The Seventh Seal Read Free

head.  He turned the flashlight on and walked from the
kitchen to the dining room.  He passed the beam over the oak crown molding that
he helped Reggie put up a few months earlier.  As the light moved down the
wall, John saw dark splatters covering the light-beige walls.  Elsewhere he saw
various friends and acquaintances in grotesque positions, arms and legs twisted
in severe angles as if dropped from the sky.  The faces of others sunk in
sickening pools of life’s essence.  He saw the Werewolf and the Headless
Horseman in one corner.  John moved into the living room and identified the
red-headed Witch, the Pirate, and the French Maid.  He knew their names of
course, but preferred to think of them as characters in a movie.
    John passed each of the dead, hoping not to find Reggie.  He
climbed the stairs to the second level, stepping over a body that lay crumpled
on the landing.  At the top of the steps he turned left toward the spare
bedroom, where dresser drawers tumbled across an upturned mattress.  Black
holes crawled down from the ceiling to the wall and escaped by shattering the
two windows overlooking South Belvoir Road.  His head ached and he reached into
his pockets for a phantom pack of cigarettes.
    “She fucked me over and stole my smokes,” he said to
himself.
    John moved into the next spare bedroom.  The rumpled bedding
hid shapes under the blood-stained sheets.  The odor of feces and death forced
John to place his arm in front of his face.  The beam from the flashlight hit
the frozen faces of two beautiful, young people.  They appeared to be naked
under the sheet, but John had no desire to find out for certain.  Both bodies
wore a third eye punched through the middle of their foreheads.
    He entered the master bedroom and again saw two shapes on
the bed.  He saw the silver and turquoise ring on the middle finger of a hand
hanging above the floor.  Dark, syrupy blood discolored the end of the pinky
finger.  John moved to the other side of the bed.
    Poor Shelly , thought John.  At least she died with
her husband and best friend .
    John stepped on a pile of discarded clothes as he moved to
identify Reggie’s wife.  The light caught hold of white, fishnet stockings. 
John’s heart jumped to his throat.  He swept the light up to the bed and saw
the wavy, blonde curls spread out over the pillow.  John stumbled against the
wall and fell.  He stood up and yanked the comforter back to expose the naked
bodies of Reggie and Sarah.
    John flew down the stairs into the living room.  He pulled the
Venetian blinds to one side and peered out.  Empty streets stared back at him. 
Not a single car or pedestrian passed while he observed the neighborhood.  No
kids chased a soccer ball, no women pushed strollers, and no landscapers blew
leaves.  An empty street in Cleveland’s December would be expected, but not
early November.  Most people in the city savored every last day before the
specter of winter moved in and banished the citizens to the confines of their
dry, drafty homes.
    The streetlights did not come on as night came to steal the
waning rays of the late autumn sun.  John sat at the window for an hour, trying
to decide if he could wake himself from the nightmare.  A lone pit bull stalked
down South Belvoir Road, daring anyone to push him to the side.
    John turned to the living room and walked toward the Scream,
his mask still firmly in place.  John riffled through the man’s pockets
underneath the black cape and managed to find a cell phone.  He turned it on
and waited for the “No Service” message.  John shut the phone off and shoved it
into his pants’ pocket.
    John recognized the growl of an internal combustion engine. 
He ran to the window, let the blind fall shut, and peered through the tiny
opening between it and the window sill.  Blinding bursts of white lit the
desolated street and narrowed as the headlights formed two solid, penetrating
shafts of light.  The jeep moved