Fame and Misfortune

It was impossible to sleep in the sweltering apartment as he lay wide awake staring into the darkness. City lights illuminated the ceiling and cast shadows of his shabby furnishings on the walls. He could see cracked paint behind fluttering band posters, watched the ceiling fan swing in unbalanced rhythm, and hear the clunky hum of the refrigerator compressor struggle for life. Beads of sweat rolled down his naked chest and joined the damp pool on his mattress. Somewhere in the distance the incessant wail of a siren languished through his open window.

This sucks! He wiped at his forehead. I must be the unluckiest man alive.

Tonight’s gig had gone from fair to awful in the span of a heartbeat. He had sat at the piano and started with a popular cover song, but with his own unique flavor. It had got the crowd going, gave them a taste, and they had loved it. Energy was growing in the room before everyone was even drunk or stoned. Success was right around the corner, and he had the perfect set. With his next piece one of his own that was easily going to rock. A year-long labor of work that had been crafted from many sleepless nights and manic effort to get it just right… and it was, “Just right.”

He had perfected it till he felt confident that it was not going to be just a hit. It was going to be the catapult into fame that would wrench him from this groveling existence to superstardom. All he had to do was play it in a crowded high-end club, one that brought music talent scouts in regularly, and blow them all away. The very club he had been at tonight.

“Fuck!” He pounded his fist onto his mattress for the fifth time since laying down. “Right in the middle of the fucking opening.” The memory of the club owner collapsing and crashing across the table was maddeningly taunting him. “FUUUCK!” He screamed into the stifling heat. It was the same internal scream he had made at the club. He had tried to continue playing, tried to ignore the man lying on the ground, wished that the crowd had let him die and enjoyed his song. “I had that crowd enthralled… I could see it. They were ready for this.”

“Were they ready?” The voice slithered out of the darkness.

“What the…” He bolted out of bed and swiftly had his old Louisville Slugger in hand. “Who said that?”

His eyes darted into every shadow, inspecting for an intruder. He fumbled for his light while continuing his search. With a click, the tiny apartment became awash with light, but no one was there. He crept towards his bathroom, carefully maneuvering around his keyboard, and grasped the knob. He flung it open and reared the bat back, ready to strike the— nothing.

“Are you ready?” The voice was low, guttural, grating. Like dragging stones over concrete. It had no direction and yet, seemed to be coming from all around him.

“Show yourself.” He shouted as he shot back into the center of his apartment.

“I asked are you ready, Freddy?”

“Who are you?” Freddy, could feel every hair on his body stand and a trickle of ice crawl up his spine.

“This…” The bat was wrenched from his hand. “…will not help you.” It flew across the room and out the window. The crash of a windshield followed by a car alarm echoed out into the night.

“Now.” The voice seemed to take a breath. The pause felt sinister, and all noise ceased. “Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?” Freddy swallowed.

“Ready to listen?”

Freddy sat silent in stupefied horror. This was unreal. I’m really losing it. He shook his head furiously and pressed his face into his palms. What the fuck is wrong with me? Did I really just throw my bat out the window? He let out a steady exhale and made his way to the kitchen sink and opened the faucet. Nothing came out. He tried shifting the lever into every possible position, but there wasn’t a single drop. Perfect. Just fucking perfect. Another problem. He moved to the bathroom and twisted the cold knob. No water… Not even a gurgle.

“I am waiting for an answer.”

Freddy froze. This was madness for sure. He was finally over the edge. But something about the voice was so very real. It begged to be acknowledged.

Finally, Freddy answered. “Yes.”

“Good. I have a deal for you.”

“A deal?” Freddy repeated in a whisper.

“Yes, Freddy. A deal that will give you everything you want. Everything you desire.” The voice flowed around him like silk. He could feel it slide along his neck like a lover’s caress.

“What do you mean?”

“You already know what I mean. It’s there, resting against your heart, sitting at the tip of your thoughts, dancing with all your desires. You want fame!”

“I… I…” Freddy bit at his lips.

“Yes, you do. There is no need to hide it.”

“Yes, I do want to be famous, but why are you asking me these questions if you know this already?”

“Because I am offering it. All I want to know is… Are you ready?”

“Yes, but who…” Freddy halted his questions. His words were caught short as his heart leapt at the thought of fame and the elation of reaching it.

“Good. I like it when the heart answers. Tomorrow morning, an agent is going to call you. He will bring you to a recording studio to see you play. The rest is up to you.”

Freddy’s mind raced. An agent? A studio. A chance to play! Was this real?

“Wait.” Freddy called into the apartment. “What is the deal? What do you want from me?”

“Freddy.” The voice soothed, like a parent comforting a frightened child. “I want to see you succeed. For you to reach that potential you have so desperately been seeking to release. You let me worry about the rest.”

The air was still, the city noise returned, and a faucet in the background began running water.

“Okay.” Freddy said. When nothing responded back, he cleaned up and made his way back to his bed and sat down. He took a deep breath and let it out in a slow steady stream. He laid back on a dry mattress. The air felt cooler, almost chilly. The light clicked off on its own.

“Okay.” Freddy repeated in a whisper.

(FOUR YEARS LATER)

Everything happened as the voice had said. The early morning phone call woke Freddy, and he was surprised to hear the agent on the other end. He had been at the club the night before and wanted to hear more. Freddy had gone to the recording studio, played the song he wasn’t able to finish the night prior, and was immediately offered a contract. One that he willingly signed and played his song again, this time recording his first single.

It had taken the world by storm, rising to number one on the charts in less than a month. Then the gigs started rolling in and before he knew it, he was playing in enormous venues, wading through throngs of fans, going on late night television interviews. He was autographing photos of his face, shirts, hats, napkins, and women’s cleavage. Celebrities invited him to parties, took him on tropical adventures, and slept with him.

He had made it.

Better yet, there were no weird voices calling to him in the night. Nothing had demanded anything from him. It was as if it had never happened, the voice had never existed. Of course, it never existed. I imagined it or dreamed it. I was under a lot of stress and over-tired. Freddy knew there had been a logical answer for it all. Luckily, he didn’t need to worry about stressing to that degree ever again.

He was finally in control of his destiny.

The sound booth walls seemed to expand with pressure as Freddy shouted obscenities. Fingers stabbed the air and hands waved wildly as the record producer asked, yet again, for Freddy to change a line in his newest song.

“I’m not altering this one, Chris. It changes the whole fucking meaning.” Freddy seethed.

Chris gripped his tie and adjusted the knot tighter. “Then this single won’t get aired. You can’t say something like that and not create a legal shitstorm. You’ll be paying every Susan and Karen that even feels remotely injured by your statement.” He fired back. His hands began buttoning his suit as if to say, “This argument is done, and I’m leaving.”

“They can go fuck themselves and so can you if you think I’m not releasing this. It’s going to be a fucking hit. You know it and I know it, so get with the fucking program.”

“Sure, it will be a hit, for a day. However, they’re literally going to force feed you your shit when the lawsuit comes. Then that self-confident smile will be as brown as the bull shit you feed your whores.” Chris made one more pointed gesture at Freddy as he grabbed his shoulder bag. “You need to get it through your head that you’re not untouchable.”

And with that Chris turned on his heels and marched out the door.

Think you’re fucking smart? Freddy sneered. One day I hope you fall out your fucking office window and land headfirst into your wife’s Bently. That way she can see your face plastered with that stupid look you always have.

The morning later, Freddy woke feeling like a belt was tightened around his chest. Bleary eyed, he struggled to focus as he sat up in his silken king-sized bed. Pure white sheets and faux-fur comforter matched the pristine walls of his mansion bedroom. A hazy bottle of vodka sitting on his nightstand swam in his vision. He sat up and the naked woman to his left barely stirred as he slipped out of bed. He glanced at her, noted her disheveled brown hair, and scoffed. Guess beauty can be a beast at times too. A supermodel he had been dating for a few weeks. An arrogant hot girl. He wouldn’t miss her when she flew back across the country.

He grabbed his prescription pill bottle and his phone as he walked to the kitchen. Holding a hand to his head, he sat down at the island bar and poured a shot of Blue Label. He squinted and looked at the time on the stove. 10:30 am. He let out a deep sigh, tossed a few pills back, and raised the glass to his lips— and dropped it with a shattering crash as his phone rang!

“Jesus… fuck?” Freddy spit his pills across the bar. He saw it was Paul, his agent, and swiped the green answer. “What?”

“God, Freddy, what’s your problem?” Paul’s voice mixed indignation with a frantic undertone.

“Nothing. Just getting up and feeling like dog shit.” He wiped at the spilled booze on his chest.

“Well, it’s about to get fucking worse. Chris Goldman is dead!”

“Dead? What?” Freddy stood up.

“Yeah, fucking unbelievable shit. He was in his office late last night and apparently fell out his window nearly thirty stories.”

“Holy shit!”

“Holy shit indeed. Investigators are saying the seal around the window had rotted and gave way. Make matters worse, he apparently had called his wife to come visit. Well, he fell right into her fucking windshield, man. I don’t know if this is true, but rumor is that his head fell off, was laying right in her lap, and the ambulance crew found her screaming hysterically when they arrived.”

What the actual fuck? Freddy nearly dropped his phone.

“Do you feel it yet?”

“Do I feel what?” Freddy shot a glance at his phone, making sure it was Paul’s name.

“Freddy?”

“You asked if ‘I felt it yet?’.” He shook his head to try and clear it.

“No, I didn’t. I was telling you that the album has been put on hold.” Paul’s voice took on an edge, and he was talking fast.

“Do you feel powerful now, Freddy?” The gravel tone brought back a long-buried memory.

It froze Freddy’s core, and his throat went dry.

“Paul… I’ll… I have to take another call.” His voice went distant, far away. “I’ll hit you back in a minute.”

“No, Freddy? Freddy…”

Freddy hit the end call.

Evil laughter filled the elegant walls around him. “How does it feel?”

Freddy couldn’t answer. He didn’t want to answer. This could not be happening. Not again.

“It has been a while, but I know you haven’t forgot.” The voice shifted. “It is time for us to talk.”

“I didn’t… I mean.” He swallowed against sandpaper clogging his throat. “I don’t… know what to say.”

“Let’s start with ‘Thank you’. This is the tenth death I’ve done for you.”

“Death? For me? Wait… the tenth?” Freddy shouted. “You killed ten people last night?”

The laughter resonated through his mansion— cold, unflinching, amused. “No, Freddy. Maybe you don’t remember that whore three years ago. You wanted to bed her, but you were premature. You hid in the bathroom and listened as she walked away laughing. Taking your money and your dignity. Do you remember what you told me to do to her?”

“NO, no, no… This isn’t real.”

“You said you hoped she would choke on a fat cock. Obviously it didn’t make the news, but… Tada!”

“She died…” Freddy’s voice was a whisper.

“Or what about the obese lady screaming at you from the crowd in Chicago. She said you were a fake, and you smiled and asked me to have her die to a drunken truck driver with a donut stuffed in her face.”

“What? I didn’t tell you to… Shit!” Freddy nearly shrieked. “You mean you’ve killed anyone that I… that I thought cruelly about?”

“Nooo.” Freddy could almost feel the presence smile. “If I did, the world would be losing hundreds by the day. I choose those who will feed me. People who aren’t of any use to my need anymore.”

“Feed you?” Freddy could feel the prickle of ice across every surface of his skin.

“Souls, Freddy. That was our deal. I give you fame, and you feed me souls. That rival artist last year was especially delicious.”

“Oh my god. Greg Marley? I... I wished he would die of an overdose.”

“Oh, that wasn’t all you wished— remember.” More laughter. “You wished he would OD while you slept with his ex! You said,” The voice changed. “’Die, Greg. Overdose on your fucking pills while I raw dog your whore wife.’” It was Freddy’s voice. As clear as if he were speaking it himself.

“No, no, please no…” Freddy fell to the floor.

“Now, you remember that night. You dream up some colorful endings for your enemies.”

Freddy’s mind was racing. Every errant thought, every cruel intention, every mean-spirited wish… he was murdering people, and he had no idea. He glanced back at the open bedroom door. The supermodel. They had a wild drunken night, but she had taken control, talked down to him. He hated it. In lustfully explicit ecstasy Freddy had let his mind wander into dark corners. Dreamed up some sadistic ways she might suffer one day. Tears began to trickle down his face.

“I… I killed her didn’t I?”

The grating cruel laugh pierced to his core. “L O L, as you say. No, Freddy. She is one of mine. Her count is much higher than yours, but unlike you she willingly accepts it. Maybe you should go stuff her again, feel the raw energy she radiates, and understand what it means to be given my gift.”

“No… I can’t. I don’t want this anymore!”

“It’s not that easy, Freddy. You sold yourself to me. We have a deal.”

“YOU LIED TO ME!” His voice shook in fury as he collapsed into a sobbing ball. The presence seemed to be hovering over him— gloating.

“Who are you yelling at, and what is wrong with you?” Freddy turned to see the hazy nude outline of the woman through his tears. He wiped his eyes to clear them and shuddered.

Black tendrils of oily smoke snaked their way around the woman.

“You… you…” He stammered.

Her face lit with recognition. “He is with you too.” Instead of the horror, Freddy knew she should display, she smiled. A crooked play at the corner of her mouth. “I see how you rose to fame now… Certainly wasn’t talent.” And she laughed, a cruel mimicry of the entity’s.

“I don’t want it… I don’t want this… this gift!” His mind raced as his eyes searched the marble floor. He needed an answer, a way out, some solution. All that came was his vague reflection on the tile. That’s it!

He jumped up. “I’m done. This ends today!”

Freddy ran past the model, into his bathroom and stared hard at his image in the mirror.

“Hmmm. I’ll allow you to do this, Freddy. But I warn you… there is no turning back.”

“I don’t care.” He focused on his face. “Wouldn’t it be nice if you were hit by a truck, tossed into a dump heap, and thrown away with the rest of the garbage.”

The woman shrieked at his words, but Freddy didn’t hear her anymore. He began laughing. His face twisted into something beyond happiness and his laughter rose several pitches above glee. He was in maniacal fits as he turned and began running. The woman threw herself away from him as he charged past her. She could hear him laughing hysterically as he opened the front door and streaked down the street.

His wild laugh carrying in the air until the chaotic screeching of car tires, was followed by a deafening crash—

And the laughter died away.