DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME--DESCENT, TWISTED

And so he began to avoid pipes of any sort. And also drains. And the electrical outlets began to look funny to him, too. It was a hard life, but he made do. Duct tape, in his estimation, was a godsend. With the silver wonder, he could cover the electrical fixtures, thereby minimizing the demons' calls. They still came through, sure, but they were muted. He could hear them, as if they were a foghorn in the distance, but the caterwauls were tolerable, then. And so he was happy.

***

Life went on; it drifted by him slowly, like high clouds on a sunny Fall day. His whiskers began to turn gray, but he didn't give a hoot. The outlets were covered and the pipes had ceased their guttural calls. He ordered pizza and salads from the local pizzeria and he tipped the drivers handsomely. At night, he read classics by candlelight and during the day, he worked on the wall in the den, cutting out letters from the newspapers and Scotch-taping them in place. He was already up to the letter "Q" and he'd only been at it for two, three months. He figured that if continued at his diligent pace, he'd be plastering the last "Z" before the first snowflakes hit the ground in November. His mother had always said that if Frank put his full effort into something, he'd not relent until it was done.

***

A week-and-a-half into his self-imposed isolation the telephone had shrilled him out of a trancelike state and he'd ripped it from the jack and hurled it against the wall with such force, the phone had virtually exploded, leaving a deep gash in the plaster. He'd looked at the phone's carcass, his thick black eyebrows hiding his eyes. "Quiet," he'd whispered. "Just, quiet."

When the paperboy had come to collect money the next week, Frank had given the kid a hundred dollars to go pick him up a pay-as-you-go cell phone and to leave it on the front porch. Hell, Frank had to eat. You know?

***

Frank would not go into the basement any longer. There were too many pipes. Let alone the invisible wiring!

***

His bedsheets stank. His clothes stank. Verily, Frank stank. But he couldn't shower oh hell no. Where do you think the water came from? Pipes, of course. Pipes. The same went for the toilet. Too many pipes. Too many damned pipes. Frank took to relieving himself in the spare bedroom. There were no pipes in there--at least none that he could see. "There," he'd whisper to himself, "There." He was pleased with himself. He knew that his thought processes were not--and had not been for a while--what others might consider "normal." But he didn't give a hoot. It wasn't like he was smearing excrement over his body and yelping at the moon, was he? No. He reasoned that he wasn't even really letting his neuroses control him, if you really thought about it. He knew that certain bodily functions needed to be addressed and so he did, and he said hello, and he snicked the door shut behind him when he was done. "There you go," he whispered.

Perfectly civilized.

***

The grandfather clock was ticking too loudly one night. Each tick of the clock reverberated throughout his head, skewering his brain with a million and one tiny shards of glass. Frank pulled his head from underneath his makeshift pillow and he tried to stare down Grandfather Time.

Tick-tock.

Frank's eyes became slits.

Tick-tock.

From under the blanket, Frank faked a quick left jab at the clock and the clock didn't notice.

Tick-tock.

"Try it again, you stupid clock," he murmured. And waited. Time had slowed. Literally. He waited, his brain stretched like taffy. Well, hell, he thought, that clock had better think twic--

Tick.

His eyes widened.

Tock.

He threw his brick through the Grandpappy's face. Glass shattered and the clock tottered and the clock fell and Frank smiled. His sleep was thus undisturbed.

***