As he stepped through the shop’s door, Fred confirmed that the place was a music electronics store. The first thing he saw upon entering were three large shelves dividing the space into aisles, and along the walls, electric guitars.
Each time he moved cautiously through the aisles, a shiver ran down his spine. Inside, everything seemed normal, yet he couldn’t forget the fox—it could appear at any moment. It would return stronger, with its black eyes and skeletal body, ready to attack Fred, and this time it wouldn’t be his leg. The animal would strike to kill.
As he walked down the aisle, he pushed his fear aside and finally called out into the store:
“Good afternoon,” Fred said in a trembling voice. “It’s almost night already, so… good evening, I guess. Is anyone here? I’ve been wandering around for a while and haven’t found anyone.”
No one answered. Everything remained the same; the fox didn’t appear, and there was no sign of life. The place was intact, as if it had never been abandoned. That was more than could be said for the station—this place was truly different.
He walked the aisles but found nothing except music equipment—more and more devices everywhere. What caught his attention most were the electric guitars, in countless colors and designs. Once, when he was a teenager, he had dreamed of owning one. All he ever had was a slightly out-of-tune violin, a gift from his mother. Still, he spent a long time playing it, and at some point he could play something well enough. Good trash, he had told himself.
He liked the place, even though it was far from safe, considering that a skeletal, rabid fox might attack at any moment. He spent several seconds inspecting the store, until he decided it would be good to rest for a while and, with some luck, find someone. He headed for the counter, still counting his steps and turning his head.
He heard an incomprehensible whisper. A crackling sound, like several bones breaking at once—and then something rose up. It had a furry, elongated body, two horse-like eyes, and a third, human eye. It stuck out its long tongue and said:
“Do I really look that bad, Freddy?” it asked in a deep voice.
Fred stepped back. It was as if he’d been punched in the stomach; he struggled to breathe. His hair stood on end. How can it talk? How does it know my name? Thousands of questions flooded his mind, but first he ran for the door. He crashed into the shelves and shoved the door with his shoulder. It didn’t give—it was stuck.
Footsteps. Hooves. The wet click of a tongue. The creature drew closer until it was right in front of him. There was no escape; he would be devoured and die.
“Baked little birds!” the creature exclaimed in a friendlier tone. “I didn’t think I’d scare you that badly… You were like a little rabbit, running and hopping,” it laughed. “My name is Mark.”
Mark? How could it have a name? The creature’s gentle voice made Fred relax for a moment, though he still wondered if it might open its mouth and eat him in a single bite.
“I have no idea how you forgot me, Freddy,” the creature continued when Fred didn’t respond. “You did very bad things, my friend… but I don’t blame you for them.”
Friend? How could I be friends with something so horrible, with that human aberration?
“I… I don’t understand what you’re talking about. I don’t even know how you do this. I didn’t do anything. I was just with that little boy and then that flash in my head happened again. How the hell can you talk? I don’t know you.”
“You and I have always known each other. What you did at that station… in the first flash. I don’t know why, and I don’t understand for what purpose, but you did it.”
Fred understood nothing. He wasn’t even sure he was awake anymore; he began to doubt whether this was just a cruel trick of his brain. He didn’t really believe it—but he wanted to. Nothing that was happening made sense. The words and the creature’s image faded into a distant echo. He felt the air leave his body, unresponsive to everything. He tried to move, to stand still and breathe. Instead, he collapsed to the floor.
“Freddy!” the creature shouted.
Fred’s body began to tremble and spasm; his eyes rolled white. He saw the image of his mother, of some friends from school, of Soacha, his cat. All of them happy, walking through a field of flowers.
He thought he was going to die—that his body would freeze, his blood stop flowing. His brain, that mad brain of his, and his heart would stop.
“Freddy!” the creature repeated.
He saw it again, still beside him, and then he knew he was having a panic attack. The talking image in front of him didn’t help much either. It stuck out its tongue and rolled its eyes back and forth; it might have been trying to help, but if anyone else were there, they’d think it was about to eat him.
“Wait! I’ll be right back,” Mark said.
It strode down the aisle, its long shadow nearly brushing the ceiling, and disappeared into the darkness. Fred tried to breathe, to draw in the little air he could. He opened his eyes and forced himself to stay calm. Nothing in his head had shape: a creature, a skeletal fox, a desolate world. How was it all connected? He didn’t even know how he could know—or be friends with—that talking beast.
He pushed himself up and leaned against the counter. He closed his eyes, then opened them at once. He couldn’t stand not seeing anything. He heard the heavy steps again, hooves scraping against the wooden floor. Mark approached and placed a cup of tea in his hands.
Fred hesitated, then looked at the tea and drank it quickly. The liquid was lukewarm and thick, but it tasted like ordinary chamomile tea. He swallowed until there was nothing left.
“How is all of this possible… everything you’re telling me? I’ve never been here. Yes, something happened to me on the train—something very strange. I saw the image of a man with a hat… I saw his silhouette, but I didn’t—”
“Shhh… don’t talk,” Mark whispered.
It dropped to all fours and began to roam the place, sniffing and observing carefully. It stopped behind a shelf and slid one hand underneath. It laughed and stuck out its long tongue.
When it pulled its hand back, Fred saw what it was holding by the tail: the fox. The animal tried to attack, but it only dangled helplessly, a meter and a half off the ground. It screeched and writhed so violently that Fred’s skin crawled.
“I’ve got you!” it licked the fox’s face as the animal snapped at the air. “At last… I’m finished with you, wretched enemy. You’re done!” Then it turned to Fred and continued, “This thing kept ruining my dinner—killing my little birds and mice, and without them there’s no supper.”
Fred swallowed hard.
“I have to go. Now. Right now.”
“Don’t be afraid, Freddy. I won’t hurt you, and neither will this pile of old bones. Where would you go? This place will change at any moment, and you’ll need your friend Mark.”
“You are not my friend! I don’t know what the hell happened! Why am I here? I don’t know anything at all. I have no idea why you think you know me. I don’t even know how you know my name. How the hell can you talk? Tell me!”
“Just like you can, idiot! If you’re here, it’s because you’re an old, clumsy, wicked man. Why did you open the door in the forest? You knew it wasn’t time! And you did it anyway!”
Fred froze for a moment and tried to search through his memories. For an instant he saw his mother, and the dark image of his father—but no door in a forest. Why would he do that? And even if he had, what would have been wrong with it? He had no idea what Mark was talking about, and the very fact that the creature had a name made him uneasy.
“I don’t know… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fred said, and decided not to say anything else.
“Of course you do. Don’t you remember? You walked all through this place with me. We spent hours and hours together. Mark and Freddy. I’ll prove it to you, old man. Touch your forehead with the tip of your finger, and it will appear.”
Fred did it immediately. For a moment he felt a tingling sensation; then he burst out laughing, while the creature looked confused, as if something magical had failed to happen.
The creature stepped closer, licked his finger, and pressed a long claw against Fred’s forehead. It held it there for a few seconds, and when nothing appeared, it tried again. And again. But whatever was supposed to happen simply wasn’t there.
“What? You’ve realized it, haven’t you? I’m not your Fred. The magic doesn’t appear, my...
... "
--Continue reading in its original Castilian language at fictograma.com--
fictograma in LiteraturaESP @lemmy.world
The Strange Gentleman. Chapter 3
https://fictograma.com/d/1391-el-senor-extrano-capitulo-3Excerpt:
The Strange Gentleman. Chapter 3
As he stepped through the shop’s door, Fred confirmed that the place was a music electronics store. The first thing he saw upon entering were three large shelves dividing the space into aisles, and along the walls, electric guitars.
Each time he moved cautiously through the aisles, a shiver ran down his spine. Inside, everything seemed normal, yet he couldn’t forget the fox—it could appear at any moment. It would return stronger, with its black eyes and skeletal body, ready to attack Fred, and this time it wouldn’t be his leg. The animal would strike to kill.
As he walked down the aisle, he pushed his fear aside and finally called out into the store:
“Good afternoon,” Fred said in a trembling voice. “It’s almost night already, so… good evening, I guess. Is anyone here? I’ve been wandering around for a while and haven’t found anyone.”
No one answered. Everything remained the same; the fox didn’t appear, and there was no sign of life. The place was intact, as if it had never been abandoned. That was more than could be said for the station—this place was truly different.
He walked the aisles but found nothing except music equipment—more and more devices everywhere. What caught his attention most were the electric guitars, in countless colors and designs. Once, when he was a teenager, he had dreamed of owning one. All he ever had was a slightly out-of-tune violin, a gift from his mother. Still, he spent a long time playing it, and at some point he could play something well enough. Good trash, he had told himself.
He liked the place, even though it was far from safe, considering that a skeletal, rabid fox might attack at any moment. He spent several seconds inspecting the store, until he decided it would be good to rest for a while and, with some luck, find someone. He headed for the counter, still counting his steps and turning his head.
He heard an incomprehensible whisper. A crackling sound, like several bones breaking at once—and then something rose up. It had a furry, elongated body, two horse-like eyes, and a third, human eye. It stuck out its long tongue and said:
“Do I really look that bad, Freddy?” it asked in a deep voice.
Fred stepped back. It was as if he’d been punched in the stomach; he struggled to breathe. His hair stood on end. How can it talk? How does it know my name? Thousands of questions flooded his mind, but first he ran for the door. He crashed into the shelves and shoved the door with his shoulder. It didn’t give—it was stuck.
Footsteps. Hooves. The wet click of a tongue. The creature drew closer until it was right in front of him. There was no escape; he would be devoured and die.
“Baked little birds!” the creature exclaimed in a friendlier tone. “I didn’t think I’d scare you that badly… You were like a little rabbit, running and hopping,” it laughed. “My name is Mark.”
Mark? How could it have a name? The creature’s gentle voice made Fred relax for a moment, though he still wondered if it might open its mouth and eat him in a single bite.
“I have no idea how you forgot me, Freddy,” the creature continued when Fred didn’t respond. “You did very bad things, my friend… but I don’t blame you for them.”
Friend? How could I be friends with something so horrible, with that human aberration?
“I… I don’t understand what you’re talking about. I don’t even know how you do this. I didn’t do anything. I was just with that little boy and then that flash in my head happened again. How the hell can you talk? I don’t know you.”
“You and I have always known each other. What you did at that station… in the first flash. I don’t know why, and I don’t understand for what purpose, but you did it.”
Fred understood nothing. He wasn’t even sure he was awake anymore; he began to doubt whether this was just a cruel trick of his brain. He didn’t really believe it—but he wanted to. Nothing that was happening made sense. The words and the creature’s image faded into a distant echo. He felt the air leave his body, unresponsive to everything. He tried to move, to stand still and breathe. Instead, he collapsed to the floor.
“Freddy!” the creature shouted.
Fred’s body began to tremble and spasm; his eyes rolled white. He saw the image of his mother, of some friends from school, of Soacha, his cat. All of them happy, walking through a field of flowers.
He thought he was going to die—that his body would freeze, his blood stop flowing. His brain, that mad brain of his, and his heart would stop.
“Freddy!” the creature repeated.
He saw it again, still beside him, and then he knew he was having a panic attack. The talking image in front of him didn’t help much either. It stuck out its tongue and rolled its eyes back and forth; it might have been trying to help, but if anyone else were there, they’d think it was about to eat him.
“Wait! I’ll be right back,” Mark said.
It strode down the aisle, its long shadow nearly brushing the ceiling, and disappeared into the darkness. Fred tried to breathe, to draw in the little air he could. He opened his eyes and forced himself to stay calm. Nothing in his head had shape: a creature, a skeletal fox, a desolate world. How was it all connected? He didn’t even know how he could know—or be friends with—that talking beast.
He pushed himself up and leaned against the counter. He closed his eyes, then opened them at once. He couldn’t stand not seeing anything. He heard the heavy steps again, hooves scraping against the wooden floor. Mark approached and placed a cup of tea in his hands.
Fred hesitated, then looked at the tea and drank it quickly. The liquid was lukewarm and thick, but it tasted like ordinary chamomile tea. He swallowed until there was nothing left.
“How is all of this possible… everything you’re telling me? I’ve never been here. Yes, something happened to me on the train—something very strange. I saw the image of a man with a hat… I saw his silhouette, but I didn’t—”
“Shhh… don’t talk,” Mark whispered.
It dropped to all fours and began to roam the place, sniffing and observing carefully. It stopped behind a shelf and slid one hand underneath. It laughed and stuck out its long tongue.
When it pulled its hand back, Fred saw what it was holding by the tail: the fox. The animal tried to attack, but it only dangled helplessly, a meter and a half off the ground. It screeched and writhed so violently that Fred’s skin crawled.
“I’ve got you!” it licked the fox’s face as the animal snapped at the air. “At last… I’m finished with you, wretched enemy. You’re done!” Then it turned to Fred and continued, “This thing kept ruining my dinner—killing my little birds and mice, and without them there’s no supper.”
Fred swallowed hard.
“I have to go. Now. Right now.”
“Don’t be afraid, Freddy. I won’t hurt you, and neither will this pile of old bones. Where would you go? This place will change at any moment, and you’ll need your friend Mark.”
“You are not my friend! I don’t know what the hell happened! Why am I here? I don’t know anything at all. I have no idea why you think you know me. I don’t even know how you know my name. How the hell can you talk? Tell me!”
“Just like you can, idiot! If you’re here, it’s because you’re an old, clumsy, wicked man. Why did you open the door in the forest? You knew it wasn’t time! And you did it anyway!”
Fred froze for a moment and tried to search through his memories. For an instant he saw his mother, and the dark image of his father—but no door in a forest. Why would he do that? And even if he had, what would have been wrong with it? He had no idea what Mark was talking about, and the very fact that the creature had a name made him uneasy.
“I don’t know… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fred said, and decided not to say anything else.
“Of course you do. Don’t you remember? You walked all through this place with me. We spent hours and hours together. Mark and Freddy. I’ll prove it to you, old man. Touch your forehead with the tip of your finger, and it will appear.”
Fred did it immediately. For a moment he felt a tingling sensation; then he burst out laughing, while the creature looked confused, as if something magical had failed to happen.
The creature stepped closer, licked his finger, and pressed a long claw against Fred’s forehead. It held it there for a few seconds, and when nothing appeared, it tried again. And again. But whatever was supposed to happen simply wasn’t there.
“What? You’ve realized it, haven’t you? I’m not your Fred. The magic doesn’t appear, my...
... "
--Continue reading in its original Castilian language at fictograma.com--