Fidgets

 

...

He ran, ran, ran, still, panting loudly and thinking of only one thing. The labyrinthine corridors seemed to stretch on forever. Long, twisting as if bent by spasms. Like garlands of streamers that used to hang in streams from the ceilings at dozens of banquets that had taken place here.

Banquets like today's: packed with guests. Guests sipping drinks and smiling broadly.

Women in expensive, shimmering gowns and men in tight tailcoats.

The runner knew that such attire severely restricted movement, made dancing, let alone escaping. Especially after downing a few glasses.

He knew it, he could see very well… That's why he ran, he ran at breakneck speed… He knew it was Christmas, and the presents couldn't wait any longer… Especially the presents for the children…

The children of those guests, who were now somewhere nearby, laughing and sipping branded alcohol. How much he would give to meet one, small, smiling…

(Child…)

He would hug it tightly then, with all his might. And he would give it its gift… Personally…

Once and for all, and then he would find another… Another one to play hide-and-seek with…

Another damn wriggly… And he would deliver its gift to her personally… The man grinned, bloody teeth at the mere thought… But he didn't slow down; on the contrary, he sped up again. He panted louder and louder, almost wailing, but he still knew what he wanted.

He wanted to deliver the gifts… He had to, it was his duty. He had made it a goal of honor…

He was a janitor, after all… And a janitor's duty was to integrate with the children. So even if he wanted to, he couldn't ignore his duty. He couldn't let the children down… Because, after all, a janitor's duty was to integrate with them.

Not to disappoint them, which was why he had to deliver the gifts to the wrigglers at all costs. The stranger also knew their parents wouldn't like it…

And that worried him… But, it was Christmas, the time for presents… So the parents would get theirs too…

And he would give them…

So they wouldn't be jealous of their children's gifts. And everyone would be happy. The janitor smiled again, and probably not for the last time that night.

In the light of the ceiling lamps, his teeth flashed bloody white, and his eyes began to seethe with madness again. His fringe, matted with blood, fell over his eyes.

The man stopped for a moment; his limp on his left leg was getting worse, so every step hurt. He had to stop, even though time was pressing. Just for a moment, to catch his breath and regain his strength.

Even though he was only human, he diligently tried to fulfill his duties.

And someone like him deserved a moment of rest! He was absolutely certain of that.

As soon as he caught his breath, he'd get to work immediately. He had no choice… Such were the janitor's duties… Overwhelmed by his thoughts, he glanced around the corridor. Searching for something to help him relax. The walls, high and framed by brown paneling and devoid of paintings, didn't seem empty. Rather, they seemed sad in their loftiness. Just like the brown leather armchairs and sofas lining them. The lamps hanging from the white ceiling were the only bright things in this whole brothel. They weren't… Deadly serious, slightly neglected, dusty, and cracked by the screams of age. But… They made a pleasant impression.

Like a good old friend. The air smelled of turpentine, used to clean furniture, well-worn by age, rather irritating. It was just another sign of such aristocratic arrogance. Annoying, but the man quickly ignored it as he felt his feet sink into the fluffy texture of the thick burgundy carpet.

He smiled, this time internally, at the thought of drowning in it. The man moved relatively quietly, thanks largely to the sound-muffled carpet, but the janitor knew perfectly well that if he was going to surprise some fidgety little brat, he had to be quiet. Otherwise, the brat would run away and miss his gift.

The man sighed and, supporting himself on what he held in his hand, somehow limped to the nearest armchair. The expensive brown leather groaned as the janitor, panting, tried to settle comfortably.

He placed his tool neatly at his feet. It was sticky and difficult to peel from his hand.

Finally, however, the scab gave in, and the man was able to spread his hand.

The man was very proud of himself. After all, he had already completed some of his duties.

He had delivered some gifts. But, there was still much to deliver.

A great deal…

The stranger twisted his lips into a malicious smile, allowing the blood in his mouth to spread in ribbons across his unshaven beard. It dripped onto his chest, soaking into his sweaty, previously white, now crimson shirt.

"You damn fidgeters…" his voice blended with gasps. "I'll find you!" Air hissed between the man's lips. "And I will deliver… I will, by God, deliver your damn gifts! Every last one…"

A moment later, a loud laugh shattered the silence in the hallway. It sank into her like a knife into human flesh. Carving deeply into that delicate structure… A laugh full of bitterness and anger…

And yet, incredibly joyful… It wasn't the laughter of a child, nor of any of the guests.

It was seething with malice, laced with the marks of hatred.

It was the laughter of a man determined to fulfill his mission at all costs.

Stubborn in his pursuit of his goal... The janitor wasn't a guest here... He wasn't on the invitation list...

No one would smile at him, greet him with a hearty handshake, or pat him on the back.

Him? The farmhand? The ordinary school janitor?

No...

Unfortunately...

No one...

No one would want to have anything to do with him... And that was the crux of the matter...

However, the man knew full well that if he just handed out the gifts, people would change their minds about him, stop looking at him like a madman dressed in arterial crimson.

And finally, they would let him play with their children! That was his goal... Children and their gifts!

His gaze once again spread in a dance of sinister flames... They had a life of their own, summoned by the wild madness that seeped from the man.

The laughter stopped…

It ended abruptly, as dreams often do… Leaving behind only a strange emptiness… The dagger, lost in silence, vanished as suddenly as it had been born…

The man clenched his bloody hands on the gleaming armrests of the chair.

Blue nails dug into the leather upholstery, just as the desire to catch another fidgeter carved into the janitor's thoughts. Deep and ruthless, yet with similar results…

Inflicting pain…

The man's expression remained unchanged, still allowing a malicious smile to dance across his features.

A moment later, he leaned forward. The armchair, he protested, creaked loudly… And only it…

Because there was nothing more he could do… He couldn't, after all, express his dissatisfaction, for example, by acting like the janitor… He couldn't, after all, grasp what now lay at the man's feet, what he, possessed, was still staring at… The armchair, even with his sincerest desire, had no right to use it!

To carve his way to fulfill his own dreams! Perhaps because he couldn't dream.

But people could… And it was no different with the janitor… He, too, dreamed… All the time…

It was thanks to his dreams that he found himself in this situation.

He was very proud of it… And with such pride, he continued to stare at the blade of the tool, cut by waves of crimson, lying at his feet, sinking into the fluffy carpet.

The wooden handle, entwined in a blood-red web, practically screamed: "Take me! Let me jump into your hands!"

(Why not…)

- So what's it going to be like… Dude?

(Yes… Why not…)

- Will you dance with me?

(Yes… That's not up for discussion… Let's go to the ball and dance…)

The man stretched out his hand automatically, as if he wanted to catch what was emanating from the object… That strange feeling that enveloped his body.

The usher felt it caress his hands, trailing along his arms, seeping beneath his ruby-drenched shirt. A pleasant warmth enveloped his face, as if someone had placed their gentle hands on it, wiping away his abnormal smile and extinguishing the fire burning in his eyes.

"Good man..." the strangely familiar, girlish voice echoed within him again.

"Go to the ball and dance..."

The usher's hand hovered a few centimeters above the axe blade, fingers clenched into a fist.

His eyes, so empty and dully searching the space in front of them…

But, at the same time, searching for something…

Human eyes, searching for something they had never experienced… Something they had never seen, and yet desired so much…

(Little girl…)

- Walter…

(… Pretty…)

- Walter… Please…

(… Little…)

- I love you…

The man's eyes unraveled salty ribbons of tears that buried themselves deep in the janitor's face…

In this crimson shell of a recent madman. They were so delicate… Delicate, yet strong enough to break the shackles of Walter's earlier frenzy…

"Go to the ball and give out gifts…"

The girl's voice still resounded, beating out melodies that blended with the man's ragged breathing… The usher felt that she was standing somewhere next to him…

She…

He felt that she was wearing a light blue dress…

The usher, almost from the corner of his eye, could see the streams of her golden hair cascading down her shoulders… It was a fragile figure…

And the man, ready to swear on all his duties, that he saw her…

A small, delicate girl with her head bowed…

For the first time today, Walter didn't want to give someone like that, his gift…

A strange, incredible feeling, giving a substitute for sobriety he hadn't experienced in a long time…

He wanted rather to get up and go to the little girl… To smile in the warmest possible way…

(To see her face…)

Body The man's face quivered, only to freeze a moment later...

He had no right... Because he knew that if he did, he wouldn't complete the task entrusted to him...

(Duties...)

He couldn't ignore them...

- Dance... Because I love you, silly...

A janitor's duty was to help children... To give them presents... Not to shirk his job! The man felt his hand, still held in the air, begin to go numb and tremble more and more... The pain was becoming unbearable, but bearable...

For Her...

And again, the same smile from earlier spread across his face...

At first clumsily, like a child learning to walk...

(Like some little fidget...)

Then, with increasing force. His gaze slowly turned away from the barely perceptible figure, and his eyes, like the minds of his previous victims, were initially filled with panic at the thought of what was to come. But a moment later, a spark of madness was enough for that fear to ignite into the crimson flame of anger. The man, relieved, spread his hand and, after a moment, ordered it to rest on the cool surface of the axe blade. The high, trembling tone of the school bell rang in his ears. It heralded the end of recess… It was time to go back to class, to do his homework…

The girl's voice, never to be heard again from that moment on…

Walter rubbed his thumb against the scab that lay on the smooth surface of the axe blade.

Out of pure curiosity… The crimson flap peeled away easily, revealing the silvery metal beneath. The janitor saw his reflection in it, an almost bestial face.

Almost, because the marks of humanity were still visible… Especially the tear-washed

streaks, how much he would give for them to disappear… Both of them…

But only the tears disappeared… The moment a sense of duty returned, which Walter accepted as if with open arms. His mouth parted even more, allowing the bloody glint of his former teeth to flash once more, now only the fangs…

Long strands of saliva, richly stained with crimson blood, hung like a spiderweb between his bitten lips.

The ball, the presents, the dance… The thought of them dominated his mind. It forbade him to think of anything else. Walter moved his hand toward the axe handle.

A moment later, his fingers tightened around it, like a rage, tightening the noose around the janitor's neck.

The man felt a familiar warmth…

(Time for the fun to begin.)

And his smile widened as he began to rise from the creaking seat.

Now he was rested and ready for action, smiling and full of pride.

Staggering like a drunk, he began to take his next steps. He moved straight toward the wooden door at the end of the corridor… Clumsily at first…

(Like a little fidget.)

He limped heavily, most likely due to a sprained ankle, which, now swollen beyond capacity, ached mercilessly, but in no way could distract the man from his previously chosen goal. She had no right… Otherwise, he would have to get rid of her, like a little…

(Fidget…)

Walter howled softly, gripped the axe in his hand with both hands, and hunched over.

Almost to the floor… He looked more like a raging gorilla than a man…

After a moment, he raised his head and, accompanied by crunching vertebrae, howled again.

(Soon… You'll all get them… Especially your fidgets!)

Walter hated those little brats' parents, hated them for everything. For their looks…

(Laughing faces.)

For their expensive clothes…

(Damn rags…)

For their wealth, which he never acquired…

(Little fidgets…)

Walter was absolutely certain of his point… Especially the fact that it was 1968, and he was treated the same as black people…

(Damn niggers…)

The janitor laughed to himself and focused his cruel gaze on the approaching door.

He gasped harder, sputtering, spitting blood mixed with slightly thicker saliva.

He knew that if the door was closed, he'd have to chop his way through it… He'd done it a few times, so he was practiced…

(Crack, crack, and it was over!)

How he loved that groan of splintering wood! And later the screams of the damned brats…

(Good morning, dear little ones, I have something for you!)

Ancient symphonies rang in his ears, as if on cue, the wails merging with the screams of breaking wood, boiling over and seeming to engulf everything around them… And then nothing more… Only quiet moans…

Pleading…

Full of pain…

Interrupted by the characteristic sound of chopping, preceded by that scathing whistle of an axe cutting through the air.

(This will happen to your parents too… In the meantime, enjoy your presents!)

Walter loved kicking the lying brats, especially the ones curled up in the corner… Wriggling and covering themselves with their arms, as if hoping it would protect them… Or at least ease the pain…

The janitor loved dancing on their limp, limp bodies, racked with post-mortem convulsions and drenched in their own blood… To the rhythm of shattering bones and dislocating joints.

(Dancing is good for the heart… Especially dancing at a ball…)

He sneered…

Still hunched…

Burnt out by madness…

He was no longer human, not even an animal…

He was a monster dressed in a bloody ruby…

An executioner with a pair of pig-like, crimson eyes…

Pure evil…

He knew it well… He boasted of his sight…

(I dance only for you…)

The janitor raised his axe crookedly, above his strangely curved head…

"Dear little fool…

He felt the fidgeters were close… He felt their fear…

"A ball, presents, and a dance…

(Just outside the door!)

Walter brought his hands down with a venom.

The bloody blade sliced ​​through the air with a vicious whistle…