I awoke that morning feeling anxious, as though I had something important to do. Nothing came to mind, though, so I stood from my bed and walked to the washbowl. I splashed water on my face to banish sleep from my eyes and wiped it with a rough cloth. Placing the cloth down, I picked up my watch and fastened it to my left wrist. I glanced at the time and date. 7:37 AM, February 11, 2015. I looked into the mirror above the table that held my washbowl. My eyes were dead, my cheeks sunken. A scruffy beard covered my young face. I sighed, a shadow of what I once was. Tap tap tap. I glanced upward, hearing the familiar pitter-patter of raindrops falling upon my ceiling. I yawned softly, walked to the window, and peered outside. It was one of those days where the weather invoked a feeling of loneliness. It was one of those days where the last thing I wanted to do was leave my house. I shrugged at the weather, as though that might show my disapproval of it and somehow stop the dreary rain. As was my daily routine, I went downstairs to my study. Tap tap tap. I noticed the rain was coming down even harder as I walked down my steps. I entered my study, glanced around the room, and selected the piece that I had been reading for the past several days. This particular book had seen much wear-and-tear over the years. Upon inspection, one would notice how old it was, with its rotting pages and hoary covers. Loathes Touch read the title. I was unsure why I chose to read it again. I knew the story as well as I did my own name. I was there when it happened, after all. I sat in my chair and opened the book to where I had last stopped. The smell of it was familiar; a mix of dust, mold, and onions. I sighed and began reading. “… promised to save us. He promised to liberate us and restore our nation to the glory it had once known! Little did we know… nobody suspected it… We longed for a savior. We needed to be given hope. Nothing else mattered. He knew this, and he gave us what we wanted, never intent on fulfilling his promises. Oh, how mistaken we were to trust him…” I clenched my teeth, closing the book angrily. I never imagined my actions would lead to so many deaths. I reached for the pouch sitting on the desk next to where I sat and opened it. I pulled a piece of day-old, sliced onion out of it and placed the snack into my mouth, sucking on it. I have always hated onions. Tap tap tap. I reclined in my chair, staring at the ceiling for what seemed like hours. I suppose I lost track of time, mindlessly eating those sliced onions. I finally realized how long I had been sitting in that chair when I reached for another piece to chew on and noticed that there were none left. I stood, placed the book on the table, and went upstairs. Tap tap tap. I remember glaring up at my ceiling as I walked up the steps. The damned rain hadn’t slowed all morning. It continued to torment me with its unending, irritating noise. I reached the top of the steps and walked into the kitchen, opening a drawer and taking out a knife. Reaching into my refrigerator, I took out two onions and began slicing them. TAP TAP TAP. Instantly, I looked up from the onions. That wasn’t rain. Warily, I held the knife in hand and approached my front door, opened it. A small, brown parcel sat at my feet. I glanced around outside, looking for whoever delivered it. Nothing. I lifted the parcel and took it inside, placed it on the table. A black moth was printed on the wrapping of the parcel. When I noticed it I felt sick to my stomach. I sliced open the wrapping and took out the contents of the parcel. Inside was a note, book, and a dead moth, painted black and stored inside of an air-tight piece of plastic. “Fuck me rigid…” I said aloud, held the packaged moth up to the light and examined it. I remember feeling nauseous before I inspected the book. Loathes Touch it read. It was in excellent condition. That both puzzled and frightened me, because I would have bet my life on being the only owner of that damned book. I remember when they were being destroyed. Besides… that perfect condition… no, that couldn’t be right. I placed the book down and unfolded the note, sighing softly. “Thy cheated moth, be thereof foulness rim lo,” it read. I was utterly confused. As I read the phrase again, my phone rang. My phone rarely rings, so I was very curious when I answered it.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Cassius.”
Fear gripped my body at the mention of that name. I hadn’t gone by Cassius in years. Everyone who knew me as that was long-dead. Who could this be?
“I assume you received the package, yes?” said the man on the phone. His voice was scruff, muffled. His attempts at masking his voice were amateur, at best. It reminded me of the way a young boy sounds when attempting to sound like his father.
“Yes, I received it. Who are you?”
“You are aware of the Black Moth, I presu-“
“I asked who you were, not what organization you worked for,” I interrupted. Oh… I knew all about the Black Moth. He was aware of that and the fact he asked about it was cause for agitation.
“That is not important. What is important, however, is that you know that we’ve come back for you.”
“Why now? I’ve left your organization alone for years in return for the Moth leaving me to my solitude. That was our deal. I’m sure you’re aware of that. Whoever is in charge surely must have informed you.”
“The Moth does not forget. We’ve come under new management, you see. Our leader is incredibly familiar with your accomplishments. That being said, he is very unhappy with the way you dealt with Adolf. The package was simply a formality, a tradition. We’ve changed our ways since you last interacted with us. I was simply ordered to call you to tell you why the Moth has returned for you. Having said that… well… I must say I am a fan of your work. Take care now, Cassius!”
Click. The man hung up the phone before I could respond. I stood there for a moment before placing the phone down. Tap tap tap. I picked the note back up and walked to my kitchen table, picking up a pencil before I sat down. “Thy cheated moth, be thereof foulness rim lo,” it read. Puzzled, I read it over and over. What did it mean? “Thy cheated moth”… “thy cheated moth”… Well, I suppose I had cheated the moth many times. No… cheated wouldn’t be the right word. Prevented, yes, but never cheated. Stood in the way of, yes, but never cheated. What did that last bit mean, anyway? “Be thereof foulness rim lo.” That certainly made no sense. I sat there for an hour before a thought entered my brain. An anagram, perhaps? “Thy cheated moth.” I began writing the letters in an assortment of combinations. T-H-E C-A-T-H-O-D-E M-Y-T-H. No, the cathode myth didn’t make any sense. E-A-C-H D-O-T-H M-E-T T-H-Y. Each doth met thy? No… but doth might work. T-E-A-C-H D-O-T-H T-H-Y-M-E. Again, no. Thyme… Perhaps “thy” was never part of the anagram? T-H-Y D-E-A-T-H. Oh, well that couldn’t be good. Thy death. The letters that remained were C, T, E, M, O T, H. I scrambled those letters around and arrived at the word “cometh.” Thy death cometh. I chuckled, despite myself. How did the Moth intend to kill me, exactly? They tried for years and failed until they came to the conclusion that it was impossible and offered me peace in return for no longer hunting down their operatives. Well, that leaves the second part of the phrase. “be thereof foulness rim lo.” This was going to be a bit harder. I remember thinking that I’d solved an anagram that used “be thereof” before. “Before” was the word hidden in it. Alright, so my death comes before. Before what? Using the remaining letters of “be thereof,” I formed the word “the.” I’d figured out “Thy death cometh before the.” I sat there, engulfed in my work. I began to unscramble the words, slightly annoyed at the puzzle that the Black Moth had made for me. L-I-F-E S-O-U-L-S M-O-R-N. No, life souls morn did not make sense. F-O-U-L M-I-L S-O-N-S. No, that couldn’t be right… I’d killed the Mil twins over three decades ago. F-U-L-L M-O-O-N. Perfect. That made sense. The remaining letters were E, S, S, R, I. R-I-S-E-S. Rises. “Thy death cometh before the full moon rises.” I sighed, leaning back in my chair, having solved the anagram. I remember rolling my eyes, thinking what a waste of time that was. They can’t kill me. What’s the point in setting a time frame? Tap tap tap. The rain still fell. I stood briefly to put a slice of onion into my mouth. I sat back down, placing my face into my hands. After I swallowed the onion, I glanced at the book. Loathes Touch. Oh, the things that I should have done to save those people! If I had known that my decisions would cost the lives of millions, I would have chosen differently! I glanced at my watch. 4:47 PM, February 11, 2015. I sighed to myself, staring at the familiar title of the book. It too, was an anagram. The Holocaust.
Submitted February 12, 2015 at 07:15AM by The_Silent_Harbinger http://ift.tt/1KL699D nosleep
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