By Justin Mynheir
“You know, it’s not easy to find something that shouldn’t exist.”
Bradley shook awake. Ropes held his body to a chair, old and coarse bindings. Sitting alone in what appeared to be an attic lit solely by moonlight from windows to the right and left, he could not trace the deep voice to a source. The wooden floor of the empty room creaked, and a knot formed in his stomach—the fear of being in an unfamiliar, unnatural place.
“Who’s there?”
Stretching out from the windows, light brown shingles lined a slanting roof. He remembered taking pictures of a building with similar shingles, but he never entered the building, to his memory. A melancholy sigh drifted from every direction, his ears still unable to trace the point of origin.
A voice, feminine this time, carried an almost sad musical quality.
“How did he do it?”
The words came from directly ahead of him, a door with chipped paint that led out of the attic in which he was bound. A figure sat in front of the door. Bradley blinked. He was sure nobody had been there before, but she leaned in on her left knee nonetheless.
Her curves pushed against her tan trench coat, and she wore an ivory tragedy mask normally associated with drama classes or theatres. A male companion stepped up out of the floor as if it was only an illusion, and he balanced the sadness of her mask with one bearing the smile of comedy. Bradley could almost feel the tension building in his nerves snap at the terrifying sight.
“I don’t know how. I really don’t,” the man said with an excited tone, the black eyes and mouth of his mask giving the impression that his head was hollow. “To slip into a place you should never have been in the first place is a horrible thing. So what are you, Bradley? A private investigator, a stalker?”
Comedy whipped Bradley’s camera out from under his own trench coat and tossed it into his lap. Tragedy stood as if strings pulled her up rather than muscles, and she joined Comedy to watch him.
“I’m a photography student,” Bradley replied with quivering lips. “I love the apartments on this side of town, so I was taking pictures of them, I swear. How do you know my name?”
“You’re not in that side of town.” Tragedy tilted her head.
“Where, then?”
“That doesn’t matter.” Comedy chuckled at a joke Bradley did not understand. “We have to move an entire building now. Moving buildings is hard, even for me. You see, people such as yourself attract things to my sister and I, violent things.”
“Can I leave then?” Sweat gathered on Bradley’s forehead. “I would rather go back to the side of town I was on.”
“You’re not even in town, technically.” Comedy took a step towards him. “I love that you request something from strangers. What if we are killers, or spirits formed out of the dark?”
“I just want to go back.” Bradley’s eyes went so wide he wondered if they were trying to escape his skull and drag his body to freedom with them.
Five warm fingers set down on his shoulder one at a time. Comedy and Tragedy stood a couple of yards in front of him, but a hand as hard and rough as concrete brushed along his red sweater at the shoulder blades. The hairs on Bradley’s neck and arms awoke to the sensation of an unquenchable terror in his quivering chest. A warm, wet breath touched his left ear. Comedy snapped his fingers.
The hand left him.
“You played with him too much.” Tragedy set her chin in her hands. “It’s here.”
“Oh, have you done it now, Bradley the photography student.” Comedy tapped his mask at the temple. “We can come back and get the building. Our lives are a bit more important than our stockpiles. Also, Bradley…”
“Yes?” Bradley met the hollow eyes of the cheerful mask.
“I’d love to chat with you again soon. In fact, I plan on it,” Comedy assured with a nod. “Consider me your new mentor, tour guide, and maybe even psychiatrist. With the places we’ll go, you’ll need at least one of each.”
Comedy and Tragedy walked to the right window. Smoke consumed their backs and legs, pluming out behind them as they phased through the glass silently. Bile burned at the back of Bradley’s throat, and a drop of sweat fell to the floor. It froze solid as the room temperature dropped.
In the icy air, something stirred. Neither sight nor hearing nor smell helped Bradley find the presence, but the contact of skin and particles brought the sickening sensation of an ancient, dark, and evil thing. And Bradley was sure it had seen him as his breath steamed out of his nose, which grew numb with his stinging ears. A sudden white light flashed like the force of a couple of exploding suns.
Bradley blinked and found himself in the middle of a street, looking at the building he photographed earlier. Bearing dry warmth, daylight settled on his thawing skin, and cars on either side honked. People pointed and yelled at the strange man tied to a chair in the middle of traffic. Bradley met the utter shock and reality of his situation like any normal, headstrong man with his vision darkening to each stressed heartbeat.
He fainted.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Well that was downright chilling. Well done! I liked the ways you left some explanations out so readers’ imaginations could fill in the gaps.
Thanks! People’s minds often unsettle themselves more than I ever could.
A very intriguing presentation.
Thanks!