B.S. Lewis presents: The TipToe Man

The following transcript has been typed out verbatim by transcriptionist #9329464 of the city of Pocatello. This report was created using what was found on a Dictaphone in the deceased’s home.

Tuesday, April 2nd

10pm: Television really starts to suck around this time. I’m still feeling anxious so I smoked a little bit. Okay, a lot actually. It really didn’t help, though. Now I’m anxious and also hungry, foggy and the slightest bit paranoid.

10:11pm: I want to sleep but I can’t. The insomnia has been a lot worse lately. I went to Dr. Nephilim expecting him to just give me some stupid Zolpidem or something and call it a day. All I need is some lousy help getting some lousy sleep. Instead, I’m handed this stupid tape recorder and told to get my thoughts out of my head. Yeaaahhh, that’s my problem, too many thoughts. Christ, the healthcare in this country…

10:48pm: I’ve been trying to drift off but I can’t. I’m a couple episodes into a marathon of Frasier. The munchies have started. I’ve been trying not to eat too late at night. Dr. Nephilim said that eating within a couple hours of your bedtime can cause nightmares and insomnia.

10:51pm: Screw it. Dr. Nephilim also said I can’t sleep because I have too many thoughts, so what does he know? I’m going to get a snack.

10:54pm: Ate three Slim Jims. Frasier and Niles are fighting about something. I keep hearing a faint sound from the kitchen. I know it’s probably pipes, or maybe the clank of the dishwasher settling. But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s footsteps. Very light, very cautious footsteps. Well, I suppose that’s the paranoia talking. I’ll try to smoke less tomorrow.

Wednesday, April 3rd

10:11pm: Another night spent sitting up, blurry eyed and miserable. Can’t sleep. I know I eventually got some rest last night, not much but some. Last thing I remember it was about 3am and The Chicken had tricked Frasier into revealing the ingredients of his proprietary bath blend. It was lavender, rose hips, and a little Tahitian Vanilla. Sounds nice, actually. I’d consider drawing a bath of my own but I’m tired. I’m so tired. I hope I get sleep tonight.

10:24pm: Not looking good so far. I’m tired. Much more tired than yesterday. I can’t seem to drift all the way off, though. Whenever I get close, I hear something. Something in the kitchen. The noise again. Not often, not in any discernible pattern or at any certain time, but that noise is always there. It emanates from somewhere deep within the recesses of my kitchen, some kind of a rapping sound. Faint, yet teasing. Like the beating of the Tell-Tale Heart or something.

Okay. I know that sounds dramatic. I’m not trying to be dramatic. I just want to get some stupid sleep.

10:38pm: Frasier can’t seem to escape from his ex-wife Lilith. She apparently rented the villa next to him in Bora Bora with her new man. That sucks.

10:48pm: Smoking has calmed my nerves a bit but I’m still a little rattled. I hear something in the kitchen, I swear that I do. It isn’t the usual clink of pipes or the refrigerator motor kicking on. No, it’s something else entirely. Natural, yet unnatural. Footsteps, but ones that aren’t supposed to be there. Ones that belong to nobody.

Frasier is pretending to have sex in his room to convince Lilith he’s having a good time. I am pretending that I don’t hear any footsteps coming from the other room. Neither of us are fooling anybody.

11:03pm: I heard the footsteps again. Louder this time. I cranked the volume on the TV. What the hell. It’s not like I was falling asleep anyway.

Thursday April 4th

9:59pm: I tried recording the footstep sound from the kitchen but it’s too faint to be captured on tape apparently. It sounds much louder to me than it should. I wonder if it’s all in my head?

10:16pm: I called my girlfriend about the noise. She said it’s probably a vent. I think she’s probably an idiot, but I kept that to myself. It’s not a vent. I think I would know what a vent sounds like.

10:21pm: I searched ‘vent noises’ on YouTube and watched a few videos just to make sure. Just like I thought. It’s definitely not a vent.

10:55pm: Frasier is sharing a bed with his brother Niles. Niles is driving him crazy, spending twenty minutes in the bathroom gargling and keeping him up.

From my own kitchen, the sink gargled.

10:56pm: Niles just turned on a rainforest CD to drown out the sounds of real rain in Seattle. I just cranked the volume up to drown out the noise from the kitchen. The noise that’s so loud I can’t sleep, yet is so quiet that it can’t be recorded and shown. I’m so tired.

11:42pm: I’m giving up on sleep tonight. Will just stay up and see how tomorrow goes. Hopefully by tomorrow night I’ll be so exhausted that I sleep for three straight days.

Friday April 5th

10:01pm: I’m so tired but I still can’t sleep. The noise is back. The noise is louder. I turned the TV on to try to distract myself.

10:09pm: Frasier lost a staring contest with Eddie, his father’s dog. I am going to lose my mind if the footsteps do not stop.

10:11pm: Frasier feels like he’s not in control of his own household. I have never related to Frasier as much as I do right now.

10:15pm: I am not sure that I can ignore the sounds much longer. I dread going into the kitchen to check it out, but soon I must. I can’t keep going without sleep. I can’t live like this. I do want to live, however, so instead of investigating, I max out the volume on the TV.

10:19pm: I went to check out the noises. I made it as far as the aluminum floor transition strip at the threshold of my kitchen. I almost stepped over it but I couldn’t. As soon as my foot lifted, I swear I heard a couple rapid steps coming my way. I bolted back to the couch and I’m not moving until morning.

Saturday, April 6th

3:00am: I hid under the covers on the couch and shivered uncontrollably for hours. I ran out of Frasier episodes to watch and my TV started automatically playing the next thing in my queue. Apparently is was the movie Insidious. It didn’t start playing at the beginning though, it started at the end. I heard some fading screams on the screen and then the scratchy beginning of an old timey song started playing. It was ‘Tiptoe Through The Tulips’ by Tiny Tim.

3:02am: The song started again. This time it sounded a bit more echoey. Like it wasn’t just playing on the TV but in my living room, filling and permeating every square inch of it. I pulled the sheets tighter around myself.

3:04am: The song repeated. This time, it wasn’t even coming from the TV at all. I peeked out from under the covers and saw on the screen that Tiny Tim was still dancing around and plucking his ukulele. However, although the volume was still blasting, no sound came from the screen. Instead, I heard the song start to filter in from my left. I strained my ears to listen as best I could. It seemed like the song was coming from inside of the kitchen.

3:10am: The music in the kitchen won’t stop. It plays again and again, end to beginning and back again.

3:13am: The song ended this last time and the sound of my refrigerator opening with a soft click and rush of air punctuated it. I chanced another peek from beneath my protective layer of blankets. I saw a pale yellow light from the open fridge door spill a triangular expanse of illumination across the floor. I heard the sound of soft footsteps. Like someone was tiptoeing closer. Suddenly, the light from the door was broken up by two long streaks of darkness. A pair of dark streaks split the light and stretched, elongating into the shadows of two impossibly large legs.

The scratchy sound of a record starting over came to my ears. As the song started again, the dark shadows moved. Almost imperceptible. Almost like the giant black legs were tiptoeing, bit by bit, step by tiny step. Moving towards me. I ducked beneath the covers and squeezed my wet eyes shut. The music only played louder in order to be heard. It filled the entirety of the living room, as well as the space between my ears.

The floor creaked slowly, rhythmically. The sound of light tiptoed steps falling heavily across my floor. Creeping ever closer.

The scratching sound started again. I’m very scared. The song rattles the house, rattles my bones. I try to block it out but I can’t. As the song plays, the lyrics alter.

“Tiptoe, through the kitchen,

Just beyond the door, is where I’ll be.

Come and tiptoe, just a bit closer, come and tiptoe with me.”

More footsteps fall, these ones heavier. The knickknacks in my corner curio cabinet start to rattle. One of my vintage hand carved kewpie dolls falls from its shelf and clatters to the floor.

“Yes let’s tiptoe, from the kitchen,

To a place for you and me.

We can tiptoe, through the gardens,

And push up daisies, for the world to see.”

3:30am: IF ANYONE CAN HEAR THIS, IT’S APRIL 6TH AT ABOUT 3:30AM. I’M SHOUTING INTO MY RECORDER BECAUSE THE MUSIC IS EVERYWHERE. IN MY HOUSE, IN MY HEAD. IT’S ALL I CAN HEAR. HELP ME. SOMEBODY PLEASE, HELP ME.

4:40am: The music stopped. I can’t stop shaking. I can’t take it anymore. This is probably my last day on earth. I decided I need to see what’s in the kitchen. I know it’ll be the last thing I do. To anyone who finds this recording, please warn people about this. And please tell my idiot girlfriend that this is one hell of a vent.

*A sigh is heard*

Oh well. It’s time. I’m headed to the kitchen.

4:41am: There is a chill in the air, so strong that you could see a thin fog of frost wafting towards the ceiling. The fridge is still hanging open. Some kind of gross sludge is dripping out of it. It must have been open much longer than I thought.

*sound of refrigerator door closing, followed by a bloodcurdling scream and the recording device clattering to the floor. Faint footsteps lead up to the device clicking off.*

6:32am: *crying noises*

6:45am: *crying finally subsides*

6:46am: It’s 6:46 in the morning. This might be my final message. When I went into the kitchen, I heard rustling noises from the darkest corner. I crept slowly in that direction and, as I did, I heard footsteps again. Quick and light and menacing. A tiptoeing terror encircling me. Before I knew it, that sound was directly behind me. Yet, whirl around as I might, I couldn’t catch sight of anything. I started to leave the room. I heard tiptoeing behind me. I looked over my shoulder and saw nothing. I bolted for the couch, taking off like an olympic sprinter. I heard fast, quick steps behind me. I turned around and saw nothing. I leapt onto the couch and I landed on it…almost.

6:51am: There is something behind me. I don’t know what it is. I am on the couch again, but in reality I am hovering about six inches above it. That is because there is something behind me. Something I can’t see. Something I can’t lose. I move chairs. It remains behind me. Beneath me. I run in zig-zagging patterns across my house, trying to outrun what sounds like the rushing wind following behind me. Try as I might, I can’t outrun it. I can’t outmaneuver it. I can’t escape it.

6:55am: I’m back on the couch. Well, above the couch. I try to lean back to get comfortable, try to pretend all is well, but it is hard to do so when every time I lean back, I feel a hard presence at my back. I feel long, thin, inevitable arms start to wrap around me.

I pick up the remote control to turn up the TV volume again. I want to drown out the breathing noises coming from near my ear. I accidentally turn off the television instead. In that one flash of a moment, I caught a reflection in the TV. Something large and dark and smiling behind me. On it’s lap I looked like nothing more than a horrified child being bounced on an evil mall Santa’s knee.

I turned the TV back on, but not before I saw the creature lean forward, spittle dripping from it’s glowing mouth. Frasier Crane is back on the TV. This time, he’s in the bar Cheers. In this episode, Frasier is trying to bond with the guys. The guys in turn take him camping, telling him they’re going to hunt some snipe. What Frasier doesn’t know, of course, is that there is no such thing as a snipe.

“Knee deep in flowers, six feet underground we will lay,

Down far below, where the showers keep away.

And if I kiss you, in the shadows,

Down here with me, will you stay?”

The words are whispered so close to my ear that I can feel the wet heat of each word moistening my earlobe. Every sung word takes away another piece of my resolve, my will to live, to escape. I know there is no escape. Not from him. Not from this. I feel my soul leaking out from my stiff spine. There is nothing else in this world for me. It is only me, and it is only him. The TipToe Man. The one who lurks in every dark corner of your home and your mind. The one who waits. The one who follows quietly. The one who consumes. The one who waits for that opportunity when you finally turn your back to him. That’s when he strikes. That’s when he sticks to you.

8:00am: *screaming and growling is heard on tape. Followed by chewing.*

8:05am: Final words are spoken quietly into the Dictaphone. The voice isn’t the same one from before.

“We’ll look at flowers, for all hours,

In this garden of you and he.

And when he caresses, and then consumes you,

Within the two-lips you will be.

So won’t you come here and tiptoe, through these tulips with me?”

END RECORDING