You're welcome - I'm glad you're interested. This is a short story (what do you count as "short" though? It's 25 page so far!) that I've been working on for the last year or two, off and on. No one has ever read it before - you're the first!! I'm still working on it - I know where I want the tale to end, but the course it's taking to get there is anyone's guess. I just write when I can, and let the story go where it wants. Anyway, I'm rambling... I'll post it one chapter at a time for now. Thanks again, so much for reading - any comments at all, good or bad, are very welcome. Here it is....

Steve

Part Two

 Somewhere far off, in the thick gloom, he could hear a sound, pleading for him. What was it? A voice perhaps? A voice of someone pleading for help? Because it was muffled he couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t really muffled, but more distant and garbled, as if the sound was coming to him from a across a span of many years, echoing sickly. He strained to hear, cupping a hand to his ear. Perhaps if he looked in the direction from which the sound came, it would give him a clue. But he saw nothing. He couldn’t be certain what direction it came from. It could be coming fromanywhere. The uncertainty was abruptly very frightening.

He felt closed in. Trapped. Blackness, as dark as the night in his most hideous nightmare, enveloped him, sticking to his skin, as though it were alive. Although he couldn’t see anything, he suddenly felt the presence of another.

“Who’s there?” he cried out, his voice quaking. He spun around, looking desperately for any source of light, no matter how meager. His skin crawled. There was no answer. He knew someone was watching him, but couldn’t see anyone. Anything. And behind it all, was that incessant sound, warbling and garbled, pleading to him, clawing at his brain. Terror was rising in his throat, his heart pounding, threatening to burst right through his ribs!

Suddenly there was light! Light so bright and white, it seemed to burn his eyes. He threw his hands in front of his face, frightened, trying to block it out. The pleading sound was no longer far away and distant, but seemed right on top of him, and he had no trouble now, hearing it clearly for what it was.

He sat up, and without opening his eyes, reached over to the table near the head of his bed, to turn off the alarm. The silence was nearly as bad, as he could hear his own heartbeat throbbing in his ears, louder than any alarm clock. Very slowly he opened his eyes, trying to allow them to adjust to the harsh overhead lights.

“Dim fifty percent.” He said, but the lights didn’t respond, and stayed bright and painful. He tried again, shouting it. “Dim fifty percent!” Still no response.

Then he remembered that the lights, which automatically turned on at full intensity if the alarm rang for more than two minutes, wouldn’t respond to any dimming commands until he got out of bed. They designed them this way. It was their little insurance policy to make sure he was up and ready to work on time.

Groaning, he swung his feet over the edge of the bed, and put them on the floor, and the intensity of the lights immediately began to wane. The steel beneath his feet was freezing cold, and he yanked his feet back up. The lights flared bright again. Knowing that the automatic dimming of the lights would be held in queue for one minute, he would have to put his feet on the floor, and keep them there, if he wanted to save his eyes from any further agony. It was a situation he couldn’t possibly win, so resigned to his fate, he gingerly put his feet down, the icy cold drawing a whimper from him. Mercifully the lights dimmed. Why in the name of hell couldn’t they have installed something to warm the floor up when the alarm went off? He’d have to remember to put his slippers under the bed before he went to sleep next time. Either that or wear socks to bed. The slippers. He’d have to go with the slippers. He knew he’d never be comfortable, or get any rest if he went to bed with socks on.

He sat there with his elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands and thought about the fact that at least he could make up for it somewhat when he got his hands on some hot coffee. That’s one element of civilization he still had available. And as his nostrils slowly awoke with the rest of his body, he could smell the coffee brewing. Thank God for automatic coffee makers

The lights had gone down to fifty percent, as he’d commanded, after he put his feet on the floor, and he was able to look around now without pain searing his tired eyes. He knew he had to get started, so he stood up, stretched, and walked over to the closet mounted against the wall. Opening the door, he heard the same squeak of the hinge that he’d heard more times than he could count. The one he’d sworn to fix more times than he could count. Reaching inside, he instinctively knew where to put his hand in order to find the robe. It slipped off the hanger easily, and he put it on, enjoying the warmth it gave him. It was soft (and white) and felt wonderful. He slid his feet easily into the slippers that he would make sure to move tonight. They fit loosely, and were very warm and comfortable.

Closing the closet door, he shuffled past his couch, and the exercise bike, and went over to the small metal sink and turned the water on, and it immediately came out warm. He cupped his hands and splashed water up onto his face, not caring that the collar of his robe was getting wet also. He repeated this process three times, before he dared to look in the mirror.

The face that stared back, wasn’t the one he remembered. It never was. It was that of an old man. Perhaps not really old, but certainly older than what he wanted to see. Older than what it should look like. Small droplets of water dripped down his face, across his stubbled chin, and back into the sink. His eyes, once blue, now looked a cloudy gray. Surely it was just a trick of light, he tried to convince himself, and not some bizarre effect of his time here. He sniffled, wrinkling his nose as he did. He rubbed a finger across his eyelid. The man in the mirror copied everything he did.

A tired sigh escaped from his mouth, as he closed his eyes and turned away, truly not liking what the mirror showed him, and not wanting to see it anymore.

Trudging to the coffee maker, he retrieved the large insulated mug it had prepared for him, and took a sip. Perfect. If nothing else, at least the coffee was good. The taste, as well as the temperature was just right. He’d learned from experience just how to program this thing so that it gave out a great cup of coffee. He shook his head, with a light chuckle of personal satisfaction, smiled to himself, and took another sip.

By now the lights were slowly coming up to full intensity, just as they were programmed to. It took eight minutes to complete the process, allowing a person to wake up, and become accustomed to the light at a more comfortable pace. He guessed they were about seventy or seventy-five percent by now. Still dim. The bed looked awfully tempting, but he knew better. He looked at his alarm clock, and realized he’d better get moving, so he forced his stiff legs to carry him over to the stairs.

Walking down them, the lights slowly came on as they did every morning, and as always, it never failed to amaze him how large, and open the lower room looked. It was mostly devoted to instruments and controls of one kind or another, most of which were in racks and panels mounted against the wall. There was also a desk mounted against the wall between a bank of large windows, and an instrument rack. Also in the room were two chairs, a couch and end-table, a refrigerator, a video display terminal, and in the very center of the room, a large pedestal, three feet tall, topped with a glass dome. Other than these, the floor space was considerable, and open. He got to the bottom of the stairs, walked over to the desk, and sat in the chair that accompanied it, his weight causing air to fart from the seat cushion.

A quick look at the clock on the instrument rack, and he realized that there were only about nine minutes to disseminate his first observation of the day. With all the information that required, he knew he had to hurry up.

In a series of orchestrated maneuvers, both hands moved expertly across the controls, turning dials, pressing buttons, and flipping switches. He’d performed this same routine so many times, he didn’t even need to look or think about it. And he certainly didn’t need to consult the manual anymore.

His right hand passed across a black panel that instantly read the fingerprints, and cross-matched the vascular pattern, logging him on to the main computer. A translucent panel directly in front of him blinked on, as if it awoke suddenly, recognizing him. The electronic form on which he recorded his observations appeared on its face. The keypad, with which he would type commands was built flush with the surface of the desk, illuminated with a peaceful, green glow, that he found oddly soothing.

Finally, when he was satisfied that all the necessary instrumentation was turned on, he commanded “Lights, down ninety percent.” The lighting, which had nearly come up to full intensity, rapidly backed down to a fraction of what it had been. He sat for a moment in near darkness, then pressed the last switch, a gray tab on which the word “retract” had been written, but was now partially rubbed off.

The whining of the actuators confirmed the command and to his left, a set of protective metal shutters pulled back from the outside of the large windows. Just as he had programmed them to, the lights above him slowly dimmed even further, so that his view would be unobstructed by a glare on the window. By the time the shutters were fully opened, the room would be completely dark, except for the soft glow from the instruments. Even though it went against orders, he did this at the start of every day, considering it a way to maintain his sanity; he stopped what he was doing, if only for a moment, took in a deep breath, and marveled at the sight that met his eyes.

 

Here's the link to my freebies:   https://www.renderosity.com/mod/freestuff/?uid=493127

My cousin Jack can speak to beans. That's right.... Jack and the beans talk