Goosebumps (rob letterman, 2015)
"Hello. My name is Mr. R.L. Stine. Every story ever told can be broken down into three parts. The beginning. The middle. And the twist."
Cold was the night. Luigi pulled his overcoat tighter around himself, placed his knife and fork together, pushed the empty plate to one side, and turned his attention back to his manuscript.
The waiter came to the table, “Another play?” Luigi nodded. The waiter picked up the empty plate and pointed at the newspaper on the table. “Maybe this one will get reviews as good as that New York play, ‘Diff’rent’.”
“Eugene O’Neill’s a fine writer.” Muttered Luigi. He was not currently in the mood for the endless chatter of Rome waiting staff.
“That he is sir, that he is. Espresso?” Luigi nodded wordlessly and went back to the page. He had been looking for a name for one particular character and, always being fond of fate, wrote the name ‘Eugene’ down on the page. Eugene would be a playwright, like himself. Instead of being American Luigi would make this Eugene Romanian. He had always found something mysterious about the word ‘Romania’. But to bring a character to life, to have them live and breathe beyond the page required more than this. Luigi pondered the characteristics necessary and decided on a man made of conflicts. Kind yet selfish, or loving yet cold. This was the route.
The Waiter came back to the table and placed two espressos down, which the playwright presumed was an error, but one made in his favour. Luigi waved a hand with a meaning that suggested ‘thank you’ and the waiter made his way back inside again.
He kept one hand writing while his other hand reached for the sugar, but didn’t find it. Another hand pushed the small bowl closer to him. Luigi looked up, slightly startled at the presence of another figure at his table. “Thank you.”
The other man, wearing clothes that seemed slightly odd to Luigi, bowed his head graciously, “You are most welcome, padre.” Luigi dumped one small sugar into his espresso and stirred it. He looked at the man opposite him: he too had a manuscript in front of him, and from the layout on the page it too looked like a play. Luigi gestured with his spoon at the page, “You are writing a play?”
“You should know.” The man responded.
Luigi was perplexed. “I should know? What do you mean?”
The stranger set his pen hand to the table and locked eyes with Luigi. “Tell me, what is your play about?”
“Ostensibly, it is about creation.”
“And un-ostensibly?”
“It is about characters meeting their maker.”
The stranger pondered these words and extended a hand across the table. “My name is Eugene.” Luigi took his hand.
“Luigi.”
“A pleasure to meet you.”
Luigi listened to the man’s voice and a shiver ran down his spine. “Eugene, tell me, your accent…?”
“I am Romanian. Born in Slatina.”
A wry smile cut itself into Luigi’s face. He looked around the piazza. Surely this was some kind of joke. “Eugene? Romanian? Please.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Are you an admirer at all of Eugene O’Neill?”
“Ah but of course, Long Day’s Journey Into Night changed everything for me.”
“I don’t think I know that one.”
Now it was Eugene’s turn to feel as though this were a prank. “Sir, it won the Pulitzer Prize.”
“I believe I would have heard of this.” Chuckled Luigi.
The two men studied each other. Each face inscrutable. Was this all a joke? Nothing in the air felt like there was anything comical about the situation.
Suddenly a scream went up across the square, and a small crowd came running past. There was a distant sound of some vast creature. Luigi leaned in, “And what, pray, is the subject of your play?” Eugene was facing away, looking at the crowd. When he turned back his face was quite ashen.
“A rhinoceros.”
“A rhinoceros?”
Eugene tilted his head from side to side, suddenly unsure of what he had said. “Well, it’s about people really.”
“Everything is.”
The Waiter came back to the table. “Can I bring the gentlemen anything else?” Luigi and Eugene turned to look at him, and both men did their best to restrain a sharp intake of breath. The waiter’s skin had become thick, mottled, with a greenish hint, and his eyes dark, those of the beast.