untitled2

Sketchpad in hand, Roland slowly strolled into Leon’s 24-hour diner. He didn’t care if it was nearly one-thirty in the morning; he was born and raised in this town and he’d walk the streets however late he damn well pleased.

The wrinkles of time heavily lined the short, elderly man’s face, and his wispy white hair was neatly combed to the side. The arthritis in his hip impeded his gait as he made his way to his usual booth in the far corner and ordered his usual – coffee with cream and three sugars.

The diner was redolent with the aroma of eggs and coffee. And even though the state law that prohibiting smoking went into effect two years ago, the faint scent of nicotine still lingered.

Roland opened his sketchpad, removed a pencil from his shirt pocket, and looked over his drawing – a sketch of a striking woman in her mid to late twenties. He could still draw, he had to say. He was pleased with himself that he got Vivian’s likeness down.

Mona – the heavyset waitress dressed in the customary pink outfit, apron, nude pantyhose and beaten up pair of generic white sneakers – served him his coffee. Her hair was a frosted blonde beehive, the result of a bad home perm.

“Anything else, honey?” Mona asked Roland as she popped a stick of gum in her mouth.

The question was rhetorical, they both knew it, chuckling slightly at their private joke. He’d been coming here for decades and she’d been working here just as long. When he came at this time of night to work on his art, he only ordered coffee and occasionally got some Danish to go when he left at sunup.

Leon’s Diner was where Roland and his pals met on occasion for coffee, to chat about the good old days, among other things. The diner was unusually empty this night. Usually, there were two or three stragglers – night owls, insomniacs, cops, and truck drivers. Not tonight, however; just Mona and Leon himself were the only other people inside.

Roland nodded to Leon, a large man with a rotund paunch. His white T-shirt, stained with sweat under the armpits and around the neck, rode up, revealing his hairy gut. If that didn’t make anyone lose their appetite, Roland had no idea what would.

Leon curtly nodded back. He didn’t like Roland staying for hours on end just drinking coffee, but he put up with it. He scratched at the heavy beard growth on his drooping, chubby face. Nothing short of a tummy-tuck could ever get rid of the three chins he had. How he made it through nearly five decades of the greasy food he served without a heart attack was anyone’s guess.

Roland went back to his drawing and put the finishing touches on his artwork until after several minutes he suddenly sat upright as if he’d been jolted. It was like an icy hand reached out from a grave closed so long ago, touching him, sending a chill throughout the very core of his being.

He looked around, but – save Leon and Mona – the diner was still empty. All was silent except for Mona softly humming to herself as she refilled the salt and pepper shakers. A lonely gloom filled the atmosphere this evening, which gave Roland an underlying feeling of restlessness. The streets outside were just as barren. No headlights in motion, no pedestrians, only the endless dark of night which now seemed even darker with the broken streetlights.

A half-hour passed and Jack, another senior citizen although younger than Roland by six years, entered Leon’s. The bells connected to the double doors sounded overly loud in the bludgeoning silence, startling Roland, who looked up from his sketchpad. He waved to Jack, who sauntered over to Roland’s booth after exchanging pleasantries with Mona and ordering coffee – cream, no sugar.

Roland gave Jack a strange glare as the other man sat down. An odd and somewhat anxious look creased Roland’s face, adding more lines to the ones already present.

Jack didn’t notice that at first. A stout man with a steel gray pompadour and sideburns, Jack had some trouble squeezing into the booth opposite Roland. His beer belly pressed against the edge of the table, Jack scooted into place with a grunt, the effort reflected in his expression.

“Whaddya say, Roland? You look a little pale tonight,” Jack greeted him as he still struggled to get comfortable. Mona came by and set Jack’s coffee on the table. “Thanks, dear,” he said in a gravelly tone that was slow-roasted from years of smoking.

“Anything else?” Mona asked.

“Yeah, can I get a patty-melt and fries?” he inquired.

“Sure thing, Jack,” Mona responded, ambling off.

Jack turned back to Roland. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Just a little gloomy in here tonight, that’s all.” Roland replied, voice taut with unease. He stopped drawing and quickly closed his sketchpad, not wanting Jack to see what he was working on.

“Does seem kind of dismal in here tonight, don’t it? Well, whatever it is, don’t let it get you down,” Jack attempted to lighten the mood.

At that moment, the main doors opened and the muscles in Roland’s neck knotted up when he saw who entered. Sal Wallace, the local private detective who fancied himself Sam Spade, was dressed in a trench coat with a matching fedora hanging crookedly on his head. Underneath it, he wore a rumpled cheap suit and tie, the latter now loosened and the top few buttons of his dress shirt undone. Sal was still in pretty good shape for someone in his sixties; he had to be for someone taking photos of people having carnal knowledge of other people who weren’t their spouse.

Minding his own business, Sal walked up to counter, sat on a stool and asked for a black coffee. Roland and Jack stared at him the entire time. Especially Roland.

“Try not to think about it. It was forty years ago. A whole lifetime has gone by,” Jack whispered to him.

“I let it go a long, long time ago, Jack. But all said and done, I can never forget it,” Roland replied, matching Jack’s whisper, eyes narrowing at Sal.

Mona handed Sal his black coffee in a white Styrofoam cup. The private dick paid her, got up, then glanced over Roland’s way. There was a flinch of recognition on his otherwise stoic granite face. Without breaking stride, he exited the diner.

“Every time I see him around town, I’m always reminded. I always think of him and Vivian. How they had the affair,” Roland said, raising his voice that now Sal was gone. He gazed deep into the dark recesses of his coffee.

“You’re a strong man, Roland. I don’t know if I would’ve reacted the way you did. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d have found my wife with another man. I would’ve done something harsh. I know it,” Jack admitted. “Shit, I still want to kill my idiot boss for firing me last month. I gave thirty years of my life to that company and what do I get for my years of service? The middle finger!”

Roland had heard it all before almost every night for the past four weeks. He heard it so many times, the story of Jack losing his job that he could tell it himself. Roland wanted to stop him from ranting and raving about getting the shaft; he was sick of the whole damn thing. He was about to say something, anything to change the subject, but when he looked up at Jack, he flinched visibly.

Jack stopped before he could start. His tone inflected with righteous indignation to one of concern. “You okay, buddy?” He reached over to Roland, who was rubbing his left tear duct with a pinky finger.

“Yeah, fine. Just got something in my eye.” Roland sighed. He sipped his coffee.“Y’ know, Jack, I’m gonna tell you something. Something I ain’t never told no one else. Something I’ve kept secret for forty years,” Roland declared, his demeanor serious. “I ain’t as strong as you think I am, Jack. I almost did it.”

“Did what?”

“I almost killed Vivian and Sal,” he told him in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Are you serious?” he practically shouted.

“Keep your voice down, jackass!” Roland snapped.

“You almost offed the two of them?” Jack said, lowering his voice again. He looked around, making sure Mona and Leon didn’t overhear them. They simply went about their business.

“After Vivian and I were married and moved in together, my uncle Joe gave me a pistol. It was a snub-nose 38-caliber revolver. He gave it to me to protect Vivian and our home,” he explained.

Roland drank some coffee, then continued.

“It wasn’t long till I learned about Vivian and Sal. The signs were there – like how Viv would always work late at the furniture factory. She had the afternoon shift but sometimes she wouldn’t come home till three in the morning. It didn’t sit right with me.

"I didn’t know what exactly was going on until I decided to find out for myself. One night I parked down the block from where she worked and waited to see what time she left.”

Roland took another sip of coffee. He passed, savoring the taste, leaving Jack in suspense.

“Go on,” Jack encouraged.

“Vivian left the factory at ten, long before she told me she’d leave. She got into the Plymouth her parents bought her and I followed. She drove to the Lamp Lighter Motel on 35th Street. Remember that dive?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah. It got torn down years ago.”

“Anyhow, she pulled up to the building and parked next to a blue Sedan that sat in front of Room 114.”

Roland’s rheumy eyes filmed over. They had a faraway look in them as he relived this trauma for what seemed to be the hundredth – no, the thousandth – time. Even though the passage of time dulled the sharp pain of the memory, it still hurt. However, he was proud of himself that he wasn’t screaming about it now the way he did for so long.

“Sal opened the door. It was the first time I saw his face. Vivian kissed him on the mouth, waltzed right in, and closed the door behind her.” He took a deep breath, continued. “My heart dropped, Jack. It fell a thousand feet into a pit. All I could feel was jealously, hatred, and anger… I couldn’t take it. I went home for the pistol that was meant to protect her.” He smiled wistfully at the irony. “ I was gonna use it to kill Vivian and the man she was with.”

Fountains of emotion came springing up from Roland’s chest, rooted in memory. His eyes were shiny. He sniffed, then took a deep breath, comforting himself.

“When I came back to the Lamp Lighter, armed with my gun, Sal was just leaving. He got into his car and drove off, probably to go fetch a late night snack. Who knows? Who cares? Vivian’s Plymouth was still there. I knew she was inside waiting.”

Roland opened up his sketchpad, turned to a blank page, and started drawing frantically, the harsh sound of the pencil scribbling on the paper seemed prenaturally loud in the nearly-deserted eatery.

“As soon as Sal was gone, I parked in his spot. I knocked on their door. My hand grasped the gun so hard that my knuckles turned white,” Roland explained, still sketching away.

“‘Back so soon, honey?’ Viv says from inside, thinking I was Sal. She opened the door and found the snub-nose pointed at her pretty face. I marched in, slamming the door behind me. Vivian tried to scream, but only gasped instead. She took a couple steps backward towards the bed and its soiled sheets.”

“‘Yes, honey, back so soon,’ I tell her. ‘How could you do this Viv? How could you?’ I demanded.” Roland’s hand accelerated, his pencil racing across the paper almost of its own volition. Not once did he take his eyes off Jack as he went on with his monologue.

“‘Roland… Roland, please stop. Don’t let him make you do this. Don’t let him.’” When she spoke those words, she didn’t even look at me. Her eyes were fixed on something behind me instead of on me.”

“‘Don’t let him do this?’” Jack echoed. “She meant Sal, right?

“No. She was talking about someone else. Something else.”

“What do you mean?”

“She told me… She saw a monster.” He was still drawing, impossibly faster now, but didn’t look at what he was doing.

“Saw a monster? You mean you, Roland? You, because of what your were gonna do?”

“No. She said she saw a monster. Standing behind me. She didn’t even scream. She just stared, mouth hanging open, and an expression on her face I ain’t ever seen on a human being. I didn’t believe her... I wasn’t that dumb. I didn’t bother looking behind me… I just kept the gun on her face.”

Still drawing, Roland continued his tale. Jack listened raptly, his eyes widening.

“When I moved forward, I noticed a mirror to my right… I looked into it… I saw it, Jack, this thing in the mirror... This demon… This monster… Just like Viv said.”

Mona came by, gave Jack his food, regardless that he was oblivious of it. She warmed up both of their cups. Roland nodded his thanks and didn’t resume speaking until she was out of earshot. However, not once did his drawing hand waver.

“It was standing right behind me. Its arm was stretched forward, alongside my arm. Its hand clutched my hand, guiding me, holding the revolver with me, cheering me on. It wanted me to pull the trigger and splatter Viv’s brains all over the room.”

He finished his drawing, turned the sketchpad over but didn’t put down his pencil.

“I saw it standing there. Then it looked at me… It turned its head and looked at me through in the reflection. Its face was horrible and gnarled.”

Roland snapped the pencil in two, he was holding it that tight. He turned his sketchpad over, looked at his work, and nodded, keeping it away from Jack.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Roland.”

“No. I knew what it was trying to do. It wanted me to kill them and then myself… That’s why I didn’t go through with it Jack. I ran right out of that flea-trap and didn’t look back. Not once. I remember puking my guts out when I made it home.”

“I bet.”

“I don’t know if she ever told Sal what happened that night. I divorced Vivian and tried to forget her. All of it. But every time I see him, I’m reminded of the thing in the mirror.”

“I’ve never heard anything like that before.” said Jack, looking alarmed.

Roland showed him his drawing. “Here’s what it looks like. It’s been forty years and I can still see its face like it was an hour ago.”

It was a sight that haunted Roland’s dreams for many years following that night.

The thing had a misshapen head. One side of its face was covered in jagged scars crisscrossing over one another, while the other side had chunks of flesh missing, exposing bone. An arrow-shaped nose pointed downward towards two rows of terrible, razor-sharp teeth that were presented in a horrible grin. The eyes were opaque surfaces with no visible pupils or irises, yet somehow, even though it was just a drawing, seemed to be looking right through him.

Jack made a face and turned away. “That’s one ugly bastard!”

“Jack,” Roland began. “I need to ask something of you.”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever it is you got planned tonight, don’t do it.”

“Do what?”

“You know what.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Don’t play coy with me, Jack. Please.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The monster… The thing in the mirror… It’s standing behind you.”