Eyes of the Dead

My first encounter with death stole my innocence at the ripe age of seven.  It came like a disturbing night creature whose purpose to astound and mortify entrapped innocence, while sucking its victims inside a dark abyss from which escape eluded the unforgiving heart. 

As I leaned against the second floor window and watched a heated argument unfold between two patrons in front of the neighborhood pub, nothing could have prepared me for the event to come.  At first, dark, disturbing words spewed from the taller gentleman.  His frustration spread across his face.  A street lamp's iridescent glow illuminated his gaunt cheekbones, as his fiery eyes threatened the stout, much smaller man. 

With one swift motion, the little gentleman produced what I now know to be a snub-nosed, .38 caliber, nickel-plated Colt, not unlike the toy my parents bought me.  While thoughts of a comic drama unraveled before my virgin eyes, a sharp blast, followed by a puff of blue smoke, surrounded the duo.  The tall man recoiled, held his chest, pleading with his eyes.  Once again, the familiar popping echoed throughout the street, followed by the ominous cloud.  Burnt metal permeated the night air.

"That'll teach you to steal from me, you prick."

I ducked behind the curtains while the gunman searched his surroundings.  Somehow, I sensed his menacing stare penetrate through the wooden frame like daggers launched with expert precision.

Curiosity drove me to rise while the frantic little man scurried away, leaving his nemesis on the pavement.

At first, I puzzled over the injured man's safety, but when he moved his hand towards the heavens, a heavy sigh of relief escaped me.  Maybe the little man used a toy gun after all. Any delusions I had began to evaporate when my focus shifted from his bony fingers to his wide, frightened eyes.  They pleaded with me as if I, a young lad, could swoop down and take away his pain.  Although time whispered of its eminent departure, it froze when our eyes locked.  Then, like a wild fire's rapid consumption of its natural forested habitat, a pool of blood surrounded the man as if attempting to disinfect him of his sins. 

Shivers traveled up and down my spine as images of evil flashed before me.  The pale man’s habit of thievery began at boyhood.  With every terrible deed I witnessed, an electrical sensation rocked deep inside my chest transferring energy all over my body.  The euphoric sensation dissipated when his eyes took on a glassy glow.  I sensed that the gentleman, who moments earlier demonstrated lively animation, departed to a world beyond my comprehension. 

My fixation never wavered.

His eyes, those empty huge eyes.

The image of life's transition from pure energy to one of still condemnation followed me to my present state.  What began with the doomed gentleman, transferred unto neighborhood strays such as cats and dogs.  Their automatic whimpers did little more than entertain my morbid curiosity.  As I found creative ways to dispose of them, I concentrated on the eyes.  I felt like a god when witnessing the transfer of life, until that brief moment, just before the terrifying revelation struck their consciousness and morphed into total acceptance. 

With the natural progression of curiosity, my experimental subjects evolved to beings with a more developed form of consciousness. 

So, as I placed the drug dealer's tongue in the jar with the formaldehyde solution, my concentration shifted to his big wide eyes.  From prior experience, I knew his muscles tightened while he struggled with the sturdy straps.  His entrapped frail legs writhed side to side like a quadriplegic sprinting to an enticing, yet improbable cure.

"Relax.  You should feel privileged that I chose you."

My soft soothing voice lulled him into a false sense of slumber, creating the illusion of eventual freedom.  The spell remained unbroken until I lifted the foot-long machete from the steel tray. 

The drug dealer's invalid assumption gave way to outrage.  His evil fiery eyes remained defiant, even when I pressed the cold sharp edge against his throat.  Applying just enough pressure, blood trickled down his neck and onto the table.  Rivulets of urine cascaded down his legs, mixing with the stench of feces.  I basked in his newfound realization that arrogance could not make the journey with him. 

There was no need for me to speak. In moments like this, nothing I could say would make the transition of power as alluring as the promise of certain death. 

The drug dealer attempted to scream.  They always did.  A horrid gurgle resounded from him, making our experience orgasmic.  I continued to push down hard, slicing back and forth, all the while focusing on his eyes, his big pleading eyes.  In life, this man possessed much dominion over others, and our intimate interlude bombarded me with frightening images.  His assaults on other scum drug dealers, which were numerous, jolted inside me.  This monster was a disciple of death.  His weapons of choice were not limited to traditional firearms, for his greed condemned hundreds to the flames of hell.  With each soul poisoned by heroine, an overwhelming energy increased my life force.  I had to use all of my strength to stop my knees from wobbling. Just before I cut through, his eyes sparkled and gave way to a familiar empty stare.

I rejoiced in the transfer of power while our connection remained unbroken.  For I knew what bonded us together, his eyes, those empty huge eyes.

I hurried and brought in his partner, a corrupt police officer who had been waiting in a storage room. 

"Good evening, Officer Taft, nice night for a trip, eh?"

"For God's sakes, Billings, untie me."

"You've been a naughty man."

I reached for the tongs and said, "Open wide, officer."

He glanced at his ex-compatriot, Jumbo, the drug dealer who paid him to allow the poisoning of innocent children, his head severed from his body, his lifeless eyes opened wide with fright.

“Come on Billings, I’m sorry I set you up.  If you would’ve taken some money, you’d still be on the force.”

"Ever see a man die, officer?"

I grabbed a bloody dagger and smiled.  "Now, say Ah."

“Come on!  We were partners.” The familiar scent of urine cut through the musty cold freezer. “Don’t kill me!”

“Don’t you just love abandoned supermarkets?  It’s so nice of the city to forget to turn off the power.  I can conduct my experiments without worrying about the neighbors.” 

He opened his mouth to plead with me so I gripped his tongue with the tongs.

“I can’t wait to see how much evil you’ve done.  The power is so exhilarating.”

As I sliced his tongue off, blood gushed down his chin.  All I could think about was how this man cheated me out of the opportunity to battle evil head on.

“Do you know that as a news journalist I run into bad people almost every day?”  The smell of fear created the exotic ambiance I craved.  “There’s a particular Senator that will be most satisfying.  Hell, I can’t wait to consume every corrupt politician.”

His whimpers reminded me of a pit-bull I skewed as a youngster.  The most ornery tended to go down like pups.

“You are special, Officer John Taft.  Let’s hack off your feet before I show you my true powers.”

I pulled the steel tray towards me.  It was filled with helpful tools.  His eyes bulged when he saw me lift a hacksaw.  Reduced to tears, he moaned and shivered all the while trying to glance around the freezer.

“No one will help you Officer.”

The sound of bone splinters mixed well with sobs of terror.  Blood splattered on my stained lab coat. Each push forward and pull backwards created a terrible anxiety in me.  For once I wondered if the foreplay was worth it.  I left his right foot dangling by a precarious string of skin. 

“To hell with it, let’s get on with the show.”

I reached for the bloody machete and smiled. 


Experience taught me an important lesson: when you stare into the abyss, it will not only stare into you, but consume your sinister soul.

-1, 360 words