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(Page 2 of 2) Lost In Translation by Nils DurbanGreg was snoring, again, slumped in the armchair across from her. Eric had gone upstairs hours ago and had not reappeared. Just like him, she thought.
This has got to be really bad for the eyes. Her mother had always said so. She looked around whilst massaging her neck and wondered for the umpteenth time how she had ever gotten herself involved in all this.
Then she returned her attention to the screen. She stared. The screen stared back. She stared harder. The face in the screen was unflinching.
Greg was right. Doing this could really play tricks on the imagination.
"Go away!" she whispered.
The face opened its mouth and shouted silently back, causing her to jump backwards and bang her head against the wall.
The face swelled to fill the screen, its eyes blazing white, its mouth a cavernous blackness. It glared at her.
"G...Greg!" Eleanor stammered.
Greg snored fitfully.
"GREG! WAKE UP!" she screamed.
He was instantly awake, "what is it?"
"The television, it...."
It exploded, the screen shattering into a million tiny glass fragments that instantly littered the room and caused Eleanor to scream in terror.
Eric's calm voice pierced the silence which followed, "It's up here."
Greg rose from the armchair and carefully helped Eleanor to her feet, dusting off the miniscule pieces of TV screen which still clung to her. They creaked their way upstairs as calmly as they were able to, Greg in the lead, Eleanor shaking with nervous tension.
"Unlock the door Eric," Greg called as he hammered upon it.
"There is no lock, Greg," Eric replied from the other side. What followed was a series of bumps and thuds.
"Are you okay?" Eleanor shouted.
"For now."
Greg stood back from the door and considered his options. The obvious one came to mind and he launched his considerable bulk forwards, the hollow core door splintering as he smashed through it. Eleanor carefully climbed through after him.
The contents of the spare room were literally rattling. An unmade bed danced upon the floorboards, a chest of drawers was repeatedly rocking itself against the wall and a picture frame was attempting to smash its way through the artexed ceiling. Eric stood in the centre of the room, watching.
And then everything was still, the picture dropping to the floor. Greg looked at Eric and smiled. This was why they did what they did. This was it!
He turned to Eleanor, but she was not there, or rather, her body was but there was an absence written across her face.
"It has her," Eric whispered.
When Greg recalled the events that followed it was with a strangely dreamlike quality. He had felt totally helpless himself, but Eric had strode wilfully across the room to clasp Eleanor in a tight embrace. The room's ceiling had become a bright white expanse and Eric had spoken. The words would remain with him always.
"I'm going now Greg, I'm taking him with me. It's time we both translated," his voice was strained with effort, "thanks for everything, both of you."
The room was alarmingly normal once more. Eric was gone. Eleanor was slumped on the floor. Greg went to her. She was breathing but unconscious.
He breathed deeply, "and then there were two."
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