Patrick Turner's Time Disorder

CW: The following story contains instances of Death, Gore, and Mental Illness which may be too much for some beings to endure. Listener discretion is advised.

{Intro Music}

This is Queer Ghoul. An anthology of short queer horror stories written and produced by me, Adriana Oister, pronouns she/her and they/them. 

With various tales of horror, suspense, mystery, and science fiction, I in the role of “The Narrator”, will introduce you to a diverse set of characters each of whom trapped in their own hellish landscapes, and teeth-clenching nightmares.

{Intro Music slows down…then picks back up}

Monologue: In this introduction I deliver a stark warning to all those who listen. An entity stalks and slithers around you during your every living moment whether awake or in slumber. It doesn’t have eyes, or ears, or a tail, or legs, or horns, or claws, but it has two-sometimes three hands which spin in a symbolic manifestation. And if you listen close enough, it may make a repetitious sound alerting you of its presence. It is both a gift and a curse. This episode’s story is a cautionary one and I advise that you listen to what it’s telling you very closely, and to take note of every tick, tick, tick. I now present to you…PATRICK TURNER’S TIME DISORDER.


Patrick Turner’s Time Disorder

In Apartment three hundred and sixty-five in a housing building in Brooklyn, New York City, a thick tension squeezed at its two occupants. Tighter than the golden watch band which wrapped around Patrick Turner’s left wrist. He sat there in his swivel desk chair, his arms crossed, his sapphire eyes focused on the gleam of the clean clock face. It’s three pearl hands, the hours, the minutes, and the seconds synced in their movements. The thin seconds hand glided across the open silver gears as they all spun in their own programmed mechanical speeds.

Across from him, sitting on the edge of the wooden desk, sat his boyfriend, George McDaniel. He was speaking but Patrick wasn’t listening, worrying his bottom lip as he rose the watch up to his ear to listen to its heartbeat.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

George’s eyebrows were knitted, his dark eyes studying Patrick’s face. “Patrick, please- “

“I’m telling you George. I’m not going out today. I don’t know when I’ll ever go out again.”

 “You really don’t mean that,”

“Oh! But I do!” He bolted out of his seat. “Don’t you realize with all the dates we’ve had at that restaurant that we easily could have been in the place of those two now dead people? I saw it in the news, when the fight broke out and the guy pulled out his gun, the bullets went right towards where we usually sit. Hit the husband in the head, and the wife in the chest.”

“It’s…definitely something worth a moment of thought. But only a moment. You’ll end up driving yourself insane by thinking about this any longer. What happened was unfortunate, but it was a case of wrong place wrong time.”

“Wrong place. Wrong time. When is it ever the right time for someone to die?” Patrick began pacing the floor, his hands resting behind his short blonde hair. “In my opinion, every death is wrong place wrong time, especially with this rising crime rate. We could just walk down the street and get shot and mugged. It’s not even safe to get on the train anymore.” He paused, meeting blue eyes with George’s brown. “Aren’t you aware that at any moment, we could die?”

George cocked his head. “I’m sure that most of us are aware, we just choose not to acknowledge it while we’re alive.”

“You can get shot, or bombed, or even a machete to the head on the train. You could be slammed into while in a vehicle and thrown out of the seat and through the glass windshield. While in a plane, it could go down. In a boat, it could sink. Buildings, more specifically Home itself, is supposed to be the safest place, but at any moment bullets can pierce through the walls, the structures could collapse, fire could break out. We could eat food that’s been poisoned, drink water from contaminated faucets. All to take medication that may have an unintended consequence. There could be lethal gas in the air slowly choking you out. One of us could have a fatal heart attack, an appendix that erupts, a brain aneurysm that explodes. And then what happens after that, George? What happens after we die? Where do we go? Do we just…stop existing?”

“I don’t know, and I wish I could give a better answer than that. But I do know that there’s not much you can do about it, besides maybe going back in the closet and locking yourself in there.”

Patrick stopped his pacing, crossing his arms again and training his eyes to the floor. But not before catching a glimpse at the bouquet of sunflowers resting down on the desk, his favorites, flowers with bright yellow petals that George surprised him with earlier. “The shelf in there could collapse on me.” He said.

A thud sounded from outside the apartment, followed by low pitched cries and screaming.

Patrick jumped in his spot. “See? What did I tell you?”

George rushed towards the door.

Patrick grabbed his hand. “What are you doing?”

“Someone could need help.” He threw the door open, looking out through the doorway at the commotion in the hallway, where other occupants were creeping out of their apartments and watching for any indications of danger.

Two women, both wearing dark blue scrubs with a logo of a healthcare company on the right side of the chest, were reassuring an older man who was thrashing around in their steady arms. 

“Let me go! Let me go!” He repeated through his teeth, blackened and rotten, a few of them gone. “This isn’t me! This is wrong!”

His eyes, which from a distance appeared grayish and milky, stopped on George, and Patrick who was holding on to him from behind. The eyes grew wider as he hung his mouth open.  One of his boney elbows contacted the woman on his left’s side. She let out a small cry, and both women lost their hold on him. 

He stormed over to the couple. Patrick lowering himself behind George.

On a closer look, they both saw the black marks of age spotted over his arms, his face, and the top of his balding head. The only hair he had was gray and it bordered around the sides of his skull and came out of his nose and ears. His shirt and pants were slack and stained with blotches of food and drink. He rubbed at his sagging nose. His arm shook as he raised it into the air, his lanky finger with grimy fingernails pointed in Patrick’s direction.

“That watch!” The man spat. Each word and plosive he spoke sent a thick trail of spit and phlegm into the air. Both hitting George and Patrick’s skin. A few globs plopped onto the brown carpeting below. “That watch! You need to get rid of it! It’s dangerous! It’s going to kill you! It’s going to kill you!” Trails of mucus slimed down from his mouth. He vaulted forward, his wrinkled hand grazing Patrick’s arm as George lightly took a hold of the man.

“Please Sir, everything’s going to be okay.” George said.

The older man ignored him, looking over George’s shoulder to regain focus on Patrick. “Every time you hear the watch ticking, it means death is coming!”

The two women tucked their arms into his, pulling him away from George and back towards the door they came from.  The one mouthed an apology towards the couple, as the man’s screaming only got louder.

“Get rid of it! Get rid of it! It’s going to kill you!”

            The door slammed shut.

            Silence filled the air again.

Patrick sped towards his door and slammed it as well. George stood there just like the other onlookers for a few moments longer. He listened as they whispered amongst themselves. He gazed at the man’s apartment door. The plaque on the door was faded and scratched, he leaned forward and squinted, but he couldn’t make out the apartment’s number. He looked around one last time, before going inside and closing the door.

Patrick was again pacing the room, holding onto his arm as if it were wounded. ““See? What did I tell you? No matter where you are, you can get killed!”

“I’m sure the man is harmless, he’s just someone who needs extra help.”

“How do you know? Everyone in his building knows him as a man with no name, hell he doesn’t even have a number on his door. He rarely comes out and when he does, he acts like he has now. Just imagine what could have happened if those two care givers weren’t there. He could have killed somebody; he could have killed us!”

“But he didn’t, he didn’t hurt anybody. We survived. And even if he had,” He shrugged. “Even if he had killed us, there’s not much we could have done afterwards.”

“You’re not helping!” Patrick flung himself back down into his office chair and spun it around, so he was facing his reflection in his computer screen.

George kneeled, and laid a hand on Patrick’s shoulder, his thumb stroking the side of his neck. “Every day, every minute, every second, bad things happen, and people die. Whether through the hands of another person or through cruelties of nature. There’s no way of denying that. The important thing is that you can’t spend the rest of your life fearing deaths at every corner. They’re at the end of the road regardless. The only thing you should worry about is actually living the life you’ve been given.” He planted a kiss on Patrick's cheek. 

Patrick faced him, moving his wrist up so each could have a closer view. “Do you think the watch you gave me really is dangerous?

“No, unless that jeweler I bought it from was the devil. Other than that, it’s something I bought for someone I love dearly.”

For what seemed like the first time that day, Patrick smiled. Their eyes met as they both leaned in for a kiss. 

When they parted, George smiled. “Now, are we still going to go out for brunch and to show off that pretty gift of yours? I came over here to show you a good time around town and I intend to do so.”

Patrick’s smile dropped. “I’m not going out.”

George sighed as he stood. “Is there anything I can possibly do that will change your mind?”

“I’m not going out. Please respect my decision!” Patrick said. His eyes narrowed.

George raised his hands off Patrick. “Okay. I clearly see we’re not going to get anywhere on this right now.” He said as he backed up towards the grey sofa and sat down on its cushions. “I’m just going to sit here while you do your own thing, and we take a breather. We’ll talk about this later when our minds are clearer.”

George posed his body across the couch, Patrick stared at him. Small sounds would escape his red lips, but he failed to form any words. “Okay,” He finally breathed, turning away from the computer screen to pick up a pen, clicking its end against the desk, and began scribbling words into his notebook.

It was almost an hour later when Patrick circled back around in his chair, to find that George had fallen asleep on the couch. A small smile spread across his face as he watched his partner’s chest press up and down with each light breath he took. On again feeling the weight on his wrist, he looked down onto the glistening gold. He raised it up to his ear.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He thought about the old man, and his warning about the watch, to take it off and get rid of it. His fingers danced towards the thick clasp. He glanced again at George. He sighed, and silently stood as he reached for the bouquet of sunflowers that still sat to the side. He brushed his fingers against the soft golden petals. He was sure that perhaps he was being ridiculous about the matter.

He still wore a smile as he walked over to George, crouching down to lay a kiss on his brow, before going into his small kitchen to find a vase for the flowers.

Shuffling his hands around the dinnerware, with brief moments of clinking plates and bowls, he pulled out a clear glass vessel and closed his cabinet doors.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He paused, looking down at the watch.

The ticking stopped.

“Weird,” he said, his attention reverting to the flowers.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Crash!

The vase shattered onto the floor. The glass pieces sliding across the tile, a few bouncing off Patrick’s pant legs. He didn’t seem to notice, his eyes trained on the sunflowers. Once vibrant and golden now shriveled and darkened. The brittle brown petals snapped off its stem when he went to pick up the dead flowers with shaking hands. 

“George! George!” He carried the carcass back into the main space. “Something weird happened with the flowers. They- “

The couch was vacant. 

Hastening his pace, he rushed across the apartment, repeatedly calling his boyfriend’s name as he eyed in his bedroom and bathroom, only to find George to be nowhere. He sneered, throwing the flowers into the nearby wastebasket, kicking it afterwards. “I know what you’re doing George, you’re trying to play jokes on me. Trying to prove your point. And you know how I feel about jokes.” He said aloud. “I don’t know where you are, but it’s not going to work. I’m not scared.” His eyes wandered around the room. 

He froze.

He saw something up ahead.

A crack, resembling that of a spiderweb, had sprouted itself into the white plastered wall.

He dragged his feet closer to it, knowing that that crack hadn’t been there before.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

“I’m not scared, George.” 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

He traced his finger across the lines, peering to see that the white around the crack had turned into more of a yellowish tint. 

A low rumble shook his body, and he pulled back. He balanced himself against an end table for support. The crack dug itself deeper into the wall and spread itself across the white paint. With each new line produced, the white of the wall turned into the same disgusting tinge. When the rumbling stopped, the crack completed itself, covering the entire wall and even above the couch. White no longer visible.

Patrick took a sharp breath and tapped his finger onto the wall.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He seethed, marching to the door. “I swear George, this better be some sort of illusion or else you’re going to be paying- “An older woman stood on the other side of the entrance. She patted her platinum blonde hair with streaks of gray pinned up into a bun.

Patrick took a step back, glancing between the wall and her. “Katherine? I’m so sorry, I thought you’d be someone else.

The woman grinned, drawing lines around her lips and eyes. “Sorry to disappoint.” She said as she walked through the threshold. With each footstep, her long purple skirt flowed behind her. 

“You should have gotten my check for this month; I placed it into your mailbox a few days ago.”

“Oh, I’m not here about that, you’ve paid your dues for this month, as with every month you’ve been here.  I only came up to check in with every tenant on this level, I heard about the commotion earlier.” 

“That whole fiasco with that man across from me? Same as usual, this time he was screaming at me, even went to grab at me. But, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, I have bigger problems right now.” He gestured for her to look at the cracked wall. “Just a little bit ago, my wall just started deteriorating.”

She stared at the wall, her dark eyes bouncing between him and it. She got closer, her hands on the leather couch as she bent over to see the crack going down into the floorboards. “Oh, so it has.” She said.

“What do you mean ‘so it has’? You’re my landlord, you need to get someone up here to fix this.”

“But there’s nothing to be fixed Mr. Turner. These things happen over the course of time.”

“Are you and I not seeing the same thing?” He huffed. “The wall isn’t white anymore, it’s rotted! It has a crack that takes up the entire space. And all of it only happened within the span of a few seconds! How are you not bothered by this? This place needs someone with credentials to look at it. Is it even safe to be in this room? How much longer until the whole wall collapses?”

The woman tilted her head at him. “As I said Mr. Turner, all these things happen over the course of time. It may make you feel insecure and frightened, and validly so. You may try putting spackle in between the cracks, even painting over the entirety of the damage. But it will never be gone. You’ll always know about it. You’ll still know it’s happening.”

He stood in silence, his head down. His face grew red.

She walked closer to him, pointing at his left wrist. “That’s such a wonderful gift you’re wearing.”

“Can you please just leave?” He snapped his head up, staring her down.

“My My. Kicking me out of my own apartment? I guess I’ll allow it for the moment.” She opened the door and turned back towards him. “It’s a beautiful day outside. It got done raining and now the sun is shining. Perhaps it would do you good to get out, maybe go for a walk in a park?”

“Thank you, Katherine, but I don’t have a death wish today.” He said. His back facing her.

She observed him for a moment longer, then left.

He stomped his foot against the carpeting. “Dammit!” He shouted, storming into his bedroom. His hand went for the thick latch on the watch, yanking it away from his skin as he went towards his dresser. He pulled out the watch’s elegant container, wrapping the gold band around the black middle cushion before putting the box away in a drawer, banging it closed.

He backed away from the dresser, his eyes shifting from that drawer to his reflection in the mirror. He saw himself, sweaty and pale, his hair disheveled as he ran his trembling hand over the top to flatten it. He swallowed, knowing that his mind had been playing tricks on him. None of these events made any sense. A watch doesn’t kill. A watch doesn’t warn of death. He straightened up his posture and headed back to the main living space.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He shook his head. He couldn’t hear the watch if he wasn’t wearing it. That’s not possible. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He turned the sharp corner, grabbing a hold of the wall. Lying down on top of the couch cushions was a figure kept hidden under a purple blanket. A figure that was shaped like a human.

Patrick snarled his teeth. “You know George. You’ve completely messed up my sense of reality. I don’t know whether you’re pranking me or something darker is toying with me. But I don’t think it’s funny. I don’t know if that’s you under that blanket, or you’re somewhere watching me right now, or even just gone. I don’t know if that wall is really facing structural damage or if it’s nothing more than a small spider’s web that I’m blowing out of proportion. Even Katherine thinks I’m overthinking it! And I don’t know if the ticking is coming from a watch or my consciousness.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead, wrapping his fingers under a corner of the blanket which nearly scraped the floor. “Please George, if this is just you, please just answer me back.”

No response came from the figure.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Whatever you are, stop making that sound!” He threw the blanket to the side. He screamed, falling to the floor. His fingers clinging to the fibers of the carpet as he stared in horror at his own deceased corpse. Its cream-colored skin was ripped across the right side of its face, revealing dark bone and what few teeth were still in its jaw. Maggots crawled through the open wound. Its blue eyes stared back at Patrick, dull and lifeless. The clothes on the body were shredded.

“Help!” Patrick got to his feet and sprinted to the door. “Help me! Someone help me!” He turned his doorknob, but it wouldn’t open. He banged his fists against the door. “Help! Please! Please! Someone! I need help! Please!”

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He ran to the middle of the room. “You’re not real!”

The ticking didn’t stop, it accelerated, spiraling deep into his ears. A vibration formed under his feet, which moved up towards his body and soon shook the whole room.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Picture frames and portraits of art dropped down from the quaking walls. The furniture shifted from left to right in a wobbling manner. Patrick doing the same, attempting to find stable footing. The large crack on the wall grew to the adjacent wall, and again sprouted deep, thick lines into the white paint, which soon clung onto the next wall and the next. The white faltered, becoming dull with the colors of putrid green and sickness. The watch's heartbeat pulsed.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Patrick clung to anything he could get his hands on, pushing himself back towards the door. Both hands gripped the doorknob, as he sharply turned it. “Help! Help!” 

This time, the door opened, and he rushed his way through. As each passing second ticked around the clock, Patrick felt his body grow heavy. “Help! Help!” He continued to cry, but the shouts drifted into weaker, croakier speech. The hands of others grasped and held on tightly to his arms. He closed his eyes, trying to fight them away, but their holds only strengthened as he became weaker. 

Voices reached out to him. “Mr. Turner? Mr. Turner?”

Patrick opened his eyes, but when he did, his sight was cloudier than normal. He could make out two women in blue scrubs holding onto him, but the background was a blur of colors thrashed together. These same eyes looked at his hands and grew wide when he saw they were not the hands of youth, instead they were dark and freckled with black spots, veins popped out and purple. His fingernails looked unclean, as they were the color of murky water. He followed his sight up his wrinkly arms until he managed to convince himself to look down at his body. He had lost weight, his clothes baggy and stained. When he felt his face, he noted the sagging features, the drooping nose, and the thin hairs coming out of it and his ears. 

“What’s happened to me?” He tried to pull his arms away from the women.

“Mr. Turner, please go back inside. We can talk all you want then.”

“I don’t understand!” He said. The background began to focus in his vision. He saw numerous people outside their doorways, peaking at him with fear flicking in their faces.

Across the hall, in a doorway he recognized, a man stood watching him with his arms crossed. He squinted his eyes. “George?” His vision becoming clearer, he could make out that it was in fact George. “George! George! What’s happening? That watch! That watch you gave me. It caused this!”

George only stood, hands at his side, with a large smirk resting on his face.

“George? George? Can’t you hear me?” Patrick pushed himself away from the two women as he hurried over to him.  He held onto George’s arms, his limbs shaking. He gently lowered himself down onto his knees. The bones in his legs popping as he did so. “George? Please, I don’t know what’s happened. What’s happening George? Please tell me.” He didn’t even recognize his own voice. It was raspier, with a sharper lisp that caused mucus to build up around his mouth. 

George looked down on him, the kindness still reflected in his eyes. “The gift I gave you Patrick, it was a lovely one, wasn’t it?”

“What?”

“It was a very special gift. Have you used it exactly as you wanted to?” George’s hands glided up Patrick’s arms until his right-hand wrapped around his left wrist. He lifted Patrick back up to his feet, pulling his hand away.

The golden watch was back on his wrist.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The two women came back up to Patrick, wrapping their arms into his. The one rested her hand on his shoulder. “Come along now Mr. Turner, you shouldn’t be straining yourself at your age.” She said. 

He recognized that voice. “Katherine?”

The woman giggled, squeezing his arm. “Let’s move along now.”

“No.” He said, dragging his feet as they pulled him away. “No! No! I should have listened! The watch is dangerous! The watch will kill you! The watch will kill you!”

The last thing Patrick saw in that hallway was the fact that the door he was being pushed through, had no number on its plaque. It was scratched out.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.



{OUTRO MUSIC}

Outro:  For the written version of the story you just heard and other Queer Ghoul originals, visit QueerGhoulPodcast.com.

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Until next time, thank you for listening. And remember…Tick. Tick. Tick.