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Short Fat Stubby Finger Stories PRESENTS:

Episode 20 part 2

   “It’s alright, Miss.   It’s just the driveway alarm for a customer arriving.”   The attendant said gently, uncertain what to do to subdue the fright that the unexpected arrival of the nerve shattering alarm had given her as he reached under the counter to mute the irritating racket.   “Are you alright?”

   Mary said absolutely nothing, simply nodding her head to indicate that she was, but by the way she was holding one hand to her head, half covering her tightly closed eyes, and the other hand to her palpating heart the attendant seriously doubted it.

   “Sorry, Miss … customer.   Perhaps you would like another coffee, or perhaps a cup of tea may be better for you.   I’ll be back shortly.”  The attendant said and took two steps before turning back around, a cheeky grin on his face as he again spoke, “And I promise that I won’t become involved in a long conversation with the customer.”

   Mary smiled and the impact of the attendant’s little joke had an immediate effect.  Her heart rate began to fall and the fear that had enveloped her began to rise.   Within a few seconds  Mary decided that a cup of tea would help finish the job that the joke had started and set about making one for both herself and the attendant. 

********

   Two minutes later, sipping slowly on the hot tea her nerves and heart were slowly coming back to a more natural state and Mary felt slightly relieved to have a minute’s solitude to absorb what she had been hearing … and how badly it had affected her.   It seemed obvious to her that she would be able to catch up with Joseph once she got the directions for the farmhouse, but for the moment she was more interested in hearing what the garage operator was telling her.  Only this time she would ensure that her mind would not become so imaginative in its interpretations.

********

   The seconds turned over, then rapidly became minutes, before threatening to become quarter hours … then half hours, and once again Mary unconsciously tapped her fingers on the desk counter as she waited for the conclusion to the story.   The attendant seemed to be taking forever with the customer who had just driven in, and Mary found herself having impure thoughts about country hospitality and what they could do with it.   Impatiently she began to pace the floor, half looking at the various things that were on the shelves and on the walls, however it didn’t take long for her mind to become bored with the constant array of car accessories, cans of grease and oils, along with various other chemicals and additives that supposedly made one’s car go greener, faster, quieter and smarter.  

   The row after row of the obligatory garage standard, ‘Playboy’, and other men’s magazines, and chocolates by the score, did nothing to lighten the dark cloud of frustration that was beginning to develop over her disposition as the minutes ticked by at an alarming rate.    As tempting as they may have been in a different mood, Mary decided there were so many packets of chocolate and other sweets on the shelves that ran from the side wall to the back wall it would be impossible for the garage to sell them all – and she was beginning to doubt many of them would have use by dates that would make them saleable – when something caught her eye; something that made her stop dead in her tracks, then head straight towards it for a better look.

   Taped on the wall, between the spark plug and radiator hose hang cards, was a picture of what looked like a farm.   It appeared to be a night shot, because the majority of the picture was pitch black, but in the middle of the photo the farmhouse itself was bathed in bright light emitting from a huge spotlight that appeared in the front of the building.    However it was not the light that had caught Mary’s eye, but, for just an instant, she could have sworn that she had seen the image of a rather ugly man’s face in the picture … a face that projected an instant image of evil and intent … and strangely it reminded her of something that she had seen recently, but her memory couldn’t immediately place the event.  

   But what had grabbed her attention the most was that the entity seemed to be looking directly at her.   For that split second the image had seemed so lifelike she feared that it could, and would, reach out and touch her.

   A shudder went through her body as she closed her eyes and shook her head a couple of times to dislodge the thought from her head, and when she re-opened them and looked again it was gone.    Mary thought about it for a second or two, convinced herself that it had just been her imagination, probably caused by the earlier incident with the driveway alarm, and moved back closer to the wall to get a better look at the picture.   The photo appeared to have some sort of blur in the middle, which is what she began to assume had caught her eye and caused her to think she could see something that actually wasn’t there.   

   ‘Something similar to the impression that your mind receives before your eyesight fully focuses on an unfamiliar area’,  Mary thought to herself as an old memory surfaced in her mind reminding her of an incident years ago when she was looking down at the beach below from a high cliff.   At first she had emitted a stifled scream in horror as her eyes took in the image of what she took to be a body lying on the beach.   But eventually her eyes focused a little clearer and she realised that it was just a small crop of rocks covered by patches of seaweed,   ‘Thank god I didn’t ring the police’ she thought, ‘I would have been so embarrassed.   I would have looked like such a fool.’

   Satisfied her reasoning was sound, Mary began to focus her attention on the smudgy white patch that seemed out of kilter with the surrounding scenery.   The distortion itself seemed to be caused by a blurred phosphorescent glow that appeared to be emitting from what she thought was a golden orb, or something very similar, sitting some six inches above the ground, but Mary could not see anything supporting the orb.   The orb appeared to be around twelve to fifteen inches in diameter and she could see markings like letters or hieroglyphics etched into it, however the photo was too small to be able to see the markings clearly enough to make out what they were.

   Curious, Mary began squinting in an attempt to make out what was on the orb, meeting without success on her first three attempts.   ‘God, I think I need glasses.   Am I getting that old?’   She complained to herself, but continued in her futile attempts to the point where her eye balls were hurting from the strain she was putting on them.   “Oh, this is ridiculous … I’ll never be able to read that … the picture is far too small.   Perhaps the attendant will know…if he ever returns.   Mary fully realised that identifying the markings was quickly becoming an obsession even though she had no idea why?   ‘Frustration,’ she finally decided, ‘Where is that man? I need to hear the end of that story.’

   But her self admission to her current mind set did nothing to make Mary lose interest in the orb … instead it had taken her to the point where she decided to remove the picture from the wall and take it to somewhere in the garage where there was better light.   She reached forward, placed her hands on both sides of the picture, and began to gently pull it off the nail that held it without tearing it, when suddenly a warm, almost burning, tingling feeling began running through her fingers, up her arms, and into her body; a feeling that quickly increased into heat … and then began vibrating with more and more intensity with each and every beat of her heart.  A heartbeat that was also increasing in intensity for another reason …whatever was causing her body to react so strongly to it – seemed to be coming directly from within the photograph!

   Mystified by the strange sensation that was causing her physical discomfort, Mary attempted to pull her hands back from the picture, pulling harder and harder … until she eventually succeeded – then yelped with pain as a minuscule bolt of light speared out from the photo.   And when it hit her hand and penetrated the skin, it caused her so much pain that Mary barely avoided passing out.

    Mary was now no longer worried about the inscription, her concentration was now totally centered on the photograph itself – and what it was doing to her.   ‘There has to be something else there,’ she reasoned, ‘this shouldn’t be happening.   Perhaps … that face …,’ she then asked herself, but Mary had absolutely no idea what her mind was searching for.    All she knew was that what was happening – should not be happening … and she was becoming frightened.

    Mary closed her eyes, breathed in and out as slowly as she could, and then began to count to ten and back as she fought with her fear in an attempt to regain control of her sanity.   It took almost a full minute of concentrated perseverance, but finally Mary obtained the result that she required.    She immediately returned to the coffee machine, made another coffee, albeit slightly stronger than the previous cups, then returned to the wall where she stood staring at the photograph while sipping on her drink.  

   Once again Mary tightened her eyes as she resumed her squinting face, slowly raking her eyes backwards and forwards across the photo covering every single pixel it offer.   Her intention had been to be observant, but not possessed by the photo and the image it contained.   She felt that what had happened before had been self induced.   She had allowed her mind to become too active; active to the point that it began to convince itself that things were not what they really were.   A badly taken night photograph of an old farm was all that it was.   It was not a V.R. production.   It was not 3D.   It was not alive.   It was not haunted.   It was only a badly taken photograph.   After all, she thought, she was only bothering with it to fill in time before the attendant returned and finished telling her about the farm, and whatever had taken place there recently.

   Convinced that she had sorted her brain out, Mary began to take her time to slowly pan her eyes over the photograph, sip on her coffee, and let her eyes, not her brain, tell her what they were truly seeing.   And it was during this tedious process that she noticed for the first time the man coming out through the farmhouse door.   She leaned in a bit closer to the photo to ensure herself that it was fear that seemed to distort the man’s face, and not just the badly lit photograph.   And as Mary’s now subdued mind joined forces with her curiosity to analyse the image in question, she failed to notice the thin wisp of smoke that began to emerge from out of the top part of the picture.   By the time she moved her head back to give her neck an absolutely necessary moment’s rest the wisp had drifted to the ceiling and away from her line of sight.

   Mary gently massaged the back of her neck with both hands, rolled her head a few times to remove the kinks, then leaned forward again as she began to refocus her eyes back to the face of the man in the doorway.   But she got the shock of her life to find the man was no longer exiting the farmhouse door; instead he was now lying face down on the ground in front of the door: face down that was, albeit with his neck twisted at an acute angle, his face most definitely expressing signs of absolute fear … and apparently expressing it in death.   Mary was fast losing concentration as a result off this unexpected turn of events and she was finding it difficult to regain her focus.    Then to make things worse for her, first one, then her other eye, began stinging, and, as nanoseconds passed, Mary found her eyes fast becoming covered with water; salty water she soon realised as droplets made their way into her mouth.   She raised one hand to her eyes and began to wipe the water away, surprised when she realised it was sweat.  She was sweating freely, her arms, her forehead; her entire body was breaking out in a lather of sweat.

   She could not understand what was going on.   The garage temperature had been pleasant but a minute earlier; she had not felt hot or sweaty when she had massaged her neck.   The room temperature had been body comfort warm, certainly not hot.   Now the sweat was dripping off her arms, pouring from her forehead, running down her back.   Her clothes dry as a bone only two seconds earlier were now already a matted, swampy, saturated mess … her hair a similar sight.   Mary quickly looked around the room searching out the source of the heat, but could see no reason for it and she doubted very much that the weather outside had risen to this degree.   She had only been in the garage for around fifteen to twenty minutes and it was not yet eight o’clock in the morning.   ‘This was Britain, not Australia in the middle of a heat wave.’   She thought.

   Fruitlessly, Mary attempted wiping the sweat from her forehead with a saturated hand, but finally conceded defeat in her task and began shaking her head from side to dislodge as much of the sweat that was running down her face as she could before returning her attention to the photograph, but doing so made began to make her feel dizzy.   Mary began to wonder if she was having a reaction from too much caffeine.   ‘How many coffee’s did I have?’ she asked herself, ‘Was it four or five, oh I can’t remember … and then there was the tea.   Too much … far, far too much.   It’s a wonder my bladder isn’t joining in on the action.   God, I feel strange.’

   The heat, the dizziness, the discomfort of the continuous sweating began to take its toll.   Mary turned away from the photo and began moving towards the front door with the intention of going outside to get a breath of fresh air and, hopefully, cool down a bit, but she had moved only a few steps when fear unexpectedly began to crawl inside her mind: icy shivers suddenly ran through her entire body despite the heat that was running amok on her outer skin: Mary was still sweating, but now it was rapidly becoming a cold, clammy sweat that ran down the back of her neck … a neck that was beginning to tighten to the point of pain.  A pain that felt like somebody squeezing with long, calloused fingers; squeezing the flesh as hard as they possibly could; squeezing so hard she could feel the fingertips touching together inside her neck.  

   Her arms and legs began to stiffen: another few steps walking suddenly became difficult: breathing began to become complicated – as the invisible fingers tightened their grip even further.

   Mary stared in absolute frustration at the front door only ten or eleven steps from where she stood.  ‘So close, yet so far’, she thought inwardly as she strained her body to breaking point to make the distance, but she could not do it … her body was now all but frozen stiff.   ‘The attendant,’ she suddenly remembered, – and just as quickly learnt that her effort to scream for help was just as futile as her attempts to move had been.   Mary could sense the tears as they began trickling down her face, quickly turning to a flood.   Her head was now pounding; her heart beating at a rate she knew was far too fast for her own good.   Mary had no idea what was going on, but it was frightening her to death … literally!   ‘If only I could move, get out of the room.   The attendant could help me then.’ Mary thought as she once again attempted to move; an attempt that once again became nothing but a futile intention. 

   ‘Am I having a stroke … a fit … a mental breakdown?’ she wondered, ‘Is this what it’s like just before you die?   For almost a minute Mary’s mind began to wallow in self pity.   She was frightened.   Her life was out of her control.   There was every possibility that she was about to die, alone, in an unfamiliar village , with no one to care, no one to comfort her in her last moments on Earth.   Unexpectedly, her mind commenced whirling around inside an ever tightening cocoon that was the fear and sorrow she was currently enshrouded in.  As in the books of life and death, parts of her life began to flow past her inner eyes.   Some things familiar, some things forgotten.    Memories, old and new.   Then, for the shortest of time, she saw David and her heart lit up, but just as quickly it turned to ice as she saw him with the woman who was his mistress and the image returned to the grey misty curtain that swirled inside her mind.

   Suddenly the mist cleared once again … and sitting on a chair, on the opposite side of her desk at Johnson’s, sat Joseph Jacobson, and Mary’s heart skipped a beat.

   Mary was surprised at just how much Joseph’s presence in her mind was helping her to loosen up, to find a new strength inside her that she never knew existed within her.   Her fear of death began to subside as she faced the inevitable.   If she was going to die … she was ready.   It wasn’t as if Joseph’s sudden appearance gave her hope for life, nor a feeling he would suddenly come rushing into the garage and give her the kiss of life, but what it did give her was a feeling of reason for what was happening to her.   A feeling that made her feel  he was holding her hand and convincing her that a plan was in action which she was part of, and everything was moving in a predetermined sequence as it was intended.

   She closed her eyes and let the calmness flow over her.   Her mind relaxed.   Now she was prepared to meet death if that was to happen.    Should it be decreed that she would survive then she would do all she could to let her life roll along naturally as it had always been planned.    She wouldn’t dwell on what had happened to her this very day, it was a secret that she would retain until her mind thought it to be safe to talk about.  

   As Mary waited in her frozen world; waiting for the change that was yet to come, she looked through the glass window and saw the attendant still standing in the one spot.   In her mind he also seemed to be frozen to the spot.    She was certain that he was still in the exact same position that she had seen him the last time she looked.   It was as if time had frozen … and suddenly she realised that time was frozen.   She had noticed the smoke coming out of the rear of the car the attendant was serving earlier, but it was only right then that she noticed that the smoke was neither moving, nor evaporating.  The wispy, curly grey smoke that was emitting from the car’s exhaust was as frozen in the air as she was on the garage floor.

   Suddenly, if she could have jumped in fright, Mary would have as, for almost a whole second, something black reflected in the window, which meant it was right behind her … and it was moving towards her.   Mary was terrified, assuming it was the strange thing that had appeared in the photograph earlier.   The thing that she thought was going to come out of the photograph and attack her.

    Whatever it was, its reflection suddenly disappeared, but not before Mary felt something touch her.   A soft gentle touch on her forehead and then every thing seemed to go dark for a nanosecond.    The darkness lasted no longer than the time it took for Mary to flutter an eyelash, but it wasn’t the darkness that had all but make her faint in fright, it had been the feeling of whatever had touched her head.   It had felt similar to the end of a man’s finger, and in itself caused her no grief or pain when it made contact with her skin.   Nor did there seem to be any damage when it was removed, but when she least expected it, her entire body suddenly went into a series of spasms.   Whilst still frozen to the floor Mary could find her body vibrating and worried that she may lose balance and harm herself.   But the spasms had barely started when they stopped and the light flashes inside her head began, threatening to destroy her sanity.   But they too were short lived.   As was the temporary blackout that she had and then … nothing.    Through the window she could that the garage attendant and the smoke emitting from the car in the driveway still seemed paused in time.   The ability to move or call for help still seemed far removed from possibility … then Mary swore that she heard a voice.   “It is time for you to …” the voice seemed to say, but the shock of hearing the voice distracted Mary’s concentration and she failed to hear the final word or words spoken by the unseen voice, though she assumed them to be ‘die now’.   Whatever it had been, Mary knew that something bad was about to happen.

   However, much to her surprise, the ice that surrounded her body unexpectedly began to melt.  The natural warmth of the early morning air began to wrap itself around her body once again.   The pain in her neck disappeared completely … not a trace remained.   “Oooh!” she gasped loudly as her knees almost buckled under her as she felt life returning to them.   Mary was now totally confused.    If some evil creature that resided in a badly photographed picture was about to kill her, why bother releasing her when she was trapped.   Why not just kill her and be done with it, she wondered.   Did it have to perform some kind of ritual beforehand, or, worse still, did it need the thrill of the chase to satisfy its evil lust.   Did she have to run so it had the thrill of chasing her before it ripped her body to pieces and then devoured her?   ‘Well, I’m having none of that,’   Mary thought to herself, ‘If I have to die today, I will do so with dignity.’

********

But, as the seconds ticked by; as the hands on a clock on the wall that she faced stated that a complete minute had passed; as she continued to breathe and stand upright, Mary began to think she was wrong – that this was not the time of her departure from this mortal coil.    ‘The clock is working again’, she noted happily as she looked out of the window expecting to see the driveway back to normal, and the attendant perhaps on his way back in, however she was surprised to see that nothing outside the garage had changed.

   ‘What was going on?’ she wondered,  ‘Nothing is happening.   Something should be happening by now.   Surely I should have passed out by now, my world should have gone dark before the light appeared, and I crossed over to wherever it was that I would spend eternity.    Perhaps that migraine I had a couple of moments ago was the crossing.   Have I been dreaming all of this?   Was there nothing wrong with me after all?’   Mary was beginning to believe that perhaps she had dreamt everything that had frightened her.    But a part of her disagreed.   “I was awake,” a voice heard only inside her head suddenly called out, a voice demanding agreement.   It was a statement it was making … not an invitation for debate.

   Mary looked around the room, looking for something tangible to convince herself either way.   Was she going crazy … she had to know, but how?  Then Mary saw the door.   The door she couldn’t reach earlier.   She should be able to reach it now, she decided, but was she free now to move…or was she still incapacitated?   Mary suddenly realised she had a paradoxical dilemma to face.   If she couldn’t move then she was in deep, deep trouble; if she could move then there was every chance in this world that she was going crazy.   Either way, Mary’s life was fast going out of control, and the adrenaline run initiated by Johann P Bigg’s request to get close to Joseph that had made her so happy only a short while ago, now made her blood run cold.

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