Tales of Sin and Madness

by Brett McBean

  Where are the parents?

  He leaned back against the wall and shrugged. It was none of his business. Maybe the kid belonged to a hooker and she didn’t want to take it in with her while she conducted business. Couldn’t find a babysitter, so she had to bring it to work.

  Whatever the reason, Jackson didn’t care. What did play on his mind was how miserable the baby seemed. But did babies get miserable? Could they have those complex emotions at such a young age?

  Jackson wondered what would become of the kid when it grew older.

  I can’t worry about such things. I have my own problems.

  He knew it was silly – he didn’t even do anything tonight – yet he couldn’t quite shake the feeling something wasn’t right. Was Gloria telling him something? Was she telling him not to go up to his room because there were a gaggle of cops waiting?

  What are you trying to tell me, Gloria?

  * * *

  He was born in the tiny Midwestern hamlet of Belford. He was the second child, his brother Michael was born three years prior, and according to his mom, his had been an especially easy birth.

  They lived in a two-storey house just outside the township. His parent’s owned and ran the local pet store – Sean and Deb’s Friendly Pet Store – where his earliest memory was sitting in the back of the store petting a tiny white kitten, his mum smiling and maybe even crying a little.

  The thing he remembered most from his early years was lots of laughter. Everyone in his home seemed happy, even his older brother, and everything was good.

  * * *

  The elevator stopped at the third floor.

  Jackson sighed. The ride up to the sixth floor was slow enough in the building’s relic of an elevator without it stopping all the time.

  It was usually dead this time of night. That’s why he liked using it so late – there was no one around to see him. Apart from the night watchman.

  The doors opened and the invisible man walked in.

  It was either that, or the elevator was playing up.

  He moved towards the open doors. Saw some kids laughing and playing down one end of the hallway.

  “You damn kids,” he called out. “You been messing with the elevator?”

  They ignored him and kept on playing.

  “Hey! I’m talking to you kids!”

  Little shits, Jackson thought.

  (You’re a lying shit. I trusted you. Loved you. Wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. And now this. This is what you are? I can’t believe I was so stupid…)

  The kids remained in the shadowy confines of the hallway, and as Jackson continued watching, he soon realized that the kids weren’t playing at all – well at least not tag or hide-and-seek. There was one kid, smaller than the others, who was standing by the wall that wasn’t laughing. He had his head down while the other kids poked and made fun of him.

  Heartless little fucks.

  Jackson now heard what they were chanting: “Son of a whore, son of a whore.”

  “Stop teasing him, you brats!” he yelled. “Go home and stop playing around with the elevator!”

  They ignored him, didn’t even look in his direction.

  What am I a friggin’ ghost?

  “Son of a whore,” they continued, giggling and poking the helpless kid.

  The doors started to close, and as much as Jackson wanted to go out and stop the teasing, he remained in his transient cocoon.

  It’s none of my business anyway, he thought, even though it incensed him seeing that kind of cruelty.

  Where the hell are all the parents tonight? Are they in one room having an orgy or something?

  He thought it was supposed to be a quiet night. Well, according to the night watchman – who may or may not have been lying about that, and who may or may not know about his secret life.

  Jackson was growing nervous. He was certain Gloria was trying to tell him something, and he was certain it had something to do with him being caught.

  Should I go back down to the lobby? What would happen if I did? There might be cops waiting for me there as well. That damn night watchman probably called up to the cops in my apartment and told them that I arrived back and now there are more waiting for me downstairs in case I try and run.

  The more he thought about it the more he was positive he had been caught. Somehow, the cops had traced it all to him.

  I didn’t do anything tonight. How could they have found me? All I did was walk around. They can’t arrest me for that.

  * * *

  Some of his fondest memories were the years he attended Belford Elementary. He was already good friends with most of the kids in Belford, so to him, going to school was just like being on summer vacation, aside from the schoolwork of course, but he didn’t find that a problem. In fact he used to help out kids that weren’t quite as bright as he was. He made even more friends that way, girls included. Because in those magical years before the hazards of adolescence took over, girls weren’t the scary, alien beings they were to become. It was a great time, where the mere smell of a girl didn’t send him wild with hormones, but simply meant another person to play ball with, another friend to eat ice-cream with and ride around town. He was one of the most popular kids in Belford Elementary, and everything was good.

  * * *

  He was deciding whether or not to press the button for the fourth floor and change his direction down to the lobby when the elevator stopped at four anyway.

  Jackson stepped back.

  The doors opened. There wasn’t a herd of cops waiting for him.

  There wasn’t anybody around that Jackson could see.

  (I won’t be around anymore. This is the last time you’ll ever see me. But there’s something I have to tell you before I leave. Something you won’t want to hear…)

  Jackson relaxed a little and planted his foot in the doorway.

  He had to make a choice: keep going up to his apartment, or press the down button? If there were cops waiting for him in the lobby, he could at least try and make a run for it. If he could make it out to the street he might have a chance of losing them.

  I’m just being paranoid. There are no cops waiting for me. They haven’t got anything on me. They haven’t got any clues…

  But he hadn’t read the papers today so he couldn’t be totally sure about that.

  He contemplated taking the stairs down, that way he could sneak a look at the lobby and see if there were in fact a flock of cops waiting for him.

  But the stairwell smells even worse than the elevator.

  After some deliberation Jackson took his foot away and decided to ride the elevator all the way to the top.

  But the doors didn’t close. Even when he slammed his hand against the ‘close’ button. Repeatedly.

  “Come on,” he growled. “What’s wrong with it?”

  Again he got the sense Gloria was trying to tell him something important.

  Other than we have ghosts in the building?

  He spotted the emergency phone on the wall and considered calling the night watchman and telling him the elevator was acting up because of an electrical fault, the kids on three, or the place was haunted.

  Or Gloria is sending me a message.

  Jackson didn’t hear the door open. It was only when he heard the cries that he looked out at the hallway and saw two men running towards him. His first thought was that there was a fire, although he couldn’t see any smoke.

  “Is everything okay?” Jackson called.

  The older of the two suddenly grabbed the younger one by the throat and dragged him backwards.

  Shit! There was no emergency other than his sudden need to get the hell out of here.

  Come on, he thought as he pressed the ‘close’ button over and over again.

  He didn’t want to bear witness to whatever was going on between the two men, yet as he waited for the doors to close, he watched as the older man threw the younger one to the ground and tore off his pants. When the older man
started taking off his own pants, Jackson knew with a sinking feeling what was going to happen.

  Doesn’t he see me standing here? What the hell is he thinking? At least I do it where no one else can see.

  The boy – even though Jackson couldn’t see the young man’s face clearly, other than how pale it was in contrast to the black shadows, he was certain the guy was no older than twenty – began crying and begging. “No, please, don’t. Please Uncle, don’t.”

  Jackson’s stomach lurched. His throat went dry.

  Had he heard right? Did that boy just call the man uncle?

  Oh Jesus.

  Jackson slammed his fist on the ‘close’ button.

  Close! Come on close!

  He didn’t want to watch. If the younger person had been a girl, then that would’ve been okay. But not this. Anything but this…

  The older man was on his knees now, most of his face shrouded in shadow, only his depraved grin visible, his pants bunched around his ankles, body thrusting with each act of violation.

  The boy continued to cry. “No! Uncle, no! It hurts!”

  Jackson was crying as well.

  What’s happening? Gloria? Where are you? What’s going on, Gloria?

  The cries of the young man seared into Jackson’s brain. He wanted so much for them to go away.

  (I’ve found out about you. Yes, that’s right. I’ve found out about your past…)

  He had already blocked out the vision, but there was no stopping the awful sounds, even with his hands over his ears.

  He gasped at the jolt. When he felt the rise of the elevator, he opened his eyes and took his hands away from his ears. He wiped away the tears, looked to the ceiling and let out a shaky breath.

  Something weird was going on tonight. First the baby, then the children, and now the uncle and his nephew. It was all so horrible.

  And familiar.

  That’s what scared him the most.

  He knew he should pick up the emergency phone and call the night watchman. Tell him about everything he had seen tonight.

  But he couldn’t move his arm to the red phone on the wall.

  I’ll call when I’m safe in my room, he decided. When I’ve got a few glasses of scotch in me.

  He would be in his room soon enough.

  Unless…

  The carriage rattled to a stop at five.

  No! Not again! Why?

  He remained pressed up against the back wall, wondering what horrors awaited him outside.

  What have the ghosts got in store for me? he wondered. Gloria? Do you know?

  * * *

  Unlike a lot of the other teenagers, he didn’t want to leave Belford and move to a bigger, more exciting city. He was content living at home. Michael had moved to New York City in the hope of joining a band and becoming famous – he played the drums – and even though his brother often sent him postcards begging him to come to the Big Apple, he just didn’t want to leave his parents and Belford and the friends that remained.

  Even his favorite Uncle, his dad’s brother Walter, had come to stay. He took over Michael’s room and was a loving, funny, generous man who often drove out of town on business and would come back with gifts like new sneakers or a bunch of comic books.

  He loved living in Belford. He would even help out at the pet store to earn some money, which helped fund his dates with some of the best-looking girls in town. So even though New York did sound exciting, he couldn’t leave Belford behind. There was no need to leave, no reason he could see, anyway. Everything was good.

  * * *

  The doors opened. There was a man. Jackson couldn’t tell exactly how old he was but the man was sitting in a chair with his back towards the elevator, a little way up the hall, where not much light shone onto his still form. He had short dark hair that was closely cropped, that much Jackson could see, and appeared to be doing nothing much at all.

  Still, he made Jackson uneasy.

  What the hell is he doing?

  Jackson swallowed. “Ah, excuse me sir. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  The man didn’t answer.

  Jackson wasn’t surprised. He had been ignored by everyone else tonight, so why should this man be any different?

  Jackson tried again. “Did you press the elevator button? Who are you? Why are you just sitting there?”

  The man responded with a strike of a match.

  Jackson moved away from the wall and crept up to the open doors. He watched as the man held the match up to his face.

  He’s just lighting a cigarette, Jackson thought with some relief.

  Jackson waited for the man to light up the cigarette. When the match burned out, the man struck up another then continued to sit staring at the small flame.

  (I know it all. Everything, your entire life has been one big lie. And I know it all…)

  Jackson grew anxious. “Get me out of here,” he muttered.

  The man threw down another charred match and lit a new one.

  “Get me the fuck out of here, Gloria.”

  But the doors remained open.

  The elevator was playing with him, teasing him, just like the kids had been teasing the poor kid down on three.

  “I want out of here.”

  He didn’t understand what was happening, what Gloria was trying to tell him, but he did know that the building was supposed to be quiet tonight.

  What do they want from me? Who are they? What are they?

  Jackson was shaking now. He hadn’t felt the need to fulfill his fantasies tonight, which was why he had only wandered about, but he knew tomorrow he would have to go out and find a willing participant and show her that there were in fact guardian angels in the world and they controlled everyone’s lives.

  “Gloria,” Jackson cried, and still the man didn’t turn around.

  The elevator seemed to grow darker and smaller. He wanted to escape and leave the damned elevator behind, but he was too afraid of running past the man and seeing his face. He was scared of what he might see.

  Of who the man might be.

  I’m going nuts. That’s it, isn’t it, Gloria? I’m going crazy.

  (I thought you were just a bastard, just a lying, disgusting man. But now I know it’s more than that. It’s worse. A lot worse. The funny thing is, a small part of me wonders if you’re entirely to blame. That you didn’t have the full say in how your life turned out. Maybe, just maybe, you really are crazy…)

  The elevator doors closed.

  About time, he thought, and was glad when the figure of the man in the chair was wiped away.

  Jackson wasn’t well. Aside from the shakes he was sweating cold torrents.

  He desperately needed a drink.

  It was the longest elevator ride Jackson had ever experienced. He vowed he would never use the elevator again. After tonight he would only use the stairwell, even if it was dark and repugnant and full of dope-fiends. Even the nights when he fulfilled his needs, he would take the stairs; regardless of how much effort it took.

  The elevator stopped at his floor.

  * * *

  He eventually moved out when he was eighteen, but it wasn’t because he was sick of Belford or his parents. No, he still loved them, including Uncle Walter. He just felt it was time to see the world, to make something of himself. He took a train to New York to visit Michael. It was supposed to be just a short visit, drop in and say hi, experience all New York had to offer and paint the town red, as they say, but he wound up loving the city and decided to stay. At first he stayed with his brother, but Michael soon fell in love with this black lounge singer, so he had to find his own place, which he did; a small two room apartment in Queens. He got a job at a meatpacking plant while he sorted out just what he wanted to do with his life.

  It wasn’t a great job, the pay was just okay, but he met some really great guys there and went out every night drinking and having a swell time. He now understood the allure of the great city, understood why his brother had wa
nted him to come and stay, and he fell in love with the Big Apple, then fell in love with a stunning brunette a year later.

  Life was great.

  * * *

  With a final jolt, the carriage settled into place and the doors eased open.

  Piece of shit elevator, he thought, but was relieved he had made it to the top floor.

  He would tell the super tomorrow that it probably needed a good looking-over.

  But for now, he just wanted to get into his apartment and…

  Jackson let out a high-pitched whine when he saw them.

  No no no no no no…

  He froze inside the elevator and stared in incredulous horror at the sight that was presented before him.

  Jackson had seen plenty of murder in his time, yet seeing the carnage that lay sprawled on the dirty orange and brown carpet made him feel ill.

  It was unreal, like he was watching a movie – the woman on the ground, the man kneeling over her, cutting into her lifeless body.

  The feeling of déjà vu was strong, as was the nausea and confusion.

  Help me, Gloria. Please help me!

  The killer stood up, turned and walked out of the shadows, towards Jackson.

  “Leave me alone,” Jackson cried. He rushed over to the panel and hit the ‘down’ button.

  Nothing happened.

  He grabbed the red emergency phone and placed it to his ear.

  Static rang loud. The receiver crashed to the wall as it dropped from Jackson’s grasp.

  The killer continued forward.

  “What do you want?” Jackson yelled. “Get away from me. I won’t tell. How can I? I’m the same as you.”

  The killer stopped when he reached the elevator. Gazed in at Jackson.

  Jackson gazed out at the killer. And saw…

  (Who are you really? I don’t know. And I don’t think you do, either. You have two worlds, two realities. And now, as I’m standing here, I don’t know whether to pity you or hate you…)

  He screamed.

  An enormous grinding roar shocked Jackson silent. The elevator began to quake. Jackson backed into a corner and crouched down. Tears flowed from his eyes.