DAY 3: Paper Chase

Today’s Prompt:

After your workout at the gym, you open your locker to find a note with the word “HELP!” scribbled on it.

Courtesy: Writing.Com

Word Count: 2,232

Workout on weekends has lost its appeal for me. Not since the day, I popped my locker and chanced upon a piece of paper in a condition suggesting it’s been crumpled at least, once and then smoothed out again. The drama has clogged my mind with a truckload of unanswered questions. Had the mystery person who I’m yet to meet up close, battled a last minute urge to ditch the stint of delivering the note? Had they suddenly decided dropping off the paper was not worth the trouble or was the note already in its present state before it came into their possession?

How exactly do you go about answering such a question when your mystery guy and yourself might be the self same person?

                You know, maybe I ought to tell the damn story from the beginning. It might help improve the situation, broaden your perspective while I’m at it. I am the kind of guy who tries anything once and if I like it, I’m hooked for life. Calisthenics was my addiction. From the very first day I came out to the gym with a colleague, I’ve never had enough of workouts. It’s like a drug; a hooked on first sight kind of situation from day one. I happened to be out at the gym on a fine Saturday to be nowhere but in a gym toning up every muscle in your body.

I was in high spirits when I came off working out, thinking how I was gonna hit it off with the new girl when I got back to the office on Monday. What was the name? I knew I had it someplace. Tangerine. Yeah, that wasn’t so tough to remember, was it? And while I’m at it maybe, talk her into taking a dip in my Jacuzzi. Only things worked out in an interesting way.

You wanna know what really got me spooked out about the note in my locker? It was the handwriting on the paper. I kept thinking I did it. And hit myself over the head trying to remember when I’d written something like that. How’s that for odd? On the other hand, I thought it was some sort of practical joke. Tell me, who wouldn’t? And then I had a closer study of the paper and noticed that the printing matter or what I’d written off as ink was indeed, blood. Human or animal? I could not tell. The whole stuff might’ve been done in a hurry. It was apparent and even though the blood was dry, it retained a certain glossy feel.

I held the crumpled sheet in my hands staring at it for quite a while and wondering what in the world I was supposed to do with it. Already the gym had started emptying out. Who would believe my story if I told them I returned to find a note in my locker, which I had locked up before my workout and found locked when I got back? A note featuring a single inscription HELP! written out in ink which was possibly, blood?

What I did was have a little talk with the one man I knew wasn’t gonna make fun of my superstitious butt.

Hanson was in when I called at his house. He was all ears.

“Hanson,” I said. “I know how silly this might sound to the ear. I got a note I obtained under the strangest of circumstances.” I showed the note to Hanson. “I needed someone to talk to.”

Hanson didn’t touch the note, didn’t even flinch. He maintained his position on his comfy chair scrutinizing the thing with eyes sunken so deep into their sockets they almost didn’t exist. Then he read the content aloud.

                “Help.”

                “Yes, help. That is all it says and it beat the shit out of me that I don’t know who or what the hell placed it in my locker. It’s hard enough not knowing who needs help or what variety of help’s needed.” I held up the note. “No name, no forwarding address and no hint who or what needs my help or how in hell I’m supposed to deliver. This is sick is all.”

Hanson said, “Hand me the note.” He leaned forward to collect. “I wanna have a look at it.”

I slid it over into his hand and felt a strange kind of hurt and loneliness. In an odd sense, the note had dug its path into my affection and I was beginning to see it as a part of me. An object intended for my safekeeping.

Hanson noticed my uneasiness. “Idara, can you trust yourself with this thing?” He held up the paper stuck between his forefinger and thumb like something wet and nasty and needing to be disposed of. “And not get personally attached. After all’s been said and done it’s still a piece of paper.” I saw myself reach up and pluck it out of his hand. Outward, I remained calm. “Let’s not wrestle for a piece of paper with a message neither of us can actually decode. Don’t get carried away, Idara.” Hanson flipped the note had a quick peek on the back. “Here you go, you can have it back.” And without further examination he gave it over to me.

                “I don’t understand it,” Hanson said, after a few moments of quiet meditation. “I don’t disbelieve your tale, Idara. I just can’t place the why it happened. His gaze fell on the note, which I had folded over in my hand. “Sure you wanna hold on to that thing? I’d get rid of it if I were you. Heck, it could be the work of a serial killer who’s trying to frame an unsuspecting guy like you.”

Goosebumps broke out all over my flesh. “Shit! You think somebody’s playing me, Hanson? I was freaked out about the note in my locker it skipped my mind to check with the local law. It’s not late, you think?”

                “I don’t see cuffs on your wrists and ankles just yet. ‘Course it ain’t late,” he said with a wave of the hand.

I checked with the cops about a serial killer on the loose who might be interested in having a young gym enthusiast put away or any murderer for that matter. Nothing. I was cleared but of what exactly. When you don’t know who or what you’re up against it’s difficult to define progress. The cops won’t touch the note but let me keep it. It was my burden it seemed.

                “A friend of yours might be playing with you. He’ll fess up in time. Just try not to take it personal.”

I made a mental note. This was the second time somebody told me not to take the note personal. And it only strengthened my resolve about uncovering the mystery of the note.

The first time the note revealed its supernatural origin; I was on my way home from the barbers and had to walk past an alley, which was thrown into pitch darkness. I felt a sharp pain in my thigh like someone had buried a butcher knife in it and twisted. I squealed and surprised myself by grabbing for my wallet. I’d folded the note and stashed it with the cash. When I shook it out, it was glowing. The letters of the solitary word blinked and buzzed like neon. A most amazing event unfolded on the heels of this phenomenon; I had a hunch someone in that alley needed my help and fast. I cannot explain how I knew; it was as if I’d rehashed the whole thing beforehand. I stepped into the darkness wondering how I was supposed to defend myself if a vagrant attacked me.

Behind a trashcan, a boy of probably no more than fifteen lay unconscious as blood pooled around his head. I couldn’t evaluate the extent of his injuries. The doctors informed me that had I wasted a breath, the boy would have cashed in his chips. I’d just been enlightened on the note’s purpose. Before the week ran itself out, I was the first-man-on-the-scene in several near-death incidents. For all my troubles maybe, there was something on the bright side of the equation looking out for me.

Yet, with every great blessing comes a greater sacrifice. My dreams were not void of nightmares. Tortured visions filled with screaming people invaded my sleep. Folks who toned the same word over and over again.

HELP! HELP! HELP! HELP! HELP! HELP! HELP!

I remember once, as a kid, wishing I was endowed with superpowers. I wished then that I could revoke that wish.

                I never married.

I went out with a girl named Tangerine. I believe I mentioned her somewhere in the course of this story. In the end, our relationship went smash to the floor. I think the note had a hand in that. I can’t tell how I knew but I knew. It was a big blessing to me and a bigger one to all the people given a second shot at life. But a blessing ain’t complete if it don’t perfect fulfillment.

The question on your lips is have I ever tried to rid myself of the note? Of course. Tangerine complained the note was spooky with all the creepy stuff it made me do. I’ve set the damn thing on fire and stood by to watch it burn to ashes only to find it in my wallet when I tried to pay for groceries. I recall the day I flushed it down the toilet. Did it stay buried in the drainpipes? Hell no! Back in my wallet again. One day, late in the nighttime, the note levitated and glided across my living room, glowing and buzzing like a teeny weeny siren. It was a marvel to hold and cherish for all lifetime. The highpoints of the little show off was the note wasn’t keeping me entertained. Somebody needed help and the note wanted me to get out there in the middle of the night and give it to him or her. Ain’t that the craziest thing you ever heard?

What really tipped the scale was the event, which prompted me to scribble this little note explaining the conditions attached with the gift of the note. You ought to give me points for trying to clear the air concerning the purpose and the responsibility that goes with possessing the note.

One uneventful Saturday, after my workout (yes, I’d started working out again), I got to my locker, the same locker where I came in contact with the note, and met two strange dudes probably waiting for me. The weirdoes knew something about the appearance of the note in my locker a few years ago. This time they had a message besides HELP!

                “Mr. Idara, I believe. We came in respect of a certain note of which you have been made unwitting custodian,” said the one who was possibly the leader of the team. “We apologize for the trouble it may have caused you.”

                “You have no idea,” I said. “You nut heads have absolutely no idea the shit I’ve been through, the sacrifices I’ve made for the sake of one word.”

                “Sorry for your loss. We would like to have the note back, if you please. Look on the bright side; you’d finally be rid of it. We know how persistent it can be if it chooses to.”

                “You telling me? Listen, I lost a life, an entire life because of your trifling note. The girl I ought to have married ditched me thanks to your note and now you two drag your sorry asses in here and try to steal the last fragment of my broken life. You gotta be kidding me”

                “Don’t make this hard on yourself. We did not drop the note in your locker. That was the last custodian all the way,” the assistant knucklehead said.

                “And who dropped it off with the last custodian? Wait, let me guess. It wasn’t you,” I said, stashing my gears in my locker.

                “It’s a little complicated,” said the knucklehead in command.

                “You guys can’t be for real throwing that Facebook shit in people’s faces.”

                “The note has a higher calling. It’s place is not on the earth. There will be consequences if you do not willingly hand it over.”

I was already walking away. I was done playing with those two cave men. Let them catch the next space shuttle and ship their asses back to mars. The note belongs to us, now.

That was several years ago and the note’s power has slowed my aging process. Were there any consequences? All I can say is I couldn’t seal a relationship but what’s a married life compared with a chance to save human life? My friends tell me the note has taken control of my mind and I’ve become its slave. I tell them that’s bullshit. Just because I want nothing else out of life other than please the note don’t mean I’m its captive.

You are the new custodian of the note because you earned it. I’ve watched you for some months and you got a good heart. But what to do with your wife and kids? Let the note be your guide.

And even if nothing good comes of your family remind yourself that others have it worse.

Eneh Akpan

June 3, 2013