SHEDDING LIGHT

By Tim Johnson

Artwork by Carole Humphreys

 It was a ghastly mess. Never in all my years would I expect to have seen anything so horribly gruesome; all the blood, the carnage. Everything had happened so quickly.

 The phone rang around noon. “Hello?” I answered.

 “Cliff,” said the voice of Gordon Mondale, “I have something that I want you to see. It’s quite remarkable.”

 “What is it?” I asked.

 “A light,” Gordon replied, sounding oddly excited. “You really should see this. Can you come over?”

 I had planned to play golf; however, it was raining quite heavily, so I decided that I had nothing better to do. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll be over in an hour or so.”

 “Great,” Gordon said. “See you soon.” I noticed that he was trying to keep his composure, yet there was a definite anxiousness lingering in his voice that at the time seemed rather unusual.

 I arrived at Gordon’s house at about one o’clock. When I approached the front door, preparing to knock, the door swung open and there was Gordon, waiting restlessly. “You won’t believe this,” Gordon said. “Come on!” He closed the door behind me, turned and hurried up the staircase.

 “What is it?” I questioned. “What’s all the fuss about?”

 “The light,” he said, looking over his shoulder and nearly stumbling as he rushed up the stairs. He reached the top and continued down the hallway. “It’s amazing!”

 Not sure what to think, I followed. Gordon led me into the study at the end of the hallway.

 “I bought this lamp for twenty dollars at a yard-sale this morning,” Gordon explained, gesturing to a small lamp that was positioned on his desk. “I brought it home and set it up here,” he continued, sitting in the chair behind the desk. “I turned it on and it worked just fine. The bulb looked quite old, but sure enough, it worked.”

 Puzzled, I examined the rusty, old lamp. I couldn’t understand what was so incredible. It didn’t even look like it was worth twenty bucks.

 “So I had the lamp angled towards the desktop,” Gordon said, reaching towards the old lamp. He turned the switch, and the lamp clicked on, casting a light on the polished surface of the desk. “Then, I set about organizing a few of my things here.” He picked up a pencil and gripped it tightly between his thumb and forefinger. “And then while I’m neatening up, one of the pencils passes through the beam of light cast by that lamp.” He reached forward with the pencil, nearing the light. “When the pencil goes into the light,” he said, doing just that, “the part that’s in the light disappears.”

 I stared at the pencil; half of it had somehow vanished. Clearly I could see one end of the pencil in Gordon’s hand, but the other half was gone, swallowed up by the light.

 “Incredible, isn’t it?” He pulled the pencil away from the light, and I could see the remaining half reappear.

 “Is this some kind of illusion?” I asked with disbelief; it was too amazing. “A magic trick?”

 “Hell no,” Gordon said, dropping the pencil and placing his hand under the light.

 “Good God!” I exclaimed, seeing Gordon’s hand become invisible, disappearing into the glow.

 “Not bad for twenty bucks,” Gordon said, removing his hand from the light and staring as it magically materialized before him.  “Go ahead,” he said, “reach on in there.”

 Timidly, I extended my hand. “How can this be?” I asked, quite befuddled, watching in awe. It looked as if my hand had been lopped off, leaving nothing but a nub. I stared, nearly hypnotized, at the uncanny phenomenon.

 “Now,” Gordon said, “I’m not one who usually believes in such things, but what if—”

 “Ahh!” I shouted suddenly and jumped back, feeling something brush coarsely against my unseen hand.

 “What?” Gordon asked.

 “Something touched me!” I shouted apprehensively.

 “Yes!” Gordon exclaimed excitedly. “That’s what I was going to say!”

 I looked at him, puzzled, rubbing my safe hand, holding it close to my chest.

 “Perhaps there’s a whole other world through that light. Maybe it’s an opening. A tear in the curtain of reality!”

 Knowing without a doubt that something had brushed against my hand—almost forcefully—I couldn’t form any rebuttal. “I…I guess,” I stated unsurely, “anything’s possible.”

 “Say,” Gordon said thoughtfully, “I bet I could see in there, if I put my face into the light! I bet I could see right through!”

 “Into another world,” I remarked, finding it difficult to avoid a sardonic tone.

 “Let’s have a look,” Gordon said, leaning forward.

 “I don’t know,” I remarked, feeling a terrible uneasiness settling inside me. I had felt something touch me. And it didn’t feel right.

 But it was too late. Gordon’s face was already lost in the light.

 My heart beat rapidly as I saw my friend’s face vanish completely. The back half of his head was disturbingly visible, untouched by the supernatural luminosity.

 “Gordon?” I asked, wondering if he could hear me. “Gordon can you—”

 Then his body became horribly tense, tightening.

 My heart skipped a beat.

 Suddenly, Gordon’s body jerked back, wildly convulsing. I stared helplessly, gripped by a gut-wrenching horror. Although no longer under the light, Gordon’s face was gone. But not simply invisible—it had been bitten off. Blood spurted and pulsated profusely from the torn head. I could see the tattered back half of his cranium. And I could see deep, long grooves—bite marks. The faceless body then dropped to the floor and remained still.

 Terrified, I batted the lamp off the desk and watched hatefully as the bulb shattered, spreading glass across the bloodied floor. Then, I sprinted out of Gordon’s house, climbed into my car and sped home.

 So here I am, trying to keep myself from jittering, my mind working feverishly. I want to call someone—the police, perhaps. But what can I tell them? What exactly will I say?