The Old Man's Story
Matthias awoke with a start…
Pale moonlight shone through the window of a small room and threw faint shadows on an old man alone in the gloom.
“They don't believe me,” Matthias said to no one in particular. There was no one there to hear him, no one there to listen. "They don't believe anything I say."
Disturbing images formed in his mind. He had been committed to an asylum by officials of the City, a city unable to accept deviance within its limits, a city of strict confines.
"He’s a madman," city officials had proclaimed. "Something’s wrong with him." Doctors probed him, examined and questioned him. Then he was left, to wait, to think, to remember, alone.
He sat, face in hands, on the edge of the narrow cot that filled half the room. Terrible, threatening shapes writhed like wisps of smoke behind his eyes, vague silhouettes of the horror he had encountered, a thing he only vaguely remembered.
It had been a nearly moonless night. A stroll had taken him to an unfamiliar part of the City, one he had never seen before. A series of small dilapidated houses and even smaller shops, built closely together, fronted the narrow street where he walked.
Ominous silence seemed to hang over everything, amplifying the sound of his footsteps. No sound came from the buildings along the dimly lit street. The whole area seemed abandoned, so he kept on walking. Soon the shops and houses became fewer and fewer.
Once again Matthias was struck by the unfamiliarity of the area. He thought he knew the City. His late night walks had taken him, over many years, down many different streets and avenues. Wandering farther and farther from his home in the city center, he began staying out later and later at night. Sometimes the night was half over before he made his way home.
As he walked on, the deserted street led to a dark, forbidding road with dense woods and underbrush on either side. Matthias kept walking at an even pace, but his steps grew softer, and his eyes darted about frequently. Far down the road a feeble light flickered. A soft, moaning wind blew through bare tree branches.
Suddenly, the sound stopped as the wind fell still.
Something came crashing out of the trees. It was just a red blur that charged at him with incredible speed, striking him viciously, clawing and biting. Other hideous forms appeared as the Matthias struggled and fought. He knew he was losing, that he would die if he didn't get away from that horrible creature.
He fought desperately, and as he did a strange, unnatural light played upon the scene. As Matthias slowly weakened a different sort of light shone about his head and shoulders. It lit his cut and bleeding face and grew until it surrounded him completely. The strange creatures drew back until, finally, they turned and fled.
Matthias lost consciousness then and didn't awaken until dawn's first blush was lighting the sky. He sat up unsteadily, stood up and staggered back down the road in the direction of the City. Soon he reached the unfamiliar area where he had been the night before. People moved quietly along the street. Some threw covert glances at his tattered, bloodied body, but none moved to aid him. Others hurried past or ignored him completely.
No one responded as Matthias cried out for help, cried out a warning about the vile red creatures he had encountered. No one seemed to care.
Matthias stumbled and fell against a lamppost. No one reacted. People in this part of the city were all too familiar with the sight of a bloody rag of a man coming out of the dark wood at the end of the lonely street. They shunned him, as they had all the others, the ravaged men who sometimes returned from that forsaken road. No one cared at all about the ones that never returned.
Pulling himself erect, Matthias started walking again, limping from his wounds. People avoided him, but when he turned his head he sometimes caught eyes staring at him.
"Why don't they respond?" he thought.
“Answer me!” he shouted aloud, then subsided to mumbling.
No one answered, and Matthias grew faint again and collapsed beneath a tree. By now the authorities had been alerted. A clanging bell and the rush of a siren grew louder as Matthias listened, unaware of the tribulation that was yet to come.
Leaning back against the tree that sheltered him from the sun's glare, he was exhausted in body and mind. He simply sat and watched as three men arrived on the scene. Rough, swaggering men in white coats had come to take him away, and they were very much aware of him.
The tallest walked ahead of the others, so Matthias decided he was the leader. It was to him Matthias would speak, but there was no opportunity to speak. The big man stopped a few feet away, and his two companions reached down, grabbed Matthias by his shirt collar and carried him, protesting, to the waiting van.
These men weren't paid to listen. They were authorized to capture and imprison the unfortunate men who appeared in this section of the city. Violence was acceptable if it was required to carry out their orders.
The two did their job quickly, and Matthias did not resist as the leader, with brutal efficienMatthias, jerked the straps of the long-sleeved, white jacket tighter than was needed. Matthias was roughly thrown into the back of the waiting van and a moment later was being tossed and tumbled about as the van careened its way through the City, with its siren blaring and bell jangling.
It was all very routine, the process of examination and admission. Matthias was questioned, his eyes and reflexes tested, his pulse and blood pressure checked. A battery of nurses, physicians and doctors of psychiatry wouldn't stop to listen. The truth was what they heard, but the truth was something that they wouldn't, couldn't, believe.
Paranoia, the doctors said, but his encounter was very real. They thought Matthias was deranged, so they treated him as they would any other, left him there in that dark room, left him to reflect on his experience as moonlight shone through the window and threw faint shadows on an old man alone in the gloom.