Eye-Witness

by Karen Goldrick

It was at the first night that Colin opened the freezer door. He’d waited long enough. He licked his finger, and used its warmth to caress the moist sheen from the words.

‘No Frills Vanilla Icecream. ME 4567kCal/100g. 99% fat.’

Colin dipped his finger into the flat plane of ice cream. It was perfect. No air-bubble deficits. No gapes where ice cream had clung to the lid. He allowed a small glob to drip back down, then raised it to his lips and licked it off. The taste had disappeared before he could savour it. So he dipped again. A bigger glob which fell to his lap and had to be scooped back up. But this time his tongue acknowledged the creamy texture and sugar fat taste.

Colin sat down and used a spoon. He made a track around the outside of the square. 2cm deep. 2cm wide. The he dug out the whole of the top surface of the ice cream. to a depth of 2cm. By this time he was eating quickly, no longer savouring the taste. He ignored frequent warnings from his stomach and his mind.

He dug a trench on the left side to a depth of 5cm. The inner wall was never quite straight, so in order to straighten it he kept extending into the ice cream, until, after quite a short time really, he’d dug out the whole width of the container.

By this time the warm humid evening had melted the ice cream. Colin listened to the cicadas a while. Then with great effort he rose and place the icecream back in the freezer. Before he closed the door, he felt regret, remorse, and some fear for what lay ahead.

Colin went to bed, but took great care to leave his bedside lamp on. He tossed an turned, even as the cicada outside went to sleep. Eventually he turned the lamp off, and at last his eyes closed into a restless sleep. Sometime later he awoke. It was 3am. So far so good. No bad dreams. No dreams at all. It was silent and warm. No breeze. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could make out shadows which his weary mind eventually remembered were cupboards and doors and hanging clothes.

Something brushed his window, beside his bed. He looked out. There, in the darkness, an eye watched him.

Colin froze. he held his breath and heartbeat as his mind confirmed that yes, indeed there was an eye watching him. One eye. Large, As big as a man’s head. he could see the pupil, iris, the bloodshot white of the eye. But no other eye. No face.

It didn’t blink. It didn’t move. It hung, in space, watching him.

When Colin found the courage to move he shut the curtain and turned on his lamp. He got up and move his bed away from the window. Then he sat, huddled in his bed, clutching his sheet and blankets, and waited for dawn.

In the morning the eye was gone. Colin was tired and sick from the ice cream. He cleaned his teeth and had a glass of soda water. The fear stayed with him, even as his rational mind reminded him that it was an ice cream induced nightmare. he resolved to throw out all his ice cream. He resolved to never eat it again.

On the second night, Colin pulled his bedroom curtains closed, and left his bed lamp on. All night long the wind blew around the corners of his house, and skimmed over the tin roof. Every now and then it would stop as if to take a breath, then start up again. Leaves brushed against his window, but he never once opened the curtains to look out.

At last he slept, and awoke in the quiet of dawn. He felt a strange victory. The eye hadn’t appeared that night. He was back in control. Tired but comforted by the early light of the sun, he reasoned that it had all been a passing nightmare, brought on by too much icecream, and that was the end of it

On the third night the sky was clear and the warm air still. Again he slept with the curtains drawn and his light on. No need to tempt fate. But at midnight he awoke in a hot sweat and thirsty. He walked out to the hallway, and paused while his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He went to the bathroom, took a pee, had a drink and checked the mirror. He smiled at himself, younger and better looking than many his age. He turned out the light, and looked ahead to the living room where a small amount of light came from the window.

It was there. In the living room window. Staring at him. Mocking. Colin stared back, waiting for his heart to stop. It hung in the darkness outside, reflected in the moonlight Colin could see the dark vessels embracing the white of the eye. He could see that the pupil was large, and the iris glowed a faint green. There seemed to be no flesh surrounding the eye. No face. It didn’t blink, but as he stared at it he was sure it did indeed move. A slow gentle up and down vibration.

Colin stared back as long as he dared, but at last his courage gave out. He ran back to his room and slammed the door. He turned on the main light, and crouched down in the centre of the room. He desperately wanted a blanked to hide in, and some music to block out any noise from outside. But he was too scared to go any closer to the window. So there he stayed, for the rest of the night, and it was there he awoke, late, stiff and cold the next morning.

Colin rang and cancelled his appointment with Jobsearch, saying he was unwell. The Jobsearch officer sounded skeptical.

“You'll need a certificate,” he said. Colin replaced the receiver, and managed to fill in at least 20 minutes creating a doctor’s certificate. But at last the twenty minutes was up, and his thoughts returned to the eye. He was forced to conclude that ice-cream had not caused this last nightmare. Forced to face the possibility that his vision was, indeed, a reality.

He sat with a blank computer screen before him, and resolved to create a list. A safety net of all the precautions he could take to ensure he could not see it. For as long as he could not see it, or hear it, he would be OK.

On the fourth night he drew all the curtains and locked all the doors. He left lights on in the bathroom and living room, as well as the bedroom. He left a CD on. Nice quiet soothing music ... ‘Tales of the Wind.’ he moved his bed to the middle of the room, and placed a full glass of water beside it. He was ready.

Again the night was warm and still. It was 3am before he slept. He knew, because he had watched almost every minute slide by. And it was 8am before he awoke. Tired but comforted by the early light of the sun, he reasoned that it had all been a passing nightmare after all, and would trouble him no more.

Colin spent that next day creating more lists. A list of all his good qualities: his economics degree, his pedant and thoroughness, his relative youth and good looks. A list of his not so good qualities: his obsession with ice-cream, his tendency to sulk, his ... lack of courage in certain situations, his shyness with females.

When his mind returned to the approaching night he convinced himself that he must show courage. He decided not to take any precautions.

So on the fifth night he went to bed as usual. No curtains drawn. No light on. He kept his mind occupied by preparing for his interview the next day, and every time his ears forgot and heard a sound outside, he dragged them back to the task at hand. But he didn't face his window.

Colin fell asleep, and woke to the noise of a tapping outside his windowsill. In his sleep he had turned over, so when he opened his eyes, there it was. Staring. Victorious. Before he thought he leapt from his bed and raced out to the corridor, but it was in the living room window as well. He turned and saw it again, staring at him through the small bathroom window. It was the same eye, with the same pattern of vessels reaching over from the back and around the white schlera. It was the same one.

He panicked, wet himself, and ran to the only place he knew with no outside window. He ran to the hall closet, dragged out the blankets from the bottom shelf,then climbed in and closed the door behind him. Here, he knew, it couldn’t get him. Here, he supposed, he was safe. So cramped, wet and uncomfortable,he stayed until the early sun squeezed in under the door. Then he crawled out, defeated, and stretched out along the hall floor. Wondering what on earth he should do.

Colin rang Jobserach and cancelled his appointment. The Jobsearch officer sounded bored.

“Your allowance will be cancelled if you do not show up again,” he said, and rang off.

He rang his mother, but she was to busy to talk.

“I’m late for yoga, and then my vegetarian cooking class. Did you know your baby sister’s been promoted again?” she said, and rang off.

So he went to his computer to prepare his list for that night.

On the sixth night, before the sun went down, he turned on every light in the house. Every lamp. As a precaution, he placed a torch next to his bed. He drew every curtain, and tacked a blanket over the openings which had no curtain. He locked every window and every door. He left on the stereo, the TV, even his alarm radio. The noise and light were unbearable, but at last he went to bed.

He tossed and turned through the night, watching each minute disappear. He listened to inane talk back callers. One who wanted to lock up all people of Latvian descent. One who wanted to die, but didn’t know how. At last his eyes closed and his mind slipped away.

When he woke it was dark. At first his sleep clouded mind failed to notice. then he remembered it should be light. Light and noisy. He turned to his alarm clock, but it was blank. There must be a power failure. In his panic he almost forgot the torch. When he remembered , he reached down beside the bed, but couldn’t find it, so he sat up for a closer look.

It was there. In the room. With him. Staring at him. It was so close he could reach out and touch it if he dared. It didn’t blink, just bobbed slowly quietly up and down. Smiling.

At first Colin thought he might stare it out. He also tried not to blink, but tears filled his eyes. When he wiped them away the fear, held back such a short time, overwhelmed him.

He leapt towards the window, but couldn’t find the key. So he threw his bedside table through the glass, and cut his hands as he climbed out after it. He jumped to the ground and screamed with pain as his ankle turned. Then he ran limped blindly through he prickly scrub and over his fence. The dog next door growled and started barking, which fuelled his panic. He ran faster, and climbed on into the thickening bush and scrub. He couldn’t see. Didn’t want to see. Branches scraped his arms and tangled his hair. He tripped over rocks and stumbled through a stream. Then the ground lead up out of the bush, and at last the bush gave way to a gravel mound, and then a road.

He stopped. His ears strained to hear the smallest noise, but there was none. There were no street lights where he stood,but there was one further up the hill. Light. He fixed his gaze upon the light, never let go, and limped up the centre of the road towards it.

Sometime into his journey, the silence was replaced by a sound. A sound he eventually recognised a music. From behind. The thin wavering of ‘Greensleeves’. Even as he walked away it became louder. Finally he was forced to acknowledge it, and turned around.

Coming down the road, still 100m or so behind him, was a pink and yellow ice cream van.

Colin started to run as best he could. He thought that if he made it to the light he was safe. But his ankle was swollen and he stumbled. The light seemed no closer as if it, too mocked him and moved forward as he moved. He didn’t need to turn back to know the van was gaining on him. Faster. He must go faster. The van, though it must be slow, seemed faster still. At last he was caught in the dim glow of its lights and stopped defeated.

But it was a kindly voice that called from the van and asked if he required assistance. An elderly driver. Jolly and round, with large green eyes which welcomed him to the sanctuary of the icecream van.

Colin was on to him, of course. He knew this to be a trick. So he decided to go along with it. To see where it lead. He climbed aboard, sat, and nursed his bruises as the music resumed and the van trundled along.

“Lovely evening sir,” the driver remarked.

Colin nodded and said nothing. He waited his chance.

“Would you like some icecream?”

“No thankyou. I have lactose intolerance. But maybe I could fix one for you?”

“Why thank-you sir. Most kind. Chocolate chip mint, double scoop, if you don’t mind. The scoop is behind my seat.”

Colin stood slowly and moved to the back. He found the scoop, an felt its worn sharp edge. Then he dipped it into the frozen chocolate chip, and left it until he knew the cold to have sharpened the edge still further.

Finally, sensing the end at last, he stood behind the kindly driver. With a victorious smile he threw one arm around the driver’s throat, and with the other scooped out his right eye.