Revealing Glances: Unsettling Short Stories & Their Making

Codes

I made to stand up, but Abner said, “No, no, that’s good. Stay. I want you to draw it here.”

I gave him an exasperated sigh. “Look, pal, I’ve got a class in an hour and these take me three hours minimum, much longer if you want it ‘difficult to decipher’. I’ll have it ready for you by tomorrow.”

“No, I need it done now, immediately. I’ll pay you ten times your fee for the rush order.”

It was hard to say no to money.

“It won’t be my best work,” I said as I sat back down.

He nodded and slid the envelope to me. “Don’t show me what’s written on it. Don’t take photos. Don’t say it out loud. Keep everything discrete.”

“No problem, pal. Just let me concentrate.”

I took the envelope and tore it open, only to find it empty. I gave Abner a quizzical frown, and he gave me an encouraging nod in return. I scrutinized the inside of the envelope and found a thin ribbon of paper right along the bottom crease. I took it out. It had an eight-digit number typed on it. I shrugged, I’d done numbers before.

I sketched out a general outline, coding the numbers the best way I could while trying to keep the design pleasing to look at. I still had a reputation to uphold. After forty-five minutes, I’d created my final design, signed it, and slid it over to Abner, who’d been observing me from across the table the entire time.

“You can read this, correct?” he asked as he inspected my work.

“Yes.”

He unceremoniously shoved my design in his jacket. “Please place the strip of paper back in the envelope and give it to me.”

I followed his directions, and he stuffed the envelope in his pocket before he threw a stack of money across the table. I reached for it, and I flinched when he grabbed my wrist.

I tried to pull away as I growled in offense, “Hey! What— ...” I looked up and saw his eyes boring into mine with such gravity that I stopped talking.

“If anyone asks about the design, tell them it’s for my grandmother’s birthday,” he said with surprising sternness. “Gertrude, March 23, 1907.”

Wow, this guy was more paranoid than I thought.

“Look, pal, the design is yours. It doesn’t even exist in my portfolio. No one is going to ask me anything, okay?”

He pulled out a small strip of paper and slid it to me. It had two words written on it in neat, tiny print.

spike seven

I shot him a baffled look as he whispered, “Only if someone gives you this phrase do you tell them what the design really says.” He folded the strip and popped it into his mouth, swallowing it. “For everyone else, it’s Gertrude’s birthday, March 23, 1907. Can you remember that?”

“Yes. Ancient Granny Gertrude, March 23, 1907. Got it.”

“Promise me you’ll never tell anyone the real number without the phrase.” He tightened his grip on my wrist. “Promise me.”

“Ow, what’s with the drama, pal?” I said, trying to shake him off. “I promise, okay?”

With that, he let go of my hand, thanked me, and exited the study room, leaving me a little bewildered, a little irritated, and a little richer.

…

It was finals season and I was cramming like usual down at the library. All of the cubicles were taken, so I had no choice but to share a four-seater table with a trio of obnoxious students. After a few hours, they left, but I didn’t get to enjoy my solitude before others took their place. I tried to ignore them, but they made it difficult as one of them spoke up.