Mr. Henry Dobsely sat on the comfortable couch of his cozy first floor study. The room around him came slowly into focus as he pulled himself out of his dreamless slumber. It was dark outside and the warm glow from his fireplace was the only source of light. The dying embers spread their warm radiance softly throughout the room and the shadows that it missed in the corners moved playfully as the embers flickered.

Large book-cases lined the walls, their sturdy wooden shelves bending under the weight of numerous dusty novels. In the four corners of the rectangular room stood overstuffed, leather armchairs with poorly matched pillows.

            The room was silent and Dobsley concentrated on hearing his own slow and painful breaths; they echoed in his mind like footsteps. The footsteps of some strange nameless fear, constantly nearing him with every intake of air. Dobsely shivered with dread and pulled himself to full consciousness. The footsteps faded away as he stood up and headed for one of the ancient bookshelves, but he knew that hed hear them again. He always heard them.

            In the peaceful stillness of his study, Dobsely pulled out a photo album and sat back down in his chair. He turned to the first page and stared blankly at the faces of relatives whose names he recalled vaguely to himself. He turned page after page of the worn yellowed album carefully, as if the slightest rough movement would cause the pages to crumble to dust and blow away, along with all the memories which they held. Dobsely paused thoughtfully at one particular picture. It was of two young boys, embraced in a tight hug with a beautiful sparkling lake and gray mountains in the scenery. Their bright faces were twisted into innocent smiles and they looked at each other with satisfaction.

            Dobsley stared at this picture for what seemed like hours, and as his chin dropped down to his chest, he saw the green lake spread before him and the cold gray mountains stretching up like a wall behind the lake. He looked to his left and saw the young tanned body of his big brother, working away at a tent.

            'James!' he called and reached towards him absentmindedly. 'James! James!' The tanned boy looked up and smiled at Dobsely.  He then waved and resumed his work. Dobsely was baffled. He ran up the small hill and stood under the shade of an oak, near their camping spot. The boy was working hard, hammering a peg into the hard dry earth. His back glistened with sweat and the tiny muscles in his arms tightened and relaxed with every blow that he let down on the wooden peg. His jet black hair fell in shaggy curls over his face and once he was finished hammering, he stood up and examined his work with a proud satisfaction.

            'Well Im completely wasted, Henry' he said with a humble smile, 'Im sure youre just fine, having lolled around all day. I should make you tie up the raft all by yourself for that.' He sighed loudly, stuck his head inside the tent, and shuffled around noisily. When he emerged, he held two pairs of swim shorts. 'Lets go for a swim, Henry, Im awfully hot.' With that he flung one of the pairs of shorts to Dobsely and proceeded to put his own on, after clumsily peeling off his sweaty attire.

            'Ok James,' Dobsely uttered stupidly. He watched his brother run down the hill and wade quickly into the sparkling emerald water. He disappeared momentarily as he dove under and reappeared with a refreshing look of peaceful tranquility. Dobsely put on his own swim trunks and walked cautiously down the hill. He walked to the edge of the lake and put his big toe into the chilly water.

            'Its cold,' Dobsely whined.

            'Youre such a ninny!' James yelled happily. He swam to the shallower end and began to splash Dobsely mercilessly.

            'Alright, alright already,' Dobsely screamed and too, waded into the lake. It was cold and invigorating; it felt wonderful after being out in the sun all day. Dobsely smiled to himself and floated on the surface. He felt as if the world that he had grown to fear melted away under the heat of the summer sun and only he and his brother were left, saved by the refreshing cool of the water. Dobsely swam out a few yards, and then a few yards more. The lake was so calm and cheerful; it kept pulling, invitingly further and further from the pebbly shore. But something happened then and Dobsely was grasped by a sudden shock of fear. The water had lured Dobsely into a false sense of safety and had now unmasked itself with a rushing current that pulled and tugged at Dobselys very being. He had not a moment to scream and his head went under, hidden craftily by his silent attacker. He was pulled into a cold murkiness; he could only look up and see the grim sunlight above, dancing on the waters surface. Dobsely tried to kick; he kicked with all his might. He shot up to the surface and took in a new breath of air. He was pulled under and this time he was too tired to resist. He was weary, not from physical toil, but from the mental strain which the situation was causing. He had nothing to do now but to wait and listen. In the deadly silence Dobsely heard the slow, rhythmic beating of his heart.

            Beat by beat it pounded in his ears until it no longer resembled a heartbeat but sounded like heavy footsteps, footsteps that drew nearer with every beat of Dobselys heart. He panicked. He began to kick and fight with a new strength, anything to escape the nameless fear that came closer. The footsteps cracked, like thunder, in his mind and all he could do was look above, to the pale speck of light that strangely grew increasingly bright. Suddenly Dobsely was seized by a powerful force and pulled to the light. As his head cleared the surface of the lake, Dobsely began to take in gulps of air. He looked around and found himself being pulled by his brother towards the shore.

            'Geezus Henry, what on earth possessed you to do that?!' James bent over his brother, who was desperately gasping for air. 'I mean really, you could have died. And then what would I tell mother?' The words echoed in Dobselys mind like a gong.

            'Died,' he thought, 'I couldnt have died. I couldnt possibly have died. Death was what happened to bad little children when they went outside with no scarves and caught their deaths of colds. Death was what happened to bratty little kids who planned pranks to scare their parents half to death. Death was something that happened to people when they didnt want to see their little boy anymore; didnt want to see their little boy live and grow and play and blossom. No, I couldnt possibly have died. Not like the evil little children and definitely not like the uncaring, unfeeling adults.' Dobsely stood up and faced his brother. 'Thank you James,' he said. The boy grinned and gave Dobsely a pat on the back. Dobsely looked back at the river and shuddered. The green water splashed innocently and playfully on the beach, as if it had no part in the crime it had almost committed moments earlier. Suddenly he heard them again, as if the soft splashing of the water triggered them to reappear. The footsteps. They grew louder and more distinct, and as Dobsely woke up, they vanished as if they had never given a moments haunting to his dreams.  

            Dobsely looked around, dumbfounded. In place of the green lake, vibrating with its evil energies, stood his old comfortable study. The fire had almost gone out and the room had grown noticeably colder. Outside, rain had started to pour down and it beat hard on the windows; it fell in giant clumsy globs and the sound of it plopping against the roof was only interrupted momentarily by quick flashes of lightning and great rolls of thunder.

            Dobsely took off his glasses and wiped them with his sleeve gingerly. After reinstating them upon their old post, he turned the page of the photo album. A large picture dominated one of the pages. Dobsely squinted at it, not sure if what he saw was real or just an illusion. Within the white trim of the frame was the picture of a middle-aged man. He was sitting promptly in a chair, his hair brushed and parted neatly at the side, his small round glasses perched upon his nose, his face contorted into a confident smile. Dobsely stared at the picture with incomprehension.

            'Father?' he said out loud. 'Father,' he whispered, as if saying it once more would cause the man in the picture to nod in solemn approval. Dobsely touched the picture softly with his fingers. The very thought of this man seemed to have brought his greatest pains to the surface in one bubbling ball of turmoil. A few long minutes passed and Dobsely still stared at the picture. In his mind, the picture became a reality and the man stood up from his chair and looked disapprovingly down at Dobsely.

            'Well?' said the man sternly, 'what do you have to say for yourself?'

            'I dont know, father,' Dobsely uttered, hanging his head in fear and shame.

            'Thats not acceptable,' the man began to pace the room angrily. 'You are a Dobsely! Henry Walright Dobsely the third and dont you ever forget it.'

            'Yes sir,' came the quiet answer.

            'As a Dobsely I expect, no, I demand that you behave as a Dobsely should.'

            'Yes sir.'

            Suddenly the man spun around and grabbed Dobsely fiercely by the shoulders, shaking him and screaming, 'You are not fit to bear the name of Dobsely! I will disown you, you swine! You shant receive a penny from me! You are beneath the Dobselys! You are not worth as much as the dirt beneath our feet! Do you understand?!'

            'Yes sir,' was the trembling reply.

            'Good,' the man let go of Dobsely and sat back down in his chair. He smoothed his, now disheveled, hair, adjusted his glasses, and sat promptly in his chair. He smiled confidently. Dobsely lifted his head and looked at him; he stared at the man with 40 years of resentment and anger. He stared at him until he went away; back into the picture from where he came.

            Slowly, the days surrounding this conference came back to Dobselys memory as if he had pulled them out of the farthest reaches of his mind. He remembered the shame and pain that he had forced his family to suffer. He remembered the tears his mother shed in the quiet seclusion of her bedroom. He remembered the heavy sighs uttered by his father after he came home from a day of work. He remembered them looking at him remorsefully. He remembered everything.

            He also recalled that that was around the time that James became ill. He could see his ten-year-old self standing gravely behind the partially closed door, looking in as if he were staring into a movie theater showing a forbidden film. He reached out and pushed the door completely open and smelled the stale air of his brothers sick room. He could see, in the dim light, the dismal face of the doctor, sitting on the bedside. Finally, he stood up and walked past Henry into the hallway and shook his head gloomily at Mrs. Dobsely. Mr. Dobsely didnt even rise from his chair; he knew what the answers were to these puzzling mysteries and he didnt care to be informed of them again.

            Dobsely turned back and walked straight into the dark room, towards his brothers bed. To his horror, the boy that occupied the bed looked nothing like the brother whom he knew and came to love dearly. This boy was horribly thin and his skin wasnt much more colorful than the stark white sheets upon which he laid. His gaunt cheeks created a horrible contrast to the dark circles under his eyes. Dobsely couldnt stand it anymore. He felt that he had to turn, had to run, had to escape the fear that was beginning to pound furiously in his head. He could hear the footsteps everywhere; down the hallway, on the second floor, in his heart, in the faint breaths of his brother, even in the silk curtains that ruffled slightly by the closed windows.

            Instead of running, Dobsely fell to the floor and cried. He cried for himself, for the sins that hed done, for the errors that hed made, for the choices that he had taken. He cried for his mother, for his father, for the world and all the people in it. He cried because the footsteps pounded in his ears and he knew that there was no escape. He cried because he knew that the corpse that lay before him would never again rise to see the light of day. He cried because it was the hardest thing to do. Even through his tears Dobsely could see that the room was becoming lighter. He could see a small speck of light grow and begin to fill up space. Dobsely stopped crying and looked directly at the light. He stood up and the footsteps which had haunted him for so long became clear and calm and they approached swiftly. He looked down at what remained of his brother and all doubt left him in a sudden instant of enlightenment. He was no longer afraid. He waited patiently for the fear to come in, for it was very close now. There was a new strength in his legs, arms, heart, lungs, and body. He waited.

            The door creaked behind him and Dobsely turned to face his fears. Before him stood an empty doorway, leading to a deserted hallway. It was every nightmare hed ever had combined into one. Emptiness in one direction and death in the other, but now there was another choice. A heavenly orb of light had now penetrated into the room and had situated itself to the right of his brothers bedside. Dobsely gave one last moment to glance at his brother and knew that for the first time in his life, the decision he was making was the right one. Dobsely walked toward the light and never looked back again. The only sound that he heard was his heart beat, slowing every second, like the footsteps, retreating in defeat. As his heart stopped, so did the rest of the world.

*                      *                      *                      *                      *                     

            Dr. James Elnright Dobsely was found dead at 6:43am by his maid on the cold morning of January 14, 1954. He was 57 years old. It was reported that he died peacefully in his sleep in the quiet comfort of his first floor study; it was also reported that he was found with an old photo album on his lap, opened to a page with the picture of his younger brother, Henry, who died as a small child from infectious mononucleosis.

            At his funeral, he was given monumental praise for his work in medicine; he was especially credited for his tireless search for cures and vaccines for numerous early childhood illnesses. They had mentioned that his quest to rid the earth of suffering children would be honored, remembered, and continued forever. The priest ended his speech with these last few words, 'It is a rare and wonderful day when a man like Mr. Dobsely enters our world, for he is a man of immense strength and courage. Although a mere mortal on this god-given earth, he managed, through his work, to inspire, comfort, and bring hope to millions. We can only come to conclude that the place to which he has retired will provide an environment where he can guard and watch over us for all eternity. I feel comfort in calling Mr. Dobsely a hero of our time, for he has sacrificed his life in search of ways to save the lives of others. I am certain that he is one hero who will live forever in the minds and hearts of those to whom he has given life.'