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Mr Turpin’s Long Journey.

On the last night of his journey George Turpin had a nightmare. It didn’t surprise him. In fact he had expected it calmly. Almost every night since he had left home the haunting dreams came to torment him, to penetrate his sleep and pound against his waking mind. And although he was well aware of that, he could never be prepared for the increasing force of their cruelty.

This night he had the strangest of all his travelling nightmares. He was in a dark house without windows and without a door. And although he could not see any light there were shadows everywhere. Some of them were so dark, they seemed to swallow the substance they fell on and leave only holes as portals to an endless abyss. Worse yet, as he looked at them directly he saw figures taking shape in the blackness, forming flat bodies of bizarre creatures that cowered, ready to jump at him as soon as he turned his back on them. And there was a stairway. And the least sensible thing to do was to walk up that stairway. And that was what he did. It led him into a forest where a man in a red dress sold tickets. George took the ticket and felt sorry for the man because he saw the hairs growing out of his eyeballs. Surely it must hurt to close those eyes. As he turned, he noticed the trees appeared ugly and old beyond years. Among the trees were people. They tumbled and sleepwalked around with innocent faces, completely ignorant of their surroundings. Sooner or later one would walk up to a tree, or the tree would walk up to him, and the leprous branches would take hold of the human body, growing rapidly into ears, nose and mouth, so that the man could barely scream. Roots were moving in the chest and swelling in the belly, pressing against the skin, contorting and expanding vigorously. Then as the tree withdrew its extremities and the man was released, something had changed in his expression. The man would stare blankly into nothingness. As if it was the only thing he could see. After a while, he would start walking into a certain direction. As the man sleepwalked past, George understood what had happened to him. The tree had planted a seed into the man’s will. This seed was teeming and destroying his mind like a cancer. George saw that the man’s veins were filled with rapidly growing roots. Suddenly he realised that this was happening all around him. There were dozens of people transforming into mindless zombies, losing their will permanently. And as the sickly plants sucked the minds greedily from their victims they became fat and big. Yet they still looked sick and old, and somehow George knew that this could never be changed because it was just how they were. The trees might turn into greater masses of diseased wood and flesh, but they would never be healed. But nobody else seemed to notice these things. The people were still walking into the dark forest, some of them passing directly by some of their lost friends who were just being infected. George felt the urge to scream but was afraid to draw attention to himself. Maybe if he walked just like the others did no one would notice him. But when one of the zombies lay his wide, empty eyes on him, he knew it was not like that. The zombie separated his jaws slowly and something brown came out of his mouth. George heard bones break as the zombie’s jaw was forced open to an impossible angle and almost fell off. George ran. He heard them behind him, walking at an indifferent pace. But although he himself was running they were getting closer. Sooner than he expected his legs became heavy and he felt like he had to drag them behind him. He didn’t dare breathe because he was sure that branches would suddenly reach out from the darkness and grow into his stomach. He ran on all fours now, struggling to support his legs with his arms, but he was still too slow. Something had changed though. The trees had retreated into the shadows and there was only one pair of steps clicking rhythmically behind him. George felt very alone. Something grabbed his arm and jerked him around. He looked into his mother’s dead empty eyes. George screamed.

The next morning he felt sick and was covered with cold sweat. Embarrassed he changed his underwear, then got dressed and left the sleeping wagon with his single red suitcase. He didn’t wear a watch usually, so he asked someone on the train for the time. The sleepy young man with the cigarette told him it was seven forty. George sighed with relief. Soon he would be home.

Entering his house he at once felt the warmth of sanctuary. His wife and two daughters rushed to the door to greet him, dying to touch him and hear his voice. He embraced them with utter gratitude, not only for their being here, but for their mere existence.

His wife had prepared lunch already, so they sat together at the round table. She was so beautiful - truth be told, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Her large blue eyes were both erotic and tranquil, loving him with every glance. Her hair was like gold, ever glistening in the light of even the dimmest bulb, reflecting every frequency a thousand times. His daughters were both very similar to their mother and just as beautiful. Young and pure, they were his most precious treasure. Together they were all he ever wanted. Everything else in the world was expendable.

This night the beautiful woman and he made love, and it was like a merging of souls. Afterwards the children crawled into the bed because they couldn’t stand to be away from their dad again. George spent hours watching them sleep. It made him happy and proud. It was unbelievable that he was able to create something as perfect as them. Smirking, he peeped at the wedding picture beside the bed. It had to be her, he reasoned. This night he had no nightmares.

He enjoyed the presence of his family now. There was enough time for work later. Work never left you, you could just as well keep it waiting. George spent some of the most memorable days of his life at home. Gabrielle, for that was his wife’s name, was with him every waking hour and lay beside him when he slept. He had missed her so much and he prayed that he would never have to leave her again. Not ever. The strains of the long journey soon wore off and his limbs began to relax. There was nothing that could harm him now. He was at home.

But during the next weeks an unwelcome feeling began to creep back to him. It was just above the threshold of notice, bordering on the almost imagined. And most of the time that was exactly what George thought it was. Or what he liked to think it was. Yet focusing his mind on it he was quite sure it did not spring from his imagination, but from another source entirely. And after a while he wondered if it was something he had brought back from his journey. Something that should have been left buried. This prospect troubled him more and more the less he wanted to think about it.

He didn’t say anything about it to his beloved wife. It would only scare her. Curiously enough, she had become a little fragile lately. In fact, over the last few days she had been too tired to take care of the house. Simple physical actions fatigued her. And one day George found her sleeping long after twelve. She looked a little pale, too. On this day George brought breakfast to her bed, smiling at her as she opened her eyes. She then said that she was incredibly sorry, but she was just too weak to get up and needed a bit more sleep. George replied that there was no reason to be sorry, that he would take care of everything, and that the only thing she should worry about was getting enough sleep.

After she had fallen asleep, he washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. It was something he liked to do. He had no second thoughts about housework because he loved his family too much to care about banal ideas of the sexist kind. Actually he found it rather fun.

He needed no more than two days to get into the housewife routine. He didn’t want to praise his own work too much, but he found himself working quite efficiently. It was all a matter of timing and a systematic approach. He even managed to get the stains out of his favourite white shirt. He could get used to that. When Gabrielle was on her feet again he would probably insist on taking shifts. Poor thing.

Nevertheless he was uneasy and distinctly tense. Gifted with a sensitivity for moods and emotions that bordered on empathy, George always tended to rely on his instincts. Right now they told him that something was wrong. Something too stealthy to be caught by eye or ear, a change that manifested in more delicate ways. He was positive that he was being watched, all the time and that his eternal halls of protection were crumbling in slow motion. And maybe that same thing was torturing his family. Inquiring within, his mind wandered back to the place where his long journey had taken him. A dark place it was, forgotten and forlorn. And he had been there for too long. Shaking his head he chased away the memories. There was no use in getting hysterical. These kind of ruminations would lead him nowhere. He had to stay realistic and keep his mind focused on the situation. Paranoia didn’t help anybody.

When Galadriel and Jennifer had to stay at home because they were too sick to go to school George became really worried for the first time. It was also the day the nightmares started again.

Anger grew in him. And despair. The sanctuary of his sacred home was breaking apart in his sleep. The phantoms of the road invaded his house, threatening the safety of his family. And he hated them for it. Why couldn’t they have stayed tied to the endless highway and the sullen rhythm of trains? Why did they have to come here? Again the answer surfaced without his approval. He had brought them with him. They belonged to this far away place, but he had brought them here. And now he couldn’t get rid of them.

No. No, that wasn’t true. He was just stressed out, that was all. With his wife and daughters ill, he was just understandably exhausted and he reacted with disturbed sleep. Yes. That sounded reasonable. And now that he knew what it was he had to get over it. He had to be strong and cure his three beauties.

On the third day he insisted that they would get up and walk a few steps, and that they would all have lunch at the table in the dining room. Somehow he expected a positive effect from this small but important ritual. It should make them feel at home. It was basic psychology. Everyone knew that the best place was home.

Sadly, the desired effects would not take form immediately. So George waited. It was just a matter of time.

Apart from that, something entirely peculiar had happened recently. George was on the way to his bedroom on the first floor, when he saw - no, he kind of felt - the light fading. It shifted to damp violet, passed a black and white scale and then settled into a colour that could be described as the simple lack thereof. It was dark. But George somehow got the idea that it didn’t actually happen to the house, but to him. This was about him. And as he heard his own steps slowing down and finally coming to a halt, he became aware of a high frequency hissing, like noise emanating from a TV set. Right then he was very afraid to look behind him, afraid of what he would see there. And that he would recognise it.

But what he was meant to see was right in front of him. There were things moving in the shadows. They were looking at him. Watching him curiously. The air smelled of rotting meat.

He had no idea how he got to his bed, but when he was there, tucked in with the blanket pulled over his shoulders, he felt immediately better. Pressing his trembling body against Gabrielle’s, he fell into an unpleasant semblance of sleep. He didn’t remember having any dreams.

A month passed and nothing changed. George suggested calling a doctor, but Gabrielle only shook her head, mutely. She wouldn’t hear of it. She would rather suffer some time in his arms than in a pale clinic where everyone treated her like the mere portrait of a human being. George respected her will. When she smiled at him he loved her more than ever.

Of course they had stopped having sex, but that was not a problem. George could wait. He had understood at once that his wife was in no condition to sleep with him. Therefore he wouldn’t bother her with his urges. When it came to Gabrielle, George had all the patience in the world. The priority was to make her whole again.

The condition of Galadriel and Jennifer saddened him immensely. They hadn’t been to school for over a month and George was forced to accept more than a few phone calls from their teacher who expressed his deep worries about them with a series of short grumbles. George thanked him, assured him that the health of his family was the most important thing, and that everything would be back to normal soon. And yes, he was positive that the two girls would have no problems to catch up with their missed subjects. Bye.

Without knowing why, George occasionally found himself locked in his room with his red suitcase lying open in front of him. For at least an hour he would stare at the instruments that had tainted his journey. Foreign artefacts from his travels. They were outlandish yet fascinating devices and seeing them made him dizzy. In these moments he was very sure that he should have abandoned them. That they should never have left the place. He looked at them some more before he eventually closed the suitcase and put it under the bed. He then left the room, already forgetting what had happened.

Three weeks later there was still no perceivable change and George had the feeling that everything around him was getting out of hand, at least out of his. The things in the shadows were there now almost every night. They didn’t really do anything, in the sense of doing any physical damage. But although George tried to ignore their flickering dances on the walls and in the corners, the mere thought of them just being in his house unsettled him. He didn’t sleep well. Sooner or later he would have to figure out what these things were. Maybe the nature of their existence would deliver him clues to ways to get rid of them. And of that horrible smell.

But none of this was really responsible for the pain he experienced right now. He could deal with all of these things. The problem was that he stood alone against them. There had been a lot of difficult situations before, but they all had been defeated by a strong family. Not this situation. For once it was just him. Knowing this made George very vulnerable and he was not sure how long he could go on like this.

The next morning he finally decided to bring up some of these subjects and discuss them openly. He experienced a moment of shock when his family did not say a word. Sitting uncomfortably on their chairs they actively avoided his gaze. None of them would look at him. And none of them would talk to him. It was then that George Turpin felt truly alone. He stood up and went upstairs, sensing that he was unwelcome.

It was all over one day at lunch time. They were all sitting at the table, but George was the only one eating, when the door was thrown open. At least a dozen men jumped in, pointing weapons at George.

"Police! Hands up and freeze! Put those fucking hands up! Now!"

George didn’t know what else to do. So he did as he was told.

"Oh my god, look at this! Oh bloody hell..."

The officers began to walk towards his wife and children. Obviously frozen in terror, they hadn’t moved. Gathering his courage, George told the men to leave them alone.

"Look at this... they’re dead... god, they’re all dead..."

It was the oldest of the intruders who dared to even touch the girls, his look mocking professionalism. "Heavens... judging from the condition the corpses are in they must have been dead for at least a month. Maybe two."

The man aimed a disgusted glance at George. "Take this pervert in custody. And don’t go too soft on him."

George was thrown into a dark, small cell. He was alone in there. He sat on the wet stones because there was neither chair nor bed in the cell. He focused his eyes on the lock in the steel door, since it was the only source of light. And he was surrounded by shadows now. They were everywhere. They had come here to gather around him where there was no way out. He was completely at their mercy.

It must have been hours later when someone came to fetch him. During this time he didn’t let the shadows out of his sight for a second, he didn’t even dare to blink.

He was brought into another small room with a single bright light that was beaming into his face, transforming the other three persons in the room into bodiless silhouettes. Their voices were rough and coarse.

"Why did you kill them?"

George was silent.

"For what reason did you split their necks? Were you afraid they would leave you?"

George said,he didn’t know what they were talking about.

"We want to know if you’re a regular killer or a psycho. You murdered three people that happened to be your family and afterwards you had lunch with their corpses. Everybody thinks you’re a straight psycho but we’re here to make sure."

George expressed his wish for a lawyer.

"Sure. You have a right to a lawyer, sure. You will get one in due time, believe me. But for now you’ll be answering our questions. Why did you keep the corpses? You even arranged them into sitting positions. They must have smelled horribly."

George said nothing.

One of the men sighed. "All right, take him back to the cell. It’s late. We’ll interrogate him tomorrow."

When the door closed behind him he was, for the first time, glad to be alone. Only accompanied by shadows.

Trembling he lowered himself onto the cold stone floor. Probably it was time to get used to the fact that he wouldn’t get out of here soon. He would have to stay a while. With all this involuntary spare time at hand he could do nothing, but watch the shadows move. And as he did that, he began to comprehend certain things. The creatures in the shadows were not fearsome. They were alone just like him. They were interested in him. Also, something in their movements started to look familiar. Occasionally a feeling of deja vu would touch his mind. There was something in these things he seemed to recognise, but he didn’t know where from.

That night George dreamed. In contrast to his life his dream was not a nightmare. His wife appeared to him like in a vision. And George was crying, so happy was he to see her, but he seemed unable to get up from the stones and reach her shining hair. The memory of it was so far away.

In this vision Gabrielle spoke to him. Soothing was her voice and full of love. And he listened, drinking every word from her lips like precious nectar. She told him everything he had to do and the price of it. She told him that it was necessary to do it and that he should neither be sorry nor should he feel guilt. And she told him not to worry. Everything was going to be all right.

He awoke from a dirty streak of sunlight brushing his face. The cell smelled bad. The shadows were gone. Someone knocked at the door and opened it without giving him time to answer.

He was brought into a room, but not the dark one. It was a simple and average office with a cheap desk that was laden with paper stacks. Behind the desk sat a man George had never seen before. He wore a grey suit and had small glasses. His face proclaimed extreme neutrality towards everything.

"Mr Turpin, I am Jacob Starling. I am the attorney in charge of this case. I would like to talk to you about your situation, and I would like to hear your version of the whole story. Is that all right?"

George said nothing. The man didn’t seem to notice.

"Are you aware that you have killed your wife and two daughters, Mr Turpin?"

George looked at him.

"All three have been dead for almost three months. I would like you to tell me why you did this."

George said that he had no idea what he was talking about. They threw him back into the cell. He was alone again, but this time it was different. He was waiting.

The next day he was brought into the same room. Dusty light fell in through the smeared window. The room smelled of fresh synthetics. George was smiled at.

"Mr Turpin, I think you really misevaluate your situation. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened. I’m aware that I’m not your lawyer but there are still a few things I could do if you let me. So," he leaned over, "you killed two people, Mr Turpin. Why?"

George looked at him blankly. He said that he had no idea what this was about. The attorney shook his head and George returned to the cell. Again he sat down. He was used to the wet stones already. Patiently, he waited.

This time it was three days before someone opened the door and gestured for him to come out. Nothing much had changed in the office. There was more dust and more papers. The man wore another suit. It had a stain on the left sleeve but George didn’t tell him. The attorney’s voice sounded rough. He was obviously sick.

"So, hrm, Mr Turpin, it’s still the same story. I hope you know that I will ask you until I get a satisfactory answer." He sighed. "Look, Mr Turpin, I don’t have to do this. It’s just that I’d like to help. You’re in a very grave situation. It would make things easier if you worked with me. Why did you kill your wife?"

This time George remained silent until he was brought back, suppressing tears. In his cell he pressed his body into the corner and cried. He felt more alone than ever.

With an empty feeling in his chest he waited. It didn’t take long. When the door opened he was already standing. As he entered the small room he at once knew what was going on. The man appeared plainly nervous. Currently he was desperately looking for something in the countless stacks of papers.

"Uh, Mr Turpin? Have a seat, please."

George sat down. Moments later the attorney did likewise. His face displayed signs of concern.

"Mr Turpin, do you know why you’re here?"

George said that he didn’t.

"Well," the man began, "the problem is, no one here seems to know that. Um, no one remembers why you were arrested in the first place. There are no papers about your case either, hrm. Do you understand?"

George said that he did. Maybe someone had made a mistake.

"Hrm, ah well, but we shall not make a situation out of this now, shall we? So, actually, there is no reason to keep you here any longer."

George stood up. He said that he would like to go now.

"Of course. I’m so sorry. A terrible mistake."

George went home. The moment he entered the house and clicked the lights on he knew he was not alone. There in the darkness he could see his wife and his two daughters, merging with the black spots, eyeing him yearningly. With tears filling his eyes he smiled at them. Then he went upstairs into the bedroom where no picture was standing beside the bed. No evidence of their existence remained. But he would never forget them. He would miss them every moment, awake or asleep.

Somehow the hours began to pass, turning into days and weeks, becoming months. George Turpin made no move to stop them. He had no plans for the future, nor any dreams he could pursue. Occasionally he would go down the stairs and look at places light didn’t fall on and smile. He would stand there for a minute, his eyes closed, as if he was listening to some whispers or hums. To silent things. Then he would continue his way as if nothing had happened. There was nothing he could do. It was unwise to hasten anything.

Patiently George waited.

Two years after he had been unduly arrested he made the acquaintance of Laura. They met in front of the photo studio Laura used to work in. She ran straight into him, dropping a collection of black and white pictures, shot at the local train station. After George had helped her pick them up from the wet pavement she agreed to have a cup of tea with him. She was a little shy and she tended to speak in low mumbles. But George knew she was the one the moment he looked into her deep blue eyes. There was no doubt that she was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Soon they began to see each other almost daily, meeting in a cafe, a restaurant or a gallery. Laura was an artist and her creations were objects of true wonder. Her gift to detect obscure meanings in things and bring them into a distinct perspective made her work unique. George, who respected the visual arts as much as the next man, marvelled openly at her talent, especially since he found out that it made her blush. Sometimes she would even give him a warm kiss on the cheek. Four months after their first date Laura asked him if he could stay overnight.

In her bed Laura’s shyness was replaced by burning passion. She moaned his name as she came and held onto him afterwards. She said that she would never let him go and that she loved him more than anything. George caressed her golden hair and admitted that he felt the same thing. Happily they fell asleep in each other’s arms. Two months later George proposed to her. Three months later she was pregnant.

They both had come to the conclusion that it was the best for them and the baby to move into George’s house. It had always been too big for him alone anyway. Now there was at last a second and eventually a third voice to fill the silence of the white rooms.

On their wedding day Laura took a photo of them together. She would not let anyone else do it. She called it her master piece and explained that creating art was easy if the ingredients were so good. In appreciation of true art the picture was placed on the table beside their bed.

Despite his warnings Laura would keep on decorating the rooms even after she was in her eighth month. Eventually he had given up restraining her. One reason was the astonishingly pleasant atmosphere she could summon with a few pictures and a little colour. The other was that she became irresistible when she was working.

The next month Laura gave birth to a girl named Eve.

George comforted her when she was informed that there was no real chance that she would ever be able to have another child. He told her that this child was more precious to him than all the children in the world and that he loved Eve more than anything. It soothed her but it was evident that she still suffered from her condition. George understood that. But giving it some thought, he suggested that they might nevertheless adopt another child if she liked. Laura fell into his arms then and cried, sobbing that this was the best idea he had ever had.

So it came to pass that Eve grew up with another child she would only know as her sister Barbara. Ironically, and no one could expect that, they looked almost like twins.

In the years to come nothing bad happened to the Turpins. It seemed as if fate had a very special role reserved for them. Even George was temporarily cured of his indefinable pain that had drained him from time to time. A dreadful headache would attack him and make him do things he would regret afterwards. Dealing with this was difficult for him. Laura tried to help him but of course she didn’t understand. When she mentioned a professional he slapped her. He excused himself immediately although it was not really his fault. Together they would overcome all hardship, he said. She just nodded.

True, when he found out that Laura had regular contact with another man, a colleague as she testified, he probably overreacted. Worse still, the kids were there and watched him do it. After that they tended to look at him in a very weird way, almost as if they were afraid of him. Calmly he assured them that nothing bad had happened and that dad would fix everything. But they didn’t believe him and instead they avoided him. For this family he would have to invest some time and work, George concluded. Very well. He could do that.

But was his work appreciated? No, of course not. Laura was ignorant of his desires and refused to make love with him, arguing that since she had to earn all the money she also had to have some peace of mind when the day was over. She was simply too tired for sex. So, apparently it was all up to him to keep their marriage from disintegrating.

However, he never forgot Gabrielle, Galadriel, and Jennifer. And how could he? Every night he left his bed to descend down the stairs to the place where they waited for him. Every night they would whisper to him and he would listen, refresh the memory of their voices and assure them that he would do as they wished. For although they might never have existed he still loved them.

And when Eve and Barbara were in school or with friends and Laura was away at work he would open his red suitcase and examine the devices he had brought back from the far away place. And he was dreaming of the day when it was time to use them. Patiently he waited.

Eight years he waited till that day had finally come.

Although George had had enough time to ready himself he was not prepared for the cruelty of the final act. He killed them quickly and he hoped without much pain. Still their cries drove stinging tears into his eyes. And as the blood spurted on him in violent waves he imagined himself to be far away, on a journey to foreign places. He had loved them. But he had to care for his family above all else. And he had kept them waiting for too long already. They just deserved to exist. It was his duty as a father and as a loving husband to bring them back.

For the last time he opened his red suitcase. Everything he needed for the procedure was in there. It wouldn’t take long.

When he was finished he knew that his labours had only just begun. Now it was again up to him to be patient. The girls had informed him that the actual feat of sliding into the bodies was easy. But taking control of their new organs and manifesting again in the material world could take some time. In all these years they had forgotten how it was to have a body. George suggested that it would probably be easier for them to remember when they did things together just they had used to do back in the old days. His wife and daughters were delighted by this idea and danced happily between the shadows. In anticipation of the day when he could embrace them he waited.

Three months later George sat at the table and had lunch. His family was with him. They still looked at him through dead eyes, but he felt that they were already existing and they grew stronger with each passing day. As they had agreed upon, he had arranged them on their seats the way he remembered them, lovely and kind.

As he ate, his wife uttered how sorry she was that this was not progressing more rapidly. His daughters explained that it was quite fatiguing but they would continue trying. If only they didn’t tire him. George assured them with a good-hearted smile that they could never tire him. He would wait. For them he would wait forever. When the door cracked open he ruefully contemplated on the future.

The End.

For Daniel Vaross aka Satachrist’s Little Helper aka Best Friend.