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Eye
Jeremy went to sleep as he did every night. The day behind him and the morning just a future thought, he slept peacefully. He didn't have nightmares and never remembered his dreams. He just slept. His wife, Claire, was always in her cocoon of blankets and pillows. Her slight but distinct snoring was the background noise Jeremy needed for his slumber.
Until he opened his eyes one night.
Their apartment was spacious and the bedroom equally so. A large floor to ceiling window dominated the wall on the right hand side. During the day it provided a magnificent view of Bay Harbor. The sun reflecting off the water cast a mesmorizing rainbow.
Jeremy opened his eyes and saw the curtain that hung from the beautiful window was parted. His groggy eyes swung to the clock by his side of the bed. 2:32 a.m.
He immediately woke up, full attention, at what he was seeing. It couldn't be. Impossible. Although the crack in the curtain was only less than three centimeters in length, to him it might have well been wide open.
Close, double close, overlap twice, double check
This was his nightly ritual. The curtains had to be closed completely. Zero breaches. His breath quickened and his first instinct was to put the blankets over his head so the thing didn't see him. He stared at the crack in the curtain, the comforter providing no shelter from what stared back.
An eye. Brown with a cloudy white substance dripping from its iris. Their pupils caught sight of each other and Jeremy started sweating. The eye didn't move nor did it blink. It just…looked. He looked back but tears in his eyes gave away his fear. As if in recognition, the eye slowly dropped an extraordinarily slow eyelid. And then it opened again and just gazed as Jeremy gazed back. Fear won the day and he screamed.
"Jeremy, honey what's wrong"?, Claire was clutching her husband, remants of the nights sleep still buzzing in her conscious. His screams were primal. And much too loud for any enquiring neighbors. She felt his body quake as her arms tried desperately to bring him back to her.
"The window…" he pointed, "It was…" what? As his eyes adjusted he only saw heavy thick curtains. No cracks or breaches. Most importantly, no eye.
A nightmare, surely.
He didn't suffer from nightmares though. No dreams, no nightmares, no insomnia. He performed his ritual (Close, double close, overlap twice, double check) and was asleep ten minutes after. Always. Until tonight. The curtains slightly apart, the eye staring in at him.
Claire wrapped her arms tightly around him, her head snuggling into the crook of his neck, "I'm here", she whispered, "I'm here for you".
2
Jeremy walked down the stairs and slunk into the stool that served as a seat in the kitchen. The fresh smell of coffee and sizzling bacon awoke his hunger.
He hadn't slept all night and he was famished. " Smells like heaven", he said, "just like my angel to cook it for me".
Claire gave him a side eye and pushed her hair out her face. "You're being way too nice for morning. Have some coffee and then give me compliments" She put a cup in front of him. The steam rising like a geyser from a volcano and the smell of caffeine hitting Jeremy in his pleasure center. She rubbed his shoulder lightly and concentrated on finishing breakfast.
"Was it bad?", she asked while flipping the bacon strips.
"It just felt so real", he said, "like it actually saw me somehow. That hasn't happened in almost two years and I…" he trailed off because the words didn't want to form in his mouth. I was scared. I was terrified. I was dying. Claire knew about the eye at the window, how it had started and why it frightened him so much. He was almost two years removed from the nightmares it brought and thought that, just maybe, they could have a life without the constant vigilance and nightly ritual. But last night had drudged it back to the forefront of their lives as claws of a monster digging through earth finding its way to its prey.
He took a drink of coffee, wincing from the burn but feeling it course through the fog of his memories. "Blow on it first, it's hot", Claire reminded him too late.
He forced a smile. "If it's any consolation, you're still my angel. But maybe we can go upstairs and get a bit devilish before I go to work". He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"What", Claire said, sweeping her arms around the kitchen, "and miss the pleasure of cleaning all this? Besides, after you eat you'll have to hurry so you're not late. It's half past eight already".
Jeremy shot out of his chair. "Shit…sorry…shoot…I need a shower. I'll take this to go. My apologies to the chef".
Claire shoo'd him away as he bound up the stairs.
3
He had slept later than he wanted. Not really slept though, no, more of a twisting turning half consciousness after he had dreamt about an eye behind their window. It was just a dream after all…right? The complete and utter terror he had felt was real enough but there had been no break of the curtain. Surely a trick of the light from his subconscious.
As he sped along the streets to his job desperately hoping he wasn't too late, all he could think about was why now? After all this time, all that therapy, all of the pills, why was he dreaming again about that? These questions ran through his head as he pulled up to the office building. He glanced at the clock on his dashboard. 9:13 a.m. Grabbing his keys from the ignition and his thermos of coffee, he half ran to the front door and then the elevators hoping his boss, James Peterson, didn't notice his tardiness.
The elevator opened its doors on the fifth floor and Jeremy almost ran into his boss on the way out. James stared at his watch and slowly raised his head to look at Jeremy.
"Fifteen minutes late", James said, "Get yourself set up and come see me in my office". He turned his back and walked away. Jeremy scrunched up his face in anger. I've only been late once before. What an asshole he thought as he made his way to the cubicle that he called home for eight to twelve hours a day. He was an editor for a publishing group and he was good at his job. It was drudgery for the most part but that's why he liked it. He rarely cared about the books he was responsible for. The seemingly endless hours he put in were more due to the fact that he could shut off any other thoughts and concentrate on the work at hand more than the actual books themselves. He could focus on the words and make changes, suggestions, and fix grammatical errors better than most. But he was late and now had Mr. Patterson to deal with.
He set his coffee on his desk and slumped in his chair. Opening the computer, he checked his work. Two romances and a science fiction novel were awaiting his attention. Better not to keep his boss waiting though. His ass was already hurting from the chewing it was about to receive so he reluctantly stood up and made his way to the big office in the corner.
He smiled and exchanged pleasantries with a few coworkers on the way but his heart wasn't in any of it. Arriving at the office that took up a good third of the space, he tentatively knocked and swung the door open.
James sat behind his desk which, as always, was covered in books and documents. Final approvals awaited before a book could be considered finished. His boss barely glanced up but said "have a seat" and gestured to the chair opposite his desk. Jeremy sat and tried his best to act stoic. He hated letting people down and tried to think of a good excuse about his late arrival. He'd have to wing it.
"I'm sorry for being late, sir, but…"
James waved his hand as if he were swatting away a fly. "You're not in trouble, Jeremy", he said, "Your work is outstanding, our clients love you, and I received a personal letter from David Howser about your last suggestion for his new horror book."
Jeremy tried to think. David Howser. Horror book. He vaguely recalled it but couldn't think of what particular value his suggestions had made. It was about a monster of some kind, all the rage these days, although nothing specific came to mind.
"Thank you, sir", he said. Memory be damned, a personal recommendation was rare and he would take it.
James sat down and steepled his fingers under his chin. He stared at Jeremy for what seemed like hours but was actually only a few seconds. Brown eyes, Jeremy thought, White pus oozing from them. Coming for me.
Finally James spoke, "We have a new position here. The proper candidate will oversee a team of junior editors. Checking their work, double checking, making their own edits, yada yada", he said. He stared at Jeremy, his fingers unmoving until he said, "We want you for that position".
Jeremy sat wide eyed the entire time. He was getting promoted? Ten minutes ago he was sure he'd be fired. But now, this.
"Thank you, sir.", his voice almost whispered.
"There are certain responsibilities that come with this", James said, "A high attention to detail, a keen grasp on grammar, and an impeccable eye for talent".
An impeccable eye. Like the eye that looked at him last night. It wasn't just curious, it was judging. Seeing if he was worthy. For what he didn't know but he knew that was the purpose.
"I will not let you down, Mr. Patterson".
Jeremy walked back to his cubicle like a man who had just won a lottery. He would have to get as much work done as possible and the promotion could take up to a month to be approved but he was sure he could handle it.
Sitting down at his desk, he opened his files once again. What the hell? The book files were all there in the proper place. But each cover had been replaced. In their place, on all three, was an eye. Terrible and brown with a white viscous liquid flowing from the iris. His hairs stood on end and goosebumps ran across his skin.
Someone's fucking with me. He didn't know how, who, or why but that was the only possible explanation. Did someone in the office know about his past? Did they know about his promotion and decide to get into his head? He stood from his chair and looked around the office. Nobody seemed to pay any attention. The other workers apparently were just going about their normal routine, paying him no mind at all.
He sat down again. The book covers were back to normal. No eyes, of course not, because this was just a result of one sleepless night and the pressure of the job.
Jeremy began his work.
4
He arrived home and walked up the porch stairs with the announcement of his promotion on his lips. Claire could finally finish getting her degree and they could move to Eastbrook with its security and their private shops. Life was about to change for the better and he couldn't wait to tell her about it.
His enthusiasm was quickly stamped down when he opened his front door. Claire's suitcase was sitting on the floor next to the couch like an omen. She was leaving him and his nightmare behind. But I've only had one in two years. That was enough, obviously.
One fucked up nightmare about an eye in your window. Why wouldn't she leave? That's the fast train to crazy town.
She bounded down the stairs with an overnight bag at her side. When she saw Jeremy though, she smiled and ran up to him, planting a kiss on his cheek.
"How was your day?", She asked.
He stood frozen for a minute, unsure how to proceed.
"Good…great actually. You leaving me already"?, He blurted out without much thought. A suitcase, an extra bag, and it was clear what that meant.
Claire briefly looked confused and then she started laughing. He always loved that laugh.
"I'm off to my mother's house, silly. Remember? I told you weeks ago."
Jeremy blinked a few times and finally a look of recognition dawned on him. Of course. He vaguely recalled it now. Her mother, his monster-in-law.
Three years previously, Claire convinced him to go to Norma's birthday party all the way in Centralia. He reluctantly went but wanted to impress her with something special.
Norma was a huge fan of legal thriller books and Jeremy went out of his way (and over his budget) to purchase the complete hardcover editions of every single John Grisham novel he could find. The perfect gift he had thought.
Upon receiving his gift, Norma had, at first, seemed to be in awe. She actually rubbed the spines and appeared to be on the verge of tears. But then she had looked at Jeremy and said, "That's a thoughtful gift" before setting them immediately beside her and going on to the next.
That was the only acknowledgment she had given him and the rest of the party consisted of him sitting in a corner nursing whatever alcoholic beverage he could grab.
He hadn't been back since.
"Okay, I remember now", he said, "Sorry, I've had a lot on my mind and…"
Claire grabbed both of his cheeks in her hands, "It's okay. So what's the great news?"
"I've been promoted. A good pay raise but more responsibility. Can you handle it if it means more Waffle House and less frozen lumps that look like waffles?", He asked.
She squeezed his cheeks harder and planted a kiss on his lips. "That's all this woman has ever wanted ". They both laughed and the tension of the day melted away.
A car horn sounded outside bringing them back to the present. "That's My rental,'' Claire said. She pushed her bag up on her shoulder and turned to grab her suitcase. "Lots of food in the freezer. And beer and wine in the basement. Don't drink yourself into a stupor", she said. She turned and Jeremy grabbed her in a hug.
"Be safe and call me when you can", he told her, "I love you".
She kissed him again. "I love you. Just be sure to keep an eye on the place while I'm away". She walked out of the door and exchanged words with the man delivering the rental car. And then she was gone.
5
After Claire left Jeremy just felt tired. He wanted to sleep but his rumbling stomach told him it would be a little longer. He rummaged around in the refrigerator until he found some deli meat and made a sandwich. Good enough for now.
Walking upstairs, he had some apprehension.
Walking into their bedroom, that apprehension turned to worry.
Stepping to the window became almost full blown fear.
It was dark outside but the faintest trace of sun was still present on the faraway horizon. Close, double close, overlap twice, double check
He positioned the curtains just so. No breaches. No cracks. No eye.
After a shower and a change of clothes (boxers and a Go Hawks t-shirt), Jeremy climbed into bed. He had to be in early the next day just so his tardiness from today could be forgotten as he transitioned into a full blown leader. Thoughts of that leadership followed him into sleep.
He never dreamed and never had nightmares. You did though, didn't you? Last night. You woke up screaming and sweating and talking nonsense. He snapped his eyes open. He was facing the wall opposite the window and felt relief for that. But why had he woken up in the first place? Not a dream or a nightmare. Really? He stirred from under his blankets and slowly turned his head to face the window.
The curtains were parted again, perhaps a foot or more, and the eye was larger. The white drips raining down on the glass, causing it to crack. What would those drops of slimy mucous do to him? He jumped up but didn't scream. The eye glared at him unblinking.
This felt so real, not like a dream at all. He could feel the carpet beneath his feet and there wasn't any of that fuzziness that let you know you were dreaming. But if this wasn't a nightmare then not only was the eye real but he would go insane.
Was that terrible gleaming eye actually closer to him tonight? It appeared not only larger but closer somehow. That was impossible. If it was still behind the window it couldn't be closer. Yet it was. An optical illusion. A misfiring of some brain cells.
Jeremy stood. This was no illusion or trick. He felt reality slipping away and the ground underneath him transitioned into a wavy unstable surface. The last thing he remembered were his legs giving out.
He awoke to the sound of his alarm going off. That told him it was morning and that he had better get up to face the day. His back and neck were as stiff as logs and he felt every crack and pop his body produced as he slowly, and carefully, got to his feet from the floor.
He painfully walked to the nightstand and picked up his phone. 8:03 a.m. He gathered himself together as much as a man could under the circumstances and headed to the bathroom. A quick shower, an even quicker breakfast, and he could still make it to his job in time.
After a quick shower and a breakfast of one piece of toast, Jeremy was in his car and headed to the office. God, he was tired. And sore. There wasn't time to make a cup of coffee much less stopping off for one but he needed something to wake him up. He would order a large latte online and have it delivered to his job. He needed to be fully alert.
He rolled into the complex, took out his phone, and ordered from a nearby cafe that offered delivery. He ran to the building, took the elevator to his floor, and glanced at the clock on the wall when he entered. 8:57 a.m.
He was actually looking forward to the day ahead. He could escape the nightmares and focus on his job. There were three books that required his attention and he was determined to finish his edits before his official promotion.
Mr. Peterson spotted Jeremy and gave a slight nod. Then he pointed two fingers at his eyes and turned them back toward Jeremy. I'm watching you it, said.
Jeremy simply nodded and headed to his work station. Setting his satchel down, he sat in his chair and fired up the computer. Instead of the usual whirring he was met with a humming noise. A low but steady sound that seemed to creep into his body. He could feel it in his bones and into his brain. It was rythmic and pulsing, not a sound a computer makes.
The pressure rose as it became less a hum and more a song, almost a chant.
I see you.
You see me.
Take a knife
And kill with glee
Yes, that made sense. It made all the sense in the world. A knife and patience was all he needed. Jeremy contemplated this when the sound of the elevator dinging brought him back.
"Extra large latte for Jeremy", the delivery man yelled. Jeremy shook the cobwebs from his mind and walked to the delivery driver.
"That's for me", he said.
The delivery driver handed him the cup and said, "That was six dollars…without the tip". Jeremy had already paid online with his credit card but forgotten about the tip. He had no cash on him but reached for his wallet anyway.
Instead of a wallet he found himself with a rather large butchers knife in his hand. Where did that come from? He felt the wood handle in his fist and plunged it into the delivery man. Again and again and again he made a trail of blood that sprung from the man like a bursting dam. And he smiled the entire time.
The ding of the elevator sounded sending him back to the present and Jeremy was still at his desk. His files were open and he noticed he had already made some substantial changes to the romance book, Heaven Sent.
"Large latte for Jeremy", the delivery man yelled.
This time Jeremy got up and accepted his beverage, giving the driver a five dollar tip. "Thank you, sir", the man said as he pocketed the fiver and turned back to the elevator.
The other employees looked on, eyeing him with a sense of confusion and envy. He didn't care though. He had work to do and felt that it was his right to have a cup of coffee without judgement.
He walked back to his desk, sat down, and went to work.
He was almost finished with his first edit when five o'clock rolled around. His neck was strained from looking at his screen all day and, despite the large latte, he was still tired. So, so tired. All he wanted was to go home, take a proper shower, and put his head on his pillow.
Fate was not so kind however.
6
He packed up his things and headed to the elevator. His neck still aching and his mind elsewhere, he heard the voice of James Peterson.
"In my office, Jeremy".
He turned around to see his boss beckoning him with his hand. Jeremy trudged to the big office and dropped his bag on the floor. He entered James Peterson's office and took a seat. James was looking at a printout with a look of confusion and contempt on his face. Finally he turned to Jeremy.
"Just what the fuck is this"?, He practically threw the papers across to Jeremy.
Jeremy picked them up, squared them off, and instantly froze. His indignation and outrage forgotten, he stared at the pages. It can't be. It's impossible. Yet, here it was.
He had sent the changes to the romance novel to his boss for final approval. But this isn't what he sent. It couldn't be.
The pages were filled with nothing but eyes. Crudely drawn but obvious, with white liquid flowing from the iris and the only text being "knife, kill".
Jeremy looked at the pages in horror but couldn't form a sentence. He had edited the book. He had seen it, he had done the work, and this wasn't his.
"I know you're going through…something", James said, "but this is going to set us back at least a month. Jesus, what were you thinking? I hate to do this, Jeremy, but I think it's best if we part ways".
There it was. Jeremy was getting fired. His gut churned and he felt sweaty all of a sudden. He continued to stare at the papers in his hands. He was focused on the eyes. His nightmare had invaded his real world. He put the papers on the desk and walked out of the building. He never said a word.
As he walked in his apartment door his thoughts weren't of his lost income. It was on revenge. A hatred coiled in his gut and wanted to be sprung. Soon enough, he thought. He was determined to stay awake all night, and tomorrow, and even the next if that's what it took.
He strode upstairs to his bedroom. The curtains were there waiting for their nightly ritual.
Close, double close, overlap twice, double check
He sat cross legged on the floor, waiting for his coffee to finish, staring at the curtains.
6
At 2:32 a.m. the curtains shifted. It was subtle at first but soon spread like open arms. His legs were useless. He had been in that cross legged position for hours, his eyes never leaving the window.
The eye looked on him. He looked back. The knife behind his back hidden from view. As always, the eye was larger but it appeared to be closer as well. Impossible, he knew, but it was. Oh yes, it was. He tried to stand on legs made of rubber.
"Do it, Jeremy. It was her. Don't you remember"? He did remember. Right before she left she'd said "keep an eye on the place". An eye that he now saw. Didn't she say it with glee? Didn't she say it with an emphasis on eye? Jeremy staggered to his feet and thought she had. What did she know? Was she messing with his mind?
He wasn't having that. Standing up, his legs exploded in pain from blood flowing through them again. He ignored the pins and needle sensation and walked down the stairs to sit down, cross legged, waiting for Claire in front of his door. Knife in hand and fully awake.
Claire was coming back soon and he would be there to meet her. That fucking bitch, he thought, she's the only one that knows. Why didn't I see it before?
Sitting on the floor, Jeremy let his mind wander to the past. Five year old Jeremy lay on his bed, his mind full of comic book super heroics and western shootouts. He was either the hero that saved the day or the gunslinger that rescued the damsel in distress. Such good times.
Until he awoke one night and noticed the eye outside. An eye that looked upon him like a piece of meat. He could see the man attached to the eye but that didn't register. If asked, young Jeremy would have said that the face was insignificant. He only noticed that eye, staring at him, seeming to look through him. Jeremy remembered pissing himself and trying to scream although the only sound that escaped his mouth was a high pitched whine.
His parents burst into his room cuddling and reassuring him but his place of safety was forever changed. If he wasn't secure in his own home, in his own bedroom, than he couldn't be safe anywhere. He got over that event but never got over the fear.
The only person he ever told about that was Claire. She understood and encouraged him to get therapy. Jeremy went, not wanting to disappoint her. And for two years it had worked seemingly. He slept soundly, no dreams or nightmares. But it was back now.
A screeching of tires in his driveway snapped him to the present. She's here. The traitor. He had been scratching the wood floor without realising it. When he raised the knife there was an eye carved on the surface. Of course. A cruel reminder of secrets among lovers. Jeremy sneered and stood up, poised and ready.
James Patterson really liked Jeremy and didn't want to fire him. But when you submit an edit that is so obviously fucked, what can you do?
Now that his anger had subsided, he realised that he actually needed Jeremy. He sighed and made the decision to drive out and speak to Jeremy himself.
James knocked on the door and was surprised that it was unlocked and swung in when he rapped his knuckles against it.
Jeremy sprung.
7
The cuts were precise and the blade found its way through flesh and muscle.
8
Jeremy opened his curtains to the night. All of them. An eye at every one. Peering, judging, leaking that white viscous liquid. He knew now what had to be done. Ending this nightmare was easy in fact.
He slowly and painfully made his way upstairs. Upon entering the bathroom, he looked in the mirror. A hopeless man stared back. Sunken eyes, bloody face. You can't have me. You'll never win.
He lifted the knife to his left eye. The blade slunk it's way underneath the eyelid making a sound like someone squishing a caterpillar. Blood and a white gummy liquid oozed from the wound but he continued twisting and turning the blade. The pain was almost unbearable but when his left eye finally popped out from its socket he turned the knife to his right eye. Blinded and bleeding, Jeremy collapsed.
9
Claire had cleaned up the blood and the gore of Jeremy's demise. She never understood what happened. The police had told her it was a murder/suicide. They tried to convince her that Jeremy had killed his boss and then mutilated himself before dying from shock and blood loss. She could never bring herself to believe that though.
She didn't want to stay in their apartment so she packed what she could and drove to her mom and dad's.
As she lay in the bedroom of her parent's spare room, her mind went over it again and again. Restless, she shifted towards the window and thought she saw an eye piercing through the crack.
THE END
© David Royce
Until he opened his eyes one night.
Their apartment was spacious and the bedroom equally so. A large floor to ceiling window dominated the wall on the right hand side. During the day it provided a magnificent view of Bay Harbor. The sun reflecting off the water cast a mesmorizing rainbow.
Jeremy opened his eyes and saw the curtain that hung from the beautiful window was parted. His groggy eyes swung to the clock by his side of the bed. 2:32 a.m.
He immediately woke up, full attention, at what he was seeing. It couldn't be. Impossible. Although the crack in the curtain was only less than three centimeters in length, to him it might have well been wide open.
Close, double close, overlap twice, double check
This was his nightly ritual. The curtains had to be closed completely. Zero breaches. His breath quickened and his first instinct was to put the blankets over his head so the thing didn't see him. He stared at the crack in the curtain, the comforter providing no shelter from what stared back.
An eye. Brown with a cloudy white substance dripping from its iris. Their pupils caught sight of each other and Jeremy started sweating. The eye didn't move nor did it blink. It just…looked. He looked back but tears in his eyes gave away his fear. As if in recognition, the eye slowly dropped an extraordinarily slow eyelid. And then it opened again and just gazed as Jeremy gazed back. Fear won the day and he screamed.
"Jeremy, honey what's wrong"?, Claire was clutching her husband, remants of the nights sleep still buzzing in her conscious. His screams were primal. And much too loud for any enquiring neighbors. She felt his body quake as her arms tried desperately to bring him back to her.
"The window…" he pointed, "It was…" what? As his eyes adjusted he only saw heavy thick curtains. No cracks or breaches. Most importantly, no eye.
A nightmare, surely.
He didn't suffer from nightmares though. No dreams, no nightmares, no insomnia. He performed his ritual (Close, double close, overlap twice, double check) and was asleep ten minutes after. Always. Until tonight. The curtains slightly apart, the eye staring in at him.
Claire wrapped her arms tightly around him, her head snuggling into the crook of his neck, "I'm here", she whispered, "I'm here for you".
2
Jeremy walked down the stairs and slunk into the stool that served as a seat in the kitchen. The fresh smell of coffee and sizzling bacon awoke his hunger.
He hadn't slept all night and he was famished. " Smells like heaven", he said, "just like my angel to cook it for me".
Claire gave him a side eye and pushed her hair out her face. "You're being way too nice for morning. Have some coffee and then give me compliments" She put a cup in front of him. The steam rising like a geyser from a volcano and the smell of caffeine hitting Jeremy in his pleasure center. She rubbed his shoulder lightly and concentrated on finishing breakfast.
"Was it bad?", she asked while flipping the bacon strips.
"It just felt so real", he said, "like it actually saw me somehow. That hasn't happened in almost two years and I…" he trailed off because the words didn't want to form in his mouth. I was scared. I was terrified. I was dying. Claire knew about the eye at the window, how it had started and why it frightened him so much. He was almost two years removed from the nightmares it brought and thought that, just maybe, they could have a life without the constant vigilance and nightly ritual. But last night had drudged it back to the forefront of their lives as claws of a monster digging through earth finding its way to its prey.
He took a drink of coffee, wincing from the burn but feeling it course through the fog of his memories. "Blow on it first, it's hot", Claire reminded him too late.
He forced a smile. "If it's any consolation, you're still my angel. But maybe we can go upstairs and get a bit devilish before I go to work". He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"What", Claire said, sweeping her arms around the kitchen, "and miss the pleasure of cleaning all this? Besides, after you eat you'll have to hurry so you're not late. It's half past eight already".
Jeremy shot out of his chair. "Shit…sorry…shoot…I need a shower. I'll take this to go. My apologies to the chef".
Claire shoo'd him away as he bound up the stairs.
3
He had slept later than he wanted. Not really slept though, no, more of a twisting turning half consciousness after he had dreamt about an eye behind their window. It was just a dream after all…right? The complete and utter terror he had felt was real enough but there had been no break of the curtain. Surely a trick of the light from his subconscious.
As he sped along the streets to his job desperately hoping he wasn't too late, all he could think about was why now? After all this time, all that therapy, all of the pills, why was he dreaming again about that? These questions ran through his head as he pulled up to the office building. He glanced at the clock on his dashboard. 9:13 a.m. Grabbing his keys from the ignition and his thermos of coffee, he half ran to the front door and then the elevators hoping his boss, James Peterson, didn't notice his tardiness.
The elevator opened its doors on the fifth floor and Jeremy almost ran into his boss on the way out. James stared at his watch and slowly raised his head to look at Jeremy.
"Fifteen minutes late", James said, "Get yourself set up and come see me in my office". He turned his back and walked away. Jeremy scrunched up his face in anger. I've only been late once before. What an asshole he thought as he made his way to the cubicle that he called home for eight to twelve hours a day. He was an editor for a publishing group and he was good at his job. It was drudgery for the most part but that's why he liked it. He rarely cared about the books he was responsible for. The seemingly endless hours he put in were more due to the fact that he could shut off any other thoughts and concentrate on the work at hand more than the actual books themselves. He could focus on the words and make changes, suggestions, and fix grammatical errors better than most. But he was late and now had Mr. Patterson to deal with.
He set his coffee on his desk and slumped in his chair. Opening the computer, he checked his work. Two romances and a science fiction novel were awaiting his attention. Better not to keep his boss waiting though. His ass was already hurting from the chewing it was about to receive so he reluctantly stood up and made his way to the big office in the corner.
He smiled and exchanged pleasantries with a few coworkers on the way but his heart wasn't in any of it. Arriving at the office that took up a good third of the space, he tentatively knocked and swung the door open.
James sat behind his desk which, as always, was covered in books and documents. Final approvals awaited before a book could be considered finished. His boss barely glanced up but said "have a seat" and gestured to the chair opposite his desk. Jeremy sat and tried his best to act stoic. He hated letting people down and tried to think of a good excuse about his late arrival. He'd have to wing it.
"I'm sorry for being late, sir, but…"
James waved his hand as if he were swatting away a fly. "You're not in trouble, Jeremy", he said, "Your work is outstanding, our clients love you, and I received a personal letter from David Howser about your last suggestion for his new horror book."
Jeremy tried to think. David Howser. Horror book. He vaguely recalled it but couldn't think of what particular value his suggestions had made. It was about a monster of some kind, all the rage these days, although nothing specific came to mind.
"Thank you, sir", he said. Memory be damned, a personal recommendation was rare and he would take it.
James sat down and steepled his fingers under his chin. He stared at Jeremy for what seemed like hours but was actually only a few seconds. Brown eyes, Jeremy thought, White pus oozing from them. Coming for me.
Finally James spoke, "We have a new position here. The proper candidate will oversee a team of junior editors. Checking their work, double checking, making their own edits, yada yada", he said. He stared at Jeremy, his fingers unmoving until he said, "We want you for that position".
Jeremy sat wide eyed the entire time. He was getting promoted? Ten minutes ago he was sure he'd be fired. But now, this.
"Thank you, sir.", his voice almost whispered.
"There are certain responsibilities that come with this", James said, "A high attention to detail, a keen grasp on grammar, and an impeccable eye for talent".
An impeccable eye. Like the eye that looked at him last night. It wasn't just curious, it was judging. Seeing if he was worthy. For what he didn't know but he knew that was the purpose.
"I will not let you down, Mr. Patterson".
Jeremy walked back to his cubicle like a man who had just won a lottery. He would have to get as much work done as possible and the promotion could take up to a month to be approved but he was sure he could handle it.
Sitting down at his desk, he opened his files once again. What the hell? The book files were all there in the proper place. But each cover had been replaced. In their place, on all three, was an eye. Terrible and brown with a white viscous liquid flowing from the iris. His hairs stood on end and goosebumps ran across his skin.
Someone's fucking with me. He didn't know how, who, or why but that was the only possible explanation. Did someone in the office know about his past? Did they know about his promotion and decide to get into his head? He stood from his chair and looked around the office. Nobody seemed to pay any attention. The other workers apparently were just going about their normal routine, paying him no mind at all.
He sat down again. The book covers were back to normal. No eyes, of course not, because this was just a result of one sleepless night and the pressure of the job.
Jeremy began his work.
4
He arrived home and walked up the porch stairs with the announcement of his promotion on his lips. Claire could finally finish getting her degree and they could move to Eastbrook with its security and their private shops. Life was about to change for the better and he couldn't wait to tell her about it.
His enthusiasm was quickly stamped down when he opened his front door. Claire's suitcase was sitting on the floor next to the couch like an omen. She was leaving him and his nightmare behind. But I've only had one in two years. That was enough, obviously.
One fucked up nightmare about an eye in your window. Why wouldn't she leave? That's the fast train to crazy town.
She bounded down the stairs with an overnight bag at her side. When she saw Jeremy though, she smiled and ran up to him, planting a kiss on his cheek.
"How was your day?", She asked.
He stood frozen for a minute, unsure how to proceed.
"Good…great actually. You leaving me already"?, He blurted out without much thought. A suitcase, an extra bag, and it was clear what that meant.
Claire briefly looked confused and then she started laughing. He always loved that laugh.
"I'm off to my mother's house, silly. Remember? I told you weeks ago."
Jeremy blinked a few times and finally a look of recognition dawned on him. Of course. He vaguely recalled it now. Her mother, his monster-in-law.
Three years previously, Claire convinced him to go to Norma's birthday party all the way in Centralia. He reluctantly went but wanted to impress her with something special.
Norma was a huge fan of legal thriller books and Jeremy went out of his way (and over his budget) to purchase the complete hardcover editions of every single John Grisham novel he could find. The perfect gift he had thought.
Upon receiving his gift, Norma had, at first, seemed to be in awe. She actually rubbed the spines and appeared to be on the verge of tears. But then she had looked at Jeremy and said, "That's a thoughtful gift" before setting them immediately beside her and going on to the next.
That was the only acknowledgment she had given him and the rest of the party consisted of him sitting in a corner nursing whatever alcoholic beverage he could grab.
He hadn't been back since.
"Okay, I remember now", he said, "Sorry, I've had a lot on my mind and…"
Claire grabbed both of his cheeks in her hands, "It's okay. So what's the great news?"
"I've been promoted. A good pay raise but more responsibility. Can you handle it if it means more Waffle House and less frozen lumps that look like waffles?", He asked.
She squeezed his cheeks harder and planted a kiss on his lips. "That's all this woman has ever wanted ". They both laughed and the tension of the day melted away.
A car horn sounded outside bringing them back to the present. "That's My rental,'' Claire said. She pushed her bag up on her shoulder and turned to grab her suitcase. "Lots of food in the freezer. And beer and wine in the basement. Don't drink yourself into a stupor", she said. She turned and Jeremy grabbed her in a hug.
"Be safe and call me when you can", he told her, "I love you".
She kissed him again. "I love you. Just be sure to keep an eye on the place while I'm away". She walked out of the door and exchanged words with the man delivering the rental car. And then she was gone.
5
After Claire left Jeremy just felt tired. He wanted to sleep but his rumbling stomach told him it would be a little longer. He rummaged around in the refrigerator until he found some deli meat and made a sandwich. Good enough for now.
Walking upstairs, he had some apprehension.
Walking into their bedroom, that apprehension turned to worry.
Stepping to the window became almost full blown fear.
It was dark outside but the faintest trace of sun was still present on the faraway horizon. Close, double close, overlap twice, double check
He positioned the curtains just so. No breaches. No cracks. No eye.
After a shower and a change of clothes (boxers and a Go Hawks t-shirt), Jeremy climbed into bed. He had to be in early the next day just so his tardiness from today could be forgotten as he transitioned into a full blown leader. Thoughts of that leadership followed him into sleep.
He never dreamed and never had nightmares. You did though, didn't you? Last night. You woke up screaming and sweating and talking nonsense. He snapped his eyes open. He was facing the wall opposite the window and felt relief for that. But why had he woken up in the first place? Not a dream or a nightmare. Really? He stirred from under his blankets and slowly turned his head to face the window.
The curtains were parted again, perhaps a foot or more, and the eye was larger. The white drips raining down on the glass, causing it to crack. What would those drops of slimy mucous do to him? He jumped up but didn't scream. The eye glared at him unblinking.
This felt so real, not like a dream at all. He could feel the carpet beneath his feet and there wasn't any of that fuzziness that let you know you were dreaming. But if this wasn't a nightmare then not only was the eye real but he would go insane.
Was that terrible gleaming eye actually closer to him tonight? It appeared not only larger but closer somehow. That was impossible. If it was still behind the window it couldn't be closer. Yet it was. An optical illusion. A misfiring of some brain cells.
Jeremy stood. This was no illusion or trick. He felt reality slipping away and the ground underneath him transitioned into a wavy unstable surface. The last thing he remembered were his legs giving out.
He awoke to the sound of his alarm going off. That told him it was morning and that he had better get up to face the day. His back and neck were as stiff as logs and he felt every crack and pop his body produced as he slowly, and carefully, got to his feet from the floor.
He painfully walked to the nightstand and picked up his phone. 8:03 a.m. He gathered himself together as much as a man could under the circumstances and headed to the bathroom. A quick shower, an even quicker breakfast, and he could still make it to his job in time.
After a quick shower and a breakfast of one piece of toast, Jeremy was in his car and headed to the office. God, he was tired. And sore. There wasn't time to make a cup of coffee much less stopping off for one but he needed something to wake him up. He would order a large latte online and have it delivered to his job. He needed to be fully alert.
He rolled into the complex, took out his phone, and ordered from a nearby cafe that offered delivery. He ran to the building, took the elevator to his floor, and glanced at the clock on the wall when he entered. 8:57 a.m.
He was actually looking forward to the day ahead. He could escape the nightmares and focus on his job. There were three books that required his attention and he was determined to finish his edits before his official promotion.
Mr. Peterson spotted Jeremy and gave a slight nod. Then he pointed two fingers at his eyes and turned them back toward Jeremy. I'm watching you it, said.
Jeremy simply nodded and headed to his work station. Setting his satchel down, he sat in his chair and fired up the computer. Instead of the usual whirring he was met with a humming noise. A low but steady sound that seemed to creep into his body. He could feel it in his bones and into his brain. It was rythmic and pulsing, not a sound a computer makes.
The pressure rose as it became less a hum and more a song, almost a chant.
I see you.
You see me.
Take a knife
And kill with glee
Yes, that made sense. It made all the sense in the world. A knife and patience was all he needed. Jeremy contemplated this when the sound of the elevator dinging brought him back.
"Extra large latte for Jeremy", the delivery man yelled. Jeremy shook the cobwebs from his mind and walked to the delivery driver.
"That's for me", he said.
The delivery driver handed him the cup and said, "That was six dollars…without the tip". Jeremy had already paid online with his credit card but forgotten about the tip. He had no cash on him but reached for his wallet anyway.
Instead of a wallet he found himself with a rather large butchers knife in his hand. Where did that come from? He felt the wood handle in his fist and plunged it into the delivery man. Again and again and again he made a trail of blood that sprung from the man like a bursting dam. And he smiled the entire time.
The ding of the elevator sounded sending him back to the present and Jeremy was still at his desk. His files were open and he noticed he had already made some substantial changes to the romance book, Heaven Sent.
"Large latte for Jeremy", the delivery man yelled.
This time Jeremy got up and accepted his beverage, giving the driver a five dollar tip. "Thank you, sir", the man said as he pocketed the fiver and turned back to the elevator.
The other employees looked on, eyeing him with a sense of confusion and envy. He didn't care though. He had work to do and felt that it was his right to have a cup of coffee without judgement.
He walked back to his desk, sat down, and went to work.
He was almost finished with his first edit when five o'clock rolled around. His neck was strained from looking at his screen all day and, despite the large latte, he was still tired. So, so tired. All he wanted was to go home, take a proper shower, and put his head on his pillow.
Fate was not so kind however.
6
He packed up his things and headed to the elevator. His neck still aching and his mind elsewhere, he heard the voice of James Peterson.
"In my office, Jeremy".
He turned around to see his boss beckoning him with his hand. Jeremy trudged to the big office and dropped his bag on the floor. He entered James Peterson's office and took a seat. James was looking at a printout with a look of confusion and contempt on his face. Finally he turned to Jeremy.
"Just what the fuck is this"?, He practically threw the papers across to Jeremy.
Jeremy picked them up, squared them off, and instantly froze. His indignation and outrage forgotten, he stared at the pages. It can't be. It's impossible. Yet, here it was.
He had sent the changes to the romance novel to his boss for final approval. But this isn't what he sent. It couldn't be.
The pages were filled with nothing but eyes. Crudely drawn but obvious, with white liquid flowing from the iris and the only text being "knife, kill".
Jeremy looked at the pages in horror but couldn't form a sentence. He had edited the book. He had seen it, he had done the work, and this wasn't his.
"I know you're going through…something", James said, "but this is going to set us back at least a month. Jesus, what were you thinking? I hate to do this, Jeremy, but I think it's best if we part ways".
There it was. Jeremy was getting fired. His gut churned and he felt sweaty all of a sudden. He continued to stare at the papers in his hands. He was focused on the eyes. His nightmare had invaded his real world. He put the papers on the desk and walked out of the building. He never said a word.
As he walked in his apartment door his thoughts weren't of his lost income. It was on revenge. A hatred coiled in his gut and wanted to be sprung. Soon enough, he thought. He was determined to stay awake all night, and tomorrow, and even the next if that's what it took.
He strode upstairs to his bedroom. The curtains were there waiting for their nightly ritual.
Close, double close, overlap twice, double check
He sat cross legged on the floor, waiting for his coffee to finish, staring at the curtains.
6
At 2:32 a.m. the curtains shifted. It was subtle at first but soon spread like open arms. His legs were useless. He had been in that cross legged position for hours, his eyes never leaving the window.
The eye looked on him. He looked back. The knife behind his back hidden from view. As always, the eye was larger but it appeared to be closer as well. Impossible, he knew, but it was. Oh yes, it was. He tried to stand on legs made of rubber.
"Do it, Jeremy. It was her. Don't you remember"? He did remember. Right before she left she'd said "keep an eye on the place". An eye that he now saw. Didn't she say it with glee? Didn't she say it with an emphasis on eye? Jeremy staggered to his feet and thought she had. What did she know? Was she messing with his mind?
He wasn't having that. Standing up, his legs exploded in pain from blood flowing through them again. He ignored the pins and needle sensation and walked down the stairs to sit down, cross legged, waiting for Claire in front of his door. Knife in hand and fully awake.
Claire was coming back soon and he would be there to meet her. That fucking bitch, he thought, she's the only one that knows. Why didn't I see it before?
Sitting on the floor, Jeremy let his mind wander to the past. Five year old Jeremy lay on his bed, his mind full of comic book super heroics and western shootouts. He was either the hero that saved the day or the gunslinger that rescued the damsel in distress. Such good times.
Until he awoke one night and noticed the eye outside. An eye that looked upon him like a piece of meat. He could see the man attached to the eye but that didn't register. If asked, young Jeremy would have said that the face was insignificant. He only noticed that eye, staring at him, seeming to look through him. Jeremy remembered pissing himself and trying to scream although the only sound that escaped his mouth was a high pitched whine.
His parents burst into his room cuddling and reassuring him but his place of safety was forever changed. If he wasn't secure in his own home, in his own bedroom, than he couldn't be safe anywhere. He got over that event but never got over the fear.
The only person he ever told about that was Claire. She understood and encouraged him to get therapy. Jeremy went, not wanting to disappoint her. And for two years it had worked seemingly. He slept soundly, no dreams or nightmares. But it was back now.
A screeching of tires in his driveway snapped him to the present. She's here. The traitor. He had been scratching the wood floor without realising it. When he raised the knife there was an eye carved on the surface. Of course. A cruel reminder of secrets among lovers. Jeremy sneered and stood up, poised and ready.
James Patterson really liked Jeremy and didn't want to fire him. But when you submit an edit that is so obviously fucked, what can you do?
Now that his anger had subsided, he realised that he actually needed Jeremy. He sighed and made the decision to drive out and speak to Jeremy himself.
James knocked on the door and was surprised that it was unlocked and swung in when he rapped his knuckles against it.
Jeremy sprung.
7
The cuts were precise and the blade found its way through flesh and muscle.
8
Jeremy opened his curtains to the night. All of them. An eye at every one. Peering, judging, leaking that white viscous liquid. He knew now what had to be done. Ending this nightmare was easy in fact.
He slowly and painfully made his way upstairs. Upon entering the bathroom, he looked in the mirror. A hopeless man stared back. Sunken eyes, bloody face. You can't have me. You'll never win.
He lifted the knife to his left eye. The blade slunk it's way underneath the eyelid making a sound like someone squishing a caterpillar. Blood and a white gummy liquid oozed from the wound but he continued twisting and turning the blade. The pain was almost unbearable but when his left eye finally popped out from its socket he turned the knife to his right eye. Blinded and bleeding, Jeremy collapsed.
9
Claire had cleaned up the blood and the gore of Jeremy's demise. She never understood what happened. The police had told her it was a murder/suicide. They tried to convince her that Jeremy had killed his boss and then mutilated himself before dying from shock and blood loss. She could never bring herself to believe that though.
She didn't want to stay in their apartment so she packed what she could and drove to her mom and dad's.
As she lay in the bedroom of her parent's spare room, her mind went over it again and again. Restless, she shifted towards the window and thought she saw an eye piercing through the crack.
THE END
© David Royce
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