by Billy Wells
“You don’t strike me that way, Ivy,” Franklin said, folding his arms. “Would you rather hear a little doom and gloom to poison your mind before we begin?”
Ivy looked at him in wonder as if he had just sprouted wings. “So, my cure is as simple as that, huh, doc?” she said, still reeling from the audacity of his bold statement. She almost wished his treatment wouldn’t work right away to bring him down a peg he was so sure of himself.
Then, the horror of the monster breathing down her neck returned her to reality. If Franklin cured her, it would be like Jesus walking on the water after all her years of mental aggravation. She chuckled as the thought of him asking her to be his sex slave as compensation for dispelling her demons crossed her mind. She certainly was attracted to him in a big way.
* * *
The next Thursday, Ivy arrived at 9 a.m. with the hope that hypnotism would magically cure her as Franklin had predicted. She was cautiously skeptical of the results, but she had decided to be the best patient should could be and follow the doctor’s instructions to the letter.
Franklin’s assistant escorted Ivy into a dark room and asked her to sit in a special upright chair facing a large monitor on the wall. Franklin, who was already seated, turned off the light and had Ivy focus on a holographic image pulsing in the middle of the screen He asked her to count backwards from one hundred. At eighty-nine, she lapsed into a hypnotic spell.
An hour later, Ivy met with Franklin in his office to discuss the results of the session and his prognosis for the future.
“Well, did you slay the dragon, Dr. Franklin?” Ivy asked with a definite hint of sarcasm.
“Oh, ye of little faith,” he replied, leaning back in his overstuffed leather chair that must have cost a fortune. “I don't have this plush office on Park Avenue because I don’t solve my clients’ problems.”
His stern expression turned into a smile. “Trust me, the dragon or whatever monster it was, is dead. He will never bother you again, I assure you. You were a perfect candidate for hypnotism. You drifted into a deep sleep almost from the start and followed my complete instructions better than anyone I've ever brought under.”
“Really?” Ivy said, having no memory of anything that happened. She chuckled at the thought that she might have had sex with the gorgeous Harrison Ford lookalike…then she remembered his shapely assistant sitting across from her right from the start. Returning to what she started to say, “It's probably because I get so little sleep.” They laughed.
“So, do I have to come back every so often to make the cure last?”
“No. I'm sad to say, our paths may never cross again. And for that, I'm very sorry. You are quite a remarkable woman when monsters aren’t chasing you.”
“If your prognosis is correct, you have actually saved my life. I don't know how to thank you other than paying your exorbitant consulting fee, which I understand is the highest in the city.”
“What can I say? You get what you pay for.”
They stood, and Ivy shook his hand with both of hers. She wanted to embrace him, but didn't think it appropriate. After all, she didn't know if her monster was really dead yet. Time would tell.
* * *
As the weeks turned into months, Ivy’s apprehension about going to bed lessened and finally disappeared. She rarely had trouble falling asleep. If she remembered her dream at all, the escapades were simply disjointed images floating through her mind without consequence. Life had meaning and fulfillment.
* * *
Three years later, Ivy started dating Don Wainwright, a middle-aged former client. He'd asked her out when they met at a fundraising drive for a local charity. After three months of courting and enjoying each other’s company, she abandoned her home in the suburbs and moved into his high-rise apartment on Fifth Avenue.
One Saturday at an expensive downtown steakhouse, Ivy informed Don she would be away in upstate New York for a week on a kickoff meeting for the construction of a visitor pavilion in one of the state parks. “It’s not big like a skyscraper on the Manhattan skyline,” she explained, “but some very important movers and shakers in the Big Apple are funding it. They have also chosen a world-renowned architect to design it. The project will be noteworthy on my resume.”
Don’s face darkened, and a big pout blossomed on his pursed lips.
“What's wrong, Darling?” she said playfully. “It's only a week. You can get along without me for that long, can't you?”
“Why don't you invite me to go with you? You're not going to work twenty-four hours a day, are you? I haven't been in the woods since I camped out with my parents as a teenager.”
“I'm afraid I'm a city girl. I don't have any desire to pitch a tent and pee behind the bushes. I prefer that my butler, if I had one, draw me a bath and serve me a stem of champagne.”
“Believe me, you don't know what you're missing. Did I ever tell you about the time my whole butt was red with poison ivy when my penchant for modesty caused me to take a crap behind the wrong bushes?”
“I think you spared me the details of that adventure, and I'm glad you did.” They laughed and bumped knees under the table.
“Where are you staying, may I ask, in this desolate wilderness?”
“I have a room at the Great Gorge Ski Lodge with a breathtaking mountain view.”
“Great! Can we shack up together… or do we need to rent two rooms to make it look professional.”
“Considering the stuffy client with the blue hair, I think two rooms would be appropriate.”
“Okay. I'll sneak into your room when the coast is clear and get a wakeup call so I can leave before the sun rises.”
Ivy laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, all right. If you want to go, I’ll make arrangements. But remember, my primary purpose is to attend the meeting and begin picking the team to build the Pavilion, not to have rip-roaring sex with you.”
They laughed again, and he leaned forward and kissed her.
After a splendid dinner, topped off by an outstanding crème Brule, Don paid the check, and they left the restaurant.
When they reached Don’s apartment and finally managed to unlock the door, they scattered their clothes from the front door to the master bedroom. They ended the evening having a bout of rip-roaring sex in front of a breathtaking picture window overlooking the expanse of Manhattan. Life was good for Ivy now that the monster was dead.
* * *
On Monday, after checking into their rooms at the Great Gorge lodge, Ivy left Don to attend the nine o'clock kickoff meeting with the client, the designer, and construction supervisor. She was excited about the project and looked forward to seeing the innovative plan for the building come to fruition.
That night after dinner, Ivy and Don decided to take a stroll along the path behind the lodge. It was a beautiful evening with stars blanketing the night’s canopy. They sat on a bench at the edge of the forest and discussed their upcoming marriage, having children, their careers, and their bright futures.
“You know,” Don said looking at the sky. “I saw on my Ipad there's going to be a meteor shower in about twenty minutes. They say you will be able to see hundreds of falling stars tonight.”
“Wow! That's incredible. You know in my whole life I've probably never seen more than four or five falling stars.”
“Well, tonight you can add another hundred or so to your list. When I ask what you've done lately you'll remember twenty years from now, you can say I saw one hundred falling stars in one night. Not many people can say that. This is an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“I really want to do this, but I've got one problem. It's getting cold, and I didn't bring my sweater.”
“Don't worry your pretty head, I will return to the lodge, fetch your sweater, and be back before the stars begin to fall.”
“You're my hero.” She pulled him closer and kissed him tenderly.
Don got up and disappeared down the walkway toward the lodge. Almost immediately, she felt a cool bree
ze prickle her face, and the lights around the walkway began to flicker. She had a disquieting feeling she’d not had in years. The wind blew harder and colder, and then, the lights along the path went out completely, plunging the entire area into pitch-blackness.
As a city girl, Ivy had never seen darkness so complete. Everything around her seemed instantly ominous and foreboding. A stark quiet fell over the landscape she had never experienced in Manhattan. She hoped Don would return soon. She didn't like this feeling. It reminded her of her dark past when the monster was chasing her. She started humming a tune to calm herself, but she could not ignore the fear she felt creeping up her spine and the goose bumps forming on her arms.
After what seemed like an eternity of straining to control her anxiety, the night felt ten degrees colder than when Brad was with her. The darkness of the woods had swallowed her up in its ebony cloak.
Then, the wind’s eerie moan in the trees increased to a shriek as if born from the depths of hell. Her bare arms prickled with gooseflesh and her nipples hardened as if she had walked naked into a subzero meat locker. She sensed something terrible very close. But just as before in her nightmare, she dared not look behind her for fear she would see it and die of fright.
Where was Don? Why had he not returned?
Then, she smelled something foul waft into her senses on the breeze. It seemed familiar. An animal stench almost like the one in her dream, but not the same. She heard the snap of a twig behind her. Her nerves clenched like a steel trap ready to spring.
Then, the sudden no holds barred rush of something no longer in a stealth mode, but barreling tooth and nail toward her came like a great tsunami from her memory.
What was happening? She felt awake. Her eyes were open, and yet she was having that hellish dream again. She wanted to stand and run, but her legs wouldn't let her. She was paralyzed with unbridled horror. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer. She couldn't breathe. She felt just like she had in the old nightmares, but tonight it was so much worse.
If she had dozed off during Don’s absence and was dreaming, the next part of the script should be the earsplitting roar of the ghastly monster.
Then, right behind her, she heard the crash of something breaking through the trees and the most gut-wrenching roar she had ever heard. She had to run as fast and as long as she could now. She had to get away before the monster gobbled her up. She felt its hot breath on her neck, and the horrible stench of spoiled meat on its body. She had to muster the courage to turn to see its face so she could wake up and let life return to normal as it always had when she dreamed.
Fifteen minutes later, Don turned the corner on the path from the ski lodge. He whistled a tune as he approached the bench where he had left Ivy. His key card wouldn't work when he went to her room to get Ivy's sweater, and he had trouble convincing the desk clerk they were together. The manager even called Ivy’s client, and then her boss, for verification before letting him into her room.
Suddenly the sky lit up with the first meteors speeding across a canopy of stars. He noticed the lights along the walkway had gone out. It was dark, much darker than in the city, but he could make out the empty bench as he approached. He looked in all directions but didn't see Ivy. Had she given up on him and returned to the room?
Then he saw the outline of something red in the grass to the right of the bench. He ran to it, and gasped when he saw Ivy's terrified open eyes staring up at him. The look of horror on her face was more shocking than anything he had ever seen in the movies.
He felt for a pulse, but as he feared, he couldn't detect any. He tried to resuscitate her with what he knew about CPR, but Ivy remained lifeless and unresponsive.
He looked closer at her beautiful body. Except for the unsettling expression on her face, he couldn't see a mark on her. He guessed she had suffered a heart attack. He started to sob as he lifted her to him and cradled her in his arms. He sat there in the grass as one falling star after another raced across the sky.
What, in the name of God, had happened? The two of them had been so much in love only minutes ago. The horrible nightmares Ivy had told him about crossed his mind. She said she always worried they would cause her to have a heart attack before the shrink cured her. Had the scary woods and being alone in the dark frightened her to death? The look on her face indicated she had seen something real or imaginary that terrified her to the breaking point.
Then Don smelled the feral reek of something animal and awful behind him. He heard a ferocious growl as more stars sped across the universe.
He turned toward the roaring, rushing thing in the black woods.
Like Ivy, Don never saw the awesome horror of the seven hundred-pound bear, but he felt its fury. Unlike Ivy, he didn’t have time to scream, and he never woke up.
THE PACKAGE
As Jeffrey Halperin checked his emails before heading to the operating room, he received a call from the front desk. Picking up the receiver, he heard the familiar nasal tone of Margaret the receptionist. “Dr. Halperin, I have a package for you.”
“A package?” Halperin repeated.
“Yes. A man just delivered it.”
Halperin wondered if it might pertain to his current patient. “Does it look like it might contain x-rays, Margaret?”
“No, I don't think so. This looks like a gift from someone. It's square and wrapped in ribbons with the big red bow. It's pretty heavy, too.”
“Can you have Charlie bring it to my office? I'm about to go into surgery.”
“Sure thing, Dr. Halperin.”
Three hours later, after completing a delicate procedure to remove a brain tumor, Halperin returned to his office.
In the middle of his desk, he saw the meticulously wrapped package about one foot square in size. He looked at the paperwork attached and didn't recognize the name of the sender, a G. Reaper.”
After a double take and looking at the sender’s name again, he assumed the package must be some kind of joke. As he undid the ribbons, he noticed a red smudge next to the giant red bow. It looked to him like a fingerprint inked in blood.
One of his colleagues, Dr. Foster, was passing in the hall, and he saw the box on Halperin's desk. He wandered in with a big grin. “Gee, I wish somebody would send me a gift like that sometimes.”
“I'm not so sure about that,” Halperin said. “This one is from G. Reaper, and I think there's a bloody fingerprint on the wrapping paper. Look at this.”
Halperin showed Foster the smudge.
“Well, I have to admit, it really does look like a bloody fingerprint all right. Did you shake it? Better yet, did you check to see if it's ticking?” Foster chuckled at his colleague’s genuine apprehension to open the package.
Halperin didn't see the humor in his remark. He just sat there for a few seconds, then, leaned down, and put his ear closer to the box.
“Well, should I have Margaret call the bomb squad?”
“I don't hear anything ticking so far.”
Halperin lifted the box carefully with both hands and tilted it to one side slowly.
“Well,” Foster asked, amazed at the way Halperin kept looking at the package.
“It's pretty heavy for its size. Whatever's inside didn't move when I tilted it.”
“Do you want me to open it,” Foster said, boldly. “I’ll do it, if you're too creeped out over the name and the fingerprint. How bad can it be? A messenger bumped it all over town, and it didn't explode.”
“Be my guest, if you're so inclined,” Halperin said.
Foster grabbed the box, “Give me the scissors.”
Halperin took a pair from his center drawer and handed it to Foster. He was feeling a little embarrassed at the absurdity of his timidity. Foster snipped the ribbons and removed the white paper, leaving only the square box.
“It's okay, Harry. You're right. I’m acting like a wuss. I'll open it. Pass it over.”
“I've gone this far, good buddy. I'm going all the way,” Foster pulled open the top c
orner and peeked inside.
As if struck by lightning, his eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed on the floor in front of the desk. Halperin circled around to him and knelt beside him. Upon inspection, he was breathing, and his vitals were fine, but he had fainted dead away.
Halperin stood and faced the box. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the flap on top and looked inside.
Margaret could hear Halperin's screams halfway across the floor. It sounded like someone was in excruciating agony as the shrieks of emotion continued unabashed. Twenty of the occupants on the floor scrambled in the direction of the uproar and watched Halperin pulling his hair out and sobbing uncontrollably on his knees in front of the desk.
Jerry Sprinkler stepped over Foster's body and tried to comfort Halperin, who kept pointing to the white box. Sprinkler lifted the top and let out a bloodcurdling scream himself as he glared at the horror inside. Miriam Halperin’s severed head stared up at him with empty black eye sockets.
The police arrived a few minutes later, and bedlam continued in the surgery wing the rest of the afternoon.
When the police removed the doctor’s wife's head from the package, they found a bloodstained note inside. The message read:
To make sure you know my threats are serious, I have included your wife's head as evidence that I am a despicable monster trapped in the body of a human. No need to call home or to the college to check on your three sons. I have kidnapped them. They are somewhat worse for wear from scrapes and bruises inflicted during their capture, but for now, they’re still breathing.
On June 5, day after tomorrow, at 10 a.m., take $5,000,000 (I know you can access funds in the Cayman Islands) in a duffel gag to the bus stop at the entrance to Fenway Park. Wait for further instructions. Let me stress. Do not involve the police. They cannot help you. Once I receive the cash, I will give you the location of your sons, and you can have their sorry asses back.
If I do not receive the funds OR if you involve the police, you will receive another box like this one. Don't be stupid.
