Gilbert
I didn’t feel like writing an actual article this week so here is a short story I once wrote for a creative writing class. The professor handed it back to me and said he had no idea what I was writing about.
I remember the day. It was a Tuesday, mid fall. The time of year when the leaves are turning brown and you have to wear a jacket because it is too cold for just a t-shirt. I was in my bed, sleeping. A sudden knocking on my door woke me up.
“Ah, bloody wankers,” I explained before turning over and going back to sleep. It had been a difficult night and I wasn’t about to get out of bed for just anybody. Some time passed. I have no idea how much because I was asleep, but then there was another knock.
“Who the hell is knocking on my door this early in the morning?” I thought. I sat up and looked at the clock. Turns out it was exactly twenty after two in the afternoon. Not exactly morning, and way too late in the day for me to get angry at somebody for knocking at my door. Reluctantly, I got out of bed and walked across my dorm room.
Right as I got to the door there was a third knock. This one was much harder then the previous two. While those earlier knocks had sounded polite, almost timid, this one was heavy and loud. It gave the impression of somebody whose patiences is close to running out. Somebody who knew that I was in here. Somebody who knew I was taking my sweet time, and was getting sick of it. They had some sort of important task that involved me, and they would suffer no satisfaction until it was finished.
I wondered who was at the door. I wasn’t expecting visitors, so it could be anybody. I put my eye against the hole. The cold steel touched my face, it took a moment for my vision to focus. Then I saw something that chilled my spine. What I saw was completetly unexpected, and with good reason. Nobody thinks that the worst the world offers with be thrust upon their lap. I saw at that moment a demonic abomination that makes the angel’s shutter and God weep in despair for ever allowing it to be born. A demonic monstrosity that cracks and devours the bones of decency. An icy specter whose very being was made up of the lost dreams of humanity. It was famed actor/comedian, Gilbert Gottfried.
A crippling paralysis gripped me. I wanted to look away but I couldn’t. Helpless, I stared through the peephole at him. He calmly stood there in the hall, like this was nothing more then a casual visit. He was looking down the hall towards the building's exit. There seemed to be something amusing over there just out of my line of sight, he had a grin on his face. He turned back towards the door and raised his hand to knock again. His hand froze mid air, and he squinted. It was almost as if he were looking through the peep hole at me. As if he were looking straight into my very soul. This broke my stasis. I couldn’t let him get me. I turned the deadbolt. There was a loud click as it locked.
I analyzed the situation. He must know I was in here, he would have heard the deadbolt, but there was no way for him to get in. The only way into my room was that door, and it was made out of some sort of metal. He could only enter by breaking it down. I didn’t think there could be any way he was that strong. It was a stalemate. Northing could happen until I left my room. It was now the waiting game.
Normally the waiting game is not my forte, I’m more of a checkers man, but I thought I could fair better then him. In here I had snacks, a TV, and access to a bathroom. In a few hours people would wonder why Gilbert Gottfried was in the hall outside my room. If he wanted to avoid suspicion he would have to give up whatever dirty deed he had in mind.
I realize now, of course, that this thinking was short sighted and foolish. Gilbert Gottfried doesn’t simply give up. His tenacious bloodlust cannot be culled easily. Such mundane efforts such as locking doors do little more than make him laugh at our feeble attempts to stop him. I was naïve then. I had never faced anything like Gilbert Gottfried before.
I turned away from the door and looked into the heart of madness. Through one his nefarious tricks, Gilbert Gottfried had appeared behind me. Dumbfounded, I just looked at him. I thought maybe he wasn’t here to hurt me. He grimaced. A single tear ran down my face. I grabbed the doorknob and pulled. Nothing happened. The door was locked. My single method of protection had doomed me. I fumbled with the lock for what seemed like minutes, but it just wouldn’t turn. I realized that he was playing with me. I turned around. He was still standing there; he hadn’t moved an inch. He smiled and uttered the words
“Aflac.”
His voice pierced my ears and echoed off the walls of my head. I was engulfed in the sound. Suddenly the word popped and I heard nothing. Everything turned red. It was like a colored gel had been put over the spotlight of my eyes. The red faded away, I saw only white, then black…black as midnight…black as Gilbert Gottfried’s heart.
I awoke some time later, I have no idea how long it was because I was sleeping. At first I thought I was blind because I could only see white, then I realized I was just looking at a spotless white ceiling. My head felt like it was full of thick pudding, or possibly custard. My neck was incredibly tight. With effort I turned my head, my bed was surrounded by a white curtain the obstructed my view of the rest of the room. My muddled mind finally realized that I must be in a hospital. I tried to get up but my body wouldn’t. I called out but was only able to make a barely audible rasping noise. My throat was dry. I wished I had some water. I felt more tired then I had ever before. I was going to close my eyes when I heard a door open. A man pulled apart the curtain; he was wearing blue doctor’s scrubs and a surgeon’s mask. I didn’t think anything was out of the ordinary.
The doctor stood at the end of my bed looking at a chart. He licked his finger and flipped a page. He just stood there reading the charts for what seemed like a thousand eternities. I stared at him waiting for him to say something; to explain why I was here, what was going on. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore; I felt that if we remained silent like this for one more second I would go insane. I was about to ask him what had happened to me when cut me off.
“Well look here, not many people your age have strokes do they?” There was something about his voice, a whiney nasal quality. It reminded me of something, but I couldn’t quite place it. It felt like a distant memory or dream. Perhaps if my mind had been clearer I would have recognized it for what it was.
“Nope, strokes in healthy youngens like you aren’t common at all, you’ve been in that coma for three weeks, did you know that? Of course not, you’ve been sleeping, but I haven’t. I never sleep. So I have to find ways to keep myself busy, and oh lordy how busy I have been. Doing things, to people. People you once knew, who were once close to you but now...heh, now they’re only close to the ground."
I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. It made no sense to me. He easily read my bewilderment and began to laugh.
“Let me ask you, do you think that the things you say on the internet are truly anonymous? Did you think I wouldn’t find out it was you? Did you think that I didn’t have the pride to seek revenge for those insults? You puny mortals think there are no consequences to your actions, but there are. I will make you pay."
You can’t understand what I felt at that moment. Realizing I was trapped there with Gilbert Gottfried. It must be like how a mouse feels when it looks up to see the cat pouncing, or how the buffalo feels when what it thought was another buffalo is actually an Indian wearing a buffalo hide as a disguise. It might be like that but much worse. Those animals are taking part in a natural cycle. I wasn’t. There is nothing natural about Gilbert Gottfried.
I’m not exactly sure what I did to wrong Gilbert Gottfried. There is one incident that I think may have triggered these events. I recall one day I arrived at one of my classes, only to find it cancelled. With ninety minutes to kill I went on the internet in the library. I happened about a website for the television show Clerks: The Animated Series. This show was a TV sequel to the movie Clerks by Kevin Smith. Gilbert Gottfried had a minor role on it doing impressions of celebrities. These impressions were not good because of Gilbert Gottfried’s distinctive voice. The website had a message board. I went on it and made a post in which I wrote “Gilbert Gottfried’s impression of Patrick Swayzee sounds an amazingly a lot like Gilbert Gottfried.” I think this is what caused me to receive his wrath.
“I could have destroyed you that day we first met you know,” Gilbert Gottfried said as he ripped off the surgical mask, “I could have used my power to destroy your entire being, but where would the fun be in that? I work in wider dimensions. In the time you’ve been asleep, I’ve been busy, oh yes, very busy. Do you remember your friends, your family? They are no more. While you lied here I sought them out. One by one. Oh, how they withered in pain as I ended their lives. None of them went peacefully. All because of you. All because you thought you were being clever. Well nobody wrongs Gilbert Gottfried. I only kept you alive so that I could shatter your world before ending it. This is endgame.”
I didn’t want to believe him. I told myself it was just the ramblings of a mad man. But deep within I knew it was true. I tried to call out for help, but nothing came from my mouth but some dust and a raspy squeak.
“Don’t even try calling for help, I’ve made sure that this would be a private meeting.” With that he began to laugh. I weakly tried to get out of the bed. He saw this move coming. He leapt on to the bed and pinned me down. I fought back but my strength was gone. His phosphorus odor wafted in my nostrils. Sweat gleamed off his forehead. Face to face with him I could see no mercy in his eyes. He is more beast then man. I knew that there was no reason to fight. This was it. All I could do was wish for it to be quick.
“This is it. There is no more for you. No love, no life, no hope. You are gone, it will be like you never existed. I hope it was worth it. I hope your insult was worth dying for,” he whispered so quietly it was barely audible. Then he said it.
“AFLAC.”
It was a holocaust of sound. The hospital walls shook, windows shattered. Around the town car alarms went off. Babies cried, elderly woman fell ill, dogs howled in melancholy malarkey. The sound waves reverberated through my skull. The brain swelled with blood until it was too much for my skull and it simply exploded sending grey matter and bone across the room.
Gilbert Gottfried calmly walked out as if nothing at all usual happened.