Rumbleways

This is a story I wrote the other day, after falling asleep whilst watching the first ‘Phantasm’ movie. It focuses on a relatively minor character that I found quite interesting. No copyright infringement is intended, this was done purely out of love for the film.

http://dl.dropbox.com/u/58367185/The%20Fortune%20Teller%27s%20Granddaughter.pdf

Not sure what use this’ll be to anyone, but it’s there. Just in case. 

http://dl.dropbox.com/u/58367185/Eugene%20Vs%20The%20Demons.pdf

                                                   Akemi

The rain was falling lightly on Akemi’s face as he stepped out on to the plaza. He turned and looked up at the towering office block that he had just been fired from. Twelve years of mid-level obscurity and spiritual death. The rewards had never been forthcoming. Akemi’s Father had taught him the art of willingly accepting the flagellation that was meted out to you.
‘Accept it with a smile.’ The old man had always said. ‘One day you will rise and then it will be your turn.’
So Akemi had taken the beatings day after day. The assumptions about who and what he was by people above him. It was either patronisation or barely hidden contempt.
Now he was outside, looking in with the rain beating down on him. It had never got round to his turn. He had never risen as his Father said he would. The box he was holding began to disintegrate in the rain. He let it fall to his feet. Akemi looked down at the few things that were lying in the mushy box. A few pens, some sheets of blank paper. He’d put those in just to make it look like he had more stuff than he really had. He felt a surging well of hatred for himself well up inside. Stamping on the box, he screamed out loud. The people that were nearby looked at this madman, shocked. They hustled past, scared by him.
Akemi wasn’t screaming any word in particular. Just a sound that was the only way he could communicate his rage and defeat.
Crying, he tried to pick up the box but it was far gone. He Picked out a small photograph with no frame from the mess and walked unsteadily towards the centre of the city.

                                                       *

There was barely anyone on the train. At first this surprised Akemi but then he realised that it was eleven thirty and most people were at work by now. There were a few old women dotted around. A young guy was sitting opposite Akemi listening to something on his headphone. His foot was tapping up and down. Akemi looked him up and down, taking an instant dislike to him. This young man was mostly everything that Akemi hated. Lazy, carefree, Young. Then Akemi wondered when he had stopped being young and became the old man he now was. Akemi realised that he had never really felt young. His Mother had told him that he had ‘An old soul’, she said that she could see it in his eyes. That was true, it seemed to Akemi. He had always felt old. 

The hum of the train began to change as it pulled into the station. Akemi got up and started towards the door but turned around and stood in front of the young man. Akemi motioned for him to take out his headphones, all the time keeping an eye on the door. The young man took them out and looked up at Akemi, smiling.
‘One day…’ Akemi said, his voice shaking, ‘You’re going to get what you fucking deserve.’
The doors flew open and Akemi quickly walked out onto the platform. It was raining here as well. He could feel his heart beating quickly and the giddy headiness of an adrenaline rush. He laughed a little to himself and made his way to the station car park. When Akemi got to his car, he saw that there was a large scratch along the driver’s side. Someone had taken a key to his car. He looked at it, a smirk on his face. ‘Today!’ He shouted. ‘Today of all days! Haha!’
Laughing, he pressed his own key to the paint and gouged out a deep scratch. He did this a few more times, then got into his car.

                                                           *

Opening the door to his apartment, Akemi threw his jacket to the floor. As he stalked down the corridor, he pulled off his tie irritably. He went into the kitchen a poured out a large glass of whisky. Drinking it back, he felt sick almost immediately. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to take a drink as he was basically teetotal. The bottle had been a gift from his uncle for the previous Christmas. Akemi remembered that he had gotten his uncle a picture of a sunrise by a local artist. Akemi thought the present was tasteful, elegant and beautiful. His uncle had said his thank you but was visibly unimpressed. He’d never hung it up. Akemi wished that he’d kept the picture for himself. That, if he’d kept it, everything might somehow have been okay. 

Breaking away from his thoughts, Akemi went over the phone. He sat with it on his lap for a long moment, chewing his lip as he did when nervous. He was terrified to call. It seemed to Akemi that this is what addiction must be like. Even though the thing you want is harmful and will only destroy you, it is impossible not to do it. He knew how it made him look and he could picture the look on her face when she’d hear his voice. Her eyes rolling at him.
Akemi punched in the number and held the phone as tight as he could. He felt on the verge of being sick. The click of the receiver being lifted.
‘Hello?’
Akemi couldn’t speak, he was so ashamed.
‘Akemi? Is that you?’
He chewed his lip until it felt raw.
‘Akemi? Why do you call and…’
‘Yes. It’s me. I’m sorry, I just…’
‘Why are you calling this time?’
‘Please, don’t say it like that. I…’
‘You what?’
‘I just need to know why.’
‘Oh, Akemi. Not again, please.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘The right feeling just wasn’t there…’
‘I thought it was. I still have our photograph.’
‘Jesus, Akemi! You’re weird, okay? You’re really weird!’
‘I…’
‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I have to go.’
‘No, please, wait.’ Akemi spoke quietly.
There was a long pause. Akemi’s hopes rose.
‘Don’t call again, okay?’ She said, distant.
The line went dead. Akemi dropped the phone and went into his bedroom. He got something out of a lock box underneath his bed. As he went out of the front door, he picked up his discarded coat and pulled it on.

                                                         *

The train was a lot busier now. It was getting towards the time when people would be crammed in here like cattle. Akemi looked through the window and looked at the yellow lights zipping past. The rain droplets on the window were being blasted along horizontally by the speed of the train. Akemi watched a couple as they raced along side by side. He looked at the people surrounding him. More people his own age and station now. Standing on his tip toes, the looked over the heads of the people around him. That young punk with the bad attitude was at the end of the carriage, he still had his headphones stuck in his head.
The train came to a stop and more people flooded on, all trying to shake off the rainwater as they got on. Akemi turned to the window again. It was nearly dark now, there was only the faintest outline of the sun in the very far distance. Akemi looked at his reflection in the window and pushed his chin out. He felt huge and powerful now. Like a vibrant star.  


                                       (c) Alex Williams 2011 

                                                   Graceland

Jerry’s behind was numb. His t-shirt was stuck to his back in a very unseemly way. The Tennessee summer sun was vicious and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into some shadow, lizardlike.
He forgot his discomfort instantly as he raised his eyes and saw the house standing set just back from the road. The white columns that guarded the front door looked luminous in the sunlight. It was somehow smaller than he thought it would be, but imbued with more presence than he expected. The place exuded a strange power. Imagined or real - Jerry wasn’t sure. He wandered towards it, almost in a daze. To any onlooker he would have looked like a mindless ghoul, glassy eyed and shambling as he was.
As Jerry got about ten feet from the entrance of the house, he noticed that it had become strangely dark. He looked to the sky and saw that the moon was slowly sliding in front of the sun. He stood on the steps of the porch and watched as best as he could through cupped hands as the sun gradually disappeared and all that was left was the faintest outline of light behind the black disk in the sky.
Jerry began to feel strange. The air all around was flickering, as if there were a barrier of heat distortion all around him. He fell to his knees and felt nauseous, not sure if this was what extreme heat exhaustion felt like. He clamped his eyes closed, trying to ride out the feeling in his head. His eyes were prickling, all the blood in his body seemingly trying to fit into his head. As the feeling reached it’s peak and Jerry felt as if he could truly take no more, it subsided. He blinked quickly and got up, realising now that he had sunk to his knees whilst in the throes of that horrible pain.
He rose sheepishly, fully expecting there to be people all around looking at him. Thinking that he was probably a crazy person or dying.
Jerry then saw that, in fact, there were no people around at all. No one from his coach was to be seen, nor any of the people that were here when Jerry had arrived. Rather than thinking to look for the disappeared people, this turn of events suited Jerry fine. Now he could have the house all to himself.
He turned, feeling fine again now, happy even. The front door was laid open before him, beckoning for him to come inside. Stepping into the reception hall, Jerry felt something that he reasoned was probably akin to religious ecstasy for god freaks. A trembling white power was running it’s fingers over him, making his stomach fill with butterflies.

There was no one to greet him, so he wandered further into the hallway. Then, faintly, Jerry heard the tinkling of a piano. At first just high notes that floated on the air and made it hard to locate the source. Then came deep, thundering chords that cut a shuffling beat. Jerry could tell where the sound was coming from now and, following his ears, wandered off to the right and into a room that was almost all white. The fireplace that was the centrepiece of the room was lit. Yet when jerry passed by it, there was no discernible heat. At the far end of the room were a set of glass doors with colourful peacocks set in them. They were pulled over, nearly shut but left open a crack, so that Jerry could see a sliver of a piano and some hands moving quickly over the keys but couldn’t see who was playing the thing.

The playing suddenly ceased. Jerry froze where he was, unsure what to do. He could see the outline of a person rising from the piano behind the glass. They came forwards toward the door. Jerry was on the verge of running. He wasn’t sure why but he felt like he’d been caught doing something unseemly in being there. He was half turned and ready to bolt when the doors were thrown open.
‘Oh my g…’ Jerry froze. Jerry had seen enough imitators to know the difference. An imitation was just that. This was a regal presence. Jerry fell to his knees. ‘I..’
Elvis strode towards the prostrate Jerry. ‘Stand up, man. You’re makin’ me blush.’ Elvis let out a little laugh and walked past Jerry as he climbed to his feet.
‘I guess you wanna know how this is possible, huh?’ Elvis spoke with his back to Jerry.
Jerry took a few steps closer to the… He wanted to think ghost but that seemed too outlandish. Jerry decided that he must have a brain tumour that was bringing on this hallucination and, probably, the spell on the porch.
He reached out a hand towards Elvis’ back, as he was busying himself gyrating and singing some unintelligible song. Elvis span around fast, causing Jerry to almost jump out of his skin.
‘Not so close, baby. HUH!’ Elvis threw out a karate kick that missed Jerry’s face by a few centimetres, he’d felt the breeze of the boot as it had flown past his head.
Elvis shrugged and laughed again. He gave Jerry a hearty slap on the arm, ‘I’m just playin’, man.’
Jerry definitely felt that. Brain tumour was seeming less and less likely which was both comforting and distressing to Jerry at the same time.
Elvis seated himself in a plush white armchair and held out his hand, offering Jerry a seat.
‘I guess this is kind of freaky, huh?’
Jerry nodded, silent.
‘It’s kinda kooky, man, but hear me out. This here place is the astral plane.’
Jerry looked around the room, warily. ‘Does that mean I’m dead?’ He asked.
Elvis smiled, ‘Nah, man. You ain’t dead. Looky here, this place sorta lies on top of “reality”.’ Elvis used air quotes to make his point.
‘Through the design of this here house and employing the mystic arts of meditation…’ Elvis made a strange sign in front of himself and stood up, surveying the room as he spoke, ‘I was able to leave my corporeal self and come here. Total spiritual ascension, baby.’
Elvis smiled at Jerry, waiting for him to say something.
‘But, and I’m not trying to be rude here, Mr. Presley…’
‘Call me Elvis, man.’
‘Okay, Elvis. How come you look so…’
‘So thin and young?’
‘Yes!’ Jerry half shouted, thankful of not having to ask the question directly.
‘I can choose how I look here. Who wants to be a bloated joke, huh?’ Elvis turned away, looking a little hurt at his own words.

Jerry tried to think of something to say. ‘But how did I get here?’
Elvis turned to face him and pointed out of the window. ‘The eclipse, man. A configuration of this and that and some other bullshit.’ Elvis chuckled, ‘I had the swami talk me through it but I was caught up in some stuff at the time. Basically, a full lunar eclipse brings whoever is in the house at the time into this plane.You shoulda’ seen this bunch of Japanese tourists back in eight-nine. Crazy, man.’
‘Forever?’ Jerry asked, half scared and half excited.
‘Nah, man. Just for the duration.’
‘How long is that?’
‘Seven and a half minutes, man. You got seven and a half minutes with the King. What you wanna do?’
Jerry’s mind was blank. His mind could not comprehend. Elvis jogged over to the corner and came back. He started picking out some chords and softly singing ‘In the Ghetto’.
Jerry stood up and moved towards Elvis. He’d always hated that song, he felt it was disingenuous.
‘You don’t have to perform.’ Jerry said, determined to let his real feelings out. Any fan could watch a performance or listen to a song. The one thing you could never do was just sit with them and see what they were really like. Jerry realised that this was perhaps even worse than demanding a performance but he sensed that Elvis was happy to not have to put on a show.

Elvis seemed to relax and strummed the guitar absent-mindedly for a while. ‘Y’know, I’ve been here for a long time. When I had the idea of escapin’ to this place, I thought “Man, that sounds like paradise.” Just me, no more shows or leeches or bullshit.’
‘But…’ He carried on, half in a trance, ‘I didn’t plan for the loneliness, man. I spent so long around people that I didn’t think I could ever get lonely. Not like this.’
Jerry didn’t really know what to say. He realised that if the only time Elvis would have company would be if they were caught up in the same bizarre set of circumstances that he’d found himself in - things weren’t going to get any better.
‘I think you’ve earned the rest.’ was all Jerry could think of. As soon as it left his mouth it sounded so lacking and pathetic that he regretted it.
Elvis snapped out of his introspection and stood up. He propped the guitar against a chair and shook out his arms and legs, trying to chase off the blues that had beset him. A smile that seemed a little forced covered his face; ‘Come on, man! We ain’t got long, tell me about the world!.’

                                                        *

A few minutes passed and Jerry filled Elvis in the best he could on what had happened in the world in the last twenty or so years. Jerry’s approach was scatter gun but Elvis delighted in every detail, his face lighting up at every piece of incredible advancement and falling at every example of inhumanity and war. 

Elvis looked down at his watch. ‘Shit, man. We only got a minute left.’
Jerry’s heart sank. There was so much he wanted to do and say but time was his enemy and it had nearly won.
‘Say…’ Elvis intoned as he stood, a thoughtful look playing on his face. ‘How about you look up the next time there’s one of those there eclipses and you come on around again, huh?’
Elvis was almost childlike in his excitement at the idea. Jerry beamed a grin and replied; ‘Sure, I’d really like that, Elvis.’
‘Me too, Jerry. Me too.’
Elvis walked Jerry to the front door and brushed something from Jerry’s shoulder. He looked Jerry up and down, making Jerry think of his Mother who did the same thing when he was a boy.
‘You come back now, you hear? I’ll be waiting for you.’
‘I’ll be here. I promise.’ Jerry replied as he started to feel ill again, his head screaming and the air wavering before him.
‘That’s a promise now, man! A promise!’ Elvis was shouting, his voice becoming more and more distant.
‘A promise!’ Jerry shouted, as loud as he could. The distance growing with each second. ‘I Promise!’ he screamed.
He opened his eyes and realised he was on his back, with two old women looking down on him. ‘Who you making a promise to, Mister?’ One of them asked.
‘Elvis.’ He replied.
They both looked a little bemused and helped him to his feet. He thanked them and went out into the sunlight, which now had an extra brilliance to it.


                                                     FIN! 


                                       (C) Alex Williams 2011