masters, you mean?”
“Yes, who else would I mean?”
Who else indeed, Christopher thought. The masters had anointed a socially awkward oddball from a hick town. Apparently, these creatures had a fondness for country bumpkins who were possessed of great dreams.
“It won’t take long, Chris.” He smiled at him. Henry had gone all though this before when he was a mere protégé. “We can start by introducing ourselves. My real name is David Proctor.”
“What?” Christopher asked.
“I have been working for the masters for a long time now. I fought in the revolutionary war when I was turned.”
“I see,” said Christopher.
“Your head must be spinning with questions,” said David Proctor.
“Well, we haven’t yet been formally introduced. My name is Christopher Wisdom.”
“Yes,” he said laughing.
“Glad you’re amused.”
“Ask some questions.”
“Fine, I will. Where the hell is Sarah Nolan?”
“She’s where she’s always wanted to be.”
“All of that wasn’t a dream,” Christopher stated.
“No,” David Proctor agreed.
The reality of the situation or rather, lack of realism, was beginning to sink in again. He was playing with creatures that could open up doors that, by human standards, were definitely best left closed. Sarah was one of these creatures now or something very much like them. That was for certain.
“She’s no longer human, David?” Christopher asked.
“No. She’s so much more!”
“Is she possessed by demons?” asked Christopher.
“No,” he laughed. “I’ve never met, seen or even heard of a demon. Stop limiting the power of the masters based on your good attendance at Sunday school.”
“I don’t know,” said Christopher reluctantly. “I’d say devouring human flesh looks pretty damn demonic to me.”
The professor’s face changed. He started to slowly grow into a violent rage. David Proctor was throwing things all over his spacious trophy room. He looked up at the fireplace and noticed something. He had almost forgotten about the two swords above the head of one of the lions. David grabbed one and pointed the blade, very hard against Christopher’s throat.
“Don’t mock me again, boy. Sometimes the masters make you do unbearable, unspeakable things. It’s not something I wish to discuss more than once. I will tell you exactly why that happened to me later. When you are ready to know all you need to know.”
“What
if I refuse?” Christopher asked.
“Don’t make me harm your family. I can do things to them that the worst mortal killer could only dream of. You know that’s true.”
“Okay!” Christopher answered. “Please don’t hurt me,” he said. Christopher was relieved when he saw David throw the sword on the floor.
“Sarah is never going to be seen by human eyes again. Soon people will forget she ever existed.”
“How is that possible?”
“Her wishes are coming true. The masters make all possible,” explained the professor.
“Sarah’s parents and sister will forget all about her?”
“Yes.”
“What about all the pictures and public records of her existence.”
“Forgotten and erased.”
“She’s now a living story. The kind of erotic stories that come from her imagination have come to life,” Christopher suggested.
“Not exactly, Chris. She’s entered into worlds where everything she imagined and more are terribly true. Terribly true, the stories are.”
“Then she’s in hell.”
“No.”
“She’s in heaven then?” tried Christopher.
“No.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to understand.”
“Okay.”
David Proctor could see by Christopher’s face that he was almost in a state of shock. It wasn’t the same type of shock and terror that Christopher felt when he saw the professor’s true form. It was the gradual realization that there was so much more to life and so many more worlds than the skeptical lad had ever dared to dream.
“You’re a shape shifter?” asked Christopher.
“No. You’ve seen my true appearance in the graveyard. I hypnotize people into seeing what I want them to see.”
“This is not you?”
“Sorry. This hasn’t been me in over a hundred years.”
“Show me,” Christopher prompted.
David turned into Christopher’s dad, George.
“Hello there, son.”
“My God,” Christopher said breathlessly.
Then David became Christopher’s mother. This alarmed Christopher even more because the professor could take the appearance of a different gender. There were too many perverse possibilities in that power. It made him very uncomfortable.
