The Falling Man (standard:horror, 2550 words)
Author: Mark Tival	Added: Nov 15 2007	Views/Reads: 3481/2240	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A man sees some one being pushed out of the window and discovers the thruth

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

man still falling, getting closer. It was definitely a man though he 
could only see the back of his head, his raven black hair messed up and 
moving frantically in the wind. He disappeared out of view behind the 
lower buildings. The crowd moved almost in union towards the place 
where the man should land. However there were no screams or shouts of 
fear as they rounded the corner. Mark stopped in disbelief. The crowd 
that greeted him was walking along normally as if nothing had happened. 
He looked up but couldn't see the man. A woman next to him moved 
forwards muttering to herself, ‘But he was here he fell. Didn't he?' 
‘He should be here shouldn't he?' Mark answered her making her swivel 
around on her heal to look at him a look of slight fear on her face 
mixed with puzzlement. ‘It couldn't be a trick of the light, so many of 
us saw it.' Another man came up along to Mark and the woman looking at 
them both as the rest of the crowd who had run with them began to move 
towards where the body should have been. There was however nothing. It 
was almost as if he hadn't fallen. Mark looked at the man and the 
woman, ‘What the fuck happened then?' He was greeted with a worried 
shrug, The man who had spoken turned to another person Mark had seen in 
the crowd and who had been looking at the man as he fell pushed from 
the window by the mysterious person, ‘Did you see him fall as well?' 
The man, dressed in a suit like Mark his hair slightly receding and 
going grey, turned and looked at the man full in the face his features 
softening slightly as though he was glad he wasn't going nuts, ‘Hell 
yes. Ah shit,' he swore loudly as he fumbled for his phone, ‘I called 
the cops out too.' Quickly he dialled on his phone and was turned to 
them lost in a conversation with who ever was on the other end of the 
phone explaining what had happened. How the man had fallen but not hit 
the ground. By now the crowd which had run almost as one to where the 
man should have been was beginning to disperse. People were looking at 
their watches and moving of quickly wondering how they were going to 
explain the reason they were be late for work and stay out of the nut 
house. Mark looked down at his watch as well, 9:20. He was late any 
way, to hell with it he thought and began to make his way back home, 
‘I'll see you around. That was seriously weird,' he said to the woman 
and two men stood with him. They replied with their good byes as he 
moved off back towards home. He didn't really feel much like working 
now, just a drink. Mark walked back home barely noticing the way he 
went his feet simply showing him the way, knowing the path as he had 
travelled it twice a day for over a year now till he looked out from 
his thoughts and saw himself looking at his battered door, the white 
paint was peeling off in places, scratches from the children who ran 
their coins along the doors down the hall. Pulling out a small key Mark 
let himself in and dumped his jacket on a small armchair that sat in 
the middle of the room, the only furniture save for a small settee set 
against the back wall behind the chair that sat directly in front of a 
television, worn and old. With out another thought Mark went into the 
kitchen and opened the draw to pull out a bottle of scotch, its clear 
amber liquid sloshing about slightly as he drew himself back up, his 
knees cracking like gunshots as he did so, to reach up and pull out a 
glass from the top cupboard. He walked back into the small lounge and 
slumped heavily into the worn chair enjoying only momentarily the soft 
comfort it offered before reaching over one of its arms to a telephone 
that lay on the faded carpet. He picked it up and cradling the earpiece 
between his head and shoulder dialled the number for his work. He 
should let them know he wasn't coming in he thought as the slightly 
high-pitched ringing pierced through his mind. Almost in an absent 
minded way he skilfully poured himself some of the scotch and was 
drinking it when the ringing was answered by the monotone voice of the 
secretary, ‘Good morning this is the office of Michael Schore who is 
speaking please?' ‘Hey its Mark,' He felt the voice at the other end 
stiffen slightly, obviously his absence had been noticed in the office, 
‘Hello Mark why aren't you in work?' It had an edge to it now and Mark 
knew he was in trouble if he didn't give a good excuse. Balls to it, he 
thought I'll just tell them the excuse, ‘I saw a man get pushed off a 
building today and it kinda' He cursed himself silently for allowing 
him voice to slip back to its Nevada twang but continued speaking any 
way, ‘It upset me some so if its okay I'll stay at home. I'll be back 
tomorrow though.' He heard a slight sharp intake of breath and the 
voice softened as it spoke again, ‘That's terrible. I'll tell Michael 
then not to expect you. I'm not surprised you took the day off. I..' 
The voice faltered momentarily and Mark imagined the secretary's head 
was filled with images and smiled slightly to himself, ‘I hope you 
aren't too upset by it. Have a good day.' ‘You too and I just need to 
get over it I think. Bye.' Mark placed the phone back on the floor and 
slumped once again in the chair as low as he could get. In front of him 
the T.V. sat silent like a friend that Mark hardly knew. He 
contemplated turning it on but decided against it. He just sat in the 
chair watching as the sun cut a line through the brilliant blue sky, 
drinking, steadily getting more and more intoxicated as he thought 
about what had happened. It had been strange. The man had fallen, in 
his minds eye Mark could see him, like a rag doll turning in the air 
his jacket whipped up around him. His eyes lolled shutting as he 
finished his drink and slumped, into a deep sleep where he dreamed of 
the man only it was no longer a man it was him, falling his stomach 
pushed up against his spine as he gathered speed. He could see the 
ground coming closer and closer till he was about to hit it. With a 
jolt Mark woke his eyes opening quickly as if he had been slapped, 
sleep leaving him quickly. His apartment lay still in semi-darkness, 
behind it the sun had crossed the sky and was beginning to set turning 
the world and Marks room a bloody red. Feeling the stiffness of having 
slept in a chair in his bones he got up using the arms of the chair to 
leaver himself onto his feet and walked over to the television which 
sat still silent in front of him. He turned the dial to on and the 
screen jumped into life taking just a few seconds to warm up before he 
got a picture. Looking at his watch Mark saw that it was nearly time 
for the evening news, he turned the T.V. to the channel wondering if 
there would be anything on the news about the pushing he had seen. He 
sat back down in the chair and waited for the news to start. With in a 
few minutes it started, sitting in front of him on the small screen sat 
a man and a woman dressed in almost identically grey suits the mans 
just slightly more masculine than the woman's. Almost as if they 
realised they were being watched they looked at the screen and spoke, 
‘Welcome to today in New York. First financial news, the market has 
continued in its slump....' Mark drifted off slightly as the woman 
began to talk about the financial situation in America. Soon however 
she stopped and the man began to speak, Mark continued to listen to the 
news half in and out of sleep before he heard it, ‘And today there was 
a strange incident involving a possible murder. A man, unknown, was 
pushed from a high building near to 4rth this morning at about nine 
o'clock,' Mark suddenly sat up straight and watched the screen 
intently. The man continued ‘The police were called but when they 
arrived at the scene the mans body was not there. It seemed that it was 
a trick of the eye, until a man showed the police the film that he had 
made of the man being pushed,' at this the picture flicked to what was 
clearly a hand held camera; its shot was jolty and fuzzy though the man 
was visible at the open window. It zoomed in to the man so that his 
face was clear, ‘It would seem that the man was pushed from the open 
window.' The man continued to speak telling the story. Mark wasn't 
listening. He was sat leaning forward in his chair mouth agape. the 
hairs on his arms raising as he looked at the man. Tears of fear began 
to trickle from his face as he sat, the image of the man burned in his 
eyes. The man in the picture, who had been pushed out of the window. 
The man was him. 


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