“The
Bald Man”
By:
Michael T. Flanders
Richard knew he was going to die, and it was going to be bloody. He sat
in his black, beat up Nissan Pathfinder, gazing out his window and letting a
cigarette burn between his shaky fingers. It was that time of year again, the
time when ghosts, goblins and other horrific things came to life in shades of
black and orange, when it was okay to leave a severed head in your front yard
as decoration. He never truly cared for the season, but as all things do, they
change.
The SUV sat right off the curb, resting in front of a particularly horrific
house. Richard had never seen such dedication to the holiday since he was
knee-high to a grasshopper. There were life-like zombies littering the yard,
limbs and gravestones scattered as if they were permanent fixtures, webbing
strewn about as if a horde of spiders ravaged the land. There was even a pretty
decent werewolf standing chained to the top of the roof. For a moment the man
allowed himself to be drawn into the wolf’s gaze. He could tell it was made of
cheap decoration and raggedy clothes, that it was fake, but somehow this
centerpiece of rage came off as hungry and it wanted Richard. It was during a
slew of vicious daydreams that the car jostled, just as it always did when he
least expected it.
Immediately the man began checking his rearview mirrors. He wasn’t
afraid someone hit him, or that a person was trying to get into his
less-than-humble chariot. No, he was looking for the Bald Man. Anytime his
vehicle jerked that way it was usually a prelude to the Bald Man’s approach. He
expected it this evening too, just…not so soon. The sun hadn’t completely gone
down yet, with flecks of departing light bleeding into the gale of darkness.
The Bald Man never appeared when the sun was out. He must be anxious, thought Richard.
Checking all the mirrors for the fifteenth time, he leaned back in his
seat and took a drag off his cigarette. He left the butt lingering between his
lips, periodically shifting his sight between the yard and mirrors. Nothing. He
expected something to happen, the car to shake again, his cigarette to be
extinguished, a cold chill to overtake his spine. Nothing. Richard’s fingers
instinctively bounced up and down in anticipation. It was the moments like this
that truly scared him. Granted, the Bald Man was a perfect image of fear, with
his ash-white head, those diamond entrenched eyes, and that blacked out smile
which seemed to stretch from ear to ear. But so far his appearance was only met
with little more than veiled threats and occurrences of mild trickery. The
moments of silence though, that was where the demons dwelled.
Richard never prided himself on having any sort of imagination. He had a
dull job with the construction company, he dropped out of community college for
his lack of interest, and anytime he tried to spur his creative muse he was
always met with one everlasting thought – what’s
the point? But this was different. This wasn’t real life. This was the
paranormal and he never skipped a beat when allowing his mind to drift to some
sort of horrific death at the hands of a faceless creature. Vampires,
werewolves, even the idea of a killer leprechaun has passed through his
thoughts at least once. The Bald Man was becoming a real hazard, especially to
his mental state, but Richard started to wonder in those hushed moments, what
else lurks in the darkness, and what else wants to kill him?
“Richard,” a voice sounded in the
distance. “Richard, I’m coming.”
Snapping back to reality once more and dropping the cigarette from his
lips, Richard lurched forward, gripping his steering wheel without even
realizing he did so. The Bald Man was closing in. He always started out a bit
reserved and very low in volume, but that generally didn’t last long.
He called to Richard once more. “I’m coming for you. Are you ready?” The
man began frantically searching his SUV for any signs of his stalker’s presence.
Nothing. He looked to the yard, letting his eyes investigate each crevice of
gore and horror. Nothing. It was as his sight stopped on a zombie in the back
that he realized how stupid of an idea this was. The Bald Man encouraged him to
search out his fears, to fight them, and supposedly that would be his way of
expelling the creature. Now though, he could tell it was just more fuel for the
fire. Richard’s heart raced as he began fumbling for his car keys. He needed to
leave now, before the Bald Man appeared. He shoved the key in the ignition,
flipped the SUV on and pressed the gas, only to be halted as the face of fear lurched
from the windshield. The Bald Man had arrived.
