A series of love stories which were almost…
Days of silence between the two of us was washed out on that day when we talked for the first time, well, it was almost a talk.
‘Tick tock… tick tock…’ This was one of my favorite sounds in the office in those days. I am not talking about the clock, waiting to announce the end of day’s play for us all. I am talking about the sound made by her long flat heels when she walked around in the office.
Our office was otherwise very silent. The only sound that you could hear was of continuous keystrokes made by all the mechanical humans under the roof, trying to win an invisible race. And other sounds confined to the two and a half walls of respective cubicles. Neither the sound nor their feelings or wishes or dreams ever came out of the cubicles.
It all started as an annoyance for me. In the amazing peaceful silent office environment, all of a sudden, I heard a slowly increasing sound of someone’s heel thrashing the floor. There was a symmetry in the sound, it was almost musical. But it was a disturbance nevertheless to my attentive open-eyed sleep. So I got annoyed and looked above the walls of my cubicle, and things changed.
I saw her for the first time, though I had heard the sound of her heels several times before. My ears could make out the difference between other shoes and hers. Yet, I had never taken an effort to look at the person whom those shoes would carry. And that made all the difference in my office life. From the boring monotonous life inside my rat-hole (aka cubicle), things started to get interesting for me.
As my cubicle came on the way towards the rest and refreshment area, I could see everyone in the office at least once a day when they passed by me. And that was both a benefit and a distraction for me. And after getting to know about her, it became more of an addiction for me.
I used to hear the sound of those heels several times during the day. And out of those several times, many times she would be walking towards me. I would see her, peeking above the walls of my cubicle. From my otherwise slumped back posture, I would instantly sit straight and fix my table. Everything should be at its proper place…
This went on for several days, with awkward eye-contacts and look-aways, until that opportune moment when I actually had a chance to talk to her.
That day, I was coming back from the rest area myself and just at the time, she also came out from the door behind me. And we both were walking towards the door leading to the central walkway.
I don’t know what came to me, but I held the door out for her. She accepted my gesture gracefully, smiled and replied with a ‘thank you’. And my awkward response was inaudible even to my mind.
I went through after her and couldn’t stop staring at her hair dangling like a bell. After a few steps, she turned back and slowly looked around and then at me. She smiled again and walked away. I couldn’t be any more happier…
My friend saw all that and started teasing me for her. And I enjoyed myself for all that. But things don’t stay perfect for more than a moment, with me.
That evening and night went like I had conquered the world. I danced while walking, skipped steps, and would constantly hum some good tune. You could find me smiling without any reason. I wished with every broken piece of my heart that something would make out of this particular story.
A few days later, I couldn’t see her in the office. Probably she was late, probably she was on a leave, probably she was on a longer leave, probably she went to her hometown for a mini-vacation, probably on a longer vacation… My assurances to myself grew more and more unreasonable.
Soon I understood that she no longer worked at my location. Probably some other location or some other company, but I didn’t want to make assumptions any more. I knew I was never going to find out if there was some story at all in our little conversation.
There was a trend of wearing those heels at office, and whenever people would move past me with those heels, all the memories would bring back the pain in my heart with each tick-tock sound on the floor. But I was happy, at least it was almost a talk, unlike my other almost love stories…
Another episode with my (fictional) grandpa (i.e., myself) where I’m worried about how to fit in all the variety of dishes available at a dinner party buffet in my single, limited spaced plate…
I was on an unknown dinner party with people my family knew. I hated to meet those people as none of them really cared about my presence but still all of then would definitely ask me a series of question, almost predictable series, which I hate to answer.
So, I skipped through all the introduction and socializing hush-bush, and directly went for the reason I went there – dinner. I don’t really remember the occasion for which party was organized.
I was skipping through the tiles, jumping on the pattern, while ignoring all the people I’d bump into. I had hoped that they would just ignore me, consider me a psycho and would avoid talking to me. And till now, it had worked.
But then, my own Grandpa came to me and expressed a desire to talk.
Over the dinner, we talked about random topics from my life and he gave me advices in each one of them. I don’t actually remember any of those as they were not practical. They required me to be active, strong minded and willing to perform in my life, which was exactly the opposite kinda guy of what the school had made out of me.
The dinner was being served by the caterers and often a well-dressed waiter would come up and serve my plate with things that I didn’t want. Before I could say anything, he would just throw it all onto my plate. And then I’d be left staring at those things, thinking where to hide all this stash…
My Grandpa said “What happened, son? You look weird today… Not liking the food, are we?”
Me: *Shaking my head* “Nah… Nothing… No problem. I’m… I’m fine.”
“You don’t look like that, definitely…” And Grandpa resumed his dinner.
After a while, another waiter came and put things in my plate, and it was too late when I noticed that. He had already left.
“Would you mind? I hope not…” Grandpa said while putting a few bites from his plate to mine.
I shouted “No! I DO mind! My plate’s already full and you pushing things off your plate to me! No way I’m gonna complete this plate!”
Grandpa simply smiled.
I couldn’t bear it any longer and asked “Come on… Speak!”
Grandpa spoke with a bigger smile “Why is your plate full?”
“Because that waiter is serving out things without first confirming with me…”
“No.” Grandpa snapped in between.
“Yes! You look… Just in a minute. He’ll come back and put things in my plate without asking me anything! He’s just…” I tried to explain myself, rather poorly.
“You can always say ‘NO’… But for that you’d require to pay attention for his arrival” Grandpa explained.
He went on “Look son… In life, we are often bombarded with work, responsibilities and expectations. And sometimes, we feel that we are being pounded at from all the directions and that we cannot take it any longer. We wanna quit, we wanna leave the plate half-eaten. But that’s when you should understand – we can always foresee those servings and can always be ready to say NO to them.”
I looked at him, mouth half-opened. He found way of giving me life advice even at this diner!!
“But what if I couldn’t foresee the serving, and am left with extra food on my plate?” having a habit to argue at every point, I gave a poor defensive tilt.
Grandpa looked at me for a while and said “Is your plate really full then?”
Our dinner was complete, mine was a mess, but I had better things to do. I had to think upon my conversation with Grandpa, first of all understand what he meant by that last remark, and then use it in my daily life, where I always think that I am being barraged by tasks and that my plate is always full.
P.s.: Do tell if you happen to understand my grandpa’s advice…
God was unable to solve a simple problem in his world, which had now grown in to a big issue. Just then, a Kid gave him an innocent view, which God strongly felt as the need of the time.
God was frustrated with the way Humans had messed up with the world that he had created with such craft and devotion. God thought that the cruel face of deaths and despair of innocent creatures will somehow touch the humane in humans, but even when it did, humans couldn’t do anything to stop the mess.
Oceans were polluted, rivers dried up, species got extinct, but people were fighting over issues made by themselves. Humans turned into savage beings, didn’t care for anything, anyone but themselves, their things and their desires. Human wants had turned into inhuman impulses.
He sat at a deserted riverside, sad, thinking over the whole architecture of his creations – wondering what went wrong. The place was devoid of humans, and anyway no human soul could see God now, as those souls were not pure anymore.
A kid came running towards the riverbed chasing a squirrel. The squirrel quickly climbed up the tree beside the riverbed. Kid got angry at the squirrel and threw a stone at it, missed it. Then he sat at the riverside, sad and crying.
God’s heart was still God’s, and He couldn’t see a kid crying like that. So he changed his appearance to a man and went beside the kid. He asked the kid about his problem, to which the kid replied, taking out a nut from his pocket- “I am t-… I am trying to give this n- n- nut to that s- squirrel… but she j- just doesn’t stop! Why doesn’t it t- t- trust me? Am I that bad?!”
God smiled at the innocence of the boy.
“Look kid. The squirrel might have had a bad experience with some other person before. That’s why she is afraid to trust you. She might be thinking that you will hurt it and so she’s running away from you. That doesn’t make you bad. Rather, your intention to give the squirrel food is what makes you a good boy!” God said patting the boy’s back.
Boy took a while to stop crying. And then said “But I don’t want to hurt it. My mom says that if I hurt someone, God will hurt me back. And will help that squirrel. Doesn’t squirrel know that?”
God said “It is true that God helps good souls. But still that doesn’t mean that good souls won’t get hurt. Sometimes, God takes time to help someone.”
Boy’s face turned inquisitive and said “But in that time, the bad guy would have done bad things. What’s the point of helping after bad things have happened?”
“Sometimes, bad things ought to happen to allow good things to happen.” God said smartly.
Boy couldn’t understand that, so he just shrugged his shoulders and said “I don’t get that. Instead, why just not allow bad things to happen.”
God said “Not everything is in God’s hands. We as people need to change for making things right.”
Boy said “I would just advice God to restart the world and make things right this time. Put only good things in people’s mind, and devoid their abilities to do bad. When I am not able to do something, I also just restart with my work, with a fresh look at it.”
Saying that the boy went on with his little world… But God sat there thinking about restarting the world. Is that the solution to his problem? Rebuilding the world, while destroying the current world? Is that acceptable? Or just the need of the time?
A series of stories of a bird who leaves his parents’ nest and moves on to live his life in his own way.
After leaving the house of his parents, the bird had set foot in the world of opportunities, which could both help him fly high or dump him right on the ground. While juggling his world with arranging his new nest and the new life, the bird feels the need of a companion, for the first time.
Previous posts under this series:
He had just returned from his morning flight. He loved flying over the town in the morning, just when the first ray of light touched the highest trees on the ground. All other birds would wake up after the sun was up enough to splash its sunlight on the ground. By that time, he used to make his trip.
He felt something he couldn’t explain in words, when the morning cold breeze and the new-born sunlight used to touch his feathers. He would just close his eyes, spread his wings fully apart and just go with the wind. And when he reached the end of his town, he would open his eyes and see the naked beauty of the sun, no buildings or man-made aesthetics to blur its beauty.
He cleaned his nest with a flap of his huge wings and settled back the twigs for the next night. Soon it will be time for going for the morning ritual – food, work, food, work and food, before it would be time for taking rest again. He watched other birds in the nearby nests. They had started to wake up.
He loved watching them wake up. It was half the reason for his early rise from his sleep. The birds around his nest used to wake each other up. Those staying alone used to show off their place and strength, in order to attract females and keep other males at bay. While some notorious ones used to invade other’s privacy by flying into other’s marked spaces. And it was just seconds that a fight would start between the owner and the encroacher.
But he didn’t like watching all that. He enjoyed watching the couples wake-up. It was an amazing sight, funny sometimes, and adorable too. One of them would wake-up and slowly caress, gently stroke the other’s head with its beak. The other would slowly open its eyes and the first thing it will see in the morning would be the his love in the eyes of its loved one. And then they would entwine themselves in the rickety ride of beak-lock, entangling their beaks and pushing each other up and down.
Gross! It used to be his first reaction to such acts of other birds. Rumbling inside other’s beak without the morning gargle! But then he felt something else too watching them. His heart used to slow down watching the scene. And a strange crunch would start out of nowhere in his stomach. Probably, he missed all this in his life.
During the day, he would think about how his life would be like if he also had a companion in his life. His early months after he left the house of his parents were hard. And he felt this dire need of being with someone. But he always pushed away those feelings thinking that he had to make his life first, and this was only temporary reaction of his mind upon leaving his parents. But then, those thoughts never stopped after more than a year from that time now.
He had met several people on his way to this town, before he finally settled at his current space in the corner of the balcony of an abandoned man-house. But none of them made him feel weak at heart. None of them were compatible to him. And he moved on easily from all the occasional beak-locks and making out times with some, he didn’t care enough to remember. But he was waiting for someone whom he would never let go. And that made him feel incomplete everyday.
In the evening, when he would return from his long flight of searching for food, having fought several fights with some annoying birds on the way, and finding his purpose of life, living his dreams, he would see the sunset, alone. He would sit on the chimney of the house, and watch the sun burn the last rays of light. He would extend his wings to touch the light as it would slowly rise towards the sky, leaving the ground to embrace the darkness and wait for another day, another morning when they will meet again. Although the sunset is always beautiful, he would feel low at heart having to watch it without someone by his side.
At night, he would arrange his extra twigs to form a structure of another bird, a portion around his side, and would close his eyes, letting his feathers feel the touch of another warm being, imaginary companion by his side. It was the only time during the day, other than the morning escapes, when he would actually smile without a reason…
After-all, the truth was harsh and he knew it. Life wasn’t all generous all the time. He understood he had to accept how things were in his case. Due to his nature, no one was ever gonna be with him forever. He wouldn’t let that happen…
At the traffic signal, a man used to count the time in his mind along with the displayed countdown, waiting eagerly for it to turn Green again.
Read on to find out why he used to count the time along with the timer and why once he wanted the time to stop there.
He turned the accelerator knob towards himself, and trying to turn it more and more, wishing the bike to run faster. But it didn’t. By the time he could cross the puzzle of other confused newbie drivers, the traffic signal had turned yellow and the traffic police had raised his hand signaling the vehicles to stop. He was diligent towards the law and so he slowed the bike to stop at the red-light.
He was the first one at the signal. All before him had somehow got past the police and had rushed past the cross roads, some even breaking the red-light. Slowly the empty spaces around his vehicle and the crossing in front of him started to fill up with more vehicles. He hated those drivers who went past the stopped vehicles, only to stop ahead of them, blocking the pedestrian crossing area.
He started whistling. It took him away from all the noise of horns (which made no sense as the signal was red, no one was gonna fly out of their way), heated engines of cars (which made no sense either, the signal was gonna stay red till a few minutes), the cries of the kids in someone’s lap, sitting pillion to the rider (which made no sense to him, the kids, they are just stupid to cry all the time without any cause, he thought).
His whistle soon took over his mind and him away from all these noise. He enjoyed the ups and downs, the variations on the scale of the song, the beautiful tune that several sounds made when joined together, the words that he spoke in his mind while whistling. It all was beautiful, the music was.
This was his routine. But that day, someone else was also listening to him at that time. He didn’t notice. But a girl on her bike, standing right next to him, was listening to him with her full attention. She had even removed her helmet to hear it clearly. She enjoyed music too. And this was something different, yet musical and amazingly beautiful. There was a smile on her face all the time she listened to him.
The countdown was still twenty more seconds, and people had already started inching past the yellow line. Only he waited till it actually turned zero before starting his bike. He ignored the people around him, punching their horns at him, giving him angry looks. He started moving and looked to his left in surprise, someone was staring at him. He gestured her to move and went on with his way. But in his mind he thought about her all day.
The next day, the scene was repeated. But this time, he saw her while whistling and had stopped instantly. The girl gestured him to continue whistling and he had continued. He loved whistling and she loved him doing it. They met every day at that same signal at the very same hour of the day, where for one-two whole minutes they would share a musical moment.
From watching the countdown, waiting to race away from the traffic signal, he started counting the timer in his head, wanting it to run slower, wanting the time to stop. He wanted to just whitle and watch that girl give him the most amazing smile he has ever seen in this world. There were people who loved his whistle, but he had never felt the way he felt for her and her love for him whistling.
As the timer in his head reached the last few seconds, he would gracefully end his song and bade goodbye with his eyes, to which the girl would reply similarly with her eyes. They spoke nothing, yet it felt to both of them that they had an amazing conversation with each other. They went on with their opposite paths from that signal, with a smile on their faces, a rare sight for that crossing.
From loathing the signals on that road, he started loving the red-light and the traffic. He wanted the rush to stay. He wanted it to be like this forever. And the day when they didn’t meet, he felt very bad that he didn’t whistle at all that day. Those two minutes at the red-light made or broke his day, all depending on if he meets her or not.
And a similar day came once when he couldn’t see her. He was late, and would surely miss her if he didn’t drive fast. So, he went past several shortcuts, didn’t wait for pedestrians and dodged his way past confused newbie drivers to reach there on time. He was just a crossroad away from that signal. But there was a lot of traffic at that signal. People were gathered on the middle of the road and there was total chaos of vehicles.
He took a detour, and reached his signal, ditching that jam-packed crossroad. He checked on his clock, for a hundredth time now, and sighed a breath of relief that he had reached on time. But she wasn’t there yet. So, he waited for another red-light, probably she was late too. But she didn’t come, probably had taken a day off. He left for his routine, restless to meet her tomorrow. He was finally gonna ask her out, tomorrow for sure.
The next day, it was raining. He reached the spot on time. The traffic was less, and signals were empty, but she was not there. Probably she would’ve gone early today due to the rains, he thought.
The day after that, he reached the signal again on time. But he couldn’t meet her. And it was the same news the next day, and the day after that too. He felt sad and wanted to find her. But he didn’t even know her name or contact number. His days went sore and in distress, as he was helpless, unable to find the mystery girl whom he wanted to share his life with.
One such time, he was restlessly looking around at the red-light for a sign of her. He didn’t even count the timer in his mind this time. All he wanted was to see her again. An old man came riding a bike and stood right where she used to. He was bothered that now even if she comes, she won’t be able to stand right next to him. He looked at the old man in anger. He saw that the old man had a sad face and probably, tears out of his eyes. Or may be it was just due to the wind while driving.
He looked at his bike. And for a moment, he couldn’t believe his eyes. It was hers. May be he was mistaken. But that same rusty chocolate color, that lightning sticker on the side, that broken leg-guard and a golden cloth tied up at the mirror clamp. There was a newly formed dent on the front body and the side-light was broken, mirrors skewed. But it was definitely the same bike. He wished he could remember the license plate number.
He looked at the old man and couldn’t resist asking “Umm… Sir? Morning sir. If you don’t mind, may I ask if this is your bike or borrowed? A friend of mine owns a similar colored one and I am a little confused about it…” He couldn’t complete his sentence. The old man broke down and started crying right there at the signal.
The red-light had turned green and there were several horns blowing around them, telling them to move, but he was more interested in something else. He asked the old man “What happened, sir? Are you alright?” and slowly patted the old man’s shoulders.
The signal turned red again. And there were several curse-words being thrown at the pair from surrounding drivers.
“The… The bike is… was of my d… my daughter…” the old man uttered with great difficulty.
It was the old man crying, but he felt a choke in his throat. He couldn’t speak anything. He understood what had happened. He was stupid enough to not realize this earlier. The dents, the broken side light and the new scratches told him the story and reminded him of the day it happened. He knew what had happened, but he wished it hadn’t.
“It was my daughter’s. She recently met with an accident and she… she died. I am taking it to the broker… Brings too many painful memories. You knew her?” The old man asked him.
With some resistance at first, he shook his head, unable to speak anything.
The signal turned green and the old man slowly rode away. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t. He stood there, waiting for the red-light to turn back on, counting the timer in his head, and tears from his eyes…
Now he goes past the same traffic signal everyday, waits at the red-light, sees fellow riders around him, but doesn’t count the timer in his head anymore… Doesn’t whistle anymore.
The clock is alleged to move swiftly at night. But at that peculiar hour, at that time of the night, it stopped..
Warning: This post contains sickening and vomitous material. This post should be read only if you are 18+ and have an appetite for vile horror stories.
In the peaceful bliss of the winter night, when the breeze fleeted sneakily in the dark chilled air, his snores were the only disturbance in the otherwise solemn environment.
Jack had fallen asleep as soon as he lied on his favorite bed after a long, tiring week. He had been out roaming different cities and places since a month now, adverting his new idea, and seeking investors. But he hadn’t been in luck so far. His last visit to a desolated area outside the big city of Gregstone was … eerie.
The place was nothing like he had seen before. There were old, dirt-filled houses with broken windows and extended yards in the front, all houses in one single row. And opposite to the lane of these houses, across the road, were three stores for necessary items, two of which were degraded and closed. And that was it. That was all of the town. (Can’t even call it a town, can we?)
But one of those houses was in perfectly good condition. The lawn was evenly mowed, windows were clean and curtains stretched, and the gate had a big, steel name-plate, reading “Raecherr House”. The owner had personally invited Jack to come present him his idea. And so Jack had been there for this whole week, trying to convince the man about his idea. The deal didn’t go so well he thought, as the man hadn’t given a final answer. So, Jack was holding on to that last bit of hope.
He couldn’t remember much from his visit to that place, but only glimpses and pieces. But he could never forget that man, and his scarred face. The scar went down from his left eye all the way to his neck. Jack had been too frightened about his project that he never brought this topic to discussion about how the man got the scar.
Jack was watching a nightmare. It was about the man, his scar, the man hitting Jack hard on his head, then tying him up to the doctor’s table and putting various scars on Jack’s naked body, scars similar to that the man had on his face, and then finally pushing the sharp knife down on his heart with both his hands’ might… He woke up with a big cry and he felt a staggering, but slowly disappearing, pain in his chest. He held his heart with his hand and felt the racing heartbeats, pounding against his ribs.
He got up and moved towards the Kitchen to drink some water. He washed his face and moved back to his bedroom. His body ached and he felt a dire need to fall asleep again, but there on his bed… in the same clothes that he was wearing, looking just like him, it was him… He saw himself sleeping on the bed at that time. He rubbed his eyes, as if wanting that image to be erased from his mind and in reality also, but it didn’t. As soon as he opened his eyes, there it was… Himself right in front of him.
He looked around the house. It was normal. It wasn’t a dream, that was for sure. But then, what was it? How can he see himself sleeping in front of him?
At the bedside table, the clock had stopped exactly at 3:07 AM with the second’s hand quivering and juddering, back and forth. He felt lightheaded and weak, and his legs seemed to give away. He fell, the room spinning in his eyes, his vision turned blurry and he passed out.
His head was throbbing. He felt a sharp pain on the front of his head. He had fallen on his forehead last night. He woke up to see the bright sunlight, filtering inside from the tinged blue window glasses. He immediately got up and saw the bed. It was empty. He exhaled a big breath of relief. All that he saw in the night was probably just a bad dream.
He turned to go to the bathroom, when the door to the bathroom opened and he came out of the bathroom in towel, all cheered up and excited.
Jack immediately moved out of the way of the other Jack. The other Jack couldn’t see him probably, as he just went past him without giving out any bewildered expressions as he was giving out that time.
The other Jack went on to get ready. He pulled out a bag from below the bed and started loading it with different pairs. He was packing as if he had to go somewhere, probably for more than a few days.
Jack was totally lost. He didn’t know how to react, what to do or whether to do anything at all in the first place. He shouted to see if the other Jack could here him out. He couldn’t. The other Jack was busy packing and seemed excited. He then brought out a file and put that in the bag too. On this side, Jack knew exactly what that file was. It was the file he had prepared for presenting his idea to that man in that odd town. But he had already been there. Now he remembered, this all had already happened. And he was watching the whole episode again!
He hesitated a little, and then gathered all his might, and went on to see if he could touch him. But as soon as he touched him, he felt a sharp pain in his head and he fell on the ground. Darkness started to spread before his vision, slowly it all disappeared.
When he woke up, he was in the basement of a house he didn’t know. He walked around the basement. There was no blub or any source of man-made light. Only a tiny crevice on the outer wall brought some daylight into the basement. His leg hit a large table in the almost darkness. He strained his eyes to see what it was. It was a body of a man lying before him.
He gasped and fell back, while tripping on some equipments scattered on the floor. He fell on his behind and got himself hurt a little. But that didn’t matter to him. What took all his interest, or all his fright, was the man lying on the table.
The door to the basement hurled open. A shadow of the man was visible, and it grew into a more humanly form as the man climbed down the stairs and let the light spread evenly in the basement. Jack saw him and instantly felt a sense of danger. It was that Raecherr man again. He moved towards the table while Jack sat on the floor, stunned, watching the man. The man lifted the damp cloth covering the body and Jack saw to his bewilderment that it was his body, all tied up in tapes and plastic. The man opened the tape covering Jack’s body’s face and Jack screamed loudly that his scream continued to ring in that basement even after he had stopped, or was stopped by the man’s knife against his cheek.
The man forced a piece of white cloth into the mouth of Jack and started removing skin from his face. It left several, dirty scars on his face. On the other side, Jack got up to see his full body and saw that some parts of his body – a part of his hand, a portion on his left thigh and some flesh from his shoulder were removed. The wounds were all cleaned clumsily, he could see, but were not bandaged. He felt disgusted! Who keeps the wounds open like that. But he knew what was happening to him on that table. He was gonna die. The man was gonna cut him into pieces for his dark experiments and he could do nothing.
When the man finally popped out the right eye of Jack on the table, it slipped from his hand and rolled, bouncing like a tomato, spitting some liquid on to the floor and came wheeling towards Jack’s feet on the other side. The man turned from the table and looked at the eye at the feet of Jack. He came towards it, took it from the ground and pierced his sharp knife into the eye, popping it open directly from the cornea. Pulpy stuff came out of the eye and some of it splattered on the face of Jack. The man couldn’t see him and he felt like vomiting. His head began to spin and he fell on the ground, his mouth on the splattered pulp of his eye on the floor.
He woke up again but didn’t open his eyes. He knew what was happening to him now. He understood why these images were visible to him. The man had killed him. And now, somehow, he went back in time when he was leaving from his house for his trip to the house of that man. He couldn’t stop him at that time. He understood that the dream he saw on the first time, where the man had thrust a knife in his heart. It wasn’t a dream, but a memory from his visit.
His incision and images of him being operated by the man, his eye, they weren’t all bad dreams. They were his memories from the time he was alive. Those images just came to him to remind him how he died. And that was why he saw himself in third person.
He thought of opening his eyes, but then feared what he might see next. He wasn’t strong enough to see any of his butchery. And yet, he knew he was being slaughter, slowly, painfully. He repelled at the idea of it. All the images of that massacre in the basement started filling up his mind. He could see the limbs scattered on the floor in blood, his parts cut and forged into something loathsome. And his mutilated, dismembered body on that table, lying in the open. Flies and insects having a feast at his flesh. That rotting smell and the yucky, disgusting pulpy substance spread everywhere on the floor.
He stood up shouting on his bed. He had wetted his bed and was soaked in his sudor. He wiped his face off the sweat and took several deep breaths, and could only lower his dread by a negligible bit. He saw around the room. It was a shabby bedroom, which had not been used since a long time. The curtains were dusty, and were withdrawn out. The fan was noisy and the furniture was the only good thing in the whole room. It might have been recently replaced. There were traces of hauling on the floor. And the wall were painted with a cheap brand. He saw the bedside table. His phone and wallet were there. He saw his luggage stacked in the far corner of the room near the cupboard. And the wall clock ticked loudly, showing current time as 3:06, oh 3:07.
Just when he wondered whether all he saw was a disgusting dream or what, a shadow appeared outside his door. It moved back and forth, and then stopped right outside his door. There was a sound of something being dragged, some metal, something heavy. The door knob turned and clicked, and the door opened slowly. It was the Raecherr man. He was holding a heavy wrench. He came into the light of the moon and Jack could see the horror on his scarred face…