My Short Story:The Author
My Short Story:The Author
The Author
“You killed me you bastard!” The man across the street screamed pointing an accusing finger in Andrew’s direction. Andrew looked around trying to find someone who would respond to the man’s claims. He looked back at him bewildered for it had seemed as no-one else had heard him.
“Yes you, arsehole, you killed me!” The man screamed again.
He started to cross the street, stepping in front of a passing bus. Andrew gasped, expecting a squeal of brakes. Then stared in horror as the bus passed straight through him, not swerving or slowing down, as if the driver had not seen him. The man continued walking across towards Andrew who stood there mesmerised by someone no-one else could see. The man was halfway across the street when a look of recognition crossed Andrews face. Then he ran. He ran as fast as he had ever run
before in his life. Dodging in between people if he could pushing them out of the way if he could not. He glanced back once only to see him standing where Andrew had been only seconds before, laughing, then he vanished.
Andrew continued running, ignoring the cries of indignation behind him. The crowd started to thin out until no-one was in sight. He stood there glancing about frantically, gasping for breath, his lungs feeling as if they were on fire. He looked across the street and saw The Southern Cross Pub. It sounded familiar to him, crossing the street he entered the pub. It was dark inside, standing at the doorway he waited for his eyes to adjust. It had an old rotting smell to it that was unpleasant but bearable, bearable for someone who desperately needed a drink. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness he glanced around, taking in his surroundings. The bar was directly in
front of him, a bartender was sitting behind it with a newspaper propped up in front of him. To the right was a row of tables, a man was slumped over one, with a quarter of a bottle of bourbon in front of him.
Andrew walked up to the bar to be served, the bartender continued to read his newspaper, ignoring him. After a while Andrew cleared his throat, the bartender looked at him from above his newspaper, with a sight he put it down and got up.
“Double bourbon, thanks,” he asked, “on second thought give us the bottle.”
Andrew picked up the bottle and walked over to the corner bar, sitting down he looked intently at the bottle, thinking seriously about what he was about to do, then poured himself a drink.
“You shouldn’t have done that you know.” A voice spoke from behind me.
Andrew spun around so fast that he knocked his drink over, spilling the bourbon all over the counter. There was no-one behind him, he glanced at the drunk in the corner who was still slumped over the table. Turning back to the bar he apologised to the bartender who was in the process of cleaning up the bourbon.
Andrew picked up the bottle and moved over to a table. Sitting down he poured himself another drink, looking around in case someone was going to startle him again before downing. Grimacing he placed the glass on the table and waited for the burning to subside. Suddenly he had the feeling of being watched, raising his head and looked directly at the drunk who had been slumped over the table. Raising his arm he beckoned Andrew to join him.
Andrew sat there for a moment then picked up the bottle and ventured over. Sitting across from him Andrew stared, trying to make out his features. Then he spoke.
“I said, you shouldn’t have done that.”
Andrew froze.
“Done what?” He asked, knowing he would regret doing so.
“You turned me into an alcoholic hoping I would forget what you did too me!” He whispered so quietly that Andrew only just heard him.
“I have never seen you before in my life so how am I responsible for turning you into a bloody alcoholic?” Andrew asked, raising my voice slightly.
The bartender looked across at me curiously before walking away with an unsettling grin on his face. All this time Andrew had been trying to see this mans face through the shadow cast by the hooded jacket he was wearing. Now he reached up
with his right hand and slowly pulled back the hood, it was then Andrew noticed he did not have a left arm, while Andrew was thinking why he had just noticed this his face came into full view. Andrew dropped his drink on the table as the horror was revealed. His sockets were filled with puss and blood that was slowly oozing down his face as if he was eternally crying. Andrew lurched out of the seat trying to escape the sight, but it was already imprinted in my mind. Andrew looked for the bartender, who was no-where in sight. Andrew gripped the bar and slowly turned to the drunk who was out of his seat and was hobbling towards him. Backing away from him it dawned on Andrew who he was, shaking his head in disbelief he turned and ran out the door onto the street. A car swerved barely missing him, horn blaring as it continued up the street. Andrew ignored it and turned back to the pub to see if the drunk was following him. He was gone, along with the pub, as if it had never been there.
Andrew stood there looking at a vacant block of land, turned and headed back to his car, glancing about him, suspicious of everybody. He got back to his car with nothing more happening, got in, checking the back seat as he did so, feeling foolish when he did not find anything. Pulling out from the curb he headed home on freeway South. It was not until he was on the freeway that someone spoke from the back seat.
“Hi Andy!”
Andrew looked into the rear vision and saw a girl looking back at him, licking her lips, with half her head missing. She suddenly jumped at him, her hands locking onto his neck, trying to choke him. Andrew panicked, slamming on the brakes and letting go of the steering wheel, trying to pry her hands from his throat. The car spun out of control slamming into a car beside mine forcing over the railing of the bridge,
the car behind him swerved around him head on into a truck. Andrew’s car came to a stop sideways in the middle of the road, the grip on his throat becoming stronger. He felt as if his head was going to explode from the pressure, then suddenly the hands were gone from his throat.
Andrew gasped for breath just as a car slammed into the side of his, spinning it around to face the opposite direction to what he was originally going. Sitting there in a daze, he stared at the carnage about him. Rubbing his neck he looked in the back seat, nothing. Andrew started his car, spun it around and headed home as fast as he could.
Arriving at his house half an hour later, he sat in the car staring out the window, his knuckles white from the force of his grip on the steering wheel. Slowly he let go and undid his seat belt, he checked the back seat again, still nothing. Shaking his
head he got out of the car, touching his neck gingerly, as if to remind him that it really happened.
He walked to the front door of his house and was just about to open it when he got the feeling of being watched, normally he would have laughed at himself, but in light of what had happened so far today he thought better of it. Looking around behind him, knowing he would regret doing so, he saw the same girl who had attacked him on the freeway get out of the car.
Andrew stared at her in disbelief, knowing now who it was. She started to walk towards him, holding her arms out. Backing up till his back hit the door, he
started fumbling for his keys. Then she vanished, her laughter ringing in his head long after she had gone.
Turning around he unlocked the door, and froze, thinking of who or what could be waiting for him in the dark hallway. Slowly he opened the door and peered inside, not seeing anything he reached in and flicked on the light, no-one was waiting for him. Quickly stepping in he shut the door and locked it behind him. He then walked though the house checking each room, making sure all the windows and doors were locked. Satisfied that there was no-one in the house he went to the study, turning to his latest novel, already knowing what he was going to find but compelled to look. Slowly flipping through the typed pages stopping only when someone was killed or injured. So far three of these people had visited him today. He looked up from the novel and stared at the others on his book shelf that he had written.
“This is not possible,” he whispered, frantically, “this is not fucking possible!” He screamed, flinging his work into the corner of the study.
“Oh, I’m afraid it is Andrew.” A voice spoke from behind him. Spinning around he stared at the man in the doorway, speechless. He walked into the room and sat down in Andrew’s thinking chair.
“You see Andrew,” he continued, “your characters are finally sick and tired of being hacked to pieces for no reason at all besides making you a buck. So they are after you now!”
“How did you get in?” Andrew demanded to know, irritated by his casual attitude.
“You can’t lock us out Andrew, you should have realised by now that the normal rules don’t apply to us.” He stated, disappointment evident in his voice that he had to explain it.
“But they are just figments of my imagination!” He cried.
“Right you are my friend, we are nothing more, that is why they are after you. To put their miserable existence to an end.”
“How?” Already knowing the answer, but asking anyway.
“By killing you of course. I’m not going to though. I mean you saved my life, more than once. But I am not going to help you for I know sooner or later you will kill me off.”
Andrew stared at him, shaking his head in denial, as if it would make it all go away. Finally he spoke.
“But why did you warn me?” He asked.
“It was the least I could do.” And with that he vanished.
“Wait!” Andrew cried out to the empty air. “What can I do? Come back!”
Andrew stood there, staring at where this hero from his novel had been sitting just a moment before.
“No!” He cried out, trying to convince himself that it was not happening to him. He sat down in his chair and put his head in his hands, gripping his hair in despair. I need help, psychiatric help. Maybe, maybe Stephanie can help me. Give me something to put me to sleep and maybe when I wake up it will all be like a bad dream.
Thinking those thoughts, Andrew left for Stephanie’s house. Stephanie was his psychiatrist, he had not needed her for a few years, but he needed her now.
Getting into the car he checked the back seat, knowing it was pretty useless to do so. There was nothing there.
But for how long. He thought.
Driving to Stephanie’s, his mind kept replaying the day over and over until he thought he would scream, he turned the stereo on hoping to get his thoughts away from it. The music was playing for only a few seconds when it died.
Must be broken from the accident, he thought, shit the accident, I didn’t report it to the cops. Too late now. What would I say anyway, some woman from one of my stories, with half her head missing, tried to strangle me, that is why I lost control of the car. No really officer it’s the truth. Yeah right.
Andrew was almost at Stephanie’s when someone stood out in front of me, seemingly appearing from no-where, he slammed on the brakes and skidded towards the figure, and passed straight through him. As he passed by Andrew on the passenger side of the car he heard him laughing at him. The car came to a stop, Andrew looked behind him and saw what he had expected to see, no-one.
“Hi Andrew.”
Andrew jumped, snapping his head around to the passenger seat so fast it hurt.
“No need to panic it’s just me, then again the others could pop in at anytime, and they wouldn’t be to pleased to see me here either.”
Relaxing, although not completely, as he had decided he could not trust this guy, even if I had created him as a good guy, he was not exactly in control of this situation so anything would be possible.
“What do you want? Was that you I just hit, sort of?” He demanded, trying to calm the quiver he heard in his own voice.
“Now Andrew, is that anyway to greet a friend, of course it wasn’t me, would I do that to you?”
Andrew looked at him, suddenly suspicious, trying to detect any notes of sarcasm in his voice.
“Anyway, I just popped by to let you know what the others are planning.”
Andrew heard Alarm bells ring in his head but asked anyway,
“Why?”
“Well because, it isn’t really nice having surprises sprung on you, I should know you have done it enough times to me.”
“What are they going to do?”
“Well, lets not beat around the bush, they are coming to get you at midnight.”
Startled, I glanced at my watch.
“That’s only two hours away!” Andrew cried, “What can I do?” he asked, a feeling of despair coming over him
“Not a lot I’m afraid, and if there was I don’t think I would tell you anyway.”
With that he vanished.
Andrew got out of car, looking for him, trying to see where he had gone.
“I hate it when he does that.” he said out loud to no-one in particular. “Think Andrew, think. You’re a creative person, think of a way out of this.”
Pacing up and down next to his car he tried to come up with something.
“My gun! Shit, why didn’t I get it begore.”
He jumped back into his car and drove away from Stephanie, sleeping pills were not going to help him this time around
He arrived back at the house and headed straight for his room, opening up the cupboard he ripped everything out of the shelf until he found what he was looking for. Grabbing the steel box he threw it onto the bed, snapped the locks open and lifted the lid. Relief washed over him as he sat on the bed staring at it. Inside the box was a .45 magnum and a box of ammunition.
Hopefully I won’t need anymore. He thought.
He carried the gun into the lounge room switching off the lights on the way. Sitting down, he stared out of the window into the night. The clock on the wall chimed eleven. One hour to go. He thought. One hour before I find out if I live or die.
As he sat there his eyes started to close. He sat up, staring about.
Got to stay awake.
Shortly afterwards he was asleep. The gun held loosely in his hand.
Andrew woke with a fright, he’d heard something. Looking at the clock he saw it was two minutes to twelve.
Two miunutes. Where’s my gun?
He looked on the floor around the chair not seeing it anywhere. Getting frantic he threw the chair across the room. The clock started to chime twelve. Then he saw it, picking it up of the floor, he crept to the doorway and peered around it. The clock stopped chiming, and all was quiet.
Creeping up the hallway, ripping the gun tightly, muscles taut like springs stretched to their limit.
“Hi Andrew”
Andrew spun around, pointing the gun in the direction of the voice. Afigure stood at the other end of the hallway.
“Who’s that?” he asked, he wondered why he didn’t just pull the trigger.
The figure laughed, a low gutteral laugh.
“Andrew, Andrew, Andrew, do you think that gun is going to stop me?”
The figure started to walk towards him. Andrew backed away still not sure why he didn’t shoot. Then as it got nearer to him he pulled the trigger, blasting it in the chest, knocking it to the ground.
Andrew stood there shaking like a leaf, staring at the still figure on the floor. Taking a hesitant step towards it he looked for any sign of life.
Then it was up , launching at him, Andrew fell back raising the gun in his defence and pulled the trigger again , and again, blasting it at point blank range. Then it was on top of him, it’s hands around his neck, he continued to pull the trigger until he realised the gun was empty. He was starting to pass out from the pressure around his neck, dimly aware of a rotting smell that hung of the thing that was stranling him. Then it was gone. Andrew raised his head slowly looking about warily. The smell was still in the air. Andrew stood
up, picked up the gun and reloaded it. It had proved ineffective but it was better than nothing.
He walked backwards away from where the thing had come from until his back hit the wall. Then he turned and looked into the lounge room. The smell here was stronger, almost dry reaching, he crept into the lounge room. Then suddenly he felt hands grabbing him from behind and lifting him off his feet. Dropping the gun, he tried to free the hands from his throat, trying to get away. The rotting smell was overpowering now, he could
taste the bile in the back of his throat. The air grew cold about him, he could hear a tearing sound coming from somewhere in front of him, a wind swept about the lounge room, seemingly from nowhere. Andrew was starting to pass out from lack of oxygen, a combination of the smell and being strangled, his struggles growing weaker and weaker. Then he saw the air in front of him tearing open, screeching in protest. Looking into the opening Andrew could only see eternal darkness. Realising he was being pushed towards it, the pressure on his neck lessening, he renewed his struggles. As he got closer to the rift he could here the screams of agony from within, he knew then he was going to hell. Then he was gone. The opening closed up behind him, the wind dying to a breeze, then gone altogether. In the study a pile of papers sitting on the floor started to flip over, page by page, faster and faster, then suddenly burst into flames. (c) copyright 1995
My Other Short Story: MirrorMirror
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Email: armstj@training.wa.gov.au
