Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #13 April 2015 | Page 51
the door to the room and was met with what looked
like a large janitor’s closet. The room was full of
sterilized medical tubing in packaging, an assortment
of tools that looked to be used for medical devices and
other medical odds and ends, more like a supply closet
in a hospital than a janitor’s closet.
On one side of the room I heard the fridge hum in the
pale light made by a lamp. I walked over and opened
it, to my astonishment the whole fridge, every single
spot available was filled with medium sized IV bags
full of saline. If I hadn’t been careful opening the
fridge door I think some of them would have fallen
out. I carefully took two bags and approached Bixby’s
door. I called to Mr Bixby before knocking and heard
his voice asking me to enter. As I entered I noticed
how it was lit with multiple coloured lights in a soft
dim setting, enough to illuminate but gentle on my
eyes. Near the door was a metal cart on a track bolted
to the floor, I placed the saline bags on it.
“All set Mr Bixby?” I asked as the cart moved around
a shoji screen that partitioned the room..
“I’m alright for now thank you. Could you brew up
some tea for me, after you made yourself at home? I
would appreciate that.” The voice of Bixby came from
behind the screen; I could just barely make his silhouette out.
Strangely after that first night, I had no issues with the
work. In fact I found an odd sense of accomplishment
in it. I would go about my business and get a call on
the intercom and Bixby would request either a meal,
something to read or for another bag or two of saline.
When he made these requests he was always polite
and friendly. After a day or two he would actually
have me stay by the door in his room and he would
have conversations with me. I learned about the man
I was temporarily working for, he was a linguist who
used to travel and read texts to decipher their meanings. On one occasion while working he was struck
with what he called his “cursed ailment” which had
prevented him from working for the last six years. He
considered himself lucky that he had the help of Ms
Davenport over those years to help him adjust.
Towards the end of the first week, I asked if he needed
anything from the store. I called multiple times with
no response before I knocked, still silence. I opened
the door and stepped into the room and saw Bixby’s
shadow on the screen and heard him wheezing in distress. Ms Davenport told me under no circumstances
was I allowed to go behind the screen but the man was
not responsive and sounded like he was struggling for
air, so against my better judgment I went around the
shoji screen and to my fright I saw Mr Bixby. He was
sat in a specially made chair, his head was strapped in
a device resembling a barbaric version of a Phoropter,
it had holders for the saline bags I’d brought to him
over the past week, tubes from the bags led to his eyes
which were bulging out of his head with the help of
speculums