Edge Of Insanity, The

The Edge Of Insanity

An Original Story By Chris Richards

I know that I have to stop.
The red light on my dashboard has been flashing for far too long and I
know that my car can't run on fumes forever. It isn't that I'm miles
away from a gas station, after all I've been circling the city for the
past few hours, desperately wanting to escape onto the interstate, to
get as far away as I possibly can. But something in the back of my mind
tells me that they'll find me eventually, wherever I run to.
Through the rain spattered windscreen I see a flashing neon sign up
ahead; 'MOTEL - VACANCIES' it proclaims and slowing down I pull into
the deserted parking area.
For a few minutes I sit there, motionless, staring out into space, my
eyes unblinking. Then I step out into the cool evening air, smiling as
I feel the refreshing rain on my face.

Pressing the bell that is secured to the wooden counter, I survey the
dilapidated reception area, grimacing in distaste at the pale decor and
drab lighting that surrounds me. There is a rancid odour in the air and
turning I see a birdcage suspended from the ceiling, it's occupant
unmoving in the bottom of the tray.
Again I ring the bell.
From beyond I can hear a T.V. playing, canned laughter filling my
ears.
"Ain't it always the way ?" A voice says and I jump slightly as an old
man suddenly appears from behind me. "You hang around for hours and
nobody comes in, but you can guarantee that the moment you step outside
to take a leak....." He smiles a toothless grin. "What can I do for you
?"
"I want a room."
"Just one of you ?" Looking up at my stoney expressionless face the
old man nods. "Just one."
"Your bird's dead." I tell him.
"Hell, it's been dead almost two weeks! Stinks some don't it ?" He
laughs, reaching under the counter to retrieve a tatty leather bound
register. "If you could just fill this out, I'd be much obliged. It
don't matter what name you use, nobody ever checks and it sure as Hell
don't matter to me who you are, s'long as you pay for your room
upfront."
I pick up the pen that is chained to the counter and begin to write in
some details.
"That your car out there ?"
"You got any other guests ?"
"Nope."
Finished, I place the pen down.
"You got a phone I can use ?"
"Sure." The old man points to a nicotine stained cubicle to his right.
"There's one tucked away in there."
Turning my back on the him I move away, picking up the phone,
beginning to dial, listening intently to the rhythmic tone that remains
unbroken. There is nobody there to answer the phone &; I'm unsure if
that is a good or bad thing, but I know there is little point in me
worrying about it.
Slowly I replace the receiver.
"You been in some kind of accident ?"
"Why do you ask ?"
"Well, that's one hell of a dent in your....."
I slam a fifty down hard onto the counter.
"Why don't you just hand me the key to my room ?"
The old man shakes his head slightly and smiles, slipping the money
into the top pocket of his pattern lumberjack shirt, reaching around to
remove the key from the wall behind him.
"Turn right out of the door and follow the path down, number seven,
last on your left hand side."

There are two lamps hanging on the wall above the bed and although
both of them are illuminated the room still seems draped in
darkness.
Tossing my jacket onto the bed I sniff at the air, smelling the
dampness that seems to ooze through the walls. It isn't perfect, but
it's a place to rest, a place to wait.
Feeling like I haven't washed in weeks I head for the bathroom,
pleased to feel hot water on my flesh and looking in the smeared mirror
that hangs above the basin I see my face for the first time in days. Is
it possible that I could have aged so much in such a short space of
time ? My dark hair is now plagued with flecks of grey, heavy bags sag
beneath my once radiant eyes, even my skin seems paler than I remember
it to be, a dark stubble gathering on my jaw, somehow making my lips
seem thinner.
I look away, frightened that the mirror might suddenly shatter and
reveal my true self. I concentrate on scrubbing my hands instead,
gradually removing the dirt and dried blood that lays embedded beneath
my fingernails.
More than anyting I want to shower, to rid myself of my own foul
stench, but, pulling back the plastic curtain I see something that
quickly makes me change my mind; a large family of cockroaches
scurrying around on the floor of the cubicle.
As I step back into the bedroom, I realise that something is missing,
something that I've not seen since coming in. At the foot of the bed is
a small wooden table, a remote control resting on top of it, but there
is no sign of a T.V.
Set in the wall beside me is a walk in closet and on instinct more
than anything I decide to open it up and there, hidden beneath a dirty
old blanket is an ancient black and white television.

**********

I'm not sure if it's the flashing blue and red lights or the
persistant knocking that awakes me. Whichever, I'm soon on my feet,
eyes searching for a means of escape. Without looking I know who is
waiting for me on the other side of the door and with that it mind I
have no intention of opening it.
That leaves the bathroom window as my only hope.

As I squeeze through the tight gap I can hear the sound of wood
splitting, of voices shouting, but I put them out of my mind,
concentrating on the path ahead of me. Although it has stopped raining
the roads are still wet and slippery and as I speed around a corner I
lose my footing and crash to the ground, almost smacking my skull into
the sidewalk. For a moment I am dazed, but as I hear my pursuers
footfalls rapidly getting closer I scramble to my feet, shaking my
head, looking around, catching sight of a number of derelict buildings
to the right of me.
A place to hide is as good as running away, I try to convince myself,
quickly picking up my pace.

The stench of stale urine is almost overpowering as I run up the dirty
grey steps of the abandoned apartment block, kicking at the boarded up
doors, the rotten wood easily giving way under such force.
As I stepped inside I brush away a network of cobwebs, my eyes slowly
adjusting to the new darkness that now envelopes me. Feeling my way
forward I make for the stairs, hoping my feet didn't discover anything
unsavoury, pressing my back against the wall, trying to increase my
speed, the voices outside get ever closer.
'How many of them are there ?' I wonder, moving silently across the
landing and up another flight of stairs, instictively knowing that my
pursuers were now in the building with me.
On the third floor a door is open and a small candle flickers from
within. As I step closer I can see a woman lying motionless on the
floor, a young girl kneeling beside her, sobbing into her hands.
Cautiously I enter the room, pushing the door closed behind me,
twisting the key in the lock.
The girl looks up at me, raising a water pistol that she's been
keeping concealed in her lap, pointing it at my head and for a moment I
freeze.
"Stay away from my Mummy or I'll blown your fuckin' head off. " She
says, a complete lack of emotion playing on her face.
"I'm sorry...." I murmur pressing myself back against the door "I'm
so, so sorry.".
"Sorry ? Sorry ?!! Is that supposed to make things better ? Will
'sorry' bring my Mummy back ?" The girl suddenly turns the water pistol
on herself, placing it into her mouth, thumbing back the little plastic
trigger. Her small head explodes like an over-ripe melon, showering the
floor with brains and fragments of her skull.
I double over, violently vomiting, almost filling my trousers as he
hear the heavy banging on the door behind me.
Turning, I see the little girl's body still twitching and once again I
realise that my only hope of escape Is through a window. Quickly I step
over the dead woman's body, screaming as she suddenly opens her eyes
and reaches up to grab at my groin. Throwing myself forward I fall
through the window, landing awkwardly on the fire escape, feeling
shattered glass puncture my flesh. But I forget about the pain as I
pick myself up and tumble down the steps, the sound of the dead woman's
laughter filling my ears.

After a few minutes of unfocused running I find myself in an
unfamiliar part of the city. I pause for a moment, catching my breath,
hoping that for a while at least I have evaded my pursuers.
Up ahead of me I see a subway station and slowly I make my way towards
it, feeling in my pockets for some small change, but to no avail.
As I descende the steps that lead me underground I take a deep breath,
finding some hidden strength to run and vault over the ticket barrier,
knowing without looking that I am now being chased once again.
The crowd ahead seem to part in anticipation as I shoulder my way
through, paying them no attention, my mind focused on the train that
hopefully awaits me on the platform.
To my relief I manage to squeeze through the closing doors, ignoring
the startled looks on my fellow passengers faces as I edge my way
towards the vacant seated I so long to sit in, closing my eyes for the
briefest of moments.....

As I open my eyes my heart almost stops, warm air and bright light
suddenly surrounding me.
I am suddenly alone in the carraige and as I stand up I realise that
not only is the train no longer moving, but that I am now in the middle
of a desert, no sign of civilisation to be seen.
I blink, rubbing at my eyes, my mind racing, unable to rationalise
what is happening to me. I walk over to the door that would normally
connect to another carraige and pull at the handle, relieved when it
opens.
But that's when I first hear the screaming voices and closing it again
quickly I slump to the floor and begin to furiously sob.

After what could be hours, I find the courage to step outside, to try
and find an answer to the questions that fill my mind like a swarm of
angry bees and it seems like days before I see anything other than
swirling sands and the bright, scorching hot sun.
At first it's little more than a black dot on the horizon, but as I
get closer it is possible to make out the unmistakable shape of a
Buick, half buried in the sand.
There is something else though.
Something on the car's bonnet.
A large black box.
A TV ?
"THERE'S NO ESCAPE !!!" A voice suddenly booms from the heavens, a
picture suddenly appearing on the TV screen as I move steadily
closer.
From the snowstorm of black and white flecks comes an image and as the
picture clears I see a man's face staring out at me. I freeze, hoping
that my last ounce of sanity has not yet betrayed me.
"YOU CAN ONLY RUN FOR SO LONG."
The picture zooms back and I can see that the man is in the motel room
that I have rented, that my own body is lying there, motionless on the
bed.
"DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT'S HAPPENEING TO YOU ?"
The man in the room suddenly lunges forward, his arm breaking through
the TV screen, grasping hold of my wrist.
I try to scream as I feel myself being dragged forward, feel the
broken glass dig into my skin, darkness quickly enveloping
me......
Then I go cold.
Very cold.

The End
Copyright: Chris Richards 2001

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