the floating sensation and I watched my body brighten as it had before. The vertigo feeling returned and I was once again momentarily unsure which was real or reflection; until I realized that I could still feel Mr. Whipkey’s hand ever so faintly on my shoulder, tethering me.
“You are not alone; I am here.” I heard him say and although it sounded far off it was still reassuring to the small part of me that wasn’t pacified by the increasing hypnotic anesthesia.
That small part needed the reassurance as the smoke-like image coalesced once again around my head. The calming voice and faint supportive pressure of Whipkey’s hand barely held the hypnotic trance in place, but I felt a detached calmness suffuse the rabbit-like panic within me.
The creature, this muse-demon, was now completely defined. I could see its centipede-like legs still boring into my head. My initial impression of a snake was reaffirmed though, as its body was smooth instead of segmented. The creature remained the bluish-gray color of smoke, but I could make out every detail of is glistening scales. As I watched it once again opened those cold, blazing eyes to glare at me. The pressure on my shoulder increased, simultaneously decreasing the rising terror and the accompanying desire to flee. I could still hear the faint grumbling in my mind and now had no doubt that it was coming from this creature. I stared at this thing that had invaded my mind even as it stared back at me, loathing and scorn emanating from its gray-blue eyes. Its head did not move and I realized that its snake-like fangs where sunk deep into my head.
And suddenly I was no longer afraid.
Sure this creature was an unimaginable horror, straight out of my worst nightmares. Yes, I was suddenly faced with the reality that perhaps the “make believe” was more real that I had ever realized. And this very real monster was sucking out my imagination, not merely preventing me from writing, but eventually leading me to madness or suicide, or both.
But I wasn’t afraid…I was pissed!
This was my mind. It had no right to do this to me. I was a writer, a storyteller, a spinner of tales. Pouring my imagination out for all the world to see, that was what I did. I shared my ideas with the world and this thing was stealing them, not just from me, but from anyone else who might enjoy them; might find humor in my experiences or comfort in my discoveries. This demon did not belong. I wanted it out. Now!
As if from somewhere far off I could hear Whipkey chanting in some unknown language and I began to feel a sensation like heat coming from his hand, not painful, but comforting and revitalizing, like a blazing fire after walking home through a snowstorm. I felt encouraged and realized with complete certainty that this creature had no power over me. I was in control. It was my mind.
“Get out!” I snarled. And the creature’s fangs came loose as its head flung back as if struck. It bared its fang-studded maw at me and shrieked in what I supposed was meant to be defiance, but the sound seemed to be more of desperation and fear.
“Get! Out! Now!” I reiterated through clenched teeth and although I felt nothing, I could see the creature’s legs slowly losing their hold on my head, its coiled body slackening. The demon screamed again, this time its fear evident. The chanting grew louder and more intense and I was further emboldened by the power behind it.
“Go!” I screamed. The snake-like creature echoed my scream with a sound of pure terror and agony, as the last of its legs came away from me. As it did it immediately began to dissipate. Once again like a ring of smoke, the blurred image expanded, and with one last shriek of panic, dissolved into nothingness.
I slumped back in the chair, the trance suddenly broken. I didn’t notice Whipkey release my shoulder or move from where he had stood beside me, but the light of the lamp once again filled the room, the darkness receded.
I felt completely spent and was sweating from exertion, as if I had just run several miles. My fingers ached from where I had apparently been gripping the armrests and I could feel the beginning of pins-and-needles along my legs.
What I didn't feel was the pressure in my head, not pain exactly, but a slight weight like the onset of a headache. I hadn’t even realized that it had been there, but now free of it, I couldn’t believe how. My mind felt unclouded for the first time in…in I couldn’t remember when. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from my head.
Which, I suppose, it had.
I looked up to where Mr. Whipkey stood watching me. He nodded his head once, in what looked like approval, and then turned away, reaching for the pull of the red curtain.
“Wait,” I said, staring at my reflection in the antique mirror, “what about that…the demon?”
He turned back to me, his hand still on the cord. “It will hurt no one again,” he said gently. “It is parasitic, you see, it cannot survive long without a host and you wounded it so severely that it will not have the strength to invade another in time.”
“I wounded it?” I asked incredulously. “It was you, I know it.” I shook my head, almost unable to accept what I was about to say. “I could hear you chanting, could feel your, your power through me…you used…magic to, to cast it out.”
“Yes,” he said, accepting my words readily. “I assisted, supported you, and helped set the battlefield. But the power, the power was yours.” His mouth widened in the first true smile I had seen on him. “This creature was banished by your strength, your will, and your conviction.”
He pulled on the cord and I caught one last glimpse of my reflection watching me before the velvet curtain settled back in place, obscuring the ancient mirror.
My head spun a little, the whole thing suddenly felt so surreal. The rational part of my mind—truly mine this time—began quietly asking if I’d imagined it, or maybe the whole thing really had been a dream.
A newly awakened part of my soul cheerfully ignored the feeble protests of my rational mind and I was aware that there would be no slipping into denial, that blissful ignorance was no longer an option for me. A door to a new world had been thrown open and there was no shutting it.
My mind raced with possibilities, my imagination awash with ideas…
And suddenly this new world wasn’t so scary, or at least, the fear was worth it.
“‘O brave new world…’” I whispered.
“‘Tis new to thee.’” Whipkey said quietly. I looked up and smiled at him. He returned it, walking over to me and offering me his hand. I took it and he again hoisted me to my feet without a semblance of effort. He turned away and walked over to the writing desk. “Now about payment…”
I blinked. “Um, of course, whatever you want.” I reached for my billfold. “I brought cash. It’s certainly worth it, whatever the cost.”
The old man withdrew a small leather book from the desk drawer and then turned back to me, his patronizing smile returned. “I do not require money,” he said simply. He walked over to me, took me by the elbow and began to lead me back out. I followed dumbstruck, fumbling my wallet back to my pocket as we walked down the dark hallway and back to the cluttered front room.
“So, what do you want?” I asked.
The old man reached the front door and opened it, allowing sunlight to flood the dingy shop. He extended his hand, offering me the small leather-bound book. I took it and opened it.
It was blank; a journal apparently, not a single page used. I looked at him confused.
“Write,” he said simply. “Finish your story and all those that are to come, but every day, write something in this journal. It matters not what, as long as it is from your heart.”
I stared at him. “That’s it? Your payment for saving me from a supernatural parasite is for me to keep a diary?”
He shrugged. “Such is my price. Do you accept?”
I extended my hand and he took it. I shook it vigorously three times. “I gladly accept you price,” I said, “and thank you.”
He patted my clasped hand with his other and then let go, gesturing out the door. I walked out onto the sidewalk, turned to him and said again, “Thank you.”
r /> He smiled, nodded his head, his enormous glasses flashing in the sunlight, said simply, “Good writing, Mr. Smith” and closed the door.
I stood staring at the dilapidated building for a long time. Finally I turned away and headed for home. By the time I arrived back at my apartment I had already outlined the first half of my story. I could hardly contain my excitement. I looked longingly at my computer, feeling certain I could finish several chapters before nightfall.
But as eager as I was, I found myself bypassing the computer and instead took out the little journal Whipkey had given me. Sitting down at my desk I dug through the drawer until I found my nicest pen. Then I opened the journal and began to write:
“Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape.”
The End
Biography
Mark Campbell lives mostly in his head, which is most often located in Ohio, residing with Mark's wife Marie and their small menagerie of pets.
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