Unholy Trinity: The Blind Guy by G.A. Miller

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

I

The blind guy.

I think his name is Diego, but I’m not sure. Everyone calls him the blind guy, so let’s just go with that.

He lives across the street, in the first-floor apartment of the triple decker over there, and often steps out onto the front steps to smoke a cigarette. I guess he’s not allowed to smoke in the apartment, but I’m not sure about that either.

What I am sure about is that he’s watching me. He’s blind, my curtains are closed, but every time I look out, he’s staring right at me, which is more than unsettling.

II

Ever read Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart”? The narrator describes how the old man’s “vulture” eye was what drove him to madness and ultimately to kill him. Being stared at by a blind man is a lot like that, even though he’s too far away for me to see the details of his eyes beneath his heavy brows.

It sounds completely crazy, I know. I get that. But I also know what I see every time I part the curtains far enough to look across the street or open the door to fetch my mail. Quietly standing, smoking… and staring.

III

It was a miserable day today, so I decided to turn in early. I woke some hours later, choking and gasping for air. I sat up in bed, my chest drenched in blood that looked black by the moonlight coming in through the window. 

I reached up and realized my throat had been cut ear to ear. I fell back on my pillow and glanced to the right, where I saw the open door, the backlit silhouette of a man standing perfectly still.

I could see the dripping knife in his right hand… and the white cane in his left.