The Pale Man's Problem

Ahhhh, another day dawns. The warmth on my blankets. The sound of a thrush song. My back aches but all my bones do. That’s part of my nature as a pale man.

Stretch my arms. The sense of the blanket on my loose flesh, the ache of my palm’s sockets. The orbs should feel wonderful today. Reach to the bed table for my eyes. Water glass. Phone. Empty eye tray. Empty?

Crap.

My eyes are gone. Dread in my stomache.

They were here yesterday, next to my water glass where they always go before bed. Perhaps they fell to the floor?

Hand on the table, ease myself out of bed. My bed’s not too far from the wall, my foot should reach… yes, there’s the wall. My hand can trace the table, then the leg. The floor under the table? No. Not there. Glad there’s a bed base. Narrows the search. Damn. No eyes on the floor.

My phone buzzes and the alexa says, “Del Toro’s Show: one hour,”

Damn. Damn. That’s today. My eyes are part of the reason he took me on.

Perhaps the rat stole them as before.

Follow the edge of the bed along the wall. About ten feet to the doo- OOF! Found the doorframe. Rat’s hole just down the hall. Tap. Tap. Tap. The wall just to rouse the guy.

Ack! Oh! Forgot about the hall table.

“Ralph?” The squeaky call comes from down the hall, “What’s the racket?”

“Rats! Have you grabbed my eyes? They’re not on my table tray!”

“Only once has a rat ever dared take your eyes!” Come squeaks of protest, “And that’s because you let that nasty youth eat our crackers! You were far too slow to catch her!”

“Oh, that’s bad news. There’s just an hour before my scene on Del Toro’s show… Could you come and look for me?”

“Oh, Ralph, that’s awful. But no. You ate our uncle last week so please understand we’ll keep away from you for now.”

“Ah, well, he looked so tasty, and we all lose ourselves every now and then. So sorry. Though he was rather tasty.”

“Thank you, and glad to know, but that’s more reason to stay away from that gullet of yours. But, you know, around three or four past the moon there was a sound -a wonder you weren’t roused by the racket- but there seemed to have been Runners down the hall. Maybe they ran to and from your room?”

“The Runners? The house elves you mean?”

“Yes, yes, just so- that’s what you call them at any rate.”

“Thank you, rats.”

The Rats don’t respond, but a dull shuffle tells me they’re back to the depths of the wall. Now to search for the ‘runners’ as they called them. House elves. They do enjoy pranks, but they hadn’t ever taken my eyes. Awful, hairy things.

Where to search? Most probably the cellar, or under the steps. My hand reaches out to touch the wall as my stumbly walk takes me down the hall to the cellar door. My hand touches the knob, and the door pulls open.

“Hello!” my raspy tenor echoes down the space, “House elves, my eyes have gone- have you happened to see them?” my foot searches for each step of my descent. The room has no reply.

“House elf’s not a tasty treat. My eyes are gone, have you seen them?”

“Not us,” A muffled cry, a patter of feet and a sudden tap on my leg. Then gone. The cheeky bastards.

“Have you any thoughts on the matter? My show for Del Toro’s not an hour away, where he’ll tell a part of our story.”

“A part of YOUR story, elf-eater, man-eater, never-full creature!”

“Ha! That’s my nature, but you elves taste awful- that’s very true.”

They’ll be no help. My hand stretches out and traces the wall back up the steps. Below me, the cellar elves joke and jeer. A tasteless group that much was sure.

But that leaves me at the start. My eyes are gone and now my hour’s half way done.

Perhaps the Faun knows, or could at least help.

My legs wobble as my hand traces the wall. The form of the house almost clear on my memory. About ten paces and turn. Then- There- Should- Be- a- oops, a clatter. Yes, the umbrella stand. So the door’s just here. Frame. Glass. Handle. Turn and ah, outdoors. The next hard venture. The Fawn dwells on the edge of the property near the maze. Dead ahead. My foot traces the stone walk edge. My hand prevents too strong a crash ahead.

A shrub. Two Shrub. Three. Four. Another. Another. Seven. Another and OOF. The maze hedge has grown.

“Ralph,” the Faun’s woody bass, “you’re early are you not?”

“Well, Stephen, yes,” brush the hedge off my arm, must be scraped “my eyes are gone from the tray.”

“Well, well, well, what’s a faun have for that?”

“As you are nature, you may have knowledge.”

“Ah, well, that’s one thought. Only your eyes would be near the house, not the maze, correct?”

“Unless an elf, or fae, or other creature took them, yes.”

“There’s no report here of such pranks. We’re all a buzz for Del Toro’s show- we have but half an hour, let me come to the house and look as well.”

He takes my arm and we amble back along the path, along the hall and up the steps to my room. The sound of Stephen’s hooves tells me that he has stopped at the door.

“Where were they last?”

“On my bed table, on the tray.”

“Let’s start over there then.”

He leads me to the bed, then lets go of my arm. The sound of hooves plunk along the hardwood floor. He stops at the bed table.

“Tell me,” He says, “What were your dreams?”

“Well, there were a great many blazes around me, and the stench of fresh flesh hung heavy- made me hunger- there was such odorous smoke and pretty ash, but so dense that my hands would barely open to let me see. The haze stung and my urge was to plunge my hands, my eyes,”

“Under water?” Stephen says,

“Yes,”

“Then your problem has been solved, Ralph, your eyes- they float about your water glass; though that makes no sense to me.”

“Ah,” my reply comes as calm envelopes me; we’d make the show “but Stephen, my dear faun, that’s the most natural urge- smoke always makes my eyes watery.”