by David Kempf
“It’s nothing personal. I don’t kill people for insulting me or the family who I hate so much!”
“Why kill them at all?” I asked him.
“My homicidal philosophy is very complex.”
“There’s nothing complex about being a sociopath.”
“I beg to differ,” he smirked.
“Fine,” I said.
“I’m not going to kill you.”
“Why?”
“Once again, I’m not going to do it,” he said.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“You’re afraid to do it,” I suggested.
“Don’t make me laugh.”
“You are. There would be no one left for you to torment here if I were to die.”
“You know the real reason,” he sneered.
“I do?”
“Yes?”
“Which is?”
“I would never kill anyone who wants to die.”
“The same way you would never let someone survive who wanted to live,” I said.
“Precisely,” he said.
“You live to be hated.”
“Not exactly,” he replied.
“No?”
“No sale. That’s not me.”
“Who could ever love a disgusting thing like you?” I asked.
“You might be surprised.”
This was strange. It was as if this psychopath actually cared what my opinion of him was. While it was true that no one else could share an opinion with him, the whole thing seemed odd. It was too strange for words, even for this place.
“I have been loved and here is the surprise, Ron. I have also loved,” he said.
“We’re not talking about you loving yourself,” I said.
“No. We’re not.”
“Good. I know narcissistic killers like you have always made good totalitarian dictators,” I said.
“Okay.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“What?” he asked.
“There’s nothing amusing about his park.”
“Says who?”
“Mr. Graves,” I replied.
“What the hell does he know? Does he live here? I’m not even sure that’s his real name.”
Odd enough as it was, I laughed. This filthy beast of a human being made me laugh out loud. That was funny, I thought. It was a genuinely witty comment from a truly unexpected source.
“So you can still laugh?” he asked, watching me.
“I guess so,” I replied.
“Good.”
“Why would you want me to laugh?” I asked.
“You’re spending your final days in an amusement park full of death traps. As if that’s not strange enough, you need to spend them with the person who you hate the most.”
“I only despise you because you won’t tell me the truth,” I said.
“Okay. You mean about your family?”
“Of course I mean my family. What else would I mean?”
“Don’t know,” he shrugged.
“Think about it. You know.”
“I guess I do,” he said.
“I know you do. What’s next?”
“What else? Another ride waits!”
“How thrilling for us,” I responded.
“Yes, Ron. They sure are. We get along splendidly, don’t we?” he asked me.
“We sure do. You’re like the murdering psychopath brother I never had.”
It was the fiend’s turn to laugh. The strange thing was that his insidious laughter was contagious and now I was breaking out into hysterical chuckles as well. The whole sordid thing was almost unbearable. During the next several hours, we decided to go on every single ride. We did. Survived it all, we did. Every single dangerous and potentially fatal attraction didn’t harm a hair on our heads! Psycho and I even went on the dreaded log ride five times in a row! I had thought since past experiences had shown me death every other ride, that would be the end of us. It wasn’t.
“Why does this park never seem to work for me?” I asked. He laughed again. This park was worse than a nightmare; this park was a monster. If my tale of death and despair were a novel, the villain wouldn’t be Malcolm. The true monster was the park itself.
“Not sure if they ever invented anything here yet that’s going to get us!” he said.
“I don’t think they ever will, my friend.”
“My friend?” asked Malcolm.
“Sorry, slip of the tongue. I’m a desperately lonely man who wants to die.”
“I see,” he said.
That was perhaps the lowest point of all my time spent at this place. I should never have called the man who may have murdered my family, friend. The sad thing was that I never really knew if he murdered my family or not. I prayed every night that my darkest suspicions would never be fully brought out into the light. That would be pure unbearable pain and suffering. I’m no stranger to pain and I feel like I’ve already had enough of my share. I think I’ve had more than enough.
“Sure you don’t really feel genuinely chummy?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m just stuck with you, Malcolm.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“You’re stuck with me as well. Don’t you ever worry?” I asked him.
“About what?” he asked.
“I mean worrying about me getting serious about killing you when I stop fucking around.”
“No,” he shook his head.
“Why is that?”
“I could never take you seriously. Your attempts are so bad that they lead me to believe one of two possible conclusions,” he said.
“Which are?” I asked.
“I’m not sure you want to know,” he replied.
“Sure I do. Friends tell each other things.”
“Very well,” he agreed.
“I’m all ears, Malcolm,” I said.
“Either you’re not capable of killing someone or you don’t really want me to die.”
“Preposterous,” I shook my head.
“Then explain the desperate and lonely man comment.”
“Easy. I’m a desperate and lonely man who would like both of us to become corpses by sunrise tomorrow.”
“Careful what you wish for.”
I was sick and tired of being careful. This was the time to be reckless. I guess you could say I was embracing life and rejecting it at the same time. The park itself produced a bottomless pit of resentment in me that would never go away. I thought back to all the random violence and terrible deaths that had come to pass here. It wasn’t so much the park, perhaps. I hated the randomness and chaos of the park because it was too much like….life itself. That was the real problem here. Life is random and makes no sense at all. Why should a theme park designed to kill people have any meaning?
“In deep thought again?” asked Malcolm.
“Yes.”
“I thought as much. There is another way to die, you know,” he said.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“You could try the drugs I stored. There have been so many drugs that have washed up on the beach that you wouldn’t believe it.”
“You’re right,” I said.
“What?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t believe it,” I answered.
“Oh,” he muttered.
He seemed to forget that I knew all about the contraband from other prisoners condemned to die here. It’s funny; don’t bring dangerous illegal narcotics to the deadliest place on earth! Wouldn’t want anyone to die of a drug overdose now, would we? That would be bad!
“You know what occurred to me, Ron?”
“What’s that?”
“All the excuses you make. If you really wanted to kill yourself, you would find a way. There are thousands of ways to kill every day. If guys can hang themselves in their cells, what are your excuses?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Tell you what. I’ll show you.”
Malcolm went back to ou
r gypsy friend. He had his fortune read for over an hour. Then it happened. It was so simple. Malcolm felt the shock and fell to the ground. I knew this shock did him in. I knew he didn’t have long.
“For God’s sake, Malcolm, please tell me. I must know.”
“No.”
“Malcolm, please tell me the truth.”
That was it. He spoke no more. The man who I believed murdered my family had finally revealed what I longed to hear. I know he knew what I was asking. Malcolm knew I was obsessed with knowing it. His cold, dead hand held Ceija’s fortune. It said “Justice.”
Now it was my turn. Simple enough, I thought. If the damned log flume doesn’t kill me, I’ll do it old school. Just drown myself or turn the ride on and wait for one of the logs to crush my skull. Simple plan, I thought. Nothing too complex going on with all this. I got on like I had countless times before. Then it went the same as always. I reached the top and looked out in the distance at the ocean. Yes. The beautiful ocean that could soon be my watery grave, I thought. Should I have spoken to big brother one more time? Nope. He was doing some kind of sick experiment with us. I don’t think he would have ever been completely honest about what was going on here. I was getting sick of waiting for this thing to happen. I went on again. I experienced nothing new. I got on the ride and it went to the top again. I looked out at the wonderful sea and she was not yet my cruel mistress. I thought I would try one more time. I was actually getting sick of the ride. What did a man have to do to die around here? I would actually prefer hanging myself to this.
The words of Malcolm spoke a great truth in my head. If I really was determined to do it, then why was I still alive? Did I love life as much as he said I did? Perhaps he was right. It didn’t really matter now. This time things were going to be different. No. I slid down again and got wet. Things were different, though. The ride stopped and I saw a new face.
“Hello, Mr. Burton,” said the man I guessed to be Mr. Graves.
“Hello, Mr. Graves.”
“I thought I would come see you in person,” he said.
“Why is that exactly?” I asked.
“You’re our last customer here.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The next time you get on that ride, it’s going to kill you. I guarantee that it will be the last ride,” he calmly explained.
“The last ride?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“So no one else will ever be at this park again?” I asked.
“No. The government will blow it up, but I wanted to speak with you before you got on that thing.”
“I see. Why?”
“I have my reasons, Mr. Burton,” he said.
“What are those reasons?”
“I don’t want you to get on it. I want to shut it down forever.”
“Why?” I asked.
“”You’re extraordinary. You really keep us going. This experiment has come to an end. Come back with us and we’ll find you real treatment.”
“My prospects are grim,” I said.
“They certainly are,” he agreed.
“Why should I go with you then?”
“Hope,” he said.
“What?”
“Your personality profile said that you wouldn’t go through with it. I know you tried over and over but that was different.”
“What?” I asked again.
“Malcolm’s influence on you was phenomenal. However, he’s dead. Now you can come back with us to have a second chance.”
“No!” I yelled.
“Please,” he said.
“It was nice to meet you in person, Mr. Graves,” I said, as I jumped on the ride and hit the “on” switch. I looked down at him and he seemed resigned to let me make my own choice. I guessed it was finally my time.
“Goodbye, Mr. Burton.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Graves,” I shouted down to him. What a view. I went to the top and looked out at the vast ocean. The beautiful sea was surely going to be harsh and welcoming to me today. The tracks of the ride slowly started to move up. It was like a catapult or the launch pad of a rocket ship. I held on for my life as my little log shot out towards the open sea. I still remember going under water. There was no floatation device on the log. It sank with me. Had I held onto it much longer, I would have drowned sooner. I had no idea what was in store for me. It took a while for the water to clear from my lungs. I could still see the park but the wind was knocked out of me. Wasn’t sure I could actually swim that far. Probably couldn’t, I thought. As long I didn’t get eaten alive by sharks, I was going to be fine.
“Hello, Ron,” said a voice.
“Hey, what’s up?” I asked.
It was my old friend, Malcolm. He had come to drown to death with me at the bottom of the sea. That was nice of him.
“Sorry that I killed your family.”
“I thought you didn’t.”
“I’m a big kidder.”
“You scamp.”
I must be hallucinating, I thought.
“You better believe it,” said Malcolm.
I regained consciousness. I must have been floating at the top of the surface for an hour or so. Interesting little swim it was. I could still see the park. It was much closer. I could allow myself to drown or go back to try and live another day. Insanity was creeping in. No doubt about it. Couldn’t stop thinking about that. When a sadistic scientist and serial killer know you better than you know yourself, look out!
I wanted to live.
So many park customers met their demise here. I half expected to see a body or two but none appeared to me. Malcolm and I sure had seen our share that used to wash up on shore. I had survived. There had always been hope inside me. Even when my mouth was full of salt water and I couldn’t swim anymore. Hope. I think I will swim towards land. If I make it, I’ll take big brother up on his medical treatment offer. I don’t think I’ll be going on any more rides.
Chapter 19
“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.”
“H.P. Lovecraft?” Christopher asked.
“Yes.”
“Good quote, David.”
“Thank you.”
“I would suppose that you picked up on how I enjoy writing about death as the fear of the unknown,” Christopher said.
“Indeed, I did. Indeed, lad.”
“Writers like to write about death and what may lay beyond, but we actually tend to be more skeptical then the general population on such matters as the supernatural,” said Christopher.
“Yes,” agreed David.
“Lovecraft was an atheist.”
“He surely was,” said David.
“We’ve already discussed skepticism,” Christopher said.
“I know.”
“Then what’s the next topic of discussion?”
“The opposite of that,” David said with a grimace.
Christopher could tell exactly what David had meant. They had already seen the inside of a madman’s head. The one who demanded proof of a world beyond our own at any cost was a very human character. Christopher knew that many people in the world might also take a human life in order to know more of the universe’s well hidden secrets. He was a writer. Christopher could only use his imagination to attempt to answer questions of the unknown. He was a smart guy. Some questions had no answers.
“The supernatural, you mean. Is that what you’re talking about, David?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’ve read all of my stories about the supernatural except for two. So I think we can move on to something else then.”
“No,” said David.
“Why?” Christopher asked.
“It’s too important. Yes, I read some of your other stories with themes of the paranormal. That’s fine. I just want to see more. I want to see all you have so we can continue….”
“Making me all that I can be?” Christopher asked
.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking, Chris.”
“Sure.”
Hoaxes and not hexes were the extent of what Christopher believed about paranormal research. Now things were changed and it was change that was going to last forever. His eyes were opened to what could only be described as the supernatural. Dark miracles would be his description of events but technically he had seen the impossible. This was not improbable; this was impossible. That’s what his senses had to say about this immortal creature who was his mentor.
“When will it be acceptable for me to meet my taskmasters?” Christopher asked.
“Soon,” David replied.
“Good.”
“You’ll do fine. I’m sure of that, Chris.”
Christopher smiled once again. He felt a sense of both excitement and dread about this new dark journey he was taking. Would he see humans the same way that he did right now? He doubted it. He would see people as fools. They were merely stumbling, lost souls, hopelessly trying to find a purpose in their lives. That was without question. It was going to be an absolute change of perspective. Christopher would not be lost. No. He would be found by his new, eternal, bloodthirsty family. There would be no rehabilitation of people by the masters. You ultimately had to be one of the selected to survive the unspeakable horrors that were forthcoming. Christopher knew the day was coming.
“I think it won’t be long until I feel right at home.”
“You will,” David agreed.
Christopher knew that once he opened the door to forever, there would be no going back. He also knew that there was some small part of him that wanted to escape from this. Christopher looked at the fireplace. If he pushed David into it, would he burn to death? He had no earthly idea. Could he take the fire poker and drive it through David’s heart? Would David die? Once again, he could never be certain. Then his mind forced him away from such homicidal thoughts and of escaping back to Mom and Dad. He was going to outlive his parents and even the youngest little ones in his family. This was eternity and there was simply no going back now.
“David, how will I view humans once I cross over?”
“You will view them,” he said laughing, stuttering. “You will view them quite differently. Quite differently than you do now.”
“Will I miss them and miss being an ordinary man?”
“Perhaps you will for a little while but not for too long.”
