Post by franklinmarsh on Apr 22, 2009 11:28:50 GMT
Jansk drew the curtains. Another dull grey day. Nothing in sight, but then you couldn’t always see them. Which made things very difficult sometimes. He sat back on the edge of the bed and steeled himself for the weekly wash and shave. It was necessary to pick up food and drink and household supplies, and to visit the doctor every seven days. Monday was his day. The other six days he spent locked up within the house. Watching. You never knew when they might appear.
As fresh and clean as he’d ever be, Jansk stepped uneasily through the front door and locked it. The sun peeked out from behind a cloud, and he felt an unexpected surge of warmth. He smiled for half a second and, head down, hurried along the garden path.
He managed to reach the surgery dead on 9 am without meeting anyone. Mercifully, the doctor signed him off for another month, but confirmed that she was putting Jansk forward to see a specialist. He nodded. He’d cross that particular bridge when he came to it.
On the way to the supermarket, he kept thinking he saw them out of the corner of his eye. He saw the pitying smiles and headshaking from passers-by at his sudden jerking and leaping to one side. Once inside he quickly collected items on his list, paid and hurried home.
The same half-glimpsed shapes tormented him; this time the assault was also aural. He heard the whispering. Taunts, threats, promises. He resisted the temptation to cover his ears until he had crossed his own threshold. Then he screamed.
Jansk came round sprawled across the hall floor, surrounded by groceries. Groaning, he gained his knees and collected the fallen foodstuffs and bottles. He got as far as the kitchen before falling again.
When he opened his eyes it was dark. He eyes gradually grew accustomed to the darkness. Faint moonlight shone through the kitchen window, allowing Jansk to make out the table, the window itself and various unidentifiable objects strewn around the floor.
He grasped the top of the table and levered himself to his feet. He slumped into a chair breathing heavily,and looked up directly into a pair of red eyes.
Jansk gasped. He felt too tired to move. The eyes held his gaze. He felt himself weakening, his arms upon the table growing heavy, his eyelids fluttering, his breathing becoming more laboured.
He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his tongue as hard as he could. He felt the metallic taste of blood within his mouth. He opened his eyes and spat at the same time. The eyes had gone.
Jansk’s breathing was rapid and shallow. His eyes darted from side to side, but could make out nothing in the darkness. His ears strained but he could not identify one solitary sound apart from his own breathing.
He gradually calmed himself. They still weren’t ready. He had time. Time to do what? He groaned at the unfairness of it all. His eyes grew accustomed to the faint moonlight once more, and he saw the knife laying on the work surface. Go on, he told himself, finish it. They won’t be able to get you then.
Or would they? Perhaps that’s what they wanted. If you left this dimension, they could be waiting in another. Perhaps they can’t physically get to you here, Jansk wondered. Perhaps they need you to change to enable them to….
He wandered toward the kitchen window, looking out at the moonlit overgrown garden. His reflection looked back at him. He slowly realised that it wasn’t a reflection of him, Jansk. It was similar, but not quite right. He suppressed a desire to smash the glass.
On impulse he turned, grabbed the kettle, thrust it under a tap, and filled it with icy water.
Plugging it in, he kept his gaze away from the window. As he waited for the kettle to boil, he realised that his breathing was fast, his pulse rapid, he could hear his heartbeat.
A tear trickled down his cheek. Get a grip! He retrieved a mug from the wall cupboard above the work surface. Further scrabbling enabled him to get hold of the coffee jar and an open packet of sugar.
He sighed and opened the fridge. It was then that the creature seized his wrist.
Jansk screamed and fell backwards, fighting against the strength of his captor. He jerked free and rolled across the kitchen, looking back in terror.
The light from within the refrigerator illuminated the kitchen floor between Jansk and the cold store. There was silence apart from the humming of the fridge. The dropped carton of milk steadily vomited its contents on to the kitchen tiles. Aside from some eggs, a carrot, a piece of cheese and a carton of Surely This Ain’t Butter?! the fridge gaped emptily at him.
Jansk slowly reached out and righted the milk carton. He then pushed the door shut, muting the humming and returning the kitchen to semi-darkness. He could hear the kettle boiling merrily away somewhere above him. He curled himself into a ball, and sobbed quietly to himself.
‘************************************************
‘Not very fierce, are they?’ sneered the woman.
Jones tried to keep his cool. The woman and her two brats were leaning over the edge of the bear pit. The keeper wished he could tip them in. Boris and Magda might look cuddly, but their teeth and claws were long and sharp. Jones’s predecessor bore a number of livid scars.
One of the little shits let a sweet wrapper flutter in the breeze, over the wall. Jones gritted his teeth. His look of exasperation turned to one of alarm as the child began to climb the fence atop the wall.
‘Come down, please,’ shouted Jones, reaching out.
‘Don’t touch my kid!’ bellowed the woman, clenching her fists.
‘He’s not allowed the climb up there,’ cautioned the keeper. ‘It’s dangerous.’
‘ ‘E’s doin’ it,’ said the child, pointing to his right.
Jones looked in the direction of the stubby little finger, just as the man indicated by the boy surmounted the fence and dropped into the pit.
Boris growled as Magda moved behind him. The two bears paced angrily as the man slowly approached them, arms outstretched.
Jones was in a quandary. Time was ticking away. He knew he should enter the enclosure via the back, and get help, but the man was almost within clawing distance, and both Boris and Magda were becoming more and more agitated.
Jones scaled the wall and fence, to shouts from the enraged children. As he dropped into the pit he heard the woman shush her infants and say ‘Keep watchin’. This should be good.’
Eyes on the man who now stood stock still before the bears, Jones landed badly, twisting his ankle. Boris had raised himself upon his hind legs and was roaring at the man, who seemed to be whispering ‘Please kill me’ to the animals.
Jones’ abrupt entrance diverted Boris’ attention. The bear sprinted towards the keeper, who was trying to stand, supporting himself against the wall.
Jones screamed. The children cheered. The woman vomited. The man cried.
‘**********************************************************
The man lay upon the couch. Doctor Reisel smiled through his goatee.
‘Mr. Jansk, if you’re not going to talk to me, I’m not going to be able to help you.’
Jansk smiled weakly from the couch.
Reisel sighed.
‘I’ll be referring your case, Mr. Jansk. Perhaps a spell in hospital might help.’
Unprofessional Reisel knew, but he couldn’t help feeling a little elated at Jansk’s look of fear.
Jansk had been studying a poster upon Reisel’s wall. It exhorted lonely, frightened people to reach out and contact others. The face peering out of the poster looked vaguely familiar to Jansk. He began to fancy he could make out shapes in the dark behind it. Clawed hands. Red eyes.
Reisel had risen from his chair and strolled across to his desk. He sighed and flipped open his desk diary. These NHS psychiatric patients were a waste of time. He smiled as he realised that Mrs. Worthington was his next patient. A private one. Given to engaging fantasies of a sexual kind. Involving psychiatrists.
‘Well, Mr. Jansk, I think we can leave it for a week. So, how about we reconvene a fortnight from today and, hopefully, you’ll be a little more forthcoming.’
Reisel looked up to see an empty couch.
‘**********************************************************
Jansk opened his garden gate and walked up the path to his house. He started as the front door opened.
‘Yoo hoo, Stefan. Only me. Just whisking a duster round before you got home.’
‘Thanks, Mrs. Jerzinsky.’
‘It’s no trouble, Stefan. Come on in. I’ve got the kettle on.’
Jansk sat on the edge of a kitchen chair, and sipped his tea. Mrs. Jerzinky fussed around him.
‘Everything’s in its place, Stefan. I haven’t moved anything. Just kept it all clean.’
‘Thanks, Mrs. Jerzinsky.’
‘Call me Delores.’
Jansk frowned.
‘I thought your name was Maud?’
Mrs. Jerzinsky roared with laughter.
‘It is, you silly cake. I always fancied being a Delores though.’
She wiped a tear from her eye, and studied Jansk.
‘Sure you’re alright, Stefan? Nothing else I can do?’
‘No. I’m fine, Mrs. J. Seriously. You’ve been great. Thank you.’
He braced himself for questions. He knew she was dying to ask.
‘OK, then. I’ll cut along. I’ve our tea to get. Are you sure…?’
‘Yes. Yes. Thank you.’ Jansk put his cup down in the saucer and forced a smile. As Mrs. Jerzinsky collected her coat, Jansk noticed a copy of Take A Chat magazine on the table. Obviously Mrs. J’s. A face stared out from the cover. The headline They’re Out To Get Me! blazed in red capitals above. The face looked very familiar. The darkness behind it swirled.
Mrs. Jerzinsky, shrugging into her coat, paused at the door.
‘Stefan…‘…Mum and I are going to Bingo tonight. Would you like to come? It would do you good, you know. You should get out and meet people. You could have a drink. We take a taxi and…’
The kitchen was empty.
‘**********************************************
He leant his hot forehead against the cool glass of the door. Leave me alone. Please. I can’t….I can’t….
He drew in a deep breath and walked back into the kitchen. He washed up the two cups, emptied the teapot down the sink, and dropped the damp teabags into the bin.
He looked out of the kitchen window. It was getting dark. He hurried into the lounge. The television. The radio. Portals for them to get in. His chest was beginning to feel tight, his breathing was getting shallower. He drew the curtains, peering out of the gap between them as they slowly closed. No sign. Perhaps they were letting him settle in before tormenting him. He checked the house again. The fridge. The cupboards, wardrobe, oven. Under the beds. The laundry basket. Oh, they were subtle this time. Not a trace. He strained his ears. Silence. Don’t relax, Jansk. That’s when they’ll….
He caught sight of the machine under the television. Of course! Choose your own viewing. They couldn’t get in then. He looked around the room. Searched in the old cocktail cabinet. No tapes! He chewed a fingernail. Put some music on. No! That would cover their approach.
Jansk found himself outside in the dark. He hurried down to the parade, peering through the window of the second to last shop. Andy was in there! And no one else. He stepped inside.
Andy was leaning on the counter, busy writing in a note book. Jansk approached slowly, smiling. He looked at the shelves. And stopped. Picked up a case. So thin. Things had changed. This wasn’t right. What…
‘Stefan?’
He looked up and saw Andy’s puzzled frown become an expansive smile.
‘Stefan! Where you been? It’s been ages!’
Andy rushed out and hugged him. Jansk squirmed, clutching the case for dear life.
‘Andy..’ he gasped. ‘Andy…they’re…it’s…different.’
Andy took the case from him.
‘No. It’s DVD. As…’
The shop owner looked at his frightened customer with wonder, then smiled broadly again.
‘Course! Stefan! When you go, it was video! Now DVD!. Come, I show you. You know CD?’
Jansk nodded in bewilderment. Andy took down a case from behind the counter and opened it to reveal a shiny disc. Jansk gaped. Andy explained, but Jansk only heard an indistinct mumble. The owner disappeared through a door at the back of the shop, and came back holding a thin, light metal machine with a couple of leads. He began to explain to Jansk how to connect and work the player, then paused as he wondered just how ancient Jansk’s television was.
‘Have a look round, Stefan. Choose a film. Then we go and set up DVD player?’
‘OK. Thanks, Andy.’
‘No problem.’
Andy returned to his notebook. Jansk looked around the shop. So many ways to keep them out! He looked at New Releases, moved on through Family, Comedy, Drama, Action. Without realising it, he had slipped into Horror. Things were observing him from every case. He looked frantically around. He saw himself reaching out from one cover. Blackness was behind him. Red eyes glowed in the dark. Hands, clawed, stretched for him. PARANOIA. Certificate eighteen. He screamed.
‘Stefan?’ Andy jerked up from his figures. The shop was empty.
‘Mr . Jansk!’
Jansk had been moving fast, head down, focused. The voice stopped him. He turned. She had long curly red hair and glasses. She smiled.
‘Mr. Jansk? It’s me. Miss Klimt. From the library? I have your book.’
Jansk smiled nervously, as the young woman rummaged in her bag. She looked heavenward, and sighed in exasperation.
‘Oh blast it! I must have left in my flat. I don’t suppose you’d care to come and collect it? I’m going home now.’
Jansk’s thoughts whirled. Why would she have his book at her home? She…
‘Yes,’ he said, surprising himself. ‘I’d love to.’
‘Great! Come on then.’
She linked her arm in his and led him back the way he had come. He felt good. She was so pretty.
‘Here we are.’
He looked up at the block of flats. How had they…? He must have been in some sort of reverie.
They walked up the stairs to the third floor, Miss Klimt apologising for the out of order lift. She opened the door of flat 306, and ushered him in.
‘Tea? Coffee?’
She was removing her coat. Jansk looked away.
‘Tea, please.’
‘Splendid! I’ve some Earl Grey. I’ll just…oh, here we are.’
She put the book down on the coffee table near to where Jansk was standing, and returned to the kitchen, humming.
Jansk looked at the book and frowned. It was a slim volume with a dark cover. He couldn’t make out the author’s name. It was upside down. He began to walk slowly around the table. The cover came into focus. He made out the title. PARANOIA. A face was emerging from the darkness of the cover. Screaming. It was his. He could make out the little red pinprick eyes, and the vague, clawing hands looming up behind the white face.
‘Sugar, Mr Jansk? Oh.’ Miss Klimt stared nervously at the empty flat.
‘*********************************************************
He made it home, sweating, crying, cursing. The bastards. The fucking bastards. They’d begun to take on the shape of people he knew. Knew and trusted.
He scrabbled for the light switch in the pitch black hall, and sighed with relief as the energy-saving bulbs faint light illuminated his sanctuary.
He turned to slam the door. Something prevented it from closing. He sobbed and shoved.
‘Stefan.’
The voice was quiet and compassionate. He looked through wet tangles of hair that had fallen across his eyes.
‘A…Andy?’
‘Come now, my friend. Look at you. What a state you are in. Come sit down.’
Jansk fell into Andy’s arms, shoulders heaving, cheeks wet.
‘I can’t take it, Andy!’ he screamed. ’They’re everywhere! They’re getting closer.’
‘Calm yourself, Stefan. Calm yourself.’
Andy guided Jansk toward the lounge, supporting him The video shop owner glanced back over his shoulder.
‘Tea, Mrs. Jerzinsky. If you please.’
‘Mrs…? What’s she…No…NO!!! No tea. No more tea!’
‘Shhhshhhhshhh.’
Andy gently laid him down on the sofa.
‘Is alright now, Stefan. All will be well.’
Jansk saw a concerned looking Mrs J glance out of the kitchen.
‘Poor boy,’ she clucked. ’I’ve got the kettle on.'
‘NO FUCKING TEA!!!!’ screamed Jansk. Andy held him down as he struggled to rise from the sofa.
‘Calm yourself, Stefan. You are doing nobody any favours here.’
‘The language,’ muttered a red-faced Mrs Jerzinsky, shaking her head.
‘I’ll take care of things. Roll his sleeve up, Mr Andropolous .’
‘OK, Doctor.’
Jansk looked up.
‘Dr. Reisel?’ What…’
Reisel had produced a hypodermic from a black bag.
‘This won’t hurt a bit, Mr. Jansk. Now just stay calm….hold him, please.’
Jansk looked at the needle in horror.
‘No…NO…NOOOO!!! Get away! Leave ME ALONE!!!’
He saw Reisel’s eyes glow redly behind the horn rims as the doctor depressed the plunger. Andy’s hands holding his arms resembled claws. He looked up in desperation.
Mrs. Jerzinsky was sipping tea in the doorway. Her eyes were red; as were those of Miss Klimt beside her.
Reisel leaned over, grinning.
‘Got you!’
Jansk writhed and raged, punching, kicking, thrashing….completely oblivious to the fact he was completely and utterly alone.
‘*******************************************************
‘In your own time, Mrs. Jerzinsky.’
‘Thanks. Well, he was a really nice chap, you know? Very quiet. Kept himself to himself. I liked to help him out, you know, keeping the place tidy and that, but, blimey, I never thought he’d do that. Gawd knows what went on in his head.’
‘*****************************************************
‘Mr. Andropolous?’
‘Andy. Stefan? He was a good guy, you know? Quiet. No trouble. No problem. I liked him. I don’t know what made him do that. I didn’t see it coming.’
‘****************************************************
‘Miss Klimt? About Mr. Jansk….’
‘ I didn’t really know him, except that he came into the library quite a bit. A well read man, I’d say. He’d asked me to get a book in for him. This one. I’d taken it home the day before he….well, you know….and I happened to see him in the street and asked him if he’d like to collect it. He came back to my flat for a cup of tea…no, no, nothing like that. He was a perfect gentleman in every way. Well, he took one look at the book and disappeared. I don’t know. He was obviously very troubled inside. Obviously…’
‘*******************************************************
‘Dr. Reisel….’
‘Look, I don’t know how you linked him to me, but there is such a thing as patient confidentiality, you know. I am prepared to speak off the record. The man was a hopeless case. The NHS doesn’t have the funds to treat these people, and they wander the streets. Anything can happen. I blame the government. They need to put more money in. And now, if you’d kindly bugger off, I have a very important patient waiting…’
‘****************************************************
‘Good work, Sidney,’ leered the editor of Take A Chat magazine. ‘You got ‘em all?’
‘I think so, Boss,’ sighed the reporter. ‘The woman at the zoo, the one with two kids? Confirmed that the bear made for the keeper, then doubled back and got our boy. After she’d puked, she took a picture on her ‘phone…’
‘I’ve seen it,’ grunted the editor. ‘Shame we can’t run it. A bit too much, even for our readership. The only thing I don’t like is the headline. ‘Man Eaten By Bears.’ Can’t you come up with something better?’
The reporter stood up.
‘Lunchtime. Coming for a pint? I’ll leave the title to the subs. As long as they don’t use ‘Trouble Bruin’.
Both men laughed.
As fresh and clean as he’d ever be, Jansk stepped uneasily through the front door and locked it. The sun peeked out from behind a cloud, and he felt an unexpected surge of warmth. He smiled for half a second and, head down, hurried along the garden path.
He managed to reach the surgery dead on 9 am without meeting anyone. Mercifully, the doctor signed him off for another month, but confirmed that she was putting Jansk forward to see a specialist. He nodded. He’d cross that particular bridge when he came to it.
On the way to the supermarket, he kept thinking he saw them out of the corner of his eye. He saw the pitying smiles and headshaking from passers-by at his sudden jerking and leaping to one side. Once inside he quickly collected items on his list, paid and hurried home.
The same half-glimpsed shapes tormented him; this time the assault was also aural. He heard the whispering. Taunts, threats, promises. He resisted the temptation to cover his ears until he had crossed his own threshold. Then he screamed.
Jansk came round sprawled across the hall floor, surrounded by groceries. Groaning, he gained his knees and collected the fallen foodstuffs and bottles. He got as far as the kitchen before falling again.
When he opened his eyes it was dark. He eyes gradually grew accustomed to the darkness. Faint moonlight shone through the kitchen window, allowing Jansk to make out the table, the window itself and various unidentifiable objects strewn around the floor.
He grasped the top of the table and levered himself to his feet. He slumped into a chair breathing heavily,and looked up directly into a pair of red eyes.
Jansk gasped. He felt too tired to move. The eyes held his gaze. He felt himself weakening, his arms upon the table growing heavy, his eyelids fluttering, his breathing becoming more laboured.
He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his tongue as hard as he could. He felt the metallic taste of blood within his mouth. He opened his eyes and spat at the same time. The eyes had gone.
Jansk’s breathing was rapid and shallow. His eyes darted from side to side, but could make out nothing in the darkness. His ears strained but he could not identify one solitary sound apart from his own breathing.
He gradually calmed himself. They still weren’t ready. He had time. Time to do what? He groaned at the unfairness of it all. His eyes grew accustomed to the faint moonlight once more, and he saw the knife laying on the work surface. Go on, he told himself, finish it. They won’t be able to get you then.
Or would they? Perhaps that’s what they wanted. If you left this dimension, they could be waiting in another. Perhaps they can’t physically get to you here, Jansk wondered. Perhaps they need you to change to enable them to….
He wandered toward the kitchen window, looking out at the moonlit overgrown garden. His reflection looked back at him. He slowly realised that it wasn’t a reflection of him, Jansk. It was similar, but not quite right. He suppressed a desire to smash the glass.
On impulse he turned, grabbed the kettle, thrust it under a tap, and filled it with icy water.
Plugging it in, he kept his gaze away from the window. As he waited for the kettle to boil, he realised that his breathing was fast, his pulse rapid, he could hear his heartbeat.
A tear trickled down his cheek. Get a grip! He retrieved a mug from the wall cupboard above the work surface. Further scrabbling enabled him to get hold of the coffee jar and an open packet of sugar.
He sighed and opened the fridge. It was then that the creature seized his wrist.
Jansk screamed and fell backwards, fighting against the strength of his captor. He jerked free and rolled across the kitchen, looking back in terror.
The light from within the refrigerator illuminated the kitchen floor between Jansk and the cold store. There was silence apart from the humming of the fridge. The dropped carton of milk steadily vomited its contents on to the kitchen tiles. Aside from some eggs, a carrot, a piece of cheese and a carton of Surely This Ain’t Butter?! the fridge gaped emptily at him.
Jansk slowly reached out and righted the milk carton. He then pushed the door shut, muting the humming and returning the kitchen to semi-darkness. He could hear the kettle boiling merrily away somewhere above him. He curled himself into a ball, and sobbed quietly to himself.
‘************************************************
‘Not very fierce, are they?’ sneered the woman.
Jones tried to keep his cool. The woman and her two brats were leaning over the edge of the bear pit. The keeper wished he could tip them in. Boris and Magda might look cuddly, but their teeth and claws were long and sharp. Jones’s predecessor bore a number of livid scars.
One of the little shits let a sweet wrapper flutter in the breeze, over the wall. Jones gritted his teeth. His look of exasperation turned to one of alarm as the child began to climb the fence atop the wall.
‘Come down, please,’ shouted Jones, reaching out.
‘Don’t touch my kid!’ bellowed the woman, clenching her fists.
‘He’s not allowed the climb up there,’ cautioned the keeper. ‘It’s dangerous.’
‘ ‘E’s doin’ it,’ said the child, pointing to his right.
Jones looked in the direction of the stubby little finger, just as the man indicated by the boy surmounted the fence and dropped into the pit.
Boris growled as Magda moved behind him. The two bears paced angrily as the man slowly approached them, arms outstretched.
Jones was in a quandary. Time was ticking away. He knew he should enter the enclosure via the back, and get help, but the man was almost within clawing distance, and both Boris and Magda were becoming more and more agitated.
Jones scaled the wall and fence, to shouts from the enraged children. As he dropped into the pit he heard the woman shush her infants and say ‘Keep watchin’. This should be good.’
Eyes on the man who now stood stock still before the bears, Jones landed badly, twisting his ankle. Boris had raised himself upon his hind legs and was roaring at the man, who seemed to be whispering ‘Please kill me’ to the animals.
Jones’ abrupt entrance diverted Boris’ attention. The bear sprinted towards the keeper, who was trying to stand, supporting himself against the wall.
Jones screamed. The children cheered. The woman vomited. The man cried.
‘**********************************************************
The man lay upon the couch. Doctor Reisel smiled through his goatee.
‘Mr. Jansk, if you’re not going to talk to me, I’m not going to be able to help you.’
Jansk smiled weakly from the couch.
Reisel sighed.
‘I’ll be referring your case, Mr. Jansk. Perhaps a spell in hospital might help.’
Unprofessional Reisel knew, but he couldn’t help feeling a little elated at Jansk’s look of fear.
Jansk had been studying a poster upon Reisel’s wall. It exhorted lonely, frightened people to reach out and contact others. The face peering out of the poster looked vaguely familiar to Jansk. He began to fancy he could make out shapes in the dark behind it. Clawed hands. Red eyes.
Reisel had risen from his chair and strolled across to his desk. He sighed and flipped open his desk diary. These NHS psychiatric patients were a waste of time. He smiled as he realised that Mrs. Worthington was his next patient. A private one. Given to engaging fantasies of a sexual kind. Involving psychiatrists.
‘Well, Mr. Jansk, I think we can leave it for a week. So, how about we reconvene a fortnight from today and, hopefully, you’ll be a little more forthcoming.’
Reisel looked up to see an empty couch.
‘**********************************************************
Jansk opened his garden gate and walked up the path to his house. He started as the front door opened.
‘Yoo hoo, Stefan. Only me. Just whisking a duster round before you got home.’
‘Thanks, Mrs. Jerzinsky.’
‘It’s no trouble, Stefan. Come on in. I’ve got the kettle on.’
Jansk sat on the edge of a kitchen chair, and sipped his tea. Mrs. Jerzinky fussed around him.
‘Everything’s in its place, Stefan. I haven’t moved anything. Just kept it all clean.’
‘Thanks, Mrs. Jerzinsky.’
‘Call me Delores.’
Jansk frowned.
‘I thought your name was Maud?’
Mrs. Jerzinsky roared with laughter.
‘It is, you silly cake. I always fancied being a Delores though.’
She wiped a tear from her eye, and studied Jansk.
‘Sure you’re alright, Stefan? Nothing else I can do?’
‘No. I’m fine, Mrs. J. Seriously. You’ve been great. Thank you.’
He braced himself for questions. He knew she was dying to ask.
‘OK, then. I’ll cut along. I’ve our tea to get. Are you sure…?’
‘Yes. Yes. Thank you.’ Jansk put his cup down in the saucer and forced a smile. As Mrs. Jerzinsky collected her coat, Jansk noticed a copy of Take A Chat magazine on the table. Obviously Mrs. J’s. A face stared out from the cover. The headline They’re Out To Get Me! blazed in red capitals above. The face looked very familiar. The darkness behind it swirled.
Mrs. Jerzinsky, shrugging into her coat, paused at the door.
‘Stefan…‘…Mum and I are going to Bingo tonight. Would you like to come? It would do you good, you know. You should get out and meet people. You could have a drink. We take a taxi and…’
The kitchen was empty.
‘**********************************************
He leant his hot forehead against the cool glass of the door. Leave me alone. Please. I can’t….I can’t….
He drew in a deep breath and walked back into the kitchen. He washed up the two cups, emptied the teapot down the sink, and dropped the damp teabags into the bin.
He looked out of the kitchen window. It was getting dark. He hurried into the lounge. The television. The radio. Portals for them to get in. His chest was beginning to feel tight, his breathing was getting shallower. He drew the curtains, peering out of the gap between them as they slowly closed. No sign. Perhaps they were letting him settle in before tormenting him. He checked the house again. The fridge. The cupboards, wardrobe, oven. Under the beds. The laundry basket. Oh, they were subtle this time. Not a trace. He strained his ears. Silence. Don’t relax, Jansk. That’s when they’ll….
He caught sight of the machine under the television. Of course! Choose your own viewing. They couldn’t get in then. He looked around the room. Searched in the old cocktail cabinet. No tapes! He chewed a fingernail. Put some music on. No! That would cover their approach.
Jansk found himself outside in the dark. He hurried down to the parade, peering through the window of the second to last shop. Andy was in there! And no one else. He stepped inside.
Andy was leaning on the counter, busy writing in a note book. Jansk approached slowly, smiling. He looked at the shelves. And stopped. Picked up a case. So thin. Things had changed. This wasn’t right. What…
‘Stefan?’
He looked up and saw Andy’s puzzled frown become an expansive smile.
‘Stefan! Where you been? It’s been ages!’
Andy rushed out and hugged him. Jansk squirmed, clutching the case for dear life.
‘Andy..’ he gasped. ‘Andy…they’re…it’s…different.’
Andy took the case from him.
‘No. It’s DVD. As…’
The shop owner looked at his frightened customer with wonder, then smiled broadly again.
‘Course! Stefan! When you go, it was video! Now DVD!. Come, I show you. You know CD?’
Jansk nodded in bewilderment. Andy took down a case from behind the counter and opened it to reveal a shiny disc. Jansk gaped. Andy explained, but Jansk only heard an indistinct mumble. The owner disappeared through a door at the back of the shop, and came back holding a thin, light metal machine with a couple of leads. He began to explain to Jansk how to connect and work the player, then paused as he wondered just how ancient Jansk’s television was.
‘Have a look round, Stefan. Choose a film. Then we go and set up DVD player?’
‘OK. Thanks, Andy.’
‘No problem.’
Andy returned to his notebook. Jansk looked around the shop. So many ways to keep them out! He looked at New Releases, moved on through Family, Comedy, Drama, Action. Without realising it, he had slipped into Horror. Things were observing him from every case. He looked frantically around. He saw himself reaching out from one cover. Blackness was behind him. Red eyes glowed in the dark. Hands, clawed, stretched for him. PARANOIA. Certificate eighteen. He screamed.
‘Stefan?’ Andy jerked up from his figures. The shop was empty.
‘Mr . Jansk!’
Jansk had been moving fast, head down, focused. The voice stopped him. He turned. She had long curly red hair and glasses. She smiled.
‘Mr. Jansk? It’s me. Miss Klimt. From the library? I have your book.’
Jansk smiled nervously, as the young woman rummaged in her bag. She looked heavenward, and sighed in exasperation.
‘Oh blast it! I must have left in my flat. I don’t suppose you’d care to come and collect it? I’m going home now.’
Jansk’s thoughts whirled. Why would she have his book at her home? She…
‘Yes,’ he said, surprising himself. ‘I’d love to.’
‘Great! Come on then.’
She linked her arm in his and led him back the way he had come. He felt good. She was so pretty.
‘Here we are.’
He looked up at the block of flats. How had they…? He must have been in some sort of reverie.
They walked up the stairs to the third floor, Miss Klimt apologising for the out of order lift. She opened the door of flat 306, and ushered him in.
‘Tea? Coffee?’
She was removing her coat. Jansk looked away.
‘Tea, please.’
‘Splendid! I’ve some Earl Grey. I’ll just…oh, here we are.’
She put the book down on the coffee table near to where Jansk was standing, and returned to the kitchen, humming.
Jansk looked at the book and frowned. It was a slim volume with a dark cover. He couldn’t make out the author’s name. It was upside down. He began to walk slowly around the table. The cover came into focus. He made out the title. PARANOIA. A face was emerging from the darkness of the cover. Screaming. It was his. He could make out the little red pinprick eyes, and the vague, clawing hands looming up behind the white face.
‘Sugar, Mr Jansk? Oh.’ Miss Klimt stared nervously at the empty flat.
‘*********************************************************
He made it home, sweating, crying, cursing. The bastards. The fucking bastards. They’d begun to take on the shape of people he knew. Knew and trusted.
He scrabbled for the light switch in the pitch black hall, and sighed with relief as the energy-saving bulbs faint light illuminated his sanctuary.
He turned to slam the door. Something prevented it from closing. He sobbed and shoved.
‘Stefan.’
The voice was quiet and compassionate. He looked through wet tangles of hair that had fallen across his eyes.
‘A…Andy?’
‘Come now, my friend. Look at you. What a state you are in. Come sit down.’
Jansk fell into Andy’s arms, shoulders heaving, cheeks wet.
‘I can’t take it, Andy!’ he screamed. ’They’re everywhere! They’re getting closer.’
‘Calm yourself, Stefan. Calm yourself.’
Andy guided Jansk toward the lounge, supporting him The video shop owner glanced back over his shoulder.
‘Tea, Mrs. Jerzinsky. If you please.’
‘Mrs…? What’s she…No…NO!!! No tea. No more tea!’
‘Shhhshhhhshhh.’
Andy gently laid him down on the sofa.
‘Is alright now, Stefan. All will be well.’
Jansk saw a concerned looking Mrs J glance out of the kitchen.
‘Poor boy,’ she clucked. ’I’ve got the kettle on.'
‘NO FUCKING TEA!!!!’ screamed Jansk. Andy held him down as he struggled to rise from the sofa.
‘Calm yourself, Stefan. You are doing nobody any favours here.’
‘The language,’ muttered a red-faced Mrs Jerzinsky, shaking her head.
‘I’ll take care of things. Roll his sleeve up, Mr Andropolous .’
‘OK, Doctor.’
Jansk looked up.
‘Dr. Reisel?’ What…’
Reisel had produced a hypodermic from a black bag.
‘This won’t hurt a bit, Mr. Jansk. Now just stay calm….hold him, please.’
Jansk looked at the needle in horror.
‘No…NO…NOOOO!!! Get away! Leave ME ALONE!!!’
He saw Reisel’s eyes glow redly behind the horn rims as the doctor depressed the plunger. Andy’s hands holding his arms resembled claws. He looked up in desperation.
Mrs. Jerzinsky was sipping tea in the doorway. Her eyes were red; as were those of Miss Klimt beside her.
Reisel leaned over, grinning.
‘Got you!’
Jansk writhed and raged, punching, kicking, thrashing….completely oblivious to the fact he was completely and utterly alone.
‘*******************************************************
‘In your own time, Mrs. Jerzinsky.’
‘Thanks. Well, he was a really nice chap, you know? Very quiet. Kept himself to himself. I liked to help him out, you know, keeping the place tidy and that, but, blimey, I never thought he’d do that. Gawd knows what went on in his head.’
‘*****************************************************
‘Mr. Andropolous?’
‘Andy. Stefan? He was a good guy, you know? Quiet. No trouble. No problem. I liked him. I don’t know what made him do that. I didn’t see it coming.’
‘****************************************************
‘Miss Klimt? About Mr. Jansk….’
‘ I didn’t really know him, except that he came into the library quite a bit. A well read man, I’d say. He’d asked me to get a book in for him. This one. I’d taken it home the day before he….well, you know….and I happened to see him in the street and asked him if he’d like to collect it. He came back to my flat for a cup of tea…no, no, nothing like that. He was a perfect gentleman in every way. Well, he took one look at the book and disappeared. I don’t know. He was obviously very troubled inside. Obviously…’
‘*******************************************************
‘Dr. Reisel….’
‘Look, I don’t know how you linked him to me, but there is such a thing as patient confidentiality, you know. I am prepared to speak off the record. The man was a hopeless case. The NHS doesn’t have the funds to treat these people, and they wander the streets. Anything can happen. I blame the government. They need to put more money in. And now, if you’d kindly bugger off, I have a very important patient waiting…’
‘****************************************************
‘Good work, Sidney,’ leered the editor of Take A Chat magazine. ‘You got ‘em all?’
‘I think so, Boss,’ sighed the reporter. ‘The woman at the zoo, the one with two kids? Confirmed that the bear made for the keeper, then doubled back and got our boy. After she’d puked, she took a picture on her ‘phone…’
‘I’ve seen it,’ grunted the editor. ‘Shame we can’t run it. A bit too much, even for our readership. The only thing I don’t like is the headline. ‘Man Eaten By Bears.’ Can’t you come up with something better?’
The reporter stood up.
‘Lunchtime. Coming for a pint? I’ll leave the title to the subs. As long as they don’t use ‘Trouble Bruin’.
Both men laughed.