[Original Novella] Don't Touch That Dial, Part 2 (the finale!)

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Part 1}

It began to rain. You can guess what fell instead of water. He became absolutely drenched in it. I looked away. Hidden camera show? Some kind of prank? Those topped the list of possibilities so far as I was concerned. I resumed searching for cameras. When I still found nothing I resolved to drive back to the yard sale and demand answers. Only, on the way, a strange thing happened.

As I drove, I suddenly realized I was not actually in the car. I was looking at myself driving my car. On the picture tube. I leapt to my feet, heart racing. What the fuck was that? I had just been in my car, driving it, a few seconds ago. The transition was so smooth I couldn’t even pinpoint when it occurred.

I began pacing and sweating. The note. The note! I retrieved it and read over it again. It offered no clues. Nothing useful to me at all. Only a warning I’d already violated. Vonnie! I’m not sure what I thought my girlfriend could do to help but I badly wanted comfort just then. I went to the phone and began dialing.

Some time while I was doing that, I realized I was in fact watching myself dial the phone on the television. I shot up out of the chair, shouted at it and swept the entire thing off the table. It collapsed to the floor with a resounding crash, the picture tube shattering into shards of glass and phosphor.

It took me a minute to catch my breath. Wiping my brow, I put on my jacket and headed for my car. It was a short drive to the pub, and I decided not to have more than a small drink as I didn’t want to stay late and couldn’t afford a DUI. I ordered a nice dark locally sourced microbrew. As I sucked some of the foam from the top of the beer, do you know what happened?

I expect you do. How? I wish I knew. After all, I saw the television fall to the floor and shatter. Yet there it was in front of me. On the picture tube I saw myself savoring the beer. Why? Why why why? I pulled at my hair. Was there some sort of time limit? No, that couldn’t be it. The past few times it happened, it was at very different intervals. What, then?

I tried simply sitting and watching it. As before, the me on the screen went on to do things I have no memory of. All the while, the world around him gradually growing corrupted. Some sort of black, opaque syrup always intruding into the scene in more and more ways. The scenery always falling apart, like a stage set, to reveal the dirty rusted metal underneath.

Eventually, all of it fell away. The me on the screen by this point caked in the sticky black crud, walking along like nothing’s the matter. He came across a bawling woman, also covered in black residue. He kneeled as if to console her. Then lifted her to her feet by her hair, withdrew a knife from his jacket pocket, and cut her throat from ear to ear.

I choked. Because I’d just seen myself do something unconscionable. But also because he turned and was now making direct eye contact. I turned away. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him rush the screen, gesturing as if trying to maintain my interest. I threw a blanket over the television, reasoning that I apparently couldn’t destroy it, and tried to get some sleep.

I did, too. It looked quite restful on the picture tube. I buried my face in my hands and struggled not to cry. How could this be happening? Was I losing my mind? I unplugged the television and was not at all surprised when that made no difference. It didn’t have to hide anymore. Didn’t have to pretend.

I tried everything you can imagine. Then the really desperate stuff. I rapidly lost count of the suicide attempts. Every time I just wound up in that chair, watching myself pull the trigger or leap from the roof in black and white. Then I’d get up and start walking. You know what happened after that.

Well, that’s not quite true. I haven’t told you all of it yet. What I eventually worked out is that it wanted me to just sit and watch. All the way through, without leaving. As I now understood there was no other choice, I obliged.

The little black and white me walked along as before. The scenery began to peel, crumble and dissolve revealing rusted, grimy metal beneath it. And that filthy black shit. Soon every pretense of reality was gone and he walked through a decaying metal replica of a town. No windows or doors on the buildings. Even the sky appeared to be a grungy metal dome overhead, with metal clouds suspended by chains.

The rain started. I could see now that it came from spouts in the underside of the clouds, and hoses coiled around the chains they hung from. There was some semblance of logic to this world, but it collapsed if you thought about it too hard.

The bus went by, belching thick black smoke. I watched myself, coated head to toe in the oily fluid, approaching the crying woman. I found myself wanting to warn her. But what would that accomplish? As before, he lifted her by the hair and slit her throat ear to ear. Then he turned her around so I could see her face.

Vonnie. I went cold. He released her, and she collapsed in a heap. Then he approached the screen, step by step, until life sized. He simply stared, and I stared back. I still don’t know how the transitions occur so smoothly. All I know is that when I looked away, we’d switched places.

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