The Demise of Basil Smith

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Sooner or later we all become trapped on something that occurred in our past.
The new prompt is: Tell me about someone who is trapped in their past. Whether you make it physically trapped or emotionally trapped is entirely up to you. MAKE IT SCARY!

The Demise of Basil Smith

Everyday Basil realized it. Everyday he felt something wearing him out. It felt like his heart could no longer pump as much blood as it needed to keep him walking. Everyday, he was a little more breathless.

No, he was not suffering from any cardiac complication. He was a womanizer in his hey-day. He still maintained that physique that drew all the pretty girls. He walked every morning, religiously covering his quota of five miles…until the last one month. That was when he started to feel breathless.

He lay in his bed every day at night alone, munching on his past, for he was a loner. He never married, even though he had courted scores of girls. “Girls…they are playthings you sleep with, nothing more,” that’s what he said to his friends. He had slept with his best friend’s girlfriend before their wedding day. It was not that Claire did not love his friend John. John had gone against his family wishes to marry her. And Claire loved him back with the same intense love, if not more.

He knew that. Basil knew that more than any other person could ever know. He had seen their romance bloom in front of his eyes. He had let them stay the night when John left his parents’ home. He knew how Claire looked at John, the immense trust and love in her wide blue eyes. That was the exact reason why he needed to taste her. He needed to taste the girl who loved her would-be husband, but would not be able to resist Basil’s impeccable charm. It boosted his morale. It fed his pride that he was still the one any girl would fall for. Love was nothing compared to physical hunger.

He was not mistaken. Claire gave herself to him entirely that day. Her naked body gleamed in his arms. Her eyelids quivered; he bit her ruby lips. So soft was the satin of her skin! He could still remember that touch.

He was wild. He growled and screamed as he went into her. His finger-nails made red patches on her olive skin. She moaned and cried. That excited him even more. He went in harsher. Closing his eyes, he concentrated in the pleasure she gave him. He did not notice when her moans had changed to wails, when tears had started streaming in her eyes. He did not see, for he did not need to see. After all, it was just her body that he wanted. Her feelings did not matter a sand-grain to him.

Moments later she had torn herself from him. She cried hoarsely, shouting, “You do not love me. It was all a lie. You just wanted my body, yes, that’s what you wanted. Oh! I cheated on John for you. You are a beast. You don’t even care for me! No! No!”

Basil hated women crying. It made him want to vomit. He spat on her and said, “You wanted me too, bitch” and banged the door as he left the house John had rented for them to stay after the wedding.

Basil wore the best coat the next day. His youth gleamed with pride, with a smugness the previous night had given him. There she was, exchanging vows with the man who was his best friend…she, nothing more today except a dish he had tasted and scornfully thrown away. He stood with the bouquet of yellow roses, the best man.

Days had passed by. He had left London and travelled the world. He had walked under the stars on the beautiful streets of Paris. He had taken pictures by the Statue of Liberty. He had been with beautiful Latinas, busty Asian women. He had had the best time of his life in the last few years, until recently when the old London neighborhood pulled him with a magnetic force. He returned home, to John.

John continued to live in the old neighborhood, a widower. Claire committed suicide the very next day of their marriage. It was perhaps too much for her to bear the guilt. John never married again.

The day Basil went to visit John, exactly one month from now, he was struck at the form John presented before him. What had become of John Wood? The few thin hairs of his head fluttered in the wind. He was thinner than the thinnest model you see on the ramp these days. His body had shrunk strangely. The skin underneath his eyes was a deep shade of purple. He shivered continuously. His voice was hoarse and weak. It was more of ghost of John Wood than it was his once-bonny friend. Basil shuddered within.

From the very next day, Basil started feeling breathless. He could feel something leaving him, something that binds the living creatures to life. Something was vanishing from him every moment, like vapors from the test tubes in the laboratory. He ate more, he ate better. He tried to walk faster. But alas! He was slowing down. He was falling short…his body was shrinking!

He wandered about the streets aimlessly. He was weak, but he could not stop. He roamed and roamed, like a madman. His eyes took on a strange yellow. Dragging his shrinking body, one day he reached the gates of John Wood.

The old villa had a pristine wildness about it. Leaves of the great, swaying Oaks lay scattered on the walk-way. Wild creepers grew everywhere. The walls of the building had layers of white, fungus breeding meticulously on them.

Basil breathed heavily and called out, “John! John! Come out!” His voice was staggering.

The shrunk corpse of John Wood fell with a thud before him. It had been hanging on the Oak under which Basil stood.

Basil jumped, an electric shock going through his body. His feet stuck in the endless creepers, he fell on his back.

Claire smirked as she looked into his widened eyes, “It’s time, Basil Smith. It’s time for you to join us.”