Out of His Head (The Vault of Horror #32, Aug/Sep 1953)

The faint wisp of smoke curled upward from the dancing fire and drifted lazily over the campsite. Alex slipped from the tent, the gleaming cleaver in his gloved hand. The perspiration painting his face glowed in the firelight. He grimaced. Stanley knelt before the flames, stirring the smoke-blackened pot. In a moment, it would all be over. In a moment, Stanley would be dead and Alex's problem would be solved. He moved forward noiselessly, lifting the razor-sharp cleaver high over his head.

STANLEY: "The stew will be done in a minute, Alex. Smells delicious. Everything ready?"

ALEX: "Everything's ready, Stanley!"

Stanley stiffened as Alex's high-pitched voice exploded behind him. He whirled...too late. Alex brought the gleaming cleaver down with all his force.

STANLEY: "Alex! MY GOD! YAAA...ggh...!"

It was quiet in the woods that surrounded the hunters' campsite. Far away in the night, an owl hooted. Alex stared down at Stanley, crouching as if stunned. The cleaver sunk deep in his head, the handle jutting upward awkwardly.

ALEX: "...*choke*..."

Alex hesitated, a wave of nausea sweeping over him, Stanley just crouched there as if frozen. Not standing, not falling, just staring at him with dead, glassy eyes that seemed to burn with a flame of sudden understanding.

ALEX: "D-D-Die! Die, already! FALL DOWN AND DIE!"

The horror of it. The cleaver sticking upward, the blood curtaining down over the frozen surprised face. Alex turned away, covering his eyes. He would remember it always. The horror of it. Behind him, he heard Stanley's body slump to the damp ground.

ALEX: "Oh, lord. Lord."

The horrendous deed was done. Loathe to gaze upon the bloody remains of his former law partner, Alex moved into the tent, picked up his gun and the knapsack he had packed previously and strode out of camp.

ALEX: "I'm rid of him for good. Everything is mine now. No one knows we were up here together. They'll think he was attacked by a maniac."

He traveled swiftly through the woods, finally reaching his car. The gun and the knapsack and his hunting clothes, including the shoes that he left the tell-tale tacks around the camp, were carefully disposed of. Alex dumped them into a river on his way home.

ALEX: "There. Now to drive back to the city and sneak into the apartment."

Alex arrived at his apartment building toward morning. He slipped back in the sam way he had left through the cavernous catacomb-like cellar. When he reached his penthouse door, he quietly lifted the "Do Not Disturb" sign from the knob.

ALEX: "Perfect! My alibi is perfect. I've been in my apartment since yesterday afternoon. I had felt ill and didn't even go with Stanley on his hunting trip."

Alex smiled. It had all been so simple. He slipped the key into the lock and turned it quietly. The door swung open. Alex stepped in. The dawn light was just beginning to filter through the huge French doors leading out onto the balcony.

ALEX: "Now to get undressed and ring down for breakfast. I'll...I'll...huh? Someone's out there. On the balcony. I...I...GOOD LORD!"

The silhouette on the balcony moved toward the French doors. The early morning sunlight gleaming on the steel blade of the cleaver stuck in it's head.

ALEX: "My god! Stanley! NO! NO!"

Fear and revulsion pounded down into Alex's heaving stomach. He lifted his clenched fists to his mouth, closed his eyes and screamed.

ALEX: "YAAAEEEEEE...!"

When he opened his eyes, the figure on the balcony was gone. Alex stared out at where it had been; sick, trembling.

ALEX: "It's...It's all my imagination! Stanley's dead! He's back upstate deep in the woods. I'm seeing things."

There was a pounding on the front door. Alex spun around. A voice drifted through.

SAMMY: "You alright, Mr. Melton?"

ALEX: "I'm...I'm fine, Sammy. I...I was having a bad dream. I-I just woke up. Er...will you have breakfast sent up?"

Alex listened to the footsteps of the house-porter fading away down the hall. He hurried toward the bedroom.

ALEX: "Got to get into my pajamas quickly. Got to...Oh, lord! NO!"

The figure stood in the center of the bedroom floor. It's glassy eyes staring out from the blood-covered face. The cleaver sticking awkwardly out from it's rent skull.

ALEX: "No! No! I won't look! I won't!"

Alex covered his eyes, shutting out the horrible sight. And when he opened them again, the figure was gone.

ALEX: "Th-That's better. I-I've got to pull myself together. My nerves are shot."

Alex undressed quickly and slipped into his pajamas. He had just finished buttoning them when the knock on the door, announcing Sammy's return.

SAMMY: "Breakfast, Mr. Melton."

ALEX: "Okay, Sammy! Just one minute."

Alex slipped into a dressing-robe and opened the door.

ALEX: "What the-!? *gasp*"

SAMMY: "S'matter, Mr. Melton?"

The figure stood behind Sammy, grinning. It's eyes wide and burning. It's head tilted crazily as if the cleaver imbedded there was too heavy. Alex closed his eyes, turning away.

SAMMY: "I said, what'sa matter, Mr. Melton?"

ALEX: "N-Nothing, Sammy! Nothing! Just wheel it over there to the couch, eh?"

After the house-porter left, Alex sat down and stared at the unappetizing food. There was no hunger in him. No desire to eat. He had only ordered the food to establish his alibi. He retched and looked away.

ALEX: "Oh, god! No! NOT AGAIN!"

It stood there; bloody, swaying it's eyes bulging. It's teeth bared in a death-grin.

ALEX: "Go away! Go away! Oh, lord!"

Alex jammed his eyes shut. When he opened them, the apparition was gone.

ALEX: "I've got to have a drink! I'm a nervous wreck!"

He staggered across the huge luxurious living room to the well-appointed bar. The gurgling whiskey pouring into the glass sounded like distant laughter.

ALEX: "It's all in my mind. I keep seeing what isn't there. I keep...NO! NO!"

As he lifted the glass to his lips, the figure stood before him: grotesque, appalling, sickening. The liquor bottle smashed on the polished hardwood floor. Alex shut his eyes.

ALEX: "You're not there! I don't really see you!"

He opened his eyes. The figure grinned at him stupidly, bloody. The shining cleaver wedged deep in it's skull.

ALEX: "OH, GOD! GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

He shut his eyes, shutting out the awful sight.

ALEX: "I won't look! I won't! You can't make me!"

One minute passed. Two. Alex opened one eye.

ALEX: "Oh, lord! It's still there!"

He clamped the eye shut again. With his eyes shut, he couldn't see the horrible sight. With his eyes shut, he was free of it. He waited.

ALEX: "After a while, I'll settle down. It'll go away. A drink. I need a drink."

He turned with shut eyes to the bar, feeling for a glass, a bottle, knocking them over, spilling, smashing. Finally, in desperation, he opened his eyes. The figure was behind the bar now, smirking at him.

ALEX: "YAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

It was torture for him, trying to move about with shut eyes, trying to find his cigarettes, a match. Trying to satisfy his cravings. He couldn't help opening his eyes. And when he did, the figure was always there. Finally...

ALEX: "A blindfold. I'll fool him. I'll show him! I can beat him. There!"

He sat with the blindfold over his eyes, sat all morning and into the afternoon. Sammy came and went, Alex refusing his lunch. He staggered around the apartment.

ALEX: "Where are those blasted cigarettes?"

He felt the cigarette urn pitch over, drop to the floor. He went to his hands and knees, feeling for them, cursing, reaching, not finding one. Finally, he tore the blindfold from his eyes.

ALEX: "AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

The figure was there, lying on the floor, grinning up at him.

ALEX: "No! No! I'll show you!"

He got to his feet, stumbled toward the kitchen. The figure stood before him, barring his way.

ALEX: "I'll show you!"

Wherever he looked, the figure. He rummaged through the kitchen drawers.

ALEX: "You can't make me see you..."

He found what he was looking for, lifted it in a white-knuckled trembling fist...

ALEX: "...if...if I'm BLIND!"

...an ice pick. The pain, the screaming, unbearable pain of plunging the ice pick. First into one eye, then into the other and the welcoming darkness that followed. Sammy's face blanched white when he saw Alex kneeling on the kitchen floor, blood pouring down his cheeks like crimson tears.

SAMMY: "Good lord!"

Alex must have fainted after that. Swallowed up into his self-imposed darkness. He floated in it, hearing the faint scream of a distant siren, the muttering of subdued voices, the sound of a motor, the sweet smell of anesthetic. And then, an eternity later, he felt hands touching him, moving about the blind eyes, unwrapping bandages.

DOCTOR: "There. There we are."

ALEX: "No! No!"

He could see again. God, they had made him see. They had repaired his stabbed and bleeding eyes and he could make out the figure before him; dim, hazy, saying with a gleaming object sticking out of the center of it's head.

ALEX: "OH, LORD! NO!"

Stanley! He would always see Stanley. There would be no escape! Never! Here...here in this hospital room, Stanley was staring at him, the meat-cleaver shining in the rent skull. Alex leaped from the bed.

DOCTOR: "Wait!"

ALEX: "There's another way, Stanley! ANOTHER WAY!"

The splintering of glass, the fading scream, the thud of a body rupturing and smashing against solid concrete twelve stories below. Alex had solved his problem. The figure with the shining object in the center of it's head moved to the window and looked down. The sunlight glinted upon his head-reflecter as the doctor shrugged sadly.

DOCTOR: "Mad. Absolutely mad."