A Short Story - The Body of a Man

The Body of a Man A Gothic Short Story by Neil Michelsen

1963-1964

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f Preface This story was written in 13 sessions from October 1963 to June 1964 mostly in the late night or post midnight hours and just before I went into the Navy. In 2001, my daughter Leandra transcribed the handwritten original into this typed personal computer version.

The original story has been only cursorily edited by me as I decided to leave it substantially as originally written, so I apologize for any deficiencies.

The approximate location of the story was around the park on Kings Highway and Avenue H in Brooklyn, and across the street where there was a car dealership called “Ace Ford�.

The type of story, gothic, might closely resemble that of Edgar Allen Poe.

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The Body of a Man 1962-1963 Dusk had slowly transformed itself into the darkness of night. On this late November night there were no stars or moon and the gray dome of overcast, that had been present during the whole of the day, still remained. I had been sitting reading a not-so-interesting novel when the darkness approached. I did not turn on the lamp that was overhead, but rather welcomed with great relief, the wane of day and used it as the deciding factor for discontinuing my forced effort to read. When the light was sufficiently lacking, I closed the book softly and placed it in the bookcase above my desk from where it had come and returned to my cushioned chair. I grasped the armrests fully, as I sat, and inhaled, as if quaffing some delightful scent, and laid back firmly and comfortably against its back with my head, face upwards, resting atop the backcushion. I watched the feeble light within the room gradually become less and less as if it were seeping out through small openings until finally there was none at all.

I enjoyed being in the dark, alone with my thoughts and reflections especially recently, for lately these occasions had become less frequent. Without the distractions that fall upon the eye and ear during the day, one can think with a clarity otherwise impossible. I felt free and calm that night within my silent chamber and my mind was drifting smoothly into many areas of thought. There was no abrupt or racings from one rumination to another, but only unnoticed, effortless transitions whose ranges were without limits.

No one thought would dominate for any great length of time. Each idea would soon evolve into the next and that into another. My eyes had become accustomed to the dark and I could perceive the outlines of the furniture and the other things that were in the room. The lighter colors were naturally more readily apparent and served as guide-markers and subjects for my casual perception as my eyes glanced about with no purpose in particular other than for want of use. I could hear the steady ticking of a small clock on the dresser that was against the far wall. Its light metallic rhythm was much louder in the lightless-quiet and its clicking sound was sent in every direction.

The window drapes, drawn across the window, had been that way since the early part of the afternoon and in viewing them, I became curious as to what engaging sights lay beyond them. I moved my chair up to the windowsill and drew open the drapes. The streetlight was the first thing to catch my eye with its glow. It was misting and the damp, moving vapor sparkled as they engulfed the light. My room was the front corner room on the third floor of a four-story tenement building and commanded a full view of the corner intersection of a Brooklyn street. From there, at that location of height, the streets and sidewalks appeared very straight and angular, stretching on through the columns of small buildings. The structure of the city was so much more obvious from this prospective. The intersection looked as if it were merely a point in a network of black, asphalt streets. I peered down objectively, as if I were completely removed from all that went on below and as if nothing there concerned me. I watched with a critical eye observing all that 1

took place. I knew that if I were down there on the street, my whole view of things would be completely different and that I would become involved with what I now, with this expansive and removed view, considered trivial. I felt a sort of strange superiority.

The car tires would buzz as they sped along the wet ground. The sound was loud as they approached and then rapidly diminish as the red taillights fled through the intersection and down the street. I could see the oncoming cars approach with their headlights illuminating the beads of mist that crossed their passing beams. When the traffic light turned red and then green, its colors reflected on the shining black asphalt in a shimmering fashion. The headlights reflected against the street in the same way but with much more speed.

The reflections were like splashes of white and yellow light that would change their shapes and form in innumerable patterns as they spilled randomly onto the wet rippled avenue.

The few trees below were bare and looked as if they were actually shivering with cold as each small gust of wind moved their branches. They were darker than usually because of the dampness and appeared to be saturated from the light, but continuous, drizzle. The moisture had collected in small bulbs of crystal clear water that ran along the bottom of each tapered, tentacle-like branch, making them look like a string of transparent pearls. As the weight of each grew to overweight, it would fall fast and straight down to the concrete. Each one fell heavily with a definite and distinctive spot as it met the street.

The lights from the surrounding tenement buildings were like square dim lamps against the bleak weather outside. Even the lights from within the small obscure stores that were situated at various spots along the streets, looked feeble against the drizzling night. Shadows were all over these dismal looking quarters of mine. The moisture made everything – the brick and stone buildings, the cracked concrete sidewalks, the small sections of low weeds that one always finds between the curb and the sidewalk, the passing cars, busses, and people, the multi-colors that shone from neon signs-all seemed dull and monotonous. The colors seemed to blend into a uniform, drab texture on the order of gray. One color held no distinction over another and if it did it was not so much as to cause enough of a distinction to render it exceptionally conspicuous. The rain and the construction of the city and its very atmosphere, absorbed all marked differences into a common texture. Even what objectively, in its first impression was brilliant and outstanding, was soon transformed and dominated by the very nature of the city itself and the surrounding shower of moisture. Upon studying its objective brilliance, one could gradually sense the transition as it became more and more muted until it no longer possessed much of its original qualities.

While I looked out of my rain-spattered windowpane, I began to gain more and more insight into the essence of the drenched city. This was the beauty of the city I thought. I saw the struggle and I saw the conquest. Yes, the city had its own kind of beauty. Each building and dark doorway, and each sudden noise and quiet flickering light, and each long, narrow, quiet, dark side street and alley angling its way between the hard massive walls of two apartment buildings had the kind of beauty which can only be arrived at through understanding and abstraction. The city is a refuge and a harbor only to a man who arrives at this realization. One must feel that the city has taken him in because he understands the city, its walls and streets and hollow windows that see and which, in turn, look on with understanding upon he who walks its empty, inset channels. I viewed the city with contemplation, not just with a scrutinizing eye. I respected it from my vantage point as I stared down upon it.

2

This was not the first time I had fallen into the sullen, meditative mood, for it had occurred many times before and I did not regret it. I saw that I was alone, in my room and in the city, but I knew also, the city was as empty as I and that I could understand and consider myself to have not a deficiency but rather an abundance and a richness in being alone. There is a beauty in being alone-a feeling of self.

The time had come for me to descend into the city’s chilly concrete bosom. Near upon ten o'clock, the night was well set in its mood of damp mustiness, and the mist had abated to a sort of saturated fog that hovered with curious excitement like a pungent threat. That heavy haze was hanging, exhausted and weak from spending itself upon the city's face for so long, as if waiting to gather its strength and douse its stoic structure once again. The traffic, by foot and wheel, had also diminished and at this hour had almost ceased, except for the meager passage of cars and the infrequent sound of a heavy heel.

I closed the drapes fully and shut out all the incoming light, plunging my room into total darkness. I refused to shock my eyes with the concentrated artificial light of my lamp and waited for some few quiet and determined minutes for my eyes to accustom themselves to the dark. As I was in the first of these minutes, my eyes were uncontrollably wide in their perception. Quiet and gradually they adjusted, and the uncomfortable and bulging strain had reduced to a natural and restful state barely upon the pale verge of expected vision. The pupils were at ease and their large apertures mouthed the vision, which spoke to the silence of the dark in a common language. The sight, deficient because of the dark, and the sound, deficient because of the silence, converged and fused into a unity of singular experience. But with the end of those minutes close at hand, the orbs were at full acclimation and began to discern the distracting outlines of an ordered room and the union was broken. My eyes could see the faded lines of furniture and my ears could hear the faint intruding sounds, but neither could do more.

I rose from my chair and slid it back away from the draped window to its original position in the corner. As I walked across the parquet floor the hard dry inlaid planks of oak squeaked with almost every shift of weight and position, as if to warn some natural conspiracy of my menacing presence and to clarion my every move. Those creaks sung out like blasts of odious voices protesting my trespass, drastically shattering the thin peace that had preceded. I proceeded however, among those disturbed resonances, to grope my way to a small closet where my overcoat hung with other various articles of garment. Turning the cold metal door-knob caused the squeaking sound of its unoiled spring whetting my alertness to that intangible intrigue that was all about me. The metal hangers echoed their voices as I slid them along their supporting metal pipe until I found and removed the proper garment. Its weight and simple cut lay firmly on my shoulders and I delighted in the security of its hefty, woolen bulk.

I enjoyed one last scan of that dim and favorite lodging, and without further ritual opened the door in a manner suggestive of slight wariness or fear of what might invade my virgin and cherished recess. There came only the yellow light from a dusty hall lamp, which hung on a chain of large links from the high ceiling above. With the turning of the key and the tumblers of the lock falling into their allotted positions, I grasped the black, wooden banister and began my descent to the first level, to the inner door, to the outer door, to the concrete stoop, to the sidewalk and to the cold, damp chill of the night.

3

I had no particular place in mind to go and stood on the wet sidewalk in front of the building glancing slowly in all directions hoping to discover something, which would affect a decision for the direction of my saunter. I could find nothing that agreed with my disposition. I turned to my left and began to walk with slow and deliberate steps.

The air was cold and damp and even though there was little wind its chill entered every joint and crevice of my body. The suspended vapor found its way to the very marrow of my bones and settled there with frightening security. It came in- into the very core of me- and reoccupied every section of my soul.

Possession is the word, possession. I was not alone. I was possessed by some mysterious agent whose designs I could not suspect to understand. My eyes darted back and forth to the limits of their sockets as that possession became greater and my suspicions transformed themselves into fear.

The streets were bare, as if by some secret plan, for I could see no one within my range of vision.

My disposition became more discouraging as I continued on. I was alone to contend with whatever forces were upon me. No one knew of my location or even that I had left my room. I could not rely on the possibility of another’s aid or support against those forces. If only I could encounter some stranger along the way I could then at least observe whether he was engaged in a similar suspicious conspiracy. One half-hour passed since I began my solemn tour without meeting a single person. My mood had sunken into despair and depression as the weight of this eerie feeling increased with every moment. I feared that the concrete sidewalk beneath me might begin to fade into some unknown and impossible substance and that I would be no longer be walking on its solidity, but rather be gliding on a sort of grayish mist. And with the sidewalk’s disappearance, the whole city would immediately blend into that gray fog and I would be taken. I did not suspect to where, or for that matter, from where, but only that I might be taken.

I knew that my mind was working and that the foggy shroud endowed those city streets with a bizarre climate, which was preying upon my imagination. I knew that this was merely fantasy which I vaguely and curiously hoped to encounter because of its strange uniqueness but on the other hand I drastically feared the possibility of its occurring. I wondered what chambers of my mind had been cast open by the misty atmosphere and how each one of its contents must have mingled in a random fashion to mold such a weird speculation of what abysmal origin this hideous hybrid of thought was.

Nevertheless, the city teemed with living impressions, each one striving for expression in communicating with me. Each tread I took, each move I made, seemed to touch upon some invisible, but almost tangible entity. So sensitive were these living entities surrounding me that the air seemed to conform more to the nature of a liquid than to anything else. It seemed as though I were submerged in the depths of some fluid domain. It seemed that with my movements, I stirred a current that would cause some almost jelly like substance to smoothly and lightly come in contact with my body and my soul. I felt as though I were walking on the ocean floor of some spiritual dungeon. Words could never explain the experience that was taking place.

I thought to myself how strange that my brain should fabricate such impressions and to the ultimate extent, forming an acquaintance. I feigned an understanding between the two worlds, one being the sole a product of a volitional machination. I often piqued my mind with such inventions, letting my imagination 4

swell them to stimulating and tense proportions. My imaginative mind was never at rest, and on the contrary, it was forever feeding me with one of the strange components of my existence. Shakespeare once said, "The wish is often the father of the thought," and his statement can be applied to the mental figments that haunted and honored the realm of my higher capacity.

I thought the city very sensitive tonight. Sensitive to my every tread, as if my feet were walking on an open sore which reacted to the pain of each step. And with this, and the surrounding temper of the sensitive gloom, my travel took me to the vision of a small playground where, on days of opposite texture, it would find itself with the screaming antics of children. I remembered seeing this scene engaged in a sunnier atmosphere, with a flock of mothers with carriages who would sit on the benches and watch their children.

Some would take active parts to help their young ones enjoy themselves. But all was different now - now with the sun and light gone and the foggy night dampness hovering. There was no cheer and laughter, for the tiny plot was empty and bare of life.

Approaching the site I noticed through the high chain-link fence, that the place was not empty, for sitting upon a length of bench was what seemed, at my distance, to be the contour of a man. Its form was solid and did not move to give any added indication of what it was, so I continued my approach. Yes, it was the figure of a man. His back was to me and I could see no face. His shoulders were hunched and formed an arch, which came up to cover most of his neck. Not one move could I perceive him to make. Rather he just sat there in a heavy black coat in total silence as best could be judged from my distance. The fog at times, which would roll about the base of his form, never roused a motion in his swarthy shape.

I thought about what I should do concerning my discovery. Surely this occasioned the trappings of intrigue, and my curiosity was stirred to no small degree. I feared how my approach might affect this mysterious being. What if I were to disturb some occult and private matter, which had brought him to this dreary spot? I knew nothing of this man’s face, which would aid my decision. I could not even conjecture the various possibilities that my intrusion might entail if he claimed it as an intrusion. The circumstances were frightening to me.

Much more cautiously and quietly I advanced now that these conflicts attended my thought and now that these taints of fear appareled my whole being. Closer I came and saw more definition to this seated man.

His limbs were tightly drawn in close to his body as if in an effort to mitigate the penetrating chill. I set aside my fear, but by no means dispersed it, and reduced my query to the decision to encounter this lonely figure. What strain would bring a man to sit alone and risk his health or life, which might come from the weather or from evil men who prowl the city streets in search of easy prey? What burden did this single man accrue that would have him here without another's presence? What odd motive has called upon this one's soul and why has it accepted the beck and call that puts this silent person in such a somber condition? Such cursory ponderings could never satisfy my mounting inquiries and so I set my mind to enter the piped portals of his place.

As I entered the park, I was no more than 10 feet from where he sat. My steps were slow and deliberative so as not to excite or startle him with my approach. Each step made only a slight sound but because of the close range and the somber seclusion of this place it registered sufficient noise for his ears to 5

most certainly recognize. I continued ever more slowly but still he took no notice. I felt sure that he had heard me, for now our distance was close to arms length. I was almost upon the man. I could reach out my hand, if I dared to, and touch his right shoulder. My heart was pounding within my chest with such force that its dull repetitive thumping could be discerned by any normal ear. My breathing was deeper and faster.

"Why does he not acknowledge my presence? He must know that I am behind him," I thought. If he could not hear or sense my presence I must come around and face this stoic creature.

I stretched my neck and cautiously made my way past his side in an attempt to meet his countenance with my eyes before I made a full confrontation of this person. I was almost fully in front of him when my eyes meet his burning pair! They were fixed upon me! They didn't move; but from their swarthy sockets, they locked me in my place so I could not move. I was suffused with fear and my heart, I thought, would burst from the strain. His eyes had been waiting for mine. He knew I was there behind him but he waited until my eyes engaged his. I was petrified and knew not what to expect from this foreboding stare.

Soon he raised his chin from his chest (his eyes never releasing mine) and spoke in a calm and fluent manner, "Good evening, sir."

I slowly nodded for I could not find a word to give in reply. He motioned with the gliding of his hand that I sit down. I followed his invitation and gradually began to seat myself, never once losing sight of his eyes nor his of mine.

Finally, when I was seated beside him, he turned his face from mine and looked straight ahead breaking the bond of our eyes and spoke again, "I don't know what has brought you here tonight but perhaps it is just as well that you have come. I have been here, alone, too long already."

"I am sorry," I began, regaining my loss of speech," if I have disturbed you by my intrusion, but you see your mysterious presence in this dismal park, with the weather at its worst, intrigued me to an unbearable degree. I came not knowing why or what purpose it would achieve. I apologize for my feeble reasoning is my only excuse."

"It is strange," he agreed, " that I sit here alone amidst such peculiar circumstances and I cannot blame you for your bewilderment. I myself do not know the full reason for my being here. I do not know what I will do now or where I will go from here. I do not know what to do or what my future holds, if I indeed have a future at all."

As he spoke these words, his voice died in tone and there was a trace of trembling and sadness.

When he had finished these same words, he sunk his head in his chest, once again resuming the same stature in which I had originally found him. I was concerned over the apparent depression of his spirits, to the extent that I thought, perhaps, it best to take leave of this place and let the man be. I noticed his complexion to be sickly and rather pale. Observing this, I thought him to be ill of health and that being a possible explanation for his depression. His skin color was not that of healthy person, for it was chalky, like powder, and was so pallid that it seemed to be almost radiant or incandescent with whiteness. I could not at all be sure of its true texture for no light was close enough to yield a sufficient beam to render a certain judgment.

6

Outside the high metal borders of the park the traffic moved about with no apparent concern or notice of our positions. It seemed as though we were the nucleus of a strange form of existence and that the outside movements were mere disinterested parts surrounding that nucleus. It was as though we were the only intelligent beings aware of our existence and that all the rest were unknowing and unseeing particles in circuit about us. As they passed in every direction, ranging in degrees of sound, they took no notice of our presence. We, or I to be more exact, knew of both our presences and theirs, but those who lay beyond the periphery of our setting knew not of ours, but only of theirs. We were in a state of relative isolation. We were isolated, or insulated if you will, from all that was outside of us, even though we were in its midst. I reflected upon the idea of how a seemingly unalterable or fixed event can be molded by the relative positions and attitudes of the participants. Everything remained constant while the mere realization of my relation to the constants caused these constants to be changed relative to me. Truly, I thought, each one of us has his own separate existence relative to himself and moulds the objective constants of all that is outside of his being according to whatever means of interpretation prevails over his singular viewpoint. What was the viewpoint of this melancholy acquaintance? I could only conjecture, but whatever it might be I felt it was of a bizarre nature, for I judged this man to be, of unique disposition.

Suddenly he threw his head up and back causing his face to be raised toward the sky. His eyes were closed. As if to overcome some reluctance or indecision to speak, he took a deep breath and upon a tense and trembling exhalation he let these words escape: "Sir, if you came to hear it, I will relate to you a strange and horrifying experience."

My only response was the perking up of my whole interest to his proposition. I could not conceal my eagerness and he perceived my tacit approval. "It is so very difficult for me to tell you of this experience because I am not wholly sure of its totality, nor do I expect I ever will be.

You see, my dear sir, I am dead. Yes, I am dead. You are looking at no flesh and blood, but rather the spiritual semblance of a dead man."

I was so paralyzed by this abrupt pronouncement, that I could not offer a word nor move a muscle. I could not comprehend or evaluate the meaning of his words for I was beyond a doubt, shocked to the extent that my mind became entrapped in a welter of confused thoughts and dreads. I could not believe what he had just released and could surely not arrange my thoughts into any scientific arrangement for comprehension.

It's ramifications and possibilities were too numerous and disconnected for my analysis. Then, giving me little time to collect myself into some more stable disposition, he resumed.

"I can understand any amazement that you may display for it is a frightful prospect, as well I know it. I don't know of what my being is now, but I'm quite confident it is not incarnate. To justify my opinion, I shall assemble my recollections so that you will know what has brought about such a terrifying conclusion.

"I lived alone in a small tenement building not far from here. My quarters consisted of two large rooms, which I found sufficient for my needs. I had no wife or family or, in fact, relatives. Friends, I suffered a lack of too, for I was not of an amiable personality nor did I have any talent to offset that deficiency that might possibly generate a friend. On the contrary, I was rather suspicious and caustic to most of my acquaintances to the result that they would avoid me. Not actually wanting such strained relations I, vowed not to exert any definite efforts at improving these relations and to live my life as my fated personality had deemed it.

7

"The night before last, I left my apartment and embarked upon a short stroll to refresh myself, for that night the rooms were stuffier than usual. Little did I realize what fate lay ahead for me, and not suspecting, that that very night there would occur a most fantastic and horrifying experience. Not foreseeing any unfavorable consequences, of course, I set out.

"The air that night was crisp and invigorating and I enjoyed its quaff. The stars and moon were cast brightly against the black sky. A most beautiful sight, I thought then, not knowing that my appreciative opinion would soon degenerate to a most hateful curse. That night, which I have just described to you, was the last night of my life and the occasion of my death.

"After about an hour of random saunter", he continued, "I began to feel slightly dizzy. I thought not too much of it and continued on. The section that I found myself in was a lonely and darksome area of the city. There were factories and warehouses on either side of the street. There were large unlit areas where numerous trucks would come to be loaded or unloaded as the case may be, during the business day. At night these lots were empty save a few trucks parked sporadically about the ground, sometimes filled with inky shadows so that nothing could easily be discerned. All around these grounds, where the trucks had not invaded, were patches of dried and hollow, outstanding stalks of winter weeds that would emit their thin crisp, rustling sounds, as each gust of wind assailed them, into the sable air almost as though they were conversing.

"Slight was the effect of a distant street lamp upon the prevailing night for its vain and faint attempt did not much more than hint at what befell its dimness. Its pale glow merely made it possible for me to distinguish an unobstructed path. I relied more upon the assurance of the white moon than I did on that hopeless street lamps which moon glades gave a milky tone and vague aspect to everything. The shadows that were formed by the obstruction of both the heavenly and earthly lights were deep and seemed to be thick in their blackness like some mysterious well or pool. Each shadow contained all the fear and gothic horrors a mind could conjure up.

"Passing along a wide alley of one warehouse, I believe it was, I noticed that a swoon had again almost taken possession of me and I began to stagger from its effect. I thought it, as before, to be temporary and with this optimistic disposition, I continued walking; but proceeding on my steps became altogether insufficient for me to even remain upon my feet, much less walk, and I found it imperative to procure some artificial support. With the last of my rapidly diminishing strength, I managed to direct myself to the blank, brick, warehouse wall a short distance within the alley. Staggering and stumbling, my outstretched palms met the wall but its support was useless, for this tremendous spell was consuming every semblance of my consciousness. I could barely see a thing and my legs gave way and refused to uphold my weight. I pressed my whole body, from the waist up, against the wall but I succumbed with increased intensity to whatever ailment was the cause of my frightening condition, I felt the side of my face, my chest and my palms slowly sliding down against the cold and rough bulk surface of the wall, and my legs, at this point, were on the verge of total collapse. My body dropped its weight and I fell upon my knees at the base of the wall. As my knees met the ground, I heard the momentary crackling sounds of the breaking and crushed weeds that were under them.

8

"Then I heard that same sound but the second time it was more prolonged and closer, and louder to my ear, for I realized that I had also fallen on my side among these shallow weeds. Then further, I rolled over halfway on my back and remained in that position, and against a small heap of rubbish. Regaining my senses to some degree, I perceived that I was facing the inners of the wide, lot-like alley, but this was the total extent of my capabilities, for I could perform not one office of my body, save the movement of my eyes, nor utter one sound: I was paralyzed.

"The first thought, after the resumption of my senses, was that of disbelief, but I was reassured of my predicament by the resistance of my paralysis to all my desperate, ineffective efforts to move. It was not the paralysis of weakness, but that of complete impotency. I could not supply myself with even a strain of strength as there was nothing there. I felt as though my body were not a part of me, for I had not the least indication or ability for its use. My position, half upon my back and half upon my side, propped against that small and motley heap of rubbish, provided me with great discomfort as its lumpy nature pressed hard against my flesh. My eyes were well below the tops of the lowly weeds, and between their stalks I perceived the light of the street, which was at the other entrance to this vacant road as it was actually more like a road than an alley. My back was to the entrance where I had come and though I was but twenty feet from it, I could not see it. I could only peer through long darkness to the light of the alley’s opposite end.

"The longer I laid there, in that fixed, prone position, the more my mind was seized with terror and despair. My emotions were at their summit and I felt myself to be near the bursting point. I had no physical outlets for my emotional energies and my insides were swollen with grief and fear and clamored for relief, for which there was none. I saw the short movements of distant automobiles as they sped past my narrowed vision. They were ignorant of my situation and much more, I feigned that not a one did care, as each one, ignoringly flew past. I was forlorn and burdened by the taunting thought that those hasty cars shall continue on and on, forever, until my life had been consumed as I lay there hidden among the weeds- those rustling weeds- until I become an empty shell. Deeper and deeper my spirits sank as each passing vehicle drove past in contemptible blindness to my helpless condition. " Raising my eyes upward and to the right, I found the sky, the ebony sky, teeming with brilliant stars and a moon that dazzled, to the point of partial blindness, with its white intensity. As I lay their viewing the welter of those sky-born gems, slowly, ever so gradually, they were transformed into symbols of my hopeless and despairing status. They now, were the markings of the infinite distance between me and the release of my affliction. I could surely see them, but that was merely additional torture for I became convinced with the fear that I would never reach them, commensurate with the nearness of help for me, and yet the infinite distance that my incubus had imposed upon my attaining that much-needed aid. They were so far removed from me and looked down upon my discomposure with the mocking and the unmerciful brilliance of their beams. So cold and unmoved by pity they grew, which made me progress to the depths of my hatred of them and my submergence into an abyss of anguish and depression. As the night advanced, with bulging eyes that followed the welter’s gradual course, my sullenness accelerated and was aggravated to a most horrible degree. I could not conceive of more agony than I had endured to this point, but this estimation, to my dejection, was, in the least, an unfounded opinion, as the future would soon attest.

9

"There was a wind that often came in gusts and rustled the dry weeds so close to my ears. The wind was a damp wind and chilled me to the bone as I lay there. My body heat was slowly being drawn from me and into the ground. So damp and cold was I as this process continued until all the marrow of my bones were as if filled with an icy liquid. Strange ideas came into my mind as I remained in immovable solitude. Such bizarre cognitions were they, considering the futility of my situation, that their occurrence truly amazed me.

I found myself appreciating the perspective, which my indeliberate position afforded. I found an odd form of beauty in the surrounding night, the damp air, the cold ground, the conversing weeds and even the symbolic moon. It was as though I had entered the world of the night air and knew, as it knows, all its concomitant blackness and solitude. My appreciation grew even to a further extent with the fabrication that I was dead and departed my world and had become a part of this new world of dirt and weeds and air and thus able to share its perspective of the world. In this state of mind, life had a deeper and fuller meaning, for I now had entered another phase of it, another dimension. The world from which I had come, knew nothing of the dimension of my new world, nor could it ever, unless it were involved in the experience itself. I sort of shared a part of each world while I was unintentionally so confined. I was in part a weed or a stone or the like, for I was restricted to the similar state as theirs, but still I was part the person whom I was originally, for I was not relinquished of my consciousness or my own memory.

"Luckily, I was reminded of my cold, calculated state and thus awakened from my subjective and meditative delusion by the presence of a cold sensation upon my cheeks. That of icy rolling beads of water upon my cheeks: tears they were; for I was crying. No sobs or moans accompanied the event for I was mute.

But their sounds were surely there within the walls of my melancholy heart.

"Then, as the night drew on, there occurred the strangest and most fantastic event of this whole nightmare. Lying there, unable to move, with my hopes all dissipated, my mind burdened with nothing but morbidity, and my spirits in a deplorable state, I become vaguely aware of a sense of change within me. So faintly did it first appear that it hardly seemed worth the attention it excited. I had a strange notion of uneasiness within me, a restlessness, a stirring. Yes, like a stirring to some degree. It could be likened to an internal vibration, perhaps the vibration of my soul, as I then thought it might be, for I could scarcely imagine what the cause of this sensation could be. This interior movement began to noticeably increase in its vigor. As it did, my mind began to become cloudy like the ocean water becomes when the shifting currents stir the sand from its floor. The tremor did not abate but continued to proceeded in the frequency and force of its quivering. No longer could it be ignored, as I had tried to do but a short while ago. It demanded more and more of my attention; the attention of a fogged intellect. My cognition was growing dimmer and dimmer. I could not understand what was happening. This experience was occurring as if the agent causing the tremor was apart and not a direct part of me. I felt the existence of some entity forming itself, incorporating me, in some subtle manner, as part of me in its formation. I felt a withdrawal, a draining, so to speak, of the fluid of life from out of my veins, supplying this mysterious embryo with my very life. " My senses became numb; I could not feel the cold air, nor hear the near or distant sounds as I had before. All my external senses were transformed to a larger, more powerful internal sense. Then this inner sense was transformed to an outer sense. My body seemed now, to be nothing more than a shell, for there was nothing connecting the body with my soul; all now, seemed to be soul, or some entity, which had in it all my awareness. My body seemed as though it were completely separate from me; that is, this new entity of 10

awareness which had so subtly evolved. My suspicions had been correct: my body had become separated from my newly created self!

"I knew that I had evolved into something never before experienced by a living person. Now, I truly believed myself to be dead. I was immediately frightened at this thought. I wanted to deny it but there was nothing I could put forward to refute it. I knew I had to accept it. I thought of how different it was from what I had been told and what I had believed. I didn’t know what to expect and in this stupor of incredulousness mixed with ignorance, my future horror enthralled me."

At this point in his story I became increasingly uneasy, but he, recognizing the effect it was having on me, reassured me that the end of his tale was close and to please bear with him, for it was of equal strain on him to relate such an experience. Without a word I offered my compliance and he continued. " Soon my horror gave way to a part of listlessness and my reason, which had diminished with my fear, was well on the way to recovery. I found, after a short while in the listless state, that by the single act of willing, I could command my whereabouts. I could direct myself wherever I wished with hardly any effort.

My discovery was sensational and extremely bewildering, to say the least. Experimentation demonstrated that I could transport myself from one place to another at the command of my will. I felt nothing when traveling, nor did I have any recollection of what intervening ground was covered. Although I could easily travel, I experienced in no way the traveling itself, nor the route. " I was also without knowledge of my form and appearance. Though you can see me in some way I cannot see myself at all. I presume, by your reasonable complacency at my sight, I am not too dissimilar from other human beings such as to put me in a very different class."

I remained silent, verifying his presentation. "Well, that is the end of what I am here to tell you. I cannot think, of anything more I have to say, so I'll ask you to leave for I would prefer to be alone, as you found me."

As I began to open my mouth to extend my sympathy for his pitiful condition, he quickly raised his eyes to mine. The sudden move on his part caused me to halt my attempted speech. It was as though he anticipated or knew that I was about to say to him. I became suffused with the strange, alien-like unrest, in that he, in some manner, had actually entered my person and seized my throat so as to prevent me from my intentions. I wanted to speak but something was choking me from the inside, blocking each verbal attempt.

To have this experience, similar to someone controlling my mind, was surely felt by my nerves, and shook at the very thought of it. I knew that my mind was influenced by my vivid and timid imagination but my will was not of sufficient strength to relinquish its captivating effects.

His stare was constant and unyielding and I could not retain my eyes on his. My eyes fluttered and darted trying to avoid his penetrating gleam. But they kept coming back. And every time my eyes met his, they seemed to be a bit brighter and more fixed than ever before. They were like light beams that would not cease, but that would rather continue with increasing intensity. Their beams were commanding me to leave, as he had asked me, and I could not resist. Less and less could I return his stare. Less and less could I look 11

into his eyes, for even a short while. Slowly he overpowered me so that I had to surrender, surrender completely. There was no alternative. I shrunk from his persistent power. All my resistance was now broken.

He continued his stare as I slowly, so very cautiously, as if not to jar his concentration and cause him to exert some formidable retaliatory power, raised myself from the bench and began to move backward.

When I removed myself from the seat he released his fix on my eyes and merely looked straight ahead, never uttering a word. I stood there, to his left, and watched him for a moment, as he unemotionally looked straight forward. I began taking a few soundless steps bringing me in front of him. A few more steps and I was past him and near the portal of the high surrounding fence. While making this arc or semicircle around him, I never let my eyes off his countenance. He never moved a muscle of his milky face nor blinked his eyes, not even when I had been directly in front of him.

My hand grasped the cold, wet, metal pipe of the portal and held it as a guide to my exit as I kept my attention fast on that figure in the park. When I was five feet, in my estimate, out of the park I observed, with as much detail as I could absorb, that his head was gently being lowered to his chest. He performed this act with the deliberate grace of a most meticulous machine. Little by little it went down until it was on his chest, in the same fashion as it had been when I first came upon him.

My pace had quickened and I was now rapidly leaving the park behind me. I did not look back. I was somehow afraid that I would see him there and that seeing him would confirm the terror of my experience with him. Somehow, if I did not look back, I could convince myself that I had never met that sullen creature.

My mind was racing with arguments against the belief of ever having made such an acquaintance as his.

Faster and faster my heart began pounding. Faster and faster my mind vibrated with thoughts, words, and noises. Faster and faster my feet were traveling across the pavement until I realized that I was frantically running as fast as I could so as to somehow prevent my belief in what had just occurred from lodging itself in my brain.

I was soon out of breath and exhausted. I could no long continue at such a speed. Half wishing to remain on my feet, and half wishing to fall down in complete collapse, I dragged myself on in the same unknown direction. I was panting very heavily and my shortage of breath forced me to rest myself against the support of a telephone pole.

As I stood there, near collapse, with my full weight against a pole, I raised my head and saw the mist swirling around the street lamp directly above me without a pattern. Each silver speck of mist reflected the light. Each was like a liquid sparkle clinging close to the brilliance of the light. Looking up and staring at the hectic, gleaming beads of mist, I became vaguely aware of something else attracting my attention. I did not know what it was. Everything felt suddenly, unbearably close about me. The atmosphere pressed in on me from all sides. My mind began racing once again. I noticed that I was near a large dirt alley of some kind.

The alley was very dark, for the street lamp was altogether too weak. I could make out a brick wall to be one of the precincts of the alley but then, before my eyes could focus upon the whole general scene, my eyes became blurred as if sheets of water were running down them. I could not see anything with any form of clarity. Wider, wider I opened my eyes, then squinted them, then opened them again, but all to no avail, I could not see with any more distinctness. Everything began to move in rapid succession before my eyes, the 12

lamp, the mist, the dirt alley, and the wall. As they increased their speed across my vision they were fused and blended in an imperceptible mass of color and unstable shape. The colors changed from light to dark then back again to light. The shapes were so numerous and vague, beyond all distinction. My head was spinning and I felt very unbalanced. I was close to swooning. I knew that at any moment I might fall to the ground.

Then, through the swirling, blurred mass that filled my eyes and brain, I began to notice something with a definite shape, protruding through it all. More and more this protruding shape became more definite and commanded more and more of my attention, but still I could not distinguish what it exactly was.

Then in an instant, all the swirling had ceased and my eyes cleared up as if by some eerie intervention, and fixed themselves on that one shape. I now knew what it was. It was now distinguishable to me. It was the body of a man! The body of the man, whom I had just left. Yes, and I also recognized these surroundings, exactly as he had described them. This is where he had died! And this was his body! The one that he had left!

*****

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