An Elderly Man

An Elderly Man

 

 

Dear Matthew,

 

 

 

            I am a rather elderly man.

 

            You, of all people, should know this. After all, I’ve known you since the day you were born. A lot of people say that that is the best day of a parent’s life. Your mom and dad sure were happy… but I’d like to argue that I was even more so. In fact, I was ecstatic. Holding you for the first time was like holding the whole world in my hand. The hair on my arms rose up as if an electric shock had gone through me and, for a moment, I felt small. I didn’t even feel that when I held your mom in my hands for the first time (and for the love of our Lord and Savior, please don’t relate that information to her). It was something out of this world that I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to feel again.

 

            When you were only three years old and just learning how this life works, I was already in my early fifties. I cannot tell you how hard it was to keep up with you. Running around with you outside made my knees pop and my back throb. You exhausted me. Still, it was worth it. It was worth all the aches, pains and spasms. Because you, kiddo— you were the reason to get up in the morning. You were my life.

 

            I can remember pushing you on the swing set in my backyard for hours at a time. You would go up, wind catching your hair and your laughter splitting through the atmosphere. You’d go back and forth. Back and forth. It never seemed to get old to you. And you know what, Matt? It never got old to me neither.

 

Do you remember sitting in the top of the fort me and your dad made as the sun set and the air cooled? With the sky turning red, we’d look into the neighbor’s yard, peering into the creepy shack behind their house. You remember what you thought lived in there?

 

            “Vampires, Granddaddy, vampires!”

 

            Vampires. Yes, how could I ever forget that? You haven’t forgotten, have you, Matthew? I sure hope not. I really do.

           

            How about the times I would take you to Alfalfa Video and I would rent inappropriate videos for you to watch? How your mom would have torn my hide up if she knew the kind of filth I let you watch back then. But how could I not do it? The smile that spread on your face when we would watch those old Jason movies was irresistible. I wasn’t sure why you found the movies so entertaining and humorous but I knew it made you happy so I kept on renting them with you.

 

            Do you remember this? I hope that you do.

 

            I know a lot changed in your teenage years. I know that we saw a lot less of each other and that, at times, you didn’t want to see me. It hurt but it’s just the way life goes. As young people go through puberty, it’s a tough process. There are so many things changing. There’s peer pressure, physical changes of the body, beautiful girls blossoming at every corner, and a whole mess of other trouble. Priorities change. Hanging out with the grandparents usually goes to the bottom of the list. I understand that. I really do.

 

            When I did get to see you in this time period, it was a mixed blessing. I loved seeing you. Any chance to get to spend time with you was always a blessing. I do mean that with every inch of me. However, I could see that you were hurting. You always walked in slumped over, eyes to the ground. There were bits of acne on your oily forehead. You mostly stopped talking. You had hate in your eyes. You had pain in your eyes.

           

            It hurt to see you this way, Matt. It really did. I wanted to reach out and help you. I wanted to take you in my arms and tell you that everything would be okay. But I couldn’t. I knew you wouldn’t accept my love. It’s just the stage of life that you were in now. It’s just not what you would do. And it’s okay. I understood. I understand what you were going through.

 

            I cannot tell you how wonderful it has been to see you slowly coming out of your shell these past few years. I have slowly seen the wonderful young man I got to help raise come out from the depressed and burdened youth he had grown into. Once again, I understood this transformation. We change drastically through our lives, Matt. We always do and always will. Still, it was so great to see the old you coming back. The old, happy you. The kid I fell in love with so many years ago.

 

            By now, you’re probably wondering why I’m writing this letter to you. I’m sure you know what’s happened and what it all seems to be. Well, my dear boy, nothing is ever what it seems to be. That’s something I want you to remember. It will serve you well through your hopefully long and happy life.

 

            To begin my explanation of my actions, I first need to tell you the story of Jack Simpson.

 

            Jack was someone I went to college with at State a long time ago. He lived on my hall and would often hang out with my group of friends. He was a good guy. We used to call him Jerry Lee because he thought Jerry Lee Lewis was the best thing to happen to music period, even after the scandal of him marrying his thirteen-year-old cousin. Still, he was a good, funny kid. On one of the few occasions that it actually snowed here, he stole a tray from the cafeteria and went shooting down a hill on top of it. When he reached the bottom of the hill, he shot into the parking lot and stung a nearby-parked car. It knocked him flat out cold. We had to take him to the hospital for the giant lump on his head that resulted. He regained consciousness in the car on the way there and laughed the whole rest of the way there.

 

Yeah, Jack was a good guy. He always wore a smile. He always seemed happy. He was well liked and never seemed to have any trouble with stuff like the ladies, grades or getting extra cash. He looked attractive with light, wavy brown hair, blue eyes and a trim figure. He could play the piano like no one’s business. He was just a normal, happy kid.

 

Then, one day, I found him lying against a door in his room with one end of a belt tied around his throat and the other end around the doorknob. He had leaned against the door and slowly slid down. As he did, he had lost consciousness and, while in this state, strangled to death. There was no note explaining the reason why.

 

            I’ll never forget the way he looked. His face was a sickening purple and his still open eyes were bulging and bloodshot. His tongue was hanging out of his mouth and was swollen, as if with fever. He hung from the belt in a completely limp fashion, giving his body the look of that of a discarded rag doll.

 

            No, Matthew, I’ll never forget the way he looked.

 

            Not only was this my first encounter with death but it was also my first encounter with the concept of suicide. Until this point, it was so something that was so foreign to me that I never even thought about it. However, after Jack’s death, something really got stirred up inside of me. I began to think about suicide a lot, studying both its horrible consequences as well as some of its more underplayed benefits.

 

            Don’t get me wrong… I never felt the urge to commit suicide. I just liked studying it, trying to figure it out and thinking about it.

 

And boy did I think about it. I began to imagine my body lying in a warm tub, my arms slit open to the elbow, pumping equally warm plasma into my liquid tomb. I thought about putting a shotgun in my mouth, kicking the trigger and turning my head into a flap of skin and tissue that mostly resembled a bad piece of lasagna. Sometimes I’d even fantasize about vast and grand suicides that couldn’t even realistically occur. In my mind’s eye, I’d tie my skull to a boulder, roll it off a cliff and watch my head go down with it.

 

I know this all is hard to understand. I know it seems morbid even. I’ll admit that I don’t really understand it sometimes myself. It’s just something that’s stuck with me throughout the years. Even in those extremely bright days when you and I would spend all of our days together, I’d find myself thinking about it… Again, it’s something I really can’t explain fully and have you understand. It just intrigued me and I just never seemed to be able to shake it completely.

           

            Now we get to what I’ve done. Yes, Matthew, it’s something that I’ve done. This was no accident. Before you get upset, please allow me to explain myself. There’s a lot that needs to be said.

           

            My relationship with your grandmother has been falling apart for sometime now. I know that you know this. Everyone in the family does. This was never my intention, Matthew. As I’ve said before, people and things change in life. That’s just the way it is. It’s always been that way. 

 

            I’m not sure when she started to slip. I think it was shortly after the birth of your sister. For some reason, she just started to fall away from everyone. And she started drinking. There would be times when it would be impossible to not catch her with a drink in her hand. Even if it was ten o’clock in the morning.

 

            But it didn’t stop at the alcohol. You know this, I’m sure. Soon, she started on the pills. And then she started mixing them with the beer. There would be times when she’d go over to friends’ houses and the homes of family just to secretly raid their medicine cabinets when they were not looking. It didn’t matter what the pill was, how dangerous it was to take or what its side effects were. If she could get her hands on it, it would go down her throat. If there was alcohol around to wash it down, even better.

 

            It didn’t always used to be this way, Matt.

 

            I can still remember the day I met her. Things were much different then. I was hitchhiking across the state (back in the days when it was still safe to do this of course) when your grandmother and her family picked me up. I sat in the backseat next to her while her dad drove and her mother rode shotgun. I was wearing a full gray jumpsuit with splotches of sweat showing through and bits making my forehead sparkle. Even still, she gave me a smile that said, “It’s okay, fella. I still think you’re cute.”

 

At this point in time, I had been with a girl on and off. However, the moment I met your grandmother, I immediately forgot about old Sue Jefferson from Morton, Mississippi. No, there was no more of her in my mind. As I looked at your grandmother’s vibrant smile, your youthful face and her weightless brown hair blowing in the small breeze from the cracked window on her side of the car, I knew I had fallen for her. It was that easy and that fast. I was in love with Dorothy Harding with all of my heart.

 

Things are different now. I’ve done my best to get things back to the way they were. I’ve tried to fix her, Matt. I really have. And your mother and aunts have as well. But there’s no fixing this. Dorothy is gone. The woman I married died somewhere along the way.

 

            It’s shocking now that I think about it. When you first fall in love and you marry, you think that losing the love of your life would be a devastating event. You view the event in your mind as being in one single, horrible moment. You view it as something that will destroy you and re-shape your life forever. You see it as the end of your life.

 

            Now, looking back, I see that I lost your grandmother slowly over time in a manner that wasn’t monumental or really even eye catching. Her death was something that was behind the scenes and was kept secret from me and everyone else in the family. Now, looking back, I feel angry and vengeful. I’m angry that I didn’t get to share a romantic death with her. I’m angry that she was taken from me in such an illusive and cheap manner.

 

            The woman I live with now bitter, manipulative and humiliating. She drinks herself into a nonsensical stupor by midday. She tries her best to embarrass me around company and family if she can manage. She does nothing to help around the house. She shows no signs of love or caring. Most of the time, it’s like she’s not even here until she decides to destroy the peace of the day in some kind of shape or form.

 

            It’s really not Dorothy. My wife has died behind my back.

           

            But this isn’t the only thing troubling me, Matt.

 

            A few weeks ago, I realized that I was having a great deal of difficulty breathing. My throat felt awful sore and I’ve been having difficulty swallowing. The other day I got up to shave and realized that there was a slight bulge in the base of my throat. I then went to sit down. As I did, I knew. My body told me.

 

            “You’re dying,” it said, “You are dying.”

 

            Soaked in the sweat of fear, I went to the doctor. He found nothing. A false alarm so he said. But my body told me otherwise. It knew and it wouldn’t let me rest until something was done about it.

 

            I went to two more doctors. They all found nothing. They all made me feel crazy. But I wasn’t. I felt it. I felt it every second I was breathing. Every time I tried to shallow just a little bit of spittle. It was there just waiting to kill me and slowly.

 

            The third doctor I went to found it. He had to stick his fingers down in my throat and prod around, apologizing as he did so, but he found it. It was Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma. Cancer.

 

            This cancer is derived from lymphocytes, which is a type of white blood cell. Combinations of chemotherapy, monoclonal antibodies, immunotherapy, radiation, and hematopoietic stem cell transplantation can treat lymphomas. Depending on the stage that the lymphoma is discovered, it can actually be quite treatable in some exceptional cases.

           

            Mine is not an exception. While significant amounts of chemotherapy could cause my cancer to go into remission, it was almost guaranteed to come back sooner or later and kill me just as slowly. Plus, I would have to go through countless, painful emissions of chemotherapy all for basically nothing. Just delaying the inevitable— death itself.

 

            When I got home from the doctor that day, I can remember sitting down on the aging couch in the living room. My body felt weaker than usual. I felt like if I moved around too much that my joints would break and crack, sending me into a million pieces on the carpet below. Sickness entered my stomach as I realized I could feel the lump in my throat swelling and thudding with my breath. Golden sunlight was coming from the kitchen windows, making me feel both warm and freezing at the same time. The hair on my body ached. I felt like I was going to die right then and there.

           

            Then I saw Dorothy’s shadow cut through the sunlight and move through the kitchen like a mad buzzard. She had a beer in one hand and the phone in the other. She was in mid-conversation with one of her overweight sisters in Union about how she felt sick and was convinced she had cancer. Just like she had cancer the last Christmas. And the one before that.

 

            As I watched her bustle through the kitchen, drinking and whining about how she wished she had cancer, I realized what I had to do. Even if I told her what was growing inside of me, she’d never believe me. She’d just say that I was making it up… that it was hers to have. She was the one with cancer. She was the one. What I had was just a bad case of strep throat. That was all. She was the one that had to be sick. She was the one that deserved all the attention.

           

            I watched as she moved in slow motion. Her feet clashed against the floor, causing the resulting thud to echo in my already aching brain. Her skin was droopy, waxy and felt more like a bad special effect. Her hair was frizzled and burned. Her gut hung over her belt, full of booze and bullshit. Her beauty was gone. All that remained was the corpse that she had become.

           

            Watching her dance her damned dance of hypochondria and drunkenness in my depressed, aching state, I knew what I had to do. There was no other choice.

           

            Still, I have to beg you, Matthew. Don’t do this. Don’t do what I’ve done.

           

            You see, I recognized the tendency you had towards this when you were going through your hard, teenage years. I saw it in your eyes. I saw it in the giant poster you had in your room of Kurt Cobain. I often worried that you would go too far off the deep end and eventually just end it all. But you toughed it out. And I thank God for that everyday.

           

            But, you have to understand— I had to do this. I couldn’t keep looking at that shell of your grandmother rampaging around town, embarrassing our family name. And I couldn’t keep going through this life with this death growing inside of me now. I just couldn’t.

 

            I’m sure you know what happened now. I’m sure you see how I made it look like an accident.

 

Every Saturday morning for the past fifteen years, your grandmother and I have taken the old Kensington Road to the Langston Mall to go for a walk. These walks used to be enjoyable and full of deep conversation. Now, we go through them in the nature of formality. They are full of nothing but silence.

 

At one point on this rural Kensington Road, there is a drop off on the left side. If one were to drive into this drop off, they would fly down twenty feet, crashing into Highway 51. At nine o’clock on Saturday morning, there are usually very few people on Highway 51. I know this because I am sure to look down at it every time we pass over it.

 

            On Saturday, I will put this letter in the mail. Then, I will gather your sure to be grouchy and intoxicated grandmother and place her in our car. By the time we arrive to the Kensington Road turn off, I will put Elvis’ 30 #1 Hits on and flip to “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” It’s always been my favorite tune by the King.

 

            As the King begins to croon and make the air in the car feel light, I will slowly unbuckle my seatbelt. I doubt your grandmother will notice. She will be too lost in spewing out gossip and bullshit or will be too far down in the bottle. Slowly but surely, we’ll reach the bend where the drop off occurs. I’ll turn to her and give her shell one last kiss, just for good measure.

 

            The car will then rocket into the drop off and I’ll rise off my seat. I’m sure she’ll scream but, deep down, I hope she won’t. I hope in this moment she will understand and see that this does indeed have to happen. As the car folds like an accordion upon the sure to be awful, crashing impact, I feel like my body will spray through the glass windshield. The car is sure to come toppling on top of me and finally ending all of this and thus making the cancer growing in my throat utterly useless to the world. Your grandmother should not be too far behind me.

 

            Matthew, no one can know the truth behind this event. I’m only sharing this with you because I feel like you will understand it in some way. That and I just wanted to tell you how much I love you. You are the world to me, kiddo. You always have been. I only wish that I could take you in my arms now, hug you and tell you in person how much you mean to me.

           

            I love you, Matt. God, I really, really do.

 

            So, as we reach the end here, you and I, I only have one thing to ask of you. Keep on going. Live a full, happy life. And don’t let those that you love slip away like I have. Know that life is hard and full of difficulties. Things will constantly change and that’s just the way it is. Just try your best to stay stable and be a loving, caring human being. I expect nothing less of you, kiddo. You have nothing but wonderful, great things to offer this giant, vast world of ours.

 

            I’m leaving you and your family as much as I can to help out with your future. I can only see it being a bright one. I am sorry that I won’t be able to be a part of it.

           

            I love you, kiddo. Please…. Please… don’t forget me. And don’t forget the times that we had together. You are my world. In a way, you always were. Wherever I end up going, know that I’ll do my best to see you again. Perhaps we’ll end up on the top of a fort again, looking into neighbor’s land and wondering just what they’re keeping in their creepy, old shack.

 

 

           

Love,

 

Granddaddy

VHS

“ VHS ”

 

 

Creepy Craig pulled out the crusty, faded VHS of Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho and laid it out on the table in front of him and Lisa.

 

“This might work…” Lisa said.

“Yeah, it’s alright. I mean, it’s not Hitchcock’s best work. Have you seen Vertigo? It’s vastly superior in every way. And personal. My God, you could actually feel Hitchcock in that one. And that’s a rarity. Actually feeling the man. There’s no feeling in Psycho. Just over-staged butchering…” Creepy Craig wheezed.

 

Lisa felt her blue eyes moving down to the black box of the Psycho VHS. The box was simple: stark red and white titles placed boldly on a black background. The corners of the box were worn and shredded. The ghosts of fingerprints from years of use smeared the once pure black background. On the bottom left corner, a sticker advertised VHS Hi-Fi Dolby Surround Sound for those lucky enough to have a linear tracking set-up.

 

“Why VHS, Craig?” Lisa asked as her eyes skimmed the faded box.

“What?” Craig asked back.

“Why not DVD? Or Blu-ray even? Who even has a VHS player anymore?”

“Well, I do obviously. And, besides, I prefer watching horror movies on VHS. It makes them more enjoyable. It’s just something about the medium that makes them feel right. It really suits the low-budget aesthetic that most of the films have.”

“Oh…” Lisa managed.

 

Silence fell on the two. Creepy Craig pushed his glasses up from the bridge of his oily nose, looking only at the tape on the table.

 

“So…” Lisa started, breaking the silence, “do you want to watch this or something else?”

“I mean, it’s alright. It’s just… I don’t know, I’m feeling an early to late 1980’s slasher flick right now. Would you be cool with that?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

 

Creepy Craig flashed a small, almost hidden smile. He had never planned on putting Psycho in his old, beaten down VHS player. It was just to show Lisa that he could collect popular, mainstream films too. It was just to show that was wasn’t a complete freak.

             

Quickly, Creepy Craig moved from the couch and jumped into a nearby cabinet that held the rest of his stockpile of horror VHS tapes. He reached in and pulled out a white box. Slowly, he turned and flashed it at Lisa. It was Tobe Hooper’s obscure slasher sequel The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2. The box cover featured mass murder Leatherface and other psychotic members of his murderous family posing like the cast of The Breakfast Club in front of a broken Texas home. Under them was the tagline: THE SAW IS FAMILY!

 

Inside, Lisa couldn’t help but squirm a little.

 

“It’s from 1986. It’s a horror comedy. One of my favorites. You might like it,” Creepy Craig said, already moving to put it in the VHS player.

“Alright. Sounds good,” Lisa managed.

 

As he began to put the tape into the player, Lisa begun to wonder how she had even got herself into this situation. And then she remembered— by being nice.

 

----------------------------

 

Creepy Craig often felt like a character you’d find in a Stephen King novel.

 

The guy had no friends to speak of. It felt like it had been that way for a long time now. Lisa could remember seeing him walking alone on the playground during play break in the third grade. He would walk laps around the playground while everyone else would run around and play. After a while, he’d stop, sit in the rocks and begin to draw God knows what in his notebook that he always seemed to carry around with him.

 

By the time he got into junior high and then high school, it only got worse. While kids in grade school could be mean, kids going through puberty were the spawn of Satan. It was around this time that Craig Moore became Creepy Craig. At least, that’s what everyone called him.

 

The first time Lisa heard it was in eight grade Algebra I before the teacher had arrived for class. Craig came in with his thick, black oily hair, fogged up glasses, dark jeans and a Friday the 13th t-shirt. As he walked into the room, as he always did, he kept his eyes glued to the ground and a lack of any expression on his face. Joseph King, a meathead on the junior football team, saw him enter and began to plan his arsenal.

 

“Hey, Creepy Craig, how’s it hanging?” Joseph shot.

 

This got a minor snicker. Craig… now and forever Creepy Craig to Lisa and many others in the class, did not answer verbally or emotionally. He simply walked to his desk and sat down. As he did, something started to burn in Joseph’s eyes. Lisa saw it. During some dreams, she often saw it again. It was something that was hard to forget. It was hate. Unjustified hate.

 

“Craig… man, can you tell me something? There’s something I’ve been dying to know. Please?” Joseph started, his voice dying down a little, as if he had something really important to ask.

 

Craig did not answer him verbally. He only looked up and made eye contact with his poorly cleaned glasses.

 

“Do you whack off to those splatter movies you’re always watching?”

 

The class erupted into laughter and gasps. The other guys on the football team were dying. The girls pretended to be offended but most couldn’t help but laugh. After all, cruelty was addicting.

 

“I mean, you’d have to right? You just see all that blood and gore come flying and it just gives you a good ole’ chubby, doesn’t it? Man, look at you… wearing a shirt with Jason Voorhees on it. I bet you’d do him wouldn’t you? He must be your hero, killing all those slutty girls and those horny jocks. Yeah, I bet if he showed up here, you’d do him in a heartbeat…” Joseph hissed.

 

Lisa could only watch as everyone’s laughter grew uncontrollable. By this time, Mrs. Keeling came in from the hallway, telling everyone to quiet down. As she did, Joseph turned around with a smile on his face. Creepy Craig just kept looking forward, as if in another world. Throughout the class, Lisa found herself constantly looking over to him. And she couldn’t stop thinking. She couldn’t stop thinking what Joseph had done. What the class had done. What she had done.

 

You see, during Joseph’s tirade, she was sickened to know that she had laughed too. Sure, by the end, she had stopped. But, for the span of maybe six seconds, she had laughed. She had laughed at Creepy Craig’s… no, Craig Moore’s pain and humiliation.

 

By the time class ended, she promised herself that she would never let that happen again. She would never laugh at him again. She would never let him get hurt again. Never. Because it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right to let that happen.

 

She also promised to never refer to him as Creepy Craig. This one promise was harder to keep than she originally thought. After all, cruelty is addicting.

 

----------------------------

 

Back in Creepy Craig’s living room, the VHS of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 was beginning. Terrible, organ-fueled music began to fill the darkened room. Moments passed and the opening titles came to an end. Then, the dull, cropped VHS-quality image filled the screen.

 

Deep inside, Creepy Craig knew that the VHS version of the film was very flawed. The quality was incredibly lower than that of a DVD. Most VHS tapes also came in a pan-and-scan format. This meant that the image widescreen image was cropped on the right and left side. When a certain object needed to be the focus of a scene, VHS editors would digitally pan to that object. In a sense, it was a complete butchering of the director’s original vision of the film. Instead of Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 being presented in its original 1:85:1 ratio it was reduced to 1:33 and was full of shoddy, digital scans.

 

Creepy Craig knew about all of these flaws. Still, he couldn’t help but love watching VHS copies of horror films. Something about the grainy, crappy nature of them really boosted the film experience for him. In a way, it was really nostalgic. He, along with all children of the late 1980’s and early 1990’s, grew up watching films the wrong way. They had to re-learn to watch films when DVD’s started coming out. While they all jumped ship, praised the era of the DVD and cursed the impracticality of the VHS, it was occasionally nice to go back. It was like being a kid again, even if the picture was shit.

 

Still… it was nice to go back… nice to go back…

 

Lisa sat uncomfortably next to Craig as the movie played. In just the first five minutes, two stereotypical college party boys where killed by Leather face in his crew in a pretty gruesome fashion. One of the boys had the top of his head sliced off with a chainsaw, a fountain of blood erupting from the wound.

 

A giggle escaped from Craig at the moment of this gory moment.

           

“Look at that, just like a fountain. Isn’t that funny?” Creepy Craig laughed.

 

Lisa couldn’t manage a fake laugh but did slip out a smile and a slight nod. To be honest, nothing could have made the situation worse than Creepy Craig’s giggle. The fact that he found this scene of violence the comedy in the genre of “horror comedy” gave her the willies.

 

“You know, Tom Savini did that effect. Savini’s a god in the special effects world. He did the special effects in Dawn of the Dead, Friday the 13^th Parts 1 and 4: The Final Chapter and Day of the Dead. The guy practically spawned the slasher genre. He is gore. And not just the fake, flimsy crap. I read this interview with him in Fangoria one time and he talked about how his time in combat in Vietnam actually influenced his special effects work. It was his goal to put that horrific realism that he had seen first hand into the movies. By doing so, he made his horror our horror. You know what I’m saying?”

           

In the dark, Creepy Craig’s eyes were glowing as he spoke his affection for this particular special effects man. In fact, they glowed anytime he spoke about the horror genre. He really truly loved it. And it truly scared Lisa.

           

Deep down, she knew it probably shouldn’t. After all, these were just movies. And everyone should have a hobby or love of some sort. Plus, this was Creepy Craig. What else was he supposed to do? It’s not like he had any friends or anything.

 

Still, she couldn’t help get uncomfortable when he got like this. When he ranted about his love. His only love. In fact, it was practically his life.

 

It was here, in these moments of discomfort, that Lisa often thought that Creepy Craig really brought all of his torment upon himself.

 

----------------------------

 

Creepy Craig had been working at the local video store in town since two summers ago. On paper, it really seemed to be the ideal job for him. The guy obviously loved horror films and now he was going to be surrounded by them on a daily basis. On paper, it should have been heaven. It should have been an elevation of all the tension in his every day life. But, in truth, it only made Creepy Craig more of a town legend and not in a good way.

 

In school, Craig had never said a word. Now, in a position of power, he changed his attitude. Suddenly, he not only spoke but he never shut up. From the moment a customer came into the store, he would berate them. He would ask how they were doing, what they were looking for, if he could help them, if they were interested in the store’s latest discount deal combo, if they knew that Night of the Living Dead was actually about racism and the civil rights movement of the 1960’s, if they were aware of George A. Romero’s underrated film adaptation of Stephen King’s The Dark Half, if they knew that The Ring was the worst thing to happen to the horror genre, etc.

 

When someone would bring up a movie that Creepy Craig disliked, he would be sure to let them know it. One time Cindy Sanders and her boyfriend Matt Freeman brought a copy of the remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre to the front counter. He asked them if they knew the seriousness of their actions and that they were in fact supporting the utter destruction and bastardization of the horror genre. Details of what happened next vary from source to source. But, the main gist is that Matt and Craig got into a verbal argument. At one point, Craig asked if Matt would like it if someone took Cindy, sucked the personality and intelligence out of her but gave her a boob job as compensation. To Craig, this was the equivalent of remaking a horror classic.

 

Matt’s answer to this had been a fist to the face— not Creepy Craig’s first and certainly not his last. The incident had almost cost Craig his job. In fact, it got so close that Craig got on his knees, crying out of his one non-black, swollen eye, and begged the manager to let him stay. The utter pathetic nature of the scene must have caused the guy to just let it go.

 

Lisa herself had an encounter with Creepy Craig at the video store.

           

She and her friends had got to the store late that night, about an hour before it closed. They were all staying at Mary Hederman’s house for a sleep over. They had spent some time eating dinner and afterward Lana Anderson had the idea of getting a cheap horror flick from the video store, popping some popcorn and getting scared together. Lisa imagined that afterwards they would sneak some ice cream out of Mary’s refrigerator, sit down and gossip about boys.

           

While Lisa usually dreaded this aspect of female sleepovers, this particular sleep over she was looking forward to it. For the past two months, he had been crushing pretty hard on Mike Hartman. Mike sat two seats ahead of Lisa in her AP Government class. He was the athletic type but didn’t play sports aside from ultimate frisbee on occasion with some friends. He was smart and kind. And he had dreamy blue eyes and wavy, dirty blonde hair.

 

To Lisa, he was the perfect package. Because of this, she doubted anything would happen. Then, to her surprise, something did.

 

One day after AP Government, Mike walked beside her on the concrete outside of the classroom. He had asked her if she had thought the latest quiz had been difficult. She agreed that it had been. That was all it took. For the next few days, Mike left class with Lisa, chit-chatting about various subjects. Soon after, he began to actually talk to her in class. Then, the big moment had come. Nonchalantly, he asked Lisa if she had a date to the Homecoming dance. She didn’t. A few moments later, she did.

 

As the group of girls moved through the video store, scouring for the latest horror film on the new release wall, Lisa tried to contain her excitement about breaking the news about Mike. Lisa had never had a boyfriend before. She had only kissed a boy once— during a game of spin the bottle in the seventh grade. Because she wasn’t a cheerleader, dance team member or a drinker of alcohol, she wasn’t really considered a part of the “popular crowd.” Because of this, she didn’t really date. No one besides this crowd really dated at Lisa’s high school. It’s just the way it was.

 

But this all seemed like it could change. In fact, why couldn’t it? Lisa and Mike were both in the same kind of a crowd. What was wrong with them dating?

 

The other girls got ahead of her in the video store. As she lagged behind, she moved her right hand over a few of the movies on the wall. The tapes all felt worn and a tad bit dusty. As she moved her hand over their surface, she found herself thinking about Mike again… his wavy hair, lush, blue eyes, bright smile and kind voice. She thought about him and what he could be. She thought of him and felt her cheeks grow warm and a tingle sprout in her belly. Moments later, it felt as if she were floating through the store, the movies and the sleepover not even mattering anymore.

 

She was floating until she saw Creepy Craig up ahead hovering over her group of friends. All of a sudden, the tingle disappeared and she felt the warmth in her cheeks smudge into a minor headache. By the time she reached them, Creepy Craig was already in mid-rant. He held a copy of a movie called Dead Alive in his right hand, holding it as if it were the Holy Grail itself.

 

“I’m sorry but this is where it’s at, girls. You need to put crap like The Messengers and The Unborn back. Dead Alive is the goriest movie ever made. Did you know that? Plus, it’s Peter freaking Jackson. The guy made this before Lord of the Rings and King Kong. And it’s just so awesome. Get this— there’s one scene where a baby zombie gets inside of a woman and then tears out of her head. How sweet is that?”

 

            Their facial expressions answered his question but still Mary felt the need to speak up.

 

            “That sounds disgusting, Craig.”

 

            For a moment, he just looked hurt.

           

            “Well, you’re looking for a horror movie, right?”

            “Yeah. But not something that’s fodder for a serial killer in training,” she spit.

 

            Creepy Craig’s eye gave a pretty creepy twitch.

 

            “You know, you must think you’re so high and mighty and I’m some kind of freak. Is that right?”

 

            Mary didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

 

            “But you’re here for a horror movie. That’s what you came here for. And why is that? Why do you want to see a horror movie? Is it because you want to be scared? Is that it? Or is it something else? Maybe it’s something a little morbid. You see, you’re here for a horror movie but you don’t even think about what that means. You try to act like you have morals and higher opinions about your horror but that’s bullshit. The fact is that you watch these movies for the same thing that I do and everyone else on this world does. The difference between you and me is that you… you’re a… a fucking coward. So go ahead. Get your neutered horror. That way, when you go to sleep at night, you can think of yourself as something special and different. Anything to help you sleep I guess…”

 

            On this, Creepy Craig walked away and went into the back office for employees. As he turned to leave, Lisa could have swore she saw tears beginning to flow from his eyes.

 

            “God, what a creep…” Mary said.

            “That guy is going to murder someone one day, I swear,” Lana Anderson added.

           

            The girls then went to the front of the store to get rung out by Creepy Craig’s not so creepy and slightly normal female co-worker. They rented the two movies that Creepy Craig had ranted against. Lisa thought they were pretty bad. As he had said, they were “neutered horror.”

 

            As the female clerk scanned the movies and gave them the due dates for each of them, Lisa thought about the encounter with Creepy Craig. She still felt terrible for him. She really did. But she couldn’t help feel a little angry too. Deep down, it almost seemed like he wanted to be miserable. Like he wanted to be tortured and made fun of.

 

            She struggled with these thoughts as she and girls left the video store to continue with their slumber party.

 

----------------------------

 

            On the television screen before Lisa, Leatherface was chain sawing a bucket of ice directly between the legs of the film’s scream queen heroine. He thrusted back and forth with his hips, making the chainsaw a symbol for the male penis with the subtly of… well, a chainsaw.

 

            Deep down, Lisa was beginning to feel a little sick. She hadn’t enjoyed the movie from the start and now, with this inclusion of penile symbolism, she was beginning to lose her wits.

 

            “I’m gonna go to the bathroom really quick…” she managed.

            “Alright, want me to pause it?”

            “No, it’s fine. I’ll catch up.”

            “Okay then.”

 

            Lisa got up from the couch and took refuge in Creepy Craig’s bathroom. She turned the sink on, let the water run over her hands and then washed her face. The cool of the water on her face made her feel slightly better but it was hard to get that queasy feeling out of her stomach. No, the only remedy for that would be to get out of Creepy Craig’s house and never come back.

           

            But she couldn’t do that. That wouldn’t be right. And it wouldn’t be fair to him.

 

            “What do you owe him?” she asked her self quietly.

           

            As she asked it, she instantly regretted it. This was the least she could do. The least. After all he had been through, this was nothing.

 

            Still, as Lisa stood there, the sound of Leatherface’s undying chainsaw came splitting into bathroom from the living room. As it did, Lisa, for only a moment, wondered once again how she got into this situation.

 

            “You did it by being nice. By doing the right thing, and being nice.”

 

            After saying this, she took a deep breath and went back into the living room.

 

----------------------------

 

            Creepy Craig’s cries had sounded like those of a dying animal when she had found him.

 

            He laid in a massive puddle of mud, his entire body soaked in the filth from head to toe. Blood lay on his lips, coming in bursts out of his mouth along with saliva. His pants had been tugged around his ankles and, even from the distance were Lisa was, she could she that his underwear was torn and yanked up to his mid back. One of his eyes was swollen— the same one that had been blackened by Matt Freeman just a few months ago. His glasses lay nearby, caked in thick mud and shattered. His drawing notebook was thrown off to the far right, soaked in filth along with many of its pages torn out.

 

            Joseph King, the same person that had once started the Creepy Craig moniker, stood over the screaming boy aside Jerry and Jason Smith and Kyle Long. Kyle looked a little queasy over what was happening but the Smith brothers and Joseph were all smiles and horrible laughs.

           

            Lisa had been coming down the path beside Ridgewire Road for the past week because she had recently gone through a faze of riding her bike to school and back. It was becoming spring and the rush of the cool breeze through her hair as she rode her bike had become more appealing than just driving her boring old car to school. Usually the dip behind the Sander’s place was an uneventful yet muddy bypass on her otherwise pleasant bike ride. Today, however, there was nothing uneventful about it.

           

            Joseph had been the first to notice Lisa riding slowly towards them. Her eyes were already filled with horror. Inside, Joseph knew he was going to have a tough time with her. Still, he tried to divert her with a little humor.

           

            “What do you think, Lisa? An upgrade for the creepster or what?” he laughed, flashing a malicious grin.

           

            By this point, Lisa had stopped her bike and was moving on foot towards the boys. Creepy Craig still wailed like a banshee, only stopping to gasp for air and cough blood.

 

            “What are you doing? What in God’s name are you doing?” she said, her voice starting soft and then growing with anger and shock.

           

            Kyle was growing paler. The Smith brothers were starting to reconsider their actions as well. Joseph, however, did not falter.

 

            “Just making sure he knows where he stands…” Joseph said quietly.

 

            Lisa was now face to face with him. All the other boys just stood over the keening Craig, not sure what to do.

           

            “What are you doing?” Lisa repeated.

            “Now… Lisa… you’re not going to make a big thing out of this are you? This isn’t grade school anymore, honey. You’re not gonna go tell the teacher on me, are you?”

           

            For a moment, Lisa didn’t have any words. She couldn’t believe what they were doing. She couldn’t believe this person in front of her.

           

            “I want you to look long and hard at that piece of shit in the mud over there,” Joseph said, turning and pointing at Craig. “Look him and think about what he’s going to become. Think about what he is. He’s a waste. A waste of time, air and space. The kid’s nothing. And he’s only going to get worse. We all know it. He’s just gonna get older, get crazier and then start taking action. Lisa, the kid’s pretty much guaranteed to become a serial killer. We all know it. We all joke about it in the halls and behind closed doors. And why? Because we know it’s true.”

 

            Lisa could feel the tears building up behind her eyes. Deep down, she tried to tell herself to stay strong. She tried to tell herself to not fall apart.

           

            “Were you… were you planning to kill him?” she asked, terror in her voice.

           

            Joseph only laughed.

           

            “Kill? Are you serious? He’s the serial killer, not me. No, baby… I don’t think wedgies and black eyes can kill. But he’s sure gonna be sore. And he sure knows to watch his ass. That’s for sure. And that’s the point.”

 

            For a moment, Lisa felt like she could kill. She felt like she could kill Joseph King. In her mind’s eye, she fantasized about ripping his throat out. Gouging his eyes out. Crushing his testicles. Humiliating him. Torturing him. Murdering him.

 

            Then, reason came in for just a moment. It was all the time she needed.

 

            “Go home.”

            “What?” Joseph asked.

            “I said go home. Do that and I won’t go and call the police,” she said sternly.

            “I don’t think you would do that…” Joseph started.

            “Joseph, come on, man. Let’s get out of here. There’s nothing left to do…” Kyle said, cutting him off.

           

            Joseph turned, giving him what was sure to be a terrible look. As he did, Lisa felt her body starting to shake. She was terrified. Still, she stood her ground.

           

            Joseph turned around.

           

            “Why do you care about the weirdo? What’s your problem?”

            “Joseph… go home. Please.”

 

            In his eyes, she saw temporary defeat. She would remember that look for the rest of her life along with the look of burning hate she had seen in his eyes years before. Only this memory would be a much fonder one.

 

            “Alright, boys. Let’s get out of here. Not much else we can do to the gore hound anyways without getting thrown in jail…”

           

            With that, Joseph turned away from Lisa and walked back to his posse. Before they left, he leaned down to Creepy Craig, who, by this point, was no longer screaming. He had settled down to a steady, low whimpering. To be honest, it was more unsettling then his blood curling shrieks from earlier.

 

            From her distance, Lisa could not hear what Joseph said to Creepy Craig. She could only assume the worst. But she could see Creepy Craig’s reaction. The shift in his face was so sudden and bold that it sent a chill up her spine and broke her arms into gooseflesh.

           

            An animalistic rage entered Creepy Craig’s eyes, replacing the pathetic, child-like fear that had filled them just moments ago. He growled, opening his mouth and bit down on Joseph’s nearby arm. Joseph managed to cry out as Craig ripped at his flesh with his teeth in a savage manner, his eyes boiling. By the time he managed to get his arm out of Craig’s mouth, some loose flesh was hanging from it and it was bleeding pretty strongly.

           

            “You fucking freak!” Joseph cried.

           

            Lisa was running towards them as Joseph brought a strong fist from his uninjured arm down on Creepy Craig’s hate-filled face. The punch sent Craig back into the mud momentarily but, to everyone’s surprise, he was back up and nearly foaming at the mouth a second later.

           

            Joseph held his bleeding arm and backed away, a look of surprise and fear entering his face.

           

            “Lisa, you better get this freak calmed the hell down. You better do it quick. I swear I’ll finish him off if I have to. I’m just about getting to the point where it’s the most logical thing to do, I swear…”

            “Go home, Joseph. Just go home,” she cut him off, trembling as she reached the horrific scene. 

           

            With this, Joseph stepped back, his friends grabbing him and pulling him away. As he left, the look on his face was that of just utter shock. He really couldn’t believe that Creepy Craig had gotten the upper hand in the past minute. And the savage manner in which he did it terrified him.

           

            Lisa approached Creepy Craig as the boys walked away. He was still growling, his eyes wild and crazy. Lisa had never been so scared in her life.

           

            “Hey… hey, Cree… Craig. It’s Lisa. Just calm down. It’s okay now. It’s okay…” she started, leaning down to him.

 

            He fixed his eyes on him. The rage was still swirling in them.

           

            “It’s okay, Craig. It’s okay, now. I promise…” she crooned.

           

            Then it happened. Just as quickly as he had switched when Joseph had whispered terrible words to him, the anger disappeared. The animal vanished. It was all over.

           

            Lisa gasped as Creepy Craig jumped out of the mud hole and latched onto her. Tears were gushing from his eyes and he was gasping between breaths. Slowly, she felt her arms move around his filthy, bloody and brushed body. Slowly, she held him. She held him and they cried together.

           

            After a few minutes had passed, Lisa began to help him clean up. She then asked him if there was anything else she could do for him. Probably still in shock from the whole event, he simply asked if she wouldn’t mind watching a movie with him sometime. She said that she would.

 

----------------------------

 

            The finale of Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 was wild, epic, insane and overblown. While Lisa found most of the movie offensive, boring, disgusting and nearly unwatchable, she suddenly found what Creepy Craig so admired about it in the film’s final ten minutes.

 

            As Leatherface became involved in a chainsaw duel with a one-liner spouting Dennis Hopper in an abandoned amusement park, Lisa found that even she couldn’t help but laugh. The whole situation was so beyond ridiculous that it became entertaining in a strange, sick kind of way.

 

            When the movie came to an end, Creepy Craig stood up and flipped the lights on.

 

            “Well, what’d you think? It was a gas, huh?” Craig said, a smile spreading on his face.

           

            Lisa tried to let the first half of the movie go. She focused on the insane last of it when she gave her answer.

 

            “It was fun, Craig,” she said.

           

            His smile widened.

 

            “Glad you think so. A lot of people hate it. It’s not for everyone. Hell, even I hated it the first time I saw it. But it’ll grow on you. It really will. There’s just something special about it… you know? I mean, you saw that right?” he asked.

            “I think I did.”

            “Good.”

 

            An awkward silence fell on the two. Lisa thought she would have to break it when Creepy Craig spoke up.

           

            “Well, I won’t hold you up. I’m sure you got plans…”

            “Oh, not really. But I should probably get back.”

            “I’ll walk you out.”

           

            As they walked to Creepy Craig’s front door, he began to make conversation.

           

            “So, I heard that you’re dating Mike Hartman?”

            “Yeah. We went to Homecoming together. Kind of hit it off there.”

            “He seems like a nice guy. Doesn’t seem like most of the others.”

            “I know what you mean. He’s really great. It’s been nice so far.”

            “That’s good to hear.”

           

            Creepy Craig put his hand on the door handle and opened it up.

           

            “Well, it’s been nice, Craig. Thank you for having me,” Lisa said as she moved outside.

            “No problem…”

           

            Lisa stood outside of Creepy Craig’s house, looking back at him. He was looking at her, studying her beautiful blue eyes, her light, brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and her angelic face. He was looking at her when he began to speak.

 

            “Lisa…”

            “Yes?”

            “I know what people say about me… you know that, right?”

 

            Lisa felt her stomach drop slightly. For a moment, she didn’t know where Creepy Craig was going with this. And she was nervous where he might go.

           

            “People think I’m dangerous. That I’m going to become a serial killer. That I watch horror films like other people would watch pornography…”

            “Craig…”

            “The horror movies… they calm me. It’s something I don’t know how to explain. It’s just, when I watch them… the pain, the anxiety it all goes away.”

 

            Craig paused, taking a breath.

 

“I can remember the moment it first happened. It was the day that someone put a dead bird in my backpack.”

            “What?” Lisa asked, slightly horrified.

            “I left my backpack outside during lunch and, when I came back, I found a dead bird in it. When I did, it was like a scary calm came over me. I dumped it out and then thought about how the bird had been inside of there, getting all of its feathers, blood and diseases all over my notebooks, notes and books. Slowly, I picked the backpack up and threw the whole thing away in the trash can.”

            “Craig… that’s awful. Really. I’m sorry.”

            “When I got home, I started crying and… I threw up. I just didn’t understand. I couldn’t understand something like that. It just didn’t make sense in my head. How could someone do something like that? How could that even make sense in someone’s head? It… it really messed me up…”

           

            Craig paused here, taking another breath. There were tears in his eyes.

 

            “And, I don’t know. There are some gaps in my memory. But I remember going into the living room and starting The Evil Dead. And something happened. It was just like all that pain and disgust… it just left me. I just don’t know how to describe it. It was like… there was just something about it… the genre as a whole. All the stereotypes, the opening kills, the rules, etc… it was just the formula that put me at ease.”

           

            Craig was struggling now, having trouble with his words.

           

            “In a way, it’s the same reason that I watch the movies on VHS. I know that VHS sucks. It’s terrible. But, in a way, it’s nostalgic. It makes me feel like a kid again. You know, I’ve never really had a lot of friends, even when I was a kid. But damn it, things were a lot better then than they are now. And to go back to all of that… it’s nice. And that’s what the VHS does for me. That’s what horror does for me. All that stuff I said in the video store that night to you and your friends… that was all bullshit. I just wanted to hurt her. I just wanted to scare her. It doesn’t make me wanna hurt people. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I never did… but it’s just like they want me too. It’s like they all want me to go and kill someone, you know? Like, that’s their main goal. I didn’t want to hurt Joseph. I didn’t want to bite him. But that asshole… he just wouldn’t stop. What am I supposed to do? What do they want from me?”

 

            Craig’s words were slurring now and he was shaking. Hot tears were starting to fall down his cheeks, leaving streaks. Like the day she found him screaming and crying in the mud, Lisa once again took him in her arms, holding him.

           

            “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay…” she started.

            “I just don’t know what to do anymore…” Craig managed.

            “I know. I know it’s hard. But it’s almost over. Just one more year and it’s over… It’s almost over…”

            “Yeah… one more year…”

 

            The two broke their hug. Through his always-dirty glasses, Lisa could see his swelling, red eyes. They were bright. They were grateful.

           

            “Thank you. For everything. I mean, you didn’t have to come over and watch this with me. Most people wouldn’t have even helped me that day in the mud. You’ve done more than enough…”

            “It was nothing, Craig. I enjoyed it. Really…”

            “Well, if you say so.”

 

            He looked down, not knowing how to end their conversation and, deep down, wanting it to not end.

           

            “How about we watch Psycho next week? Or does it have too much over-staged butchering for you?” Lisa asked with a smile.

           

            Craig looked up, looking surprised.

           

            “Are you serious?” he almost whispered.

            “I mean… we could watch something else…” she started.

            “No, that’s fine. Really.”

 

            A smile started to form on Craig’s face, the streaks of water on his face beginning to dry.

           

            “I have a date with Mike on Friday but I should be free on Saturday. What do you say, friend?”

            “I’ll be sure to get some popcorn for next week. And, you know I have a DVD player. We can watch it on that if you like…”

            “No, VHS is fine. Besides, it’s more nostalgic.”

            “Yeah…” Craig laughed.

           

            Before they parted, Lisa gave Craig one more hug. As she did she whispered in his ear.

           

            “Just one more year…”

 

            When they parted, Lisa left Craig Moore standing in the doorway of his house. He watched her leave for a moment and then took his glasses off his oily nose and began to clean them on his white undershirt that was beneath the Dawn of the Dead t-shirt he was wearing.

           

            As he did so, he was smiling.

 

 

 

THE END.

Student Teacher Conference

STUDENT TEACHER CONFERENCE

  

            The first thing that Jill Oxford noticed in Professor David Lister’s office was the alligator on his desk.

 

The small paperweight version of the reptile seemed odd and out of place. Nothing about Professor Lister’s appearance suggested that he was out doorsy in the least bit. He was slightly out of shape, had a hair and beard combo that seemed to belong to a lazy video gamer, and looked as if he avoided the ideas of camping, picnicking, fishing and other outdoors activities at all costs. And it was the outdoorsy, nature-types that usually had animals surrounding them in some shape and fashion. So, in that sense, the alligator didn’t really make sense to Jill. That is, unless, David just happened to have some kind of affinity for alligators.

 

David.

 

Yes, it was important for Jill to start thinking of him as David and not Professor Lister. If she didn’t, the conference may not go as planned.

 

The look on David’s face after hearing her open the door was that of slight surprise and annoyance. The day ahead of him was as long as it could be and Jill Oxford’s intrusion was only going to make it more of a chore. But it was more than just her being there that put him off— it was the way she looked. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail but still looked frayed and messy. Her skin was a sickly tone of white. Black rings struggled to hold on to the skin surrounding her eyes.

 

Something seemed wrong with her. Still, David tried to address her as if her invasion of his office was nothing but a minor inconvenience.

 

“Oh… hello, Jill. I’m sorry but I have freshman comp conferences all day today. Is there anyway we could meet some other time?” David said in his most polite voice.

“Oh, sorry to barge in, Professor Lister…”

 

In her mind, Jill told herself that his name was David one more time. Again, it would just make the whole process easier. Simpler. But, for now, she had to address him as Professor Lister. Anything else would have raised suspicion.

 

“I was just hoping that I could talk to you for a minute or two. That’s why I got here so early in the morning…” she continued.

 

            As the words came out, Jill sounded soft and polite. However, there was some urgency in her tone. Somehow, something seemed off. David found himself tensing up as she took the seat across from him without any permission.

 

            “Jill…” David started, his voice faltering slightly as his nerves began to build.

           

            As he began to speak, Jill found herself getting distracted with the surroundings of the office one more time. While the alligator seemed to offer nothing but confusion in relation to David’s personal life and attributes, the rest of his clutter was not as ambiguous.

 

            To Jill’s right sat a giant shelf of old VHS tapes. Some were old classics such as The Godfather, Casablanca and Jaws. The rest were a mixture of the old Universal Studios monster films and obscure horror films from the 1980’s. On the bottom left, a copy of the 1970’s exploitation film The Toolbox Murders could be seen. David Cronenberg’s bizarre 1980’s film Videodrome rest comfortably beside it. These films were positioned so most students won’t notice them. At least, the students that weren't looking.

 

The shelf adjacent to this was filled more respectfully with books. However, upon closer inspection, the selection was even more interesting than that of the film collection. While the right side was filled with various novels from the Romantic era, the left was a hodgepodge of Stephen King, Kurt Vonnegut and Cormac McCarthy novels.

 

These two shelves really explained more of just who David Lister was. He was a twenty-six year old boy in a teacher’s position at the same college where he fulfilled his undergraduate and graduate degrees. While he wore dress pants, a tie and a button up shirt, he still looked slightly disheveled next to the rest of the professors. He would try harder than most of the more established professors. Despite this fact, he would never be as respected among them or by his own students. At least, until a few more years passed and he became “one of them.”

 

“I have no problems speaking to students… it’s just, I have a lot of conferences coming up about ten minutes from now…” David finished, cutting into Jill’s observations and thoughts.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t make an appointment. You just seemed… so approachable from class…”

 

David just looked at her, a little surprised by her wording. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or a little nervous.

 

“It’s just… this will only take a second. I know I’m being a little inconsiderate with not having an appointment and all. But this is pretty important. And I’d feel a lot better if I could just talk to you for a second,” Jill said.

“Okay, Jill. I should be able to spare a few minutes. What seems to be the problem?”

“Well, I didn’t do so well on our last paper.”

“The MacBeth paper, right?”

 

Jill began to unzip the backpack resting at her feet to search for the paper in question. In the back of her mind, she flashed images from earlier that morning to give herself strength. She saw the pale, deathly blue morning light gently flooding into her dorm room… the countless drafts spread out all over the rough, brown carpet… and the toilet…

 

“Yeah, that’s the one,” she managed as she broke from these images and pulled the paper out.

“Let’s see here…” David said as he took the paper from her.

 

Shame swelled through Jill’s already aching skull when she briefly saw the bright red 65 scrawled on the top right corner of the paper in David’s hands. Her dull blue eyes began to shift nervously, crawling over the rough, brown carpet of his office. It reminded her of her own carpet. One more time, she saw the drafts all spread out.

 

“Ah yes… You had some run-on sentences here. Actually, you had quite a few of them. I do a letter grade down for each one. That and you had some minor grammatical errors,” David stated in a very matter of fact fashion.

“I… made a 65…” Jill whispered, still looking down at the dull carpet with her equally dull eyes.

 

David noticed the shame in her voice and sighed.

 

“Well, Jill, I know it seems harsh. Trust me, you’re a good student. I’ve seen your work. And it’s good. But you can’t make mistakes like this. They are careless. My high school teacher would have given me the same grade. She even told me then that run-on sentences were unforgivable on the college level…”

“Okay…”

“Jill, it’s a mistake. But we all make mistakes. Everyday. The purpose of making mistakes, at least to me, is to learn from them. I didn’t count off this much to be mean. It’s just a method I use to teach. I want you all to learn from your mistakes. I believe that you will become a stronger writer because of this. I really do. And that’s all I want.”

“Okay. I understand.”

 

Silence fell. As a feeling of awkwardness started to fill the office, David handed the paper back.

 

“Will there be any extra credit?” Jill managed as she weakly took the paper into her hands.

“There will probably be a paper you could do for extra credit later on in the semester. It’s still a little early though.”

“And how much will it be worth?” Jill asked, her eyes lighting up slightly.

“Most likely five daily grades.”

“Five daily grades…” Jill whispered, her head dropping back to the carpet.

 

David’s eyes watched the girl in front of him. For the first time since his first day of teaching a class, he was scared. He felt sweat begin to form under his jet-black, combed hair and eventually roll down his puffy cheeks. There was a numbness forming in stomach, moving into his legs and arms. The numbness that was fear.

 

Something wasn’t right here. Something wasn’t right with this girl… and David knew it.

 

“Professor Lister, did you know that I had a 4.0?”

“No, Jill. I didn’t. Though I wouldn’t expect any less of you.”

 

Jill’s eyes were becoming determined. Her breathing was becoming faster.

 

“I’ve been at this college for three years now… and I have a 4.0. It’s been a lot of work. A lot. But that 4.0. is mine. And I have to have it. Do you understand? I have to have it. My parents wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s a necessity in my house. And they would be quite disappointed if I were to lose it now, after everything.”

 

The numbness was spreading in David’s body.

 

“Jill… I doubt you’ll lose it. It’s still early in the semester… and…”

“I threw up this morning.”

 

David’s stomach dropped as the numbness filled him.

 

“What did you say?” David managed in almost a whisper.

“I threw up this morning. I’ve been throwing up a lot lately. I just can’t seem to hold anything down. I’ve been having stomach problems like these since high school. I’d sit in class, completely in pain… just hoping to get through without my stomach tearing itself to shreds. One day, I woke up and spit up blood. Right into the sink.”

 

As Jill said this, she felt the pain of this memory one more time. The ripping feeling, followed by the thick, bloody mucus shooting out of her esophagus. Then came the strange, sickening numbness that washed over her stomach. Numbness not far from what was filling David’s own body at that very moment.

 

When this passed, Jill began to speak again.

 

“And you know why? Because of teachers like you. Don’t you understand? I have to have that 4.0. There are no ands, ifs or buts about it. I have to have it.”

“Jill… I’m sorry… but this isn’t healthy. These are just grades…”

“Don’t you tell me that. Don’t you dare. They are not just grades. You, of all people, should know that.

“Jill, please. Just calm down. I will work with you and we will work this out. I promise. I have confidence in you that you will be able to pull this grade up. I really do. But, until then, I think I’m going to have to refer you to the campus counselor.”

 

That’s when the smile finally broke across her face.

 

“No, David. I won’t be going to the school counselor. Can I call you David? That would make me feel a lot better.”

 

David just stared at her, not knowing what to say. It didn’t seem like he could say anything that would make it any better.

 

“You see… I’m not leaving this office. Not until I feel better about all of this. I… I shouldn’t have to go through this pain anymore. It’s time I did something. Don’t you agree? A girl so young shouldn’t hurt this much. Am I right?”

“Jill…”

“I’m not going to go through this anymore. Do you understand? I’m not. And you are going to see to that.”

 

David was at a loss. He racked his brain for the right words to handle the situation. Eventually, he found himself mumbling absentmindedly.

 

“I think I’m going to have to ask you to leave my office…”

“No, I don’t think you’d like that.”

“Jill, please leave…”

“But if I left, I’d have to drop these off in Dr. Redford’s office…”

 

Photographs land in David’s lap. Some of them land on the floor below. He didn’t even see Jill pull them out of her coat pocket. Slowly, he felt a pressure beginning to build up in his skull as the images from the polaroids filled his brain.

 

“What is this… what are you doing? What are you doing?”

“I just don’t want to hurt anymore.”

“This isn’t happening… this can’t happen. Do you understand what you are doing? I could lose everything…”

“How does it feel?”

“What?”

“To almost lose everything? You see… I could lose everything too. We’re in the same boat. And it feels terrible doesn’t it?”

 

Suddenly, David shot out of his chair, sending the incriminating photos to the dull, rough, brown carpet below.

 

“The same boat? Are you serious? I could lose everything! This is my life we’re talking about here! Not some stupid G.P.A.! You’re going to take everything away!”

 

Jill stayed seated and simply looked up at David. Her eyes were placid and her face almost emotionless.

 

“It’s not just some stupid G.P.A. to me. And you know that. If I lose it, it’s all over for me too. Why can’t you understand that?”

 

David stood, looking at her in disbelief. His mind ran in a million different directions… all of them in an attempt to try and figure out how to diffuse this situation. As he thought, Jill spoke. And she spoke clearly.

 

“The day you gave that paper back, I had a complete emotional breakdown. You handed me the paper and I felt it… it was like a knife going through my back and out my stomach. I could barely make it out of the class before tears were running down my face. Once I left the English Hall, I realized I didn’t know where I was. Can you believe that? I’ve been here a thousand times… but, in this state, I had no idea where I was. Eventually, I stumbled down to the dorm, wandered into my room and had a complete breakdown. I don’t know what it was… I just couldn’t stop it. I just couldn’t stop it. After that, I ended up sleeping. I didn’t go to class the next two days. I just slept and thought. Finally, after two days, I left my room. And that’s when I saw you with her. And that’s when I figured it all out. And I knew what I had to do. There was no other solution. I felt it… and it felt right. It was the first thing that felt right in a very long time.”

 

A look of defeat spread over David’s face.

 

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to re-grade the paper. I’m going to get the grade I deserve.”

 

David said nothing. He still couldn’t believe any of this was happening to him.

 

“And… there is one more thing…”

“What?”

“Do you love her?”

 

The photograph of him and Cynthia kissing outside of the deli filled his brain as he tried to put together Jill’s logic.

 

“What?” David asked, confused at to what she was getting at.

“Cynthia… the girl… the student you’re sleeping with. Do you love her?”

“We’re not sleeping together,” David snapped.

 

A spark of curiously fills Jill’s face.

 

“Oh really?”

“Why are you asking this?”

“It’s very important that you’re honest with me.”

 

As Jill stared David down with her pale, beady eyes, he began to think. He thought back to Cynthia’s visit to his office just minutes before she had arrived. He thought about how she walked around like she owned the place. How she didn’t seem to care if they were caught. How he did everything in his power to get her out before the freshmen students arrived without being mean. How she had said she loved him for the first time in their relationship as she exited the room… and the empty feeling that spread through his stomach thereafter.

 

As these thoughts run through David’s mind, he finds his mouth moving. The words were hard. Hard enough to make him fall back into his chair.

 

“I don’t know…”

 

Something came over Jill’s face. Something foreign. Something David had never been allowed to see on her face before. Suddenly, he began to feel that dread again… that numbness…

 

“Did you know that I’ve never been in a relationship of any kind before?”

“No, Jill… I didn’t…

“I’ve been in love before. But they never really noticed me. Nobody ever does. Even if they had, I wouldn’t have had the time to do anything. I was always too busy with schoolwork. Too busy because of people like you. And here you are… you have a girl who seems to be obsessed with you. And what do you say? You don’t know. In fact, you look like you have never even given it thought until now.”

 

He felt it moving down his legs again.

 

“I’ve been too wrapped up in the academic world to even think about boys most of the time. Now, here am I with a failing grade. Let’s just say it has opened my mind quite a bit. Now, I can’t stop thinking what it would be like to be loved… to have someone… to be kissed…”

 

Jill stood as the feeling began to spread through his whole body once again.

 

“I want you to help me feel like this.”

 

Sweat began to roll down his face one more time.

 

“What?” he managed.

“I want you to make me feel like Cynthia. Instead, I don’t want you to fake it like you do with her. I want you to kiss me and I want you to do it as if you love me. I want you to love it. And I want to feel that. I will know if you’re faking it.”

“Are you serious?”

 

Jill’s answer was in her eyes. David felt a sickness entering his belly, causing him to stand up.

 

“Jill, this is out of the question. I’m not doing this…”

“Well, if that’s the way you feel, I can just turn these in…”

 

Jill bent down and picked up two of the fallen photographs. She then began to turn towards the front door. As she did, David went after her. He grabbed one of her arms. As his hand tightened around it, something happened within her. When it did, she whipped around, her eyes on fire.

 

“Is that what you want? Do you want to hurt me? Is that what you want?”

 “Jill…” David managed, his confusion soaking his face.

“Go ahead. Hurt me. It’s okay. You can do it...”

 

David just looked at her. Her eyes were both furious and eager. They said exactly what her words did. She truly wanted him to harm her. And she would enjoy it. She would enjoy it a lot.

 

The realization of this sent a shudder up David’s spine. He then took a breath, trying to think. He had no idea what he could do to make the whole situation better. Everything looked hopeless. So grim.

 

Then, something happened.

 

“I would never hurt you. I’m… I’m just like you. You know that right?”

 

Jill stood her ground, waiting for his explanation.

 

“It’s just… you have to understand what I’m dealing with. You have to understand that this would have never flown in my high school. Never. Do you know what happened to me in high school when I had a poor opening paragraph? Do you?”

 

David was becoming emotional. His voice was strained and hurt. Sweat now soaked the top part of his button-up shirt. It was loosening his tie and causing him to look less and less like a professor.

 

“My teacher, Mrs. Crosby, put it on the overhead for everyone to see. And then, you know what we did? We pointed out all the flaws. Christ, we tore it up. And then I went home alone to think about it. And you know what? It was good. I deserved it. Because I learned from it. And you may hate me right now and it may hurt… but you’ll learn. You really will. I have. You know?”

 

David turned away from her and sat back down in his chair. Hurt filled his eyes. For a moment, he was back in that classroom, looking at the overhead projection of his flawed piece of writing. His imperfect work.

 

“You didn’t deserve that, you know?” Jill said calmly. Her eyes no longer burned. They just appeared to be heightened with a sense of extreme interest.

“I’ve been doing this for years, you know? Just drilling away. Just accepting it and trying to make the best of it. Just trying to be the best. I got really lucky. Even with my grades from grad school… I probably shouldn’t have ended up here. There’s just so much pressure…”

 

David paused, his breathing getting hard. He looked exhausted.

 

“The first day I walked into that classroom… I can remember just looking out at all these kids just a few years younger than me. I thought they were going to eat me alive. I really did. But I got lucky. I really did. But, even with all that luck, the pressure doesn’t go away. It never goes away. After all, without the pressure, what would be the reason to get up in the morning, right? But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t get to you. No, it still does. And sometimes, you need an escape. And Cynthia was that escape. It started simple. She’d just stay late after class, chatting about various subjects. We had similar interests. We had chemistry. That was it. It just kind of started from there. It was never a bad thing in my mind… the age difference wasn’t big. She’s twenty-two and I’m twenty-six. It’s not that big of a deal. It was just the fact that I was her teacher that screwed it all up. Is that so much of a violation?”

“She is your student, David. Because of that, yes it is. And I will use it against you. Because you are using her.”

“I’m not using her. I care about her, I really do. It’s just everything’s happened so fast… and there’s just all this pressure… I’ve never even been one to be in a relationship. I’ve only had one and it was quite brief. In a lot of ways, I’m like you.”

 

Jill began to walk towards him, her face shifting.

 

“Are you trying to manipulate me, David?” she hissed.

“What?”

“Make me think we’re buddy buddy now that we have similar backgrounds? Is that it?”

“No, that’s not it at all…”

“This doesn’t change anything,” Jill spat, cutting David off, “You still have things that you owe me. And I’m not leaving until they are taken care of.

“Jill…please… you don’t want…”

“Get up. Come over here.”

“I’m not doing this.”

“Yes. You will.”

 

Gently, her hand took his. For a moment, it was as if David had been hypnotized. His body moved all on its own, getting out of the sweat-soaked chair. Jill’s face filled with a sense of excitement and, surprisingly, fear.

 

“Are you nervous?” she whispered.

 

David couldn’t respond. His body kept on moving without his control.

 

“You know… I’m pretty nervous too… you are my first after all. How does that make you feel? Do you feel honored in any way? It would make me feel pretty good.”

 

David kept on moving, putting his hands on Jill’s shoulders. One of his fingers accidentally brushed the tiny hairs on the side of her lower neck. As it did, she felt a weakness moving over her. Her mouth watered. Her skin broke out in gooseflesh. Her face blushed.

 

“Wow… it’s really going to happen…”

“Jill… please…” David whimpered, sounding utterly defeated.

“No, I need this.”

“You don’t want it to be like this.”

“Do it,” she ordered.

 

With these words, Jill began to lean in, her lips parting. As she did, it all suddenly came crashing down on David. The absurdity of what was happening. The embarrassment. The sheer loss of control and dignity. It all hit at once, bringing a primal croak up deep from the bottom of his throat.

 

Before either of them knew what was happening, David found himself grabbing Jill around the throat and slamming her again the office door. She let out a gasp of surprise and pain as she hit hard. As the professor held her tightly again the door, his body shook with panic and fury. Sounds of his breathing cutting in and out in a rapid fashion bounced about the tiny office space. Slowly, he found his fingers tightening around Jill’s throat with a strange instinctual brutality.

 

To both of their surprise, Jill found a small laugh escape her body. David’s brain boiled at the sound of it.

 

“Who do you think you are coming in here and doing this? I ought to kill you! You can’t do this! You can’t!” David spat, his voice quaking with anger and terror.

“Come on, David. We’re so close already. It won’t take much to do this.”

 

She leaned her face closer to his and he felt her hot breath on his scruffy cheek. This set off something deep within him as he soon found himself tightening his grip on Jill’s throat and snapping her head back against the door. She gasped again. For a brief moment, he felt like he could snap her head back to the point where it would break her neck. He felt like he could rip her throat out, spilling bright, warm blood all over his heaving chest and the dull carpet below.

 

For that one brief moment, he really felt like he could kill her.

 

Then it hit him. The sick feeling… almost as overwhelming as the numbness that overcame Jill’s stomach the time that she spit up blood… shot through David’s limbs. Suddenly, he realized what he was doing. He was physically harming a student. A student.

 

A nauseating groan escaped from his throat as he fell backward, dropping his hands from Jill’s throat. He hunched over and breathed hard. A slow headache started to form and intensify quickly. It was rage. Pure and simple rage. Only this time, it was towards himself.

 

“Oh my God…” he whispered to himself.

 

It was at this moment that he collapsed back into his chair. Back at the door, Jill had caught her breath. Slowly, she moved towards David.

 

David was sprawled about the chair, barely moving. His clothes had become drenched in his perspiration. It almost looked like he had been dipped in a lake. As she approached, Jill was astonished by how crushed and feeble David appeared. While he had never truly looked like a college professor, at this moment, he honestly looked like a child. In fact, the last time he looked this vulnerable was when he was a child. It hadn’t been on his first day as a teacher. It hadn’t been when he found out Marie had been cheating on him for two months. And it hadn’t been when Mrs. Crosby had torn his paper up in front of the whole class. No, it had been when he was five years old in preschool.

 

A bully named Vaughn Atkinson had shoved him face first into the girl’s restroom. When he landed on the urine-colored floor, he had looked up slowly. The horrified faces of three girls washing their hands at the sink greeted his fear-soaked eyes. In what seemed like slow motion, they all wailed like banshees, ran over his fallen body and burst out of the restroom. David had returned to his homeroom with his head hung in utter shame. His teacher ripped him aside by the arm, scolded him and then wrote his name on the board as a further punishment.

 

As David had retaken his desk, he had collapsed. His clothes were soaked in sweat. His brain was spinning. He was defeated. He was defeated as he was now.

 

David moaned as Jill sat down on his lap and then straddled him. A new wave of nausea swarmed through his stomach as he felt her warmth spreading to his own body. Jill found a feeling working its way into her stomach as well but, unlike David’s, it was warm and soft. It made her knees feel weak and small. Her eyes seemed to float in her skull.

 

She put a hand to his face, stroking through his coarse beard.

 

“Jill… please…” he gasped.

 

This was all he could manage before she moved her lips towards his.

 

-----------------------

 

            David hadn’t necessarily been a good kisser. Jill had never kissed anyone before but even she knew that. His lips had been hard and crusty. She guessed the cold wind of late had worn them. His breath tasted like coffee. As they kissed, he had strained and squirmed. There had been times when she believed he might get sick and vomit in her mouth.

 

Knowing all of this, one might believe that the brief make-out session had not been very appetizing. But that wasn’t true. Despite David’s bad breath, poor kissing skills, restraint and overall, unattractive nature, Jill had been very satisfied by the experience. To her, it had been something special. As they had kissed, she imagined him to be the love of her life. The man she had always wanted. The kind of guy that would run up to her parent’s house at night, throwing rocks at her bedroom window to wake her. The rebel on the motorcycle that would rage through town as she clutched him tightly. The man that would pledge his own undying love for her. The guy who would take a bullet for her without hesitation.

 

The man of her dreams. Her prince charming. 

 

As she had fallen further and further into this fantasy, she had shoved her tongue into his mouth and begun to take him. To her pleasure, she found his restraint and discomfort falling when this happened. In the span of a few moments, he had surrendered and become all of hers. It was the power of this moment that she had woken up for in the morning. It was what she had been yearning and living for all her life.

 

Before she had left his office, she made David promise that he would change her grade on his online grade book. Solemnly, he had agreed. Then, they had said goodbye.

 

Five minutes later, she sat on a cracked, dirty sidewalk near the university’s cafeteria. As she sat there, she thought about how she wished she could see David’s face when he pulled up the grade book. Oh, how she wished she could see his face when he found out that she had dropped his class earlier that morning. That all the threats had been idle. That there was no real reasoning behind her actions. That she had done it just to do it… just for the satisfaction of it all… just for the feeling it gave her…

 

Oh, how she wished she could see his face. The surprise. The shock. The confusion. The anger. The defeat.

 

Before she had left the room and before she had made him promise to change the grade, she had asked him about the alligator paperweight that sat so out of place on his desk. It had been a gift from Cynthia. She had picked it up in a gift shop on a beach trip with friends to Florida. It was the only record and artifact of his inappropriate relationship that he allowed to be showcased in his office.

 

As she thought about this and everything else that happened, Jill felt hot tears roll down her cheeks and splash against the coarse concrete below. Her nose began to run. She felt her eyes grow hot and raw. She gasped and felt her breath get choked up within the growing lump in her throat.

 

In her moment of choking, she thought about vomiting every morning before class. She thought about the pain that had held her down for so long. She thought about what she had done to David. She thought about how she had hurt him just to hurt him. Just for that feeling of power and pleasure. She thought about him and his dry, crusty kiss. She thought about the justifications for her actions… and the horror of what she had been capable of.

 

As all these thoughts ripped through her brain, she sat there and began to cry.

 

 

 

THE END.