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The Hypnotist

by Ray Stuart about a year ago in fiction
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The Hypnotist

Michael was a hypnotist. He entertained many people from all walks of life. His shows were sold out wherever he performed and he relished being on stage, savouring all the gasps and laughter. The audience loved his shows and Michael loved the audience, never ceasing to be amazed at their enthusiasm to participate. A different set of characters willingly made fools of themselves each week, and they just kept on coming.

Life was fantastic. No money worries, no problems and no shortage of friends.

After yet another sold out show, the theatre manager called Mike into his office. He looked sad and admitted to Mike he had some bad news.

"There is no easy way to tell you this, Mike – I have been forced to sell the theatre. I cannot afford to pay you any more. You are the most popular act in the theatre, but I still can't make ends meet. I'm very, very sorry". Mike was devastated.

He was depressed spent more and more time at the doctors. He lost his confidence and became irritable, upsetting most of his friends, who seemed reluctant to help once his fame and money disappeared.

He never went out. He got into debt and he could see no light at the end of the tunnel.

Michael was no longer living, he was merely surviving. Money was tight and his dream home became an expensive luxury. Michael had worked hard for his house, and had no intention of losing it. He had to find money fast.

Mike's doctor prescribed him anti-depressants. The pills made him so lethargic he slept most of the day, so the doctor changed his prescription until a drug was found which suited Mike. Unfortunately, each time the side effects worsened, making him aggressive, paranoid and even more reclusive. He gave up hope of becoming normal again, blaming everyone but himself for his problems. The aggression and his need for revenge became an obsession.

On one of Mike's rare but necessary trips out for food he drove to his local shop, driving deliberately and carefully, cursing the other motorists who were forced to crawl slowly behind him. He stopped at a junction and paused to turn right but when he crossed the opposing carriageway he saw a car coming straight towards him. He hit the brakes hard, causing the driver behind to run into the back of his car.

Mike flew into an uncontrolled rage the likes of which he had never experienced before. He shot out of his car and came face to face with a nervous, frightened looking man, a man who stirred strange feelings within him, feelings he had lost since his depression. This was exactly the type of person he knew how to deal with, who he could talk to and control. He knew this man was weak and easy prey. He knew he could be hypnotised. The cocktail of mind-altering medication, anger and frustration overwhelmed him. He knew what to do.

His training automatically took over. He spoke calmly and politely to the man, who surprised Mike by becoming aggressive and more and more agitated. The man blamed Mike. Although Mike continued to be reasonable the man refused to listen. Mike asked to see his insurance, and the man's face went white. He was uninsured.

Mike could see his car was badly damaged and would cost a lot of money to repair. Mike knew he should call the police. He paused to collect his thoughts for a minute and looked into the man's eyes. He saw a weak man trying desperately to look strong. He knew, at that moment of madness, what he had to do.

"Look into my eyes, look into my eyes" chanted Mike, pleased that he never lost his formidable talent. The man developed that glazed expression Mike knew so well.

He instructed the man to park his own car and get into Mike's, which luckily was still driveable. He did exactly as instructed.

Mike drove the man to the nearest cash point. After a few more choice words from Mike the man willingly placed each of his cards into the machine, and drew out every single penny he had. The mesmerised man got back into Mike's car and handed over two thousand pounds. He then sat back in the passenger seat, continuing to stare blankly ahead.

Mike suddenly came to his senses and panicked.

What if this man later remembered what he had done? Mike always told hypnotised victims on stage to forget everything, but there was no guarantee they would. Mike knew he could be in deep trouble.

So with little time to arrive at a better solution, Mike sent the man into a deeper hypnotised state. He remembered seeing suitcases on the rear seat of the man's car, and deduced he was intending to take a long journey. Mike asked were he was going.

"Brighton" was the reply. Mike took him back to his own vehicle and helped him into the driving seat. He whispered to him again slowly, carefully watching the man's facial expression. Mike was still in complete control.

He used his hypnotic skills to convince him to drive to Beachy Head, a well known area on the outskirts of Eastbourne, a popular place for locals to walk their dogs and a tourist attraction. It is also a renowned suicide spot, as there are no fences and it is easy to walk to the edge of the cliff and plunge headlong on to the treacherous rocks below.

Mike spoke again in the same manner, convincing the man to drive there, park and enjoy the scenery. He told him to leave the car, look over the edge of the cliffs down at the rocks below. He told him to imagine that he was a long jumper and was practising for the European games.

"Your country is depending on you" whispered Mike, his lips nearly touching the man's ear. "When you see the rocks you will realise they are not rocks at all, they are actually sand, just like the sand in a long- jumpers pit. Then you must turn around, walk twenty paces back and run towards the edge of the cliff as fast as you can. Then jump. You have to beat eight metres to qualify and thousands are watching you". The man listened intently.

Mike told him to drive very carefully and not speak to anyone on the way. He must drive straight there, without stopping. Mike pointed out Beachy Head on his map, and watched the hypnotised man disappear.

Mike got into his own car and drove it into an accident repair garage.

The man in the garage said he could repair the vehicle for £750 and that as business was a bit slow of late, he could start repairs immediately. In fact it would be ready in a few days once the parts arrived.

"Excellent" Mike said, and used the garage phone to call a taxi.

Over the next few days Mike laid low, but couldn't help wondering if his plan had succeeded. Mike looked in the local newspaper and on page two saw the headlines. "Another suicide at Beachy Head" The police were apparently investigating.

Mike grinned. He felt good. In fact he felt powerful. It was wonderful to regain a feeling he though would never return. Not only did he feel good again, but he had made money. Just like old times.

He decided to do it again. After all, it was so easy.

And he did do it again. Frequently.

He woke up one morning and realised he had killed around twenty three people, paid off his mortgage and bought a new car.

His depression lifted; in fact he was feeling so good he wanted to do more. He was obsessed, and it became an addiction.

Mike started socialising again, and many of his old crowd resumed their friendship.

One Saturday night he was coming out of the pub and waived a taxi down. Mike got in and greeted the driver. He seemed a cheerful sort.

"Alright Matey" the taxi driver said with a smile as Mike climbed in the back seat.

"Aye, not bad, been a good year, how about you?"

"Same as you Mate, business doing well", was the reply.

As soon as the taxi driver stated that he had one of the best nights in ages, Mike became excited. It was coming up to Christmas and a little extra cash would not go amiss.

"Do I know you, you seem familiar" said Mike.

"Don't think so", replied the cab driver.

"Yeah I do, you live up on the Huntsman Estate".

"Got the wrong man" replied the taxi driver. "I live in a secure block of flats, the new estate near the station, inside a huge security wall. I live with quite a few celebrity's - it's a cool place and very safe, especially with this town's bad reputation".

"Well if you can afford to live there, the taxi business must be booming!" Mike suggested.

The taxi driver laughed. "Well between you and me, I am writing a novel and have decided to take this job as I meet a lot of interesting people. The amount of information I gather is phenomenal".

Mike was curious. "What are you writing about?"

"It's a psychological thriller - but I can't tell you about it, you'll have to wait until it's published", laughed the taxi driver."

Mike laughed too and sat quietly for awhile until the cab passed a burger bar. Mike stomach was rumbling and the alcohol had made him ravenously hungry. He instructed the taxi driver to stop, and they pulled up outside "Harolds Plaice" a local late night chip shop. When Mike returned with his fish and chips, he climbed into the passenger seat next to the driver and spoke to him in his familiar slow, persuasive manner.

The driver obediently handed Mike his whole night's takings and the entire contents of his bank accounts.

Mike found it all too easy. His next step was to persuade the taxi driver that when he saw a red traffic light he should carry on driving, as all red traffic lights were actually green. The driver nodded and the deed was done. Mike bid the taxi driver farewell and the cabbie drove off.

Mike was the taxi driver's last fare and he was due to finish for the night. Lucky for him there was only one traffic light. Unlucky for him it was red. As he approached the red traffic light a few cars stopped, but the taxi driver saw it as a green light and indicated to overtake. Just as he over took there was a bus turning around. The taxi driver ploughed straight into the bus and was catapulted through the windscreen and into the bus. As it was very late the Bus was on its way to collect a private party from the town's night club.

All three emergency services where called and the police arrived at the scene first.

Some motorists were talking to the police and some were receiving treatment from the ambulance staff. The fire brigade were there to dampen the car so the dripping fuel would not ignite.

PC 176 walked over to the car to investigate the accident. He wondered why an experienced taxi driver would overtake cars and jump a red light. He considered that maybe the taxi driver had been drinking. He looked into the taxi and down at the accelerator and brake pedals, looking for evidence, a bottle maybe. As the policeman looked down at the accelerator he saw a small voice recorder and out of curiosity rewound and played it back. It replayed the entire conversation between Mike and the taxi driver. As the taxi driver had told Mike earlier, he was writing a book. What he omitted to mention to Mike was that he was recording all conversations!

fiction

About the author

Ray Stuart

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