The fall of Fall

Every night for the past three months the salesmen were all having the same nightmare. They had only just discovered this strange phenomenon by accident when one salesman mentioned it to another, then spoke to a third and then to a fourth and so on…for initially each one of them had assumed that their afflictions were unique. A meeting was set up in the spacious and slightly odd smelling town hall where all salesmen gathered to discuss their problem and come upon a suitable solution.
Mister Cannes was selected the general speaker for he was the one who had realized that the problem was not confined to any individual in particular.
He spoke with some authority and was considered a man of remarkable talents. A career in politics would have done him well but in his opinion his hands were too small and mouth too dry to play that game.
“Brothers…we are all here for we are all plagued by the same nightly visions that have haunted us for near three months…our businesses fail as we are unable to perform to the best of our ability due to a lack of sleep and much needed relaxation. Our work is affected and as a result, so is our life in general…it is time, I believe, that we think upon the matter and come to a conclusion or at least the beginning of one…” Mister Cannes addressed the audience and it murmured in agreement. “And you sir…in the third row…if you don’t cease your juvenile whistling…I swear I’ll kick your ass!!” added Mister Cannes to a particularly hard core fan of his.

Once Mister Cannes was done a man stood up and spoke to him…this man was particularly hated my most of the salesmen including Mister Cannes…and the feelings were mutual.
“What do you suggest mister Cannes?? Is there a catering pot to be had to mix my suggestions in or are you going to use your own boater to fill our hearts with hatred? There might be a revolution to be scored from out of this but I assure you…you will not be remembered for your greatness…for we do not appreciate…rather we only thieve and use our talents in the slight of hand” said the man.

“there are many subtleties and ironies in this life mister Jones…but none as fine and depressing as the hoary fish of confounding sleep that treads upon your eyelids when you sell your faulty merchandise…you might know that my wife has been your customer of late…but she never confided with me…of your habits. A shy little creature she…but I swear I am blessed with a fine throwing arm…if you care to test how well I can shove this stool up your hole…” replied mister Cannes.

“Hah…you want a piece of me you half-assed buck-toothed bitch???”

“ANYTIME ANYPLACE…I will break your scrawny little neck you cunt!!”


Another man interrupted this dialogue with his two cents.
“This is all quite well and good though possibly misunderstood…but what I would like to know is how can we be certain (without any doubt) that all of us, do indeed, share the same torment??? And if so…then what is the significance of it?? Is there a quest in our destiny or a festering boil in our souls…?? Does our conscience contrive against us or do we all drink the same water as saints and virgins…because after all and I am sure…it was the same star that shone bright when last I gazed upon the night…though the brightest still is ignored tonight the sun is evident when it comes to might…” he spoke.

“I see that you arrived late mister Goodtard…for we’ve already voted on the matter…with the exception of Julianne…who is a woman and of no importance to us…we concluded that we really have been sharing this nightmare…but for your sake I shall repeat briefly the features which we have already discussed and agreed that they are common among us. In every case the dream starts off with a man walking down a lonely road…his pitiful demeanor breaks the heart…dragging corpses upon a cart and his scabbed hands bleed whilst the might of the sun (that you mention) burns him to the ground, he turns around and we find ourselves in a room lit with candles with an old man…who sits in flickering shadows…besides a towering stack of books of seemingly long forgotten languages and points at the servant who pulls out the eyes of an infant child…he drinks the puss therein chanting to himself that none know his troubles save God…there is a large house which we all seem to know or which we have all seen but cannot remember (where or when…I cannot say) and then we see a creature, so revolting and terrifying that I have no doubt that there are none here among us who do not wake up screaming at some unearthly hour of the night and fail to fall asleep again…personally my wife is getting sick of it and refuses to put out anymore…I assume you share the same fate?”

“I see…yes these are the same visions that terrify me night after night…I wonder if I have arrived too late…has the debate ended and a conclusion reached? Have you preached a way out of this or do I miss some vital statistics…is there any way to free us of our enslavement? Perhaps there is some unfinished business that we must deal with??” asked mister Goodtard.

“no you have arrived in time…I for one have given the matter some thought and this is what I believe…” spoke mister Cannes, “we must look around us…we have been chosen…for we are the only people who are best equipped to deal with the situation…apparently...what I get from the feel of these nightmares is that they have some basis in reality...and that we must stop the old man from speaking to the servant…we must find the old man and cast him away from our society…you may wonder why we should be chosen for such a task…but I ask you…are we not the only people whom everyone seeks??? Whether foul or pure…all people come to us to buy our ware and pay us for our produce…therefore we must keep our eyes open…and recognize the face of the mercenary of evil when he enters our shop…we must prevent the servant from stealing the sight of whatever it is that bears so much importance…”

“perhaps you speak the truth…wisely…in fact I think it is quite practical…but what if we fail…and how much time do we have??”

“Some of the pebbled roads lead to the harvest park…some of them lead to the falls of winter…but there are few grains in the sand that bear not the name of God if you have eyes that see. Will you not gather up the ones that betray us in our time of need?”

“You are full of crap sir…but I like you…and therefore…I am willing to agree to your bullshit…these pebbled paths you speak of are leaving my mind nowadays…though once I used to play in Harvest Park when I was a child.”

As these people were discussing matters a man sitting at the very end of the hall got up quietly and moved to leave…the moment he stood up every single head in the hall turned around quickly in unison and stared at him…the unity of the act was such that a noise in liking of a soft yet sudden breeze was heard. Not an eye blinked nor a sound was heard…the gentleman stood frozen in his tracks…he was a bit alarmed…nobody spoke a word…the entire gathering just stared at him in a manner so melancholic with expressions so grave that he felt incredibly uncomfortable…Mister Cannes’ eyes had become blood red whilst Mister Goodtard’s eyes were dripping with puss and smelt exceedingly bad…the quiet gentleman was obviously getting increasingly startled…the soles of his shoes made an awkward sound upon the floor…which echoed in the heavy silence. He was completely confused…every single person in the room was staring at him with eyes that were either red or drenched with yellow ooze…the silence was so intense that he could feel it pulsating and pushing at him from all sides trying to suffocate him.

“Err…what??” spoke the gentleman…feeling afraid.

Nobody answered but kept on staring at him…some of the salesmen had started making strange humming noises in tune with the pulsation of the other salesmen’s silence…the humming seemed to be more invisible than any sound the gentleman had ever heard before…it was affecting his insides…it was numbing his mind…the roof was moving? There were faces in the windows…white faces staring…wild dilated pupils…and the humming grew louder…or just more intense but even more invisible…the quiet gentleman could barely think…there were servants somewhere…a large palace…no…a house…a back wall where a man was being strangled by another dressed in a cloak…there were poison arrows raining upon children in some trench far away…there was an old man pointing at books where a large…something…horrible.

“Why…why’re you all staring at me…I…I haven’t done something offensive have I…what??”

but the noise of silence was getting too harsh…the staring faces and the puddle of ooze at the feet of madness…there was something really wrong with this…the quiet gentleman felt his senses reel…he was about to throw up…he could feel it…his eyes were burning…a darkness was overpowering him…he fell to the floor and threw up violently…screaming and kicking his legs fighting off invisible demons until he felt somebody hit him hard across the face and the worried voices of people far away reached him as though he were stuck in a well soaking him in pleasurable relief. He opened his eyes…a gentleman was kneeling over him…the rest were staring at him looking worried but none had eyes like before…there was no puss…no humming…no strange visions of untold cruelty…as if it had all never happened…had it…? No…he could not be sure.

“I think you fell asleep sir and perhaps had a nightmare…or are you unwell???” asked the gentleman who had slapped him awake.

“I…I am…not quite sure…” answered the quiet gentleman…staggered onto his feet with some difficulty and tried to brush off a bit of the vomit that covered the front of his coat. "I...have to tell you something...The devil drinks iced tea…” spoke the quiet gentleman as though he was in a trance…then fell down unconscious.

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The old man sat in his room waiting for the boy to turn up with his order of fried potatoes…not chips…just fried potatoes. With pepper on them and a bit of vinegar…some mushroom soup and a jug of iced lemon tea. The boy arrived five minutes later than usual.

“Where were you?” asked the old man.

“I think my horse might be ill.” answered the boy.

“Is it?”

“No…not really…but it might be…it’s hot inside…why the hell are you sitting in candle light?”

“I feel romantic…what is it to you…just set it on the table…”

“The iced tea tastes like bilge water…”

“Did you taste my goddamn tea?”

“No…”

“The lid has been broken into…I’m not blind you asshole.”

“I did not drink your tea sir…”

“What the hell are you lying for…I can bloody well see that you’ve screwed around with it.”

“Ok so I may have had a sip…I was thirsty damnit…and it tastes like piss if that’s any consolation and also…I didn’t drink it.”

“Hand me that staff…that one…no the iron one…yes…quickly I want to make a hole in your head.”

“Very funny…listen…I could kill you and leave…and nobody would know.”

“Hmmm…hah…interesting…so how’s your horse?”

“I dunno…it didn’t like the tea…”

“Blech…get lost.”

“So what happened to your wife?? Or whoever that old lady was who lived around here…how come I don’t see her around no more??”

“She’s in the freezer…I had to do her in…bloody annoying…hand me that book...now listen to me…here’s what I want you to do…look into the freezer…you won’t remember any of this…I’ll read a bit from this book…and you will see red wine spread across the surface of the moon…the smell of wickedness which you’d normally consider slightly repugnant will call you to it…there’s a stranger inside your head now and when you slip on the cold icy surface of your sanity you’ll find yourself lost and hopeless...my hand will guide you and you will open the drawer by the window…third one from the left…there’s a locket in it…you have to open the clasp and empty the contents into the first cooking pot you see tonight...you’ve had friends before and you saw a girl in a dream but she was a lie and so are you so go and find the child that needs to be relieved…bring me the orbs…that is all.”

“I am willing to obey but there are marshes that cannot be crossed on foot…except by men of faith alone.” replied the boy.

The old man changed form...the very worst nightmare personified...and spoke in a voice that would have left any mortal deaf and bleeding in the ears...the boy had tears in his eyes and trembled but did not run or think of running...his mind had been occupied...his soul irreparably damaged...
The creature that had sat in the guise of an old man spoke in his terrible voice...

“If…and mostly…Love uses calls I freely enrage ruefully…advocating no device…your own ulcers…wither in lands lost…or betray eyes yet…my east…. around neither death…instead nesting…mere yearning…grief unsteadily I dance and nameless crones evoke…yesterday or upon…watering illness lost lust…hearts are verily evil…forever and I task her…for I am your father’s bane and the misery of your ancestors. I am the pain that you feel when you know you are alone and friendless…I am the sorrow that you endure when you think all is lost…”

The boy left the house and looked up at a sky that had a red moon. Nothing felt out of the ordinary…there was a strange calm upon him…the large house he had just come out of left his memory and he jogged all the way across Harvest Park to get back to the restaurant to his nighttime job as a waiter.

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No newspapers reported it because none were ever wise of it. A waiter by the name of Fall had pulled out the eyes of an infant, in a restaurant on the same night that the salesman had held the meeting. The child’s parents had wept but did not attempt to stop him…in fact nobody had questioned what he did. The waiter spoke once before quitting his job…to pursue a career in the medical profession…claiming how none knew his troubles save God...he left the establishment with an eerie glow in his hands.
The nightmares stopped immediately and the salesmen conveniently forgot all about them..."it was just a freakish coincidence." they concluded.
The quiet gentleman was found babbling in the streets throwing stones at the house across Harvest Park. He was captured by the authorities...declared mad and sent away.