A Project Human Story: A Dead One

What does it mean to be human?

Does it mean to give in to the sin of greed, of gluttony, of envy, etc? Or does it mean to be the one who fights those that wait at our doors with hungry eyes and large appetites. I, myself, fight those demons because the putty I was as a child had grown up to see them at their worse.

My grandfather took advantage of my mother and father’s hard work to keep what little we had going, and although he had a fortune to his name it disappeared with the alcohol and the gambling. Was it giving into his demons that helped him forget his aching heart? He never shared any stories my father’s father did of his past and the things that made him wise, so I had to guess from what his eyes gave away and they told me his life didn’t teach him anything to be wise of.

It wasn’t just him though who gave into his demons…it was people who lived in my community too. Like for instance the person who has been going around sucking the life out of three woman thus far. My throat caught my breath when the story linking the death of those woman was mentioned on television. It wasn’t just a coincidence, an investigator explains, although he doesn’t want to cause panic in the people. Too late, the store is suffering from loss of customers.

So, my answer continues to go unanswered.

It means nothing but the choices you make to be human, I suppose. Along with my grandfather’s legacy, or lack there of, that answer follows under the classification of ‘cliché’. Right now, I’m hoping I don’t end up swallowing death whole like he did.

Turning off the television I shook my head, giving Clove a hug and setting him on the ground before making my way out the door. I knew I would have to face him today. The one with those red eyes that bother me so damn much. The more I think about them the more less likely human they seem and although I’m use to feeling power from people in the city, because it really isn’t all that uncommon here, he himself is uncommon all together. Especially the way his energy changes so rapidly. Like he is doing it on purpose, like he’s messing with my head.

When I’d gone through the door into the store at the bottom of the stairs I stopped in shock halfway. There he was, opening the register with his shoulders hunched and his red flipping eyes narrowed. He didn’t look like much of a morning person, quiet the opposite of me in fact.

I swallowed my fear and walked up to him, “I’m surprised to see you here so early.”

His eyes shifted my way but they didn’t entirely look at me fully, and he never spoke up either. Solemn and gray was his expression.

“Did you hear on the news about the detectives finding a link in those killings?” Mark said with the outmost morning person enthusiasm when he came from his office.

“Just before I came down I was watching it on the news. I hope it doesn’t hurt our business too much.” I mentioned, moving from the counter to the store room. There was still too many empty slots on the shelves to fill with too many books in the back.

“Not like we had much of busy hour anyway…” Mark sounded disappointed and that didn’t surprise me. What do you expect from a small, nearly unknown bookstore in the middle of downtown Casper, Wyoming? I know there’s not much pay to it, but I don’t need to worry too much of that when not only is my boss, my boss, but he’s also my landlord.

“Ever try marketing?” So Mister Silent Asshole finally spoke up, I applaud him mentally. I dropped a box of books down and open them easily with my trusty box cutter.

“We haven’t the money.”

I flashed a smile, “A cheap commercial doesn’t cost all that much, considering the whole cheap part of it. Besides, you have connections being the business man you are.”

Mark pondered the idea as he stared out the door, but the look on his face didn’t seem like the use of his resources was a hit.

***

It was different this time. The nightmare I mean. I was still running through the rain but it felt like an element from my previous nightmares was missing. I didn’t hear the pounding of another set of foot steps against the wet concrete, nor did I feel the presence of another being in my dream. All I felt was my heart trying to jump out of my throat and the fierce want to get inside, and that’s what I did.

The building, if my memory serves me right, was dark expect the few or so fluorescent fixtures on the ceiling that gave little light for me to see my way through the hallway. I had to feel my way through the hall and I could actually feel the texture of the walls and the doors I passed with my finger tips. The building was an office building, because once I had reached the lobby-since I had entered from the back-I could tell by the slightly lit up sign reading all the different names of the business that leased here.

There was one name in particular though that stood out, and it’s plastic letters were in red. I didn’t want to think that the red letters were significant, but just by what the letters spelled made my stomach churn.

“Come Find Me-5”

I only assumed the number meant the floor that it was on, the top floor non the less and I figured since this was a dream what was the harm in seeing what was up there. Still, the fear of finding something that would most certainly make this more of a nightmare kept my pace hesitant and cautious, the adrenaline of the situation making my ears pick up even the static of the not so silence in the building and the blood pulsing through my head. The elevator was close by, it’s cold metallic surface burning the tips of my fingers. It was too cold.

That didn’t matter, I pushed the arrow pointing up and the doors immediately opened. Rushing inside with a yellow bulb to guide me in pushing the number five I let a breath release. I took a moment to feel the heavy weight of the air, which only grew and pressed against my chest and my shoulders. I could only describe it as one thing…death.

I was either going to witness my death in my dream, or see the death of someone else. I didn’t want either to happen, because I’d witnessed enough of it in person, why would I want to see it in my dreams as well.

When the doors opened to reveal the fifth floor I was in a stupor. Plastic sheets hung up and divided the floor into different sections. You know, the kind in horror movies? I moved between those plastic sheets, seeing nothing but renovation equipment like unopened paint cans, stirring sticks, paint rollers and those metal sheets, then the paper on the floor, the smell of saw dust and sheet rock. Oh no, I can smell in my dream now? Feeling is one thing too much in a dream, but smelling is the whole fucking package.

I had maneuvered enough through the plastic sheets that the stench of death hung very heavy in the air and I heard something move in the corner. My heart jumped up my esophagus and then back down again, thumping loudly against my chest. I pulled away a plastic sheet and what I saw only brought tears to my eyes.

From the half moon light from the window behind us I could make out the color of the red loose strands of matted hair on her head, and what reflected of the sheets gave away her empty, soulless eyes and that look of hunger on her face. Her bloody finger reached out towards me, a scream I will never forget escaping her white, chapped lips. That scream made me want to curl into a corner and stop my heart from beating, because then I wouldn’t have to hear her crying.

I didn’t run, I didn’t do anything but stand there stupid as she floated towards me with her toenails scrapping against the floor. When she grabbed my throat I was in my room again.

I broke out into a silent sob, one that shook my whole body in ravenous agony.

It was one of the girls on the news. The one who had been murdered.