Mr. K was sitting in his living room watching television. It was late at night, when suddenly he heard a voice. Someone was calling him: “Mr. K, Mr. K!” the voice said.
He tried not to pay attention; this had been happening for 7 days now. But every other time Mr. K was not at home; he was out in the street or at the office. Every other time he assumed that it was a joke from the guys at work. But now… why was he hearing the voice again? He was home alone. This time, he assumed it was just him because he was too tired. So, he went to bed. Just when he lay down, he heard that voice again: “Mr. K, Mr. K!”
Mr. K stood up immediately. “Who is it?” he asked. But there was no response. “Who is it?” he demanded. And then, he heard the voice again: “Mr. K, Mr. K!”
He ran to the mirror in the bathroom. The voice was coming from inside his head! As he was looking at himself, the voice kept calling him louder and louder: “Mr. K, Mr. K!”
He grabbed his head with both his hands, screaming “Please stop! Please, I beg you to stop!”
The voice kept calling him without stopping. Louder and louder. Mr K started crying. He screamed. He was down on the floor kicking the wall with his legs and pulling his hair. But the voice went on and on.
Suddenly, Mr. K stood up. He was not screaming or crying anymore. His face was peaceful now but something was gleaming in his eyes. He smiled at himself in the mirror. Then, with very slow hands he grabbed the razor from the cabinet.
He put the razor near his ear and pulled it downwards. The blood sprang out, splattering against the mirror and the wall. Mr. K was in big pain, but he didn’t say a word. The razor now was near his throat. Mr. K didn’t stop; he made a fast move and cut his throat off.
That was the last move he made. Now, he was lying on the bathroom floor covered in his very own blood. His eyes were open and peaceful.
A few days later, the front door was smashed in. A neighbor had called the police because an awful smell seemed to be lingering in the area. The policemen started researching the house. One of them, Mr. N, went in the bathroom. He saw Mr. K’s bloody remains down on the floor.
“Well, we now know where the smell is coming from,” he said. “It is him it’s coming from. He seems to have committed suicide”.
After a few hours, everybody started to leave the house. The policemen, the forensic lawyer, the press, and of course Mr. K’s dead body.
The policeman who found the body left last. For him it was just another ordinary day at work. Just another dead body he had found. Only this time it wasn’t a murder but a suicide.
“God damn, the sun is out, time passes too fast, I will go home to rest,” he said as he was leaving the crime scene.
Arriving home, he sat on the sofa. He was tired from the rough day.
He took off his shoes and turned on the TV.
As he was watching TV, dosing off, he heard a voice. Someone was calling his name: “Mr. N, Mr. N!”
He didn’t pay attention. He was so tired he fell to sleep immediately.
Sadly, this voice kept calling Mr. N the following weeks. Even more sadly, at the end of the month, Mr. N was found dead in his bedroom by a relative. He had committed suicide with his police gun.
When Mr. N found Mr. K dead, he failed to notice a tiny little man coming out of Mr. K’s head. He failed to notice how this little man climbed onto his clothes and into his head through his ear. A morbid failure, that was.
After a few days, Mr. N’s relative heard a voice…
Story by: Konstantinos Pamfiliss
Illustration: Sofia Kyrisoglou