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A Tale from the Depths of a Madman pt 2
Later on that night, I slumped myself in front of a roaring fire. I was comfortable to say the least, but something was wrong. Not in the sense of bad, wrong, but something was calling out to me. I ignored it until a faint aroma entered my sensed and tempted me. It was a fragrance I’d smelt before. I stood up from my chair and followed the scent. Down the hall I tramped, barely felling the cold wood up against my bare feet. The aroma lead me to a familiar spot, in front of my cabinet. The door to the cabinet was slightly opened and the aroma of an open bottle filled the small space, until I opened the door. The intoxicating aroma of wine blasted against my face, allowing me breath deeply that alluring elixir that would even tempt god himself. All the bottle called out to me, screaming to me, yet I reached for only one, or two. Gently I closed the cabinet door, trapping the screams and scents in there. Gradually I made my way back to the room I was in previously. Cradled by the warmth of the fire, I began to relax in my chair. Within a few moments the first bottle was opened, the cork thrown randomly on the ground, and half gone. I chuckled at that for a while until my lips sucked greedily at an empty bottle. I carelessly threw that bottle to the ground and reached for the next. A felling of complete serenity over came my entire body, as did the felling of ecstasy. Hastily my body became so relax that I fell into the arms of the night and away I drifted off to a good nights slumber, or so I thought.
Black, darkness, they all surrounded me. It was that very same dream that vexed me so the night before. The sounds of screams, crying children, moans, and whimpers broke any kind of silence. I clenched my hands in between my head, trying to muffle out the terrible shrieks of distress. For what seemed like an eternity, the sound finally dulled off into a mellow echo until nothing. I was still in complete darkness, but the screams had gone away. But something else began to pierce the silence, the crying whimpers of an older gentleman speaking to himself. He muttered stuff under his breathe, yet I was unable to understand what he was saying. As I tried to focus in on what he was saying another noise grew from the silence. The sound of snow being packed under the foot of someone walking. The older mans voice began to grow as he screamed at the top of his voice,
“huh, hello, is anyone there, I can hear you. Please help me, I stuck in some kind of box. I cant move, please, help me.”
his pleads for help became hysterical as he continued to plead with the noise above. There was something familiar about the voice, some how I knew who it was. It was just a whisper, but I could make out what the person was saying. My spirit descended as I heard in disbelief. It was that of my own voice, it was that of the pray I’d utter for the old man at his grave this very day. But what was I doing in a dream of my own. Moments went by until a thought ventured into my mind. Could the person I was listening to in the beginning be the old man that I so cared for.
I awoke in a sweat. Lying on the floor in front of my chair with an extinguished fire and charred logs, scattered in front of the fire place. What a horrible nightmare, I thought. As the day continued all my energy was focused on the dream of the nights before. Questions raced through my mind, as the day went on.
A couple of sleepless days rolled through, each night the nightmare gradually became worse, each one building on the fear of the last. Why couldn’t except the fact that the old man was dead. But I guess I did except it, but what I couldn’t except was where he was. That question plagued me through and through. And as gradually the nightmares became worse, so did my addiction for that alluring temptress that laid in the cabinet.
Finally I was down to my last bottle of brew. My hand, restless as it was reached into the cabinet, sliding away empty bottle until I grabbed the bottle. My whole body shock from fear, which lead me to the most catastrophic event. My grip let go of the bottle, allowing the bottle to plummet down to floor and smashing into shards of glass and liqueur. I threw down my body and graveled at the broken bottle. I placed my hands over my eyes to catch the tiers that wheeled up in side of me. I began to shake my head and as my head passed the cabinet my eye caught the slight glimmer of a bottle. Pushed to the back of the shelf, a large bottle of brew laid waiting for my hand to finally pick it. I crawled to it and reached my hand inside and clenched the bottle tightly in my fist. I traveled to the couch on the far off wall, laid myself down and drank. With in a matter of seconds the liquid inside was gone. My body became numb, every limb fell and my eyes grew tired and nodded off to hopefully a better dream.
And so it was. For the first time in a week, my dreams were not of horrific screams of insanity or pain. But the memories of a life now past. The time was the present, with fresh snow skewed throughout the town. Laughter and merriment echoed through the town, and I was in the center of it. Nothing could make this dream any better, as long as it lasted.
Three knocks came to my door, surprised at the state of night, my curiosity peeked to see who would disturb a man this late. To make my house expectable I hurried around, picking up old bottles and broken pieces of glass. But there was something peculiar, some how tracks of mud and dirt littered my home, but I had no time keep my guest waiting. I rushed to the door and gently opened it enough to see who it was. The police, I thought. Two men in navy blue uniforms stood out on my front steppe. As a sign of courteous I insisted that they come in to my home. With a thanks, two hefty men walked into the main corridor of the home.
“Could we have a few words with you Mr. ----------” the larger officer asked politely.
“Surely, could I offer you something to drink?” I offered. Both of the men denied my offer and persisted with the questioning.
“We‘ve had numerous reports of a shadowy figure, skulking around the town, with a large bundle hung over his shoulder. Neighboring people report last seeing the figure staggering down this way. We were just wondering if you‘d seen any suspicious things?” questioned the officer.
I shrugged and graciously informed them, “I‘m sorry I cannot be of any service to you two fine officers of the law, but I was merely slumbering when you knocked, but if you would please permit me, allow me to offer you something to drink.” Finally the larger officer nodded in approval. I lead the officers into the room where I had just been. The fire I’d light had extinguished itself. So I
began to light a new one. As the flames of the fire began to grow the flames illuminated the room. Once I stood up, I heard both of the officers gasp. I looked at them both in wonder, but then an image caught my eye. Slumped in the chair I normally sat in was the decaying corpse of the old man. He had grown much larger than I remembered him, his jaw had collapsed and hung freely off his skull. His eyes had grown a film over them, and yet they pierced my very soul. His hair was long and straggly. With that image, the officers piled on me, restraining me with a pair of hand cuffs. I screamed loudly at the body,
“I KNOW YOUR STILL ALIVE, I KNOW YOU STILL CAN HEAR ME, SAY SOMETHING, PLEASE SHOW THEM THAT I AM NOT CRAZY.” With those few word, the police dragged me out of my home with the corpse still sitting there almost smiling at me.
Now I sit here, restrained, still thinking about the old man, still remembering those horrible nightmares. I finally drift off to sleep, and in the dream I fear. Still the same dream, still the same noises, but now something is different about the old man. I listen in on his conversation.
“So I wonder what the day is like out side?” I become puzzled at who he’s talking to then it becomes clear when another voice comes over.
“I wouldn‘t know, I‘ve been trapped in this box with you for as long as I‘ve known you.” Finally after so long the old man who I knew and loved had lost his mind. He’d become as insane as me, or so I thought.