Switch

Switch

by Lithopedion


David shut off the incessant static of his alarm clock. It was a radio clock, but the only stations it picked up were country, and the last thing he wanted was to wake up to some tears-in-my-beer cowboy song, which would wind up stuck in his head all day, so he set it to static. He stumbled into the bathroom, wiping the crust out of his eyes, and took a shower. Time for another wonderful day of working at a crappy fast food restaurant. He stepped out of the shower, somewhat more awake, and glanced at his face in the mirror. A little scruffy, but he didn't have time to shave. Work wouldn't care, or if they did, they could go screw themselves. To make matters worse, Ron, his best friend, wouldn't be there. The fucker had left town with David's girlfriend. Hell, he could have the backstabbing bitch. Maybe she'd do the same thing to him. The worst part however, was that Ron owed him three hundred dollars, and David probably couldn't make rent without it. So, here he was, broke, single, and stabbed in the back.
David tied on a pale blue bathrobe, and headed into the kitchen to get some food. He fixed himself a bowl of granola cereal, and took a bite. He began to swallow, but stopped short in shock. A man dressed in black was perched on the table. He was young, probably early twenties, and had pale green eyes, and light skin, with black pants, and a tight sleeveless vest that made it look even lighter. But the most startling thing about him was his shockingly gray spiked hair. The color was even, and went down to the roots. It was natural.
"The hell you doin' in my apartment?" David snapped, through a mouthful of food.
"Now, now David, don't get an attitude," the man said.
"Get the fuck out. How's that for attitude?" David deadpanned.
"Ok," the man said, "if that's the way you want it." He stood and walked to the door. As he stepped outside, he turned to David and smiled. "All the windows closed and locked?" he asked. David glanced around.
"Yup." Then he slammed the door.
"God damn, what a day this is gonna be," he mumbled through a mouthful of granola. He turned and dropped his bowl of cereal. The man was sitting on a chair in the living room, staring at him.
"What the-?" David began.
"Neat trick, huh?" the man said, still smiling.
"Listen David Copperfield, I thought I told you to get out."
"No. I'm afraid not, David. Not til I'm done here."
"Done? Doing what?"
The man sat back in the chair, and smiled. "I'm here to fuck with you. That's all I'm here for. To fuck with you until I open your eyes to what's really going on."
"I see. But I still don't care. Get out."
"Guess you need more convincing," the man said.
"Out!"
The man walked out the door and closed it. David popped another mouthful of granola in his mouth, and flipped on the T.V. to CNN. See what's going on in the world. A woman was blathering on about the weather, about some arctic front that was supposed to come through the state. "Looks like we'll be needing a scarf and mittens by Wednesday," she chirpped, "Now back to you." The screen switched back to the front desk, where the announcer sat. There was the man with gray hair. He smiled. "Thank you Debbie. In local news, David needs to open the goddam door, before I get pissed off, and hurt him badly. David, go open the door, or I will make things much worse. Do it... now." The television turned to static, and David switched it off. He walked to the door, and nervously opened it. The man was standing there. David stood there, nervously chewing his lip for a moment.
"Guess you better come in," he said.
"Smart man."
They walked over to the couch, and sat down.
"I have a feeling I'll be seeing alot of you," David said.
The man laughed. "You've got that right."
"Ok. So, can I at least have your name? Or should I just call you Dude?"
"I should think not. Call me Switch."
"Great. So, Switch, what exactly is it that you want?"
"You'll figure it out."
"Can I at least have a hint?"
Switch adopted a thoughtful posture. "I suppose so. It has to do with your relationship with me."
"Relationship? Dude, we don't have a 'relationship'. I've never met you before in my life."
Switch simply smiled. "You know me. You just don't realize who I am. When you recognize me, you'll know everything."
David sighed. "What the hell does that mean? You've got to give me more than just riddles to go on here." Switch scowled.
"I don't have to give you anything, David. Perhaps you don't understand. I don't care about you. I'm out to get you. That's why I'm fucking with you."
"What is why you're fucking with me?"
Switch grinned. "Because I can."
David met his piercing stare, and leaned forward. "This is going to be a long day, isn't it?"
"The longest day of your life."
David reached over and picked up the phone.
"Whatcha doin'?" Switched asked.
"Figured I better call in to work."
Switch chuckled. "You're a funny one, David. You make me laugh."
David simply gave Switch a withering glare. On the other side of the phone, the manager picked up.
"Hey, Thomas."
"Dave, what's up?"
"Uh- I need to call in from work today."
"Again? This is becoming a habit with you, David."
"I know... but this is important."
"What is?"
"Let's just say an old friend showed up."
"You aren't sick?"
"No."
"Then you can come in to work."
"Thomas, come on..."
"I don't wanna hear it David. You haven't been acting like part of the Burger Palace family lately. You either show up, or you're fired."
"Part of the family? What am I, in the mob? You know I only have this shitty minimum wage job til I can get one that actally pays enough money for me to actually live on. Not that I'll be able to, after you tell any potential job interests that I was a horrible employee. Hell even if I gave you a months notice, you'd say that, nevermind that I've been working there for almost a year, and never gotten a raise. I mean, what the fuck?"
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
"You're not coming in, are you?"
"You're a quick one," David scoffed, "no wonder you're a manager." And he slammed the phone down. Switch laughed. As he did, David quickly opened the drawer on the end table next to him, and took something out, which he quickly shoved in his pocket. "I'm gonna run down to the gas station and grab something to eat," he said.
"Fine," Switch replied, "Do whatever you want."
David jogged out onto the sidewalk. It was misty out, and everything was damp. No sun would be poking out of the overcast sky to dry things out, either. He turned the corner, and headed down the street. At the end of the block sat the gas station. Gulp 'n Go. It was grimy, and in need of a good cleaning, outside as well as in. They oughta fix the goddam potholes in their parking lot while they were at it, David thought angrily. He'd driven through one a few weeks back that had put his tire out of alignment, just a little bit. Now the whole car vibrated when he drove it. He walked inside, and grabbed a few hot dogs, a large drink, and some candy bars. What could he do? Should he call the cops? Nah. Switch would just disappear, and the cops would probably get pissed at him for wasting their time. Maybe he should run. Maybe if he ran far, far away.
"That'll be $7.76, David," the cashier said. David glanced up. There was Switch, dressed in a Gulp 'n Go uniform. He even had on a nametag. David fought the urge to drop everything and run. "$7.76 please," Switch said, perfectly imitating the slightly annoyed tone of voice so many minimum wage employees, including David, seemed to have while they were on the job. David forked over the money.
"What do you want?" he hissed.
"Now David, I'm just checking up on you. You know, to make sure you're ok." David turned and hurried for the door. "Sir, you forgot your change!" Switch shouted, a subtle mocking laughter in his voice. David ignored him. "Thank you for shopping Gulp 'n Go!" The door slammed shut, but David could hear Switch's muffled laughter inside. He hurried back to his house.
He came inside, over to the couch, where Switch was sitting, and sat down.
"You bring me something?" Switch asked. David only glared at him. "That's ok," Switch said, "I didn't ask for anything anyway."
"And if you want something, you can just warp down there and get it yourself," David grumbled.
"I told you not to get an attitude once, David," Switch said, his voice rising just a little, "Don't make me tell you again."
"Why don't you just do what it is you want to do here, and go?" David asked angrily, "Why the hell are you just waiting around?"
"Because I like watching you squirm. Not to mention it will make it so much sweeter when you finally realize what's going on." David stood and began to pace.
"You're really starting to piss me off, Switch," he said. Switch only smiled. "So I guess you're not leaving." Switch shook his head. "Alright then," David mumbled. He turned his back to Switch for a moment, then turned, pulled the gun out of his pocket, and shot Switch twice in the face. Switch's body jerked with each shot, and then lay still. David stared at it in shock for a moment, then put the gun back in the drawer where he had gotten it. Smoke oozed lazily into the air around Switch's head. David rubbed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Switch's corpse was staring at him. He jumped, and started to back away. Switch inhaled through clenched teeth, which made a sharp hissing sound.
"That was very stupid of you, David," he whispered. He stood, and slowly walked towards David. "I don't recommend that you do that again." He turned, and began to walk away, but then turned and glared back at David over his shoulder. "I'm going to go wash the blood off while my fucking face reconstructs, then I'll be back. That hurts like hell, I might add, but it won't kill me. All it will do is piss me off. I don't think you want that." Then he turned and left the room. David sat down on the couch, his mind racing. What the hell could he do? would the police come? No. He was in a single apartment, far enough away from other houses that no one had heard the gunshot. Why couldn't he get this guy... this thing, to leave? A few minutes later, Switch came back in, and sat down. David was holding the gun again. "What did I tell you?" he said, annoyed. "That you're going to open my eyes for me. That's why you're here," David replied, "that you won't leave til after you open my eyes, but you won't do it. You're happier to just torment me." "So what, David, you're going to shoot me til you're out of bullets? What then? Are you going to start stabbing me with a steak knife?" David smiled. "These bullets aren't for you." And he put the gun to his head. Switch looked surprised for a moment, then regained his (sang-froid?). He smiled. "I'm impressed, David. I never even considered that you might do that." David gave him a brief smile that quickly faded. "Now, open my eyes, or I'll pull the trigger. I know you don't want that." "You're right David, I don't want that. I'll open your eyes then." David put the gun down. "Good," he said. With that, Switch grabbed him by the shirt, and slammed him up against the wall. "So open your eyes!" he screamed, "Open your eyes, David! Open your eyes!" He slapped David across one cheek, then the other, despite David's shocked protests. David tried to run, but Switch grabbed him, putting a hand on either side of David's head, holding him still. "Now open your eyes, David." He relaxed his grip, and his arms fell to his sides. "Open your eyes," he said, "Open your eyes." He kept repeating it over and over again. Open your eyes, open your eyes, open your eyes. As he did, he began to transform, to change, until he looked exactly like David. "Open your eyes, David," he said again, "open your eyes. Then he stopped. And it was then that David realized that Switch had not transformed into a duplicate of David. There was no Switch. David was staring into a mirror.

"Oh, Jesus!" David cried as he stumbled away from the mirror, "Oh my God!" Suddenly, he began to realize something, something horrible. His friend Ron hadn't left town with his girlfriend. David raced towards the basement, opened the door, and raced downstairs. There was Ron, and David's completely faithful girlriend. They were sitting in two wooden chairs, looking at him. But they were dead. His girlfriend's throat had been slashed. But he had poisoned Ron. The poison had caused Ron's muscles to contract post mortem, so his eyes were open, and a horrifying smile was on his face. He seemed to be staring at David. David vomited on the concrete floor, and then raced upstairs. He locked the basement door, and sat down at the table, where his granola cereal had grown soggy, and began to cry. He cried because his best friend and girlfriend were dead, he cried because he had killed them. But most of all, he cried because he didn't know why he'd done it. There had been no reason to. No reason at all. Finally he managed to calm himself down to the point where he wasn't crying, though he felt as though he might hyperventilate. Suddenly, he realized that someone was behind him. Even without turning he knew who it was. It was Ron, with that horrible smile on his face, reaching out for David, reching out to grab him and tear his throat out. But how had he gotten pst the locked basement door? David screamed and whirled around. No one was there. David turned back around, but as soon as he did, he felt Ron behind him, felt the hands reaching out for him. No! he screamed to himself, there's no one there! Oh, but there was. Ron was there. He turned again, and again no one was there. David got up and raced to the corner of the room, sitting with his back in the corner. But it did no good. Ron was a spirit, forever marked with that horrible, unnatural smile, a smile no living human could make. He could come through the walls, through the ground. Meanwhile his body waited in the basement, ever vigilant, waiting for David to let guard down. The realization came to David, what he had to do. He went and fetched the loaded gun. As he picked it up, he looked down at it, wishing he had pulled the trigger when he'd had it to his head. He sat down at the kitchen table, and began to write, trying to ignore Ron's hands reaching for him.


"So what've we got here?" Officer Alan Shelton asked. One of the officers at the scene pointed to the body. "We have a Mr. David Bransen here," he said, "it was easy enough to ID him, because he set his driver's license and social security card next to him. His landlord confirmed that he lived here. Guess he knew we'd be coming." "I see," Alan said, "he leave a note?"
"Yeah," the man showed him a piece of yellow legal pad paper, in a plastic bag. He apologizes for killing the two people in the basement, says he doesn't know why he did it, that he didn't mean to. He says that he killed himself because the guilt was driving him insane, that things could never be right again. He also left the full names, numbers, and adresses of the two people in the basement, not to mention how to get in contact with their families." Alan took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Killed em and left information on how to contact their families. Not your average double homicide. He turned back to the officer.
"So did the ID's for the bodies check out?" The officer looked up at him, an odd look on his face.
"That's just the thing," he said, "there's no one down there. The basement is empty."
Schizophrenic, Alan thought. He looked down at the body, slumped at the kitchen table. "Poor kid," he whispered.