Ocelot, that's what his father had called him, "Cuz ya got big bright hazel eyes like the cat. Always watchin' for somethin' to play with, even if ya shouldn't be." That's what he'd always say, Ocelot remembered. He also looked quite delicate and catlike. Skinny and small. A man that people could look down on without even realizing. But Ocelot realized that they looked down on him, he watched with his big eyes, he watched them ignore him. He watched them all, even when he shouldn't be.
Ocelot had a nasty shock as a child, fit to drive one insane. His dad had died of a deadly rare strain of the flu. Ocelot couldn't remember his mother, must have died in childbirth he'd always reckoned. But he knew damn well how his father had died. At the time Ocelot was five, maybe six, too young anyway. Dad had been sick before, but never like this. He taught Ocelot how to make tv dinners in the microwave and then napped on the couch coughing all day, running to the bathroom to puke from time to time. Ocelot ate fine, he liked the tv dinners and didn't mind being alone for a little bit. He liked to play with his toys and his imagination all day while his dad was sick. He couldn't watch tv because his dad had a headache, but he sure would've liked to. His favorite toy was the marionette. Ocelot liked to watch it dance as he tugged it's strings. The strings were thin enough that he could pretend anyone who saw him would think the red puppet was dancing on its own, and it was Ocelot's liitle secret that he made it dance.
Three days later, dad was still sick. Ocelot figured he must have gotten better because he had stopped puking. Ocelot brought him a meat and potatoes tv dinner and his dad's favorite drink, bud light beer. But dad wouldn't wake up. Ocelot noticed he wasn't sneezing anymore and figured that when his dad woke up he'd feel much better, so he put the food on the little table beside the couch where the remote sat and went to play outside. Ocelot wanted to watch the purple dinosaur on tv, but he knew it would make his dad's head hut. Besides, dad kinda smelt funny anyways. Ocelot played in his sandbox under the pretty summer sun with trucks and shovels and pails.
The next day dad was too smelly to be in the same house with, so Ocelot went into his neighbor's white and green house across the street to ask if he could have supper because his daddy stank to bad to sit by. The neighbors laughed and took Ocelot back to his dad's house, they stopped laughing when they opened the door and smelt the smell. They called the police, you don't call an ambulance for a dead man.
From that day on Ocelot was alone, daddy was dead.
Ocelot shook his head, flushing out memories of the past. He was much older now, in his late thirties. And he was no longer alone ethier, no never alone again. Ocelot was the director and owner of a large senior's home, located on a picturesque estate twenty two kilometers from the town of Red Deer, Alberta. The homely brown and cream colored three story building was surrounded by rolling green hills and a beautiful lake. The large patio-deck with shuffleboard and a picnic area overlooked the 18 hole golf course. Now the lake was frozen and the landscape dusted with gentle snow. What a better place for the old and lonely rich folks to come and rot.
Ocelot giggled, "rot they will indeed," he whispered to himself.
There were several nurses, one busy cook, a laundry boy who came on Tuesdays, and a security guard who used to watch the room of screens where Ocelot sat now. Exactly forty-one shining full color screens the size of the microwave window Ocelot used to watch tv dinners cook in. Four screens were black and shattered, bullet holes. What a pity that I had such poor aim, Ocelot thought to himself. Four little corridors of amusement closed to him. But the fifth shot had hit his target, the security guard lay splayed out in the corner, his blues uniform darkened by slowly caking blood and his flabby, blood-splattered face in pure shock. The televisions cast an eerie glow on his dead face. Ocelot didn't like that companion much at all. At least he didn't smell like Ocelot's father did, yet.
Ocelot liked his other companion much more. She sat next to him on a black ergonomic office chair exactly like the one Ocelot sat in. She was very pretty, a smile on her face and her perky breasts barely contained by her white uniform. He stroked her blonde hair back behind her ear and gazed into her glazed sapphire eyes. She seemed content in the posture he had put her in after he had spiked her drink and strangled her unconscious body. She leaned back in the chair with her legs crossed and her arms on the padded rests of the chair. She endlessly smiled at him as he pretended that she whispered sweet nothings to him, and he whispered back. Ocelot balked at the thought of necrophilia, but enjoyed her company as he watched his forty one televisions. Ocelot's puppets were dancing for him.
Ocelot recalled how he began his experiment to make them dance for him. Step one: purchasing a deadly strain of the flu, for laboratory study dr. Oswald "Ocelot" had said. They gave it to him gladly, what evil could tiny dr. Oswald do? Of course they didn't know Ocelot had gone insane. Ocelot knew so, but he didn't care. He never was good with the mental illnesses in class, why should he be now?
Step two was the worst, Ocelot remembered as he fiddled with the silenced .45 automatic pistol in his spindly hands. Remove all the obstacles, the other personnel. Security guard first, so he couldn't see what was happening. Cook last, so he could make breakfast first. Camera number three showed the others in the laundry room. A pile of bloody nurses beside the piles of dirty clothes. It had been Tuesday so the laundry boy crowned the top of the pile of five other nurses. His acne-covered face stared at the camera with vacant grey eyes. Ocelot realized it would've been better if he had put one of the prettier nurses on top instead.
He forgot that thought and started giggling when he noticed the similarity between the pile of bodies and the piles of clothes. "that's all they are, clothes that don't have the people cleaned out of them yet."
He giggled some more, "someone ought to wash them out, right Marcy?"
Ocelot imagined the beautiful corpse sitting next to him laughing along agreeing with him. Marcy was the prettiest dead nurse in the whole wide world and they were the best of friends.
Step three was the funnest, put the deadly virus in the senior's breakfast that morning. Diseased pancakes topped with killer syrup anybody? Eat up folks. Bingo in the hall at four, golf course and beach closed for winter, the nurses aren't here today your pills are next to your breakfast this morning.
Ocelot had watched them eat on screen number eight, ravenous as if he was eating rather than them. When lunch hadn't been served and everyone was sick they were suspicious, but when someone dropped dead during electronic calling bingo at four o'clock, they all got scared. They knew something was up. That's when the dance started.
Ocelot still loved watching his puppets dance, it was so fun. Once he announced that there was vaccine in the fridge, but only enough for one person. Those well enough had fought eachother to reach the fridge. Only to find the dead cook stuffed into the chilly electric tomb. Ocelot enjoyed that one, camera number thirty six. Dead cook peering with dead eyes from the open fridge door and old lady Frannie passed out in shock from the sight. There was a bloodstained cane from the battle for the fridge grasped in her cold dead hands.
Camera number forty, Oscar Feildman sat on the couch in the lobby, watching tv. Dead. Ocelot liked the way this one made him laugh. It was funny to watch a guy watching tv on tv, Ocelot enjoyed the paradox. But it bothered him that none of the survivors had turned off the tv yet. Wasting energy, Oscar isn't really paying any attention anymore, he's dead. It's so inefficient.
Camera thirty five, the indoor pool and hot tub area. In an old frilly one- peice miss May floated face down in the hot tub, a vomit cloud surrounding her in the bubbly hot water. Oddly disturbing but equally intriguing Ocelot thought.
Camera forty three, Ocelot hated that one. Mister Heycomb had hung himself from the top of the nice black and white iron double-gate inthe red brick wall enclosing the estate. The bugger wouldn't play along, Ocelot cursed at the dangling corpse, spoilsport.
Marcy agreed with him, like she always did. Ungrateful old grump, after all you've done for him. You poor darling Ocelot, no one appreciates you.
Camera twenty three, the Smithe couple holding hands on the patio swing, dead. Ocelot felt uneasy about that one. Marcy was very nice, but she never held hands with him like that. Maybe once they got to know eachother better. Yes that had to be it. It didn't matter that she was dead because the Smithe's were dead too and they still held hands.
It didn't matter that Ocelot was still alive either. Camera twenty nine, the Kossack couple were in their room. Miss Kossack was laying down dead in her bed, chicken noodle soup spilt on her blue nightgown. Mister Kossack was still alive and sneezing. He sat on the bed next to her holding her hand. He had stopped crying two hours ago and was probably in shock now. If they can hold hands he and Marcy should be able to hold hands to. Only Ocelot wouldn't be crying when he held her hand, he'd be smiling just like Marcy.
Camera eighteen, Markus had succumbed to the disease on his way back from the his personal bathroom to his bed. Sprawled onto the floor with his pants around his knees and rump facing the camera.
"Mark you old joker, I should've knew you'd do something silly in your last moments. If Marcy were still alive she'd go down there and tuck you in nice so your ass wasn't in the air like that," Ocelot imagined Marcy to giggle, yes I would.
Camera ten showed the shuffleboard on the deck. Three very sick survivors had spelt S.O.S in the snow with apple juice, or urine. They were waving their arms weakly at what was surely a jet flying overhead. The plane was to high to see Ocelot figured, judging by their downcast faces and curse words.
Ocelot wondered if Carla had gone crazy. She was trying the phone in her room over and over again on camera thirty eight. Every so often she'd go into a coughing fit or break down and cry or run to the toilet to puke. But she always went back to the phone. She should really get something to eat, maybe check the fridge, Ocelot grinned and looked back at the cook on camera thirty six.
Ocelot took his eyes off the bright screens and looked at the .45 in his hands. Only one bullet left. For step four. Ocelot knew that step would be coming soon, one of the five survivors left had just jumped out the second-floor bay window clutching a steak knife he had forced into his neck. Another spoilsport. One of the three on the deck just collapsed as she went into a coughing and vomiting fit. She wouldn't last another minute. Four survivors left then, Mr. Kossack in his room, the two left on the deck, and crazy Carla. Very soon his experiment would be over, and the puppets would stop dancing. It would all stop. Step four.
When the Amundson family was driving up the scenic winding highway to the estae one week later, they knew something was horribly wrong when they saw the bird-eaten corpse hanging from the ajar gates gazing at them with empty sockets. They called the seniors home and heard no ringing, only silence. They decided not to visit grandpa that day and called the police instead.
The three policemen sent into Brightlake Senior's Home that day would resign when the case was over. Despite the chill of winter the bodies had begun to stink. They were everywhere. Some died quietly in their rooms, others lay atop overturned furniture in frozen convulsions with foam drying in the corners of their mouths. But the most eerie were those that seemed to be doing what they would've in their life. A dead man watching CTV news. An officer turned off the tv, the theme music had set him on edge in the house of death, but the silence after was even worse. Another really spooky one they ran into was a very old woman Ina wheelchair with an oxygen tank still pumping air into her dead nostrils. A bingo card on her lap was one counter away from winning.
The officers searched the rooms in silent dread, breaking open the locked laundry room. The first officer promptly gagged and brought up hos breakfast at the sight of the pile of bloody bullet pierced bodies in the room. Another officer radioed the forensics team and the trio left the horrible room back into the horrible home.
But the only room on the third floor, the final one they checked, was the most terrifying. A blood-caked security guard lay in the corner by the door. They nearly tripped over him as they entered the room. An officer puked again when his foot dug into the spongy flesh of the corpse with a sickening squelch. The other two surveyed the room as the third recovered.
Two figures were leaning back in matching black office chairs watching the glow of the forty one undamaged screens. One was a pretty nurse with bruises on her neck from strangulation. The other was a small scrawny doctor with beady brown eyes and a gory hole in the back of his head from the silenced .45 under his absurdly grinning chin. He held the dead nurse's hand in his own cut up bloody hand. Blood and brains dripped down the back of the chair. They looked to be one very happy, chilling couple.
They were just about to uneasily file out of the room and check if forensics were there yet when one cop screamed and pointed at the screens. Soon the three officers were fleeing the building as fast as possible. Every single screen was freeze-framed on three cops frozen in the front entrance, mouths agape. Across the middle screen three words were scrawled in dripping blood:
Eye See You