The Abyss Beyond the Reflection

by Micah Castle

  I slid back into the cushioned seat of the SUV, my camera sitting on my lap. I looked out the tinted passenger side window at the apartment complex across the street. Miss Craft should be leaving any moment. I tapped the top of the camera with my finger, while my other hand rested on the divider.

  God, today had been nice. The weather perfect, the sky gorgeous, the people, not so much. If I could photograph nature and not people, that'd be lovely, that'd be great. But no one would pay to see a tree sway in the wind when they can see a barely legal, hot celebrity girl bend over to pick up a piece of paper, revealing nothing underneath her paper-thin dress. Men, without 'em, man would this business be down the fuckin' drain. Not even them, their peckers. If men couldn't get off… God what my job would come to. I'd probably be happier, do whatever I want, shoot whatever I want. Sighing, I rested on the idea of retirement.

  My phone came to life, buzzing, blaring an artificial light onto the black felt of the ceiling. I picked it up. A video call from Gretz. I faced my phone and answered.

  “What's up, Gretz?” I said, trying to look elsewhere. He wasn’t a bad person to look at, but God that veiny, fleshy socket where his eye was supposed to be was so off-putting. Even after seeing it for years, I still couldn’t get used to it. I never told Gretz, but it always reminded me of the way my wife’s placenta looked when she had our—

  —baby. The man that came in through the glass double doors looked like an overgrown baby in a tan raincoat. His khaki pants were far too tight on his pudgy thighs, and the fedora he wore hardly covered the top of his forehead. Men like that, no… people like that shouldn't be allowed to wear such things. Only thin men, who are sophisticated, ones with elegant facial hair and a superb bone structure should be allowed to wear tight fitting clothes. It's only natural. People weren't meant to be fat.

  “Hey!” I shouted, as he tried to make his way to the elevator. “Is someone expecting you, sir?”

  He didn't respond. He kept his ugly face to the ground and moved his fat little legs as quickly as he could. He said some gibberish that he believed were words, but I did hear Miss Scott's name thrown in somewhere. Before I could get out from behind the desk, he was already at the elevator, pounding on the UP button.

  The first ding of the elevator coming down echoed out over the lobby. I strode towards the man.

  “Sir, I'll phone Miss Scott and see if you're expected. Please hold on.”

  Another ding of the elevator reverberated off the marble floor and golden oriental walls. Before I reached the elevator, it had opened, and he walked in. I saw him press a button rapidly, probably the DOOR SHUT button. What a bastard.

  “Sir!” I shouted again, nearly at the elevator. “Stop! If you don't, I'll have to call security!” I lunged forward, trying my best to grab the elevator before it closed. God my manager would have my ass if this fat-fuck ended up murdering Anna Scott, his favorite girl. As I leapt toward the sliding metal doors, I looked through the closing slit to see the man staring at me.

  He had only one eye, the other a fleshy pit of veins. God what a disgusting man, everyone must—

  IX

  A kaleidoscopic vortex swirled outward, consuming my vision. Lost in the line between madness and reality, insanity and sanity, I turned and twirled and spun around aimlessly in a vast space of nothingness. I didn’t know which way was up, which was down; each time I moved left, I went right, and every time I ran right, I went left. Each of my thoughts were words spoken, each word spoken a thought. My eyes only saw what was inside my body, not out.

  My head collapsed inward, like a thin layer of rock finally giving way. Bone, brain matter, flesh and hair collapsed into my abdomen, where it stayed for some time. Then, like a pregnancy that had come to fruition, I gave birth to everything that I was. My mind, my consciousness, everything and anything that I could say I was: my apartment, my job I hated, the words I learned from books, the sex I watched from films, the debt I collected.

  I tried to scoop it back inside through the gaping hole in my crotch, grabbing handfuls of the oily pinkish red goop from the amorphous blob before me. It was mine, it was me! in that heap of boneless flesh and organs. It seeped in between my fingers, ran down my arms, fell back onto the vortex that surrounded me.

  A whisper came out instead of a scream. I tried to cry, to release the madness that surged through me like a flood, but when I released what I thought to be tears, only fire surged out from my eyes, streamed down and singed my cheeks, melted the flesh off my face.

  The world flipped. I stood upside down, the blob that was me far below. I reached out to grab it, but my hands couldn't grasp it. My feet felt like they were filled with cement. The hole in my head still gaped, and the rest of my being tumbled from it. The remainder of my physical body, organs, genitalia, blood and pus cascaded out like toys from an open sack. The marrow in my bones seeped out through my pores, then poured out above me.

  Immense, indescribable, overwhelming pain took hold of everything. It seemed the room felt it too, shaking with a harsh tremor. The swirls of color jumped out from the surface like waves. Slowly they ebbed from kaleidoscopic to dark red, darker than maroon or scarlet, darker than blood. The ground below me gave way and I fell through into a burning, lava-like liquid that stuck to my flesh like a blanket of leeches. What little blood and life remained inside me drained out into the crimson sea, and my soul, a misty wisp of silver, escaped from my lifeless, open mouth.

  The vapor that was my soul heard muffled words coming from every direction. The voice spoke over and over again, repeating the same thing. At last it came in clear.

  X

  “Mr. Gretzel! Mr. Gretzel! It's been eight hours, it's time to wake up!” The woman's voice shouted.

  The world pulsated, throbbed like a migraine, moving from dark red to pitch black. Then from black to gray, with splotches of faint, dull colors. My body was gently shaken, but not by my doing.

  “Mr. Gretzel! Wake up!”

  I opened my mouth wide and fresh air filled my mouth and lungs. It felt like the first breath I ever made as a baby. I gulped at it like water long desired. My throat contracted, and I began to hack and cough. I opened my eyes to see that I laid on the white cushioned chair, in the well-lit, medium-sized square room. Samantha stood to my side, her eyes wide and her pale face reddened.

  “There you are, Mr. Gretzel.” She smiled. “Are you okay? You wouldn’t wake up.”

  I finally said, after another coughing fit, “Yes, I’m okay, just couldn’t catch my breath there.”

  “Good, good. Glad you’re okay.” She waited a few moments for me to compose myself. “Did you enjoy your Experience?”

  “Yes, yes I did.” I ran my palm down my face, wiping away the perspiration. “But I think that'll be it for me for a while. Getting too old for this kinda thing.”

  Everything that had passed had seemed like a dream intertwined with a hellish reality. Although my body was still covered in a cold sweat, and my heart hammered against my chest, I felt a calm slowly coming in. I was okay, everything was going to be okay.

  Slowly I gripped the armrests and pulled myself forward. A wave of nausea hit me, but I held it down. After a while, Samantha helped me out of the chair, out of the office, and to my car. She stood in the parking garage until I was safely driving away, out into the city. What a sweetheart, I thought.

  XI

  My bladder decided to wake me up in the middle of the night.

  “Damnit…” I muttered as I heaved myself out of bed.

  I went into the bathroom, undid my fly and let out a stream of warm piss. After I finished, I went over to the sink and washed my face.

  God being up this early is the worst, I thought. Last time I was up at this hour was the night after the Experience, two months ago. Couldn’t sleep, too many nightmares, too many images of Anna Scott without an eye and that thing rising out of the water. I even tried to get in contact with Anna, to make sure she was
okay, but couldn’t. Though I did find online that she had moved from the city.

  I turned off the tap, grabbed the hand towel hanging from the hook nearby and dried my face. I threw the rag onto the floor and peered into the mirror. My blotchy skin, my short, thinning hair, my double-chin, my small nose, my two ey— What the hell?

  I quickly gripped the sides of the mirror and leaned forward. I was missing an eye! I stretched the eyeless lid as far as it would allow, revealing a veiny hole.

  “What the hell happened to my eye!” I screamed.

  A pinprick formed in its center and a neon green liquid began to seep through, dribbling down my face.

  “Oh God, Jesus no!”

  I stumbled back, falling hard against the wall. A spider web crack ran up the mirror, and one by one, each piece fell backwards into a vast nothingness.

  “Do you want to see?” A faint voice asked from the depths of the abyss beyond the mirror, a voice that I could never forget.

  She hadn’t moved, she was never found, the Internet lied, everything that happened after waking up at Five Star Experience two months ago was a lie, a hallucination, I knew that now. Anna Scott was still in the damp, dirt packed chamber with the creature, calling out for me, maybe even others, who want to see… who want to see everything.

  Driftwood Mannequins

  Ahead, Jack pushed through another thorny bush, damning the Gods for creating such a thing. Why do they exist? he thought. They serve no purpose!

  A yard or two behind him was his fiancé Tyler, taking a swig from his water bottle and brushing his dirty blonde hair out from his eyes. He was secretly glad to be behind Jack, so at least he didn’t have to walk through the countless number of spider webs.

  Both their backpacks jiggled against their sweaty backs as they moved through the woods.

  “When do you think we should turn back?” Jack shouted.

  “I don't know,” Tyler replied, “maybe after another half an hour or so? It's still only ten in the morning, we got another hour or so before we gotta' get back home!”

  After fifteen minutes of continuous walking, the tall oaks began to lessen, the ground became browner with the earth; no longer were thickets and bushes in their path. The world started to flatten, easing the load on their legs, and a few yards away, Jack could see the woods gave way to an opening in the trees. Sunlight filled the strip of treeless land, as if God had torn a line straight through the forest.

  Jack picked up his pace. Tyler, seeing this, began to half-jog, half-walk to keep up with him. Soon both men stood on the edge of the clearing. Jack looked left, while Tyler looked right. Nothing could be seen for miles. Not a single tree stood in the strip and the ground only had small splotches of greenery.

  When both men crossed into the treeless land, Jack glanced to the right, double-checking that Tyler hadn’t missed something, to see two statues a couple feet away.

  The statues looked to be made from driftwood, or some type of sun-bleached wood. One was in the shape of a tall person, seemingly leading the way, while the other was a short person, maybe a child, following behind. They were in mid-walk, the arms of the smaller, Jack assuming to be younger, person flayed in the air as if she — he likened her to a girl — was skipping. As Jack grew closer to the taller one, he likened it to be the father of this couple, he saw his shoulders were hunched forward, and his legs pivoted as if he were walking up a hill and not across flat land.

  The design was like the flowing of water, the segmented pieces of wood twisted and curved like waves to form the muscles; large sections were used for the chest and legs, small, curved bits for the fingers and toes. The wood swirled from the top of their heads to meet in the center, forming their face. In between each piece of wood were thin openings, and between each section Jack found that they were interconnected by a metallic shiny string, maybe fishing wire?

  “Hey,” Tyler said, “these kinda look like mannequins, except made from wood. Never seen them before, weird… Wonder why they're all the way out here? And who built them? Must have been someone really good, because they are really life-like.”

  Jack didn't respond, only kept inspecting the taller statue.

  “Anyway, let's go. We still have another thirty minutes of the hike, then we gotta get back to the car and go home. We have lunch plans with your parents, remember?”

  Tyler’s fiancé again didn't respond. He continued his examination. It was as if each part of the mannequin was new and amazing, although he covered the same sections repeatedly. Tyler reached for him, to grab the back of his arm, but Jack flinched away.

  “Hey, c'mon, let's go. I'm serious, leave those things alone.”

  Tyler moved closer to Jack, and tried to place his hand onto his shoulder, in the hopes that a gentle touch could pull him away, but as soon as his fingers touched Jack’s shirt, he jerked away. “Just leave me the hell alone!” Jack snapped, his words echoing through the trees.

  Tyler recoiled, clenching his fist. “Fine, whatever! I'm going to go ahead then, and maybe by the time I come back you’ll stop being such a damn brat.”

  After Tyler left the treeless strip, Jack focused on the head of the father statue. His eyes began to widen, his pupils dilating. Voices drifted like wind out from the taller statue, a garbled mess of words and sentences composed of a language he couldn't understand. He placed his face an inch away from the mannequin’s, his ears strained to make out the nearly silent, whispering gibberish.

  The face of the statue began to crumble and fall inward, like a thin layer of ancient rock finally giving way. It fell into its body, into nothingness. Only an empty void stood beyond the driftwood barrier. Jack’s pupils continued to expand, and expand, until his entire eye matched what he saw, an empty opening. Sounds of rich, soothing music replaced the mess of words; faint, subtle and symphonic, with cellos and violas and contrabass.

  Reflective, glistening under the sunlight, strips of gold and black swirled out from the belly of the mannequin, up the empty void of its head, and out through the opening. Like a two-headed snake, they slithered in the air. The same kind of strips, but of silver and white, emerged from Jack’s chest, up through his nervous system, beyond his brain, and out through his black filled eyes.

  These strips, these lives and souls, moved beyond each other without hindrance. Black and gold twisted and swirled into Jack's bottomless eyes, while silver and white twirled down, down, down into the stomach of the mannequin.

  Time stood still. An overwhelming vision flashed over Jack, he saw himself being born, saw himself get married to Tyler twenty years later, watched as they adopted their first child three years after that; saw his son grow to become a handsome man, felt the wave of joy as he stood at the altar as his son wedded a wonderful woman, then saw himself and Tyler grow old together and become grandfathers. Then it was gone, forfeited, like a television screen turned off.

  Another flash followed, not his, he realized, but another person. Jack saw Dale being born in a rustic area, flat, sandy, hot; saw him at fourteen make love for the first time in the back of an abandoned rusty red pickup truck in his daddy’s backyard, watched him become a father before sixteen, watched him go into the woods as he held his little girl’s hand, felt his soul leave his body when he was pulled in by the same driftwood mannequin years ago.

  But Jack was no more, Jack had been sucked down into the statue and now he was trapped inside. His thoughts became mute, his consciousness put on hold, in limbo he would stay until another became too curious to leave the mannequins alone. Dale now occupied Jack's body.

  “Hey, you done being a brat yet?” Tyler asked on the opposite end of the treeless place. “We have to get back home and change.”

  As if seeing his body for the first time, Dale inspected his hands, flexed his muscles underneath the tanned flesh of his forearms, felt his heart pump without a hitch. He breathed in the fresh wilderness without a single cough or hack, his lungs now free from the tarnish
of cigarette smoke.

  He turned to Tyler, ignoring the question, and dumbly said, “Yeah, sure, let's git.”

  “Wha—? What did you just say?”

  “I mean I’m fine. Let's go, c'mon.”

  Dale signaled towards the adjacent woods and started walking. Tyler didn't bother to ask further and followed. Before the trees blocked the mannequins from view, Dale looked back to the two driftwood mannequins, and focused his sight on the smaller one. He felt tears coming, but he pushed them down, there was no use in crying, he couldn’t do anything for her.

  Silently, he said goodbye to Suzy, his little girl.

  Three White Demons

  Thomas Little sat in his office at the University of Cherry Brooke. He rifled through the essays on the book, Leviathan, he assigned two weeks previously. Each one seemed to be worse than the last, until he came to the end of the pile and realized one student simply put, “I don’t know” and the date.

  “Jesus Christ…”

  He tossed the papers on his desk, leaned into his chair, which creaked with his shifting weight, and rubbed his forehead.

  Students get worse and worse every year, he thought. I wasn’t like that in college, was I? It was only ten years ago, in 1989, that I sat in the same seats they do, but… No, no. Well, maybe sometimes but still. Who the hell only writes three words for an essay? Don’t they realize they’re paying for this class? God, I hate this job but it’s not the work, just the damn students.

  He sat up and glanced around his office. A blade of light came in through the small window near the ceiling, illuminating his desk and the dust motes that drifted around him. The walls were lined with leather-bound books he collected over the years, some purchased when he was on vacation in other countries, others given to him as gifts during holidays and birthdays. The dust collected on them showed that they were nicer to look at than to read. The only other chair in the room sat across the paper and pen littered desk, empty. The smell of stale coffee and must filled the room.