Madness is following me.

I’m not being dramatic.  There is something following me that wants me to go insane.  I don’t know if it’s a ghost, or a demon, or if it even has a name, but it’s there.  I know it is.

I started feeling it about a month ago.  You know that sensation you get on the subway, or even just walking down the street – that absolute certainty that someone’s watching you?  It starts as a prickling, at the base of your neck  then the tips of your ears get hot, you start to breathe more rapidly, and your heart speeds up. That’s what it feels like for me all the time. All I have to do is turn around, and it’ll be over, and I’ll be insane.

That’s the rule.  Don’t ask me how I know, I can’t tell you.  It, whatever it is, needs that moment of surprise.  It needs me to whirl around and see it.  That’s how I’ve managed to stay a step ahead – I don’t turn around anymore.  What I do instead is turn left, and take one step.  Then I turn left and take one step.  If I’m travelling, at least a little bit, it can’t catch me by surprise.  That’s what it needs. 

“What about mirrors?”  you might ask;  I thought of that. Of course I did.  It’s no good.  It’s the same as turning left – if I’m not actively turning to confront it, it won’t be seen.

It drove my wife, Patricia crazy.  I’d have to do a circle of the bedroom just to change my shirt.  She insisted I see a shrink.  I saw three of them, it never lasted.  They each asked me to shut the door behind me, and I told them to go fuck themselves. The last one caught on, and closed it for me.  After listening to my story though, he prescribed Zoloft, and, as I was leaving, called my name.  I took a couple of lefts, and told him where to go too.
When Patty found out that I stopped going, she left me for good. It was about three weeks ago now, and whatever this thing, this phenomenon is – it’s getting worse. I don’t know how much longer I can last.

The thing plays tricks, too.  Two weeks ago, I was in the mall, and suddenly I was smelling Kelly McNeil’s perfume.  It was that light vanilla scent that was so big in the nineties. The smell seemed to suddenly be all around me, and I was barraged by memories: nuzzling Kelly’s neck, the taste of her skin, and the feel of her lips.  For a few seconds, I could even feel her breath on my neck.  Hell, I could even smell the sour apple candies she was always eating.  I didn’t turn around.  That was hard.

It was even harder last week, when suddenly someone stuck a gun in my back.
 
“Turn around,” said a gruff man’s voice.  “Or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

I didn’t turn around, and it eventually went away – though I’d say I’m well and truly screwed if I get mugged for real. 

Now, the thing has stopped playing tricks.  It’s realized that pushing me makes it easier to resist.  Instead, it’s just there, prickling my neck, heating my ear tips, and it’s never gone.  I sleep on my back, and it feels like it’s in the mattress, watching me. 

Yesterday was my last day at work.  They cited downsizing, but it’s obvious.  Looking back just briefly at the way I’ve behaved – turning my desk around so everyone has to approach me in profile, and breathing hard almost all the time, because I can feel the presence there, just … fucking … staring at me. 

I’d have fired me in an instant.

I’m making this recording because it’s over.  The thing wants me insane, and I’m really close.   In trying to save my mind, I’ve become obsessed.    It won’t let me stop thinking about it. Everywhere I go, no matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing, it’s there.  When I sit down in the bathroom, it’s perched on the goddamned toilet tank behind me.

So …  I’m going to turn around, and face whatever this beast, demon, ghost, whatever it is. I’m sorry Patty.  Maybe, once someone finds me, and checks me into an asylum someplace, I’ll get well one day, and try to give you a call. I love you.

I’m turning around now.

…

Huh…

How about that? It’s a puppy. 

Just a cute little brown and black puppy, sitting there with his tongue hanging out.  Looks like he’s smiling too. 

Imagine that.  Holy shit.

I’ve been so scared, and it’s just been this … this puppy …  this cute little puppy following me all along.

Just a puppy.

Hee hee. 

Just a puppy.  I can’t believe it!

Just a puppy.
…

Just … a puppy?
________________

©2010 Chris Allinotte

Chris Allinotte lives in Toronto, Ontario, with his wife and children.  His work has most recently appeared in the anthologies “Ghosts and Demons” by Static Movement, and “Novus Creatura” by Aurora Wolf Publishing.  Chris blogs about his writing at http://chrisallinotte.blogspot.com

Billy shovelled sand onto Jamie’s shoulders.  His back hurt, he’d been digging for hours.  Jamie still snored blissfully in the midday sun.  The drug had worked perfectly.
 
Billy smiled.  Danny was going to love this. Big bad Jamie, up to his neck in sand – it was too funny … too perfect.
 
For some reason, whether it was because he was the smallest, or because he had the balls to talk back to them, he always got the worst of it from Jamie and his friends.
 
What had happened last week though, had crossed a line.  What had happened last week had changed the rules forever.  Billy remembered the events vividly as he continued to shovel sand.
 
***
 
They’d been playing basketball; Jamie had set an illegal pick that bloodied Danny’s nose.  Danny had been livid and when Mr. Johnson turned away, he threw the ball at Jamie’s head, knocking the big kid to his knees.  That had done it.
 
After school, they’d squared off at the baseball diamond, just Danny and Jamie.  None of the other kids had stepped into the circle.  This was how it had to be.
 
As expected, Jamie had Danny to the ground in seconds, and was wailing on him.  Danny’s face was already swelling up. 
 
“Do you like that, punkass?  Feel like whipping a ball at me now?” Jamie punctuated each sentence with another shot.
 
***
 
Jamie was covered up to his upper arms now, and still showing no signs of waking.  God, you’re a dick, thought Billy. He remembered how Danny had turned it around, and smiled again.
 
***
 
Billy had finally seen enough and started forward. Surprisingly, Danny saw him moving, and waved at him to stay back.  The next moment, his knee was embedded in Jamie’s crotch, and the big boy flopped over on his side.  Danny rolled over and punched Jamie once – hard, just below his throat.  Jamie gasped for breath.  Danny stood and aimed a kick at the other’s head.  Billy grabbed him, and his guts turned to water as he saw pure hatred in his friend’s eyes.  After a moment, he stopped struggling and let himself be lead away.
 
Two days later, Jamie had had his revenge.  Nobody could prove he was the one who’d cut the brakes on Danny’s bike, but enough kids had seen him by the bike rack that it was a pretty safe bet.
 
On his way home that night, Danny had gone charging down the hill toward his house, flying at top speed on the bike when he saw the train crossing come down.  Billy was coming out of Dalton’s Variety store with a Coke in his hand.  He saw Danny holding his speed, waiting for the last possible minute to slam on the brakes and skid to a halt. 
 
Except the bike kept hurtling forward.  Danny’s face became a mask of terror as he tried to turn the bike away from the tracks. It jerked, and he rolled off — into the path of the oncoming train.  He was up and, with a second more, would’ve been safe.  But that was a second he didn’t get.  The train roared past, cutting Danny in two.
 
Billy had run to the tracks as quick as his legs would carry him.  His friend lay gasping beside the crossing.
 
“Billy?” asked Danny, in a soft, rational voice, “Billy, can you get help? I think I’m hurt bad.”
 
***
 
He’d gone, too.  Billy kept shovelling; Jamie’s body was only visible from the shoulders up now.  Billy took a sip of water, remembered the help he’d found, and wondered how lucky he really was.
 
***
 
Billy had run to the nearest house and started thumping on the door. The door of the place opened up, and a woman, huge and dark, was standing there. 
 
“What you doing there, child?  Don’ you know better than to disturb Mamzel Daisy?” asked the woman with a voice that was heavily accented and full of unspoken danger.
 
A chill cut through Billy’s grief. He’d inadvertently knocked on the door of the crazy witch woman. No one, not even Jamie’s crew, would have dared go near the house, even on a dare.  And now he was standing at her door.  Still — Danny, he had to think of Danny.
 
“Please Missus,” he’d said, “My friend … hit by the train.  He’s dying.  Please.  Please help.”
 
“Lord help us,” she’d replied, “Let’s go, we got to go to him.” 
“But … the ambulance,” Billy tried to insist.
 
The woman had looked over her shoulder and snapped, “You want to save the boy? Let’s go.”
 
They’d gone, but in the time it had taken him to reach the house, Danny had stopped breathing.
 
***
 
“There,” said Billy, patting down the sand.  Only Jamie’s head poked free now.  Yeah, Danny was going to appreciate this. Thanks to Mamzel Daisy, he’d get the chance.
 
***
 
“Oh, you poor child.”  The woman had gone to her knees and was cradling Danny.  The strange intimacy of the moment made Billy avert his eyes, and he saw the bike — and the cleanly snipped brake cable.
 
“No,” he’d said.”No, Jamie, you rotten bastard.”
 
Mamzel looked up, “What is it?”
 
“I know who did this to him.”  Billy’s voice had shaken with rage.
 
“Someone?” Mamzel’s face had drawn down in a scowl.  “Someone, took this child’s life?”
 
“Yes.  It was a boy at school.  He cut the brakes; I’m sure of it.”
 
Mamzel lowered Danny to the ground and looked at Billy. Her stare had been galvanizing. 
 
“Listen child.” She’d said, “You want your friend back? You want this other boy to pay?”
 
Billy had replied without thinking; grief and rage had driven rational thought far from his mind, “Yes.  Yes to both … but how?”
 
She’d nodded, “You leave that to Mamzel. But you give your word now — I’m puttin’ this child’s life in your hands.  He’s yours to care for.  Will you?”
 
He’d agreed.
 
And with that Mamzel had drawn a small package from her purse and started to chant.
 
***
 
“Wake up, jerk,” said Billy, tapping Jamie on the head with his shovel. 
 
Jamie’s eyes snapped open, “What the fuck?” He flailed his head around before looking up again, “Let me go you little shit!”
 
Billy smiled, “Not yet.  Someone wants to talk to you.”
 
The bully started to say something back, but instead his jaw dropped open as he saw the shape pulling itself along the sand toward him.
 
“See?” asked Billy with a smile, “He’s all right after all.  I lied though, he doesn’t say much anymore.”
 
With eerie strength, Danny walked on his hands, closer and closer, trailing his sand-caked innards behind him.  They could see the milky whites of his eyes now. 
 
“I’ve been looking after him. Funny though, I couldn’t figure out what he wanted to eat until now.”
 
“Nnn. Nnnn.”  Jamie stuttered in terror, “No, man.  Keep him away.”
 
“Oh, come on.  I had to give him a fighting chance. You can see he doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”  Billy was laughing now. 
 
This was going to be great.

_________________________

©2010 Chris Allinotte