The Rise and Fall of Rupert Plover

Reader Advisory: This story contains some descriptions of graphic violence.

It was a dark and chilly damp day. A day that suited the evil intentions of Rupert Plover. Just after the sun had set, and left the fields and forests to be erased from view by the darkening gray of night returning. That was when he did the deed. Gliding through the night like an owl in silent pursuit of it's victim. With one swift blow, he had freed himself from the tyranny of his mother-in-law forever.

Nothing much changed after that day. His life seemed simpler, and calmer, however. He did have one concern most recently though. An annoyance in his field of vision. A small black dot seemed to float about between himself and wherever he looked. He had rubbed his eyes repeatedly, but to no avail. He made an appointment with his eye doctor to see if the doctor could notice anything unusual in his eyes. The doctor examined him, and could find nothing. And oddly enough, he couldn't see the dot anymore, himself. He looked all around the room to see if it would re-appear. But no. It was gone.

The next morning, as he stood in front of the mirror, shaving, he stared into his own eyes. And suddenly, as though blackness was eclipsing blackness, the black dot emerged from the blackness of his pupils, and floated out into the whites of his eye balls. It had been hiding inside his pupils. And it was bigger now, about the same size as his pupils. Each day the blackness increased in his field of vision. Sometimes, it drifted by like a big black cloud that darkened everything around him, and then passed on from view into the corner of his eyes, only to slowly return. And sometimes, it came into view as a small dot again, but it appeared to be slowly moving toward him and getting slowly larger. As though driven by some powerful wind from a distant place. It soon loomed large, black and ominous over most everything he frantically searched out with his eyes. And then it would pass on, leaving him perspiring, and panicky. It felt now, like recurring moments of blindness.

The day when the blackness came to stay was the most frightening of all. It had obliterated all possibility of sight, it had completely blanketed all hope of ever seeing again. He felt his way to the kitchen sink and fumbled for the dishes in the water, and the washcloth. The only thing he could see now were his memories of seeing, and even these were fading like old photos in a picture album. He was listening to the chickens clucking, and pecking around in the tall grass out in the yard, when suddenly he heard the turning of the doorknob on the back door. And then the creaking of the hinges as it swung slowly open. "Who's there?" he called out into the blackness. "Who do you think it is, Rupert?" a voice spoke back. "N...no....n...n...no!" he stammered. "it can't be you. I killed you." he said. "Oh Rupert!" the voice said with a laugh. "I'm so flattered that you actually remembered!" He heard several steps across the wooden floor. "Let's see now," the voice said. There was the incredibly loud sound of the rattling of the pots and pans that hung from the iron rack over the stove. "I believe it was this one." the voice said. "The #9 black iron skillet. That's the one you used wasn't it, Rupert? A dandy! A real skull cracker. It sure scattered my brains all over the place, that's for sure. But, that was then and this is now. And I'm back in a new way, Rupert. And I am back forever, Rupert. I am back forever, because I sold my soul to the devil just for the chance to even the score with you, Rupert. And now, it's your turn to say goodbye."

The next morning, the local news station featured a breaking story about a local resident found dead in his house. First reports indicated it was a homicide. The victim's skull was crushed in, and a #9 black iron skillet was found on the kitchen floor near his body. There are no eye witnesses at this time, and no fingerprints were found on the skillet. A report from the coroner indicates the man actually died quite suddenly of a massive heart attack, and was, in all probability, already dead when the violent assault took place. The perpetrator, therefore, cannot be charged with homocide, but would, if caught, stand trial for abuse of a corpse. Of course, as you and I know by now, there is no chance in hell of that happening.