September 2006 Issue The Horror Library, your Haunted Home for Horror Fiction, Dark Art, Horror Games, Movie Reviews, Book Reviews, Non-Fiction, Alternative Music, Horror Authors, Horror Short Fiction and featuring The Terrible Twelve - RJ Cavender, Bailey Hunter, Boyd E Harris, Megg Roper, Jason Beirens, CJ Hurtt, Eric Stark, Cordelia Snow, Chris Perridas, Curt Mahr, Stephen Sommerville, M Louis Dixon, Kerry Drummond
His dark eyes sat in a nest of wrinkles. Unblinking, he stared forward. He began to talk, but then stopped, no sound came out. His eyes fixed on something, somewhere far away. He sighed and broke wind.
How long had he sat in that chair? Sat with flat beer and crusted bread, staring forward.
I approached him, "Old man."
He did not turn his gaze,
"Yes? What is it?" his voice old and cracked. Dust could be heard in his it
"Do you need anything? Would you like me to take your coat? It's quite warm today."
He blinked once,
"No thank you."
I went back to my duties.
He sat there for years. Not days, weeks, or months, but years.
I ask him if he needed anything most days. Sometimes I would leave him alone.
I took a month off, for my wedding, and honeymoon.
When I returned he was still there.
I sat next to him, "How old are you?"
He turned his head and faced me.
A sound began, then stopped. No answer.
He then turned back and faced his spot once again. With that I left him.
A few days after that, a couple came in. A man and a woman. The man looked a bit like Sean Connery in his prime, and the woman was a short dark haired woman dressed like a gypsy, quite beautiful, exotic. They held hands as they entered. They looked very happy.
After a few seconds of looking around they spotted the old man. They smiled at each other, then slowly made their way to him. The old man's eyes still stared.
"Hello, Jonathan." said the woman.
"Time to go home." said the man, his voice gentle, hypnotic.
With that the old man, now named, Jonathan, got to his feet. He removed his jacket. Large wings folded out. They were like dragon wings, scaly and shimmering with a lizard sheen. The wings stretched out like arms would. His jacket sat bunched up on the floor. I walked over picked it up, and handed it to the woman. She shook the dust off of it, and said, "Thank you."
Jonathan and the couple walked out into the sun lit street. Johnathan's wings shimmered again in the dim low light of the restaurant, and then he and they were gone. I don't know where.
Perhaps he was an angel. I don't know, and I doubt I ever will. I only know my days are emptier with out him.
