Where Are All The Eyes?

A short.

Elie Dearing loved to draw. She loved singing, and dancing in her room in the middle of the night, but mostly she loved to draw. Her favorite things to draw were happy trees, bright yellow suns, flowers of all colors. One Christmas, Elie received a one of a kind art set, complete with every color, every paintbrush imaginable. One of her favorite creations was that of her mother, from before the accident, when she could still walk without the use of a cane or a wheelchair.

“Right here, wait nurse.” The nurse wheeled Ms. Dearing in, just outside of the visitation room, where Elie was waiting.

“How is she, Dr? Has she been responding to the treatments?”

The doctor looked into the window of the visitation door and stepped back, smiling. “She’s been waiting, Ms. Dearing. I don’t think she’s ever been closer to being able to sleep in her own bed once more.”

The look of disbelief and joy on Ms. Dearing’s face was apparent as she shook her head. “Dr! Yes?”

The doctor nodded. “I stayed up half the night, Ms. Dearing, asking myself. Pouring through the files. The tapes. All of her progress. She’s ready. We’ve made a breakthrough.”

“Oh, Elie!” Ms. Dearing exclaimed, wheeling herself through to meet Elie, crying tears of joy.

“Mama!” Elie shouted, running to meet her mother, her white nightgown swishing between her ankles. The two embraced and held each other, until Elie spoke. “Can we go home now, Mama?”

“Yes, El. Oh, yes.”

Elie looked at the nurse and doctor as if to ask  “it is true?”

The doctor nodded and approached Elie, pulled on his coat and kneeled. “I have something for you, Elie,” he said reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out a box of brand new crayons. “Remember, you are the creator. Everything is going to be okay. Everyone hear, your mother-we are all proud of you, young lady. When you use these, remember what you’ve learned here. Sometimes our imaginations get the best of us. It’s all make believe.”

Elie nodded and gladly accepted her gift as she and her mother made their way out of the facility.

“I’m so happy for them. I remember the day she got here, ” the nurse said softly.

“We all do. We all do,” the doctor sighed.


Nine Months Before.


“Mama! Do we have more tape?” Elie asked, running down the stairs, hair unkempt and nightie freshly laundered. “I have another picture to put up!”

“Another one, huh?” her mother smiled, looking through the kitchen drawers. “Hmm, I know I saw a roll here somewhere…ah.” She reached in and handed the tape to Elie. “You’re saving me money on wallpaper, El.”

“Thank you!” Elie shouted as she darted back upstairs. She rushed through her bedroom door and jumped just in front of her easel, where her latest creation awaited to be hung, just as so many others had before it. Her walls were full of her “masterpieces” as her mother called them. Creatures of all shapes, sizes, colors. All smiling.

She made her way upstairs just as Elie put the last piece of tape on her creation. “Lemme see that, oh, that is a new one, ” she grinned, looking at the picture. “You have a lot like this, but this one is a bit different.”

“His name is Ollie. He asked me to draw him,” Elie announced proudly, patting down the taped edges. “That’s his sword. He likes red.”

“Did he now? Well, I hope he can help with your chores. Bedtime in five.”



A few hours later, a voice directly above Elie’s bed whispered. “Elison…ehhhhlllllison.”

Elie’s brow furled and she pulled the blanket tighter over her body.

The thin, raspy voice continued. “Elison. Finish me.”

“Ollie, not now.’

“Now, Elison. Now.”

Her eyes looked straight up at the ceiling and the overwhelming urge to draw, to create made her kick off her blanket and tear the page from the wall. She jumped off the bed and searched through one of many boxes of assorted broken and full crayons and pencils.

“I have eyes to see, and a mouth to speak, I am in need of hands to feel and feet to wander,” the drawing Ollie said.

Elie giggled, as she drew big feet and big hands on Ollie’s misshapen body. “There, now you can go anywhere, Ollie.”

“Thank you, Elison, I shall.”

“Elie! You better be in bed!” Her mother sounded from her bedroom below.

Elie didn’t say a word, as she placed her index finger to her mouth. She quietly picked up the drawing, placed it back in it’s place, and slipped back into bed. “Goodnight, Ollie.”

“Goodnight, Elison.”



The day had came and went and after dinner Elie was once again in front of her easel. She drew a creature similar to the others, like Ollie, and when she drew a mouth she heard a voice.

“Ehlisun.” Elie looked up and over to where Ollie’s picture was hanging.


It wasn’t Ollie.

She crept closer to the picture, but all that was left was the red sword.

“Ollie? Where are you?” she asked bewildered at the missing creation in the paper. She stood up on her bed and tried looking into the picture, when the voice spoke again.

“No more Ollie. He wanders. Finish me, now,” the voice demanded. “Then the others.”

Elie stepped back and off of her bed. Her innocence and naivete betrayed her. She just loved creating. At once she picked up her drawing pencil and bean finishing her newest creation.

“Finish me,” the voice grew impatient.

“I am, I’m trying.”

“Elie!” her mother shouted from below. “You ok, sweetie?”

Elie looked at the drawing, a rather sinister looking fellow at formed on the paper.

Elie responded, with some hesitation.  “Yes, Mama.”

“Ok. I’ll be up to tuck you in in five.”

“That’s it for now. I’m tired,” Elie said through a yawn.

“NO,” the pencil creature said with a growl.

“YES,” Elie responded.

Before the drawing could answer, Elie’s mother walked in, noticing the new picture. She grew concerned.

“Elie? This a new one?”

“Yes, mama. He’s a bit angry, I think.”

“It appears so,” Elie’s mother joked nonchalantly.

“Come on, let’s tuck you in.”



Later that night the picture spoke.

“Finish me.”

Elie rubbed her eyes and fought the voice for a minute, but it grew louder and more forceful.

“Finish me…or else.”

“I…I can’t.”

“You will,” the voice threatened, “and you will give me legs to crawl on. Claws to grasp with. Teeth to gnash. Ears to hear their whimpers.”

Elie was a smart girl. This was different. This creation was different. Very bad.

The drawing laughed.

“I have eyes to see. A mouth to swallow. Legs to crawl on. Claws to grasp with. Teeth to gnash. Ears to hear their whimpers.”

Legs to crawl on. Claws to grasp with. Teeth to gnash. Ears to hear their whimpers.

Elie screamed and woke her mother immediately.

“Elie! What’s wrong?” her mother said dashing through the door.

Elie had the paper in her hand erasing the mouth from the picture.

“”Elie, honey!” Her mother grabbed the paper from her hand and crumbled it.

“Enough with the drawings. At least for one day. You need your rest.” Her mother picked her up and Elie stared down at the crumpled piece of paper. “There we go,” her mother whispered, kissing her on her forehead. “Sleep.”

Elie tried closing her eyes but she kept opening her eyes and staring at the ball of paper on the floor. “Eyes see you,” said a voice from the ball. She shut her eyes as tight as she could and sleep finally found her.

The next morning, Elie woke up to what seemed like a hundred and one voices.

“Finish us?” Yelled one voice.

“Finish me!” Whispered  second, and third.

Finish them!” Shouted another.

Elie put her hands to her ears, but it was too late. Word had gotten out. The drawings craved to be made whole.

“We see you while you lay.”

“We see you!”

Frightened, Elie grabbed her thickest erasure and started removing all of the eyes from each and every picture. She then moved on to their mouths but was interrupted by her mother. Pink rubber shavings lay at her feet as she walked towards her mother with tears in her eyes.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

“They all want me to finish them,” she cried.

Having no reason to believe it was nothing but her child’s vivid imagination, her mother simply consoled her.

“Oh, honey, I’m sure they would understand if you do one at a time.” She put her arms around Elie and noticed the pictures.

“Elie…where are all the eyes…?”

“I don’t want them to see me…” Elie sniffled.



Elie’s mother talked on the phone while she cooked dinner. As she explained to her friend what Elie had said earlier, they both laughed. “I know, I know. She’s always been the one with the wildest imagination. Her and her drawings.”


Meanwhile, upstairs Elie stared at the crumpled ball of paper in the middle of the floor. Her mother threw it in the trash.

“Elihthun…Im sory,” a voice from the paper whispered. How could it still talk? She drew closer to the paper, and straightened it out. Some of the mouth was still there.

“Im sory. Finish me an I will tel thum all to stop,” he said, his voice muffled.

“You promise? Will you tell Ollie to come back?”

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

Elie took a pencil and began redrawing the figure and made sure to add a smile. She gave him big hands and big feet, just as she had Ollie, and smiled.

“There. You’re done. Would you like a tree or some flowers?” Elie asked innocently.

“No. I don’t want flowers, but teeth to gnash!” He yelled.

Elie backed away, as the form became distorted and began pulling itself off of the paper.

Legs to crawl on. Claws to grasp with. Teeth to gnash. Ears to hear their whimpers. Ollie is DEAD!

Elie screamed but her mother was outside.

Soon all of the pictures on her wall began screeching, in unison:

Legs to crawl on. Claws to grasp with. Teeth to gnash. Ears to hear their whimpers.

“Mama! Mama!” Elie was frozen.

The dark drawings arm was flailing above the paper pulling at one of its legs, growling. It kicked its leg, hitting a trash bin into a lamp knocking it onto the bed, causing it to smoke. A fire began to spread from the bed up the walls, burning the “masterpieces”, all shrieking in agony. The now fully-formed figure became frightened of the flames, but tried reaching for Elie, whom he blamed for starting it.

“You create us only to destroy us?”

Elie sat crying in a corner, unable to get out. “Mama!” she cried.

The fire was a full roar now and the creature lunged defiantly at Elie. A beam from above fell on him and the fire quickly consumed his paper body.

“Eyes see youuuuuu!” He screamed.

“Elie!!!” Her mother yelled so loud everything else seemed to hush.



She made a desperate attempt to grab Elie and threw her towards the bedroom door. “Run, Elie! Ru-!” A second beam fell on her legs. She managed to push it off but was severely wounded. She crawled towards the door to hear Elie, now downstairs calling for her. “Elie, 9-1-1! 9-1-1!”

Her mother made the arduous trek down the stairs and the firemen came soon after, but the house had suffered too much damage in the flames.

Disoriented, Ms. Dearing fought for words to ask Elie what had happened.

Crying, Elie tried explaining it all to her mother. Ollie, the drawings, the voices. A member of EMS objected and placed the oxygen mask over her face.

“You took in a lot of smoke ma’am.”


In the morning as the ash still smoldered, a member of the fire department surveyed the area, stepping over a piece of paper. On it, a doodle with a smile. The smile turned into a malicious sneer. A  whisper in the air spoke:

Legs to crawl on. Claws to grasp with. Teeth to gnash. Ears to hear their whimpers.


The end?



About Tymothy Longoria

Tymothy Longoria has been described as a writer with a flair for the dramatic (whether this is true still remains to be seen). He is a fan of all things fantastic, metal music, black t-shirts, and aligns himself with geeks, nerds, and all manner of monsters, and is an ardent, optimistic supporter of his fellow creatives. He has written several short stories for the online macabre zine Underneath The Juniper Tree and in 2012 was awarded Debut Author of the Year by Twisted Core Press for 'Envy', his contribution to the Seven Deadly Sins Anthology. He is currently editing his full-length dark fantasy retelling, Revenants: Book One of The Stories. Fairy tales? If only. Legends will be reborn. Tymothy calls Texas home, where he lives with his wife, two children, and a cat called ThunderCat aka Kitty PawKitty. He is represented by Bree Ogden of Red Sofa Literary. View all posts by Tymothy Longoria

3 responses to “Where Are All The Eyes?

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