Tic Toc Toc

I open the interrogation room door, enter a square box chamber, and take a seat in front of the accused, Jonathan Price. My new client.

Placing my briefcase on the right side of the metal table that separates us, I jump right in, questioning the former sheriff.

“Hello Jonathan, I'm Burt Honnygut, your appointed lawyer. Why don't you tell me what happened that day? The day you were arrested and accused of two counts of manslaughter.”

“Well,” he starts out shakily, “If you recall, that morning we had one of the worst storms ever recorded. I believe it was last Tuesday. Yes. Yes, that was it.”

“As per my M.O., I was the first one in for the morning shift. As I entered, the night dispatcher asked if I would take a drive to the old Windsor Hospital. He said there were three frantic phone calls from a Mrs. Gonzalez, about her husband and son not returning home from work Monday evening. She informed the dispatcher that both of them took care of the grounds around the place and any other maintenance that needed to be done. But not once, over the 10 years of working there, did they ever have to stay overnight. For any reason.”

Interrupting, I remind Johnathan that a missing person's call is not taken seriously until 48 hours is up, after the report was made. Sarcastically, he states that he knows his job and so does the dispatcher.

He says flatly, “Mrs. Gonzalez was very convincing in her conviction that it wasn't a missing persons call but that something terrible had happened to her family!”

Interrupting a second time, I ask Jonathan to only explain his involvement in the deaths of Mr. Pedro Gonzalez and his son, Enrique.

“Then shut up and listen!” he barks back at me, obviously agitated.

I start taking notes at this point, with side notations of what I observe about Mister Price's demeanor. He is delusional, paranoid, and aggressive. In parentheses I also write; (Trying to recite a preconceived story? - Maybe to cover up mistakes? - Maybe rehearsing his story?)

He continues, surprisingly calm now. “On my way up to the Windsor place, I was thinking about what kind of questions I might ask Mrs. Gonzalez if I didn't find anything or either of them over there. Questions like; What is the name of the person who hired your husband and son? Did their employer ever ask them to work at any other location? Did they have a cell phone, in case their vehicle broke down and they are stranded along Highway 52 somewhere?”

“Do you know where the old Windsor Hospital is located Mister Honnygut?” he asks me.

“Sure,” is all I say to him.

“It's a historical landmark now. Ever since those state politicians in Saint Paul declared that any building, a hundred-fifty years or older, which still stands without the need of state funds, is considered a landmark. But only if private funding can be brought in for the upkeep. So who is paying these guys?”

I can see he is thinking about something. But why is he smiling, like he doesn't have a care in the world?
“I guess I'll have to ask Mrs. Gonzalez who hired her husband and son when I get out of here.” 
I think he believes he will be leaving here shortly. He pauses again, I assume to see what I will say. I say nothing. He notices my silence.

“Well the storm was really raging by the time I got to the Windsor place. With all that water, lightning, and thunder going off, it’s a wonder that the old cobblestone front driveway wasn't washed out.” He has a look of wonderment to him. Maybe, a bit of confusion.

He asks me, “Were you awake about eight thirty Tuesday morning? You know, during the big storm?”

I don't answer him, thinking he is more or less trying to stall by having me join in on a casual conversation for some reason. Also, I don't want to agitate him again by stopping his recollection of events.

He goes on by saying, “I drove directly to the front of the building with my headlights on. I had to. There was complete darkness surrounding that building. I figured it was the dense trees closing in on the place and those black clouds which hung really low in the sky that morning. Those factors alone must have been keeping the sanatorium in its gloomy state. Even though it was early in the morning, it still had the sense of the witching hour to it.”

He looks confused, then adds, “The time of day was about 8:15 a.m. Why was it so dark?”

More silence. I imagine to mentally sort out why it was still dark during the day.

“You know, the funny thing about arriving at the hospital? The sudden serenity I felt. I remember thinking how inviting the place was with its front door wide open. Like I was supposed to be there. I felt like it was asking me to come in!”

The ex-sheriff starts laughing hysterically. Somehow, after a few moments, he is able to choke out a few words. “I guess... I guess I do sound mad!” He is again laughing, it seems, uncontrollably.

Stopping suddenly, he blankly stares at me. There is a moment of eerie silence between us so I ask him to continue.

“After calling in to let the morning dispatcher know that I had arrived at the old infirmary, I jumped out of the patrol car, flashlight in hand, and entered the building. Calling out, there was nothing but silence and darkness.”

I write in my notes; finally - going to explain to me what happened - all the rest of this stuff - worthless at his hearing! - unless we go with the insanity plea!, underlining this statement several times.

I listen with renewed interest to each word he says, when he begins with, “That's when I took my gun out.”

He is serious now. He continues.

“I slowly worked my way towards the center of the building. About half way in, I got this feeling of impending danger. The emotion was so strong inside of me that I sensed the hairs on the back of my neck standing up! I know this because I reached back with my right hand to see if I was imagining it. I wasn't.”

Notes; - showing signs of anxiety again - during this recall of events - has a troubled look to him - his mind seems to be reeling, reliving the events.

He continues, “I walked in a little further and I started hearing this sweet little voice singing a beautiful melody. It's a girl's voice. A child's voice. Repeating, over and over again, this beautiful nursery rhyme.”

“That was my first clue that someone dangerous could still be in the building. I felt my way in the dark, towards the sound. It led me to a set of closed double doors. The kind you see as an entryway to a school gym or maybe one of those town halls you see in the movies all the time. So I went in.”

For some reason he stops talking again, staring blankly. I need him to continue.

“Johnathan, can you please stop stalling and tell me what happened after you opened the double doors?”

Notes; - he is losing concentration - bursts of laughter – must have the court call for a psychiatric evaluation.

“Turns out I was right, it was a large hall. A dining hall. About three stories high and spanning the full length of the north side of the building. The outside wall, facing north, was built with stained glass windows from the floor to the ceiling.”

“The glass itself depicted mythological creatures involved in their famous battles. When the lightning flashed outside I could see their battles come alive upon the glass. When the thunder crackled, it gave their armaments sound, like they were hitting against the weapons of their foes!”

Notes; - delusional - extremely out of touch with reality - Hero Envy?

“Dining room tables were set up all along the floor. With white table cloths, fine china, silverware, crystal champagne glasses, and candelabras, with 3 burning candles each!”

“One bright flash of lightning gave me the real perspective of how enormous the hall was and all the dining arrangements that filled it! The whole time I was there the only sound I could hear besides the thunder was that sweet little girl's voice repeating her wonderful rhyme.”

“Even with all that candlelight burning, the darkness engulfed most of the room like a veil, until one of the longest, brightest lightning bolts I had ever witnessed in my life, finally help me locate the child. She was swinging on an oversized swing in the middle of the hall where normally a chandelier might be hanging. Once I saw her though, I could finally make out, with clarity, the gorgeous words she was singing!”

“Tic Toc Toc, Goes the Grandfather Clock. The Clock Which Tells the Crazies When to Chop. Hack Hack Hack Goes The Craziness. Though They Will Keep Killing, If They Do Keep Hearing, That Crazy Clock Go, Tic Toc Toc, Tic Toc Toc!”

“At that very second, something started moving to my right. To me, it looked like a young man on all fours, his back hunched in a way that is just too hard to describe right now, but moving my way with increasing speed! I asked him to halt but he kept on coming, sideways, like a crab! Within 20 feet of me, I fired three slugs into it with my gun.”

“I didn't have time to think about what had just happened because in the far left corner this other creature, ape-like in physique, legs slightly bent to the sides and arms waving back and forth above its head, came running at me incredibly fast, knocking over tables and chairs out of its way! It came at me so fast that I had to empty my remaining six shots into it. Five in the chest, the last one, in its forehead before it would go down!”

“I couldn't be sure if anything else would be coming at me from inside the dining room so I looked down for a couple of seconds to get out another clip. The whole time I could hear that child sing her enchanting lullaby!”

“Reloaded I looked up. Just a few feet in front of me, coming at me, was that little girl flying through the air with her legs and arms pointing straight at me. Her nails on all four limbs, were sharpened to a point!”

“It doesn't scare me though, because.....well.....because she had the biggest grin on her face. A grin that shouldn't have been able to fit on her pretty little head!”

Jonathan stops talking at this point. So I sit forward in my chair, look at the former sheriff in his eyes and think for a moment.

I'm trying to think of what to say to a man whose legs are shackled, chained to the floor and is wearing a straitjacket, also chained to that floor, finally saying angrily, “Sir, no other officer saw any stained glass windows, dining room tables, candelabras, or even a swing! All anyone saw were two dead maintenance-slash-groundskeepers in a pool of their own blood. No other victims. No little girl. Nothing. Just you and two dead bodies.”

After my little tirade, there is nothing but silence between us. I lean back in my chair and close my eyes to formulate a plan. How am I going to proceed with this insanity plea for my client? I'm tired, sure. I'm exasperated. I'm fed up by the sheer bull he is laying out as the truth. I'm just going to sit here with my eyes closed and drain my mind of all thoughts and relax.

Relax.

What? That can't be. No. I can hear it. Am I being hypnotically influenced? No way. Yet, it is so beautiful.

I can hear her! I can hear her! I can hear the sweetness of her angelic little voice!
Don't open your eyes Burt, or you might lose the moment.

Tic Toc Toc, Goes The Grandfather Clock. The Clock Which Tells the Crazies When to Chop. Hack Hack Hack Goes The Craziness. Though They Will Keep Killing, If They Do Keep Hearing, That Crazy Clock Go, Tic Toc Toc, Tic Toc Toc!

I opened my eyes, hoping to see her.

All I see is my client, Jonathan Price.

He is about four inches from my face. All contorted and stretched out in ways that are not humanly possible! He is leaning towards me, still in his straight jacket with the biggest smile on his face. A smile that shouldn’t have been able to fit there!

This is,

Hoping I Give You Nightmares,

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“The time would not pass. Somebody was playing with the clocks, and not only the electronic clocks but the wind-up kind too. The second hand on my watch would twitch once, and a year would pass, and then it would twitch again. There was nothing I could do about it. As an Earthling I had to believe whatever clocks said -and calendars.”
- Kurt Vonnegut -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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