Year's End: 14 Tales of Holiday Horror by J. Alan Hartman Page A

him an odd look—like he had more smile than face.
    “Yes, I’m Randy Lambert.”
    He shook my hand like he’d been waiting for me for an eternity. “I’m Harlan Walters. Today is going to change your life.”
    I doubted that, but I followed him through another door to a brightly lit office.
    It was small, a large oak desk occupying most of it. He sat behind the desk and I sank into a plastic Walmart-type chair in front. He removed a notebook from his pocket and scribbled something down. Then he looked up at me, and flashed that odd smile again. I cringed a little.
    “First of all, a few particulars—you’re married?”
    “Yes, six years.”
    “How is the marriage?”
    “Uh, good.”
    “Any children?”
    “Not right now.”
    He scribbled some more and put the notebook away. Then, he learned forward on the desk, his features suddenly tightening up, becoming harder. “So you’ve decided that this is the year you’d like your resolutions to come true, huh?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you have a list?”
    “Not a written one. It’s up here.” I pointed toward my head.
    “So you didn’t care enough to write them down?”
    I was a little taken aback by that. “No. I mean, I know what they are—exercising, getting a promotion at work, spending more time with my wife, eating better. Pretty much the usual.”
    He leaned back in his chair and inhaled a long slow breath. He stared at me as if I were a specimen under a microscope. “Let me guess. Your wife suggested those.”
    I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess she did. I mean, I’d like to do those things as well, but she’s kind of, uh, motivating me.”
    “Motivating. Don’t you mean pushing?”
    “Helping.”
    Walters started laughing. A full-bodied laugh. Almost sinister. Then he stood up, came around the desk toward me. “Forgive me for being so direct. I do this with all my clients so they can see the truth. They’ve been blinded so long, they don’t know what’s real anymore.” He rubbed his hands together as if trying to get a bit of filth off them. “I have one question. Are these things that your wife suggested important to you?”
    “Sure. I mean the exercise thing, not so much. I don’t really have the energy when I come home. And getting a promotion, well, I’m kind of happy where I am now.”
    “And what about spending time with your wife?”
    I took in a long breath. “The thing is, we already spend a lot of time together. It’s almost claustrophobic. See, she always makes these arrangements for us to go out with her friends, most of whom I can’t stand. And I can’t say ‘no’ or she starts yelling, saying I never do anything she wants. So I guess you’re kinda right, I’m not interested in these resolutions.”
    “I see.”
    “Maybe I should go.”
    Walters pulled himself up and slid onto the desk, his feet just hitting the ground. “Nothing of the sort, my friend. Those goals are useless because they’re not what you desire.” He looked at his long fingernails as if he expected them to grow, then back at me. “Do you know what you truly desire, Mr. Lambert?”
    I searched every corner of my brain. There were things I liked, some I wanted, but none that I “truly desired.”
    “Not really.”
    “Don’t feel bad. Most men haven’t a clue consciously. The answers are all tightly locked up in their subconscious. The only way to set them free is through the audio-graph.”
    “What?”
    “The audio-graph is a machine that plays recorded sounds which tap into the decision-making sections of your brain. They help to release your true aspirations to the conscious mind.”
    “I don’t know if my wife…”
    He held up a wrinkled palm. “I understand, Mr. Lambert. But if you do what you truly want, you’ll be a much happier person. And wouldn’t that make your wife happier?”
    “I suppose.”
    “I guarantee things will be much better for you after using the audio-graph. And the great thing is you only need one