It Doesn't Sound Human at All

Night is when God turns off the lights. Or so my mother always said.

I guess that means we have something in common because it's at night that I turn off the light. Not electric lights, but people light, if you take my meanings.

I know what you're thinking. Another little bit of doggerel by some sicko serial killer who gets his rocks off sneaking into peoples homes and giving 'em the blade, or the razor, or the chain saw, or some other kind of power tool. The newspapers are full of guys like that. Sick little bastards who hate life so much that all they want to do is go out and spread their misery around. It's pathetic.

That's not what I do. Or rather, it's not what I did. I help people with death, like that guy Dr. Kevorkian up in Canada or wherever. I mean these people need help! That why I did it. I mean, sure our methods differ a little bit. He kills people who have no reason to live and ask him to grant them a final mercy.

I do it for people who don't have the courage to ask.

I mean, you've seen people like this! Everyone has! Ugly, fat, sad little scum farting their way through life, watching the rest of us with big cow eyes waiting for some happy miracle to raise them out of the sewers of their inferiority and place them among the happy shining people. I feel very sorry for them. These people have no life. So wrapped up in their own little miseries that they do nothing except drag the rest of us down by their very presence. Who can enjoy a meal in a restaurant or watch a movie in peace with these ugly little people all around?

Do you know you can smell them? It's amazing how many of these stumbling little eyesores can't figure out how soap works! Maybe if they could they could burn off some of those zit farms so many of them cultivate. God! They're filthy! No sense of taste or style, just wearing whatever ill-matched pieces of sack cloth they can waddle into!

My parents were like that. Don't ask me how they ever worked up the nerve to actually talk to each other, and my mind reels at the thought of them having sex. Shabby, ugly, little sheep who just sat on the couch, stuffing themselves and whining about how the world refused to take them seriously. It was always "Why can't I get a raise?" or "Why can't I ever seem to lose any weight?" God I hated them. They were the first two I canceled, as you can well imagine. Set a bomb in their car, (it's not that hard, I found a book on it in the library), and I made sure it was a messy one. Didn't have quite enough juice to blow them to pieces, just enough to start em' burning. Ran the fat like wax! Yeah! Couple of ugly tallow candles! I have the whole thing on tape. I watch it all the time.

I don't have any idea how many people I've canceled since then. Enough I guess. Enough to get the police after me in a major way. Of course they never found out who I was. I'm not stupid you know. No one ever saw me. Who looks at a cable guy? Or a electrician? Or a telephone repairman? I've got lots of uniforms, and I can change the signs on the side of my big white van lickety-split. I suppose they would have got me eventually, because EVERYONE was looking for me, what with the reward and Americas' Most Wanted and all.

And one person in particular I guess.

I don't know who it was. But I can guess the type. Female. Dresses in black. Probably no chest to speak of. Skin like a white cheese. Wears lots of silver. Can you guess who I'm talking about? A witch of course.

Some puffed up pathetic loser who has turned to the so-called mystic arts to deal with the fact she's going to die a virgin, alone in a house full of books with no fragrance except eau de cat crap to guide her to the next life. God, I know the type. I've canceled enough of them.

It had to be a witch.

Because only a witch could do this.

I came into my house last night after cleaning off my tools in my garage. I sanitize them by washing them thoroughly, dunking them in liquid detergent, and then, just to be sure, covering them with a light skin of lighting fluid and letting them flash-burn for a few seconds, (What can I say? I'm a careful fellow). Well, anyway, I came in, and set about cooking my dinner; a vegetarian lasagna with a casual wine.

I was about halfway through the preparations when I realized I had forgotten to burn my clothes, (I always throw the clothes I'm wearing in the furnace when I finish a cancellation), so I stopped what I was doing and headed for the garage to get them.

That's when I realized the door was gone.

Just gone! I mean, the wall just continued on between the refrigerator and the cabinets. Nicely papered wall, just standing there where the door had been for the last twenty-eight years I've lived in this house. And while I was standing there, trying to find out how I had misplaced a door, I noticed that the windows over the sink were gone. And the doors to the hall and the basement.

Even the air vent was gone.

I panicked. Ran around shrieking like an idiot. I threw myself at the walls. I pulled the paper down and beat at the wood with my fists. I clawed and scratched like an animal at those damn boards and ripped out two of my fingernails for my trouble, which is why there are some bloodstains on these sheets.

I finally calmed down a little. Tried to use the phone, but there was someone laughing like a lunatic on the line and I couldn't get a call out. High pitched and squealing, like fingernails on a chalkboard.

It didn't sound human at all.

It tried ripping through the walls with a few tools I kept in the kitchen, but every time I blinked the damage I had done was gone and the walls were just as clean and pristine as ever. I'm as sane as the next guy, you know? But this was really starting to get to me. I mean, what can you do in a situation like this?

And then when the room started shrinking I knew I was in trouble.

I was just turning around to put my hammer back in the drawer when I bumped into the counter, which shouldn't have happened because it was four feet away. But now it was jabbing me in the back. I stared at it, trying to figure out if I had forgotten walking two steps. Suddenly, I got the feeling there was something behind me and I turned around to find the refrigerator, with the kitchen wall behind it, right up against me! Every time I blinked or turned around, the kitchen got smaller. Now, as I write this on a flap of torn off wallpaper, I'm crouching under the kitchen table. I'm blocked in by two cabinets on one side, the refrigerator and a wall on the other.& This is totally crazy, you know that? Completely insane.

How am I going to get out of this?

I mean, it's been hours since this whole thing started. I'm getting pretty thirsty, and this pen is starting to run out of ink.

I must really have pissed someone off.

I think...I think the table is starting come down. I really do. I mean I had headroom a minute ago, and now I'm bumping my head. Jesus!

Okay, I'm all right now, the table top has stopped about a foot from the floor. I'm lying on my back, writing on the underside of the table. There's still enough light coming from the sides of the table for me to write by.

I'm not sorry. Not even now. I write it here, so in case someone finds this. No matter what you do! You hear me out there! I know someone can! I'm not one bit sorry! So you can take all this mumbo jumbo and just stick it ! You hear me?

The light just went out. I can't see.

I think the table is moving again... Just a little bit at a time...Something's out there. Someone's sitting on the table! I can hear them moving. Hear them breathing. The table..it's so close....hard to breathe..someone...someone is laughing....

It doesn't sound human at all.....