Issue Three

JESSICA BOWERS
terrified beyond comprehension of how
long he actually stood there in wait. He
measured the seconds with his
heartbeats, comforted only by the
simple knowledge that they meant he
was still alive. He was waiting for the
lights, and when they came on he would
find the black heart, the black heart with
a rotten apple core, the black heart
thrumming with the arrhythmia of
disease. He would find it and he would
kill it. He would squeeze it in his hands
until it burst like confetti; he would tear
through the sinewy pericardium with his
teeth and gnaw through atria and
ventricles and bicuspids until he held but
a wasted sac. He would do it and he
would fight every monster that tried to
protect the heart, for the life force of the
heart was the life force of all the
monsters, of all the nightmares and of
all the evil. Eli would destroy them all.
He waited until his own querulous heart
felt like the only thing in the world that
could make a sound, until it felt like the
only thing that existed at all. His ears
crackled as the pressure mounted in his
head, the veins tightening under his skin
like rigid tree branches and his lungs
fluttering in his chest like spastic
wings. The darkness was alive and it
was watching him suffer, watching and
waiting just like him, waiting for him to
explode. Eli felt he really would; he felt
as if he was being crushed and so he
wilted to the floor and threw off the
mask, clutching his damp dark curls with
both hands, wishing he could split his
skull right down the middle and let the
terror burst from his brain, his sweet
baby face contorted at the pinnacle of a
silent scream.
When Eli opened his eyes again the
lights were on, and he could see for
himself that the black hearts and
monsters that’d tortured his mind were
all just childish delusions. He was
surrounded by four walls that were dark
and grimy as if scorched by
flame. There was nothing in the room
but a wooden pedestal. On top of it sat
an old telephone with a curly cord and a
turning dial with finger holes. The
instant Eli laid eyes on it, the phone
began to ring so violently it did a tap
dance on its hook, braying so urgently
that Eli knew it wouldn’t quit until he
picked it up.
He stood up cautiously, his face
blotched with heat and running with
sweat, his hair sticking out at odds and
ends like wild antennae. Slowly he
approached, the shrill, piercing wail
making his wide eyes rattle in their
sockets. As his trembling hand hovered
over the phone, he saw it wasn’t
plugged in anywhere; the mysterious
call was being transmitted through bare
space. He laid his hand on the cool
plastic, endured one more of those earsplitting
shrieks, and whipped the phone
up to his ear before he decided to
chicken out.
Nothing but the sandy crackle of static
greeted his ear and so he waited, his
heavy breath condensing into hot fog on
the receiver. Hello? Hello? HELLO? His
throat fought for the word but it was like
trying to catch air.
“Eli? Ain’t ya gonna say hello?”