Tales from the Canyons of the Damned: Omnibus

by Daniel Arthur Smith

  Regardless of what people have thought about him, there have been no October Surprises this year. With just hours to go in the campaign, it is clear that Robunthiquipalthinatchyyl Walters will soon be the President-elect of the United States of America. While the media has taken their shots at the candidate, Bob Walters has remained true to himself and the core values he started with. As the sun goes down on yet another election season, polls across the nation seem to confirm what many are hoping for: the first natural born alien to become the one who controls the fate of the world.

  ~*~

  FLOAT

  Ernie Howard

  ~*~

  “Why are you so obsessed?”

  Josh looked up from his phone, not even trying to hide his annoyance. Many people had asked him the same question. Why did he like to float in the dark for hours? The answer was always the same: because it was the only time of the day he got to get away from people. People like his brother. Who, at the moment, was staring at him with the same dopey look he’d had on his face since they were kids.

  “You wouldn't understand, Shawn, you’ve never tried it.” Josh put his phone on the table and released a puff of air through his teeth. “It’s the most relaxing time of my day. I spend an hour or two in my float tank and I come out a new person. It's great for my mind, and it makes me feel brand new, physically.”

  “So when are you going to let me try it?”

  Josh felt a flash of anger. “Never. Make your own money and buy one yourself.” Josh cringed at the thought of his brother getting into his tank. The guy had never had the best hygiene. And he never covered his mouth when he coughed. Just thinking about it made him grab a napkin and wipe his hands.

  “Yeah, right. Those things start at like fifteen grand. If you didn't know, little brother, I’m a high school teacher with a mortgage. I don't make your Wall Street money.”

  “Cry me a river. It’s not my fault you chose the wrong profession.”

  Josh watched his brother's dopey grin lose some of its luster. He felt a tinge of guilt for his words, but just a tinge. His brother, the optimist, shook off his comment like an old coat.

  “How did you get your super to give you the room for that water-filled beast?”

  The water-filled beast that Shawn was referring to was located in the basement of Josh’s apartment building. He’d bribed Old Man Parsons, the building superintendent, to put the float tank in an old room that wasn't used anymore. Josh further bribed Old Man Parsons so he could change the locks. So he would be the only one with access.

  “It was easy. Nothing a few hundred can't accomplish.” Josh gave his brother a sly look over his coffee cup.

  The bell over the door to the cafe jingled, and an old man slowly walked through. Both brothers looked up and watched him. He walked as if his body was going to give out at any moment. The old man turned his head in the brothers’ direction. His face was gaunt and gray, but the man’s eyes were alive and full of fire. An angry fire that seemed to be directed at Josh. The man paused and stared at Josh for a moment before he turned and shambled up to the bar. He took a seat directly in the middle, and sat with great effort.

  “Wow... Old friend of yours?” Shawn’s dopey grin had returned to full luster.

  “That’s Mr. Oatman. He lives across the hall from me, I think he might have cancer. He asked to use my tank the other day.”

  Shawn’s look of surprise made Josh even more annoyed with his brother.

  “Did you let him?”

  Josh looked at his brother like he was mentally challenged. “What do you think? Epsom salt is expensive these days. I don’t want old man diarrhea floating in my tank. I'd have to sanitize the whole damn thing. I told him hell no!” Josh said. He slammed his hand down on the table, attracting looks from the other patrons, and, worse, Mr. Oatman. The old man cleared his throat and pushed himself up from his bar stool. When he turned around, his eyes looked like they were going to burn through Josh.

  “Oh shit, here we go.” Josh shifted in his seat.

  Mr. Oatman stood in front of their booth, settling his hand on the edge of the table. He leaned in close to Josh's face. His breath smelled of his own rotten body. The anger on his face almost made him look younger and healthy in a weird sort of way.

  “So, young man, that’s why you wouldn't help an old man out? You think I can’t control my bowels, and I’m going to shit in your sensory deprivation tank.” Mr. Oatman wore a grin that looked genuinely amused.

  Josh didn't know what to say. He was surprised the old man had even heard what he’d said. His skin was crawling just at the thought of feces floating in his nice sterile tank. A vision of bacteria rapidly dividing flashed into his head.

  “Let me tell you something, you little shit. Your body is good right now. But someday you are going to get old, and it will fall apart. Everything you think you are will fall away, just like your fading muscles.” Mr. Oatman rolled up his sleeve, revealing a wrinkled tattoo of an Eagle, Globe, and Anchor. The insignia for the Marines. “Some young, ignorant punk will disrespect you when you ask for one hour away from the pain your body has become.” Mr. Oatman stood up, doing his best to stand up straight. He pushed down his sleeve, and turned on his heel and moved towards the door faster than Josh had ever seen him move. Just before Mr. Oatman got to the door, he let out with a loud fart.

  “That's why you can't use my tank, Mr. Oatman.” Josh said.

  The old man turned. The smile on his face was one of a skeleton. His mouth was too wide, and displayed too many rotting teeth. “It will happen to you too, son.” Mr. Oatman was out the door before Josh could reply.

  “You’re a real asshole, you know that.” Josh’s brother threw a twenty on the table. “You have always thought of only yourself Josh, and no one else.” His brother coughed, not covering his mouth. The dopey grin was gone. Shawn left as quick as Mr. Oatman had.

  Josh stared out the window and watched his brother cross the street. He was glad Shawn got pissed and left, he needed to float.

  ~*~

  “Mr. Watkins, been down to the basement lately?”

  Josh despised Charlie. He was the apartment building’s doorman. The guy needed to find a new way to greet people. Josh was pissed Old Man Parsons had told pretty much everyone in the building about his basement float tank. Now he had to put up with stupid twits like Charlie the doorman getting into his business.

  “None of your business, Charlie.” Josh walked past the man, not making eye contact. Charlie threw up his hands in mock surrender.

  “Sorry sir, didn't mean to get into your business.” Charlie had an even more dopey grin than Shawn. Josh had an urge to punch the man in the face.

  He could hear the man blathering on about something as the elevator doors closed. His brother had wanted to know why he was obsessed with his tank. Well, it was because he had to deal with idiots like Charlie every day.

  Josh stabbed his finger at the basement button on the elevator’s panel. The floor seemed to drop out from under him and the coffee sloshed in his stomach, giving him a mild feeling of nausea.

  The short trip to the basement always changed Josh’s mood. His face relaxed, his body prickled with the anticipation of the warm, salty water.

  A lot of people said they had visions while they floated. Josh thought they were all hippie freaks. He’d never seen a vision or had an epiphany while he floated. He bought his float tank purely because it relaxed him. It was his hideout from the rest of the world. It was his sanctuary, and no one else’s.

  The doors to the elevator opened into a dark hallway, illuminated only by a single bulb hanging in the middle of the ceiling about halfway to the door that contained the tank. The basement was dirty and stunk of mildew, but Josh never noticed. The many times he’d walked to the door at the end of the hall, his mind was set on only one thing: floating in his tank.

  Josh opened the door with a gold key he had purchased specially for the lock on this room. He opened the door and
felt for the light switch on the wall. His fingers found it by muscle memory, and pushed up on the switch, bathing the room in a bright light, reveling the sleek white object that sat in the middle of the room.

  The Tranquil Float model was one of a kind. Josh had wanted to tell Shawn that yes, float tanks start at fifteen grand, but his cost about three times as much. His was state of the art, with tailored voice commands that only worked with Josh’s voice.

  “Open.”

  The pod door opened with a low hum. Blue light seeped out from the bottom of the water, casting an eerie glow to the room. The light reveled the pod’s contents: a nine-foot by nine-foot space, containing salty water the exact temperature of Josh’s body. Soothing meditation music washed through the air, further relaxing Josh, as he stood staring at his toy.

  “Good morning, Mr. Watkins.” The comforting voice of a woman sent shivers down Josh’s spine. This was another tailored feature. He’d wanted a woman’s voice because being in the tank was what Josh thought being in the womb would be like.

  He got undressed, methodically folding his clothes and setting them on the only other object in the room, a leather club chair that sat in the far left corner.

  The first touch of the water was always the best. Josh pushed his foot in, letting the water cover him to mid-thigh, following his other foot, until he was sitting in the warm water. He lay back, already feeling the weightlessness. He was floating.

  “Close.”

  Once again, the pod hatch hummed to life and closed.

  “Lights off.” The lights switched off, leaving in him in complete darkness. He could feel his muscles elongate, and he began to relax.

  “Malfunction!”

  The lights snapped back on, and the hatch started to slowly open, making Josh’s eyes blink in the bright light.

  “What the hell?” Josh said.

  This had never happened in the two years he’d owned the pod. His tranquil thoughts turned to anger. His muscle tensed, instantly fatigued by the strain. His arms felt heavy as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. His legs wouldn't respond at first as he tried to get out of the pod. They felt sluggish and unusual. After many slips and stutters, he got out of the pod.

  He stood, dripping water, staring at the isolation tank like a friend that had betrayed him. He was dumbfounded, and had no idea what to do next. Like a robot, he decided to dry off. A thought popped into his head as he dried the last bead of water off of his body. Old Man Parsons had been in here messing with his tank. That had to be it. Either way, he was going to have to call Tranquility, the company that had sold him this worthless piece of crap. The thing was still under warranty.

  Putting his clothes on seemed laborious. Josh’s whole body ached, he had little to no strength behind his movements. Getting to the elevator was worse; it seemed to take hours. The walls spanned for miles. Josh clung to the sides of the wall, leaning most of his weight against the concrete. Every bone in his body ached. Putting one foot in front of the other taxed his already labored lungs, making him stop along the wall every few feet. Josh could hear his labored breathing echoing off the walls.

  He accomplished getting to the elevator, and then had to get to his apartment. The carpet seemed to stretch off into tomorrow. He hoped Shawn hadn't given him the flu. His brother had been coughing a lot at the cafe. Josh just wanted to splash some water on his face and take a nap. He would call the float people later. He collapsed when he got to his apartment door. His hand shook and wavered as he tried to insert it in the keyhole. He managed to get it to slide home by holding his hand with the other, and closing one eye. The door opened and Josh fell in, collapsing on the floor. He crawled to the bathroom. His knees cracked and popped the whole way.

  The light in the bathroom hurt his eyes as he reached up with an arm that didn’t want to work and switched it on. With both hands, he pulled himself up with the help of the edge of the sink. Pain shot up through his back and legs as he struggled to get vertical.

  His head hung to the point of his chin touching his chest, as he clung to the sink. Josh’s grip was so weak; it took much effort to turn the knob on the sink. Finally, he managed to get a trickle to come out of the faucet. He cupped his hand under the water, and, with effort, bent down to feel the cool water on his face. The water made him feel somewhat better, but not great. He looked up and into the mirror over the sink and froze.

  The image staring back at him was that of an old man. His skin, normally tan and healthy looking, was wrinkled and old. His thick hairline had receded, revealing a large veined forehead.

  "Ah... Josh’s voice sounded horse and old as it escaped his throat. His words seemed stuck in his chest, as weak as his body felt. They climbed up but got stuck in his turkey waddle throat.

  He stepped back through the bathroom door, never taking his gaze off of the image in the mirror. He had lost maybe an inch in height, and his clothing hung off of him like he was a metal hanger.

  Josh stumbled from the bathroom, and shuffled as fast as he could to his apartment’s front door. He needed help. There was a pain in his chest as he limped down the hallway, trying to make his way to the elevator. The elevator seemed to retreat as the hallway elongated in his failing vision. He got to the door in bursts and gasps. The adrenaline pumping through his veins made him forget about the pain in his legs for the moment.

  As he was about to push the down button, the bell chimed; someone was coming out. The doors opened, and a tall, muscular frame walked out.

  “Sir, I need help. Something’s wrong with me!” The air was expelled from his lungs, and he could barely push out the words.

  The man’s face was obscured in shadow as he looked down at Josh. The overhead lights struck his face and Josh saw the man’s eyes. Familiar eyes.

  “We all need help from time to time, Old Man Watkins.”

  The man smiled at Josh, his mouth wide, showing two rows of perfect white teeth. Mr. Oatman was healthy and young again.

  Young Oatman reached out, grabbing Josh by his arm. Josh could feel the man’s fingers digging into his spongy, soft flesh. The pain made Josh crumple to the floor.

  Young Mr. Oatman stood over Josh. His eyes blazed with vengeance. “One day you will be old. Your body will turn to mush. You will be helpless!” The young man hocked phlegm from his throat, and launched a large loogie into Josh’s face. Josh could feel the snot dripping down his nose, but his arms were too tired to wipe off the mess.

  “Okay, I’ll let you use the tank.”

  “You think this is about the tank?” Spittle flew off of Mr. Oatman’s full lips.

  “I’ll let you use the tank. Just change me back to the way I was.” Josh hated the way his voice sounded: old and weak.

  “You think I had something to do with your predicament?” The man did look surprised.

  “Yes I do." Josh’s voice was barely a whisper.

  “It was your attitude, you ignorant son of a bitch! The only way to change back to what you were is to float. And float you will, you little shit!”

  Young Oatman released his arm only to grab the back of his neck, picking Josh up by way of brittle spine. He half pushed and pulled, throwing Josh into the elevator. Josh heard something snap as he hit the fake wooden panels. Pain shot through his body as he slid down the wall.

  Mr. Oatman looked back at Josh when he started to whimper. “I always knew you were a pussy. Back in my day, men didn't cry. They lived with the cards they were dealt. Or should I say in your case, the cards they dealt themselves.”

  “I'll help you, just please change me back.”

  “Oh, I'm gonna help you. You’re gonna float once more, my boy. You’re gonna float forever.” The man stabbed his finger out, and pressed the button for the basement. Josh tried to jump up and out of the elevator before the doors closed, but Mr. Oatman was lightning fast. His fist connected with Josh’s mouth, making him once again see stars.

  “How does it feel Josh? Can you feel the exhaustion? Your body
doesn’t respond when you want it to, does it.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn't realize. I should have let you use the tank.”

  “Ya... I bet you’re sorry.” Mr. Oatman let out a low chuckle that seemed to shake the inside of the elevator.

  The small box came to a stop, and the doors opened to the dark hallway. The overhead bulb that normally bathed the hallway in depressing light was out. And the hallway was pitch dark.

  Mr. Oatman grabbed Josh’s leg and yanked him forward, out of the elevator. The young man looked back at Josh and smiled. “Time to float, buddy boy!” The doors closed in perfect timing to Josh's head clearing the opening.

  “Please...” Josh didn't get to get to finish his plea, Mr. Oatman bent down and slapped him across the face, drawing blood from his lip.

  The man grabbed Josh by the back of his pants and neck. He grabbed Josh like a person would a battering ram, using his head to open the door to the float room. Josh once again saw the familiar stars pop in front of his eyes.

  The lights to the float room switched on without any assistance, and the pod hatch was already open, waiting like a hungry alligator.

  The smell in the room woke Josh up from his daze. It was putrid, and smelled of one thousand overflowing toilets. The salty, sterile water had been replaced by putrid human feces.

  “No!” Josh’s feeble scream echoed off the float room walls. He pushed with his old arms, trying to fend off what was about to happen.

  “Sorry Josh, I had a little accident.” Mr. Oatman’s laugh echoed off the walls. “But we’re not going to let that stop us. Got to float!”

  Josh opened his mouth to plead with the man, and he wished he'd kept his mouth shut. Mr. Oatman shoved him into the pod headfirst. Every vile thing floating in the salty water entered Josh’s mouth and nostrils.

  “Time to float forever, Josh!” Mr. Oatman's voice was muffled by the gobs of shit that plugged Josh’s ears. He really was going to float forever. But he was going to float in shit. This was his last thought before his world went black.