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November 2008

Comet Press open for submissions

Our print division, Comet Press, is currently accepting submissions for horror, suspense, and dark crime novels and novellas. Visit www.cometpress.us for details.

Available for order from Comet Press

DEADLINES: AN ANTHOLOGY OF HORROR AND DARK FICTION, will be released in November of 2008! Visit www.cometpress.us

Something to Do With Sebastian
by Douglas Lind

He couldn’t hear Sebastian, but the boy was there - behind him, following him, watching his every move.

They all watched him. He was the Medicine Giver after all. But Sebastian was different. Sebastian saw and Sebastian understood. And because Sebastian might one day be allowed to leave, he was a threat that needed to be dealt with.

As a general rule, Dr. William avoided eye contact, but he couldn’t avoid them altogether; they were always milling about. He would find them in the oddest places, in closets, under beds, in darkened bathrooms. Unseen and motionless until he turned on the lights, after which they would quickly scuttle past him on their way to some other darkened corner.

But Dr. William didn’t fear them - they weren’t like the real people who lived outside. And if they did suspect the truth about his treatments, well, that was ok because they weren’t ever leaving.

On the day he began working at The Carlton Home, Dr. William sat in Mr. Carlton’s office watching the Great Benefactor as he puffed on a giant cigar and paced before a larger than life portrait of himself, educating the doctor as to the Home’s variations on the themes of the outside world.

“Sanitarium, Hospital and Patient are labels too harsh for these unfortunate souls,” his voice boomed, jabbing the cigar at Dr. William as if he were dotting the ‘i’s of each profane word with its glowing tip, “and never to be used under the roof of my Home.”

And that was just fine with the doctor. If small euphemisms helped ease any guilt the man might have in publicly using the Residents and their plights as a source of funding for his lavish empire, he wouldn’t tell. Sitting upright he nodded throughout the orientation all the while thinking, “Puff away Mr. Carlton, I know your secret. We all have our secrets.”

So Residents they were, permanent Residents with no chance or hope of ever leaving; destined to spend their days listening to the gramophone, shuffling, staring, lurking, and waiting. True, some Residents behaved in peculiar ways; some because they couldn’t help it, but he suspected that many did what they did simply to break up the monotony of their existence.

And who was he to point blame? Once the doors to the Home closed behind them, there were no hard and fast rules governing behavior, only repercussions and penalties whenever it was deemed necessary.

This is not to say there were no rules. There were. The dividing line between mortal and venial transgressions was unwritten but clearly understood by all. Medicine was the typical penalty, the type of medicine depended upon the mood of the giver. And because Mr. Carlton’s Great Work meant that he was rarely at Home, Dr. William was in the unique and enviable position of both dispensing punishment and being beholden to no one.

In fact, it was the real reason he turned down more lucrative offers with larger hospitals and private practices. The Home allowed him to do what he loved. Here he could perform his experiments, or “touching treatments” as he explained it to the Residents, without fear of reprisal and with what amounted to passive permission.
His formal training was in mental illnesses, but his work, his passion, was focused on injuries; the real kind, not the imagined ones which only lived locked away in the Residents’ brains. As a boy, Dr. William would hurt other children then do what he could to ensure that their wounds didn’t heal properly. And when dementia robbed his grandfather of his senses and the old man was moved to the attic room with the padlock on the outside, he became a captive subject for the boy’s experimentation.

Fascinated by the power he had to create wounds any size of his choosing Dr. William soon discovered that with various stimuli he could also prolong or shorten their existence. He could make large wounds smaller or small wounds larger, and after much practice he could even change the color of their discharge.

But what intrigued the doctor the most was the fact that wounds or sores or cankers weren’t things he could hold or capture. Existing in a fixed location as a part of one’s body, they were also dynamic entities, almost ethereal, always changing - sometimes weeping, sometimes healing.

But they were not to be trusted. Although seemingly symbiotic with the rest of the body, he suspected they were secretly autonomous, having the capacity to rebel against their host at any time, having the potential to become uncontrollable. Like the Residents, wounds had a nasty habit of doing what they wanted, when they wanted, unless they were constantly monitored and forced to respond to Dr. William’s touches.

The sores on the bodies of the Residents were his Great Responsibility; wards to be watched over, protected and controlled. Increasingly though, he began viewing the wounds as his followers. He was, after all, their creator and master and only he should decide whether they were to be forced into submission through the healing process or be allowed to grow larger and multiply. And living at the Home offered Dr. William unrestricted opportunities for experimentation. Opportunities he had only dreamed of as a boy.

Unfortunately though, his work was threatened. It seemed that the public’s capacity to be shamed into helping the insane through generous donations was only so large. As a hiding place for the unwanted, Mr. Carlton could usually charge the wealthy any amount to keep their embarrassing loved ones from the gawking world. But times were changing, and for some unexplainable reason, having a drooling, yelling cousin or aunt around the house was no longer a social stigma. In fact, there was a public movement afoot suggesting that sending the inferior away was somehow bad for them. To the mounting horror of both Mr. Carlton and Dr. William, the Home’s income and population was rapidly dwindling.

In an attempt to staunch the bleeding, the Home had begun experimenting with a program of bringing in others who only needed short term help, those suffering from what Mr. Carlton called “Temporary Insanity”.

Of course Dr. William knew there was no such thing, you were either insane or you were not. Nevertheless, the Home began accepting drunks and the drug addicted who, for a price, came to be “cured” and therefore absolved of any past sins. Allowed to reenter society unblemished and cleansed, miraculously healed at Mr. Carlton’s Home.

Healed too were Mr. Carlton’s coffers, but any program which allowed Residents to eventually leave obviously had Dr. William concerned. And one new Resident in particular, Sebastian, could mean an end to the doctor’s experiments.

Sebastian was a progeny, an eighteen year old genius with a drinking problem, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out what the doctor was doing in Mrs. Wyatt’s room that day. A combination of Dr. William’s carelessness and Sebastian’s curiosity resulted in the young man observing one of the touching sessions. The doctor didn’t know how the boy snuck into the room or how long he had been there, but it was clear that Sebastian had seen enough.

Dr. William had been examining one of his prize wounds which was growing quite nicely and had recently developed a lovely dark yellow hue. Lost in the beauty of his creation, he leaned forward intending to inhale the bouquet and slowly savor the weeping. But as he did so, he heard the unmistakable sound of a throat clearing and felt a light tap on his shoulder. When their eyes met, Dr. William was unable to speak, but he found that he also couldn’t stop staring back into Sebastian’s eyes.

Without saying a word or in any way acknowledging what he had seen, Sebastian broke the stare and quickly left the room as noiselessly as he had entered. But as the door closed, Doctor William knew that the young man could not be allowed to leave the Home. Ever.

Sebastian’s trespass was punished with some of the medicine Dr. William reserved for special cases, but as soon as the boy was back on his feet, he began following and staring at the doctor, attempting to make eye contact; all of which only served to remind the man that sooner rather than later, something must be done with Sebastian.

* * *

No one was around to see him dig the hole. His special status meant that he had privileges others did not, and being allowed to unlock his own door was one of them.

When the digging was done he left the spade, which he had easily discovered in the unlocked garden shed, sticking upright in the mound of loose earth. He had seen how careful planning was often the difference between successes and failures, and with a heavy burden one didn’t need to lose precious time looking for a necessary item such as a shovel.

Clearly marking the spot on the map of the grounds he had drawn earlier, he then made his way through the woods back to the Home. Indeed, this special night had been planned for some time.

Finally arriving and looking up at the Home he was pleased to see that the light in the office was still on. Knowing that it was better not to use the front door, he made his way up the fire escape, pausing to look at the full moon before wrenching open the window. Then, in one fluid motion, he thrust his head, shoulder and leg into the room.

To say that Dr. William was startled by this unannounced entry would be an understatement. Spinning around in his chair he shouted, “Sebastian! What the hell do you mean by this? Coming into my office at this time? And through my window?!”

Sebastian held up his dirty hands in a placating motion. “Please, Dr. William, keep your voice down.” Opening his jacket to reveal his Home-issued gown he smiled, “See, unarmed.”

But his expression changed to one of seriousness as he attempted to fix on the shifting eyes of the doctor, “I think we need to talk.”

When Dr. William did not respond Sebastian continued, “I know about you, and I know what you do.”

Twisting his chair back toward the desk the doctor tersely replied, “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about Sebastian. Now I will have to ask you to leave, I have a lot of work to finish. And please remember to use the door next time.”

Hoping that Sebastian could not see his hands, Dr. William discreetly began opening a drawer.

“Before you shoot me Doctor I think you should know that although I was sent here because of my troubles with alcohol, I’ve decided to stay because of you.” Quietly he added, “I don’t want to leave. I need you, and I think you need me.”

Dr. William closed the drawer and slowly turned to look at the young man. “I’m afraid I’m not following you Sebastian, you’re going to have to translate that last part.”

Not immediately replying, Sebastian calmly paced the room, keeping his eyes on the doctor. Finally, he approached the table in the corner which held a small statue. “I’ve been in this office before you know. Even spent the night once. And I’ve discovered a tiny but telltale clue about you.”

Lifting and caressing the small marble sculpture, he spoke softly, “l’Ecorche, The Flayed Man.” Taking his eyes off the piece to meet those of the doctor, he said, “The original is life sized, have you ever seen it? It’s amazing. Carved in the eighteenth century by Jean-Antione Houdon to illustrate the timeless beauty of the human body - without its covering. But its true artistry lies in the fact that it suggests so much, much more. Cezanne was so taken that he sketched it as a study but he never painted it; how could one capture the beauty of this on a canvas? Yes, this little man confirmed my suspicions about you Dr. William.”

The doctor had grown pale, but his voice remained calm. “What’s so strange about that statue? Knowledge of human anatomy is important to a doctor. It illustrates the muscles and tendons…”

Sebastian interrupted sarcastically, “Come now Doctor. Here at the Home? When was the last time you had to do an anatomical analysis? I was led to believe you were more of a brain man, hmmm?”

Sebastian smiled, holding the little man in front of his face, pointing its outstretched arm at Dr. William. In a falsetto sing-song voice he said, “I know a seee-cret. I saw you poking Mrs. Wyatt’s bedsores. That’s sooo yucky.”

Dr. William rose from his chair, his face flushed, his voice now wavering, “You’re insane.”

Sebastian calmly replied, “Mmm, maybe. But not like the Residents.” Pointing his finger at his head and making a circular motion he said, “They’re crazy. May I sit down?”

Not waiting for an answer he dropped into the doctor’s chair. “You see Doctor, I have a…well let’s call it a condition.”

“Yes, you’re a drunk. Now leave.”

“NO!” Slamming the sculpture down on the desk and rising up to face the doctor Sebastian said through clenched teeth. “I am talking about the underlying reason for my drinking. I am talking about pain and suffering and pleasure. I know that you know about it, because I saw the smile on your face while you were working on our bedridden friend!”

Holding Sebastian’s gaze for the first time, the doctor quietly said, “Go on.”

“Suffering and ecstasy have always coexisted - opposite ends of the spectrum for most people. For you they’re merely two different but related experiences, experiences for you to control and manipulate. But for me there is no spectrum, no separation, the two ends join to form a never ending circle.” Quietly he finished, “A circle I’m sometimes not sure I want to escape.”

Now having the doctor’s full attention, Sebastian sat back down in the chair. In a hushed voice he continued as if giving a lecture he had been preparing for a long time, “It was in Sunday School as a little boy, that I first heard the story of St. Sebastian, my namesake, and how he helped the penitent and pure to understand that pain can be a path to ecstasy. Even at that young age, I was aware of the pleasures that physical pain sometimes brought, but the teachings of St. Sebastian legitimized those feelings for me. And under the tutelage of some of the elders, my knowledge and appreciation blossomed.”

The room was now quiet and for some time neither said a word, simply looking into each other’s eyes. Finally, Dr. William picked up the statue and lovingly stroked it.

In a confessional voice he said, “You know Sebastian, I’ve often thought that it must have taken a special man a long, long time to carve something as wondrous as this. To create a continuous wound encircling the entire body, unable to grow larger but encompassing and controlling the man, forcing him to submit to its power. It must truly have been a labor of love.”

Their eyes met once again, this time in a silent, mutual moment of clarity.

Sebastian licked his lips and anxiously whispered, “I don’t expect you’re the type of man who can be rushed through his work.”

A short while later, Sebastian watched Dr. William place the map he had taken from the boy’s jacket into the pocket of his lab coat and gaze out over the grounds towards the woods. As Sebastian stood on the tarp, his arms above his head, wrists tied to the overhead fan, he allowed Dr. William to insert a handkerchief into his mouth and secure it with surgical tape.

He watched the doctor select a scalpel from a group of several on the desk and position the lamp so that illuminated the work area. Sebastian noticed that it also shone on the statue and he smiled as he noticed that the little man’s arm seemed to be pointing directly at him.

As the doctor began working toward his destiny, his masterpiece, Sebastian experienced a feeling of exhilaration and hope that he had never encountered before, a feeling that neither drugs nor alcohol had ever produced.

And as Sebastian’s own destiny rapidly approached, the one which he had so longed for, he now knew for sure that the cycle wasn’t endless and he was confident that what he had always been waiting for would soon be there to meet him.