The Bible Salesman

The grin on his face stretched out across vast kingdoms he had imagined in order to veil the Kansas countryside. Dusty, sweltering plains of quiet crops and half dead landowners sitting in their hand-me-down rocking chairs. In his pockets he carried gems and stars, really just beat-up old bibles and rosary beads.

A middle-aged man with no past to talk about and no future to think about. He had wrinkles around his milky blue eyes and at the corner of his lips were the crumbs of that morning's blueberry muffin. He stepped up to the porch of a lone grey home, unsure if it was him or the door that was off kilter, but still, he knocked.

The door swung open and there stood a young red headed woman, a collared black dress cascaded down her tall frame, stopping just above the floor. She looked up from the ground to make direct eye contact, his own eyes moved up and down her figure, infatuated with her petit waist accentuated by a pipe stem corset. “Hello, miss, I’m here traveling from door to door with these travel size, but certainly high-quality bibles, may I perhaps come in and show you the good book and even interest you in buying one?” Her face remained vacant as she nodded, turning to drift in toward a small foyer.

“Please, have a seat.” She spoke with her back to him, allowing his eyes to wander and peer around as he sat in the armchair. The vertically striped wallpaper was faded from the sun that flooded in from the large bay windows jutting out at the front and back of the room. There were pictures framed and hung on every wall so thick with dust that there was no telling what the subject matter was. The contrast of the dulled, dusty room to the woman's bright red hair was almost comical, but he dared not laugh. Instead, fidgeting with his fingers as he watched her sit down opposite him.

“Are you a Christian, miss…?” He reached into his coat pocket, pulling one of his Bibles out and onto his lap.

“I was.” She rested her hands in her own lap, speaking quickly before he could respond. “That looks like a lovely bible, may I see it?” With his grin back on his lips, he handed her the small maroon colored book. Her fingers flipped through the pages, the sound of thin paper brushing against her dry skin made him shudder. “The story of David and Goliath... do you like that one?”

“Oh yes, I believe it is a wonderful story of heroism, don’t you?” He sat up straight in his chair, his feet pushing against the floor, listening to it creek beneath him.

“I believe it is a story of hypocrisy.” One of her fingers trailed along the page, he could feel the blood rushing out of his face. “He who strikes a man so that he dies shall surely be put to death. Exodus 21:12. When David kills Goliath he is celebrated and made to be a king. Does that sound fair?”

“Well...no I imagine not…”

“God has favorites. He has only made some of us in his image, the rest of us follow his rules and still we suffer.”

“I… that is one way to interpret it.” His palms sliding off the wood as he placed his weight down on the chair’s arms, attempting to readjust himself. As he jolted forward in his chair a memory darted in his eyes and swept over him like a distant light from a familiar house in the darkness. He knew this woman. “Miss, do I….”

Her gaze swiftly moved up toward him. “May I interest you in something to eat? I was just settling down to the kitchen table for lunch when I heard you at the door.”

“Oh, uhm…yes, that would be nice.” He copied her movements, trailing behind her as she stood and walked toward the kitchen. She grabbed plates from the crooked wooden cupboards, her back to him as she prepared lunch on the counter. He sat himself down at the table, swallowing hard as he watched her, still infatuated but the creeping discomfort was becoming stronger. “Will your husband be joining us?”

“I have no husband.” She scoffed, eyeing over her shoulder.

He sat himself down at the small table, almost missing his chair when he noticed her gaze on him. “A woman like you all alone out here? In this huge house?” She sat down across from him after placing both plates down. The smell of roast beef and fresh bread filled his senses, and he immediately began to eat.

“A woman like me… And what kind of woman might that be?” Her eyebrow arched as she leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands.

“No, I… that’s not what I meant at all, I just simply meant….” Her laughter cut his ramblings short, his face falling flat.

“Even in the dustiest and darkest of places, we are never alone.” She leaned back, her chuckles subsiding as she slid her finger along the table, leaving a clean trail in the wake of the dust. “May I show you something after you finish your lunch?” It didn’t seem like a question, but more of a demand.

“I… suppose so.” He continued to eat, but the meat was thick and fatty, the bread crumbling in his hands. With every bite he found himself gagging, the smells turning sour in his nose. Before he could offend the woman, he placed the sandwich down, wiping his lips against his sleeve as if he was satisfied. With swift movements she placed both plates into the sink and seemingly sprinted from the kitchen. “Wait, miss, where are you going?” He stood from his chair, one of the Bibles dropping from his pocket and falling to the floor.

“You always knew where I was. You always knew! Have you lost your touch, old man?” He hurried through the large farmhouse, losing his way in the unbearably familiar hallways.

“Miss, do I know you? I… I feel like I know you. Where am I?” He looked around, stopping in front of a mirror. Framed in silver laurel leaves, the tips tarnished with age, in the center at the top of the frame was the face of a medusa. Snakes peered down from the top of her head, seeming to lean in closer as his gaze turned to the reflection. “Why… Why can’t I see myself?” His shaking voice did not stop the volume from growing. “Why can’t I see myself?!” He waved his hands frantically in front of the mirror, but still nothing, only the empty hallway and dust encrusted photos hanging on the wall behind him.

“Are you coming?” Suddenly lifting his head to the voice, he saw her standing in the doorway to the basement. “This was always your favorite spot in the house.” She pulled the elastic from her hair letting the flowing crimson waves fall to her shoulders. “Don’t be shy. It’s far too late for that now.” She descended the steps into the darkness. Something, perhaps his own mislead sense of curiosity, made him follow.

As they entered the basement, he lost sight of her, shadows filled his eyes and musk engulfed his nose. He covered his mouth as he coughed, blinking to clear his vision, but nothing helped. “What is this place?” He shouted, stumbling his way across the floor. He felt a hand slide up his back and grip his shoulder, a warm breath caressing his ear.

“You made this the only home she ever knew.” The voice was soothing, almost comforting, but he knew the man in the darkness wouldn’t be gentle with him. As he tried to move away, his muscles locked up, his throat dry and unable to speak. “And now it will be yours.” With those words echoing in his ears and a long finger digging into his shoulder, the lights blared from the ceiling.

As his vision cleared, another memory was jarred, causing him to gasp, gripping his chest. “No… it wasn’t me… It wasn’t me god dammit!” Cement surrounded them, encased them with only deep, saturated stains as decoration. An old wooden kitchen chair was in the corner, another with a bucket beneath it sat opposite. And in the center was a wooden board, metal chains with tints of orange rust peeking through were welded to each corner.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Deny, deny, deny.” The voice seemed to sing, giddy. With a firm tug, the man was turned around, face to face with seemingly himself. “Only the truth lives here.”

“That’s...Th…” The man could feel his lungs constricting, as if the fist of a titan had his throat within it. “This isn’t happening… I didn’t…” As he stared at the image of himself it began to morph, the eyes turning black, seeming to drip out of his deep eye sockets. His skin turning a sickly green, the horrible grin melting off of his face until only bone stood before him, eventually collapsing as black dust at his feet.

The voice once belonging to his grotesque double was now coming from beside him as he looked around in panic. “You’ll never have to hide your true self here, Agapitós.” A young man stood, shadows cascading down his face and bright blue eyes staring out at him from the darkness. “An eternity as yourself in the world you created.” With an entrancing smile he allowed a laugh to escape from between his clenched teeth.

“No… this isn’t real… you… you aren’t real. This isn’t happening!” Turning back toward the steps he had just descended, the Bible salesman dashed as fast as he could out of the basement. With the steps creaking beneath him, fleeing towards the exit he found himself gripping the doorknob of the front door before ripping it open and disappearing into the darkness.

“Ah, I do love it when they run.” The young man turned to the red-haired woman and smiled genuinely. “Keeps me on my toes.” He dragged his finger down his own face, trailing down his neck before a deep snarl grew louder in his throat.

***

There was a deep, echoing bellow in the cool darkness. The aging street seemed to appear out of the nothingness and continue on into the horizon, getting lost in the deep oranges and pinks of the sky. He stepped up to the porch of a lone grey home, unsure if it was him or the door that was off kilter, but still, he knocked. The door swung open and there stood a young woman. “Hello, miss, I’m here traveling from door to door with… these travel size…” He stopped; his breath constricted instantly in his throat. “No…”

“Please. Come in.” He knew this woman. He watched as she let her hair down, running her fingers through the blond ringlets, her other hand rested on her hip, a twisted smile etched on her lips. “You know you want to.”

“No…I just left this place! I just…left…” He could feel something pushing him inside, his will to run slipping out of his grasp. “Please, don’t make me.”

“You act like you have a choice, Agapitós.” The young man’s deep voice whispered in his ear, snickering as he was flung through the doorway, the sound of shattering bone reverberating from his left leg. “But you should keep begging, I’m sure they will love to hear it.” The door slammed shut and the snickering faded. Eyeing around the room, he could feel his chest heaving up and down, the pain in his leg swelling with each breath. A growing chorus of female laughter closing in around him caused a shiver to travel down his shoulders and into his spine.

“I’m sorry! Please, I don’t deserve this!” He crawled on his hands and knees back toward the door, but the knob was glowing red and flesh searing to the touch. Desperate to get away, he crawled further into the house, flinching at any pressure placed on his leg. As he got closer to the kitchen, he noticed something on the floor. His eyes widened, his arms becoming weak as he realized it was the Bible he had dropped before.

The female laughter died down, only the recognizable voice of the red-haired woman was left. “We will be the judge of what you deserve.”