Halloween and Other Seasons

THE ARTIST IN THE SMALL ROOM ABOVE

By Al Sarrantonio

I wait for Bates to make me create again.

He sits in the small circular room above me, resting. I hear him tap at the keys of the console with his fingers, making dissonant, unformed sounds, but he does not continue. I am restless to finish; he has been working almost constantly for two days and I know he has deadlines to meet. The cable pads pulse warmly at my temples.

Finally I feel the urging through the pads.

The console in the room above hums contentedly as Bates urges me on at the usual setting. Impatient, tired, I want to finish; I close my eyes and shout up to him through the ceiling, telling him to increase the setting. I have never done this before and he is surprised; but he does so. He turns it up too high. The console’s hum increases to a modulated whine.

Suddenly pain bursts throughout my body. My hands clutch at the arm rests of my chair; my eyelids snap tightly closed; my throat convulses.

I begin to scream, hoarsely. Life surges through and out of me. My body jumps and tosses crazily in my chair. The console above drones loudly, and above it I hear the music…

Then abruptly it is over. The work is completed. I sink back, exhausted. Above, the console shuts angrily down and I hear Bates give a small cry of astonishment; he is breathing heavily.

My mind drifts off into blackness.