MACHINE
By
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\par
\par \pard\plain \s0\cf0\lotusoutlinelevel0 \qj {\f1 \tab \tab I can
see people. Dead people. They'rer standing behind me like a shadow
then}{\f1 when I turn no matter how fast I turn I can only glimpse them
for a split millionth of a second. Then the
ir gone. I'm alone.}
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 I can hear them. They don't speak to me; but I can hear them.
Standing there talking to each other in whispers, I can hear them; see
them. Sometimes they move objects in my path when I'm walking. Around
rooms. Down corridors. Through doorways.
I go to walk forward and they move things. Not little things. Big}{\f1
things. Sideboards. Doors. Filing cabinets. }
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 It's}{\f1 like I'm drunk, but}{\f1 I don't drink. Not any
more. I used to before I started seeing shadows but not any more. Not
since I started seeing them. I thought it was the drink at first. Like
all drunks I'd talk to myself as if there
was someone with me. }{\f1 Great conversations with imaginary friends,
but there was nobody there. So I stopped drinking.}
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 That's}{\f1 when I saw the bugs. Little ones at first. Then
as the need to drink got stronger, bigger ones. Great big green bugs
crawling up the wall and across}{\f1 the ceiling. I'd lye}{\f1 there in
bed staring up at the ceiling and they
would crawl slowly up the bedroom wall from behind the skirting board.
That's}{\f1 where they live; behind the skirting board. Breeding their
little green babies that would one day soon grow up and start crawling
up the wall and across}{\f1 the ceilin
g}{\f1 ; and stop. Stop directly over the bed, over my head. Then
they'd start spinning their web and lower themselves down from the
ceiling. Down over my bed. Down over my head. Stop just a
millimetre}{\f1 away from my nose. I could see their eyes wa
tching me. Searching me for signs of fear. Then when they knew they had
me. They'd drop that last millimetre}{\f1 onto my nose and begin to
feel me. Stopping only to suck up the tiny beads of sweat that oused
out of my pores. Pores that suddenly}{\f1
opened up into raging damns of cold fear. Giant droplets of sweat
gushing out of my pores; like a bursting gieser in some National Park.
A tourist attraction for giant green bugs.}
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 Then they would move. Up the ridge of my nose, slowly feeling
their way. Exploring every pathway along my nose; then between the gaps
in my eyebrows over the lines that run like railway tracks of fear
across my sweating brow until they reached
my hairline. Then they'd stop. Sniff the airways}{\f1 like they were
waiting for a message. Signal to attack. Move forward. Spread out. Use
the hair as camaflauge. Dip deep into enemy territory. }
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 That's when I'd wake up screaming. Wake up from my
alcoholic}{\f1 dream trance of crawling green bugs. That's when I look
at the ceiling. Look at the walls. Look at the skirting board. Look
with my x-ray eyes through the wood skirting. Throug
h the plaster and paint. Through and into the hollow of the stud
partition. Through that brown muddy nest, and into the waiting eggs.
Little green bugs waiting to grow up and crawl up the wall and across
the ceiling. Waiting to lower themselves onto my
screaming face.}
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 So I gave up the drink.}
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 Now I just see shadows. Shadows that whisper to each other
behind my back. Shadows that disappear}{\f1 when I turn around to
catch, confront them. Shadows that trip me up. Shadows that are driving
me mad.}
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 My job drives me mad. No windows. No daylight. No clean flow
of fresh air. Just the stale stagnant}{\f1 smell of old dead air.
Breathed a million times before. The sound of the buffing wheel.
}
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 You know the sort of thing. They have them in those quick
repair shoe and key cutting shops. A pedestal}{\f1 with turning wheels
of cloth to polish your shoes and wire brushes to cut and carve. Well,
the buffer is just like that only ten time
s bigger}{\f1 . Ten times more evil, waiting to devour you. The one
wheel is made from cloth to polish, buff the meter; the other has a
wheel of thousands upon thousands of sharp wire teeth waiting to bite
and tear into your flesh}{\f1 . My flesh. The m
eters - for that's}{\f1 what I clean. The meters come in covered with
grease, dirt, grime and paint. Those teeth, those sharp gnashing}{\f1
teeth strip away the filth that clings to the meter's surface, like a
vulture}{\f1 stripping the flesh from a
dead carcass}{\f1 .}
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 Day after day. Week after week. Year in year out; I stand
before that monster machine cleaning those damn meters}{\f1 waiting
only for the day I can retire. Now the shadows have followed me to
work. They're where ever I go, behind me watching
whispering to themselves}{\f1 ; but I can hear them. See}{\f1 them. I
know their plans. They can't hide from me anymore. That's}{\f1 why
they've began to throw things in my path. They've trying to stop me.
Kill me. I won't let them. I'm too clever fo
r them I know their plans now.}
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 The whispering was louder yesterday. Louder. I shouted at
them to stop. Stop whispering it won't do you any good I know your
plans.}
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 Still they whispered; only now it was louder and getting even
louder. I screamed out loud at them to stop. My work-mates}{\f1 heard
me, turned their backs on me. Don't worry they said it's only Johnny
having one of his turns. If it gets worse
the foreman will give him his medicine, and that will calm him down. If
it doesn't they'll send for an ambulance to take him away and take care
of him, pay no attention, he'll stop in a minute hopefully.}
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 Still they carried on whispering. Talking and walking circles
around me. Peering}{\f1 }{\f1 over my shoulder watching what I'm}{\f1
doing. I can feel their shadow like an icy chill walking down my spine.
The buffer drones on, and on, and on.
Those teeth enticing, calling to me. Come close, close}{\f1 still. Come
into my embrace. I'll make it better then the shadows will go away.
They won't bother you no more. That's it. Nearer I promise you
won't}{\f1 feel a thing. Those thousands upon th
ousands of teeth speaking}{\f1 to me, drawing me nearer. I could see my
hands being drawn in, nearer and nearer. Closer and closer. It was
right I could feel no pain.}
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 No pain only the sound of flesh screaming above the machine.
Screaming above the whispering shadows. Screaming above even my own
voice as those teeth bit into my hands. Tearing}{\f1 the flesh and
gristle from bone. Then finger bone from the s
ockets that joined them to my hands. Then my hands entered the
beast's}{\f1 mouth and all I could hear was the sound of whispering
shadows as my flesh, bone and blood flew silently across the machine to
paint the wall behind in a kaleidoscope}{\f1 of
radiant}{\f1 red and skin tones.}
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 The shadows stopped whispering.}
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 Instead they screamed with laughter rolling from side to
side. Holding each other up in case they fell whilst slapping backs to
celebrate}{\f1 their success; as they returned from whence they came. I
knew or felt no pain only relief from}{\f1
hearing no whispers, seeing no shadows. Then I screamed out as loud as
I could scream.}
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 }
\par {\i \f0 It is my recommendation}{\f0 }{\i }{\i \f0 to this panel;
that the patient}{\f0 }{\i }{\i \f0 who for many years has suffered
from delusions}{\f0 }{\i }{\i \f0 . Has finally}{\f0 }{\i }{\i \f0
succumbed}{\f0 }{\i }{\i \f0 to his own nig
htmares and attempted to commit suicide. I firmly believe that no
amount of treatment will provide a cure and that he should be }{\f0
}{\i \f0 confined}{\f0 }{\i }{\i \f0 for the rest of his natural
life}{\f0 .}
\par {\f0 }
\par {\b\i \f0 Dr David Johnson MD}{\f0 }{\b\i }{\b\i \f0 , PhDs}{\f0
}{\b\i }{\b\i \f0 , CrYs}{\f0 }{\b\i }{\b\i \f0 .}{\f0 }
\par {\b\i \f0 }
\par {\b\i \f0 }
\par {\b\i \f1 \tab \tab }{\f1 They came back late last night. The
shadows, I pretended not to see them. But I knew, that I could see
them. Hear them.}
\par {\f0 }
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 }
\par {\f1 }
\par {\b\i \f1 }{\f1 }\par}
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