looming

It shouldn’t have smelled like anything anymore.

The gangly metal statue had been erected years ago and though it looked rusty, the artist had coated it with a sealant to prevent it from slowly falling apart over the years of harsh weather.

But, up close, there was a smell.  

Like oil and some other chemical.  Harsh and acrid. No reason for that – it was a sculpture and not meant to move. 

Though, it looked like it could have.

Standing over 30 feet tall – but bent over to half that height – the figure approximated a human reaching down to pick up a cube from the ground in front of it.  Where there should have been a head, the figure had a smaller cube with a polished and reflective face. 

Someone looking at the figure would have looked back at themselves and it was…disconcerting.

There were other cubes scattered on the ground and the unnamed figure seemed to be in the midst of arranging them.  It looked uncomfortable with the task, but somehow driven.

And there was that smell.

I stepped further back to get a better view of the figure.  The arms and legs lacked articulation and appendages – suggesting a bludgeon over any kind of graceful movement. The back pointed shapes sticking out – like pyramids on rods – and the limbs had reflective patches.  If it has been a living creature from some unknown genus, the message its body type was sending was “I’m here, but do not touch.”

Though the head was a cube, I realized the objects on the ground were another shape.  Octahedrons, perhaps.  They had cutaways on some of the faces showing gears and other clockwork – suggesting motion there as well.

The tableau felt strangely familiar – like a video game or some half-remembered nightmare.  A hulking figure, intent on a task until interrupted.  And then unleashing some disproportionate retribution. 

A few more steps back, now in the middle of the path that wound past the figure…

(“and out of reach”, a thought drifted through my head)

I pulled my phone from my pocket, intending to capture a few photos for a writing prompt, and took a few steps left and then back to the right to get a good perspective.  And capture the hopefully unintentional menace.  It was erected outside an engineering building on a college campus – it “shouldn’t” be menacing, one would think.

I switched from camera to gallery and reviewed the photos.  Satisfied, I started to walk away when I gave the figure one last glance before turning my back.

There was something…

I got out my phone from where I had reflexively put it back in my pocket and opened the gallery again. 

The figure’s head seemed oddly positioned – pointed towards me still, though I had moved.  I looked back and forth between the figure and the photos, trying to find the angle where I had taken the photo.  

Puzzled, I couldn’t quite line things back up between the position of the figure and my photos, but if there was a difference, it was subtle.  Perhaps a building shadow or a passing cloud making it look…not quite the same.

Nothing else had changed and I didn’t have an explanation.   I chalked it up to my own imagination playing a trick on me and I was on my way. 

It was winter break on campus and while there was no snow yet, the campus was cold and nearly deserted.  As I walked back to my office, I thought that nothing is quite as scary during the day as it is at night and if I wanted to capture the menace of the figure in a photo, I would need to return to campus at night.

I went on about my day, occasionally getting out my phone to look at the pictures again. In the photos, the iron figure was clearing looking forward to the path.  Yet, in my mind’s eye, I saw it looking at me as I stood to the side.  

As much as a faceless figure can be said to look at anything. 

I got home, fixed and ate dinner, then set an alarm for 10 pm and settled in with a book – figuring it would be late enough to be dark and quiet on campus – yet not so late that any patrolling security would be suspicious of my cover story to explain my late night visit.

The book was enjoyable, but dinner had been too heavy and I drifted off. My dreams were noisy and vague, but enough to keep me anchored in sleep despite the efforts of my alarm.

When I finally did wake, it was after midnight and my too quiet alarm was still chiming an inane tune.

I switched it off and considered.

I could take my shower and go to bed – and try again the next night.  Well, that night, I realized – glancing again at the 12:07 AM on my phone.

Or, since I was awake and had already had a nap, I could get this little project done and start to work on that writing project.

I left a light on in the kitchen, perhaps hoping to reassure my future self upon my return, then backed the car out of the drive and headed for the highway.

Though the time was all wrong, the route was deeply ingrained.  I had plenty of mental resources left to plan as I navigated the nearly empty highway roads.

My thought was to park far enough away from my office building and in a line that would take me past the figure.  I could park, make a beeline to the building, snap a quick photo on the way, go all the way to my office and pick up some random and seemingly important paper file, then retrace my steps.  

If campus security was out braving the cold as well, I could say I forgot this important file and needed it before I would be working remotely for the next few days.

It was a more plausible story at 10, but seemed less plausible now well into the next day. I hoped that I’d simply be able to avoid everyone and have the campus to myself.

Parking, at least, was no worry.  During the day and during the school year, the lot I selected would have been packed.  Instead, I had my pick of empty spaces.  In fact, there was only one other car in the entire lot and the stack of tickets under the wiper blades suggested it had been there a while and would soon be towed.

Not all the street lights were working between the parking lot and my destinations.  I passed from islands of light to pools of darkness, trusting my familiarity with the campus paths and byways to keep me from stumbling. 

I kept my hands in my pockets to keep them warm enough to quickly operate the camera, intending to slow only long enough to get a shot or two and then keep moving to maintain the cover I had constructed in my head.   Though the walk was longer than I would have liked and the cold was seeping in. 

I navigated a set of stairs in the dark and rounded a building, finally reaching my waypoint. 

The iron figure loomed even larger than before, rising from the cold ground and lit by spotlights from below. 

I silently congratulated myself – it was far more menacing in the dark. I took stock for a moment and collected myself.  I was an adult, I was allowed to be here, it was just a sculpture.

And, I reminded myself, I wasn’t afraid of the dark.

I traced a path from side to side as I had done before to find the best angle – noting that the figure’s head was facing straight ahead to the path.  As it should have been and had been all along.

I might have laughed at my previous confusion, but stifled it quickly.   After midnight with a flimsy excuse was bad enough – laughing to myself would have deeply worried any potential colleague.

I found what I hoped was a good angle, pulled the phone from my pocket with cold fingers, and opened the camera app. 

I sighted the figure in the frame and tapped the button to take a quick photo.

In the darkness, the automatic flash went off once to check the light, and then again.

And in that instant, I realized my mistake.

The light from my phone reflected directly from the figure’s blank mirror of a face and its head turned with a shriek of metal grinding against metal. In the same moment, the seemingly solid figure released the octahedron from its blunt appendages and recoiled in surprise and pain from the light.

It twisted away from me as it stood up to its full height, one arm raised to shield its head from the light. 

There was a moment of silence as it stood motionless again – this time in a new and impossible position towering over me.  Even from my remove, I could smell it again.  Oil and that harsh chemical smell, this time also mixed with a sharp tang of ozone. 

With another grinding shriek, it lowered its arm and turned back to face me again.  While the face remained a mirror and I could just make out my own reflection in the light from below, the posture of the figure suggested anger with an obvious target.

I stood motionless for a moment, gathering my thoughts and devising a quick plan.  Some creatures had trouble with motionless prey and while I knew I couldn’t stay motionless forever – I would start to shiver, at least – I might have one or two strides of the figure before it was on me.  

I might, and I hoped, be quicker.

And then, decided, I bolted. 

I had a notion to pick a zigzag route back towards the parking deck and my car.  If the light bothered it, the figure might need it to see and I could use the darkness to confuse and trip it up. 

But while I was quicker, the figure’s strides dwarfed mine and like a fairy-tale giant it was after me.  With now constant and deafening shrieks of metal on metal of hinges that were never intended to move, the figure pounded after me down the walkway.  

The ground shook with each step and I felt a rush of air at my back as it swung a massive metal arm when I let it get too close.

Even as I tried to pick a path with obstacles to slow it down, I began to despair.  The short flight of concrete steps I jumped were a single step to the giant.   The fencing I darted past was ripped asunder with a swing of a metal arm. 

And the pools of occasional darkness were too brief to hinder. 

I had a moment where I gained some distance with some cornering – my smaller size finally an advantage – then lost it again on an open straight away.  I felt another rush of air at my back  – too scared and winded to risk turning to see – then saw my salvation. 

A quirk of architectural planning had placed two academic buildings closer than usual to each other.  There was a well worn path between them – a shortcut from one side of campus to another used by harried students – but it was too narrow for vehicles.

Or, I reasoned, giant statues of iron come to life. 

I made for the safety of the path and felt a blunt metal arm caress the back of my head before I was out of reach.  

The figure slammed into the two buildings on either side, then took a step back and raised both arms to smash into the brick. 

There was a crash and a shower of dust and stone as I turned to watch the attack – safe, I hoped, just out of reach. 

The figure smashed the brick again with more stone and dust – then from out of that cloud the blunt arm reached between the buildings to try and strike me.  I stumbled backwards a few steps and hoped it was enough. 

There was another single shriek of metal, then silence as the figure paused. The dust cleared and I could see it looking at me, backlit by floodlights on the ground. 

It studied me for a moment, then cocked its massive cube of a head to the side.  It looked like a puzzled dog trying to work out how to reach that distant treat. 

Except I was the treat, I supposed.

I was safe for the moment, but when I turned around again to continue my escape I realized my error.  The last time I had taken this path, the way had been clear.  

Now, and only recently now, a tall chain-link fence blocked the far end of the path.  It was climbable, after a fashion, if I could ignore my frozen fingers.  And the razor wire strung across the top of the fence.  

The figure would have made short work of that obstacle if it could have reached it, but for me it was perhaps a literal dead end. 

I had a slim hope that it would give up and wander back to its garden – leaving me a chance to escape and a mystery of a damaged building for the facilities team to find in the morning. 

I turned back to the figure, still safely outside of the narrow path, and thought my hopes would find realization as it started to turn. 

Instead of a march back home, the figure began to contort itself in a way no human could have.  Shoulder shifted, a torso flattened, and hips swiveled to take a new stance.  The shrieking of metal continued, now echoing between the buildings enough for me to raise my numb hands to cover my ears, but it seemed somehow less than than when it first began to move.

I realized, sadly, that it had finally loosened up enough to move freely – the oil now serving to lubricate the metal joints. 

With a final squeal, the figure turned a profile to the gap and turned its head to a new version of forward.  

And with small and almost mincing steps, it began a steady march forward towards and then into the gap – now blocking my only exit.

But, maybe not entirely.  The legs had to march right down the center so that the wider torso and shoulders would still fit.  If I waited just long enough and timed it just right, I might be able to slip past it.  

Step by clanging step it advanced on me, its body scraping against the buildings on either side with each movement.  I had to wait until it was far enough in that it would take I could gain the most time as it would then have to mince its way back out after me. 

With the fence at my back, I saw my moment.  Ducking forward, I dove past its legs with freedom in sight.

And forgot about the trailing arm.  The figure couldn’t see me, but swung the metal bludgeon of an arm with terrible accuracy. 

I barely had time to register the impact.

And then sat up with a lurch on my couch, my book falling to the floor. It joined my phone, having fallen then by the vibration of the alarm. 

I sat there a moment to catch my breath and slow my heart, then leaned over and collected my phone  – showing 10:09 PM – and my book from the floor. 

Once settled, I opened my Photos app and deleted the daytime pictures of the sculpture.

Then I went to bed, resolving that I would now be avoiding that part of campus permanently.

Day or night.

Just in case.