The Last Laugh

Trigger Warning: Mental Health and Depictions of Violence/Horror

Devon didn’t regret punching the guard despite now knowing that he would probably die in solitary confinement. It had been at least two days now since anyone checked on him or brought him food. He no longer heard the rumbling of cell doors opening and closing, or the low hum of a group of inmates somewhere in the distance. He didn’t hear the clacking of boots as guards patrolled the corridor and he hadn’t heard any announcements over the PA. Either everyone had left or everyone was dead, and he suspected that everyone was dead. Probably everyone in the world. At least everyone in the state, because he was sure that if everyone in a prison suddenly died there would be an investigation and he would be able to hear the people outside. Now he couldn’t hear anything except for his own thoughts and the occasional odd tap or ping in the distance. Luckily, he didn’t believe in ghosts.

It was dark in the Hole. Unnaturally dark. They all just had to go and die after lights out, didn’t they? He had been seeing little odd shapes appearing and moving around for several days now, but he knew that the human mind liked to play tricks, and this was one of them. When he was a kid, he was afraid of the dark, but now he was a man who didn’t fear such things. A hardened criminal who punched prison guards and hit innocent women with their cars when he had too much to drink. He could see that in his mind as clear as day, the glow of the streetlights, looking down at the stereo and wondering why his music wasn’t working. He could hear the thunk and all the screams around him, could see the woman smash into his windshield. Her eyes were unfocused, but you could see the trace of terror that had begun at the corner of her lips before being stopped by the windshield.

No. This wasn’t possible. He had told his attorney that he couldn’t see the big blue mailbox he hit, followed by the streetlamp, which is what ultimately stopped his car, because the woman was on the windshield. His attorney had told him that this wasn’t possible because she didn’t stay on the windshield, and that Devon was driving much too fast for that to happen. She had been struck by the front of the car at a great rate of speed. She had attempted to jump onto the car but wasn’t able to in time (and it wouldn’t have mattered) and bounced off the windshield and into the street.  

               He was convinced that his mind had somehow captured a snapshot of the moment her face hit the windshield. Since that day he hadn’t been able to get the image of her unfocused dead eyes and the indication that her mouth had begun to form a scream but wasn’t able to, out of his head. Her eyes…her eyes were so unsettling but the contrast of the lack of emotion in those eyes and that face that didn’t have quite enough time to be terrified, was haunting him even though he did not believe in ghosts. This was different. She was haunting his mind. He had killed her, and this was the real punishment. Instead of seeing random shapes in the darkness he began to see her face and decided that he wasn’t done being afraid of the dark after all.

               There was no light anymore and never would be. He would die alone in the dark and he wished he had a way to just end it himself but knew that he wouldn’t be able to even if he did have a way. He began to laugh. It was a self-aware sort of laugh, without humor, but it felt good. How long had it been since he had a good laugh? A long time he reckoned, and why not have one now? He began to laugh loudly just for the sake of making some noise. His voice echoed off the corridors and prison cells, reverberating throughout the entire prison. This, for whatever reason, actually struck him as funny, and he began to genuinely laugh out loud, just then he had the thought that he was sitting here in the dark laughing, as he slowly died of hunger and dehydration, and he laughed so hard that tears began to stream down his face. He did this until his jaw hurt and then he fell asleep.

               When he awoke his throat was dry, his stomach was rumbling, and they were both aching. In the cold darkness he stared at the woman’s face for hours. It seemed to be only an image at least, and didn’t do anything, it just hovered there in place. Devon decided that he wasn’t necessarily afraid of it anymore, but it made him feel uneasy. He began pacing back and forth between the door and his bed, what else was there for him to do after all? It made it easier for him to think about other things and his imagination could escape to distant lands and have grand adventures that he would never experience. This kept his mind off the face and more importantly off just how hungry and thirsty he was. He didn’t know how long he had been here anymore but was fairly certain that he was officially experiencing starvation. He wondered how long it would be before he died. Thinking of his situation made him think of the face, he looked over to confirm that it was still there, and as he turned his head towards it, he caught the tail-end of a blink. Her eyelids had just lifted back from those cold dead eyes. Then for the very first time since he realized he was going to die here alone; Devon began to panic.

               Pounding his fists against the door he began to scream, at first it came out as a soft crackle while he searched for his voice again. How long had it been since he used it? Since the laughing fit, he thought, but was that a day ago or a week ago? Time meant nothing here. Finally, his voice came back at full volume, and he was screeching into the corridor. Sometimes it went from a screech to a guttural howling, but it was all unintelligible. He had accepted the fact that he was going to die, and likely a slow terrible death, since the beginning, but he had to escape this horrible face. The face of the woman he had accidentally but negligently killed. She could see he was being punished for his crime, yet she continued to torture him. She was awful. He was so incredibly sorry for what he had done. Had he not sobbed uncontrollably when he had to see her family during the trial? At least she got to die quickly, he was going to lie here for days and days before he finally died, and she still wanted him to suffer even more. He was sure that any moment now that she would scream that dying scream she was denied, and it would be so loud and terrible that his brain would hemorrhage, and his heart would explode.

“You killed her once; you can kill her again.”

Devon stopped wailing at once. That voice. It was so calm, yet he could hear it over his own screams. Where did it come from?

“Everywhere and nowhere. I could keep saying mysterious things or even speak in riddles if you’d like, but that all seems cliché.”

Devon hadn’t said anything, he had only thought to himself. The voice was that of a mans and it was surprisingly soothing given the circumstances under which he was hearing it. Who was it? A ghost? God? A demon?

“Yes”

What does that mean?

“Remember that Beatles song? It says, “I am he as you are he as you are me, and we are all together”? Strange song. I Am the Walrus is the name.”

Devon knew it well; he had loved listening to his grandpa’s old records as a kid. That one was probably in his top three Beatles songs along with Revolution No. 9 and Helter Skelter.

“Helter Skelter’s a great one. I think Charles Manson ruined that one for a lot of people.”

Devon agreed. He remembered saying that exact thing to a friend of his while discussing music before.

“Like I said we are both he and you are me.”

Meaning what exactly? And who is “he”?

“You are.”

And…I’m you?

“I know you are but what am I?”

Devon was frustrated but the voice was still comforting, and he almost cracked a smile at the absurdity of the situation. He wished that it would give him a straight answer or just go away, and hopefully take the awful face with him.

The face!

He had forgotten it for a moment. That’s what caused all this in the first place. What if it was some sort of trick by the face? What if it was speaking?

“You know that’s not true.”

Devon knew that wasn’t true.

“Just get rid of the thing. You made it anyway.”

He wondered how he could possibly get rid of it, and how he possibly could have made it.

“Just do it and don’t think too much about it. Of course, you made it. We made everything didn’t we?”

That was true. They did make everything, didn’t they?

Devon turned his attention to the face, watching it carefully, waiting for some sort of sudden movement or attack. That’s when it blinked again. He knew it! He instinctively lifted his hand toward the face. It began spinning and twisting through the air, and just before it disappeared in a swirl of multicolored flashes of light, he realized that the beginning lines and corners of the lips on the face weren’t forming a scream at all, they were forming a smile. For a moment he pondered what that smile meant but quickly got back to the matter at hand. He was all powerful. He could leave this cell, this prison, and rule the world if he wanted to.

“Why would you ever want to leave here?”

This made complete sense to Devon. Why would he leave this place? He had everything he could possibly need or want right here in front of him. He had forgotten why he had ever doubted himself in the first place. After all, he was a God. He found the whole ordeal to be quite amusing and he began to laugh. His voice echoed through the corridor and reverberated off the walls. He wasn’t sure why, but he found this to be truly hilarious.

All of the laughing had made him tired and he thought it was fitting to get a good nights sleep before truly beginning his reign. He felt light, like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. His eyes were starting to get heavy though, and he was on the verge of going out when he remembered that odd smile the woman gave him as he got rid of her. Suddenly he knew, or at least he was close to knowing, what she was smiling about, but he couldn’t quite reach it. It was the most distressing feeling he had ever felt. Deep down in his chest he felt sheer panic at the revelation that he didn’t even fully have. There was something in the shadow of his mind that he understood at an instinctual level but could not put into any kind of thought that made sense. A gnawing terror that traveled from his chest to the lump in his throat. It was almost there, whatever it was, and he did not want to know anymore. Then he was out, and it was over. Devon’s eyes hadn’t fully shut, and they were dull and empty, glazed over with no spark. His cheeks and lips had just begun to form a scream before being frozen in place. A face that didn’t have quite enough time to be terrified.