Free Ghost Shadows by Thomas M. Malafarina Page B

would once again find himself the victim of an even more unimaginable torture.
    The weird man repeated his request, but this time with a bit more impatience in his voice. “I asked you a question, sir! Are you Mr. Winston Peter James? Am I correct in making that assumption?” Winston could not bring himself to answer. He was not only terrified by the potential horror hiding deep inside this current scenario but had learned long ago not to willingly engage these sick creatures in conversation. He simply gave a cursory nod of acknowledgement.
    â€œWell,” the man said, “I suppose you are wondering what this is all about and why you are here with me, Winston. May I call you Winston?” Again Winston gave the slight and suspicious nod. The strange creature continued, “By the way, Winston, it is perfectly all right for you to speak to me. I realize after all you’ve been through while a guest here, you might be a bit reluctant. But I assure you that no harm will come to you if you choose to reply. In fact . . . I insist that you speak and do so immediately.” There was a look of cold emotionless assertion in his cat-like eyes.  
    â€œAll—all right,” Winston said in a thin voice that sounded raspy and barely recognizable as the one he remembered. He had spent countless hours screaming in agony and it had been what seemed like years since he had actually had any opportunity to speak to anyone in a normal conversational voice. “Wha—what . . . is this? Why . . . why am I here?”
    â€œVery good, Winston. Very good indeed,” the being replied. Winston thought he saw the flesh mask on the creature’s face slip ever so slightly. The man behind the desk said, “It’s so good to have you actively participating in our conversation. It will make everything so much simpler. So please allow me to explain why I have arraigned to meet with you here. Here is the situation in a nutshell, as they say.”
    â€œI suppose you’ve wondered since your arrival here in our fine little corner of Hell, what it was you might have done during your lifetime to deserve such constant and relentless torture. You probably always assumed such punishment would be reserved for the lowest of the low; murders, rapists, child molesters, and so on. Am I right?”
    Winston kept his eyes averted and timidly said, “Y—y—yes . . . I wondered that many times—no . . .  all—all the time.”
    â€œYes, I’m sure you have,” the strange man said, and then released a loud guffaw of laughter, sending the most ungodly foul stench across the desk between them and directly into Winston’s face. Winston felt his stomach turn over with revulsion at the smell of the vile stink. He noticed once again how the strange man’s hands never left the top of the desk, making Winston wonder if those hands might be fused together into that pose to make whatever lurked inside that bizarre skin seem more human. Winston’s eyes were focused on those hands and he thought for a moment that he saw maggots crawling between the intertwined fingers.
    â€œNOW PAY ATTENTION, WINSTON!” the being shouted, momentarily losing his composure only to quickly regain it once again and instantly return to his calm, business-like demeanor. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”
    Winston nodded silently once again, then realizing he had not spoken as requested, he quickly said, “Y—yes . . .  please.”
    The man said, “All right then,” and he proceeded to explain. “Well, Winston, it appears there was a slight clerical error, which resulted in your coming here. You see, as it works out, you are actually not supposed to be here after all.”
    Winston felt his heart thudding in his chest. He thought to himself, How could that possibly be? Could I have really been made to suffer all this time over a simple clerical