It Was a Dark and Stormy Night
A Halloween story from the Pentrace message board: an old man, a phone book, a poisoned ink, a lurker behind the drapes and a letter on its way to Eve.
It was a dark and stormy night, my friends! and the clouds flew past the pale moon, darkening the driveway up to the big old mansion - so long deserted, but tonight with strange lights showing in its windows.......... eldritch lights of colors seemingly not of this plane that flickered violently... casting streaming shadows across the yard and down the walkway. We knew only of the old man living there in silence. communicating with the world beyond his walls only by the scritching of his long gold nib on the yellowing paper he had hoarded so carefully for many years..........every night by the light of just flickering strange candles, he communicated with....... no one in particular, pulling names at random from a twenty year old phone book.
He was running low on the components for the strange brew he decocted to write with, and knew when he ran out, they would come for him.
They are waiting in the dark. Time runs for them. He saw them once. That was 10 years ago, when they took his wife. The night when the nightmare begun. 10 years. He remembers every second, as if it was yesterday...
But not this time! This time he would be prepared, and he gave a low laugh — almost a growl — as his long and bony finger traced down the lines of names and numbers on the tissue-thin paper of the old phone book. Aha! caring not if the listed were still in this world.........after all, his talent was dodging between worlds! the worlds of modern and vintage, of trim laden excesses and spare functional aesthetics. time alone would tell which of the two worlds would be more aptly represented by the random numbers he had traced, on a terrible mission of depraved snail-dom. . time, and the initial response to each call beginning with terrible dank words, gurgled from catacomb depths: do you use your pens or just store them for my descendants to one day use?
But, no, he thought. There are others more worthy of my deadly missives.
Those who write of me. Who tell my story. To them I shall send my letters. Letters that look innocent. But when opened these letters will drive the recipients totally and irrevocably mad. Drive them to pierce their bodies with nibs, gold nibs. To die hideously.
Little did he know that hidden behind the tattered drapes hardly covering his dingy windows there stood someone-something from another life.......maybe a past life....maybe a future life - but someone-something that was hearing his thoughts and prodding him into even more dastardly realms of nastiness.
The lurker behind the drapes seemed to flicker through differing planes of existence-some of Lovecraftian horror and some seemingly human. The watcher flickered as the man's mind flickered between remorse for what he does and the drive to carry it through...
And he began to question his blind universal anger towards all things human and not quite human. As the watcher fought against the man's fleeting rational thoughts, one fury burned white hot; the unworthy recalcitrant lazy late snailer. Yes, his epistles of pain and doom would be carefully directed towards those evil beings who, in their hubris, thought themselves too important to respond promptly...
but wait!........why start at the top of the list - or even the bottom? He would indeed use his needle-nosed gold dart for its true purpose and choose the recipient by the only method he could - eyes closed, pen thrown.......the poor unsuspecting soul was thus chosen! Little did Eve realise than within a day she would wish she had never thought of fountain pens and delicious inks!!! Now to the letter that would throw Eve's world into wild flight!
Dear Eve [how he loved that use of 'dear!] I haven't heard a word from you for soooo long - I hope you are well and just too busy to write.........enjoy this letter and make sure you ....read it where "he" will not see it. For after all, we dare not tell him what we are up to.
... he wrote briskly, the words just flowed from his pen. For once, he had no need to pause for reflection. Four full sheets of onion skin completed in double quick time. He sealed the envelope quickly, "they deserve it, they deserve to suffer..." he muttered....
...calculating that by the time that letter was delivered the diabolical chemicals in his 'special mix' ink would have matured to perfection! Of course the effect would not be immediate - oh no! that would be far too kind on Eve - his festering mind had certainly focused entirely his resentment into one four page letter.....and now he was almost giddy with anticipation. Rocking back against the musty, threadbare fabric of his chair, he snarled his appreciation at his own insidious and impinging plan of doom.
While the lurker from behind the curtains watched, the old man’s face puckered into a tight fist of wrinkles, and then — horrors! — he watched as the old man stuck the fountain pen between his crinkled lips, enfolding the end within a bloodless, moist blossom, as though it were a cigar, sucking and gnawing at the end, all the while emitting his guttural, rasping coughs of glee.
The lurker quietly controlled his rage — not only could he hear the old man’s thoughts, but he could taste the acrid vapors released in the old man’s mouth…. camphor!!! He pressed his hand against his left shirt pocket as though to steady himself, for he knew what he had to do — he now had proof….Thankfully, it was still there. The lurker reached inside his shirt pocket and pulled out the striking silver and black striped Parker Vacumatic. Only, this was no ordinary pen, clearly imprinted on the barrel were the words "Holy water sprinkler". Yes, he knew what he had to do....
but before he could make his move the old man had seen him.....and with just the splutter of poisonous venom that had once been ink, he lurched towards the drapes, clutching at the clothes of the lurker. Not that this made much difference, because by now the evil missive had reached Eve - who, busy as ever, had stuffed it into her purse - thinking to read it later! The strange vapour that leached from the envelope was thus missed - and started its deadly task..........Eve wondered why she felt so strange! Not caring about her planned tasks, she only wanted to sit and write.....but it had to be to a stranger - someone who was far away and at that exact time trying to sprinkle Holy Water on a body that was quickly sliding to the floor - all the while.........what was it she had to write - and why!!??
The urgency was gripping her to the point of tears of fear and frustration, but where was her favourite pen - that Rossi ED that was always with her - filled with rose scented Love Letter Red?
Now she had to.........
The story stops here, mid-sentence.