Cause for Alarm

 

by
Kenneth M. Cross

 

I can’t help but think that things would have been different if I hadn’t noticed the kid stranded on that street corner. Maybe things would have been different if he’d just blended into the mob of people, out of my perception. Maybe things would have stayed rational. But something about him caught my eye. And with that single glance, it all began.

We’ve all got a life of waiting ahead of us. We wait for love, for happiness, and, at the very least, for death. Granted, some of us have longer to wait than others, but it’s a life of waiting all the same. And after one wait is done, the next wait begins. That’s how it goes, until the end. Well, this kid on the corner – I got the feeling that he was waiting for something profound, something significant. And he couldn’t multitask.

He scared me from the very start. I was glad to be standing two floors above him in my safe, warm apartment. He was wearing a formless, black, hooded jacket that obscured his eyes but fell just shallow enough to expose a frown deeper than the blackest grave. People seemed to walk slightly faster around him. No one bothered him. And the weirdest thing of all – he never moved. He just stood there.

I would return from work and look out the window of my apartment. He would be in the exact same place, waiting. I would leave the next morning. He would be in the exact same place, waiting. I would sleep at night. He would be in the exact same place, waiting.

But this was fine. He didn’t bother me, and I certainly didn’t bother him. Yes, our arrangement was in equilibrium – until the fire alarms.

If you are unfamiliar with a fire alarm, here is how it works. Step one; pull the (public) lever sticking out of the wall. Step two; revel in the supersonic doom screech that could wake your dead grandmother and make her slap you across the face. And the sonic boom will always come at the worst times – proving that the world really is out to get you. On day 1, it came at exactly 3:00 in the morning.

I was asleep in my warm bed, dreaming of a promotion from my entry-level position, when it started. Snapping awake, I dressed quickly and ran from my four-room apartment to join my disgruntled neighbors outside.

Of course, there was no fire. But if there had been, the building would have been ashes before the ramshackle rescue squad arrived.

Three hours later, a hundred bleary-eyed, bad-tempered souls were allowed to return to bed. One hour after that, most of them were forced to rise again for work. I was included. I was not happy.

Feeling slightly like a living mummy, I shambled to the window to greet the day – and my mysterious acquaintance. At first he looked exactly the same. The hood covered his face and eyes, his hands dug into his pockets, and he slouched slightly. But that morning, something was different.

He was smiling.

My breath caught in my throat, unsure of whether to leave or go. My heart stopped beating for an entire second before regaining its rhythm. My drowse vanished instantly. For the rest of the day I looked over my shoulder, more jittery and awake than a hummingbird filled with caffeine.

That night, I went to bed early. Before I climbed under the sheets, I covered the window. It made me feel better, like there was some kind of barrier between me and him. But he was still out there.

That morning, at 2:59, all was silent. Minds across the world were wandering through untold planes of existence, taking a respite from the day’s waiting. Then clock changed. 3:00. Flash! Fire alarm. Dammit.
Once again, I found myself out in the cold night with about a hundred other very unhappy residents. But the most obvious figure in the crowd was the apartment owner, who viciously declared that he would take drastic measures if the alarm was pulled one more time. We waited for the fire fighters to appear and declare the building safe.

Before work that morning, half-conscious curiosity made me peek out my bedroom window. The kid was standing there, grinning like a madman. And this time, his hood was pointed in my direction.

Work was a blur. The only thing I could think of was the strange, unmoving child on the street corner. That smile of his, it triggered something. It activated some impulse buried in the soul. He was waiting for something. He was waiting for something profound. While the rest of us were waiting for a paycheck or a raise, he was waiting for something truly terrible.

And my instinct said to leave the apartment before that truly terrible something happened.

But after thirty-five years of social conditioning, I pounded that instinct into submission. That night, I managed to ignore the inner turmoil. I fell asleep around 6:00 from sheer exhaustion.

2:59. Flash! Fire alarm. Mass chaos.

Now, the third time really is significant. After one occurrence people say “just luck”. After two occurrences people say “just coincidence”. But after three occurrences people can no longer remain ignorant to the facts.
When I arrived outside, the landlord claimed that he would take the drastic measures that he spoke of earlier.
The fire fighters were not happy. They were speaking with the apartment owner long after we all re-entered our homes.

And that morning, I again peeked from behind the window. The nameless child was laughing, shoulders heaving. No one walking by seemed to notice. I can’t explain why, even now, but I started crying from sheer terror. There was something wrong, something truly wrong. I was on a conveyor belt to an inferno, and my subconscious was telling me all about it.

As I exited the complex for work, I noticed a bulky man standing by the fire alarm. The landlord had apparently hired a sentry to protect the object of abuse. For some reason, it didn’t make me feel any better.

That day, I couldn’t stop shaking. Instinct yelled at me to run, to leave work and just run until my legs broke.
Beating down the impulse was not easy. And by now, my boss had noticed that I was on edge. He advised me to take some time off.

But a day alone in the apartment did not interest me at all. That night, I could no longer ignore the terror.
The urge to panic was stronger than my iron will. I locked the doors, turned on all my lights, and wrapped myself in a blanket. I stared at the clock, blinking only occasionally. I did not sleep. But at that point, my nerves were on the brink of no return. Insanity was visible on the horizon. Something was coming, something so horrible that its mere aura could turn the rational world into chaos.

I watched the clock strike 2:59, and suddenly I couldn’t stand the waiting. I don’t know how the kid could. And then I saw him in my head, laughing uncontrollably.

Almost mindless, I ripped the blanket off and ran from my tainted home.

If I were sane, I would have planned for the sentry stopping me. After all, a suspicious figure running around at 2:59 screamed “culprit”. Of course, I couldn’t think of anything but getting away.

As I rounded the hall with the fire alarm, he turned to face me. He was gripping a good-sized baseball bat. He raised the weapon.

“Hold it!”

I stopped and weighed the known threat as temporarily greater than the unknown threat. Baseball bats are very bad for your health, especially when you’re the object of their affection.

But before I could stammer a single, panicked sentence, the alarm went off. By itself. My first thought was an error in the wiring, but the next few moments ruled out that possibility.

The next few moments ruled out every rational possibility.

“Hit it.”

The voice was almost whispered, but it rose above the siren song of the alarm.

“Hit it.”

And that’s when I saw the kid. He was standing behind the guard.

“Hit it,” he said.

The guard turned. But when he saw the child, a strange thing happened. He froze. He didn’t move.

“Hit it or die,” said the child.

In moments, weary people would flood the hall, heeding the alarm’s call. The guard dropped the baseball bat and ran, bolting past me like a rogue rocket. The child frowned.

“Pity,” he said. The man collapsed in mid-stride and shivered once.

His wait was over.

“You,” said the hooded thing. “Take the bat and hit the alarm. You only get one chance.”

Self-preservation overrode shock. My rational mind could not process the irrational events, but it seemed to know one thing: the creature standing in the hall was dangerous.

Dangerous.

It was best to do as it asked. Yes, it was best to do as it asked. It offered the bat to me.

I stumbled forward and took it from the creature’s hands, seeing them for the first time. The nails resembled claws.

Crying with fear, I swung.

The alarm’s plastic case crumbled.

Beneath the shattered pieces was a red glow. The impulse that had cried to me for days, so persistent and strong, whispered one word to me: “Hell”.

That’s when the child creature removed its hood. Empty eye sockets stared at me. Two ram’s horns adorned its forehead. It now spoke in a poisonous voice, a voice that infects the brain and can never be forgotten.

“You are an obedient mortal,” it said. “You may stay.”

Its head turned to the guard’s corpse.

“But I’m taking the rest with me.”

And that’s when I noticed that none of the other residents had left their rooms. None of them had responded to the now-broken alarm. None of them were trying to save themselves. I couldn’t stop shivering after that.

The last thing I remember was its voice, whispering:

“We may see each other again someday.”

Compared to that red glow, the ensuing blackness was a sanctuary.

Someday, I may leave the mental ward. Someday, the police may give up trying to explain the disappearance of the hundred twenty-seven people who used to be my neighbors. Someday, my wait may be over. And someday, another poor, mortal soul may see a strange child on a street corner. On that day, the wait will begin again.