1

I had never been to Bristle Street nor had I ever left Glasgow. Doctor said it was the right place for convalescence. I ostensibly balked at his idea as this place unnerved me with an awe of portent: large, dark storm clouds glowered the sky; a hapless breath of wind began tearing through the street. In a nuse, it was rendered impossible to grasp a glimpse of sunlight here. It was sparsely populated, yet a bit of picturesque in its own way. Odd it was, and quite true, the uncomfortable ambience speeding over the district pacified me with a tinge of calm. Already I felt an unease urge to street walking.

 

Nevertheless, this was perhaps the worst decision I made, and if not would have totally made a difference.

 

I looked down at my watch to make sure it was afternoon time, when the prim air was filled with warmth. Up to the street, I began to look around at the passers-by in masses, and thought of mingling with them in different occasions. They would come, they would walk, they would talk in an endearing tone which I could mimic. Even if I descended into more specific details, none of them had ever successfully whetted my appetite. Despite this self-absorbed peculiarity, my vast mental fascination aroused singularly during my unintentional, original investigation to the southwest part of the district.

 

2

I went across the kerb just to turn into one little street ahead of the out-of-the-way feather boa shop. As I slogged along in rhyme with faltering steps, my mind was lingering until there came in two countenances, gorgeous and finest, as if they were from the picture of Dorian Grey, without any record of sins.  The two lads walked out from a stately stoned mansion where the clay-formed towers and walls surrounded by petrified expansive timber fence fortified the mystique of Victorian era. I well remembered that my first thought, as I gazed them, would have greatly referred to the ancient angels and seraphs of Heavens - vivacious blonde, pert noses, well-defined jaw bone lines, noticeably pale skin, cherry-hued lips and pearly white teeth - all features that even Aphrodite would covet. God must have been extremely chary when he created these two brainless creatures, for brainless I meant they looked as if they were made out of ivory and rose-leaves. With no sheer hesitation and no fumbling, I had this impetuous desire to purchase their soul and spirit. Follow what the heart says, says the heart.

 

In this seemingly undaunted journey, my heart was led by trembling steps. A gust of unbearably frigid wind hit my face, but this could never stop my fire of keeping the lads on view from flaring up within me. Once I pursued a libertine life of varied, I had the right to do what I wanted to. For the first thirty minutes the two held their ways through the narrowest and longest cobbled streets of the city, in some deliberately slow footsteps. Fear of being discovered, I walked on tiptoe, in an attempt to make less noise as possible. But because we were in a slow pace, I had got a great opportunity to examine their bodies and their relationship at great length like Sherlock Holmes. I couldn’t take my eyes off their scraggy yet aesthetic pairs of legs - with one embroidered the alphabet “V” on his left, and another with “K” on the right leg. To make it easier to distinguish, I called them V and K. For the initial moment, it was not a piece of cake to tell the most accurate difference between V and K, especially when I endeavoured to move in a perfect silence, staring merely at their backs. As darkness descends on the very ends of the path, the shapes of the shadows divulged their presence. The shadow of K was long and vivid, one could see how K was walking in a state of capriciousness; the shade of V had wholly heightened my attention at length. It was a sable shadow following another shadow, i.e. K’s shadow. Under a blaze of dim light, I saw the shadows holding their hands, it was no joke, I avowed; but when I resumed at once their original bearing, hands were not holding, everything stayed motionless except for the walking feet.

 

As they proceeded, the wind grew colder, it stung; my heart pounded stronger, it stung. They seemed to know where they wanted to go, albeit there were some hesitations shown in shadows. The two boys continued to stride onward up to some populous stores, and stopped in front of a shop in which bags and purses were sold. Rolling their eyes at the display windows, they went into the shop. The city bell stuck at five, they carried a large, ebony bag within 10 to 15 minutes. With a fit of joy, they scurried their way through a peopleless lane, and eventually to a fairy-tale like castle alongside some tall stoned turrets. I was not able to enter the building, which surely would put me to much trouble in pursuit. Darting backward to the decayed and sluggish suburb, the chilling wind spiralled around and crept into my consciousness, giving me an unwonted electric shock. I shuddered painfully to the amplification of wild wind, nevertheless, the colder it was, the more indefatigable my heart was to stay immovable. For me at least, no effort should go fruitless. It was not a risk spending an inordinate amount of time unveiling the most mysterious secret of the city, of two fallen angels that landed on mother earth. Behind the jagged fountain, I uplifted myself patiently, and peered through within the creepiest darkness of the lifeless vegetation, silently waiting for the boys. An indefinite sounds came in from the end of the hallway-tap-top, tap-top. Oppressed and suddenly confronted by a sense of absolute horror, I paused my breath, hoping that they didn't see me. I went so far to retain sufficient rationality to avoid physical contact. Peering through the tiny pole, I could only see the revelation of V. As my left eye pensively zooming in and out without a single blink, V fled into extreme eerie silence, directly looking into my eyes, as if he already knew I was there. I never forgot the uncanny grin that flickered across his face, that gave place to so many sleepless nights. I was beyond the weakness to establish an immediate and rational action, for all of my attention was drawn to the grin. Accordingly, V vanished in the flood of mist.

 

“Where is K then?” I doubted, and was exasperated to madness with a question being forlornly unheard, unanswered.

 

For days I could not rid myself of V and K, which I soon habitually frequented for their shades, and came across somewhat similar appearances, in similar places. The grin was too hard to my heart and my soul to be refrained. On thinking about the mystery, my breath had been constantly rotted away, and sometimes, when my rationality collapsed, I started roaring in midnight times.  

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3

Two weeks after, two investigators ruthlessly broke into my room, brought me and arrested me without any delay. Arriving at the detention centre, they had thrown me to the ground and then handcuffed me to the steel chair. They carried a photo of K in front of me.

 

‘May you discourse the stark truth, sir. You knew this boy and followed him, am I correct?’

 

‘Yes,’ I have scarcely anything to add.

 

What they showed me next had shot me into extremity of horror and affright. I grew very, very pale when I saw a picture of the beheaded skull of K: his eyes closed peacefully and no blood spot whatever. All his other body parts were carefully dismembered, and were placed in the large bag, which was bought in the same day.

 

‘You followed him and killed this little boy, admit it or not?’ the officer was trying to mock me out of fear.

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‘I did not share this memory, I’m afraid.’

 

The officer threw me a hypocritical smile and continued, ‘I opt to remind you in this great seriousness, sir. Perhaps in life you were good actor, but your acting had been so far in vain that you failed into the solution of this brutal crime.’

 

I felt myself getting paler, and wished his voice gone. But it only became more and more distinct.

 

‘There is no concrete evidence of your relationship with the boy. One thing for sure: you followed this little boy named, Jack, to the turret and killed him there.’  He intended to gain definiteness.

 

‘I did follow them, but there’s nothing to do with the conclusion that I… killed a little boy?’

 

‘Them?’

 

‘Yes. There was another boy of similar height and countenance… They went in together and I only saw the other boy coming out… Trust me. It was no joke. That’s all I saw,’ I hastened, trying to convince the officer.

 

He laughed in a scornful tone. ‘Now you think yourself a storywriter? Unfortunately, there’s no such a boy. Jack was the only boy of his family.’

 

‘His friend? Did you know his friends? There’s a boy I swear! I really saw a boy with him! There’s no lie from within!’

 

‘Jack has no friends. His family distanced him from others. Plus, we do not have any record of the boy you mentioned. Stop your role-play, I beseech you!’

 

The feeling of frantic vexation grew even stronger with every word under this distasteful conversation, and I resented more and more openly what I considered impossible. I swore, I raved, I swung things around me. That grin suddenly arose over all my brain which ached my head and gradually gasped me in unutterable horror.

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...

For what had happened so far, it was impossible for any humankind to comprehend or handle. As it was, I had been held captive in the facade of psychiatric asylum, under cloak of darkness and terror.

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