A DEATH PROPHECY

Seymore Schmoedge hesitated on the first step of the large Brownstone mansion. He looked both up and down the street. His gaze shifted towards the front door of the house. There were no lights showing at the front of house. 'Maybe no one's home,' he whispered to himself, almost as if in relief. He took a deep breath, which seemed to give him just enough resolve. He sidled up the remaining steps much like a crab. He rang the doorbell and took another deep breath.

"Who is it?" Seymore jumped and almost tumbled down the steps. He recovered just enough to peer at the door and doorway, wanting to see where the voice came from. He noticed a small speaker cover near the doorbell.

"I need to see you. It's very important. It's a matter of life or death," Seymore said, as he approached the speaker.

"Tell me who you are and state your business. I am very busy tonight."

"Are you the man who put The Death Prophecy Website on the Internet?" Seymore seemed to gain some confidence as he spoke these words. He moved closer to the door and cleared his throat. He tried to stand a bit taller.

"Yes, I am the one who originated the idea and the site. However, I don't run the site anymore. I have more important things to do," the voice said gruffly. "Why do you ask?" a touch of curiosity eased the gruffness out of the voice.

"I need to see you. You are the only one who can deal with my problem. I must see you."

"Look," the voice continued. "Write me a letter. I really am too busy to see anyone tonight."

"You don't understand. What I need done can't be done by a letter. You have a responsibility. It is your website. It is your idea. You are the only one who can do what needs to be done. It needs to be done tonight. It will only take a few moments of your time. I promise."

"Hmm. Okay, since you promise to be brief. Get ready to open the door when you hear the buzzer. Stand just inside. I'll meet you there in a couple of minutes."

Seymore opened the door as the buzzer sounded and stepped into the entry hall. He quickly checked something in his overcoat pocket.

A door down the long entry hall opened and a tall, well-dressed man stepped out into the large foyer. Seymore recognized him as the man who was on the Lannie Kling Show: Dr. Occam Razezor.

"Come into my study. We can talk in here." The doctor gestured as he spoke.

Seymore walked down the hall. As he did so, the elegantly dressed Dr. Razezor disappeared into the room. Nervous again, Seymore slowly approached the doorway. He peered cautiously in. What he saw was a large, elegant room. The room was sumptuously furnished. The walls were lined with bookcases and with stuffed animal heads. Some of the heads were quite large. Seymore recognized an elk, a water buffalo, and an American Bison, among them. There were several chairs and a large, comfortable looking couch, with two fluffy pillows. Dr. Razezor walked to the far end of the room and sat behind an oversized, ornate desk.

"Come in. Close the door. Come here and sit down. This chair will do nicely." Dr. Razezor pointed towards an armchair situated several feet in front of his desk.

"I'll stand. I don't have time to sit." However, Seymore moved into the room and shut the door as requested.

"Very well. First, who are you? What is your name? What is it you want to see me about?" Dr. Razezor fired the questions too rapidly for Seymore to answer and, as he spoke, the doctor tapped a pencil just as rapidly on the desktop.

Seymore cleared his throat. He cleared his throat a second time. "You must lift the curse. Now! Tonight! I don't want to die! Not at the time your curse has said I will die!"

"Curse? My good man, what are you talking about? I know nothing of a curse."

"I saw you on Lannie Kling's program. As soon as you said that anyone could go to your website and type in the day, month and year of their birth and find out their death date, I hurried to my computer."

"Well, yes, that's the whole idea. Anyone can do it. I don't see any problem with that. Did you follow the instructions?"

"Yes! I did. I am going to die five years and two months from now! I don't want to die that soon. You must lift the curse."

"I don't understand. Did you listen to the entire program? Didn't you hear me explain that the site was only a computer game? That the predictions are farces?"

"No! I told you. I went right to my computer."

"Ah, I see. We can clear this up immediately. All you need to do is watch the final part of the program. I have the show on a tape. I'll give you a copy. You can take it home, play it and set your mind completely at ease."

"No you don't. You aren't going to get rid of me that way. First, you remove the curse." With that Seymore reached in his overcoat pocket and pulled out a pistol. He pointed the gun in the general direction of Dr. Razezor. Seymore's hand was very unsteady.

Almost too calmly, Dr. Razezor inhaled. Then, he exhaled slowly. It was a slow, calming, deep breath. He looked thoughtfully at the pistol and held up his hands about half way. "I say, my good man, there's no need for firearms. I am unarmed as you can clearly see. I mean you no harm. Is this a robbery?"

"I'm no crook. It's you. You are the sorcerer, witchdoctor, voodoo doctor, something. Whatever kind of evil person it is that casts spells and puts curses on innocent people, like myself. I haven't been able to eat or sleep for days!"

"Where does the curse come into it? I don't understand."

"She told me that you cursed me. She said that I will die as predicted by The Death Prophecy unless I confront you, get you to lift the curse, and then kill you so you can't put the curse back on."

"Kill me? Lift the curse? Who put that sort of nonsense in your head? Who is this 'she'?"

"The lady. The fortuneteller. Sister Smarmy. I went to her to see if The Death Prophecy was real. I was desperate. I could hardly breathe. I went to her to see if she could tell me when I actually will die; that is, if the curse is real!"

"I can't believe that a fortuneteller would tell you to kill me. Did she actually say that?"

"Well, . . . not exactly. She did say that you could put the curse back on as soon as I turned my back. It was my idea. I decided that you must die, after you cancel the curse."

"I can't believe my ears. My good man, this is not some voodoo jungle. This is the modern world. There are no such things as curses, death spells. Surely you know that."

"I don't know nothin'of the sort. All I know is, I'm supposed to die on a date that you decreed through The Death Prophecy website. That's a curse in my book."

"That's my point. The site is a hoax. No one is supposed to take it seriously. I don't know when you will die. It's all a joke. I told Lannie, er, . . . Ms Kling exactly that. If only you had watched the entire program, you would know that."

"Lift the curse! Now! So I can shoot you and live out my life the way I am supposed to."

"I wouldn't pull that trigger, if I were you. First of all, you are wavering that pistol around too much. You probably would shoot your own foot or do irreparable damage to some of my books or even one of these valuable trophy heads." With that, Dr. Razezor pointed to the many bookshelves and to some of the larger mounted heads.

At this, Seymore grabbed the gun with both hands in an effort to steady it. "Remove the curse!"

"You couldn't hit me even if you held the gun steady and aimed true. More than likely the bullet would bounce back and hit you."

"Bounce back? Whadathink you are, Superman?"

"No. What I am is cautious. There is a bulletproof screen between us. You can't see it because it is clear and the room has special lighting to hide the fact that it is there. I had it installed a couple of years ago after a patient threatened me with a gun, just as you are doing tonight."

"I don't see no screen, bulletproof or otherwise."

"Of course you don't see it. I explained why you don't see it. I can't see it either. What good would it be, if you could see it?" Dr. Razezor spoke with calming confidence.

"Wait! There was no screen there when you walked to your desk," Seymore said, as if trying to convince himself.

"Oh! Yes! There was!" Dr. Razezor spoke these words slowly and with great emphasis. "Didn't you see how I walked to the side of the room and then to my desk?" he continued.

"I don't remember how you got behind the desk."

"Never-the-less, I did walk around the invisible screen. Once I forgot it was there and got a good smack in the face for forgetting the screen was in place."

"If I could see it, I would believe you."

Dr. Razezor rubbed his hands together and smiled. "Good! Now we are making progress. There is a way that you can see it. That way you will see the futility of trying to shoot me. Do you really want to see it?"

"'Course I do. I just told you. Show it to me."

"Not so fast. There is more. When you pulled the gun on me, I activated a special buzzer. I . . ."

"That buzzer wasn't special. It sounded just like any other front door buzzer to me."

"Not that buzzer. This was a silent emergency signal to my wife, after you brought out your gun."

"So where is she, this mythical wife, to go with your mythical bulletproof screen? You're clever. You talk like a sorcerer."

"I am very glad you asked me where my wife is, my good man. You see my wife is a crack shot. She has won all sorts of awards for her marksman . . . er, markswomanship. She is internationally known for her markswomanship, just as I am internationally known in my profession."

"So, where is she? I don't see her. Do you? Is she invisible too?"

"Not invisible. She is hidden. Have you noticed all of the examples of wild animal heads on the walls?" The Dr. made a sweeping gesture towards the heads.

"Yeah. Who wouldn't? What kind of a creep shoots innocent animals and then has them mounted so they stare down at you all the time? I don't see your wife's head up there."

"Very funny. Look carefully at the heads. Each of the animals has glass eyes. Do you see those glass eyes in the mounted heads, especially the large heads?"

Seymore cautiously peered at several of the heads, while he held the gun unsteadily, and in only one hand again.

"Of course. I'm not blind. So what?"

"My wife has her competition rifle aimed at you through one of those glass eyes. If you shoot toward me, your bullet will glance off the bulletproof screen. As you shoot, my wife will - with great accuracy, unlike your unsteady and poorly aimed shot - shoot you dead!"

"Bull! I never heard such bull! That proves it. Only a sorcerer would try to make someone believe such a bunch of bull." Hesitatingly, Seymore finally lowered his gun. He was obviously uncertain. A confused look crossed his face and furrowed his brow.

"Look, you haven't even told me your name. Somehow, in the haste, we got beyond that. What is your name?"

"None of your business. This ain't no social call. Remove the curse so I can get back home. Mom worries if I stay out too late."

"There is no curse. Can't you get that through your head." Dr. Razezor started to rise to his feet. That caused Seymore to bring the gun barrel up. The doctor sat back down."

"I still say there is no screen. I say it's bull."

"On the contrary. It is not bull. I can prove it to you two ways. In the first way, you try to shoot me. The screen stops your bullet and my wife shoots you. Instead of dying according to The Death Prophecy prediction, my wife kills you on the spot, tonight. There goes your so-called curse. Of course, since you will be dead the first way will not be a very satisfactory way - from your standpoint - to prove that there is no curse."

Seymore lurched back a little. He gazed intently at each of the large mounted heads. After several seconds, he asked the Dr. Razezor, "What's the second way?"

"Ah, my good man, the second way is much simpler. Much safer. It is a way for me to prove to you that you can't kill me, even if you discharge that pistol. It is a way for you to live beyond tonight. It is a way for me to prove that you do not have a curse on your head. It is a way to prove to you that the curse is only in your mind. What do you say? Shall we try the second way?"

"'Course we should. I ain't no fool. Don't try nothin' funny. You do and I shoot, understand."

"Oh, yes. I understand perfectly. I am trying to help you stay alive! Here's what you must do. The special lighting that is hiding the screen from your eyes can be changed. It's very simple. See those switches on the wall near your right hand."

"Yeah, I see them. They don't look special to me."

"Oh, my good man, they look very ordinary. On that we can agree. It's not how they look that makes them different; it's what they do that is special. Listen carefully."

"No funny stuff, I said, and I meant it."

"I can see that you mean business. No funny stuff. This is very serious. Here's what you must do and you must do it exactly as I explain it. Otherwise, the lights will instantly adjust and you still won't be able to see the screen."

"WhadIdo?"

"Put one of your fingers on each switch. Then . . ."

"Hold it. How can I put my fingers on two switches at once? I have to hold the gun, you know."

"Hmm. I see your point. Move over so you can use the fingers on your left hand on the switches. That way, you can hold the gun and work the switches as I indicated."

Seymore made an effort to comply. However, he could not do it because he is right handed. He immediately had trouble.

"I can't do it. I never could do nuthin' with my left hand. Always had to use my right hand for nearly everything. Now what?"

"Simple. Switch the gun to your left hand and change the switches with the fingers on your right hand. I am too far away to do anything. Besides, the screen is between us. How can I possibly cause you any problem?"

"Umm. I see what you mean. Okay. Here goes."

Seymore switched the gun to his left hand. He pointed it unsteadily toward the man behind the desk. Then, he positioned himself near the switches and reached up with his right hand. He placed a finger on each of the switches.

"Remember, it must be simultaneous. Electricity is instantaneous. If you do it wrong, you still won't be able to see the screen. The lights will readjust too fast for your eyes. Are you ready?"

"Yeah, I'm ready. This better work."

"Oh, my man good man, it will work. We are saving your life here. Isn't that worth something? Isn't that motivation enough for you to switch them at the same time?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Here goes."

"Wait. Let me count. Do it on the count of three. One. Two. Three!"

Seymore clicked the switches and the room was plunged into total darkness!

In the pitch-blackness, Seymore howled. Suddenly, the gun dropped to the floor. Seymore howled again, this time as if he was in pain. There was a loud thud. It sounded like something heavy hitting flesh. Seymore howled for a third time. There was another huge thud and a final howl from Seymore.

The lights came on. Dr. Razezor was standing at the light switches. He had a pistol in his hand. Seymore's pistol lay on the floor. Dr. Razezor motioned towards the comfortable chair. "Sit down. I am the crack shot that I mentioned earlier. As you can see from my trophies, I am used to using guns on dangerous animals. Anyone who threatens to shoot me is, in my book, a dangerous animal. Shall I shoot you?"

"No! You can't. The Death Prophecy says that I will live another five years and two months."

"That's it. I have had it with this nonsense about The Death Prophecy. I am telling you for the last time: It's a joke. There is nothing to it. Why can't you believe that?"

"It's no joke for me. I was shocked. I'm only sixty-five years old. I want to live until I am eighty, like Mommy, at least."

"Maybe you will, now that you don't have your stupid pistol." With that, Dr. Razezor herded Seymore to the chair and pushed him down. Then, Dr. Razezor went back and picked up Seymore's pistol; he walked back to the desk and sat down. As he walked to the desk, he walked right through the bulletproof screen.

"Wait a minute," Seymore screamed. "How could you walk right through that screen when I couldn't shoot through it?"

"Ah, well, you see, the screen only existed in your mind. I put it there using the powers of suggestion."

"Whadaya mean? In my mind? Nuthin's in my mind."

"That's not true. There is a great deal going on in your mind. Otherwise you would not have believed that The Death Prophecy was real. You would not have believed that crazy story about the curse. Unless I am wrong, you are obsessed by thoughts. Your mind is in turmoil. That is why you believed that fraudulent soothsayer."

"Hey! That woman has been in business down there for years. She ain't no fly-by-nighter."

"In business for years? I believe you. There is a never-ending wish for people to know what lies ahead for them. They pay, even though what actually exists - in the here-and-now - are the lies the fortuneteller makes up, pretending she knows the future, or using information she cleverly extracts from her gullible clients. Like you, my friend."

"You mean it's all hooey?"

"Yes. Total hooey, as you call it. I am not the witchdoctor, or the sorcerer. She isn't either, exactly. She is a charlatan. A scammer. What she does is a total farce. Some of the voodoo doctors really do work magic, but it is the sort of psychology I worked with you when I got you to believe in the existence of the bulletproof shield."

"Hey! What about your wife? Is she still up there pointing that rifle at me?"

"Isn't now. Never was. That, too, was an idea I planted in your mind. The human mind is a wonder of nature. Both brilliant and ignorant. Gullible, too. As soon as you mentioned the curse and the fortuneteller, I was pretty sure I could bamboozle you into believing all sorts of nonsense. At present, I don't even have a wife. My seventh wife divorced me several months ago. You should know that. I mentioned it on Ms Kling's show."

" Phew! Seventh wife? All at one time?"

"No. Sequentially. Women . . . well, let us say that women and I . . . but that's another story, as the old saying goes."

"Probably had somethin' to do with all of those creepy heads."

"Actually, I fibbed - a bit - there too. I didn't shoot any of these poor animals. My uncle did. I try not to kill anything. When my uncle left me this house, his will stipulated that the heads stay up, in perpetuity. I am merely honoring my uncle's wish in the matter. Otherwise, I would lose this house and a rather substantial inheritance."

Seymore got up from the chair. As he did so, his voice rose too. "Let's get back to The Death Prophecy. I want you to lift that death curse. I want to go on living my life as I did before all of this happened to me."

"Done!" Dr. Razezor waved his hands in the air in a dramatic, sweeping fashion. "The curse is lifted. You have my word that it won't come back. Moreover, I will do more than give you your life back, I will give you a whole new life!"

"Go on! A new life? What are you, some sort of miracle worker?"

"Sometimes, yes. More often, it is just a matter of understanding problems and of working out the long-term solutions to those problems. I am a psychiatrist. A rather famous one, if I do say so myself."

"Arrgh! Another head shrinker! I might have known by all that blather you came up with."

"Why are you surprised? I covered my career, albeit very briefly, in my interview with Ms Kling. I thought you watched the program."

I tuned in late. Didn't pay no attention to anything until you talked about The Death Prophecy. I seen a preview. A "come on" about The Death Prophecy. That's the only reason I watched."

"Well, it seems you know something about psychiatrists. Have you been in therapy?"

"Are you kidding? In and out. Dozens of times. Psychologists. Psychiatrists. Groups. Drugs. Electric shock. The whole menagerie. Lot of good it has ever done me. I was obsessive and compulsive before all of it. Still am. Guess I always will be."

"Could be. On the other hand, this might be your lucky night. That Death Prophecy website idea was just a whim of mine. A bagatelle. Sort of a passing hobby. It brings in a surprising amount of money, though."

"Yeah? How so? It didn't cost me anything, except all of this worry about dying."

"Yes. Lots of money from ads.

"I didn't pay no attention to those ads."

"Some people do, though. That's why companies pay big money to place their ads on such a popular site. Thousands of people log onto that site daily. Some of the same people log on several times during the same day, or the same week or the same month."

"Sounds like a scam to me."

"That's just your opinion. Remember, it's just for fun. It is only a farce. Take off your coat. I mentioned I only had a few minutes to talk with you. Actually, that was a bit of an exaggeration."

Reluctantly, Seymore removed his coat and he sat back down.

"Ms Kling is coming over for dinner and conversation. Quite late. After her program is over, actually. She and I have a lot in common. She has been married six times; I have been married seven, as I mentioned. We found a strong, mutual attraction to each other during our time together before and during the interview. We are, er . . . dating."

"Hey, you're a fast worker, Doctor."

"Enough about me. Let's get back to your obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviors."

"Waste of time. Like I told you. I've been through it all."

"No you haven't. If you had listened to the interview, you would realize that I have gained international fame because of my success with so-called incurable mental cases."

"Bah! Psychiatrists. Ego maniacs."

"Yes! I agree with you. Many are. I am too, in a way, but I get positive results. Not only that, my book is selling briskly since I was on Ms Kling's program. Very briskly."

"Book. You wrote a book?"

"You really paid no attention to the most important parts of that interview, did you?"

"Nah. Like I said, I tuned in late. Then, I noticed that things were not in full order in the living room. I was busy realigning them. I do that endlessly; it's part of my compulsive behavior. I didn't watch 'til you started talking about The Death Prophecy."

"I see. Briefly, my system of therapy is called Insta-Therapy. To achieve it, I find a way to destroy every psychological pillar that my patients' mental illnesses rest on. Usually, I do this instantly, or nearly so. Then, the process of rebuilding positive psychological systems for each patient occurs quite rapidly in many cases. Hypnosis helps immensely in most cases."

"Sounds like voodoo therapy to me."

"Even nonsense death prophecies sound like voodoo to you. It doesn't matter. I can help you whether you believe in my system or not. Not only that, I am going to help you whether you like it or not. Call it self-preservation. I cure you. You leave here a new man. You don't kill me; I don't kill you. I don't have to worry about you coming back with a gun and a crazy notion that you need to kill me. Fair enough?"

"If only you could. I've been this way most all of my life. You talk like helping me would be a simple thing. It's too good to be true."

"We'll see about that. First, I need your permission. Please read this form, fill it out carefully and fully and then sign it." With that, Dr. Razezor removed a form and a pen from one of the desk drawers and he slid the form and the pen across the desk toward Seymore. Seymore got up and approached the desk, warily.

"What's this mean? It ain't no commitment form is it? I been there and done that."

"No. No tricks. I am through with tricks and lies for tonight. Sit down and read the form carefully. Fill it out. It is a standard Treatment Agreement Form."

Seymore picked up the pen, signed the form, and pushed the form and the pen across the desk.

"No. You have to read it, fill in the blanks and then sign it. And, I have to initial it to affirm that you have read it. Sit down and go through it while I go into the kitchen for a few minutes. There is a call that I must make."

Before he left the room, Dr. Razezor emptied the bullets out of Seymore's gun. He then placed both the bullets and the gun in a drawer, locked the drawer, and put the key in his pocket. He also put his own pistol in his jacket pocket. He shrugged.

"Just a precaution. You'll get your pistol back later," he said as he left the room.

Seymore studied the form intently for several minutes. He filled out the blank spaces on the form. Then, he pushed the form and pen back to Dr. Razezor's side of the desk. He looked suspiciously around the room, especially at the animal heads. Then, he backed up and sat in the chair. "Creepy place," he whispered aloud.

The psychiatrist re-entered the room, went to the desk, and sat down. He put his pistol in one of the desk drawers. Then, he took the form, looked at it for some time, initialed it, and placed it in another one of the desk drawers.

"So, at last. I know your name. You are Mr. Seymore Schmoedge."

Seymore said, "Yeah. Schmoedge. Some name, eh? I bin kidded about it all my life. When one of my bosses fired me, he said, 'You are one smudge we don't need around here anymore.' Very funny. He was still laughing when I left his office."

"You are not the only one with an unusual name. My name is Occam Razezor. Do you know who William of Occam was?"

"Nah. Never heard of him."

"He lived in the 1300s. He formulated a famous scientific principle that is known as Occam's Razor. Since my family name is Razezor, my father named me Occam."

"Huh. That's weirder than my name."

"Agreed. However, I have found it useful, especially in my profession, to have an unusual name. Now, Seymore, let's us get down to work."

From yet another drawer, Dr. Razezor took out a notebook, placed it on his desk and opened it. He also took out a voice recorder, put it on the desk, and turned it on.

"First, some basic facts about you and your life."

Seymore answered Dr. Razezor's questions for about an hour. Finally, Dr. Razezor seemed satisfied with the information he gained from Seymore's answers.

Suddenly, the doctor pulled his pistol out of the drawer. He aimed it at Seymore, and he shouted, "I am going to cure you!" He fired the pistol. A loud bang echoed through the room. A cloud of acrid smoke drifted toward the ceiling.

Seymore screamed.

Dr. Razezor rushed over to Seymore. The doctor grabbed Seymore by the shoulder and, in a loud, steady voice, said, "You are not shot. My pistol was loaded with extra-loud blanks. I just wanted to destroy your psychological equilibrium. You are going to go into a deep, deep hypnotic trance. You will hear nothing but my voice. My voice will follow you down to the deepest levels of hypnosis. From there, we will begin to rid you of your obsessive thoughts and your compulsive behaviors. From there, you and I, working together, will begin to rebuild your personality in strong, positive, normal, and constructive ways. You are already hypnotized and you will go deeper as I count: 1, 2, 3, deeper and deeper, 4, 5, 6, deeper and deeper into hypnosis, . . . "