| Alone
in the Dark
Kim O. Johannsen
This is the story of Mr. Albright. It begins one night when
all of Henry’s lights went out. Sunken back into the couch
and still hanging on to the hung up phone, suddenly his lights
went out all through the house. Henry took no notice; he saw
only what was in his mind, and it was pretty dark there too.
Then came the knocking on the door, first it was a tapping,
then it became a knocking, and Henry noticed it. “Go away,”
he yelled from the couch, but it only made the knocking build
to a pounding. Henry covered his ears, but the pounding continued.
The noise was beginning to get to him. He held a pillow over
his head, but it did not help. “Okay, okay I’m coming,”
he cried though he did not want to come out from under his pillow.
The pounding stopped and Henry sighed in relief. Now he did
not have to get up. The door creaked open then shut, and footsteps
approached down the hall to the living room where Henry sat
in bewilderment.
A dark silhouette appeared in the doorway. “Thanks for
inviting me.” The voice in the dark seemed familiar to
Henry, though he could not quite place it. “I didn’t,”
he began, but was interrupted, “you don’t mind if
I sit.” The silhouette moved to the recliner. “I
saw your lights were out,” words, “they’ll
come back on,” were exchanged, “in good time I am
sure they will,” bit by bit in the dark. It was silent
for a while, and the lights did not return.
Henry squirmed in the couch, something seemed terribly wrong
about his guest. “Who are you?” Henry squeaked.
“My name is Mr. Albright, and I believe we have spent
some time in the dark together before,” the familiar voice
declared. Henry squinted for recognizable traits. “Do
you mean - inside?” he trembled with high hopes of mistaking.
“No,” Mr. Albright chuckled, “I never went
to prison; I’m more of a free spirit.” Henry exhaled,
“I’m sorry I don’t seem to remember you.”
He started up, “Maybe if I got a couple of candles...”
“No,” the voice burst him back in his seat. “I
have a rare sensitivity to light,” Mr. Albright confided
softly. The revelation of vulnerability calmed Henry a bit,
and he repositioned him self in the couch trying to find some
comfort amidst the awkwardness.
“Last time we met your girlfriend, Lisa I believe, had
just broken up with you,” Mr. Albright poked, “how
are you doing now Henry?” “My girlfriend just broke
up with me,” Henry unwittingly divulged while his brain
turned this new piece in the Albright puzzle. “Not Lisa
again?” Mr. Albright exclaimed. Henry startled. “No,
that’s right, she’s dead isn’t she?”
Mr. Albright smirked, “so who is, or was, your new girl.”
Henry felt a sudden chill; he was sliding on ice waiting to
break through. He shuddered and scrabbled for grip. “No!
This is different, and I didn’t do it, I don’t,”
Henry stuttered, “I didn’t do it! I loved her.”
morbid self pity filled Henry; had he not suffered enough, and
now this shadow out of the past had come to administer upon
him yet another injustice. He hung down his head in anticipation
of the axe.
It was dark and silent for so long that Henry thought himself
dead already, and blessed his own good fortune for such a painless
passage. Then he heard Mr. Albright’s familiar voice again;
its mirth saddened him, for he knew it could not be the expression
of a man departed. “I know you didn’t do it Henry,”
Mr. Albright soothed, “but you are in a dark place and
in need of some cheering up. I’ll stay till you feel better,
but for now I must retire. I will make my self at home in your
basement.” Henry sensed Mr. Albright’s shadow lift
from the recliner and glide into the hall. The cellar door clicked
shut, and the lights flickered on.
In the morning Henry found himself hanging head over couch and
drool dripping. The lights were still on, and some shone in
between the pink pin striped curtains; Liva had picked them
out for him a few months ago, and he had long forgotten his
original loath for them. He staggered head heavy into the bathroom.
Face blushed with blood and the couch imprinted, he met the
mirror. Had he been drinking? He turned his head, the shadow
shifted side, and a light flashed inside. Quickly on the tip
of his toes, he approached the cellar door, listened, twisted
the knob, and inched it ajar. Dark silence met him. He took
it in, exhaled, and shut the door of an evil dream relieved.
Habit made tea, and Henry drank it though he preferred coffee.
The taste and everything he saw reminded him of her; it was
agonizing. Liva had been quite explicit; she was not coming
back. Some things had to go; the Disney posters, the bed sheets
and matching towels, the miniatures in the window, and definitely
those horrible curtains! Henry began to tear down the curtains.
Some of his old stuff was still in the basement ready to replace,
but most of it she had insistently disposed of. He already felt
the emptiness. She had taken up a lot of space in his life,
but now he was boxing her up for the basement.
He carried a box of the worst to cellar door. He hesitated for
a moment recalling his dream, then determinately flung the door
open and flipped the light switch. The reliable old incandescent
hanging on its own cord illuminated the small space below. Henry
ventured carefully down the steep stairs, and put the box in
an empty corner. He looked at the sad sights, a couple of cobwebbed
chairs and boxes, and a painting covered in dust. He wiped clear
the face of the painting with his hand. It was a landscape with
rolling hills, and there was a little cottage in the distance.
Henry did not recall where or when he got this painting, but
decided to hang it up. He ascended the stairs with the painting
and tapped the switch which caused an immediate response below.
“How rude!” a voice bellowed below, “I told
you I was vulnerable to light.” Henry spun around almost
tumbling down the stairs. It was pitch black. He wanted to turn
on the light, but did not dare to. “I’m sorry,”
he piped, “I didn’t see you.” “No, of
course you didn’t you dummy, that’s the part about
being sensitive to light!”
Henry mostly wanted to run away, “I’m sorry,”
he tried again. “Its okay,” Mr. Albright sighed,
“I am here to help you, so just don’t let it happen
again.” “It won’t,” Henry promised.
“Good, so when you have packed up a box, just put it at
the top of the stairs. I’ll take it from there, and we’ll
have the little bitch out of your life in no time.” Henry
felt a sting in his heart. “She’s not a, she was
just a little too young for me.” “Don’t kid
your self, she’s not innocent; she manipulated you.”
“Well…” “Oh, so you enjoy living in
Barbie’s palace?” “I don’t want to talk
about it.” “She used you and hurt you, don’t
you want to get back at her?” “I don’t like
hurting people.” “Then why do you have a gun in
the house?” “I,” Henry stammered, “I
don’t anymore.” “That’s too bad, but
we’ll make due.”
Mr. Albright was true to his word; the previous box was gone
whenever Henry was ready to set down the next at the top of
the stairs. Each time Henry sat down a box they exchanged a
few words, and Henry began to see how Liva had used him. By
dusk Henry’s house was mostly empty, and the wiping out
of Liva from his life was near complete. He was excited with
the progress and wanted to finish the job and bring his few
things up from the basement, but Mr. Albright said, “you
should go to bed now and rest. Tomorrow will be a new day and
life untainted.” “I hope I don’t have to ever
see her again,” Henry murmured and shut the cellar door.
“Don’t worry, you’ve made your decision,”
Mr. Albright applauded, “Leave the rest to me, and tomorrow
you can set your life on the path you wish without obstruction.”
Henry tired from the day’s work and thrilled with the
idea of waking up to a fresh uninhibited start, went to bed
early and passed out immediately.
A ray of fresh morning sun woke Henry from his dreams. He browsed
through the empty house to the kitchen with great satisfaction.
The slate was clean, and he could do whatever he wanted. He
turned on the coffee maker and looked in the refrigerator. Surprisingly
everything he craved was there, potatoes for hash browns, toast
and cheese, as well as eggs and bacon. Liva used to tell him
that it was too fatty and greasy for breakfast, but she did
not matter any more. Now where had he last put the chef knife?
He found it in the sink, rinsed off the ketchup, and began to
dice the potatoes, while listening to the promising drip and
gurgle of the coffee machine.
There was a tapping at the door; then it became a knocking.
Henry put down the knife and went to answer the door. He smiled;
the two police officers did not. “Are you Mr. Albright?”
The shorter one inquired. Henry’s smile vanished, and
he shook his head. The policeman looked into his folder and
back at Henry. “Would you mind coming down to the station
with us and answer a few questions?”
the short policeman gestured towards the patrol car at the curb.
Henry knew it was not a request, but a command. Entranced he
staggered down the pathway in his robe. His bright humor had
turned to gloom, and he knew he was heading for a dark and lonely
place.
|
Spring
'07