Flash In The Pan - 7. Selfie

Right … he wanted to get this over and done with. Piece of piss.

Eddie Olsen strode up the drive to the deserted house. It was already dark, and the sky was overcast – no moon to be seen.

Why all the excitement about Halloween? Just another effing excuse to sell copious amounts of tat to every idiot going. Well, he'd be in and out of there in ten. Better take a selfie as proof, so even sodding Bri would shut the fuck up.

He was well armed with his phone and a sturdy torch – both fully charged.

Anyway, it wasn't much of a dare. Go into one of the downstairs rooms. And? … Pathetic.

As he came up to the front door, Eddie thought it was ajar slightly. Odd … Maybe other people were playing the same game. Or squatters? He pushed the door hard, and swung it back on its hinges.

Shouldn't it've creaked, or something? Rusty blood seeping from the hinges? Fuck, he'd been more scared crossing the sodding road. He turned his torch on. The intense narrow beam showed no cobwebs, no dust, as Eddie moved it around the hallway. OK … And the air was fresh. Faintly warm, even. … Squatters. He'd better be quick then, before someone took exception to him being there. Eddie turned his torch off until he really needed it. There was a little pale light – the moon must have appeared.

Yet the house still felt dead, without that indefinable spark of being lived in, even if the occupiers were temporarily absent.

What was he getting so uptight about? One fucking selfie, and he'd be on his way.

His shoes were making an odd, reverb sort of sound everytime he took a pace. Something to do with the laminate flooring? Nothing he'd come across before. Strange. A little unnerving. As he was groping his way to the room off to the left of the hallway, Eddie heard a noise. A muffled scrape, quite close by, followed by a soft, solid thud.

WTF? Were they only now dressing the place? No wonder then, the lack of rubber spiders or plastic cobwebs. Animatronic bats, anyone?

“Oi! You tossers! I'm here already. Don't fucking bother, 'less you want to scare yourselves.”

No reply. His words echoed around the hallway.

Eddie turned his torch back on. He caught a glimpse of a mirror, and saw his reflection. Strange angle. He didn't quite look himself, although he wasn't able to pinpoint what was wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Eddie shook himself. He was better than that. As he approached, there, right on the threshold to his room, was a body. He went up to peer at it. Very convincing. All those wounds, gouges, the blood, gore. The clothes soaked through in places, torn, ripped. They must've found someone who'd done some sort of cinema or theatre special effects course. Eddie resisted the impulse to poke the 'corpse', and so disturb the actor. He didn't want some pissed-off luvvie swinging for him.

He stepped carefully over the 'corpse', and went inside. As he swung his torch this way and that, Eddie gathered it was some sort of library. Shelving, books, tables, and plenty of chairs – tubs, and armchairs. He tried to ignore an unsettling niggle. How long could someone hold their breath? … It was almost like a gentleman's club. Awesome! A selfie in one of the tub chairs would be great. Even better if there was a cigar or two around. Style. Eddie always appreciated great style.

Walking past the first high-backed armchair, he couldn't resist glancing sideways. … Bloody hell! Fuck, but that was convincing. He tried to slow his heart rate. Almost too good – his stomach had definitely given a lurch. He tasted bile. Who the fuck thought of these props? This one was disturbing. Nightmare material. And on a woman, as well. Eddie felt himself being drawn closer, despite his revulsion. How much work had gone into that? The blood was still flowing. And the smell … He was feeling queasy again, and his skin crawled, for all his bravado. This wasn't all for him, surely? Maybe there'd be others along later … He felt kinda sorry for the actors, not moving, hardly breathing. This one was good, very good.

Taking his time, Eddie moved towards a table in the centre of the room which looked to have boxes on it. Cigars, possibly? Something – someone? – appeared briefly in the tail of his eye. One of the tardy scene setters. Eddie shivered suddenly, but tried to ignore it. He was still thinking of his selfie. If he was gonna bother, it ought to be a good one. Worthy of being re-tweeted, re-blogged, re-everythinged. Going viral, even? Wasn't his fault he was a good-looking fucker. He kept in shape. His gait acquired more of a strut. Again, he passed a mirror and admired himself. The image seemed to remain visible for longer than it should. Eddie shrugged. It was easy enough to obtain trick mirrors. Wasn't it? …

Suddenly, his ears pricked up. Another one? If it was, the actor was crap – wheezing and gurgling like nobody's business. Eddie looked around, following the light from his torch. There he was, lolling around in another of the wing armchairs. Perhaps he should tell the actor, the game was already on? He was about to open his mouth, when the torch beam settled on the actor's throat. Awesome!

Eddie's stomach wasn't so sure. Nor were his hands, which had started to tremble, no matter how hard he tried to control them. He could see the windpipe. The bloody froth and bubbles? How did they achieve that one then? Eddie understood that this 'corpse' was meant to be alive – just. Zombie element? Werewolves? The head moved a fraction his way, and Eddie looked into a pair of terrified, pain-filled eyes. His heart thumped suddenly, and the blood left his face. Wow … he took back his previous comment. Bloody good acting. … It was acting?

Eddie looked away – it was too gruesome, fake though it was … He was standing, waiting for his heartbeat to settle, when Eddie noticed a shadow, or a hint of a shadow, on the wall opposite. Funny, it seemed to be his outline, only it couldn't be … His eyes tried to follow it.

“Owh! ... He- …” Arm hooked around his throat, blade next to whichever artery it was in his neck. Eddie froze, stricken with terror.

“Strip. Completely. In silence. No turning round.” A voice in his ear.

Eddie recognised the voice – instantly familiar, but different somehow. It wasn't one of his co-workers being a dick. …

“I …”

The knife made contact. It felt wet, sticky. With? … The bile in Eddie's stomach reached his mouth. His heart thumped again. Swallowing hard, he nodded slightly. The arm removed itself, and the knife, but Eddie sensed it being held close. He put the torch down. Quickly, he tried to strip, clumsy fingers getting in the way. Finally, he was down to his underpants, shivering, awaiting orders.

“Completely, I said. Dickhead.”

Eddie stripped them off, as well, adding his underwear to the heap.

“Turn to your right. Get dressed in what's there.”

Eddie obeyed, grabbing the mostly unseen clothing with both hands. He had no idea what was going on. This wasn't some game. This was horrible. Sickening, defiling. … The bodies – were they? … He struggled to get everything on. The clothes were a perfect fit, though they were stiff in places, wet in others, and stank. They were his clothes, only they weren't. Unfamiliar materials, different textures. Eddie stood, waiting. His head was swimming. Mustn't faint. Thoughts of what might be on the clothing were threatening to make him heave.

“Excellent. Turn round. One final thing to give you.”

Eddie swung round to see … himself. His jaw dropped. He couldn't breathe. What? … Who? Bulging eyes took in every detail, every contour, blemishment … It was him. But … not.

“Here you go.”

The dripping, be-fouled, long-handled knife was thrust into Eddie's right hand. He stared at it, brain refusing to function. Then his eyes dropped to take in his clothing, illuminated by the torch held now by the other him. Gore, blood, morsels of human flesh … His heart pounded fit to burst.

“It wasn't very nice of you to murder those people. Such violence, so much hatred.” His doppleganger shook his head. “And you should've been more careful – dragging them away from the town centre, like that. Have a nice time in maximum security, won't you?”

The high-pitched, maniacal laugh seemed to go on for ever.

Eddie dropped the knife, and scrambled towards the main door. He had to get away. Somewhere. Anywhere. Sirens. He could hear fucking sirens …