The Largest Threat

The cold steel felt awfully warm against my sweaty palm. It was the steel of a .357 glock, usually you’d see a pig, or a button carrying one as a novelty, or of course, if they were going to use it to its full potential. “What should I do with this?”, I asked myself, over and over.
“Do whatever you want with it”, said that damned voice.
“No, go away, why do you always have to interrupt me?”
“Oh, you’re silly, you’re blind too, just listen to me for once, you know I’m right.”
It would always be like that. I don’t know what it was, where it came from, or why. I don’t even remember when. Every time I’m in a situation like this, it’s telling me to eat led. The funny part is I’m actually taking it seriously this time. I came to the conclusion a few months ago that I was insane. I don’t know but every night I’d find myself sitting on the side of my bed with my handgun held steady in my hand. Maybe I was always stressed out, or exhausted at this time of day. The sun had set and everything seemed like it was coming to an end.


My name is Crowley Patton, and I hated my life and everything that had the slightest significance with it.
I lived in an apartment in downtown Brixton, a small city in Vermont, with a population no more than the amount of farm animals in this state. Being that this state’s economy is mainly focused in manufacturing, this town was quite small.
I was raised in a small, shoddy bungalow, with my mother, Joanne and grandmother, Rachel. The men in my family always ended up mad. My grandmother left her husband, my grandfather, David, who I have never had the privilege of meeting, only 2 years after giving birth to my mother. He was a veteran of Vietnam and was partly disturbed.
“Charlie, what are you doing in my house?!”. I remember that’s what my grandmother told me he would say almost every other week and would start attacking my grandmother as if she was V.C. He was on medications, if I remember correctly, but they helped as much as if he didn’t take them at all. My grandmother was only 20 at the time and grandfather was 24. About a few months after my grandmother left my grandfather, he killed himself by jumping off a five story apartment. Some say he was thrown off, but no one knows who could have done it, others say it was another ‘Nam flashback he had, gone haywire. But I knew it was more than that.
As for my mother, she didn’t exactly leave my father, Jonas, much more than how he left us when I was about 6. My mother was 25 at the time and my father was 27. I still remember some aspects of my father. He was a very tall man, a pale complexion, pale as the moon, when the sun shines its brightest, and he was a very silent man. He worked at the local lumber yard for not much more than minimum wage. Anyway, everyone said my father committed suicide, it was obvious. It wasn’t a homicide, it was suicide. He didn’t come home one day and we were worried. About a week later his body was found at the lumber yard. He used a circular saw to decapitate himself. There were of course, suspicions he was killed by a co-worker and his body got stashed, but during the autopsy it was obvious it was suicide since his hand was still on the saw when he was found, and the saw’s blade was only inches past his spine.
Again, suicide. I don’t think this is a coincidence at all. It’s not common, if at all possible, that the whole male side of the family becomes mentally ill around the age of 26. I think now, I know what they’ve been going through. I keep hearing this voice, every time I try to sleep for the night. It’s as if insanity is dominant among my family.
Now I live alone. My grandmother has been long dead, she died from a stroke she had one night getting home from her weekly B.I.N.G.O game. My mother has died from several malignant tumors in her brain. There were no fancy funerals, or expensive coffins for them. After all, we were very exiguous people. I would visit their grave sites once a month, and then again on their birthdays.
I was raised in a very religious household. My grandmother was Catholic, and same goes for her mother, and hers. It was more tradition than religion in my family, but once they had died, I didn’t see why I should believe in anything. I always felt forced upon my faith, and I always thought it was bogus. Then again, who am I to say what’s bogus.
I was 25, when my mother died, single and no children and my friends weren’t the best people on the planet. They were just friends from high school who I didn’t see much anymore. They were all crack junkies or whores, some who would forget my name from time to time. Now I haven’t seen any of them in about a year, they’re probably dead for what I know, and all I care.
I had some friends at my work, but we would only get together on Fridays after work to head down to the pub called “Stern’s” down the street and watch whatever sporting event was on. I didn’t think much of it, but was as close to friends as it got for me.



“Thank for your time sir, have a good day”, I said, probably for the twentieth time that day.
I worked as a telemarketer for a local phone company here called “Hertical”. I worked for 13 dollars an hour, which was enough for the living I needed. Food, daily and clothes once a month, that’s all I needed. I didn’t live for much, I pretty much lived for the sake of living and paying taxes.
“Here’s your mail Mr. Patton”, said the clerk, she was young, maybe 19, and maybe working here for her college money, also she was kind of cute. Her name was Helena and had been working here for about a week or two.
It’s kind of pathetic that I think about her like that. She probably thinks I’m an odd one anyway because I’m always stuttering when I talk to her.
‘Thanks Helena, I appreciate it”, I replied, after having stared at each other for about 10 seconds, neither of us saying a thing.
I worked about 20 minutes from my apartment, I took the bus to get there and back. During those twenty minutes I would always look at the people riding the bus with me. There was usually two or three others that were always on. One was this senior lady, Gladys, who was probably about sixty years old, who worked at a flower shop 2 blocks down from my work. She was pretty a very nice woman, and was a friend of my grand mothers. The other two… well I don’t know who the other two were. They were both men, similar in shape and size, probably in their early thirties, but I never got acquainted with them formally.


It was a cold day this Thursday. The air was frigid and it was very windy. I’m not sure but I think this is the coldest day we’ve had all month. Vermont, wasn’t a very warm and sunny place, definitely not the kind of place where someone would open up a resort. Unless of course it was in the mountains. Brixton was like a slum, known for having the largest amount of drug trade in the whole state, then again, that shouldn’t be too much drug trading anyway.
I’ve only tried drugs once, and from what I can tell you of that experience, they aren’t half bad. Being raised Catholic it’s very hard getting into that smut because you always have the mentality of the consequence of hell. Of course, hell to me was nothing. I yearned for the day I could just leave this life and move on. I’m not sure if there is another life, but for me, anything is better.
The clock said 12:00 on it and it was blinking. Great another power failure I thought to myself. It was the only clock in my house, I didn’t carry a watch with me or anything. I decided to turn on the television to maybe catch the news and see what time it was. The sun was already setting as I could see through my window, it was a white framed window.
“A gunman opened fire today at a local liquor store after the man at the counter refused to open the cash register, the robber then fired three shots from his pistol, wounding the man, who is now in critical condition. When the robber tried taking the cash register he realized it was bolted to the counter and there was no way of taking it, so he opened fire on all the people in the store, killing 3, wounding 2 more.” said the voice of the anchor woman on the channel 3 news. “The man got away and police have no idea of who it was, there is a twenty thousand dollar reward, from the families of the victims, for anyone who can help find this armed robber. Police chief Yancy Danielson says
that ---”
“Twenty thousand dollars? I wouldn’t mind being worth that much.” I thought to myself. Maybe I would even turn myself in. But for killing 3 people, that guy’s bail is probably twenty thousand, times itself.
The time was 6:56p.m., as it said at the bottom right hand side of the screen. I went over to adjust the clock, it was an electric clock that would rest on my night stand, it had AM and FM radio but it was quite old, so reception wasn’t great. That didn’t bother me much since I just watched television most of the day.
As I was changing the channels, all that I seemed to pass was infomercials and reruns from classics way back when. Television was a wasteland. It was “family shows” which have nothing to do with family values on during the day, but then again, what would I know about family values, and porn on at night, which I never bothered watching. For a middle aged man like me there was nothing on, except sports, which I sometimes watched.
The clock read 11:21. I yawned and stretched as if I were waking up from a nights sleep, and got up to take a shower. It took an extra long time for the water to become warm that night. As I was drying my hair with the towel after showering, I looked in the mirror to see if I was dry, But what I saw in the mirror wasn’t me, at least it wasn’t what I was expecting to see. It actually was me, I just didn’t recognize it. I had a suit on, and my hair was slicked back, I looked like a wealthy tycoon. There was a sadistic smile on my face, it was one of the most atrocious expressions conceivable. Then, it raised it’s left arm, which had a gun it, actually it was my .357 glock. Then it stuck the gun into it’s mouth and fired a single burst shot. Right after that It’s eyes went into it’s skull and face was pressed against the mirror. I became so petrified that I fell down to the floor, I felt like I couldn’t breathe and I fainted.



I woke up, lying on my bathroom tiles. My face was cold as ice and it must have been morning. I thought that everything that happened the other night was a dream, but why would I be lying on my bathroom floor if it was a dream. I pulled myself up on the counter and looked in the mirror. I saw something I couldn’t believe. I knew this time what I saw was my own reflection in the mirror, but on my face, there was dried blood all over and behind me on the wall there was also blood, and it was dripping down the wall to a large pile on the floor. Maybe I hit my head on something when I passed out the other night. Then again, maybe not. Something supernatural had been going on, and I was way too scarred to find out what, if I even could. I touched the blood and it was warm, it was fresh. I quickly ran out of the bathroom and slammed the door behind me. I immediately looked outside my window and the moon appeared to be directly overhead. I then looked at my watch and it said 12:00. Wait, it was blinking 12:00. What the hell is going on I thought to myself? What would be causing these power outages? Was it blackouts through the whole city? Or just my apartment?
I turned on the television to a news channel, to again, see what time it was and adjust my clock. The television read 1:08a.m. I went to adjust my alarm clock to 1:08a.m. After that was done I decided to take my gun with me to the bathroom to wash up, and clean that mess. I placed my gun in the sink. Then started to clean the mess. I must have used fifty tissues by now, and that pool of blood on the floor was still there, in the same amount as it was fifty tissues ago. This is becoming incredibly eerie I thought to myself. I need to find an explanation for all of this, but how? Maybe some things are better left unsolved I thought to myself, I probably did, after all, hit my head on something as I passed out.
Another fifty tissues later, the pool seemed to be gone, finally. As I got up I had to stretch because my back felt like shit. As I yawned I heard a crackling sort of sound, I paused. The sound kept going on and on, I turned around and my gun was shaking like mad all by itself in the sink, but when I turned around it stopped. It started to levitate, and move in a sort of motion as if someone was holding it. The barrel was slowly moving towards me and I stood still, shaking. It pushed against my forehead about seven times and then it just fell. It laid there, lifeless and inanimate as it should be. I must have stared at it for a minute because of how petrified I was, again, but it didn’t move. I picked it up and it felt as if it and my forehead were opposite poles.
“What the fuck?!”, I exclaimed loudly, trying to scream loud enough for my neighbors to hear. I tried to pull it away, with both hands, but it wouldn’t move.
“How does this make you feel?”, it was that fucking voice again, the one that keeps talking myself into attempting suicide every other night.
‘Who the fuck are you, tell me now you son of a bitch, why do you want me dead, what the fuck are you!?”, I screamed at it as loud as I could. It’s not like I haven’t asked it that series of questions before, but this time it was going too far, it had never possessed anything before.
“Oh my, that’s right, I still haven’t told you who I am! Tsk, tsk, maybe it’s safe to tell you who I am, not.” it said, it’s voice was very sharp and clear, like a diamond claymore.
I just stood there, helpless, and shivering. It’s not my choice if I die tonight, everyday I wish for death, but when I attempt it I am too much of a coward to pull through. Maybe this will be a good thing. Why is it I always feel my life is so horrible and when I get this chance, this only chance, to change it I beg for it to go away? Why is that? Today, I’m just going to quit caring.
“Anybody in there? Hello?”, it as asking me this because I was just standing there now, not afraid of it.
“Hello, how are you?” I asked it, slightly stuttering because I was still in fear, but trying to act calm.
“I’m scarred, I don‘t know what to do! Thank you for asking though. I already know how you are., because I am you, of course”
I was confused. I had no idea what was going on. It’s me? I don’t understand. How could it be me? Then again it has the same attitude towards life as me, it wants it to end. And of course, it’s always inside my head. Then I looked at the mirror and it was that face. It was my face, smiling sickly and greased back hair, all dressed up in a suit, except this time there was blood flowing out of the back of it’s head. It’s mouth opened:
“Like I said, I am you, silly.”, said the image of me in the mirror. When it talked and moved it’s mouth. There was nothing in it, it was pure black, it was emptiness, it was like a black hole. Then it slowly lurked outside of the mirror, crawling out like a spider, leg by leg, arm by arm, crawling out until it was fully out. Then, it’s left hand moved towards me, even though it was standing at least 5 feet away from me, it’s arm stretched, as if it was elastic, towards me. It placed it’s hand on the gun, and it’s index finger on the trigger. It didn’t say a word, it just stood there smiling.
I tried to move it away but it wouldn’t move. I just stood there, glaring into it’s eyes, it’s crystalline dark eyes.
“We have been waiting for this.”, it said, obviously talking in third person about me.
“Go for it, give it your best.”, I replied to it, acting nonchalant and without a care in the world.
“Your father didn’t care either, your grandfather was just a loony, I didn’t have to do much work with him.”, is this a good time? You don’t seem to really care.
“Like I have already said, go away, fire at will.”


“Hello? Police. Open up.. Hello?”
“They aren’t answering, maybe it was another fucking prank.”
“Yea you’re probably right, god damn hooligans.”
Just as the two officers were about to leave they heard the fire of a gun from inside Crowley’s apartment.
“Hello? Police!”, repeated the officer, but no one, and no thing answered.
“Kick down the door, damnit.” said the other officer.
After about a minute of trying to kick down the door to Crowley’s apartment they managed to get it to open. They searched the whole apartment for anyone, and finally they checked the bathroom. They found Crowley lying on the ground, dead. Blood was oozing from his head out of the door.
“Yep, he’s dead, Jim.” said one of the officers to the other.
“Yep, suicide.” replied Jim, to the other officer.