Schadenfreude – Twenty Three

Image credit: igor.stevanovic

Image credit: igor.stevanovic

There were times when self-interest had to give way to something better, and as he lay in the relatively safety of the hospital room, surrounded by the very best medical care, he felt protected like a child by a parent.

And underneath this lurked his suspicions and fears about her. After all, if they didn’t find a second victim to Andrew’s fury, then he’d know..he’d know they were in ‘it’ together, whatever ‘it’ was.

He fought to repress these suspicions. They felt unworthy, and they distressed him so much that the pain he already suffered increased, far past the capacity of the heavy-duty painkillers he had been prescribed.

Greg came to visit him each day. He begged him for news. Eventually Greg relayed that the police had not found Lisa. Not even any record of her employment with Andrew. David almost wailed when he heard it.

‘So she was part of it!’ he cried.

‘What do you mean?” Greg asked.

‘It was all a vicious game, they set me up..they were in it together, otherwise she’d be in hospital, like me.’

‘Or worse, mate,’ Greg said, placing one hand gently on his arm to steady him, ‘She might be dead and Andrew might have covered his tracks very well. You saw her working for him..that makes her apparent lack of existence now very suspicious on that level, don’t you think? You shouldn’t just assume…’

‘Do the police think that?’

‘I don’t know..I don’t know.’

‘Well, her existence has been a bit mysterious in more ways than one..’ David muttered, but wanted to believe Greg’s hypothesis.

My God, said Voice, you’d want her dead rather than being the victim of a ruse?

Yes Voice, shut the fuck up, David thought.

Two weeks later David was discharged. He’d have months of physiotherapy and dentistry ahead of him, and working was out of the question for at least a month more. He had learned to use crutches for the first time in his life. He was not a physical creature so had never indulged in sports of the kind that risked such injury. It was all new to him. He applied himself to this with a kind of cold, vicious determination. He had nothing left to strive for, after all. A comedy career was unthinkable. Andrew had somehow escaped the heavy hand of the law, and he still reigned supreme in that world, in Sydney at least, and his networks extended far. Plus, it was comedy that had gotten him into this mess, and so now to even think about treading the stage boards made David physically ill.

All dreams shattered with his shattered body. He’d be an accountant forever.

All he wanted now, other than to heal physically, was to know, once and for all, what had actually happened. Lisa remained a mystery to the police and to everyone. If she was part of it, he wanted to know, if she was a victim he wanted to arise from the situation as an avenger and seek out the evidence to bring Andrew down. One way or the other, he wanted something from this, even if it was just closure.

Since he woke in the hospital and surveyed the wreckage that was his form he’d surprised himself with nightmares not of physical violence, but of a computer screen and the elusive author of a script that teased and taunted him by turns. He thought about Norman, unable to ban the creature. He thought about Andrew’s allusion to her moniker – the name that meant taking pleasure in the pain of others. He dreamt of ghosts and monsters, of the uncanny, not of brute force.

If nothing else he needed to find out the truth so he could rid himself of this fear of the unknown, this sense that something alien to him, something he could not even begin to comprehend, had somehow insinuated itself into his world. He had to do this if he was ever to feel comfortable behind a computer again.

(c) Helen M Valentina 2016, All Rights Reserved

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(Flash Fiction) Two: Gluttony

Image credit: vgstudio/shutterstock.com

Image credit: vgstudio/shutterstock.com

I couldn’t stop.  No-one could.  We just woke up this way, part of the ‘hungry world’.

Someone said it was a curse that some warlock had made out of anger, spite or just to test his power.  Others said it had been in the drinking water for years, a slow release experiment that had suddenly flowered, full blown. Others said again that the world is a consuming machine and we had finally ‘got with the program’. Lastly, some held that aliens had invaded overnight and infected us.

Really, no-one knew.  I certainly didn’t. I just couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop eating.

Usually my breakfast satisfied me to mid morning at least.  Usually, if I am good, I’d get a coffee and some low calorie snacks then.  Sometimes, when I was less good, I might get a muffin.  Usually when I was hormonal…

But I wasn’t hormonal this morning and breakfast wasn’t enough.  I started eating everything in the fridge, everything I could reach.  Even things up the back that had a dodgy expiry date.  Then the cupboards, opening cans of vegetables and eating them uncooked.  The taste didn’t seem to matter.  I just had to consume.

Once I’d finished everything even vaguely edible in the flat I had to venture out.  It was only then I saw everyone else, emerging from homes, and racing down the street to haunt the convenience store like ravening beasts.

I wasn’t alone, and it was only seeing this that made me realise how odd it was.  I hadn’t even thought about it while I consumed,  I’d been totally gluttonous, unthinking, on auto pilot.

And so was everyone else. So in between eating whatever we could find, and fighting over whatever was left, we exchanged theories.  Wild eyed, terrified theories because now we were all feeling sick, like we might burst.

But we can’t stop.  We just can’t stop….

(c) Helen M Valentina 2016

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Schadenfreude – Twenty Two

Image credit: spotmatik

Image credit: spotmatik

Greg found him two hours later. He stumbled in to the flat, thinking through his alcoholic daze, that it was odd that the door was wide open. What he saw on the loungeroom floor sobered him instantly.

David’s breathing was ragged.  He was curled up in a foetal position, one whole arm at a strange, unnatural angle behind his body, blood circling him like a river around a mountain. He was shaking slightly, but seemed unconscious.

Greg dialled 000 immediately. An ambulance came. The police. No, Greg didn’t know anything. David was rushed to hospital, still unconscious. He had no testimony yet to give the police officers.

‘Did he have any enemies?’ the police asked Greg.

‘Not that I knew of,’ Greg answered mechanically.

David spent the first night in intensive care. After that, while broken and depleted, he was considered past the critical phase and was moved to a shared room in the men’s ward. His doctor catalogued his injuries to him. Dislocated shoulder – now re-adjusted back – broken fingers on both hands, broken ribs – two – dislocated jaw, broken teeth – emergency dental work done, much to follow for comfort and cosmetic reasons, bruising and sprains over most of his body, lower back damage that he was lucky hadn’t been sufficiently violent to break his back but –‘that was close’. Probably only one or two kicks away from a wheelchair, he thought to himself. Was he lucky? Perhaps he was.

How was Lisa?

He realized he didn’t even know her second name so he couldn’t check if she was also in this hospital. Besides, if she was convalescing somewhere, it may not be here. There were many hospitals in Sydney and he didn’t know where she lived either, so he didn’t know which one would have been closest.

Would she have reached a hospital though? Didn’t she live alone? He couldn’t remember. Where would he be if he hadn’t had a flatmate?

He spewed his fears and worries out to the police when they visited. He had no compunction in accusing Andrew. He knew, dully, that Andrew would have the money and connections to get good legal representation, and that in accusing him he may well be inviting another attack upon himself, but it was the only way to help Lisa. It was all he could do.

(c) Helen M Valentina 2016, All Rights Reserved

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(Flash Fiction) One: Lust

Image credit: BlueSkyImage/shutterstock.com

Image credit: BlueSkyImage/shutterstock.com

There are rules to this game.  They are ancient.  There is no sign of the matriarchal lines here. The rules work for men only.  As it has been for centuries.

This is the way they trap you.  This is the way they trap them. All the dirty little secrets.  Lust alone levels the world, and brings us all to the basic, the primal.  Here this is an art form.  Here this is fun.

Here this is deadly serious.

Once you are in you cannot escape.  Abandon all hope, as they say.  Was Hotel California your favourite song?  If so, you belong.

They’ll give you masks, if you like, so it’s anonymous.  Whether you are the predator or the object, it’s all the same. Though if you are prey you may not escape with your life.  There is always a price to pay, and it might be you.

Still, surrender is all.  You are the artist or the instrument.  They are the composers, and this is a symphony of pain as much as delight.

Welcome to the nightmare. Prepare for all your sordid dreams to come true.

(c) Helen M Valentina 2016

 

 

 

 

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Schadenfreude – Twenty One

Image credit: binik

Image credit: binik

‘What have you done to her?’ Andrew mimicked again in his sing-song voice, ‘Why don’t I show you, if you want to know..I always think actions speak louder than words..’

Andrew reached out and hit David hard across the face. David felt the impact, the gnashing of breaking teeth in his jaws, the taste of blood in his mouth as he fell back. There wasn’t pain, not yet, he was too in shock for pain so he knew that would come later. In that moment all he could think was that this was what had happened to Lisa.

She would break so easily. She was so small, so slight. Andrew would have engulfed her.

He had little time for more conscious, coherent thought as Andrew fell upon him. He hit him again and again, a relentless pounding that was somehow strangely and terrifyingly passionless. Andrew then started to kick him savagely, over and over, against the legs, his groin, his chest. The sound was terrible, the continual repetition of the blows, and something that sounded like mewing and crying and screaming, which David didn’t even recognize as himself. It felt like everything was breaking. It seemed endless, then suddenly, it stopped. Andrew stood over him, as though contemplating.

Was it over? No, it wasn’t over. Andrew squatted down, leering over him, grabbing him up in his big, savage hands by the throat. He lifted him up by the neck, about a foot off the ground, and his face came so close to his victim’s face that as he spoke a spray of spittle settled on the bloodied mess like a mist of fine rain.

‘I could strangle you right now, right now..and you’d deserve it..but what you deserve more..is the future you’ve asked for..that’s far, far worse..and I want to revel in your pain for a long, long time..’

Revel in my pain, David thought, a strange inkling coming to him from the depths of his agony, shock and despair..he takes..pleasure from another’s pain? Where had he heard that before? Where?

Andrew squeezed, as though to belie his words, but by then David was almost unconscious, certainly beyond anything but the automatic struggle of the physical body seeking to maintain its access to air.

‘Ha!’ Andrew exclaimed, throwing him back on the floor. ‘You’re finished in the industry mate..I’ll make sure of that if it’s the last thing I do!’

And then he strode out of the apartment and was gone, leaving David, barely conscious, unable to move, bleeding and broken on the floor.

(c) Helen M Valentina 2016, All Rights Reserved

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(Flash Fiction) Photography

Image credit: donatas1205/Shutterstock.com

Image credit: donatas1205/Shutterstock.com

He would show up in my photography. At first it was so indistinct I just thought I had some flaw in the digital camera. I almost went back to the shop with it, but initially  his image came and went. It wasn’t ubiquitous, so I hoped for the best.

But over time it became clearer. It was a face. A man’s face. Superimposed across whatever I was trying to capture, I captured him instead. Always him.

I didn’t recognise him. He meant nothing to me that I could name or understand. Yet he was there, insistent and silent in his presence.

Can a ghost haunt a camera? Is that possible, and if so, why?

Made no sense, beyond the fact that I regularly took still photography of models, including men. So the subject matter, in a way, might have called to the ghost. But still, why me?

Over time it became frustrating. Photography is my career, it’s how I make my living. So this was a cruel joke from the universe, spoiling so much of my product. I was starting to get a reputation around town, the kind you don’t want. I was starting to lose customers, and that was hurting, really hurting – both my bank balance and me.

Then one day he came in for a portrait. And I knew, immediately, it was him. It was the ghost. Same facial structure. I notice things like that. It’s what makes me a good photographer.

So I asked him – politely at first –  what his game was. I asked him to let me into the joke. He pretended like he didn’t know but I could see he was laughing inwardly. I demanded he tell me how it was done. But then he laughed outwardly at me and said I was mad.

That was it. I snapped. I will admit. I don’t remember starting the fight. I certainly don’t remember grabbing the heavy vase from the sideboard and hitting with it. I barely remember him falling, or the blood, or the loss of life.

I just remember photographing him, then, afterwards, laughing hysterically. Because, you see, it was all true now. He was my ghost.

And I guess he always was…

(c) Helen M Valentina 2016

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Schadenfreude – Twenty

Image credit: Piotr Maronski

Image credit: Piotr Maronski

‘Okay Andrew..I suppose you mean Lisa..’

‘I suppose you mean Lisa,’ he mimicked, making David’s voice sound girlish and weak. ‘Of course I fucking mean Lisa..how long have you been fucking her?’

‘I haven’t’ said David honestly, and hoped for one brief, stupid moment, that the truth might save him.

‘Bullshit you haven’t…’

Get to a phone Voice repeated..get help…

‘How did you know about us?’ David asked, fighting to keep the fear from his voice, intuiting that such an emotion might set the bull off on his stampede. Andrew liked vicious comedians – it was why he liked David, it was a common aspect of the clients in his ‘stable’ – this meant Andrew himself was vicious. He’d be likely to pounce at the first sign of weakness. The question was, did he reserve his viciousness to words, like David, or was the ultimate expression for him more physical? Andrew was more physical than David. Right now, Andrew felt like more of everything.

‘I had her followed,’ Andrew said, his voice suddenly quieter and infinitely more menacing for that, ‘I said I needed to keep an eye on her..and I checked her computer for her emails and chats and interactions and it was all there…’

‘We didn’t email,’ David said honestly, ‘We chatted sometimes, were friends, but I swear to god Andrew, it wasn’t anything else!’

‘I didn’t see your stuff..she obviously wiped all of that..just what she told her friends..what she said about you..and that’s why I know your protestation is complete and utter bullshit…you’ve seduced the stupid little creature..don’t deny it!’

‘She not a stupid creature!’ David exclaimed, his overweening pride speaking before any sense of survival could stop him. It was stupid of him of course, he knew this even as he spoke, but to have the cleverest person he’d ever met, the one he felt elevated by just by her returned interest, was too much. To call her stupid meant inevitably that David would also be thus described by association. That couldn’t be tolerated.

Andrew moved forward again. He was only one foot away from David now.

‘She is a stupid creature. I should know..she works for me..and she’s an unimaginative little fuck as well..but you know that already, don’t you?’

‘She’s one of the smartest people I know!’ David protested. She was! Otherwise why would he be fearing, even deeper now than his immediate physical sense of threat, the thought that Andrew knew she was smart, that in fact they had a game here that relied on the fact that both she, and Andrew, were smarter than David.

‘Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?’ Andrew asked, smirking horribly, his fists clenching and unclenching, ‘That doesn’t sound like the Lisa I know…but then, perhaps you’re not that smart either, eh, David..you might be clever, but you’re actually quite stupid too…look what you did, with your golden opportunity..your one chance at fame..something only a moron would do…you shat all over my generosity, you betrayed me!’

‘I met Lisa over the internet..we were friends before I knew she worked for you, or even knew you in actual fact!

‘Save your bullshit for the ladies you little fucker..it won’t work on me…you’ve got to learn the same lesson she learned..’

Pure dread filled David for Lisa. Of course..if she wasn’t in league with him after all, he’d have gone to her first. On the level of betrayal, he’d see hers first, given that he was pathologically jealous and possessive of her. She had always had such good reason to be afraid.

David felt a sharp shame for the fact that he now sentenced her in his heart to some awful retribution at the hands of Andrew simply from his desire that she was not allied to Andrew, that what they had shared was true. But still, he wanted it.

‘What have you done to her?’

(c) Helen M Valentina 2016, All Rights Reserved

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(Flash Fiction) There

Image credit: A_Lesik/Shutterstock.com

Image credit: A_Lesik/Shutterstock.com

That’s where they took us as I told the police. This dank, broken place. Once it was a warehouse, one of them said, but it had been abandoned for years.

It was a good place, he said, a good place for fun and games.

I didn’t like it. None of us did. There’s fun, and then there’s something else. There…there was a place of something else.

I made new friends there. As kids you do, don’t you? You make friends pretty easily? And particularly when you are afraid.

We didn’t know better. We didn’t know how much it might hurt to have made friends there. We didn’t know what loss was, not till then.

There’s blood dried there. It’s all that’s left of some of my friends. That was the point, I understand now, and it could just as easily have been me. But one of them, the oldest man, liked my blonde hair. So that’s it. The only real thing that differentiated me, that meant I still live to remember, while my brown haired friends didn’t.

But they don’t believe me, the police. They say all this stuff is just imagined. That I got it off the internet. They call it ‘satanic panic’.

But I didn’t mention Satan. The police did. For me, this place is just the place of death. If Satan is there he wasn’t showing himself. It was just them, just them.

And it was just there.

(c) Helen M Valentina 2016

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Schadenfreude – Nineteen

Image credit: kpatyhka

Image credit: kpatyhka

David never really contemplated how much he under-estimated people. His success, his sense of self on the internet and on the stage, and his ever-growing ego, did not allow enough space in his contemplation to consider that he could be caught out. Or what the consequences of that might really be.

He felt strong on stage, and stronger on the internet. His old insecurities from high school and even from his continual frustrations in his day-to-day work receded as his profile in these other fields heightened. He liked playing his games with the girls, the other comedians, and best of all, with Andrew. He gradually stopped seeing Andrew as a tenacious, determined and ruthless operator, instead just another person not quite aware of ‘the game’. He acknowledged Andrew’s skill and his taste because it elevated David, but David placed himself above him still, encouraged by Lisa and particularly by her on-screen alter ego Schaden, and possibly this made him less careful, less thoughtful. Or possibly Andrew just got closer because he was looking, looking, all the time.

At any rate, David didn’t see it coming at all. You have a real problem when you consider yourself better than others. You fail to see there will always be those who, in their way, and in certain circumstances at least, are better than you. What you can’t see, you can’t protect yourself against.

David had no idea how much that applied to the entire situation he was now within, but at least on one element – his relations with Andrew – he was more than due for a reality check.

David shut down his computer after joking with Schaden when the knock came at the door. Schaden had just said something odd in her departure, about other things coming calling, so the sudden presence of a visitor had the aura of a premonition about it. Schaden’s prediction.

Later he would come to suspect she knew about his imminent visitor all along.

He opened the door. Andrew loomed large in the space, his eyes dark. For a moment David thought that perhaps he had come with some news of a work opportunity, although to visit his clients personally – and particularly at this late hour – was not normally part of Andrew’s repertoire. All thought of this explanation for his visit fled before the tone in his voice when he spoke.

‘Hello David,’ Andrew said, a disturbing sing-song quality in his voice.

“Hi Andrew, what a nice surprise..do come in..’ David replied, wary, standing back to let his visitor enter the apartment. Everything felt very delicate, as though the wrong word or nuance at this stage could change the interaction suddenly and inexorably.

‘I’m not disturbing anything?’ Andrew asked, the odd tone still in his voice, though deeper now and more predatory than lyrical. He walked immediately past David into the loungeroom with the aura of a cloud covering the sun. Oddly he went straight from there to the doorways of the two bedrooms, then to the bathroom. He was checking the apartment out, and satisfied, he turned back to David.

‘Greg’s not here?’ he asked, unnecessarily, of David’s flatmate.

‘Clearly,’ said David,’ Are you ok Andrew?’

‘Why do you ask that?’ The words were almost spat out rather than spoken. David swallowed. Fear took him suddenly and completely. This was not good. This was definitely not good.

‘You seem..upset..about something..’

‘What would I possibly have to be upset about?’ Andrew asked, then continued, taking one step closer to David with each question, ‘What could possibly be troubling me, here with one of my best new clients? What could be possibly wrong in my world? Or with me? Or with you?’

David sidestepped him at the doorway to the lounge. Andrew seemed bigger than ever, as though puffed up somehow by whatever it was that was troubling him. David had read that psychotics could sometimes ‘change’ like that, the animal rising from within. It was funny, he’d always thought the animal had already risen in Andrew. Perhaps not.

‘Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?’ he asked finally, glowering at David.

It was the worst thing that David could have feared. Somehow, clearly, he knew..he knew about Lisa.

‘Find out what?’ he asked, wondering if he could bluff his way out of it, sickeningly realizing one second too late he not only probably couldn’t, but that any attempts might make it worse.

But what could Andrew do, really? To his own client? Someone who made him money and helped his reputation? This wasn’t the playground at school, nor even a sports ground or a pub..this was his home..and this was business. Surely nothing..nothing but a bit of storm and fury, signifying …..nothing….

‘Don’t!’ Andrew warned, ‘Don’t even try to pretend…’

Then again, perhaps Andrew was insane, in which case, all bets were well and truly off.

Get to the phone said Voice.

David tried to move, but Andrew seemed to take up too much space. He almost seemed to be the room, as though he was a monster more than a man, something preternatural and ugly and dread.

Odd thoughts started to traverse David’s mind, too quick for him to grab hold off and consider…was Andrew even human – he didn’t seem human, not now, but something other..something more. Did Schaden know he was coming, and on that topic, the elusive, impossible to track Schaden herself..was she part of this..and if so how human was she? How did she do that computer shit? What was she? She seemed normal enough to meet, a bit vulnerable and less than the self she showed on the screen, but that wasn’t uncommon, surely..but was that some kind of elaborate act?

He knew these thoughts, brief but lacerating, were insane in themselves, born out of his fear. He felt like he had been caught in some strange horror movie, but while he also knew this was hyperbole, in this moment, with the man mountain glowering over him, no paranoia or suspicions seemed excessive.

He had to try to reason with Andrew, bring him back to human form in his own mind if he was ever to deal with any of it.

(c) Helen M Valentina 2016, All Rights Reserved

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(Flash Fiction) Office Clown

Image credit: Alex Malikov/Shutterstock.com

Image credit: Alex Malikov/Shutterstock.com

I was always the office clown. Every major event, especially Christmas and Easter, I’d put on a show. And in between I was the prankster, the joker, the one to bring a bit of levity into things.

I had a social purpose there. I was liked, goddamnit! I was popular.

I think my bosses hated that, especially Craig.

Craig is about as funny as a broken toe, and very much as painful. He came in with a corporate takeover about a year ago and since then he’s done everything he could to take the  life out of the place. He calls it ‘cultural re-alignment’. I wanted to re-align him, I can tell you!

We all wanted that.

But it seems we aren’t people of action, after all. Supposedly gung ho, get ahead types in the corporate world, we kind of fold when the regime changes. It wasn’t even subtle. Over time it seemed no-one even wanted to see the funny side, let alone laugh at anything I had to say. The life went out of everything, like Craig was some fat, slug vampire force draining us all.

He even looked like that.

Here’s the thing, halloween was always my favourite time of the year. I got the teams to have parties, to celebrate, this magical moment each year. But this year, nothing. A damp squib at best. Everyone was so worried about keeping their jobs, which is reasonable on one level since half the staff had been fired in the preceding months already. And Craig would pull his slug-like self throughout the office each day, like he was just searching for the next head to roll.

I understood it, but where was the fight? Only left in me I suppose.

So I was the office clown, just not the clown of fun, the clown of nightmares instead this Halloween. It was the fitting time for the action. That’s how I’ve tried to explain it to the police but they don’t have much imagination or humour themselves.

Craig had a lot of blood for a slug. But perhaps about the right amount for a vampire. He’d drained so many others so far, after all.

Anyway it is what it is, and it was what it was. And what it was was inspired, even if I say so myself. Just a big axe, face paint, a grey suit, and a few last words to commemorate proceedings:

‘Consider this my resignation Craig! And your severance too!”

Whack!

“Well, severance of your head anyway…”

No-one got the joke. Pearls before swine….

(c) Helen M Valentina 2016

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