WHEN TOUCHED BY THE DARKNESS: By Mark Reynolds
Saturday, February 26th, 2011Exhausted, Brad Vincent reclines at his desk staring at the monitor. Night has fallen since he first sat down hours ago and the den is dark except for the white glow emanating from the monitor. He isn’t sure how long he has been working, which doesn’t surprise him in the slightest—whenever he writes time has a way of creeping by without his knowing it. One minute he is in the everyday world, accustomed to all its trappings and surroundings, then the next he is immersed in a fictitious landscape created by his imagination, a world that supplants the real one and absorbs him until he grows too weary to type another word.
Then, as is routine, he leans back and simply gazes at the screen, focusing on the words in front of him but not bothering to read them. He’ll do that later. All he prefers to do after a lengthy day of putting thoughts, scenes, and dialogues together is to kick back and relax, giving reality a chance to gradually return.
Finally, he reaches out and switches off the monitor. The room is completely black, yet he isn’t startled when two hands suddenly begin to caress his shoulders, which are tense most of the time. Writing mystery novels has given him the luxury of not working a normal nine-to-five job like most everyone else he knows, but his earnings year after year just barely squeak past what his expenses add up to. Money worries and muscle tension have become accepted as part of the norm. Luckily, his wife Leslie enjoys her position at the pharmacy and her income helps to tilt the scales in their favor.
“That feels good,” he says aloud, wondering how long she has been watching over him as he worked. In the beginning of his career, he would grow anxious and annoyed while trying to write if she was in the room. Now, most of time at least, she comes and goes without him scarcely noticing.
He slouches under her hands, hoping this isn’t one of her quick teasing massages. Maybe, if he stays quiet, she won’t be in such a hurry to quit. He can’t help but let out a deep sigh of contentment.
Her fingers feel like vices made of silk. So soothing, yet firm and commanding.
He is about to compliment her, to let her know just how much he appreciates all the attention and affection she shows him when a sound from the living room shatters the silence. A voice calling for him…Leslie’s voice.
Brad has just enough time to produce a shrill scream before the hands clamp down around his throat and start to squeeze.
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©2011 Mark Allan Reynolds
Mark Allan Reynold’s fiction spanning 1980 to 2004 have been collected into two books, GRAVE MATTERS (out of print ebook) and DARK WONDERS (still available from most online bookstores).
