At the age of five he had met what was possibly the strangest man in the world.
The man did indeed look quite strange; he always liked to wear a purple shirt and vest that made him stand out from everyone else. Occasionally he liked to wear some other colors, as long as they were bright colors – the colors that made him stand out quite oddly from everyone else.
And with every outfit, he always wore a bright blue bow tie, whether it matched the rest of his clothing or not.
His blond hair was always in such a mess that they joked that one day a bird nest fell on his head and he never bothered to take it off.
But they stopped laughing, for every time someone told that joke he would stare at them out of the corner of his eye, and the strangely bright blue that always seemed to hide so much crookedness and unnaturalness would cause everyone to turn away in fear.
But he did not just look strange; he behaved strangely as well. His mannerisms were bizarre. When he was trying to be polite and maintain eye contact, he ended up staring so intensely and darkly that, when paired with the blindingly white grin he always had, made him look insane.
The way he spoke was never aggressive nor forceful; he always made sure to speak in a polite tone, although everyone always described his speech style as kind and polite but eerie and strange.
He always had on a bizarre grin, no matter what the day or how he was feeling or who he was talking to. No one had ever even seen him straight-faced, much less seen him frowning.
He went by the fine name of Oliver Kirkland, though no one dared to ever call him by his first name. And thus, he was always "Mr. Kirkland." He always answered to "Mr. Kirkland," because no one called him anything else.
At the age of five, he met this queer man. He was running in the park when suddenly he realized he was running too fast for his legs to bear and he fell flat on his face. Mr. Kirkland, who happened to be lazily strolling around the park at the time, saw the child and crept near him.
"Hello," he said. "Do you need some help?" And he held out his hand.
The poor child was startled at the sight of his unnaturally bright blue eyes, but shakily reached up to the man's hand for fear of being rude to him.
The man had a strong grip that made the child uncomfortable, but he let go quickly after the child stood up and brushed the grass off of his knees.
"My name is Oliver Kirkland. How are you?" came the question that was recited in such a rehearsed-sounding, overly polite tone that it would have been comical, had it not been for the man's unnatural stare.
"H-Hi Mr. Kirkland. I-I'm doing good, thanks. A-And you?" The child responded nervously.
"I'm alright, thank you." Mr. Kirkland replied, staring at the child curiously, as if trying to memorize his appearance immediately. And then he continued on his stroll through the park.
Alfred froze, unconsciously squeezing Matthew's hand tight, the last egg still in his hand.
"What was that?" Matthew whispered.
What sounded like the shattering of glass and clanging of pots continued to echo through the house. Then footsteps. Slow, heavy footsteps.
"I wonder who that bizarre guy is?" Francis pointed to the stranger who was sitting on the edge of a park bench some feet away, staring off into space, without blinking, and smiling. Being a teenager who would much rather flirt with girls at a party than make ten dollars an hour caring for his neighbor's kids, Francis tried to make this babysitting-seven-year-old-boys job more entertaining by complaining.
"That's Mr. Kirkland!" Alfred shouted as he always did, swinging violently on the creaky old swing that the park never bothered to fix or replace.
"He lives near us," Matthew whispered, swinging next to his brother.
"Everybody talks about him because he's really creepy!" Alfred yelled insensitively, while Matthew prayed that Mr. Kirkland would continue staring off into space and not notice anything Alfred shouted, mostly because whatever words came out of Alfred's mouth almost never passed through his brain.
"He looks pretty dumb," Francis remarked casually. "You could probably toss rocks at his windows and he wouldn't even notice."
"No, you can't do that," Alfred said. "He would try to kill you or something!"
"Alfred, don't talk about people like that," Matthew replied, even though he knew Alfred most likely was not listening.
"What, he probably couldn't tell if a person was dead or alive." Francis thought for a moment. "Kirkland, huh? Is he that man who goes around talking to himself and trying to explain how he needs to go to tea parties in the woods with elves or something?"
"I don't know…" Alfred replied. Quite frankly, he never listened to Mr. Kirkland when the man was going around talking to himself, why would he?
"That guy is bizarre. He got tried for a murder case once, but they later declared him innocent for no reason at all. Apparently he's a master manipulator and liar, that's what the rumors say. Everyone's so scared of him now. People are talking about how he's literally insane."
Hearing the word "murder" sent chills down Alfred's spine. He looked over at Matthew, who didn't seem very comfortable with where this conversation was turning, either.
"So, yeah, he'd kill you if you tossed rocks at his house," Francis decided. "That is, if you let him catch you."
"But what if you run away before he catches you?" Alfred wondered.
Matthew preferred not to think about the man altogether, and left the conversation, trying to swing higher on the creaky old swing and thinking about other things, like what dessert would be tonight.
"You couldn't run away." Francis devised, deciding to entertain himself by creating an exaggeratedly creepy story. "That guy is psychic; he could read your mind. He'd know where you were, and where you were heading. And he'd catch up to you before you knew it, and you'd barely have time to scream before you were gone." Francis laughed silently at the now pale-faced Alfred. It was mean to scare an innocent child, Francis knew, but little kids looked so hilarious when they were frightened that Francis couldn't help himself.
"Really?" Alfred almost whispered, and glanced over to his left, where he thought Matthew would still be swinging. Matthew, however, had left and seemed to be more interested in a curious-looking flower growing a couple of feet away from the swing sets.
"Yes – well, I mean, not exactly," Francis decided, his guilt finally catching up to him. He didn't want to scare Alfred too much, and he also didn't want to be caught speaking badly about a neighbor. "Most people would get caught, but, if you were strong, you could even egg his house and slip away unscathed."
What am I saying? Francis thought. That wasn't any better than flat out calling the man a monster.
But Alfred had listened very well, and it was already too late.
Suddenly, the sweet, warm atmosphere became dark and cold. The lights seemed to glow a creepy shade of blue-white, and the smell of baking transformed into a kind of dusty smell, the smell of a house that hadn't been occupied for tens of years. A feeling of discomfort, uncertainty, and fear built up in Matthew's stomach.
"Come on!" Alfred dragged his brother along. The air was colder than he thought. Spring was a weird season. It was all nice and warm during the day, you know? But then evening comes, and suddenly it feels like winter.
"I'm coming," Matthew struggled to run, not nearly as motivated as Alfred was to get to the house quicker.
They had said that they were just going out for a little walk. Just around the street, and they wouldn't dare venture any farther. At least, that's what Alfred had said, and Matthew agreed, believing that they were really just going out for a little walk, just to get some air. Of course, they had already spent the entire day at the park, but who knows, Alfred was known for making whimsical suggestions and this was nothing new.
With a scarf, hat, and mittens, Matthew went downstairs with Alfred, who claimed that he didn't need any of that "cold-weather stuff."
"Come on," Alfred said, walking into the kitchen. He probably wants to get another snack, Matthew thought, reflecting on his brother's endless-eating habits.
But Alfred pried open the refrigerator, and, as carefully as he could, pulled out two full cartons of eggs.
"What are you going to be doing with eggs?" Matthew questioned.
"I'll tell you later," Alfred whispered, which was still louder than Matthew's normal voice. He then stared at Matthew's scarf, hat, and mittens. "Are you really going to be wearing all that?"
"It's cold outside!" Matthew protested.
"Whatever," Alfred opened the door, ignoring the chill air that streamed into the house. "Let's go."
They stopped at Mr. Kirkland's house, Alfred dragging along an almost-whining Matthew, who kept complaining that this was supposed to be a walk, not a sprint.
"Shh," Alfred suddenly silenced Matthew. Then the two of them watched and listened.
One of the windows on the first floor, though its thin curtains blurred out what was on the other side, glowed a cold, blue-white light. The window was closed, but parts of its frame were cracked and leaked sound. The sound of a sink running furiously, the sound of various timers and the sound of an oven door opening and shutting made it clear that Mr. Kirkland, at this time, was cooking.
"Who would cook this late in the evening?" Alfred wondered.
"Don't say such rude things," Matthew whispered to him.
Suddenly, the sink shut off and the light went out almost simultaneously.
"He's left," Alfred said. "Perfect."
"Perfect for what?" Matthew asked. "You still haven't told me what those eggs are for."
"What?" Alfred glanced at Matthew. "Haven't you been listening to Francis talk all day?"
"I left the conversation," Matthew said bluntly.
"Well, okay. I guess I'll waste time explaining then," Alfred sighed. Matthew wasn't offended. He was used to Alfred being sarcastic whenever something didn't go his way.
"We're going to take these," Alfred opened both egg cartons, checking to make sure that none of the eggs were cracked or missing, "And we're going to toss them there."
"There?" Matthew unconsciously raised his eyebrows.
"Yes. There," Alfred explained, as if it was obvious.
"Where exactly is…'there'?" Matthew asked, frustrated at his brother's assumption that he never had to explain anything clearly.
"At the house."
"What?"
"At the house, Matthew!"
"W-Why?" Matthew could sense where this was going. This was bad. Terribly bad.
"If you can egg Mr. Kirkland's house and come out alive, you'll be strong!"
"Alfred, that's a bad idea!"
"Look, we need to do it, so let's just finish it fast and get out of here!"
"Alfred, is this one of your weird 'tests of courage'?"
"No, Matthew, this is serious. Just – "
"No."
"What?"
"I'm not…I'm not joining you."
"What? Matthew – "
"This is bad and wrong!"
"Matthew…" Alfred looked both frustrated and confused, as if he himself were also unsure of what to do. "I…I want to prove myself strong."
"You can prove yourself another day," Matthew protested. "Let's go home."
"What?"
"Well, I'm going home."
"What, Matthew, you can't just leave me here alone!"
"I…I can." Matthew turned to leave, but Alfred grabbed his hand and stopped him.
"Matthew, you've always been there with me, why would you leave now?"
"You can't egg a man's house just to prove yourself strong, it's mean!" Matthew tried to wrestle out of Alfred's grip, but Alfred only squeezed tighter. "I…I just want to go home now." Matthew pouted.
Alfred frowned. He stubbornly picked up the egg cartons and dragged Matthew to the side of the house, where there were fewer windows for Mr. Kirkland to look through and catch them. Then Alfred picked up a single egg.
It broke immediately against the brick wall, and the yolk slipped out and dripped down the wall. Matthew said nothing, letting his troublemaker brother do whatever he wanted to do, like he always did.
Alfred had imagined this to be an exciting test of strength and courage, but with Matthew just ignoring everything he did and simply stubbornly accompanying him, Alfred found the next couple of minutes to be very boring. It was very cold as well.
He picked up the last egg in the second carton. By this time, the side wall and the front of the house were sprinkled with cracked eggs.
A sudden crashing sound inside the house, followed by the sound of skittering glass, made Alfred jump and run to Matthew.
Both were too scared to scream.
Alfred froze, unconsciously squeezing Matthew's hand tight, the last egg still in his hand.
"What was that?" Matthew whispered.
What sounded like the shattering of glass and clanging of pots continued to echo through the house. Then footsteps. Slow, heavy footsteps.
"Is that him?" Matthew whispered.
"No way. No one's footsteps are that heavy." Alfred tried to smile at the joke, but found it much too difficult.
The two were standing near the front corner of the house, both too scared to realize that it was an unlucky spot to be standing; whether it was through the side windows, the front door, or the front windows, they could be seen.
Sure enough, the front door slowly creaked open and Mr. Kirkland stepped out, dressed in his usual clothes.
"Why hello, Alfred and Matthew," he greeted them, as if they were friends who had been reunited after a long time, not glancing at the eggs on his house or the egg in Alfred's hand. His blue eyes fixated on the two children, their cold aura unmatched to his large smile. "Came to visit? Why don't you come inside?"
It wasn't a friendly request; it seemed like an order.
Mr. Kirkland stood there at the door, waiting.
Matthew, whose brother was usually the loud troublemaker but became petrified when he got caught, clutched Alfred's hand, and, out of politeness, led him towards the door.
Once inside, Matthew was immediately surprised by the sweet smell of just-baked pastries and confections. Mr. Kirkland switched all of the lights on, and invited his new guests into his house. The atmosphere seemed warm and sweet, and very welcoming.
All of the rumors about Mr. Kirkland are wrong, Matthew thought. He truly is a very nice man.
"Please sit down," Mr. Kirkland spoke gently. "Would you like anything?"
"I'm not hungry," Alfred replied bluntly. "Or thirsty."
Matthew sighed at his brother's behavior. "Just some water, please."
"Alright," Mr. Kirkland left and went into the kitchen.
"How do we get out of here?" Alfred whispered, hoping he was out of hearing distance. His face was very pale.
"You got us here," Matthew replied.
"Ugh," Alfred groaned quietly. "Can't you at least help me think?"
"We wait," Matthew suggested. "Besides, it's not that bad here."
"What do you mean, it's 'not that bad here'? Are you crazy?" Alfred stared.
"He's not a bad person," Matthew replied, then suddenly noticed the egg still clutched in Alfred's hand. "Why do you still have that?"
"Why do I still have what?" Alfred looked at his hands. "This?" He showed the egg to Matthew.
"Yeah. Why do you still have that? What if…What if he sees it?"
"What, did you think I was gonna chuck it on the ground the moment he appeared? That would've looked suspicious." Alfred explained, trying to sound like he had thoroughly studied what looked suspicious and what didn't.
"It doesn't matter," Matthew sighed.
"Why isn't he back? How long does it take for someone to get some water?" Alfred whispered.
"Oh well," Matthew said. "Let's just relax here and get out when there's a chance, okay?"
"I'm going to go check on him," Alfred said. "If he's fainted or something, we can sprint out of this creepy place." He got up to leave, although shaking, as if he were scared to move anyplace else.
"Wait – " Matthew tried to grab Alfred's hand, and his fingers brushed against the egg.
Suddenly, the sweet, warm atmosphere became dark and cold. The lights seemed to glow a creepy shade of blue-white, and the smell of baking transformed into a kind of dusty smell, the smell of a house that hadn't been occupied for tens of years. A feeling of discomfort, uncertainty, and fear built up in Matthew's stomach.
His fingers left the egg, and suddenly the room became as it was again – warm, inviting, and comfortable.
"What?" Alfred stared at him, waiting for an answer.
"N-Nothing," Matthew whispered.
"Well…" Alfred raised his eyebrows at his brother's weird response. "Okay." He walked towards the kitchen.
And right then, Matthew's vision began to blur. Maybe it was his eyes, but maybe the entire world just became fuzzy on its own –
And the entire world began melting, the walls of the house turned into liquid and began to droop out of their previously geometric structure, and Alfred froze as well and seemed to be liquefying and disappearing. Matthew couldn't speak; he was completely, absolutely, and grotesquely terrified. He looked at his hands and saw that he himself seemed to be the only thing that remained normal and solid, while the rest of the world was fading into a strange, surreal, uninviting world that all seemed a dream.
He tried to yell for once, tried to scream, tried to call for help. But no one would listen to him, and no one could hear, and when the entire world – his brother, the house, the trees, the sky – washed out into a complete, solid whiteness, he felt absolutely confused and alone.
A throbbing pain grew in his head now, and he tried to find a way out. There had to be a logic to all this. Everything in his life had always been common, same, logical, and familiar. He never knew that reality could be so surreal. And how was he to get out? How was he to return to that other reality? It didn't matter to him which "world" was real and which was false. He needed to return, he had a life there, he didn't like this world here, and he wished that the huge headache he was getting now would just go away so he could think better!
But there was no thinking here. Thinking was a trait of rationality; there was no rationality here.
"Matthew!" He heard his brother's scream just a few feet away, and it echoed many times so it seemed that his brother was calling him for a very long time. He turned around and saw Alfred, extremely pale and terrified, truly terrified. "Matthew, what's happening?!"
The bright whiteness of the world seemed blinding to Matthew, and it hurt to keep his eyes open. He felt several waves of nausea accompany his excruciating headache. And he couldn't listen to Alfred's words anymore, because it was just too difficult to listen. He needed rest, and silence…maybe if the silence came, then all of this pain would be over…
And finally, the silence did come.
He watched the two children scream, panic, and run, run until they thought they no longer could. He was not being apathetic, he decided. After all, he was in no position to help them, now was he?
But perhaps he was. And perhaps he should have aided them.
In the end, however, his whimsical thought justified his decision. And why not? He was in full control of his mind, right?
He smiled. The two children were trapped.
He carefully wrapped the egg in a cotton cloth and placed it on the table. Perhaps he was going to use it to make something edible, but he found that this would be impossible.
It was just an empty shell, after all.