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I left the car parked in John’s driveway, right next to several bird baths full of birdseed. These bird baths littered his property sporadically. One time I asked about them, and why he didn’t just put up regular bird feeders that like, hang from trees or whatever, and John just laughed then responded with: “They don’t like them! Besides, their mouths are too big anyway. They’d swallow them whole.” I’d never seen a bird around here that could do something like that but, considering what our local squirrels were capable of... Well, I didn’t question his decision any more after that. Besides, he was the one who lived way out here, he would know better than me how to deal with the wildlife.
I got out of the car and started walking up the path to John’s house. I didn’t come out here often, mostly because it was way the fuck out in the middle of nowhere. If you knew the kind of guy he was, you’d probably assume he spent most of his time crashing at whatever house or hotel room he came across on his quest to “party as hardy as he could before he died” (his phrasing), and didn’t have any place of his own other than maybe a dreary apartment in a shady part of town. That’s what I thought when I first met him, anyway.
But, to my surprise, John’s house was nothing short of impressive. It was a small, cozy looking cottage, straight out of a fairy tale. There were cute plants in pots lining the windows and porch, and a swing on the porch with vines that wrapped around the chains and snaked up between trellises mounted on the side of the house. There was a railing that wrapped around one side of the porch and left the other side completely open with steps that led up. The porch itself was covered in various mystical items and artifacts, several different types of wards and charms meant to keep the bad stuff away. I didn’t understand any of it, but it seemed to work for John.
To the right side was an enormous weeping willow that looked like it was being held up by the house and let its leaves overtake most of the roof. A chimney on the left side sent a soft stream of smoke up into the air, signaling that John was currently home.
The house itself hadn’t changed one bit since I first visited about two years ago, right before that thing with the vat of ice cream that swallowed an entire girl scout troupe in the local Dairy Queen. They gave John and I free ice cream for life after that, but I never took them up on it. Every time I look at ice cream now, all I hear are their screams...
I took care when walking along the stepping stone path up to John’s house, always weary that I might trip on a loose stone and break my neck. This fear wasn’t confined to just John’s house specifically, I just had an irrational fear of them in general. A combination of overactive imagination and too many horror movies had me fearing for my life every time I had to navigate a path that wasn’t solid concrete.
Truth be told, it was a nice day to be out. The sun was out, but not too hot; days were starting to get longer and warmer, and spring was in full force. Seeing John’s house tended to make me long for my own simple forest home, until I remembered that I’d probably be miserable in a place like this, far away from anyone without any proper cell service or internet.
The stairs and the floor boards creaked as I walked up onto them. The main door was open, as it usually was. I could smell the fireplace burning, and all that separated me from the inside of John’s home was a rickety, thin screen door. It was one of those that seemed like it was older than the house it was attached to, and it always slammed too hard no matter how gently you tried to close it. I learned my lesson, not to stand in the way as it was closing, lest I lose an important body part on its unstoppable quest to meet the door frame as violently as it possibly could.
John probably already knew I was here, but I knocked anyway. He also knew I was awkward and uncomfortable with walking into a house that didn’t belong to me. So, really, if he wanted to streamline this process as much as possible for us he could have just come out and waited for me on the porch. But then again, if he did see me coming, he also would have done fuck-all to prepare for my arrival.
I groaned to myself as another thought struck me. If John knew I was here, it probably also meant he knew why I was here. I didn’t like taking advantage of him, but I knew without my constant asking and insistence that he tell me what he saw, he would never even talk about his sight. Even random information was better than nothing, and with just the two of us, we could use any upper hand we got.
I knocked again and wondered if I should go around back to see if he was in his garden. John’s garden was just as impressive as the rest of the house—or, it used to be. Or maybe it still was, depending on your point of view. You see, about two months ago John had talked about putting a zen garden behind his house. I, foolishly, thought he intended to dedicate a small area to one side to it, maybe near one of his fruit trees. But when I came over a week later I saw that he’d converted his entire back yard into a sand pit. There were rock formations and loose rocks scattered about in bizarre patterns everywhere that, when I got closer, I noticed were actually all arranged to form phallic symbols.
I peeked inside the house, half-expecting to see John laying on his couch, either sleeping or on his phone, ignoring me. The latter wouldn’t have been unusual, considering we had just had a fight and now I was showing up on his doorstep looking to abuse his friendship and bother him about an ability he clearly had no interest in actually doing anything with.
I bit my lip and cupped my hands to keep the sunlight out while I looked inside. I couldn’t see John in the small living room, but I also had no view of the rest of the house, in which he could be anywhere.
I leaned back from the door and started to go around to the back garden right as something moved behind me. I didn’t turn around fast enough before I was being grabbed from behind. My assailant hooked their arms through mine and held the back of my neck steady with both hands as they slammed my head into the door frame. I was instantly dazed, any struggle I would have tried to put up weakened and I couldn’t do anything to stop my face connecting with the side of the door a second time.
When I woke up, I felt before I saw. I felt a lot of things. I felt that my body wasn’t on the ground, as one usually expects it to be when first waking up. I felt that my head was splitting open in agony, and certainly not helped by the awkward angle it was currently tilted at. I tried to correct that, but the feeling like there was an axe being hammered into my skull stopped me from doing that any more.
The other thing I felt was, when I tried to bring my hands up to my face and assess the damage, that they weren’t moving. They were definitely tied down. That got my adrenaline pumping and I finally sat up and opened my eyes, immediately regretted doing that, and closed them again. After a few short breaths in an attempt to overcome the pain (it didn’t help) I cracked one of my eyes open.
I was, indeed, tied to a chair, as I suspected. I was inside John’s house now, in one of the wooden chairs that was usually off by the sofa in a corner. It had been pulled out into the middle of the living room, and now I was sitting in it, my wrists bound to the chair arms with an itchy hemp cord that John had probably made himself (he went through a brief CBD phase before deciding it was easier to just grow marijuana instead).
“Finally.”
I stopped inspecting myself and instead turned my attention to the other person in the room, who I hadn’t even noticed until now. I’m pretty sure concussions aren’t particularly helpful when it comes to the whole focusing thing.
The other person in the room was John, standing across from me in front of the fire, with one foot up on the step in front of the fireplace and an arm resting on it casually. I would have been relieved except something was definitely off with him. His clothes were way too nice, like he’d just got back from a dinner date with someone, and his hair was neatly brushed and not as wild as it usually looked.
He stood up when he saw me looking at him. “John?” I said, wondering why he’d suddenly taken interest in his appearance.
“You were out for almost an hour. Was afraid I killed you or something. Weak body like yours, gotta be careful with it.”
“I’m not weak!” I shouted indignantly. He definitely sounded like John. “I’m just... Not as strong as most people. Physically, anyway.” John smiled at that. “What the hell are you doing, anyway? My head’s killing me, are you really this mad about our fight?”
“Did you come to apologize?” he asked.
I looked away, frowning. “I had intended to.” I said honestly. I didn’t want him to think I’d only come here to take advantage of him.
“Well, save it.” John said, coming closer to me. I looked up at him, confused, as he kept talking. “We’re gonna play a little game, you and me, Dave. It’s real simple: I ask you a question, and then you give me an answer.”
I tilted my head to the side, and asked “Is this a test? You are still mad at me. I’m really sorry, okay.” I realized afterwards that the way I said it sounded really insincere.
John smiled at me, a smile that looked just a little bit too much like a smirk. He leaned in closer to me and put one hand on my shoulder, then used the other to run his fingers slowly up my left arm. I noticed then that I was missing my hoodie. I glanced around, trying to find it, and wondering why the hell John would have undressed me while I was unconscious, but was quickly distracted by the hand on my arm moving closer to my wrist.
“Dave,” he said calmly. “I said I was the one asking the questions.”
The hand left my wrist and a second later my face was on fire. I was looking down and to my right now, and I slowly came to the realization that John had hit me. He was far from the first person to ever slap me in the face, but knowing what it felt like never made it any easier. On the surface, my cheek stung, but the hit was hard enough to make my jaw ache and my already injured head renew its chorus of “pain pain pain pain” currently thumping through my temples.
I blinked tears from my eyes and looked up at John. “What the f--” another smack, this time to the side of my head. My left ear was ringing and now my neck hurt from being whipped so hard to the side. There were more tears now, not enough to fall, but enough to make it hard to see without blinking.
I looked back up at john, this time staying quiet. “You catch on quick.” he said.
I wanted to ask him what the fuck was going on, but thought better of it. That was a question, and right now, Dave wasn’t asking the questions. John was. I wondered if this was all some kind of test, though probably not the emotional payback kind I had at first expected.
If John was trying to “toughen me up” and see if I could handle myself if I were ever faced with an actual threat, then I could humor him. I knew I couldn’t handle much more pain, but I also knew John wouldn’t intentionally hurt me. So if things got too bad, I could just tell him to cut it out.
“Where’s the eye?”
It took me a moment to understand what he was asking. Mostly because he never talked about it much, but also because I never asked about it. “The Eye”, as he called it, was not actually an eye. It was a magical artifact we had found some time ago. It was a grey, egg-shaped stone that was always cold to the touch and had a large pit in the center, which John thought made it look like an eyeball. I thought it just looked like a rock with a hole in it. According to John, The Eye was capable of “really weird shit, like, you don’t even want to know what this thing can do. We should get rid of it.” and so we did.
John, being the expert on magic and our de facto Weird Shit Disposal Squad, had taken it upon himself to get rid of it when being too close to it had caused me to have a massive anxiety attack and hallucinate that I was a sentient noodle in a plate of spaghetti that was actually the entire universe and was being eaten by a giant cosmic Italian. To this day, I’m still not sure that wasn’t actually real, and this current reality is what’s fake.
“I don’t know.” I answered truthfully.
John’s hand was back on my shoulder, gripping a bit too tight to be comforting while his other hand had returned to brushing against my wrist. “Where’s The Eye?” he asked again, this time through clenched teeth.
“I—I don’t know! You never told me where you put it, and I didn’t ask.”
The fingers at my wrist stopped and the hand on my shoulder suddenly clenched down. I prepared for another slap to the face. John shouted “Wrong answer, Dave!” and held me in place as he planted his fist in my stomach.
I was completely caught off guard. All the air was pushed from my lungs in an instant and I hunched over, coughing and gasping. “Wh- what- the- fuck- dude—” I said between gasps of air. My gut was twisting in agony, the area just below my left ribs already felt bruised. It took most of my strength to stay upright.
Whatever John was up to, he’d gone too far this time, and I needed to put an end to this right now. “Okay, I’m done.” I said, once I’d finally got my breathing back under control. “I can’t do this, John, untie me. I failed your test.”
John’s face wasn’t one like a friend who’d just pulled a prank that they thought was super neat but then was just told it wasn’t as fun for the receiving end like I’d thought it’d be. His expression was blank, like he was inspecting me for my reaction. He moved in my direction, but instead of going to untie me, he put his hand back on my shoulder and pulled back for another punch.
“Wait wait wait wait wait wait—”
This time I yelled, my whole body curling in to protect myself. Pain radiated from my stomach and reached all the way around to my spine. I leaned over as far as I could in the chair and pulled my knees up to my chest. I groaned loudly, arms and legs shaking as I rolled to the side. I would have been on the floor already if I weren’t already tied down.
“What …. th.. f...fu..ck ….” I tried to speak between gasps.
“If you just tell me where it is, I can stop.”
“Y...ou... kno... I d...on’t.. know....” I tried. My throat was starting to close from panic. I felt John’s fingers in my hair, way more rough than he usually was. He ran his fingertips through my scalp before curling his hand into a fist. He grabbed as much of my hair as he could and pulled me up and my head back with such force that I heard and felt follicles snap.
He forced me to look at him as he said: “This ends when you tell me what I want to know, Dave.”
“This... Isn’t you... John...” I managed. Breathing was hard, my head ached, I could feel my vision tunneling. My hands were shaking and I was a fish out of water, drowning in air.
I lost consciousness again and came to when John slapped me across the face and I thought he’d knocked a few teeth out this time. Though, when I ran my tongue along my mouth I felt that they were all accounted for, just a little more metallic tasting than I remembered them being.
John was kneeling next to me, his hand holding my right one. It felt comforting, having him hold my hand like this again. I hated that my mind immediately went there, when there were clearly more pressing matters to attend to. Like how I noticed he wasn’t just holding my hand. He was squeezing it. He was running his fingers along my palm, pushing against the inside of my knuckles.
“John--” I started, but was interrupted.
“Where, Dave? I know you know.”
“I don’t.” I insisted. Whatever this thing was that had John was cruel, and I needed to get through to him somehow to get it to stop.
“You know what happens next, Dave.” His voice was calm as ever as his fingers put pressure on mine. I shook my head at him.
“John, stop, please John, stop--”
“Nope.” was all he said. His fingers wrapped around my pinkie and pushed it backwards, twisting it out and away from my hand at the same time. It made a soft *crack* that wasn’t unlike a small twig breaking, and then my whole hand was engulfed in fire. Pain ran from my knuckle all the way up my arm and into my shoulder. I screamed and pulled at the ropes at my wrist. I tried to push myself away from him with my feet, but he held me in place with just one hand on the chair.
I looked up at John, my face full of tears now. “John,” I said, my eyes struggling to focus on his face. “If you’re in there—whatever this is, you can fight it... Please, just. Come back to me and whatever it is, we’ll figure it out, we’ll fix it together.”
I forced myself to smile through the pain in what I hoped was a comforting manner, something that would get through to the John that I knew had to still be in there somewhere.
John just stared at me, his mouth curling up into a huge grin. He let go of my hand and leaned away before erupting into laughter.
My heart sank.
“God, you really are stupid.” John said once he’d regained his composure. He leaned in, grabbed my hand again, and before I could scream and try to pull away, he’d already broken my ring finger.
Another slap to the face woke me up. I vaguely remembered John breaking two more fingers on my right hand before passing out. When I tried to move it I found that everything hurt from my wrist up but I couldn’t feel my fingers, and I was thankful for that.
My head wasn’t doing any better. I was certain I had a concussion by now, probably from being slammed into the door earlier, exacerbated by being slapped around and having my brain rattling around in my skull a bit too much. My eyes refused to open all the way and my line of sight sluggishly moved across the room before finally landing on John, standing on my left side now. He was holding something but I couldn’t see what with my vision blurred like it was.
“Okay, Dave.” said John. “We’re going to try again. I ask you a question, and you answer. It’s really simple. I don’t know why you’re having trouble with this!” He laughed, placing the object against my left arm. It was a blade. I was thankful I couldn’t see it clearly. “Okay, here we go, Dave. You ready? Where. Is. The. Eye.” he asked slowly.
All I could do was shake my head. John made a “tsk” noise at me and pressed the blade into my arm. I didn’t feel it at first. There was a pressure, then a stinging, and not much else. I stared at my arm, watched my blurry red blood well up to the surface and drain slowly down my arm and onto the chair. Why didn’t I feel that? Why didn’t I feel anything any more? I felt bad that my blood was going to stain John’s floor. Maybe he could find a nice rug to put there, like none of this ever happened. That would be great. Forgetting this whole thing, once everything was back to normal. Once John was back to normal.
“You are weak.” I was.
I couldn’t think. I couldn’t focus. Everything hurt, and now I was crying freely. I tried once again to make eye contact with John but he was just a huge blur in front of me. “Please,” I said.
“Come on, think, Dave.” John said above me. “I know you know where it is. Where did you put it?”
Oh. Now I remembered.
Last week, John and I had just finished vanquishing a small infestation of tomantoes; small, red, vaguely humanoid creatures that liked to make nests under someone’s bed and crawl out and feed on them in the middle of the night while they slept. John liked calling them “Tomantoes” because they looked like little men, and also they were red, like tomatoes. I suspected they were red because of all the blood they drank, but John insisted that their skin was naturally that color and I hadn’t bothered to argue more than that.
After disposing of the creatures, John and I had gone back to my place and indulged in far more drinks than any human should. We went from an impromptu karaoke duel, to duct taping all the knives we could find to my Roomba and setting it loose while we dodged it, and eventually ended up on the front porch staring up at the sky. John was talking about Magic Shit, which I could never understand half the time but I liked to humor him anyways.
“It’s in your basement.” he said suddenly.
I let out a short laugh and looked over at him. “What is?”
“The Eye. I put it in your basement.”
I stared at him, sobered up a bit, and also struggling to convey how upset I was through my drunken haze. “You did what with what?? Is this why I’ve been having those nightmares about space chickens and the water desert and shit??”
“Maybe.”
“Why the fuck would you put something like that in my house John?”
He shrugged and took another sip of his drink. I tried to slap it out of his hand but he was too far away and all I did was lean too far over and fall out of my chair. He laughed a bit and helped me up, but I made a show of still being upset at him by crossing my arms and turning away. “I needed to store it somewhere away from anyone who could use it. It has an... Allure. It can’t be trusted, and I can’t keep it anywhere I knew I could get to it easily.”
“Why not just drop it in the middle of the ocean then, you can’t find it there.”
“Dave,” his tone was suddenly serious and I turned to look back at him, staring straight at me with not a hint of his usual aloof, joking personality. “You do not want what’s at the bottom of the ocean getting The Eye.”
I frowned, trying my best to not think too hard about what he just said. “Okay but you could have told me.”
“If I had, I would have probably tricked you into giving it back to me.” he admitted. He was right. He could have told me anything and I would have believed him. Magic stuff always went right over my head and I trusted John enough to know what he was doing.
“Can’t you do that now? I mean, now that I know where it is.”
“I’m thinking,” he said, setting his beer down and standing up. He wobbled a bit with his arms outstretched before finally managing to keep his balance. “I’m thinking you should put it somewhere I can’t find it. Tonight. And then you’ll forget where it is.”
He knew me too well. I was far too drunk to remember anything I did in the morning, and I probably wouldn’t even remember this conversation. “Ok.” I said. “How am I supposed to get close to it though? Last time I was near it I thought I was a noodle for seventeen hours.”
John reached into his pocket and held out something. Some kind of rectangular wooden charm with a symbol that I didn’t recognize carved into it. “This will let you get close to it, and since you’re not magic, you shouldn’t be susceptible to its wiles.”
I took the charm and turned it over in my hand, tracing the symbol with my fingers. It looked kind of like the letter H with a dot at the bottom and a curved half circle at the top. “Okay.” I said. “I’ll find somewhere to put it.”
“Just don’t put it at the bottom of the ocean.” John laughed, already walking towards the steps and off the porch. “Or in the forest. Remember, all trees are connected.”
“Wait, where are you going?” I asked. “It’s the middle of the night and you’re drunk.”
“Well, I can’t stay here.” he said. “I can’t be around it for too long. I can already feel it. I want it, Dave. I want it real bad. I want to go down there and get it right now. And if I stay here any longer, eventually, you won’t be able to stop me.”
“I wouldn’t be able to stop you anyway.” I laughed. We both knew John could easily kick my ass in a fight.
“I won’t be able to control myself.” he insisted.
“Oh.” was all I said, understanding him loud and clear.
John smiled at me. “Wait until I’m gone, so I don’t follow you. And, thanks, Dave.” He turned and walked down the steps, down my driveway and towards town.
I looked down at the charm in my hand, put it in my pocket, and went inside.
“Where. Did. You. Put. It?” John asked again.
I looked up at him. Is this how powerful The Eye was? We were nowhere near where I had put it that night, and I was pretty sure John hadn’t been anywhere near it either. Maybe the time he spent at my house a week ago had done something to him. Maybe The Eye had planted thoughts into his brain then and they’ve just been sitting there, fermenting, waiting for their chance to take over his mind completely.
“Will you... Will you let me go?” I asked, doubtfully.
“Sure.” John chuckled. “If you tell me right now.”
I knew I shouldn’t tell him. For his sake and mine, I had to keep it away from him. But all I could think about was how much pain I was in and how, for better or worse, telling John where The Eye was would end it. “It’s in—”
Behind John, the screen door slammed. Both of us turned to look at who had joined us. “Hey,” said John. “There you are. I was wondering when you’d make it back here.”
I squinted to see who John was talking to. Even with my vision blurry like it was, it was hard not to recognize my best friend. John stood in the doorway. Except this John looked like the John I remembered. Scruffy and wild, his hair looking like it hadn’t been brushed in weeks, wearing a thick brown coat that he definitely got from a thrift store that didn’t match the rest of his clothes at all.
“What the hell?” I said, looking between the two Johns.
“Don’t tell him anything, Davey.” said the John by the door. The real John. His tone was dark and held a seriousness and urgency that I’d never heard him use before. “Let him go.” The last part was directed at the other John, who had moved around and put me between himself and John.
“I wanted to have more fun.” Other John said from behind me. He put one hand on the back of my neck and in the other he held the blade he was carrying up to my neck. “Maybe cut off a few more important parts...” The knife trailed up my jaw, along my cheek and I felt and saw the point come to a rest in the corner of my right eye. “What do you think, Dave? An eye for an eye?” he chuckled at his own joke.
“If you hurt him again,” John took a step closer, his eyes locked on Other John. “I will fucking kill you.”
There was a moment of silence, Other John seemingly contemplating what John had just said. I was struggling just to keep the two straight in my own head, and was about ready to lay down and take a nap for the next three weeks after the past hour I’d just had. Other John’s hand left my neck, and the knife was taken away from my face.
“Fine.” Other John said, his mood clearly soured. “It was nice meeting you, Dave.”
I watched Other John calmly put his knife away and walk out the door, past John, who just stared at him. The door slammed and John looked out a moment more, presumably watching Other John leave, before turning his attention to me. He ran up to me and knelt down in front of me. “DAVEY!” he shouted, cupping my head in his hands.
He tried asking me a couple of questions, mostly about my condition, but I didn’t have enough energy any more to respond. He untied me and helped me lay on the floor, but by then I was drifting away. He tried to talk to me, told me I had to stay awake. I mumbled and let myself fall asleep.
I woke up in the hospital. John was sitting in a plastic chair next to me, which he had pulled up as close as he could get to me. “You’re awake!” John said.
“I am?” I asked. “When did I fall asleep?” It took a few seconds for me to remember everything, but then when the pieces started falling into place I sat upright. My first instinct was to get away from him. I tried to push myself out of the bed, but John was out of his seat in no time and stopped me from moving.
“Easy, now. You’re in the hospital. It’s been a few days. They had you on some pretty heavy painkillers and you were out for most of it.” I nodded along as he spoke, still struggling to wrap my head around and make sense of what I last remembered.
I looked around the room and at my hands. My left arm had a thick bandage from the wrist to my elbow, and my right hand and wrist was wrapped entirely in a cast, the only thing visible was my thumb poking out.
John called the nurse while I sat examining myself. She came in and gave me a rundown of what had happened. Apparently, John had explained away my injuries as a squirrel attack. The nurse complimented my survival skills and told me how lucky I was to get away with only a few broken fingers and a bruised face. She told me I would be free to discharge in a few hours, once she was done with the paperwork. I thanked her and she left.
John sat back down in his seat, still watching me. I looked at my hands awkwardly.
“So,” I started, not looking at him. “There’s two of you?”
“Oh! Haha. Um.” He seemed way too cheerful for what he was saying. “No, that’s uh, that’s my brother.”
“You have a brother?”
“Yep! He’s my twin! His name’s John too!” He smiled at me. I didn’t smile back. John frowned but went on: “He shows up sometimes, telling me how much he hates me, threatening to kill me. You know how it is with siblings.”
“He tried to kill me.” I said flatly.
John was all seriousness now. “Yeah.”
We sat quietly like that for a bit. I eventually broke the silence with “I thought he was you.” John didn’t respond, just listened. “I thought it was The Eye—that’s what he wanted—I thought it had got to you somehow, and was making you hurt me. I thought you were gone.”
John sighed. “I’m sorry, Dave.” He put a hand on my left one and I looked down at it. He was gentle, more than usual. Like he was afraid of breaking me. “I knew you were coming over, but I was still upset, so I left for a walk, to be by myself for a bit. I didn’t want to see you. I figured I could just, come back and you’d still be there. And then, afterwards, I saw.... I’m sorry.”
I kept my voice even and said: “It’s fine. You didn’t know it would happen.” I pulled my hand away from John and held it close to myself. He looked confused and hurt, but didn’t say anything. “I think I want to be alone right now.”
He remained silent as he stood up and walked to the door. As it clicked shut, I sank down into the bed and closed my eyes.