The machine dings and the latest message illuminates the once dark screen-saved monitor. An instant message comes from “KanzazGale.” It reads: “I . . . will come to you . . . stay awake for me . . . tonight.”
Each pause is actually a new IM. Sean taps the top of the mouse impatiently and thinks it odd as his only online buddy has never written him like this. “U OK?” He types to her in curious concern.
“It is hard to see the keys. I cannot see much of anything right now.” This message is all together, complete and proper, unlike the previous ones. It attracts a solitary question mark from Sean’s end but there is no reply for three minutes, just long enough for the screen-saver to take over and lazily fall away.
“And I . . . will crush you . . . and you . . . will not fight me . . .” Again, the segments of conversation are brought up in their own little message boxes.
Sean shakes his head and crouches over the keyboard ready to type more of his misunderstanding. Instead, he is confronted by an ax through his college dorm door. In comes a 7 ft. mass of junk rust metal and distorted flesh. The physically disturbed man is time-worn and takes each step in a shrill metal-on-metal stride. In one claw he holds a wicked incarnation of an ax, one adorned with jagged shards of tin carelessly welded onto the blade. With the other hand he holds a greasy chain waist-bound to a blindfolded ash-skinned Goth girl.
The horrific giant snaps the girl to him with a mighty jerk. He leans in and cocks his head while whispering something to her.
“Go Tin Man. There is your heart.” The woman replies to his inaudible first words.
“Thank you Dorothy.” The Tin Man follows the sightless girls’ finger and finds Sean, hyperventilating and pissing his pants, still at his desk.
“Beat-beat. Beat-beat. Beat-beat.” The Tin Man taps the now chain-empty hand to his metal chest; a hollow echo sounds.
Sean is almost motionless, only shaking with the force of his tears as he sobs in profound helplessness.
In darkness Dorothy listens to the thick splattering sound. She can smell a sudden pungent aroma from the split skull of the Tin Mans’ prey. Sean didn’t fight him, didn’t fight her. He didn’t even scream, but only whimpered. She determines that the next few noises are from the Tin Man splitting open Sean’s’ sternum, crumbling his ribcage, and retrieving his heart. Next is a less organic sound; chinking metal latching as the Tin Man inserts the heart into his own chest.
“Take your time alumi-dick; get blood rusted for all I care.” Dorothy attacks with sarcasm.
The Tin Man wipes his messy hands on Sean’s’ bed and goes angrily to Dorothy. He yanks the woman’s chain and pulls her face to his. His morbid voice disgusts her as he says “You chose well, very well. He had a very large heart, so emotional and . . . full of life.”
The previous heart of the Tin Man lies sickeningly ruined in Sean’s open body. The computer brings up the screen saver again; KanzazGale has already logged off.