The Stranger From Out of Town

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TheStrangeFrom Oof Tow

TheStrangeFrom Oof Tow



The Stranger From Out of Town

Dorian Searls looked out over the lake as the setting sun slowly fell behind

the trees to the west. It had been a good day like many others over the past seven

years. Dorian had inherited his parent’s house ten years ago after a drunk blew past

a stop sign and hit his parents' car doing no less than eighty-five. They died on

impact. The drunk, some dill-witted being named Harry Gureaux, was not the least

bit hurt and tried to flee the scene after the accident, shrugging it off as nothing

more than what he called a minor fender-bender.

Dorian received word of his parents' death while at his portfolio show at the

Rhode Island School of Design. He carried on till the show was over, knowing that was what his father would have wanted. Many contacts were made that day, and his

future looked bright in the artists market, but his momentary success paled after the

show was over and the truth of his parents' death really hit home deep in his

stomach.

His friends carried him back to his apartment and said not to worry about his

work, they would take care of it. The next morning, Dorian was on a 747 jet headed

home. Walking into his parents' house was unsettling for him. Silence hung in the

air, and he called out for his mom by instinct alone even before he knew what he was

doing; the only answer was his own voice slightly echoing off the walls. He

collapsed into his dad's favorite chair in the den and let the blackness take him.

He awoke the next morning and went through the house looking at pictures

as the pain swelled in him. He let the tears flow unhindered, not bothering to wipe

them away. Dorian was an only child; he didn’t have any siblings to lean on or talk

to about his grief, and this scared him to no end. Throughout the day, many people

came to visit him and give their condolences. His parents were well-known in thesmall town and were well-off in the money sector.

He found himself in his mother’s art room at dusk and was looking at some

of his earlier artwork that he had given her while he was in high school. Tears came

again, and he didn’t fight them.

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He got himself dressed the next morning and headed to the funeral home.

His parents had funeral insurance, so there was no worry there. Still, the ordeal beat

him up pretty badly, and wore his sadness and grief openly on his face. When he

returned to the empty house, weariness rode him like a wave, and he decided to go

lie down.

The blackness was better; no worry or pain was in the blackness. He

welcomed it, and it took him greedily. The funeral itself was nerve-racking for

Dorian. Many tears were shed, and many faces ran through his vision as the service

and burial came to a close. Feeling the pangs of loss, he stayed at the cemetery for

three hours after the service, not wanting to go home to that empty house, which

was now belonged to him lock, stock, and barrel.

The house was paid for, but it was devoid of life, and the thought of staying in that empty house sent chills through his body. The house was a two-story

contemporary, well-built and worth a lot of money. It faced the west on Carpey

Lake and had the traditional pier, two-car garage, and a wrap-around porch.

The ten acres which accompanied the house were worth more than a pretty

penny, too. His father’s stock options were in full swing and promised a wealthy

return in twenty years. All this seemed not to matter to Dorian though; he would

have scattered it all to the four winds to have his parents back and alive.

The days passed, and instead of things getting better they got worse. Dorian

seldom went outside, and the house was a complete mess. Stale air hung in the

home - creating a feeling of gloom that seemed to ooze from its cracks and crevices.

Dorian’s state of mind was down in the muck of gloom, or the gutter as some people

say.

It was six months later when Dorian found himself with a loaded .45 Colt

pistol in his lap, the shades drawn and dusk approaching. He was going to put an

end to the ‘big show’ as he liked to call it. In his mind he knew better, but the pain was too great, the loss gut-wrenching, and the loneliness heartbreaking.

The gun was raised to his temple and his finger was on trigger, ready to pull.

Squinting his eyes, he hoped he wouldn’t feel anything as the bullet exited the barrel,

entered his skull, and made a nice little piece of artwork with his brains and skull on

the back wall.

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He took a deep breath and was about to squeeze off the shot when the

phone rang. He nearly shot himself by accident at the sudden noise. The phone

continued to ring, and he slowly let the pistol fall from his head, looking at it with

anger. Setting the pistol aside, he got out of the chair and went and answered the

phone.

To his surprise, it was Doug Kent from college, his best friend. Expecting

him to still be up north, Dorian was elated when Doug told him that he was about

an hour away and needed directions to his house. Dorian's somber mood was lifted

slightly at this new news. The call had been a life-saver for Dorian, and Doug’s two-

week-long stay was nothing short of a miracle. The grief was still there, but it was in

check, and his spirits were lifted.

*** The months turned into years; they weren’t always easy, but Dorian delved

into his work and produced some of his best stuff in his young, twenty-two years.

He had talent, and the world knew it. He prospered with his art - mostly in the

advertising sector doing freelance for some of the biggest ad agencies in America.

He thought of moving several times, but couldn’t let the house go. It was home, and

he decided to stay put. The house was paid for, and the cost of living in a small

town in the south was pennies compared to what he would pay living in a big city.

Dorian was no dummy; he got his business sense from his father. After he

thought about his options on whether to sell the house or stay put, he wanted to try

his hand at his own art. He realized he was in the perfect place to do just that.

The lake and its occupants suffered from a two-fold disease and they ate

upon each other like cancer. This disease was called greed and envy and it ran as

rampant around the lake as kudzu does on a southern hill. Dorian fed this cancer

with his first original oil painting entitled ‘Carpey Sunset’. He had sold it to Mr.

Scott Farmington, the doctor who lived next door - “next door” being over aquarter-mile down on the left.

The painting was a beauty, and Scott loved it. Scott loved it so much he had

a little party to ‘show’ this painting off. The party was a hit, and he boasted loudly

over Scotch-infused breath that it was the only one available, and he alone had it.

The declaration wasn’t uppity - it was subtle and sublime - but it hit home just as

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Dorian had hoped. During the course of the following two weeks, Dorian received

calls from everyone who owned a house on the lake. They just ‘had ’ to have one,

they all insisted. “No, no hurry but don’t make me wait forever” was the usual final

response to Dorian as he hung up the phone.

His plan had worked, and to Dorian’s surprise he had his own little nest egg

now which topped over one hundred thousand dollars. The years rolled by, and

Dorian became widely known in southern art circles. His style was his own, and it

seemed everyone wanted a Dorian hanging in their office or their home.

He finally said goodbye to the advertising world and headed full steam into

the life of the fine artist. Dorian had just finished his latest painting and had walked

out onto the docks as the sun set over the trees. It had been ten years since he had

come home to grief; while the first three were horrid, the last seven had seemed ablessing. Having finished the painting and watched the sun set, he decided to treat

himself to a small drink at The Cove.

The Cove was the bar/restaurant on the lake - well not really on the lake but

close enough to throw a rock into the water. It was the local hangout for many, even

those not from the Lake. It was a nice little place where one could go and relax, and

Dorian needed just that after working on the painting at a maddening pace. He

quickly washed up, changed clothes, and was out the door walking down to The

Cove for his little reward. He whistled along with the crickets joining in their song as

he walked on in the moonlit skies of September.

***

Dorian sat at his usual booth in the Cove. He knew all the wait staff and the

owner. Lisa, his favorite waitress, greeted him warmly as he sat down and took off

his jacket. The bar was half full, and the aroma of old smoke, alcohol, and cooked

food wafted in the air and permeated his senses. It was a welcome smell to Dorian,

and he ordered his usual, Crown and Seven, which stood for Crown Royal and 7 Up.He rarely drank; it was only on special occasions that he would imbibe the spirits.

This night was one of those nights. Dorian had finished his latest painting in

record time. Lisa returned with his drink, took his money, and was about to leave

when Dorian spoke up, “Hey Lisa, got a second?”. He then sipped his drink,

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watching her. After a few seconds, he thought she didn’t hear him and was about to

speak up again when she answered him.

“Sure, Dorian. Whatcha need?” she asked.

“I was talking with Wayne the last time I was in here about those

photographs hanging above the bar. I wanted to purchase them for my house; they

are quite good. I understand they are yours.” He paused and noticed Lisa put her

head down. “Funny thing though” he chuckled a little while sipping a bit from his

drink “he wouldn’t sell them to me. Heck, he was pretty adamant about it, too.”

She looked puzzled and slumped her shoulders. Dorian asked, “Is there a way I can

at least get a print of them?”

For a moment, she sat there silent. Dorian could tell she was taken back by

her new-found fan. “Wow. Thank you, Dorian. I can’t believe that Wayne won’tsell them to you. I will just have to have a talk with him about that. I do try;

anything to put some extra money for college and all in the cookie jar. Let me talk

with the grumbly bear and see what I can do. You really want the originals?” she

asked.

Dorian nodded, “Sure do. I will even pay top price for ‘em. Just tell me the

amount. They are quite good, Lisa. You should be proud,” Lisa blushed at this and

Dorian added, “Just let me know, ok? If Wayne won’t part with them, prints will be

fine.”

“Let me talk with him, and I will get back to you. Thanks again Dorian. It

means a lot. Really, it does. More than you know.”

“Just calling 'em as I see ‘em.” He replied, with a serious tone in his southern

drawl . Lisa turned and walked back to the bar calling for Wayne before she was

halfway there.

Dorian liked Lisa. She was a hard worker, and Dorian admired that.

Nothing was wrong with hard work - especially if it was working towards a goal. Heknew college was expensive. His father shelled out over one hundred grand for

school and half for his apartment. Dorian had to work to pay for the other half at

his father’s request. He didn’t mind. It gave him a sense of accomplishment and

worth.

5



He knew Lisa was going to the community college in Summit to become a

nurse, but he thought she could do just fine as a photographer if she set her mind to

it.

The bar began to fill up when the door opened and a tall, thin man with a

black trench coat and black hat stepped through the door. Dorian was immediately

taken back by the man. This wasn’t the usual customer the Cove acquired. Dorian

sipped his drink while watching the stranger step fully inside, cross the bar, and settle

in a booth not far from him.

Intrigued, Dorian watched as the man methodically took off his hat and

neatly folded his trench coat and laid it in the seat beside him. The man had

exceedingly sharp features. Dorian immediately thought of a raven, and the man’s

jet-black hair only added to that allusion. He could tell the man was old, but his trueage was elusive. The man’s black hair was only interrupted as if someone took the

lightest of brush strokes to the sides of his hair with light silvery paint. The

stranger’s eyes were intent. Dorian thought he could burn holes in wood if he

wanted.

Lisa then brushed by Dorian and made her way to where the man was sitting

three booths away. After a few quick interchanges of speech, Lisa was laughing. A

charmer to boot,thought Dorian. The man’s smile was wide and genuine and he gave a

little salute as Lisa left to get his purchase. Dorian couldn't take his eyes off the the

stranger. What sort of man was this? Why was he here in the backwoods of Mississippi? What

did he want?

Lisa returned quickly with a simple glass of water for the man. He noticed

Lisa bend close to the man as if he whispered something to her. Dorian was

surprised when he saw Lisa respond by looking at him and pointing. The man

nodded and produced a bill, gave it to her, and took a drink of his water. She quickly

left and came smiling by Dorian. He was about to speak when Lisa put a singlefinger to her mouth as if to hush him as she rushed past. Dorian looked back at the

stranger who cordially nodded at him. Dorian nodded in return, truly perplexed. He

then finished his drink and wondered if he should order another and see how this

played out. Lisa returned with the familiar drink of Crown and Seven. She was

smiling, and Dorian looked blankly at her.

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“It’s from the man in black over there, Dorian,” she set the drink on the

table and retrieved his finished one, “I told him you usually only had one when you

come in, but he said it didn't matter. 'Just bring him the drink; if he drinks it so be it,

if he doesn’t, no harm done.'” She finished.

“Well, what is his name?” Dorian asked curiously.

“Aaron Klee, he said. He has a foreign accent and is quite the charmer. He

noticed my earrings which I just bought yesterday and the highlights in my hair,

which was also done just yesterday.” Dorian felt foolish for missing something so

simple and obvious about Lisa. He was about to say something complimentary

when she cut him short.

“It’s ok, Dorian. I'm sure you would have noticed the hair eventually. He

also said he would like to speak to you if, let me see how he put it, ah yes, if you areso inclined. A real Mr. Big Shot aren’t we tonight, Dorian,” Lisa said joking, though

she definitely had a touch of curiosity embedded in her reply.

Dorian sat back in his seat in thought. He looked at Lisa completely blank.

“I honestly have no idea what this man would want with me. I've never even heard

of him. I know no one overseas and I wouldn’t dare believe he is some lost relative.

This has me puzzled to no end, Lisa.”

“Now you be polite and go see what he wants, Dorian. Don’t burst the

bubble of our southern hospitality now,” she said jokingly.

“Yeah,” he said and chuckled.

“Well, I have done my job. The place is filling up and I am by myself until

nine tonight. I'll keep an eye on you though if you need anything else. Good luck

with the stranger.” She then smiled and was gone in the blink of an eye. Dorian

sat for a minute, thoughts racing through his mind. He wasn’t prepared to entertain

tonight. After the hectic pace he had worked these past two weeks, he just wanted

to relax and have a drink. He looked back at the stranger and noticed him looking outside over the lake.

Dorian took another drink from his second Crown and Seven, built his

nerve, and slowly slid out of his seat hoping this meeting wasn’t going to turn south.

He slowly made his way over to the stranger who was still looking outside at the lake.

Dorian cleared his throat so he wouldn't startle the man. At this, the man turned to

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face him. Dorian spoke first, “Thank you for the drink. Only I don’t know why I

deserve it.”

The man straightened in his seat and extended his hand to Dorian. “Mr.

Aaron Klee; it’s a pleasure to meet you, Dorian,” the man said with a firm voice and

shook Dorian’s extended hand.

“Likewise,” Dorian replied and carefully examined the man's face. He had

kept his age exceedingly well. Dorian guessed he was in his late sixties or early

seventies, and by his accent he thought he came from Germany or somewhere near

it. “Do I know you Mr. Klee? Are you some lost relative? I can't figure out why

you'd be here, looking for me.”

Aaron chuckled and produced a pipe from inside his jacket pocket. “Do you

mind, Dorian?” he asked while holding up the pipe. Dorian shook his head “no,”and the old man proceeded with ease, filling his pipe, stamping it, and then lighting it

with a long match. As the tobacco caught fire, the aroma that lifted from its bowl

was sweet and arid, almost hypnotic and lingering in the air. After taking a long draw

on the pipe the old man laughed, and then he continued.

“No, I am no long lost relative, and I would imagine you have no knowledge

of me or where I am from. But I'm sure that you would indeed like to know from

where I come from and what I am doing here talking to you.” He leaned back and

took another draw from his pipe. “Have a seat and join me if you will. This tale

might get a little long, and I would hate to have you standing for the whole of it.”

Dorian slid into the seat, ready to hear what the old man had to say. The

man took another two long draws from his pipe. The aroma now surrounded

Dorian, and he felt strangely at ease as the burnt tobacco sent trails of thin smoke

into the Cove’s air.

Aaron cleared his throat and began his tale. “As you might have guessed, I

came from across the sea, from a small unknown town in the western sector of Germany named Lexumgraft. I am part of a...select order, one might say.” He

leaned closer to Dorian, “We keep things secret, things that would destroy this world

in an instant or send it into utter chaos and damnation. These things I will not talk

about here.

8



Our town is virtually unknown to the outside world, and we like to keep it

that way. We bother no one, and we don’t take kindly to strangers who happen

upon us uninvited. Our order has saved humanity numerous times in the past and

will continue to do so until the Maker finally decides to bring a close to this cosmic

game.

Lexumgraft is small compared to most cities in this day and age, and there

are a total of two thousand who reside there - both on the surface and below. It is

cared for by our lineage, and the line goes back even before the Son walked the

earth. The Bible, as I hope you know it and are acquainted with it, to some degree

doesn’t tell of everything in and on the earth. Many things are left out, most we

deem for the good of man, their welfare, and their sanity.

There are things, Dorian, other things that would send you screaming intothe night like an infant who cries for his mother when frightened. I am part of that

lineage, and I am what we call simply enough a Seeker.”

Aaron stopped and inhaled again on his pipe then drained his glass of water.

Gently, he set it down on the table and looked at Dorian. The old man realized

Dorian was giving him his undivided attention, and he was staring intently at him to

continue the story. “I get ahead of myself though, Dorian. There will be time

enough to tell you of the other things I have yet to speak of. I shall now tell you

how I have come to sit in front of you this night and how I came into knowledge of

your work.

We do have many friends around the world - even across the Atlantic in the

United States. Some of our friends are always on the lookout for talented

individuals. I, myself, am one of those individuals, but knowledge of your work's

potential came from an old friend and art dealer in Atlanta, Georgia.” Aaron could

see Dorian’s brow wrinkle as he tried to think of a man who fit this bill. “Oh,

Dorian, you won’t know him. The piece was brought to him one sunny afternoonover a year ago. Don’t let it worry you. So after a year's worth of admiring and

looking at your work, I came to the decision to ask for your services.”

There it was, Dorian thought. A job, but from across the sea, and he would

by lying to himself if he wasn’t thrilled to find out that he had admirers that far away

on the other side of the world.

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Aaron continued, “I would like to commission two pieces from you, Dorian;

the first painting being a panoramic view of our little town as seen through your

eyes. The second will depend on your craftsmanship of the first.” Aaron hesitated a

second, glanced around, and then looked back to Dorian. “I must be honest in this

purchase. There is a time limit on its completion – well...the second one if I am to

be totally honest with you.

Before you make up your mind I will give you time to think about it. All

expenses will be paid in full, and I will accompany you on this journey. I am sad to

say that you will not be allowed in our town but only allowed to traverse its outskirts

and view its buildings from the outer gate.” Aaron cleared his throat, “How much

time would you need, Dorian, to make a decision to take on this commission?”

Dorian sat blankly in the seat and said nothing for a few minutes. Finally, asif some spell was broken, Dorian reached for his glass and took the last drink from

its depths. The ice in the bottom chinked in its confines and brought Dorian back to

his senses. He felt light and giddy at the same time.

The rich aromatic tobacco and the story - along with the Crown and Seven -

numbed him and dulled his senses. Finally he realized Aaron was waiting on an

answer from him. He sat up in the booth and slowly traced the rim of his glass, not

really knowing how to continue with the conversation but doing so anyway.

“I would need…” numerous thoughts raced through his mind while trying

to talk to the old man. The most important being his schedule. He remembered

that he had a small commission for someone up north, but it wasn’t due for another

three months. The big question would be how long it would take him to make up

his mind about this job. He had wanted to travel. In fact part of his nest egg was

portioned for just that. Dorian also knew that the man had come a long way, and he

wanted to be polite and not keep him waiting too long when he was so far from

home. “…at least a couple of days, Mr. Klee. I hope that is not too much to ask,”he said sincerely.

The old man smiled and straightened his vest and coat. “Not in the least,

Dorian. I was expecting a few days more, but you make your own timetable on this

matter. Only remember this is time-sensitive.”

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Dorian sat back in his seat. What sort of painting would be time-sensitive,he

thought to himself? Dorian looked at his watch and realized it was late.

“Do you have a place to stay, Mr. Klee?” Dorian asked.

Aaron had finished his pipe and set it on a handkerchief on the table, looking

out into the night and then returning his stare to Dorian. “Yes, I have made the

proper arrangements - a little town a few miles north of here named Brookhaven.”

“I know it and would have had you stay a little closer if I had known,”

Dorian said and tilted his glass so that a piece of ice barreled into his mouth.

The man looked at Dorian puzzled, “You don’t like my choice of towns?”

Dorian laughed, “No, you stay were you like, Mr. Klee. They're just a tad bit

different up there is all. Something in the water I guess.” The old man joined

Dorian in laughter.“Well, if you will excuse me now, Dorian, I must take my leave and have a

rest. The journey is long and I am not the youngster I used to be. These old bones

need their rest.” Aaron smiled, produced a small card from his inside his coat

pocket, and handed it over to Dorian. “Here is my number. Call when you have

your decision made.”

The card was simple, white in color with only his name and a cell phone

number on the front. Dorian flipped it end over end repeatedly. “I will, Mr. Klee.”

He slid the card into his back pocket. “I must thank you for thinking of me for this

commission work. I would by lying to you if I said your interest, especially from so

far away, has not made the least bit of difference to me. It is quite the opposite. I

may not show it, but I am very excited by this recent turn of events,” Dorian said

with excitement. “I will be in touch in a couple of days - maybe sooner.”

The man smiled, stood up, retrieved his trench coat from the seat, and put it

on. He then placed a gentle but firm hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “I will only hope it

is a call telling me that you have agreed to do it!” Aaron said. “It was a pleasure tomeet you, Dorian. I look forward to your call.” He extended his hand once more to

Dorian, who was now standing and took Mr. Klee’s hand in a firm embrace.

“The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Klee.” Dorian said. The man turned and

walked to the front of the bar, waved goodbye to Lisa, and was then gone out into

the night.

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The door hadn’t even shut completely when Lisa all but ran from the bar

over to where Dorian was standing.

“What did he want, Dorian?” she asked with impatience showing on her face

like a shoreline beacon.

Dorian saw that the curiosity was about to eat her alive. He truly liked Lisa

and wondered why he had never asked her out on a date or some other function. He

looked at her again as she balanced from foot to foot waiting for an answer.

“Did you have a talk with the bear yet?” he asked pretending not to hear her

first question.

“You tell me right now, Dorian, before the curiosity kills me!”

Dorian laughed and Lisa joined him.

“Oh, nothing too much, he wants some paintings done.” He tried to play itcasual, but fluffed it and laughed even harder. Lisa gave him a light punch in the arm

as to acknowledge his failure. “It seems I am going to Germany, all expenses paid.”

“Wow” was her only reply.

He wondered if he should try his luck. The night had been a delightful

surprise so he decided to draw the card and see what fell from the deck. “When I

get back, Lisa, would you like to have dinner with me, or a movie, or something

else?” he asked, while his feet fidgeted on top of each other, and he hoped for the

Ace of Hearts.

Lisa gently laid the waitress plate down on the table and looked back at him.

“Dorian, I thought you'd never ask.”

***

As Dorian sat at his easel in his studio, he thought over the past two months.

He remembered calling Mr. Klee - now just Aaron to him - and hearing the delight

in the old man's voice when he told him he would indeed take on the commissions.

His thoughts drifted then to the trip to Germany. The beauty of the place was beyond his imagination. His eyes took in enough scenery for a lifetime of

paintings, and the three three-gig memory cards he filled up with his camera would

act as security so that he would never lose those future paintings. Lexumgraft was

indeed old and small as Aaron had said. He saw no one while walking around the

outskirts of town snapping pictures. As Aaron said he was not permitted into the

12



town. He could see how this town could go unnoticed for so long. It was set in a

wide open expanse of land, with mountains making a horseshoe around the town

like a natural protector.

Every one of the buildings was made of old stone, and the craftsmanship of

the stones would make any stone mason green with envy. Aaron was never short of

stories while on his trip. Some were just parts of his life, but some were truly eye-

opening to Dorian. Aaron had promised more still - but not until the first painting

was completed. He was sad when the trip came to an end, and he was reluctant to

go.

Aaron accompanied him to the states, but time wouldn’t allow him to come

all the way to his home. They said their farewells, and Dorian found that, as time

went by, he missed the old man and his stories. Aaron was like the grandfather henever had; both of his grandfathers had died before he was eight years old.

Lisa had called him once a week while he was away. He was surprised to find

her waiting on him when he pulled into the driveway. She greeted him with a hug,

and the feel of her next to him was soothing and exciting. Lisa left after an hour.

She knew he was tired and the following night they had their first date.

They went to Hammond to a movie and had a nice dinner at one of the

seafood places in Manshac. That evening was a delight to Dorian. Over the last two

months, the two had become quite an item, and he lightly pushed her into taking

more pictures while giving her little tips to help her along. He knew he was falling in

love with Lisa, and he knew she returned those feelings. They didn’t push each other

to their own wants and needs. They took their time. He had two paintings to

complete, and she wanted to finish college.

He found that while he was alone, he missed her company and their

conversations. Soon he knew they would make it serious, and the thought didn’t

scare him. He welcomed it and thought about the possibilities many times whilealone in the house, painting or doing the household chores.

These thoughts filled his mind as he put brush strokes to canvas in the cold

December night. The first painting had almost painted itself. It came together very

quickly, and he figured this was his best painting he had ever done. He knew it was

almost complete; it would be finished with another two days of work.

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He phoned Aaron that night and told him about the painting's finishing date.

Aaron was genuinely excited to see it. He asked about Lisa and how she was doing.

He seemed pleased to know that the two of them were an item. Aaron said he

would be on a plane the following morning and should arrive at his home the day it

was done.

On the second day, Dorian put the final stroke on the painting as he had

planned. He woke up early that morning to finish it, and at three o’clock that

afternoon his doorbell rang. Dorian opened the door and saw Aaron. He smiled

and let his new friend inside. Aaron didn’t waste any time in wanting to see the

painting. So Dorian led him straight to it. The painting was turned away from the

door, and there he made Aaron wait.

Dorian moved the canvas and slowly turned it around on its easel. He thenpulled the sheet that was covering it off with a flourish. The old man, still fully

clothed in the same black outfit he had worn when he first met Dorian, turned and

stared. His eyes opened at the richness and beauty that Dorian had captured, but he

said nothing. Dorian at first thought that Aaron didn’t like the painting, but those

fears were swept aside easily when the old man exclaimed,

“MARVELOUS…SIMPLY MARVELOUS!”

Dorian tried to speak and tell Aaron things about the painting, but he would

have nothing of it. He simply raised his hand to hush him and said not a word.

Aaron simply stared at the painting for over two hours. The silence in the house was

eerie. Dorian couldn’t even hear his own breath. He let the time ease by and finally,

after the first hour, Dorian excused himself from the room to let the old man be

alone with the painting.

Sometimes it’s like that when you see something that hits that familiar cord

within, and this painting did just that for Aaron Klee. It captivated him and held

him in its own unique spell. After the two hours had passed, Aaron found Dorian inthe den of the house eating a late lunch.

“Dorian, you have outdone yourself with this painting. I could not ask for

any better from anyone,” he said sincerely.

After a bite of his sandwich, Dorian happily said, “I am so glad you like it,

Aaron. I was worried there for a moment that you didn’t.”

14



“Nonsense, my young man. What about it is not to love?” Aaron replied

and took off his trench coat and jacket and laid them on the couch’s arm. As he laid

his coat and jacket on the couch, his attitude changed. Dorian noticed it and looked

puzzled. The man sat down and stared directly into Dorian’s eyes. Those eyes bore

into Dorian’s own, and Dorian felt instantly uncomfortable. With a somber but

serious tone Aaron started, “We must have a talk, Dorian, A VERY serious talk.

You will hear things I hope you will not repeat to anyone, not even Lisa. I will say

your first commission is beyond measure, the second one will be far more important

- not just for me but the whole world, even your very soul. I will begin shortly. I

want you to clear your head before I do. Think of nothing while I speak to you in a

moment and ask no questions while I talk. Let me know when your mind is clear so

I can begin.” He finished and slowly sat down. Dorian trusted the old manand slowly set his plate and glass on the coffee table in front of him. He eased back

in the chair and began to slowly relax. Thoughts started to swirl within his mind, and

he tried to block them out. It wasn’t easy; Aaron's warning had created a serious,

somber tone in the room, and Dorian was worried. Gradually Dorian’s mind began

to clear, and he finally relaxed and gave his full attention to Aaron. He nodded to his

new friend to begin.

“Very well,” Aaron said and stood and went to the big, paned window that

looked out onto the lake. He stood with his hands behind his back for a minute, then

took in a deep breath, turned to Dorian, and began. “This is never easy for me,

Dorian. I have given the same speech ten times to other such individuals during my

life time, and it gets no easier each time I do it.

As you know I am a Seeker in our town and in plain truth I seek things, like I

have sought you ought. I also seek other things, things which endanger the world

and the people that inhabit it. The time is drawing nigh when this area, your serene

lake in particular, will become a beacon to something not of this world.” He pausedand looked at Dorian. “I can see the look in your eyes. The look I have seen

numerous times before. It is real, Dorian, and I have never been more serious. You

and the entire world will be in peril in a month’s time. I told you the night we met

that there are things that we keep secret from the world, and this is one of them.

15



Trust me, the signs are clear. The lines draw and intersect on this lake, along

with the date. It is time, and no force on earth can stop it by conventional means. If

this thing would get through to our world, it would be utter chaos. Bloodshed

would follow, along with the breakdown of many governments and religions.

Remember that the Bible doesn’t tell us everything in the world - only how to live,

accept, and spread the word of God. It is not a history book, nor a guide book on

these matters. It is a book of faith that some get and some do not. It is so simple in

purpose that most can not comprehend it to its fullest. Our society has studied these

puzzles which concern us now, and we have mastered them to the best of our

abilities. I will say we have had intervention from the Maker at times when it has

seemed the darkest and all but the tiniest thread of hope remained.

Thus, we judge our work approved by the Maker of all. We are not areligious society, but don’t think that we don’t serve Him. We do, but we also

believe that these matters are best kept from the whole of the world. Yes, it is a

great burden, but we hold it with great esteem and honor. Now, back to the subject

at hand and to bring things to a close.

Where this thing comes from we have some clues, and I won’t fill your head

with names, dates, or other facts. As a matter of fact, the less you know the better,

and I would like to keep it that way.” Aaron took a drink from the water bottle that

Dorian had handed him and cleared his throat. “Where your part comes into play in

this event is the painting itself. Your painting will help close the portal that this

being needs to enter our world. It will not be easy. I will not lie to you Dorian: you

may even die from this. Once you begin this painting, you MUST finish it or all will

be for naught. There are other precautions set in place, but they will only be used in

the direst of needs.

I know the question you would most likely ask, and I will answer it for you. I

imagine that question is 'why doesn’t part of our society come here and take care of the problem ourselves?' Well, it’s a simple enough answer. Let me paint you a little

picture this time. Imagine our society here. Complete strangers prodding around

the lake, chanting strange things, making rude gestures in the air, and drawing crude

lines in the earth. It would last about a day before the whole town was out here - not

16



to mention the local police. So I chose you Dorian. I sought you ought; it is a heavy

burden to put on such an individual, and I do apologize for it.

It is quite queer how things work out and seem to fall in place at just the

right time. I speak of meeting you, your enthusiasm with the trip and paintings, and

how I would guess that this first painting seemed to paint itself. Then there's the

quick friendship we have acquired, and the enjoyment of each other's company.

They have all been pre-made in the wheel of time. Yes, all of it, even this. You have

to decide to do this though, Dorian. I must say again, if you start this you must

finish it or it will be your death - that is a certain fact.” Aaron relaxed a little and

breathed a heavy sigh. “You don’t have to say anything. I would prefer you not to.

It is a heavy load to bear. It must be carefully considered, and a decision must be

made. I would suggest a walk now for you, Dorian.I expect an answer on your return or soon after. I will leave you now and go

back to the studio and admire your work.” He finished and did just that. He got up,

left his jacket and trench on the arm of the couch and disappeared down the hall.

It’s not everyday the weight of the world is dropped into your lap, but on this

day Dorian felt the ball fall and land fully square in his gut and nearly make him faint.

It was hard to breathe, and he wobbled on his feet to the sliding door and

made his way outside on shaky legs into the night. He balanced himself on the deck

railings. The contents of his stomach were in his throat. He wanted to throw up but

couldn’t. The light on the pier down below swam in his vision, but after stern

determination he steadied himself and began to walk.

He decided that a walk would clear his senses and give him the clarity that he

needed to make this heavy decision. The sky was black, the moon was hidden, and

only stars made an appearance in the heavens. He started slowly at first but soon

caught his rhythm about halfway out on his property.

It was December and the night was cold. Few birds or crickets sounded ashe walked on. Thoughts raced through his mind like turbocharged roadsters. He

continued walking. Dorian knew he had to do this. He didn’t want to. In fact he

was scared shitless, and a chill ran up his arm and made his entire body turn to

gooseflesh.

17



As he continued on he noticed the woods became silent and still. The fallen

leaves below his feet sounded like stale potato chips being crushed, and they echoed

in the night as if through a loud speaker. His pace had quickened and he didn’t even

realize it. Dorian was almost to the point of jogging when he slowed and finally

stood still. He had never been afraid of these woods before in his life, but now it

was as if the very trees were alive and watching him.

His heart raced at this thought, and he began to sweat. It seemed everything

was watching him as he sat motionless in the night. Aaron’s talk echoed in his mind,

and made him shudder. The silence was nerve rattling, but Dorian could not move.

Things...Aaron said there were things in this world that could not be explained.

Could one of those things be watching him now? A rustle in the leaves behind him

made him jump. He stood still, holding his breath. A thing was watching him. What it was he couldn’t dream of, but he was suddenly afraid, and he suddenly

wanted to be in his house, safe.

The noise sounded again. He wanted to turn around, but his body would not

obey his commands. He was frozen in place. He felt his heart race in his chest, and

his breath came in short, quick bursts.

Finally he was about to take a step when the noise sounded again - this time

louder and closer. The step would not come. Maybe if he kept still the thing would

go away. Fear rose in his gut. He realized he was trembling with fright. A loud

heavy noise, similar to a thud , sounded behind him not twenty feet away. He jerked

but remained planted to the spot while sweat rolled down his temples. He waited,

but nothing happened. No movement, no noise, nothing.

Instead from far off as if below the earth, he could hear and feel a faint

rumbling. He slowed his breath so he could concentrate. Am I really hearing this? he

wondered. He tilted his head and bent his entire will to listening to this new sound.

It was there - low, but constant, a dull dry sound. As he sat still on the path, thesound grew in volume and intensity. It was also closer. Dorian could now tell that

the sound was of footfalls, and he could tell they were getting louder and closer. He

also noticed that the ground with each thud .

Something was coming for him - something that would devour him at the

very spot where he stood. An ear-shattering screech sounded behind him, up high.

18



It was a sound that no bird on this earth could have made. It screeched again, and

panic finally got his feet moving; Dorian could stand it no more. He ran full speed

back to his house. As he crunched them, the leaves below his feet sounded like fire

crackers. The five steps that lead from the earth to the porch were easily missed as

Dorian bounded over them, not touching a one, and raced inside.

He was only halfway inside the door when he began screaming Aaron’s name

at the top of his lungs. Aaron came into the room quicker than Dorian would have

thought possible. He made his way over to Dorian who was doubled over, out of

breath. Aaron gently placed a hand on the young artist's shoulder.

Dorian wept openly, and even though a gentle squeeze on his shoulder from

Aaron was all there was to comfort him, it was enough. When the tears ceased in

coming, Dorian looked up at Aaron who still stood by his side and he mouthed foursmall words.

“I will do it.”

Aaron patted his shoulder and gently said, “You have made the right choice.

If it eases your mind, I will be right by your side during the painting. There are

things I myself must do when you finish certain stages of it. I will give you a day

before the painting must start, Dorian.

I suggest you go out with Lisa, have a nice dinner. I will even treat you for it.

You must not mention a word of our talks to her, though, Dorian. It would bode ill

for her if she became involved; even if just a slight mention of the things we have

talked about entered her mind, the forces that hide in the shadows and remain

unseen to the naked eye would come upon her with a vengeance. They would not

kill her, but they would slowly drive her completely insane.

Tell her whatever you will to get her to stay away. A month's time is what we

will need, and she can not come anywhere near this house during that time, nor can

she call. I trust a month apart from her won’t be a problem for the two of you?” heasked.

“No, fortunately she has a huge final in about two weeks followed by a term

paper in the last part of the month,” Dorian said a little relieved.

“Good. It is only for her safety, Dorian, no more, no less,” Aaron said with

compassion in his voice. “Now, I must go out to my car and retrieve something.

19



There was one other thing I forgot to mention,” he said. Dorian looked at him like a

sad dog that was about to be lashed again for a second beating. Aaron laughed a

hearty laugh, “No, no my dear friend, there will be no more bad news or revelations

tonight. I was only going to ask if I might stay here this evening.” He played with

his hands and looked down at them then back to Dorian. “I didn’t have time to

make the reservations before I left,” he said embarrassed.

Dorian smiled at this and felt relief in an instant, “Aaron, you sure you're not

just getting old and forgetting things?” He had tried to keep a straight face and to

keep the question serious. He lasted for ten seconds until they both looked at each

other and began laughing uncontrollably together.

***

Aaron was out at his car while Dorian sat in his studio waiting. The day before had been like a dream to Dorian. His day with Lisa was nothing less than

perfect. He made up an excuse why she couldn’t contact him for over a month. It

worked better than he had hoped it would, and they soon found that they didn’t

want to talk about the future - only live in the moment while they were together.

Dorian remembered kissing her goodbye; it was soft, passionate, and

heartfelt. He had told her he loved her and she replied in turn. His thoughts

vanished as Aaron closed the back door. He could hear his footsteps as he made his

way to the studio where Dorian now sat patiently.

Aaron appeared in the door with an anvil briefcase in hand, silver in color,

with a tiny padlock on the front. At the sight of it, Dorian gave a puzzled

expression. The old man walked over to the table and sat the case on top of it.

Aaron began opening the lock, and Dorian was amazed at its workings. He had

never seen a lock like it. The lock clicked open and by this time Dorian was standing

by Aaron’s side. As the lid lifted, what was inside made Dorian look questioningly at

Aaron.“You are looking at history, Dorian,” Aaron said.

Inside the case was what appeared to be a book. It was nesteled in the soft

anvil case's cushioning and sat recessed in its depth. The odd thing was that this

book was triangular in shape. Aaron’s long, spindly fingers gently lifted the book

20



from its confines. Dorian could tell it was old, though he couldn't guess its exact

age. It was over a foot in length, and its sides were all of the same measurement.

The book was bound in old leather, and the musty pages instantly filled the

air with their smell. Aaron placed the book on the table with one of the triangle's

points pointing towards Aaron. He slowly lifted the cover, and Dorian was taken

back by the intricate drawings on the first page. Aaron mumbled some strange

words and flipped a page.

Dorian looked on intently as Aaron flipped pages in the thick, heavy tome.

The words, if words they were, started at the top and ran from right to left around

the book's sides. In a soft tone, Aaron whispered some words that were

unintelligible to Dorian.

As Dorian stood and stared at the book, he was amazed to find that the words began to reveal their meaning to him. It was one at first, then another, each

seeming to jump off the page at Dorian and into his brain. The old man sat still and

issued words that now Dorian understood. What he heard he did not like, and his

mind raced at their meanings. Aaron stopped and turned to Dorian. “Can you see

the letters clearly now, Dorian?” Dorian nodded, and Aaron continued, “Excellent,

you must now read the next two pages for the event to start.”

Aaron got up, and Dorian took his place in front of the book. His fingers

eased to the pages of the book, and Dorian felt the age-old parchment. He began

reading silently at first and then out loud as if guided by some force. He was halfway

done with the first page when he noticed the light outside had dimmed somewhat.

He ignored it and continued reading.

He faintly heard Aaron say other words while he read. His head swam as his

eyes poured over the page, but he continued on. Dorian’s stomach churned, and he

felt light-headed as he read aloud. Some words were easy for him while some, once

spoken aloud, made his vision blur and then come back into focus a split secondlater. He could feel the power of the book surge beneath his fingers and grow as he

continued reading.

All of this was REAL and sharp fear almost gripped him. Aaron’s soft touch

on his shoulder steadied him and calmed his fear. He finished the first page and was

about to flip to the next when a sudden tremor ran through the house. He looked to

21



Aaron, frightened. Aaron spoke aloud this time with a voice so commanding that

Dorian flinched at its timber.

The old man nodded, and Dorian flipped the page. He continued reading

aloud while Aaron continued softly muttering words that protected Dorian from

unseen forces that would engulf him and take him to his death. Dorian finished

reading aloud and nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Aaron quickly moved beside

him, shut the book, and put it back within its confines of the anvil case. Aaron then

handed a glass of water to Dorian, who drank greedily and emptied it in seconds.

Through weariness Dorian said, “What have we done? What have I just

read?”

“We have set things in motion, Dorian. What you just read was a brief

history of the thing which you will prevent from coming, and its motivations forinvading our world. But more so than that, you called for it and made it aware of

you,” Aaron said and slowly sat beside Dorian and looked into his eyes. “You have

remained coherent while reading, and that bodes well. Most after reading a portion

of this book faint and don’t wake till a week later. This supports my belief that I

have chosen the right person for this job. I will say I added a few measures of my

own to protect you,” he smiled warmly. “Now relax and let the words work into

your mind.”

Relaxing was difficult. As he thought about what he read, he found that the

words seemed to disappear into thin smoke. He was forgetting the contents of the

book, and he deduced that this was Aaron’s doings. After some time Dorian finally

did relax, and as he sat, new thoughts and shapes entered his mind. He sat

motionless for a time, focusing on them.

***

Two weeks into the painting Dorian felt as if he could not continue. His

weariness taxed his abilities. The painting sat in front of him, daunting him. Thebackground of the piece was a drab color that reminded Dorian of rotted olives.

A single design adorned the top left corner and looked burned into the paint

and through to the Masonite board beneath. Its shapes and curves were alien in

nature and seemed to form no familiar pattern. The bottom right corner held

another such design, only this one was bright as the hottest star and it too seemed

22



burned-in like the other. The center of the board held clouds which were black in

color with slight tinges of orange and maroon.

At first glance, one would think them storm clouds, but at a closer glance

one would feel uneasy at their form and texture. They formed a funnel of sorts in

the way they were arranged and executed. Dorian now sat with his paint brush in his

hand in a disjointed hypnotic state. He hated this feeling. He was not himself, and

he felt as if alien fingers were inside him pushing his hand this way and that. What

he hated the most was the way his vision seemed to ebb like a thick liquid from an

overturned bottle.

At times the painting would be in total clarity, and then the ebb would come

and the painting seemed to waver and roll as if a wave were coursing through its

confines. He painted on, though, as if by command. The whole time Aaron wasthere - sometimes speaking quietly and at times screaming with a great commanding

voice that made Dorian’s whole body tremble.

He knew the two of them were playing with forces he did not understand -

nor did he want to. There was no quitting however, no matter how bad he wanted

to. The urge to paint was maddening, and each morning, tired beyond imagining, he

got up and walked straight to the board. The times he did sleep at night were

wrought with livid dreams of unknown things chasing him.

His nerves were tight knots, and eating was a bothersome chore. He felt

nauseous all the time now, and he had lost a considerable amount of weight over the

past two weeks since this hellish nightmare started.

Aaron, on the other hand, remained steadfast through the whole ordeal. He

kept Dorian’s spirits high and offered calming words to the painter when things

seemed at their breaking point, and Dorian painted on.

The third week was worse than the first two. Dorian’s hair was a mess, his

eyes bloodshot, and he shook uncontrollably at times now for no apparent reason. When he did speak, it was in disjointed phrases with no clear meaning. Another

design was placed in the top right corner of the painting. It had taken him five days

to get the proper look to its alien form. This was evident by all the scratch pieces of

paper that littered the floor like bird droppings. These scrap drawings, which were

strange and blasphemous, were quickly burned by Aaron in the fireplace.

23



On the last day of the third week, another tremor shook the house. This

time it caused parts of the ceiling to loosen and tiny particles of drywall and paint fell

as if on feathers to the ground. Dorian only laughed and continued painting. Aaron

got worried when Dorian fell onto the floor in a fit of madness, screaming out to no

one and aimlessly painting the floor with uncertain strokes. It was well into midnight

before Aaron calmed Dorian down somewhat.

He knew Dorian was on the brink of insanity. He was worried for him, and

he said many words to try and protect him from the forces that ate at his mind. The

worse was yet to come, and Aaron felt the first pangs of doubt that Dorian would

not be able to complete the painting.

It was close to sunrise when Aaron retrieved his cell phone and was about to

call one of his friends in the society and tell them things were not going well, andthat the backup plan would have to be put into motion. He was going over in his

mind how he would tell his fellow comrade when Dorian eased in his shaking and

mumbling and fell into sleep. Aaron stood watch over him until the madness finally

ceased the following night.

When Dorian awoke the next morning, he seemed better and looked almost

like his old self. Aaron knew that the last part of the painting would be the hardest

but said nothing of this to Dorian. They both sat at the breakfast table with a clear

morning beaming outside. They said little to each other and ate on in silence.

After the meal was over, it was Aaron who finally spoke first, “Dorian, you

have done well, but I worry for you, my dear friend. Doubt has set into my mind,

and it won’t go away. Can you finish the job?”

Dorian remained motionless and Aaron wondered if he had even heard him

speaking. The blank stare Dorian gave Aaron haunted him for the rest of the day.

His face was shallow now, gravely somber and full of fear. “I will finish it. There is

no stopping it once started. I wage war with it and it with me. Who will be the victor…I do not know. I must paint now. Yes...I must go paint.”

Against his better judgment, Aaron let Dorian ease into the studio and

continue painting. The pace at which Dorian painted during the last week amazed

Aaron. It was a race to the finish, and Aaron knew the end was near. The past six

days were long but better than the previous weeks. There were no queer fits and no

24



meaningless ramblings from Dorian. He painted like his paint brush was on fire.

The final day arrived and Aaron awoke with the house shaking.

He immediately got up and raced down stairs after not finding Dorian

sleeping in his room. Dorian sat at his easel with a blank expression. His paintbrush

hung in mid air, and his eyes were vacant. Numerous sketches littered the floor

again, and Aaron hastily picked them up and was about to leave the room when he

noticed the painting. The surface was moving as if it were breathing on its own.

He began uttering words, and the painting eased its movement. After a

moment, a swollen lump rose from the surface of the painting and moved over its

confines. Aaron thought the board would burst from the movement, but it held.

The shape continued moving as if searching for a way out. Dorian snapped back to

reality and began painting again. A loud roar sounded in the room so loud that it made Dorian drop his

paintbrush. He bent and picked it up, and when he straightened he looked back to

the painting and saw numerous shapes moving within it. He screamed, but the

shapes moved on, searching for an escape. Aaron was at his back in an instant. He

also screamed, but his screams were full of words of protection and wardings for

Dorian.

He then yelled at Dorian, “Paint, Dorian! You must continue!” The air was

electric, dry in feel and taste. Dorian’s mouth hung agape as a tiny ball appeared in

front of the painting. It swirled with a myriad of colors, then shone a bright blue

hue. It hung there spinning and began to grow in size as tendrils of energy leaped

off its center.

It grew into the size of a grapefruit. Aaron had seen this only once before in

his entire life, and he immediately ran over to Dorian and pushed him out of the

way. The ball-shaped thing began to unfurl one portion at a time and began to grow

again.Fully opened, it was like looking down into an open umbrella except the

webbing inside was sickish in nature and dripped a putrid slime onto the floor. The

color of the webbing was a vomitous green. In the center of the opened thing was a

tiny hole. It was moving as if breathing. Dorian began screaming, and from that

25



hole appeared a form, small at first, but it began to grow in size as it worked its way

out of its confines.

Aaron quickly drew invisible signs in the air and began chanting loudly. The

form stopped at the chanting and hung there in midair. Another tremor rocked the

house, this time sending Aaron to the floor. The spell was broken, and the form

continued birthing its way into the world.

A loud crash sounded from down the hall as part of the second story fell into

the first and made a mass of wood, carpet, and wires on the floor. The shape was

now over ten feet in length and searched its new surroundings with obvious

intelligence. Aaron stood and was about to begin his chant and gestures a second

time when the form hit him squarely in the chest and sent him flying into the cabinet

across the room. Aaron fell limply to the floor and did not move.Seeing his friend lying motionless on the floor got Dorian moving. The long

shape that was continually growing was covered in a gelatinous slime that dripped

freely to the floor. The stench it emitted into the air was putrid and made Dorian

want to vomit. Dorian grabbed his paint brush and moved to the painting. The

elongated form was aware of Dorian now, and he dodged its first strike at him,

managing to get two feet away from the painting.

Dorian attempted to dodge the tendrils and put the final strokes to his

painting. Suddenly, the form wrapped itself around Dorian, and he fought with all

he had against this hideous alien thing that had birthed its way into his reality.

Fighting madly against the form, Dorian was lifted off the ground. The

painting's surface now rose with the shape of a mouth that that seemed born of

nightmares. From the back of his mind a word appeared. It rushed from his brain,

down into his lungs, and then out on his vocal cords into the morning air. Dorian

didn't know what he was saying, but the alien form clearly didn't like it and flung

Dorian headlong into the wall. A scream erupted from the painting and shattered all the windows in the

room. The ball and its horrific child vanished in an instant while Dorian and Aaron

lay still on the floor covered with glass.

***

26



It was night when the low rumblings stirred Aaron back to consciousness.

He tried to sit upright slowly, but a pain shot through his left side. He figured some

ribs were cracked. Each breath brought new waves of pain. Ignoring it the best he

could, he managed to get to his feet and eased his way over to Dorian who was still

lying on the floor.

At first Aaron thought he was dead, but the shallow fall and rise of Dorian’s

chest told him otherwise. Aaron gently prodded him, and a low grunt sounded from

his lips. Aaron carefully propped Dorian into an upright position. Lights swam in

Dorian’s eyes. His vision blurred and then doubled as Aaron came into focus

kneeling before him. With great will Dorian spoke, “It’s not finished.”

The old man replied, “We must rest now, Dorian. Are you hurt? Anything

broken?”Dorian slowly moved and checked his body. “No, all intact.”

Aaron grunted as he drew in breath, “I think I am not whole, Dorian. My

left side hurts, and my breathing is shallow and painful.”

Dorian asked curiously, “Was that part of it, that...thing that appeared?”

“It was, Dorian. It is not complete yet, can you continue?” Aaron said over

labored breath.

With great hesitation Dorian replied, “I think so…we have to try.”

“Yes” was Aaron’s only reply.

Dorian got to his feet and wavered. His whole body ached and he thought

miraculously that he had no broken bones after being flung like a rag doll against the

wall by the thing. He searched for his paintbrush and found it in moments.

Dorian looked around the house. It was clearly shaking again. He looked

back to the painting and saw the familiar heaving of its surface. The ordeal was

starting over again, and Dorian’s mind echoed with the past fight with the form. He

could not go through that again. I will completely lose my mind if that form appears from the painting. Reluctantly he sat back down on his stool.

Aaron was now standing behind him and had begun the chanting again.

Dorian lifted the paintbrush to the board. A violent tremor ran through the house

and knocked him to the floor. Aaron fell again on his bad side and screamed with

pain. The thing was coming again.

27



In unison they both got to their feet, Dorian positioning himself on his stool

and Aaron standing hunched over his shoulder with an arm gently laid over his left

side. Dorian dipped the paintbrush into the wet paint while Aaron began the

familiar sounding chants.

The house shook again, dust fell as before, and Dorian painted on. The

hours crept by, Dorian painting, Aaron chanting, the house shaking. The painting

was eerie, and the moving shape beneath its surface finally grew still after midnight.

The two of them were in the kitchen drinking and eating lightly. No words

were spoken between them. The house was silent. The air was heavy, and the

stench from the thing still hung in the air and made it hard to breathe. Dorian’s

thoughts went to Lisa and their last date together. He longed for her embrace and

wished more than anything to talk to her and hear her soothing, southern voice. Allthese thoughts vanished when a loud crash sounded from the studio.

As they both got up, Aaron had difficulty, and Dorian began to worry about

his friend. A racking cough erupted from Aaron and into a blood-soaked napkin

that he used to cover his mouth. Dorian was about to ask his friend his condition,

but Aaron only hushed him with a firm look.

They nearly ran as they made their way to the studio. Dorian saw it first; a

large crack had appeared on the back wall and had made the inset shelves lose their

contents on the floor. Dorian sat at his drawing board and began quickly to sketch

out a new design.

Over the next hour Aaron’s breathing became worse. Dorian looked at him

repeatedly, expecting to find the old man slumped over on the floor dead. The clock

struck three in the morning when the tremors started again. Dorian finished the

design, hastily painting it on the board. The shape had returned, and Dorian painted

on at an incredible pace.

Deep, heavy coughs erupted from where Aaron was sitting. Blood andspittle flew from his aged mouth. Pain was etched on his face, and he looked to

Dorian with sorrowful eyes. His body shook and trembled as another cough flung

him into convulsions. Dorian was about to get up and see about his friend when

Aaron motioned for him to finish the painting. Moments later, a dull thud sounded

behind Dorian.

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He didn’t want to turn around as his fears made his mind race with images of

seeing Aaron, the old man who had become his friend over the short course of three

months. He turned slowly, and his fears were made real. Aaron was lying on his

back in the middle of the floor. His mouth was wide open, and his eyes were staring

at the ceiling. He was dead, Dorian knew it.

Tears began to fall as he looked at his old friend. He muttered something

quietly, “For you old friend and for Lisa and the rest of the world.” Dorian turned

with vision blurred by tears and started painting again. The house rocked, and

Dorian thought it would cave in before he finished.

With new resolve, Dorian continued painting. He would get this done if it

was the last thing he ever did. Strange deep and guttural sounds filled the room.

Most were in anguish and pain but now they were many. Dorian’s ears bled fromtheir volume and they made his teeth hurt, but he continued on.

A new trembling now shook the house. Dorian felt it in his feet at first and

heard the birds take flight from the trees. He looked out onto the lake and, in the

moonlight, he saw that its surface was frothing and steaming. Dorian turned back to

the painting and put the final stroke on the new symbol that tied all four of the

designs together in an intricate pattern.

A geyser erupted from the lake, and the house shook violently once more.

An earthquake shook the whole lake and the surrounding houses. Dorian let his

paint brush fall as he watched the new design come alive with what seemed like blue

fire. It started at the first design he drew and then slowly worked its way in the order

that he painted the next.

When the alien fire reached the last design, the ground and house shook so

hard Dorian thought the house would fall apart. He wanted to run and get outside,

but he couldn’t move. His mind eased, and a gut-wrenching howl of pain and anger

echoed across the lake. He stared at the painting. The blue fire was gone; it was apainting now, still and totally alien in nature.

A loud crack erupted from the top of the house. The sound of splitting

wood echoed in Dorian’s ears. He would stay here with his old friend. The thought

of a life now after these events seemed totally inconceivable. He couldn’t live with

the nightmares that would soon come if he chose to survive.

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He would pay the ultimate price for the sake of all, but especially for Lisa -

his one and only true soul mate. The house shook a final time and Dorian looked up

just as the whole structure began to fall in on top of him. The last sounds from

Dorian’s lips were of joy and triumph, “It is done, Aaron! IT IS DONE!” and the

house fell down on top of him.

***

Lisa was outside in the morning air, leaning against her car as she looked at

Dorian’s collapsed house with heavy tears falling freely from her eyes. They were the

tears of true loss, originating deep from within her heart.

Inside the pile of rubble, Dorian and Aaron lay lifelessly. They had saved

humanity from a force beyond comprehension, but Lisa had no knowledge of thoseaffairs. She thought, as the sun peaked over the tall pine trees of the lake, that the

earthquake that rocked the area in the early hours must have leveled the house and

claimed their lives. Grief stricken, she continued to cry and would continue to shed

the tears of loss and heartache for many months.

The debt was steep but had been paid in full with both Dorian and Aaron’s

lives. Sometimes life works out that way. A debt usually comes in many forms. It

can be the breaking of a promise, giving up a girl, or painfully sacrificing one’s life as

many have done throughout history - neither wanting nor claiming any glory. These

two were no exception, Dorian the painter and Aaron the stranger from out of town.

Copyright 2009 John Prescott

The Stranger From Out of Town

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