Are These Eyeballs?
Garry Charles
Published: 2010
Tag(s): Halloween eyes organs ghosts past present murder closure
ARE THESE EYEBALLS?
THE CUBICLE
Garry Charles
Cover art by Adrian Chappel
Feedbooks Edition
Published by Garry Charles at Feedbooks
License Notes
Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may not be reproduced, copied without consent from the author. If you enjoyed this book, please return to Feedbooks.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.
***
ARE THESE EYEBALLS?
The children stood on the front porch and – as they did every year – waited eagerly with the parents who had come along to keep an eye on them. At least that was the parent’s excuse. If the truth be known they enjoyed this part of Halloween as much, if not more, than the kids.
Fair enough, they had to do the door to door trick or treating, waiting at the end of the gardens as the youngsters went up to the front doors and asked happily for candy. For the adults this was boring, but they did it with a smile. After all Halloween was for the children, not for them.
But this part, the last call of the evening, could be enjoyed by all.
****
Little Lindsey McGready stepped towards the door and knocked for a second time. She’d waited years for it to be her turn at the front and she was annoyed that her summons hadn’t been answered straight away.
“Now, now, Lindsey, don’t be impatient,” her mother warned from the porch steps.
“But, Mom,” the girl made to answer back.
“No buts,” her mother cut in. “Mr and Mrs Coil will answer when they’re good and ready.”
****
Every year was the same and every year the child in front would grow tired, wanting only for the door to open and for the fun to begin. Mrs McGready couldn’t blame her daughter for being like all the other children. In fact she was excited herself.
Plus it was cold outside and it would be nice to get inside, to snuggle up in the warmth of the Coil’s living room. The living room that held so many treats and scares for the guests.
Mrs McGready smiled to herself as memories of her own childhood visits to the house swam through her mind. Even back then Mr and Mrs Coil had put on the show for the neighbourhood kids.
How old must they be now?’ she thought to herself. ‘They were old when I was a kid.’ They had to be at least eighty if they were a day and still they found the energy to decorate the house and front yard just for the fun of it.
****
Young Lindsey turned and saw her mother gazing around the front yard filled with fake tombstones and skeletons. She took her chance. She stepped forward and, stretching on tip toes, grabbed the heavy looking brass knocker. She pulled it outwards as far as her height would allow and then let it fall back against the solid wood of the front door.
Mrs McGready snapped her attention back to her daughter. “What did I tell you?” She tried to keep the telling off low key but the other children giggled and some of the parents hid embarrassed smiles behind gloved hands.
“Sorry,” Lindsey replied with red cheeks.
“There’s no need to apologise,” Old Man Coil said and they all jumped.
He stood in the open doorway with a big grin on his nearly toothless face. No one had seen him open the door and this just added to the mystique that had built up in the children’s minds since the year before.
“Now. Please enter.” He invited them in as he stepped to one side. “And don’t forget to wipe your feet on the mat.”
The children entered as quickly as they could, pausing to shuffle the soles of their boots on the tattered old rug that bade them WELCOME.
****
Stepping inside the Coil household was like passing through a gateway in time. It really was that old. Mrs McGready noticed that it hadn’t changed one jot since she had visited as a child herself. It was as if even the cobwebs were in the same place they’d always been. She walked behind the kids with the handful of adults and she could tell from their faces that they were thinking the same as her. After all, they had been children together and they had been some of the first to take part in the Coil’s yearly Halloween treat.
“Through the door at the end,” Mr Coil shouted from the front door as he closed it silently. “Everything is ready, just take a seat.”
The Children moved quickly, fighting to be the first into the magical room of fun filled scares. And they were somewhat disappointed to find the room was lacking in decoration. They muttered between themselves as they took their places in the chairs that had been laid out in a rough circle in the centre of the spacious dinning room.
The adults filed quietly into the room and they too couldn’t hide the sadness at the lack of effort put into this year’s event. Mrs McGready quickly scolded herself for such selfish thoughts. The Coil’s were old and didn’t have the energy they once had. She shouldn’t judge them so harshly. It was just that her expectations had been so high.
“I hope you are all sat comfortably.” Old Man Coil entered the room and looked around. “I know it doesn’t look much.” He tried to apologise. “We have trouble getting into town nowadays and so this year I’m trying something new.”
The children giggled, realising that things could still get exciting. Old Man Coil wouldn’t let them down.
“OK, before I start I need the parents to take a seat as well.” He smiled at the grown ups. “This is for everyone.”
He waited in silence as the few adults found chairs and were seated comfortably.
“Let us begin,” he shouted and the children jumped as the lights flickered and died. “I have a story to tell you.” His old voice took on a strange strength in the darkness and everyone listened.
“Long before I married Mrs Coil and we moved into this house the land was owned by another. He wasn’t a nice man like me, oh no, he was the most evil of evil people who has ever lived. Some say he had signed his soul over to the devil, others say he just enjoyed doing the things he did.
The things he did were unspeakable, but I am here, tonight, to tell you what happened on that last, fateful night.
The night of the party.
The night of the fire.”
The children had stopped giggling and listened nervously as he spoke.
“His name was Joseph Freeman and he was the richest man in the town. No one knew how he’d made his money and no one ever asked questions. He brought prosperity to the town and that was all that mattered. And so, when he invited everyone to a party they accepted. It would be the most lavish Halloween party in the history of the town and everyone would be there.”
Old Man Coil paused and listened to the scared breathing coming from the children and adults alike. He smiled to himself, happy that it was working as he’d planned.
“On the night of the party everyone arrived in costume expecting a banquet of great proportions, so imagine their feelings when he led them into an empty ballroom. Empty that is apart from the huge circle of chairs that formed a ring in its centre. Much like where you are sat now.”
One of the younger children yelped in fright and others giggled.
“Please remain silent until the story is over,” Old Man Coil snapped.
Mrs McGready sat still and listened. She heard a door knob turn and the door to the hallway creak open. She was hoping for some light to filter in but the lights had been turned off all around the house. She tried to squint against the enveloping blackness and get a hint as to the old man’s plan, but try as she might she co
uld make out no more than blurred silhouettes that shifted in and out of focus. She decided to stop trying so hard and just enjoy the act. She leant back in the chair and relaxed just as the squeak of poorly oiled wheels filled the room.
Old Man Coil continued.
“Once all of Freeman’s guests were seated his servants went around the room and blindfolded them one at a time. Once this was done he ordered them to be tied to the chairs. Some complained, but they allowed themselves to be bound securely. They had no wish to upset their benefactor.
The servants worked quickly and, once finished, Freeman shouted at them to leave, that this part of the game had to be played out in private.
As they left he wheeled in a trolley covered with a sheet of blood red satin. He removed the sheet and glanced at the tools he’d had made especially for the nights event. He dragged the trolley into the centre of the room and took a moment to look at each of his guests.
‘Tonight, dear friends, you will give me the key to ultimate power,” Freeman shouted at his bound guests. ‘You have all benefited from my work here and now it is time to pay the price.’
****
The children began to fidget nervously in their seats as the evening began to grow scary. Old Man Coil had stopped talking and a strange sound filled the room. He didn’t start talking again until the sound finished with a wet, snapping noise.
Only then did Old Man Coil restart the tale.
“From the tray Freeman took a pair of forceps and approached the first of his quests.
‘I need from each of you a special gift to offer the master.’ As he spoke he grasped the hair of a female guest and pulled her head back. ‘The master has spoken and I must obey.’ He forced the woman’s mouth open and grabbed her tongue firmly with the forceps.
He pulled at the tongue as she tried to scream, but her mouth filled with blood as he yanked the fleshy muscle free.”
****
Mrs McGready felt her pulse increase. This was rather harsh for the children, but they seemed to be giggling still. She watched as the shadow that could have been Old Man Coil moved around the room. She flinched as he rested a hand on her shoulder.
“And this is that tongue,” he said, placing the wet thing in her hands.
She yelped in surprise and then smiled to herself. She remembered this game from years ago. The old bastard had just changed the story that went with it. She held the object and the grin grew wider as she tried to figure out what he’d really given her.
Old Man Coil moved on, the sound of cutting and sawing filling the room. He had out surpassed himself this year. The story continued.
****
“Freeman went through the quests one at a time and took what he needed. A kidney from one.”
A child screamed as Old Man Coil dropped a heavy lump on her lap.
“Intestine from another.”
Young Timmy Johnson gagged as the wet loops were draped around his neck.
“Body parts were taken from each and added to a pile in the middle of the circle of chairs.”
Young Lindsey cringed as two soft, damp orbs were dropped in her hands. She rolled them around in her palm as she too realised what game was being played. She knew that when the lights came on they would be all holding sweet treats especially made to scare them. She stopped listening to the tale and focused on the balls in her hand. She should wait for the others. She should be patient, but she wanted to know what secret treat she’d been handed.
Very slowly she raised one of the sweets to her lips. Without thinking she tossed it in her mouth and bit down. As it popped between her teeth the vomit rose in her throat to meet the salty fluid that had already filled her mouth. She tried to cry out but all she could do was retch as bilious fluid poured from her gut.
****
Mrs McGready recognised the sound as that of her daughter just as the fetid smell of something worse than vomit assailed her nasal passages. She fought her way out of her seat and stumbled through the darkness, tripping over a panicked child.
She fell forward. Her arms flailed and her head sank into something warm, moist and foul smelling. She forced herself upright just as the lights came back to life, her arms sinking into the jelly like mass below her.
And she screamed.
A scream that was joined by the others as they saw what had been taking place in the darkness. The children were covered in thick, red gore and each held fresh body parts, it was a nightmare scene painted in crimson.
Mrs McGready was knelt in the centre of the room and standing over her was a blood drenched Old Man Coil, his face stretched by a manic grin that more than hinted at insanity.
The children saw her and the screaming intensified, some of the youngster’s spewing up candy bars eaten earlier in the night. A few even fainted before the howl of terror in their lungs could be freed.
‘Why are they screaming at me?’Mrs McGready asked herself before looking down to find her arms buried up to the elbows in the butchered remains of Old Man Coil’s darling wife.
********************
THE CUBICLE
“Fucking Shithole.” He drives along the near empty streets and is disgusted at how time has eroded them, turning them into a dull distortion of memories long gone.
Entire streets of terraced houses boarded up, the wooden sheets covered in sprayed obscenities and tags. Here and there the doors have been pried opened and in the shadowed hallways he can see squatters and addicts shielding themselves from the relentless sun that has shone down for two weeks now.
For English weather this is a lifetime and he is thankful of the air conditioning that cools the interior of the car.
He slows to a stop at the house he remembers so well and is disappointed that - like everything else in the old neighbourhood - it hasn’t faced up well to the ravages of the passing years. The downstairs windows have been replaced with steel plated shutters and the brickwork at the edges is scorched from fire. The front bedroom looks black from the street and swallows the withered ivy that has over run the house before intruding inside, only to die. He shakes his head in sadness, closing his eyes as pictures of better days play out behind his eye lids.
***
His father sits on the door step and smiles down at the boys, happy to watch them play together. From indoors the radio plays a jolly tune and his mother sings along. She is out of tune, but nobody cares. Everything is as it should be.
***
“Shit.” He shakes his head, dislodging the memories that threaten to bring tears. “I’m not here for this.” He has returned for a reason, but this isn’t it.
He puts the car into gear and pulls away from what had once been home. He knows his destination well, but subconsciously he’s unwilling to face it yet. He allows his uncertainties to take him on a detour. It won’t hurt to revisit friendlier places first.
Where there used to be shops there is now only foundations. The old brickwork rises from the earth and hints at an era that is no more. He pictures what used to be there, ghostly outlines forming in his mind.
***
He can see Mr Parsons - the butcher - at his block in the window. He swings the cleaver with precision into the loin of pork.
Kids gather outside the newsagent, chewing gum and swapping stickers for their latest album.
He can see himself with his mother, holding her hand as they enter the post office.
***
And once again he has to drag himself back to the here and now. He pushes down on the accelerator as he forces the images fade.
“Shit.” He quickly slams on the brakes as his vision returns to the present and he looks into the old eyes that glare back at him from the wrinkled face.
The old man is halfway across the road, his body supported by the walking frame and he stares at the driver with annoyance. He inches forward and pauses in front of the car. He raises a shaky hand.
“Show some fucking respect.” He slams the hand down on the bonnet.
&nb
sp; The voice is familiar.
The driver looks passed the wrinkles and the saggy skin that hangs below the old man’s chin and the shock almost takes his breath away. Can it truly be that long since he left?
“Mr Parsons?” He already has the car door open and is climbing out.
“I might be,” he replies, eyeing the younger man with suspicion. “What’s it to you?” Once again he has the walking frame in both hands and shuffles the rest of the way to the pavement.
“I doubt you remember, Sir.” He holds out a hand, but the pensioner makes no move to reciprocate. “Wayne Mason, you used to know my mother, Olivia.” The aged eyes come alive with ancient recognition.
“Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.” A smile cracks the haggard face. “You’ve been gone too long my boy.” They shake hands like old friends. “You really should visit your mother more often.”
“I Will.” Although she died some years back, he sees no point in upsetting Mr Parsons with the news. “And I’m sorry for startling you. I just came to see the old place and got lost in the memories.”
The old man waves a hand as if to say ‘forget about it’.
“Memories is all some of us have.” The twinkle in his eyes fades and the face darkens. “Look at me, what am I but a memory?” He gazes over at the remnants of what had once been his livelihood. “You take care, young Wayne.” He turns away and continues on down the street. “Some memories aren’t as nice as me.” His words are only half heard, a whisper on the breeze.
***
He climbs into the idling car, still unready for the task ahead, pinning his hopes on what he remembers as the best part of his childhood being enough to carry him through the worst.
He turns off the ignition and locks the car, setting the alarm and decides to walk. He turns to follow old Mr Parsons, but he’s gone, swallowed up by the streets like a ghost.
“Grow up,” he scolds himself for thinking of such things. Ghosts are for children and he’s not been one of those for years now.
***
He arrives at the park, or what used to be the park. Like everything else it has died over time, nothing more than an overgrown graveyard of rusted and paint flecked metal. He crosses the grass and sits on what remains of the roundabout. It groans in protest at the unwanted invasion of privacy.
Are These Eyeballs? Page 1
