Genre: Horror
FLICKER
By Daniel Skye
In the cellar, the fluorescent lights flickered as they
hummed their insipid tune. Adam Etchison felt a sharp pang in his stomach as he
reached the bottom step. He put two fingers to his ceratoid artery and checked
his pulse. He counted eighty beats per minute.
Deep breaths, Adam
told himself. It’s just a damp, moldy old cellar. Nothing to be afraid of.
Adam had ventured down to the cellar to find the long-box
that housed all of the comics from his childhood, the ones he hadn’t sold of
yet. Adam was getting older. Too old to still be spending his money on comics
and action figures. He had a house now. Sure, it was left to him by his parents
when they retired and shipped off to Florida. But he still had to pay off the
last of the mortgage and keep up with the rest of the bills.
Even underground, Adam could hear
the howling wind. The lights flashed on and off like strobe lights, turning the
cellar into Adam’s personal nightclub. Though to Adam, it was something out of
his worst nightmares.
Cellars are naturally creepy places.
And Adam’s constant anxiety would not let him overlook that fact. As soon as the
wind picked up and the lights began to flicker, Adam found the box he was
looking for and scurried up the stairs.
The forecast called for torrential
downpours and sixty-mile-per-hour winds that would almost certainly knock out
the power for a few hours. But Adam was fully prepared. He was going to sift
through his old detective comics and read them by candlelight until the storm
passed.
It didn’t take much to scare Adam or
make him tense. His list of irrational fears and phobias included spiders, escalators,
riptides, clowns, department store mannequins, opera singers, and the music of
Nine Inch Nails. But the thing that terrified him the most was the dark. More
so, it was the fear of what lurked within the dark.
Adam had no affinity for the
darkness. Hence the comics. They sparked distant memories from his youth, and alleviated
his mounting anxiety. Adam’s immense fear of the dark had carried over from his
childhood.
There was no one incident that triggered this fear. It developed
at a young age. When he turned four, he began sleeping with a nightlight. He
couldn’t sleep without it. And by age ten, he was still using it. His crippling
fear of the dark was the most embarrassing obstacle he had to overcome.
And Adam had faced embarrassment before. But this was more
embarrassing than wetting his pants on a boy scouts retreat. More embarrassing
than seeing his hairy dad wear a speedo at the beach. More humiliating than getting
beaten up by a girl in his first and only karate tournament.
But Leonard assured him that
nyctophobia was nothing to be ashamed of. However, Adam was a tad ashamed of
Leonard. After all, Leonard didn’t exist outside of Adam’s imagination.
Leonard was nothing more than a
crutch Adam had invented to combat his fear of the dark. But Leonard was always
there for him.
When Adam took up skateboarding
because all the other kids were into it, Leonard was there to pick Adam up
every time he fell.
When thirteen-year-old Adam shared
his first kiss with a girl, Leonard was there.
When teenage Adam drank his first beer at a house party,
Leonard was there.
When Adam went to second base at the drive-in theater,
Leonard was chilling in the backseat, enjoying the movie.
Though, Adam never acknowledged his
presence. Adam learned at a young age that having an imaginary friend would
eventually cause his real friends to abandon him. So Leonard was Adam’s dirty
little secret. An alter ego of sorts. Leonard was wise, strong, and fearless.
Everything Adam could only fantasize of.
Adam cursed himself for being so
damn weak all the time. He hated living like this. He hated the perpetual
anxiety attacks and being afraid of his own damn shadow. And he hated having
nobody to blame but himself. He couldn’t blame his parents. They raised him
properly and they never abused him, but they didn’t coddle him, either.
Upstairs, Adam set the long-box down
by the living room sofa. He had the lights on in every single room. The whole
house was lit up like Madison Square Garden. But Adam wondered how long it
would last. It was raining buckets outside and he had already lost satellite reception.
The lights were next to go.
The wind picked up, heavy gusts
slamming against the side of the house. The living room fixtures shook and
lights blinked momentarily. Adam planted himself on the sofa and took a deep
breath. There were candles arranged in a semi-circle around the coffee table
for when the power inevitably failed.
Adam opened the box and took out the
first comic, sealed in plastic. On the cover was an evil looking clown with red
eyes and razor-sharp teeth. He closed his eyes and shuddered. As a boy, Adam’s
father had taken him to the circus at the Clarksville Coliseum. Adam was never
too fond of clowns to begin with. And after that night, he never wanted to see
another clown again.
At one point in the show, several
clowns had gone up into the stands to make balloon animals for all the kids.
One of them approached Adam and rudely asked, “What frigging animal do you
want, kid?” He could smell alcohol on his breath, though he was too young to
know what it was at the time. Adam remembered his red tufts of hair and that
the white grease paint made his skin look all oily and slick. And he vividly
remembered his yellow, nicotine stained teeth that looked eroded from years of
neglect and decay.
“Come on, kid, I don’t have all
night,” the surly clown had snapped when Adam had yet to respond.
“I-I’m fine…” Adam had said and
trailed off, sinking down into his chair. The clown shrugged him off and
mumbled something under his breath as he stomped away with his flappy red shoes.
Adam tucked the comic back into the
box and grabbed the next issue. The wind growled again and the lights dimmed
and faded.
Darkness engulfed the living room. It
was as if a great black curtain had been dropped over the house. His ceratoid
artery throbbed intensely. He dug frantically through his pockets, searching
for the book of matches he’d saved. He lit all of the candles, picked one up,
and walked towards the fuse box, which was in the utility room, just past the
kitchen.
He was hoping it was just a blown
fuse. A blown fuse was a quick fix. A blackout meant hours, maybe even days
without electricity.
Adam opened the fuse box and checked
each individual circuit breaker. He found the culprits in the upper right hand
corner, hit the switches, and lights popped back on.
And when they came back on, Adam saw
something out of the corner of his eye that made him jump. Flappy red shoes,
red tufts of hair, greasy white makeup, and yellow, nicotine stained teeth. He
turned to his side, but the apparition had vanished as quickly as it had
appeared.
His lungs deflated. Anxiety can take
your breath away. And Adam was on the verge of a full blown anxiety attack. It
felt like somebody was stepping on his throat.
“There’s nothing there,” Adam said
aloud, clearing his throat, trying to shake it off. “You’re all worked up and
your mind is playing tricks on you.”
Adam jumped at the ring of the
doorbell. He wasn’t expecting company. And in this anxiety ridden state, he
wasn’t about to let a stranger into his house. Adam approached the door with
caution, but could not see outside. And the front windows offered no vantage
point of the front porch.
“Who’s there?” Adam shouted, loud
enough for anyone on the other side of the door to hear.
“Let me in,” a familiar voice
requested.
“It can’t be…” Adam gasped.
“Leonard?”
“In the flesh.”
“Impossible.”
“No, what’s impossible is you still
being afraid of the dark. I thought we kicked this phobia years ago. I mean, it
was one thing when you were a kid. But you’re an adult now. You have a car, a job,
a house, a bank account. And you still can’t conquer your fears.”
“You’re not real,” Adam said,
shaking his head.
“Are you going to let me in? It’s
raining cats and dogs out here. Well, not literally. But wouldn’t that be a
sight?”
“Go away,” Adam implored.
“If you’re not going to let me in,
I’ll have to do it the hard way.”
“I’m not listening to this,” Adam
said, slowly backing away from the door.
“Let me in, Adam,” Leonard taunted
him. “You know you want to. Accept that you need me. Embrace it. Let me in.”
“You’re not real! You’re just in my head! I created you and I
can erase you!”
“It’s not that simple, old friend. I’m afraid I’m here to
stay.”
“I won’t let you,” he said weakly and unconvincingly, even to
himself.
It soon dawned on him that his mind
had possibly snapped, that his sanity had gone out the window. The idea came as
a sharp jolt, the mental equivalent of a static shock.
There was nothing on the other side of the door. He didn’t
have to open it to prove that. He was having a prolonged conversation with
himself. An argument, no less. And on top of that, he was slowly losing the
argument.
Adam retired to the living room and
as soon as he sat down and placed the candle back on the coffee table, his
phone began to ring. Adam owned a cell phone, but his parents had installed
several landlines throughout the house when they still lived there. And one of
those phones were next to the sofa.
Adam lifted the receiver to his ear but didn’t speak. Just
listened.
“Let me in, Adam,” Leonard pleaded.
Adam slammed the receiver down in
one swift motion. And it brought him a glimmer of satisfaction. That was the
only positive thing about having a landline. He could still slam the phone down
out of anger or frustration.
The phone rang again, but Adam didn’t
pick it up. The answering machine clicked on in the kitchen and Leonard’s voice
echoed through the house. “Let me in. Let me in. Let me in. Let me in. Let
me in! Let me in! Let me in! Let me–”
Adam picked up the living room phone
and slammed it back down, ending the call. To ensure he wouldn’t be hearing
from Leonard again, he yanked the cord from the wall.
Then he retreated to the kitchen, to get a glass of water and
down some Xanax to alleviate his anxiety. And that’s all the drug really did. It
alleviated his symptoms, but it never really cured him. It just made Adam
dependent and weak, weaker than he already was.
Adam had always seen himself as a
weakling. The kid who gets robbed of his lunch money. The kid who gets picked
last for softball. But even in his weakest moments, Adam had clarity. And now
that clarity had become uncertainty as his mind continued to slip.
Adam hummed a soft tune to fill his
ears with nose. To fill his ears with anything other than the unmistakable
ringing that could be heard from the living room. There was another phone in
the kitchen, but Adam had taken it off the hook as soon as he walked in.
I know I unplugged it, Adam
thought. I know I did. I pulled the cord right out of the wall. I didn’t
just imagine that. Or did I? Oh, God, you’re really losing it, Adam. You’re
cracking up, buddy. Don’t let this happen. Don’t let the fear consume you. You
don’t need Leonard. You never did. Leonard never even really existed. You made
him up.
“Not real,” Leonard repeated. “Don’t
be so sure.”
Adam spun around, but nobody was
there.
“What’s the matter, Adam? Feel like
you’re losing it? Your screws need tightening?”
“Fuck off,” Adam barked.
“Now is that any way to treat an old
friend? And honestly, I’d prefer to stay. You wasted enough of your life away.
It’s time for me to assume control.”
“Over my dead body,” Adam said
defiantly.
“Have it your way…”
Every light flickered as the wind
shook the house from its eaves to its foundation. In seconds, the power was
gone. Darkness enveloped the house and everything was silent. So silent Adam
could hear the rapid beating of his heart.
Adam felt the air evacuating his
lungs, felt the rush of panic throughout his body. And with that sudden rush of
panic came the tingling sensation. Adam compared it to an army of ants crawling
around inside his skin. It happened only during his worse anxiety attacks.
Adam gripped the sink counter to
stop himself from falling and tried to regulate his breathing. His knees
trembled and his feet felt like they were already off the ground.
A hand fell over his shoulder and a
whisper traveled through his ears. “Let me in.” Adam closed his eyes and
slipped into a world of darkness.
* * *
It had been three days since the
storm let up and Adam’s parents were worried about him. His cell phone was
going straight to voicemail and they couldn’t reach him at the house, either.
So Adam’s mother called Mrs. Glick, who lived across the street since Adam was
a teenager.
“No problem, Martha,” Mrs. Glick had
told her. “I’ll go check up on Adam.”
“Thank you, Shelley,” Mrs. Etchison
said. “There should still be a hideaway key under the front porch.”
Shelley Glick hung up with Martha
and walked across the street. She found the hideaway key where Martha told her
it would be and let herself in.
“Adam,” she called. “Don’t be
alarmed. It’s Mrs. Glick. I saw your car in the driveway. Your parents were
worried about you. Your mom said you haven’t been returning their calls. Adam.
Adam?”
She waited for a response that never
came. Shelley eventually wandered through the foyer, into the living room. The
first red flag were the candles that had been left unattended on the coffee table.
The second red flag were the specks
of blood that started in the living room.
A trail of blood droplets led
Shelley all the way to the upstairs bedroom. It was a ghastly scene, one that
Shelley Glick could only hope to forget over time. She cupped one hand over her
mouth to stifle a scream.
She found Adam curled up in the
fetal position, knees pulled up to his chest. His arms were slashed vertically,
from his wrists to his forearms. Three words were hastily scribbled across the
bedroom wall in all capital letters. Words that the Etchison family would
ponder for years to come.
LEONARD WAS HERE.
