The Gaiman Story

It wasn't just the murder, he decided. Everything else seemed to have conspired to ruin his day as well. Even the cat. [note: these three sentences were given by Neil Gaiman]



         That morning, everything started with finding a black and white photograph of several people that he had never seen before. The picture was shoved under the windshield wipers of his car and showed a fairly happy company in an open field, having arms around shoulders and smiling broadly into the camera like a sports team that just won the big prize. The picture was not of the best quality, it seemed to be decades old. He recognized the mountains in the background as being the ones a little off west of the town.



         He put the picture in the inner pocket of his suit, got into the car and went to work. Traffic was ridiculous and no matter how much he wished or cursed the car in front of him away, nothing happened. At the corner of Lanley and Andrew Road, waiting for the traffic light to turn green, he caught something in the corner of his sight. A man stood on the pavement, looking straight at him, mouthing words. The intensity of his look made Glen shiver. This man looked unusually pale like all color had been sucked out of him. The blue sky and sunlight didn't seem to reach him in the open area.

Glen was torn out of his wonders about what he saw when his phone rang. He reached into his bag and answered. It was his PA, Carol, reminding him of his appointment with the CEO in thirty minutes. When he looked up again, the man on the corner was gone.

         

         Work was usual, besides the fact that everything went wrong that could possibly have gone wrong. His coffee ended up on his pants twice (he was glad it happened after his appointment), the CEO was satisfied but not too enthusiastic about his report, on which he had worked for weeks, his car was hauled off and the battery of his phone died midday. Exhausted for one day, he decided to take a cab home and take care of the car tomorrow.          

         

         At home, he found the blue and red light of police cars all over the place, people on the pavement wanting to catch something interesting from the crime scene. About twenty official cars were crammed in his neighbors yard, and a barrier had been put around the house up to his driveway. The police man in the front yard just told him that someone had found a corpse and that he has to stay home until the officer can talk to him. That could take all night since it was a crowded neighborhood and everybody has to be asked about what they had seen or heard. Or done.

         

         He went inside and remembered the picture for the first time since he had put it in his pocket. He took it out and examined it closely. The people were still smiling and having their arms around their neighbors shoulders. The background was still and clearly the beginning of Mount Haren. He couldn't fight the feeling, though, that something was different that before (or he observed more than poorly earlier). Glen counted seven young men but hadn't there been eight? With the photo in his hand he went to the kitchen window to have a look outside. His eyes gazed casually over the crowd in blue and red light. Everyone was focusing on the garden next door. Except one. Glen gasped. A man was standing among the crowd who seemed to have no interest in the crime scene. He was staring directly into Glens eyes, mouthing words. It was not the same man from this morning, but he was just as colorless as that man, even in the dark. He seemed to be like a forgotten shadow. Pale without much contrast like an old picture. An. Old. Picture. Glen stared at the man as it struck him. He looked down on the photograph in his hand. He saw six people, smiling and their arms around their friends shoulders. As he looked up, the man outside was gone.