Robert Essig - Death Obsessed

“Closed,” said Calvin. “I checked it yesterday.”

Calvin wasn’t sure he wanted to tell Russ about the cloaked man. It was such a strange experience that he was uncertain it had happened at all except for the fact that he had the Death’s Door video in his possession.

“All this interest because of that cage fighter video where the guy breaks his leg, huh? I saw that on the news. Pretty fucked up if you ask me. Thing flopped around like it was made of rubber.”

“Yeah, freaked my girlfriend out pretty good.”

“You’ve got a girlfriend, huh? What’s her name?”

“Ronnie Peterson. You know her? We went to school with her, but I didn’t know her back then.”

“Sounds familiar. Probably had a class with her.”

“Yeah, turns out she’s never even seen Red Asphalt or anything like that. I told her it would give her a better perspective on life to see some of that stuff, but when I tracked down that old website, deadthings.com, and showed her a picture of a murder victim, she freaked and walked out on me.”

“Naw, you didn’t.”

“Well, yeah, sure I did.”

“Can’t blame her for freakin’ on you, dude. Chicks aren’t into that kind of thing.”

“Yeah,” Calvin shrugged, “I just think it gives life a whole new perspective, you know?”

“Not everybody sees it that way, bro. What about the video? Is it the real thing?”

“Oh yeah, it’s the real deal, man. I watched it three times last night. Shit got into my head, though. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Three times! Are you fucking crazy?” Russ shook his head. His demeanor changed, his eyes staring, troubled, into Calvin’s.

“What’s with the look?” Calvin said.

“You should chill on that stuff, man. I don’t think watching that much gnarly shit is good for you, you know? Back when we were in high school I was reading a lot of books about serial killers—Manson, Bundy, Berkowitz, all of ’em. It got to be where I would sit there in my bedroom and look at the window wondering just when someone was going to invade my house and kill me. I mean it really got to me, to the point where I was beginning to think that if I didn’t be come one of them I would become victim of one of them, you know, like if I didn’t become the killer I would become the victim of a serial killer.” Russ took a sip of his coffee. “I haven’t read a book about a serial killer since, not that there were many I hadn’t read at the time.”

“Naw, it’s nothing like that. I’ve got the video at my house if you want to come over and check it out.”

Russ shook his head. “Had enough of that shit when I was a teenager. Seeing all that death…” he trailed off, looking closely into Calvin’s vacant eyes. “You better watch yourself. There are some things that aren’t meant to be seen over and over again, and the images on that video… I think maybe they’re better left alone.”

“Your loss. Just a second ago you wanted to go to the Museum of Death for old times sake.”

Russ’s face soured. “Ug. I kinda forgot what it was all about. Forgot they showed that video. No thanks.”

They said their goodbyes. Calvin walked a few blocks back to the tavern with the little stairway beside it. No new tale to tell. Urine, empty bottles of Old English, rubbish and filth—standard street fare.

A look at his watch told him he had better high tail it if he was going to get across town to the café in time to meet Ronnie, but there was always time for another peek through the window on the door. It could be painted black or boarded up, but then again it may just be dark inside.

Cupping his hands around his face, he looked in wondering if there were any lingering artifacts or photographs. He was surprised to see that there was a dim light on inside, though the interior was still hazy and unfocused, the window glass too cloudy for a good visual.

Before Calvin could think about it, he was knocking on the door.

Was there movement inside? It was hard to tell.

He knocked again, harder.

The door suddenly opened a crack, the hinges creaking like the proverbial coffin lid. A musty odor perfumed his face like a moldy abandoned basement.

“Hello,” Calvin called to the darkness beyond the door. “Anybody in there?”

No answer.

He nudged the door and it opened with ease, wider than he had anticipated. He didn’t want to disturb whoever might be inside, but the place appeared to be deserted and he couldn’t waste this opportunity.

“Hello, is there anybody here. The door was open.”

Had the door been open? He didn’t think so, but it sure was now.

The light switch on the wall called for Calvin to flick it. Come see what I have to show you , it said, and he felt the need to oblige, so that’s what he did.

The overhead fluorescents came to life, though some of the bulbs flickered and others didn’t work at all.

Calvin eyed the place, amazed that nothing had been touched. There was the dust and cobwebs that were to be expected in any abandoned building, but the fact that the walls were still lined with framed pictures of infamous murderers and death scenes was a bit of a shock.

He stepped further into the windowless domain, a glance at the ticket booth showing him an empty chair behind a desk covered in a thick layer of dust with long ago abandoned webs weighted down with even more dust.

The door shut behind him much the way it had opened, but it wasn’t startling, couldn’t divert Calvin’s attention from the walls of death he found himself so insatiably attracted to.

He glided through the four rooms of the miniature museum, everything the way he remembered it, when something on the floor moved.

Calvin’s heart jumped. He could swear a mangled corpse was crawling toward him from across the floor, but it was nothing, just a garbage bag with a piece of wood protruding from it. The floor was littered with several black bags of junk as if the owner had been readying to move from the location and was interrupted. Maybe they lost the lease and the building owner had a lien on the property. Maybe they became ill. Maybe they died…

“Is anybody here?”

No answer. It probably would have scared Calvin half to death if someone had answered, but calling out like that felt right. It was the kind of thing you did in said situations just in case someone was there, that way it didn’t look like you were trying to rob the place.

It was as if everything slowly began to come alive, like out-of-focus maggots crawling over roadkill. Calvin saw movement from the corner of his eye, something creeping from the shadows. Pictures on the walls of murderers and slain bodies glared at him as if he were invading their territory, and wasn’t that exactly what he was doing?

It wasn’t their territory. They weren’t even real, just pictures, but there was something about them, like paintings in old castles that follow you around the room. Or better yet, like paintings in old Vincent Price movies, the ones directed by Roger Corman.

Calvin’s cell phone rang, disturbing the silence. The ring tone was “Love Her Madly” by The Doors, which meant it was Ronnie calling, which, consequently, meant Calvin was late for dinner.

“Shit,” Calvin muttered as he answered his phone. “Hello, Ronnie?”

He tried to sound as if he innocently forgot about meeting her, but there was no way around the earful he took from her. It was half past five already. “Thirty minutes!” she reiterated as if it were to be the last meal they were to share together. And maybe that was her intention. Maybe she had finally taken enough of his shit and was going to put the baby up for adoption or seek out full custody after it was born.