Contributor: Harry Noussias

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How long were they pounding on the door?

Lately I have been falling into these very deep and disturbing sleeps. I was not lying in bed when I heard the pounding. I wish I was. I was on the floor. How I got there I don’t know. All I know is that when I awake from these sleeps I can’t remember anything.

I did not want to answer the door because I knew what those on the other side would have to say – that I was chosen.

At least sleep allowed me, if only for a little while, to escape the horrifying events that were taking place around the village.

But, why me? I’m not an investigator. And, I’m surely not a hunter. Besides, I don’t even know what to believe about what was happening.

It didn’t really matter to anyone what I thought or felt or believed. The village council voted and I was chosen.

So, I went out as instructed into the woods. And in the very early eerie hours of the morn, when nothing stirred and even the silence was silent, I sat motionless moving not a single muscle as the mist of the fog drifted and swirled and thickened and settled and finally engulfed me.

I did not know fear nor feared what I did not know of those tales of attacks and of a dreadfully frightening howl or of piercing evil eyes that glow in the dark.

Glowing eyes, they all saw glowing eyes.

I came armed only with my disbelief. Perhaps that is why I was chosen.

But the endless wait weighed heavily upon my eyes and soon sleep was beckoning me. No longer did I peer into the vast darkness. No longer did I hear the endless silence.

There was nothing out there, nothing to report, no dreadfully frightening howl, no eyes that glow in the dark, nothing.

There was nothing at all.

Finally sleep, that soothing temptress, took me and we drifted off together for a while. It was just for a little while, only a short while.

There was nothing to fear, nothing at all.

I awoke as the sun rose and returned to learn of more savage attacks and death and those glowing eyes.

I failed. What would people say? I don’t know why they had to choose me in the first place. But, I was the one that was chosen, and I failed miserably. I saw nothing. I heard nothing.

I sat alone sipping my hot brew and pondering all the events.

She was coming again – sleep. From a distance she was relaxing me, hypnotizing me, trying to take me away. But, this time I wasn’t going to invite her in.

It would be just me and the warmth of the black liquid I was drinking. Coffee is good. Coffee can keep me awake.

But as I gazed into my cup of coffee, in my own reflection I could see – glowing eyes staring back at me.


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Harry Noussias is a writer of short stories, plays and poetry. His works may be found in various online and print magazines.

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Author: Harry Noussias

Contributor: Harry Noussias

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Every man has his destiny.

He suddenly awoke with that uneasy feeling. This was quite unusual for the coldhearted, uncaring, ruthless, businessman. No sense in trying to go back to sleep. Something just wasn’t right. Fluffing the pillow or turning over on his other side wasn’t going to help. The uneasiness was just too overpowering.

Maybe a walk before going to the office would help.

On a bridge not far away stood another man staring at the murky water below. He too had an uneasy feeling. To jump or not to jump, that was the question.

As the businessman exited his home he could see in the very far off distance, in that other side of town, the dark cloud which was belching out of the smokestacks of his factory. Normally it would have been a joyous sight for him. Production meant money, lots of money.

This time it was different.

For the first time he noticed the slight stinging in his eyes from the very fine nearly imperceptible layer of dust particles that covered all surfaces everywhere - the tree leaves, the mail boxes, his BMW, everything. Why hadn’t he noticed it before?

The ruthless businessman was noticing everything. The other man, the one on the bridge, was noticing almost nothing. He stood on that bridge not paying any attention to the birds joyfully singing or to the beauty of the wild flowers that lined the river’s banks. He only stared at the murky water flowing beneath. To jump or not to jump, that was still the question.

Why did the businessman choose to walk over the bridge instead of walking in some other direction? Perhaps it was destiny.

Destiny cannot be changed.

The troubled businessman stopped dead in his tracks. It took less than a thousandth of a second to process the information about the contemplator with emotionless eyes and a sorrowful face about to end it all. He sensed determination. If it’s one thing that he understood, it was determination.

Maybe this explained that uneasy feeling. Something was causing him to be here at this exact moment, something that instilled purpose and meaning within him. Here was an opportunity to act unselfishly and do some good for someone else. It was a philosophically profound revelation from within the depths of his being.

Surely he could talk this man out of self-destruction. It’s just a matter of knowing how to negotiate. Ruthless businessmen are keen negotiators and he was an absolute master.

The conversation began. Things cannot be that bad. You have a lot to live for. What about your family? Think of them. There is always help available. God loves you. Just step away from the railing. He watched as he spoke but noticed no change in expression on his listener’s face. It wasn’t working. None of it was working.

Giving up is not an option. Never give up. It’s just a matter of trying a different approach. So the conversation took a different turn. You’re not the only one with failings. My life hasn’t been perfect. I’ve used and abused people. I’ve been heartless, callous and often cold-blooded toward my fellow man. I am unloved and lonely. I’m very lonely. This was working. His listener was showing sympathy. He could see tears coming from his eyes and a smile, a warm compassionate, understanding smile. It was over. The man promised to come off the bridge.

The businessman walked away feeling good with the promise from the man to come off the bridge. The experience had touched and changed him deeply in a profound and irrevocable manner. Things were going to be different. He was going to be a better person. Today all his employees could take the day off with pay.

But, he would always be a businessman. That was his destiny. And even though things had changed. Destiny itself cannot be changed.

The man that contemplated ending his life would keep his promise to come off the bridge. He had shown kindness to a stranger. He too was changed by the experience. He too would fulfill his destiny. Destiny cannot be changed.

The man on the bridge smiled as he watched the businessman walk away. He paused for a moment to gaze at the beauty of the wild flowers and to listen to the birds singing and then… he jumped.


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Harry Noussias is a writer of short stories, plays and poetry. His works may be found in print and online magazines including Linguistic Erosion’s sister site Daily Love.

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Author: Harry Noussias