The Other One - Mark Morris, ebook
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The Other Onea short story by Mark MorrisForewordI usually glibly refer to "The Other One" as my Jack the Ripper story.It's a story about paranoia and alienation and was my attempt to writesomething that captured the dislocating terror of nightmare. It's perhapsone of my least accessible stories, but also the one that I'm happiestwith. It's one of the few occasions where I've managed to capture theexact mood I was aiming for. All of this may be because it's the story ofmine that I've found easiest to write. Usually writing is a bloody hardgrind, but this story flowed from my head on to the page so quickly thatat times I couldn't get the words out fast enough. I wrote it long-hand,over a four-day period in Bolsover whilst dog-sitting for my mum who hadgone on holiday. The last 2,500 words I wrote in a single sitting, in thecourse of which I somehow managed to produce a sentence which to this dayNicholas Royle (editor of Darklands 2 where this story first appeared)claims is one of the scariest lines he's ever read.The television was gone. They must have come in the night and taken it. Itwas so unfair of them to do that, they must have done it purely out ofspite.He was angry but tried not to show it. The best thing to do was not togive them the satisfaction of knowing that they'd upset him. He would actas if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't even noticed. He sat up inbed, rubbing his eyes and yawning, pretending to be still half-asleep.Then nonchalantly he pushed back his single blanket, set his feet on thefloor, stood up and wandered over to the radio.When he switched it on all he heard was static. He moved his head closerto the speaker, his movements slow and cautious, fearful of receivinganother electric shock. Not that he'd had one for a while now, but youcould never be too careful. They were cunning as well as spiteful. Theyhated him far more than he'd ever hated anybody.Beneath the static he could hear someone speaking. Making sounds at anyrate, singing or howling wordlessly. He listened more intently and thoughthe heard someone say his name. Alarmed, he turned the radio off.He wondered whether to disable the radio but decided not to. They'd knowthey'd got to him if he did. Besides, it would probably provoke them, notthat they really needed an excuse. The radio couldn't do him much harmwhen it was silent, not like the microwave which he'd secretlyincapacitated. He wondered how long it would be before they found out whathe'd done, and how they'd react. Whatever happened it would have beenworth it. He was damned if he was going to allow them to cook him slowlyfrom the inside.He walked down the corridor to the little bathroom on the right. Thecorridor was narrow, and the lights set into the ceiling bulbous andblank, like the eyes of fish. It had taken him a long time before he wasable to hide the nervousness he felt walking down here. Even now he foundthe thought that he could reach out with both hands and touch a wall ateach side obscurely terrifying. Worse, though, was the certainty that theywere watching him at every moment, waiting for the slightest error, thechance to be provoked. They were ghouls feeding on his uncertainties,doubtless crowing with savage glee whenever he let slip the anguish he wassurely entitled to feel. That, indeed, was why it was imperative that hemask his true feelings - to starve their sadism, frustrate their joy athis awful predicament. They might be the ones who set the traps but he wasnot the animal here. Wasn't he the only one who had retained his dignity,after all? Wasn't he the only one who had a reason for his actions?He washed himself slowly and methodically, paying particular attention tohis feet and his genitals. The towels they provided were not much use(although rough, they merely moved the water around on his skin ratherthan soaking it up) but he never complained. They were probably gawping athis nakedness now, making jokes about his weenie, but he didn't care; letthem. He would simply rise above it. He wondered where the cameras were.In the mirror? The taps? The light bulbs? Behind the tiles?Already the anticipation of his boredom was starting to depress him but hewould never let that show in his face. There were things to do yet - getdressed, see if his food had arrived, look out of the window. He tried tomake everything he did last a long time. In that way he could convinceboth himself and them that he was calm and in control. He didn't even mindwhen they hid his clothes; indeed, rather than disorienting him, it helpedto pass the time. Upon returning to the bedsitting room, he discoveredthat they'd hidden his clothes today. He searched for them with no realsense of urgency, and eventually found them in the fridge.He'd been naked for a long time and was starting to feel the cold, butputting on his clothes made him feel far colder. For a while, until theheat of his body began to warm them through, his clothes would feel as ifthey'd been made of ice. He was shivering, but only on the inside; heclamped his teeth together beneath his lips to stop them from chattering.They must have run out of jokes about his weenie, now they would becongratulating each other on hiding his clothes in such a fabulous place.So intent was he on not giving them the satisfaction that he forgot toclose the fridge door.The thing that formed out of the whiteness and tried to speak to himalmost emerged, but he managed to slam the door just in time. Now he wasshivering on the outside. Damn them! Damn them! Damn them! It might beonly a small victory for them but it was a victory nevertheless. He had tosubjugate the effects of it as quickly as he could.Every nerve, every sinew, screamed at him not to, but he opened the fridgedoor and, what was more, made it look nonchalant. He bent down and peeredinto the fridge, fear closing up his throat. He felt the cold whitenessshining out and caressing his face, felt the hum change and crack and tryto become a voice.He closed the door again before it could, but this time without revealinghis panic. So that they would not see through his show of bravado, heopened every single cupboard and peered inside as if searching forsomething, though he knew full well that the cupboards were empty. Thepristine whiteness of the kitchen units disturbed him, reminded him of theother place. He tried not to squint, though the glare made his eyes ache.As ever, he could not leave the kitchen without first inspecting the wastedisposal unit. The two stainless steel sinks, side by side, looked brandnew, a fact which again disturbed him though he couldn't define why. Whenhe turned on the tap with the blue lid in the first sink (the real sink,for washing things in), water came out more powerfully than he hadanticipated. It spattered up off the stainless steel and covered hisclothes in droplets that instantly turned to small dark patches, likelittle shadows. Some droplets speckled his face, sudden and cold and wetas shaving cuts. He closed his eyes and turned the tap off. They would belaughing at his little accident now, and so he smiled to show he didn'tcare.The waste disposal unit was in sink number two which had no taps above it.He opened his eyes and leaned forward a little, aware of the suddenintensity of his heartbeat which made his body feel like nothing more thana living pump. He peered into the metal tube, an exposed throat taperingto darkness. The throat was lined with a tight prickly spiral of bladeslike steel teeth which made him anxious and excited at the same time. Hewas relieved to see that the waste disposal unit was as new-looking aseverything else, that there were no...shreds, clinging to the teeth. Whatfascinated and appalled him was the fact that the blades were at theirmost lethal when you couldn't see them. As if to demonstrate the thoughtto himself, he turned the machine on.For a fraction of an instant nothing happened; the waste disposal unitremained in stasis. Anyone could have put their finger into the throat inthat milli-second and then taken it out again and they would have beenfine. But then with a whir the blades began to rotate, and were almostimmediately spinning at full speed. Now you could no longer see theblades. They resembled nothing so much as a swirling white mist whichlooked cool and slow and inviting.He couldn't help it. He was so entranced by the paradox that he grinned,revealing all his teeth. He knew it was a weakness which they wouldexploit, and so he folded his lips around the grin and turned off themachine, angry inside.Abruptly he left the kitchen, hoping to convey the impression that thewaste disposal unit had been ...
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