He tells me the Watcher on the mountain is gone. He said that every Observer in the this province had been frozen, which means all the people in all the cities around had also stopped.
I want to know how long ago this happened. I need to know. The Watcher of Watchers tells me that he's been searching for a long time. He says, from his perspective, it's been over five-thousand years.
What he's saying can't be true. It just can't. If the rules are the same for me as they are for all those I observe, then that means I and everything I care about have been nothing for a very long time.
The night sky agrees with his story. The stars are in a different position than they were just a few moments ago.
"You shouldn't have come."
The Watcher of Watchers tells me there are others above the Watchers. He says there are others above those as well. Two levels up there's an Overseer that oversees the world as a whole to keep it spinning on its axis. Three levels up, an Entity controls the star systems in our region of space allowing all of the stars to burn. Four levels up, an Intelligence keeps the galaxy spinning as a whole. Above that, maybe there's a God that allows our universe to expand into infinity.
"Even then," the Watcher of Watchers says, "God may just be a pawn like the rest of us."
He says that he's long past his expected life span, and that he desperately wanted to find me so I would know these things.
"Why come? Why disturb our unknown sleep?" I ask. "The sun will continue its journey regardless of what happens on our tiny insignificant planet."
"We're the last," the Watcher of Watchers says. "You're the last of your kind, and I'm the last of mine."
This man has come to rob me of the hope that I once had.
"How is that possible?" I demand.
"A Watcher became unhinged. She grew to hate her role with such fervor. She warped the truth, attempted to convince others that our purpose meant nothing. Insanity spread infecting all, leading to the suicide of all the Watchers." He bowed his head. "As the last Watcher of Watchers, I've traveled in search of each abandoned post. One by one, I locate the Observers and bring them back. It's my duty to complete the work that the cowards chose to abandon."
"You allow each Observer time so they can keep their part of the world alive?"
The Watcher of Watchers nods. "When an Observer dies, I track down the next one, and the next one. Now only you and I remain."
"Oh, how things change."
"What happens now is up to you. I will watch, but my time is drawing to an end. If I die, you'll never know it happened."
I stare out of the window looking at the city and the Watch or Watchers stands behind me. I wonder if there's any reason to go on. After all, this is the only place left in the world that still exists. By now the people in the city below are realizing that no one outside of town is reachable. Internet, phones, power, it's all stopped. It had been five-thousand years since the rest of the world died, but to them it just happened.
"How did the other cities handle the sudden change?" I ask.
"Each was different," the Watcher of Watchers replied. "Most went through a period of chaos. Factions may emerge. There will be war and suffering that will last until a generation passes. Until the truth that the rest of world which existed has faded to myth, there will be those who suffer. Once the past has been forgotten, a new history may form. There will then be peace until the Observer can no longer observe."
"The world has wound down," I whisper. "I wish you hadn't come."
The best we can hope for is a few hundred years. Most of that time will be filled with the suffering of the people.
Even now I see fires breaking out all over the city. People are running through the streets, smashing windows and fighting. There is nothing I can do to help them. The Watcher of Watchers and I both look on in silence. Maybe the Watcher who corrupted the rest had it right all along? Oblivion must be better.
I look at the Watcher and Watcher and he knows what I'm thinking. He's seen it before. After a moment, he nods his acceptance.
I pick up the chair, smash the window and take a deep breath of the cold air that comes rushing into my tower. I know it will be the last thing I enjoy.
"Good bye," I say, then jump.
I'm falling and I'm existing. Still falling. Still existing. I see the Watcher of Water leaning out the broken window, tracking my body as it rushes towards the ground. He could turn away at any time and everything would stop. But he doesn't turn away, and I keep falling and existing.
Close to impact now, but still my eyes ate locked on him. Any second I'll hit the ground. What I see next, which I'm sure is going to be the last thing I ever see, is the last Watcher of Watchers jumping, too.
Chapter 13 - Child's Last Nightmare
The pills were my last hope. I'm in the first dream since seeing the Doc and I've already had to fight off one monstrosity. Maybe there is no help for a twisted mind like mine. There's no choice now except to see where this nightmare is going to lead.
Two before bed is what the doc said.
I dip my hand in the pool of blood then began to paint a smiley face on the wall. I do this because it's started to go bad, and I don't want it to get worse than need be. Lucid nightmares are like an acid trip; as soon as you wonder what it would look like if the walls bleed, they start to bleed. If you worry about your face melting off, it melts off. With hallucinogenics, if you experience a bad trip, sometimes it is best to redirect your attention to something positive, or fun. Maybe the activity will calm you down enough to escape the nightmare. If you don't relax, the world can escalate into uncontrollable insanity. Painting a smiley face is positive and fun, even if you do have to paint it with blood, right?
"Yes, a happy face," I whisper as I use the palms of my hands to make bloody eyes.
Yes, yes, yes, she said. Yes, yes, yes. She said, yes.
It is becoming more difficult to focus with these strange words and rhymes echoing in my head, and I'm having a tough time trying to remain in control of my emotions. I think about waking up, and that thought is quickly growing into a need. I haven't needed anything in my entire life as much as I need my eyes to open.
Confusion and terror. Will not accept. Delusions and errors. Have to admit.
I lean my forehead against the bloody wall. It feels wet and sticky. I envision it soaking into my brains, and contaminating my thoughts.
I think something other than the handprint eyes is watching me, another mocking smile in the dark.
Forgot the forgotten. Forgot for a reason. Remember the forgotten. Forget all your reason.
Normally, comfort can be found in being aware that a chance of salvation is gone. Not tonight though, tonight I'm dreaming madness. Something inside of me snaps and I bang my head against the wall, over and over again, hoping that will wake me up. It doesn't.
Who is there? Not alone. Two lived here. Two lived here, in this home.
"This is only a nightmare," I say. "Soon it will be over."
Two before bed.
"No!"
Yes, yes, yes, she said.
"Please, please, wake up."
Something is standing behind me. I can feel the mass drawing me in, daring me.
Confusion and terror. You need to look. You need to see. You need to look, see, and believe.
"I don't want to see. Stop it. Just stop it!"
Remember the forgotten . Forget all your reason.
"I don't want to remember."
Two in this home, you are not alone.
Tears mixed with blood rip a path down the sides of my face. It is time to confront what fate is waiting for me.
The worst possible thing comes to be.
A small figure stands in the doorway—a young boy with blonde hair and blue eyes. He is wearing purple dinosaur pajamas. I feel a dread unlike anything I have ever experienced. I have never seen this child before, but I know his face. And I know his name too. Only I don't know why, or how, I know these things
.
And then, like a shot to the chest, I do.
"Dear god, no."
"Mommy?" He asks.
"No, no, no, no, no."
Two before bed. Confusion and terror. Yes, yes, yes, she said. Remember the forgotten and forget all your reason. Who is there, two lives here. Two live here, in this home. You don't look, don't you see, you don't believe.
Instinctively, I reach into my pocket. My hand tightens on a bottle of pills. My trembling hand squeezes tight.
Take two before bed, the Doc had told me. Take two before bed, and the nightmares would stop. I never took the pill because I never got the chance. Why didn't I take the pills?!
Because she said yes. She said yes and... and...
"Where's my mommy? I want my mommy."
I ignore the child's question. I need to think. My body becomes cold and numb as the shock sets in. I panic.
Something is going horribly wrong.
Think. THINK!
She said yes, and then... and then...
Oh, please no.
The child in the hall begins to sob.
What is happening!
... Drinks after work.
Yes, she said, yes, I'm free tonight.
I'm remembering the forgotten. I'm remembering the picture she showed me.
Two live here.
Her son. The child in front of me.
There is blood on my shaking hands, blood drying on my face, blood dripping down the wall. And there is blood on the thing in the bed, only now it doesn't look like a demon. Now it looks like the girl from work.
The forgotten memory flashes in my mind. I remember following her back to her house when the babysitter had called to say she needed to leave early. I remember thinking it was a ploy to end the date because she was having a bad time. I remember she laughed, and invited me in. We sat on the couch and talked. It was getting late, well past my normal bedtime, but I'd forgotten because it felt so nice being with her. I remember I told her I had to go. She asked me to wait while she checked on her son. She went upstairs. My eyes were getting heavy, but I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. I wanted to kiss her so badly.
I was happier than I had ever been.
"Is mommy sleeping? Tell her to wake up. Tell her. I'm scared."
Please let this just be one long nightmare. Is it possible that I didn't wake up at all today? Maybe I never saw the Doc, or got the pills, or went to work? Maybe I never met a girl?
I force myself to hear the sound of an alarm clock in my head. All I need to do is wake up. Just wake up. Wake the fuck up!
There is still hope, even if all that happened. Even if I did get the pills and meet the girl, then is it possible I fell asleep on her couch when she went upstairs? Please let her be on the way down right now. Let her wake me up. WAKE UP!
Or did she come down to find me asleep on her couch, and left me there to sleep?
Am I asleep in hell or did follow me?
As all the possibilities cycle through my mind, any shred of reason and sanity is lost for good. Nothing matters anymore.
Between sobs, the child tries to ask questions about his mommy. I smile and tell him that everything is all right. I tell him that mommy was really, really tired, and she's sleeping. While I'm talking to the the child, my hand is searching for the knife that is tucked behind my back. Once I get a firm grip, I ask the kid a very important question:
"Do you ever have bad dreams?"
Knife in hand, I walk slowly towards him. I'm close enough the he sees my clothes, hands, and face, are stained a dark crimson. I wonder if he knows that it is what's left of his mother. At what age can a child understand the concept of evil?
As if it matters.
I should feel sorry for the poor kid, and in a moment of self-reflection, what I really feel is... well... nothing. The child though, I'm sure he's feeling plenty. He looks like he wants to run, but he's frozen solid with fear. And now there's a wet spot forming on the front of his tiny dinosaur pajama bottoms.
How embarrassing.
He shouldn't worry too much about it though, because I'm only a step away from him, and all of this will be over soon.
Do you ever have bad dreams?
That was the question. An important question indeed. The terrified look in his little eyes tells me that yes, yes he does have bad dreams, and I've become all of these bad dreams combined.
About the Author
Kristopher Mallory has no interest in mastering kung fu or underwater basket weaving, but he does enjoy throwing out the occasional random non sequitur. As for favorite animals, he's a big fan of sloths and hedgehogs. In fact, he once owned a hedgehog named Princess Pokey. He hasn't devised a plan to obtain a sloth...yet.
When it comes to writing, Kris enjoys horror and sci-fi. He's actively trying to be a gooder writer and hopes to one day join the SFWA. Another focus is the Daylight Dims horror anthology, and Stealth Fiction publishing.
Outside of writing, he traveled the world while serving as an aircrew member in the Air Force and currently works in I.T. around the D.C. area. He lives with his Wife, Son, Daughter, German Shepherd, Golden Retriever, Beta fish, an imaginary Easter Bunny, and with luck someone will give him a Sloth.
You can connect with Kris at the following locations:
Website: KristopherMallory.com
Social Media: Facebook
What's Next?
THE DEATH AGREEMENT
By Jon Randon (Kristopher Mallory)
Coming this November from Stealth Fiction Publishing.
~~~~~
We made a pact. He lived up to his end by dying. I tried to live up to my end by following The Death Agreement.
What you will find within these pages is a true recounting of a man's life as seen through my eyes. It's almost an impossible task when some of what you see can't be real and what is real you may refuse to see.
Human beings have a capacity to dread the truth, to distort facts when they don't fit our predefined notions of how the world should work. We forget that reality isn't what we want it to be. We ignore the signs that our universe doesn't care about us. It constantly changes to suit its own needs. Nothing is perfect. This includes the focus of my story. People come and go. Pieces don't fit neatly together. Doubt clouds judgment. Mistakes are made. All hell breaks loose when no one is looking. I guess that's how life is supposed to be.
For me, it doesn't matter anymore. What happened, happened, and I'm still bound by the terms set.
Please consider this a warning sticker. Come in if you dare, leave if you don't. Some might call this experience horror. It is that, no doubt, but at the root I suppose it's a tale of transformation.
Speaking of transforming: Have you ever stood in a dim bathroom and stared at a mirror? For the past 18 months, I've done that every day. What I see in the glass consumes me. My silhouette fades into a thousand different terrifying faces; each sharpens to crystal clarity before morphing into someone else. I don't know who these people are, but I recognize them all. I've learned that what we see isn't a reflection. We are the reflection.
My name is Jon Randon and I'm going to tell you a story.
More from Kristopher Mallory
I Know What They Are
This short horror story is now available. For more information on this book, please visit the Stealth Fiction Publishing website.
~~~~~
A young woman interacts with the city's homeless population as she walks to work each morning. Her life takes a turn into strange territory when she meets a homeless lady wearing a lab coat and holding a sign that reads: I know what they are..
~~~~~
Praise for I Know What They Are:
"This game me chills." – Jason W.
MASTER STARGAZER
This sci-fi story is now available. For more information on this book, please visit the Stealth Fiction Publishing website.
~~~~~
Deep below the polar ice cap, the last great rese
arch station stands on high alert. Hundreds of the station's personnel fiercely do their part to manage the impending disaster. They had practiced countless times, every worker drilled repeatedly until they were able to perform their duties with a cold robotic grace.
Now the time for drills is over; the culmination of the Stargazer's Thousand Cycle Plan is finally upon them. To the relief of all, the training held. There's no hesitation. Not a single worker deviates. Each member knows the consequence of failure is total destruction.
While the station's personnel fight to save the planet's population, the forty-second Master Stargazer stands over his garden, watching drops of water bead across leaves. He gently touches the seed pouch of his favorite flower, and the realization that the time has come hits him with unimaginable force. Fully aware that his heart is beating dangerously fast for a man of his age, he repeats the familiar mantra:
I must calm down if I'm to see this through.
As the research station commander, Master Stargazer's job is to ensure all aspects of the Thousand Cycle Plan remain on schedule, and yet, he's the only staff member not where he's supposed to be. His place is on the command deck, but grief had overtaken him, so he had slipped into his office to give a final farewell to his beloved flora. For years, those plants had reminded him life exists somewhere high above the ice cap. Even now, they remind him it needs to be preserved.
~~~~~
Praise for Master Stargazer:
"Great piece of sci-fi." – Jack H.
More from Stealth Fiction Publishing
DAYLIGHT DIMS
VOLUME TWO
This horror anthology is now available. For more information on this book, please visit the Daylight Dims website.
~~~~~
Darkness descends Again. Daylight Dims Volume Two features thirteen stories that cross the genres of surreal, dark fantasy, and heart pounding dread. This annual horror anthology is guaranteed to twist your perception of the horror. From the common, comfortable tropes, to the more taboo, these handpicked tales have a literary aspect designed to showcase what true horror can be.
~~~~~
Praise for Daylight Dims Vol. 2:
"This was probably one of the most entertaining collection of horror stories I've ever read. And I don't say this to suck up or to stroke any tail feathers. I was happy to have the opportunity to read through this before release and I implore anyone on the fence about picking up this up to do themselves a favor and take the plunge into the abyss. You will not be disappointed." – Human Gravy