Through A Glass, Darkly - A Horror Anthology

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My father looked up and smiled gently as the physician entered his office, closing the door quietly behind him. I looked from the doctor, to my father, and back to the doctor again. Apparently, I was the only one who was going to be surprised. So much for super powers.

No supernatural deity waltzed out of any parallel dimension that day to tap me on the shoulder and kindly tip me off to what was going to be the biggest shock of my life and by the fucking way have you brought your valium with you today Ricky-Boy? His second choice was to dope himself up until he became a vegetable.

Little pain would accompany this alternative; except at the very end, of course. Then, God, or the Devil, or Death or the World, or the Truth or the Random, or Krishna or Gaia, or whatever the fuck it is that is responsible for all this shit in the first place would make itself known in such a way as to open his eyes so fucking wide that he would have no choice but to see. There would be no eloquent last words, no final goodbyes.

And, following all of this, he would also be dead. A red pepper, I believe it was. Or was it a fruit? Did they say he could be a fruit? Perhaps it was a banana. Dad always liked bananas. Consistent with his rather strange culinary tastes, he used to mix one inch pieces always sliced with a plastic knife into a green salad and combine that with Spanish rice. None of us knew precisely why he did this, except that this had been his favorite meal as a kid.

I wondered who had thought up this kind of dish, just as I once wondered what thoughts went through the mind of the man who ate the very first squid. Extreme hunger, and limited choice, I imagine. Extreme hunger for something drives us all. Limited choice just drives us harder.

Eventually, he decided he did not want to become any category of produce. The way he explained his view was that he was given a choice between dying as a human being and dying as something else, and had simply selected the former. To him, it was the only logical choice. So, always one to admit when he was wrong, Dad quickly altered his decision, availing himself of a third option the doctors had neglected to mention.

Maybe there was something I wanted to say. Maybe there was something I needed to hear from him. But I never said much and never heard much of anything from him, except low groans accompanied by the soft rustling of bed sheets. One night, in the small hours of the morning, he simply left the hospital. That he was able to gather the strength to remove himself from his bed was remarkable.

That he made it home unassisted and undetected was nothing short of magical. He was haggard, terminally ill, and unimaginably weak, and for any exit he might have chosen he had to pass someone. Except in a box. Notwithstanding, he escaped from the facility unnoticed and traveled a mile to his house in his hospital bedclothes, which is how I found him in the closet.

Maybe it was magic. Dad always had a knack of making shit happen, you know? For a guy who was basically quiet, humble and unassuming, he had this way of forming ideas in his mind and then imagining them into existence. That was how he explained his success in the world. He said you had to imagine stuff in your head before you could make it real.

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He said that everything that we see, and hear, and do, and know, and touch, are just the end products of ideas that were in the mind of someone or something, somewhere at sometime. This was not an original precept, he was always careful to mention, but it was a true one.

Is it conceivable that he wished his way out of the hospital, then? Is it rational to believe that a dying, bedridden man might breach the confines of our physics using the force of his mind? Make himself invisible and walk on currents of air? Ships from and sold by Amazon. Now Face to Face: Customers who bought this item also bought.

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Through A Glass Darkly: Mirrors & Horror Films

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Kindle Edition Verified Purchase. I can only give it 4 stars because I found the writing style difficult to follow at times.

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