Found Objects Read Online Free

                                                                               
    Gerber awoke with a start and checked his bedside clock.   The LEDs showed 4:18.   Gerber had been having dark dreams in which he was drowning is a whirlpool of turgid water.   Shaking his head to clear it of the disturbing images, he climbed from bed to relieve himself.   H e stopped before entering the bathroom.   There, in the moonlight, he could see a spot of soot on the living room rug.   He walked over to it and bent down, probing it tentatively with one index finger.   He was annoyed at himself for missing it.   He stood and reached to the light switch, but recoiled from the touch of it.   The switch was coated in a thick layer of grease.    
    He went to the kitchen to turn on the light there.   As the overhead fluorescents flickered on, Gerber was greeted with a sight that wrenched his stomach.   Soot was scattered all over his marble countertops.   The formica flooring was obscured by what looked like several cups of topsoil that had been spread evenly around the kitchen.   A glob of mud had been hurled against the refrigerator door, splattering there.   Gerber felt weak.   How did this happen?   How did that wicked man get into the kitchen without me noticing! Unless...    
    Gerber spun back to the living room to see the tall, bulky silhouette of Wilson standing there.  
    "You should have let me finish the demonstration," Wilson said.   In one hand he held a bulging paper bag.   He reached into it with the other hand and withdrew a fat handful of soot.   Staring at Gerber, he opened his hand, and the clump of filth fell to the carpet, exploding there with a miniature puff.      
    "I'm calling the police," Gerber said, and moved for the phone.   Wilson reacted with surprising speed for such a large man.   Moving to intercept Gerber, he dashed to the phone, quickly reaching into the bag.   As Gerber's hand was a foot from the handset, Wilson tossed a handful of soot onto the telephone.   Gerber froze.   His mind was filled with the image of pressing that sooty piece of plastic up against his head, the particles getting into his hair, his ear, his mouth.   He could feel his bronchial passages tightening up.      
    "Get out of here!"   he screamed, but Wilson just stood there, with a glassy look in his eyes and an empty smile.   Wilson made a dash for the door, but Gerber produced another handful of soot and tossed it on the door handle.   Wilson stood by, grinning, as Gerber stared at the door.   He could not touch it.   He could only think of the soot getting on his hand, getting lodged deep under his fingernails, trickling down his sleeve.   His hand was four inches from the metal.   He tried forcing his hand to touch the knob, but his arm would not move.   Then, he tried leaning his weight towards the door, forcing the reticent hand into contact by moving his entire body.   This only made his knees buckle, and he fell to the floor, landing heavily on the plush carpet.   The breath went out of him as he realized the carpet he was sitting on was once again spread with filth.     Wilson chuckled darkly.  
    "I sell quality products, mister Gerber," he said, towering over Gerber's prone form.   "I would not lie to you."      
    Overcoming the burning in his eyes and the weakness in his legs, Gerber leaped to his feet and ran for the harsh fluorescent light of the kitchen.   He cringed as his bare feet registered the dirt on the floor; his stomach turned as he imagined the dirt clinging to the soles of his feet, the mud squishing between his toes.   Pushing those thoughts aside by sheer force of will, he crossed to the far side of the kitchen and snatched a large knife from the butcher's block.   Turning, he saw Wilson still standing there in the middle of the living room, hands at his side, the creepy vacant smile still playing on his lips.