Not Your Average Monster: A Bestiary of Horrors by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Bloodshot Books
Published: 2015-10-29T04:00:00+00:00

I didn’t see Emil much after that morning and the times that I did he did not look much better than when he first told me about the vampire he believed was hidden amongst the elderly here at Resty Acres; his appearance seemed to be on the decline, deteriorating little by little each time I saw him in the weeks which followed. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but there actually came a time when he chose to no longer dress himself. Moreover, his hygiene was beginning to suffer as well. Ultimately, he ended up wearing nothing more than underpants and that housecoat of his, the one with black stripes. He still had his handkerchief, however, that same old red one, although it seemed to be getting less and less work the more times I saw him; mostly I would see it dangling from his hand, limp as his new demeanour. It was when Emil himself went missing that things began to change for me. Or rearrange, if I am to be truthful.

When the talk Emil and I had on that Tuesday morning was given new perspective.

I am very close to the pattern weight, I think.

That is what he said, there at our table in the breakfast room. Odd, yes, but as I think back over the times I saw him wandering to and fro in that housecoat of his, it occurs to me that Emil did seem to be on the decline in weight as well. The man was becoming less is what I mean to say, smaller and thinner each time I took notice I suppose.

Still, thinking back, maybe I could have prevented some of this; maybe, maybe not. At least I could have put forth an effort, which is something I did not do, not then. And of this I am ashamed, just so you know, as it places my character beneath a light I am unfamiliar with.

Before all that, however, I received my new roommate. His name was Stanley Chesterfield, and if that name isn’t a handle then I don’t know what is. I called him Flat Stan on account of his face, which really needs no further explanation. He was a smaller man, and frail, from years of bed rest I’m sure. He was also uncommunicative. Not totally, but unable to hold a conversation concerning the here, the present and the now; poor Flat Stan had come to be my roomy while he found himself trapped within the end stages of Alzheimer’s.

This prison, Alzheimer’s, is a disease no one would wish upon their worst enemy. It is rampant here at Resty Acres, perhaps the disease du jour, and believe you me when I say it is as powerful as it is heart-wrenching. A fear of mine, I’ll admit, but no longer my number one. No, that place is now reserved for the impossible proved possible, for the stuff I used to know as make believe.

I have looked evil in the eye, my friend. I am afraid to say it does not blink.

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