Faces

It's all so black and white...

 

I am trapped here in black and white. I am destined to look on those who walk so free yet so unaware of how close they are to eternal prison. I know when I see them that they will join me in black and white, staring eternally. Every day I see them disappear, just as I knew they would, yet I can do nothing. They do not know their fate, but I do.

I know.

 

***

 

            There was something about that little café door. There were a dozen other cafes down the street, and they all had brightly polished glass doors that winked at me and my best friend Sarah as we searched for a place to satiate our “traveler’s appetites,” as we called them. In truth, we had only been on the road for about a half hour, but we needed an excuse to get out of the car. We had been strolling down a side-street when we came across a little café door. It was rough and plain, but there was something about it that whispered to us to open it. I think it was our adventurous spirits that day that made us choose that little café; we wanted to do something daring and unexpected and give the little plain café a chance.

The first thing I noticed about it was that it was completely empty. The seven or eight tables stood against the wall, seats empty and almost ghostly. I couldn’t help but wonder when the last time was someone sat in one. The room was dark, as the only light came from the two windows facing the street. A single man sulked in the shadows, and he barely acknowledged us when we walked in.

As I stepped into the café, I was intrigued by the wallpaper. It was very dark wallpaper, black and white, and looked as though there were illustrations of people on it. When I stepped closer to the nearest wall to get a better view of it, I gasped. It was not wallpaper that covered every square inch of the four walls. Instead, hundreds and hundreds of black and white photographs were glued to the wall so close together that they perfectly covered the wall. I heard Sarah’s slow, rhythmic footsteps behind me, echoing in the silence. We stood looking at the wall, reflecting on the photographs.

 I could tell by their surroundings that each picture was taken in the café. The people in the photos had just finished their meals, and were looking up at the camera to have their picture taken. I smiled as I ran my fingers over the glossy photographs. It was a charming idea to take a picture of each of your customers before they left your café.

It was not until I had leaned in to examine one closely that I noticed something unusual about the people in the photographs. None of them were smiling. They all looked surprised and shocked, as if they had no idea that they were to have their picture taken. I frowned and leaned closer to a picture of an elderly couple. The woman’s face definitely reflected surprise, but not pleasant surprise. Her eyes were open wide, and her mouth looked as if it was just about to open and say something. The old man next to her had a similar expression on his face. I noticed that in his hand, he held a yellow slip of paper.

 

My eyes shifted to the photograph next to the old couple. It was of a young woman, with her hair piled into an elegant bun, dressed up in a silk dress. I looked into her eyes and detected the same surprise that had been in the man and the woman’s eyes. I stared at her and realized the emotion that her eyes were brimming with: fear. My stomach twisted with uneasiness. I directed my attention to her hand. In it was clutched the same slip of yellow paper the old man had been holding.

My palms began to sweat. I glanced at Sarah, and noted that she was still regarding the photos with her full attention. I tapped her shoulder and she jumped, as if she had forgotten I was with her. She laughed uneasily. “It looks like the prices at this place are pretty high; can you see the looks on the faces of these people when they get the bill?”
            I tried my best to laugh, but the eyes of those people in the photographs haunted me.
           Sarah and I shared our meal in silence. The single waiter brought us our sandwiches and smiled at us, but he knew we hated those photos. But even if I wasn’t being stared at by thousands of frightened eyes, I could tell his smile was a fake. That waiter’s eyes weren’t warm, they were dark and deep and had no end. His tight lipped smile was almost miserly, as if he didn’t want to share any happiness with us. I knew I didn’t like him. Maybe it was because I was scared of our surroundings, but maybe not. Maybe it was because I detected something haunting in his eyes, too.

 I tried not to look at the faces of the people in the photographs surrounding me, but I could feel their eyes on me. I knew that hundreds of pairs of eyes were fixed on me and Sarah with expressions of fear and horror. I slowly looked towards the wall nearest to me and forced myself to look at the people. My eyes flitted over each face—a young man with a neatly trimmed moustache, his eyes wide and staring; a mother with a child on her lap, looking as though she were about to cry; my heart began to beat faster and I looked at Sarah.

“We need to leave now. I don’t like the eyes of those people. I think something happened here that I don’t want to be a part of.”

 

She nodded and cleared her throat, turning her face towards the waiter. “Excuse me, sir, could you bring us the bill?”

 

At those words, I froze. The bill. The bill, that small yellow piece of paper was what each person was holding in the pictures. That paper had caused those people’s faces to contort with horror. I watched as the waiter brought the bill to our table and set it down. He placed a long, silver pen on the table, and said very slowly, “Sign it, please.” He looked at me with piercing eyes. His stare bored through me and I dared not go against him. I looked at Sarah, and she nodded at me.

 

I was so frantic to get out of the building that I picked up that pen. I didn’t pay attention to the cold sting it gave my fingers as I gripped it. I didn’t pay attention to the fact that the little piece of paper I was signing was the same as the ones the horror stricken people were holding in the photographs. I wanted to get out. I wanted to leave all of the haunted people’s faces behind. I wanted to get back in that car and speed far away into the night. I didn’t think about anything but signing that bill and running far away.

 

As I was making the last flourish of my pen on that paper, heart stopped and my eyes fixed on a small line of writing near the bottom of the paper. “Smile big, because it’s the last time you will ever smile.” I screamed in horror. Sarah looked over at me in shock, and I dropped the pen. That silver pen hit the floor with an icy clang. The room flashed white.

 

***

 

I do not know why it is that I am living eternally in a black and white prison. I cannot move, but my eyes are always open, always straining in the dark greys and white that enshroud my world. The people come and they don’t know. I see them, carefree and blasé, thinking they have the world at their fingertips. I want to scream out to them to run; run on their feet that can still carry them far away from prison. I want to tell them to flee, but my voice is useless. When their fingers brush over my petrified face, I can only stare at them with my eyes full of fear and my mouth open in a single, silent scream. I know my voice cannot be a warning, but maybe the look on my face can. Maybe the horror in our eyes can show them how close they are to death. Maybe, because of the fear on our faces, they can still have the chance to flee.

 

 

Author's Note

Darn.
I like this idea but the story itself should be much better. So please please give me some criticisms? Or any comments in general?

Reviews

[TessaLee]

Wow That was very interesting i very well enjoyed the story that horror Was a different kind of horror but i really liked it

[Bran the Broken]

Wow. Very well-written urban horror you've got here! Excellent details, very dramatic and spooky tone, good job.

[Scott Free]

Wow...that is quite chilling, to say the truth. Unfortunately, I'm reading it on a beautiful morning in California, so I look out the window and all fear leaves me, generally. Still, it's pretty scary.
Ok...you want some criticisms, so I'll try my best to get you some.
The tension doesn't quite mount enough. Maybe describe the waiter and what he's doing while the girl's getting ready to sign it. You haven't shown any of that yet. Also, the story makes us ask; Who is doing this? Is it the waiter? Is it the guy who owns the restaurant? *Why* are they doing it? Is it just cruelty? Is it a psycho primeval photographer beast? (lol, had to put that in)
Maybe you don't want to answer these questions, make it more mysterious. But maybe you should give the reader just a few inklings of why this is happening.

[Daiku Maryu]

The story is actually pretty chilling; I like how make the tension mount as one reads. I did suspect that the guests are getting trapped in the photos, but it didn't take away from the scariness of the idea.

The ending is particulary well done: it's really creepy to read about somebody who wants to warn other and can't.

I really don't think your story needs improving.