Consequence

by C R Langille

  Doyle’s nose crinkled in disgust as a foul odor snaked into his senses.

  “Bad eggs, rotten meat. Green eggs and ham, Doyle I am,” he whispered and moved towards the stairs.

  The movement stopped when he spoke. Doyle shined the light up the stairway.

  “Look, I don’t want anything jumping out at me; I’m liable to soil my underwear. So just come out.”

  He waited a few seconds and then moved up the stairs. Doyle hummed a song under his breath. It was the theme song to an old television show. He tried but couldn’t remember the name of the song.

  An oppressive wave of magic rolled from the end of the hallway as he crested the stairs. It was as if something rolled a bundle of negative energy into a snowball and hurled it at him.

  Doyle took a deep breath. It was unusually hot in house, and the stench didn’t help things. It took a few moments before he could move on.

  “That wasn’t very nice.”

  Doyle surveyed the hallway with his flashlight. The beam ran across a pool of blood that streaked back into a room at the end of the hall. He pulled the hammer back on his gun. When he did, the runes along the barrel flared blue for an instant. Doyle stalked forward, and as he neared the doorway a faint beep emitted from his trench coat.

  “Really?” he asked and jumped at the noise.

  Doyle kept the gun trained at the doorway but backed up to the edge of the stairs. He put his weapon under an arm and fished into one of his many pockets. His fingers brushed against the beeping perpetrator, and he pulled it out of his pocket.

  It looked like a pair of old 3D glasses—one lens blue, the other red. Small blue and yellow lights flashed along the rims. Tiny cables covered in tin foil wrapped around the nose of the glasses. Someone had written the words “Eagle Eyes 2517” in magic marker along the left side of the frame.

  He put the glasses on and looked at the room again. A stream of numbers and calculations ran across his field of vision. The data stopped, and words flashed across the screen of the lenses. The words were in a language that hadn’t been spoken by anyone, save a select few, in ages. Fortunately, the Bureau spent good money on his education. Doyle was involved with the translation when the sound of glass breaking pulled him from his research.

  He ran into the room, gun raised. Most of the bedroom lay at the bottom of the pit, but a small section of flooring remained. The half-eaten corpse of a man in plaid pajama pants was at his feet. The blood pooled around the body and stuck to the bottom of Doyle’s Crocs like syrup. The man’s right arm and most of his torso were gone—devoured.

  “Not good at all. Think of the indigestion.”

  His glasses beeped again, and a bit of information blinked in his field of view—Euniphrite.

  “Well poke me in the eye and call me, Salazar.”

  He turned back into the room and put a bullet into the dead man’s head. The barrel flared with cerulean light when he fired. Doyle checked the rest of the house, but no other civilians or targets were present. When he stepped outside, the bright glare of a police spotlight greeted him.

  “Drop the gun. Now! You’re under arrest.”

  “Right place, wrong time,” Doyle said.

  Doyle dropped his gun and put his hands up.

  “I’m Special Agent Doyle L. Johnson, ID Hotel-Plankton-Lettuce-3-15-3, I’m from—”

  He never got to finish his sentence because a large policeman tackled him.

  ***

  “Tell me again, Mr…?” Officer Gary Murdock asked.

  “Johnson. Special Agent Doyle Lee Johnson, ID Hungary-Papa-Legumes-3-15-3. I work for the government.”

  Doyle sat handcuffed to a table in Salt Lake City’s downtown police department. A bright light shone in his face. The room smelled of stale coffee and shame.

  The police confiscated his duct tape coat as well as his other items. Doyle sported an outrageous flower print button-up Hawaiian shirt, complete with a thin piano key tie. When compared to the drab interrogation room, he stood out like a Trekkie at a Star Wars convention.

  “Right, um, Agent Johnson. Are you positive you don’t want your attorney present?”

  “No need,” Doyle said.

  “We seem to be having trouble finding any identification whatsoever on your person.”

  “Identification, ID, name, rank, service number, date of birth, check again.” Doyle scanned the room as he talked. He hoped he could find something that could help him out of this mess. Doyle turned his attention to Officer Murdock. “Special Agent Doyle Lee Johnson, ID Hotel-Pinkerton-Leggings-3-15-3. I work for—”

  “Yes, I’ve heard, you work for the government. But Mr. Johnson—”

  “Special Agent, thank you very much. I didn’t go through 22 weeks of training followed by a full two years of study at the Miskatonic’s special program on the Esoteric Mysteries of the 13 Dimensions just to be called mister.”

  “Right.” Officer Murdock made a few notes and cleared his throat. “Special Agent Johnson.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Back to the subject at hand. We can’t find any ID on you. Your fingerprints don’t turn up in any database. We found you with a weapon coming out of a house where we found the occupant dead and mangled with a gunshot wound to the head. We haven’t got the forensics back yet on the bullets, but your weapon was fired recently. I’m not a betting man, but if I were, I would bet the bullet lodged into the floorboard of the victim’s bedroom will match the ammunition you’re carrying,” Officer Murdock said.

  Murdock sat on the edge of the desk, put the clipboard down, and looked Doyle in the eyes.

  “Things don’t look good for you. It would help us if you cooperated and started with the truth, perhaps telling us who you are. Only a matter of time before we match the ballistics.”

  Doyle looked at the officer for a moment then searched the room again. He fidgeted in his chair and rocked from side to side, back and forth.

  “Special Agent Doyle Lee Johnson, ID Hankerchief-Papa-Liver-3-15-3. I work for the government. Very bad things are happening, Officer. Canyon Shadows kind of bad. Free from the ground, the Seven abound. Bad things.”

  “Excuse me? Canyon Shadows? Did you have anything to do with the killings at Canyon Shadows?”

  Officer Murdock made a few more notes on the clipboard.

  “Tried to help. Trying to help. I need to call this in and report an Alpha protocol.”

  Officer Murdock let out a sigh and stood up. He walked to the door and then turned back to Doyle.

  “Your equipment—nice coat by the way,” Murdock said, “is in a safe place for now, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up in seeing it any time soon. You are going to be here a long time. I would think about calling your lawyer if I were you. We’ve found a number of other killings throughout the valley that match your style. You’ve been busy tonight, haven’t you?”

  “Bad things, Officer Murdock. Just remember, as each one falls to the seven, once again reborn they will be. Nightmares and darkness follow in their wake. Your worst fears realized.”

  “Right.”

  Officer Murdock left the room. Doyle continued to mutter and rocked back and forth. Except this time, he didn’t mutter chaotically. He uttered words in a specific rhythm. His eyes rolled back, and his breathing took a very deliberate cadence. Only the words mattered. They were everything.

  The air in the room pressurized like the cabin of an aircraft. Within moments, his handcuffs opened on their own accord.

  “Works every time.”

  Chapter Four

  Linda sat on the couch with Sebastian snuggled close. They watched television. It was one of Sebastian’s cartoons, but it could have been a screen of static snow for all she cared. She loved having him there next to her. Linda would pay good money if someone could invent a time machine and allow her to linger in
those moments. Yet, Fate decided it was a good time to shake things up. The power died and bathed the living room in darkness. For several seconds the house remained completely silent.

  “Mom?”

  The boy crawled even closer to her. She wrapped an arm around his small frame and held him tight.

  “It’s okay, I’m sure the lights will come back in a second.”

  She kept her voice even and calm. Linda didn’t like the dark, but it wouldn’t do to sound scared in front of Sebastian. He was a smart boy and would pick up on her emotions if she wasn’t careful.

  They waited in the dark for a moment more, and then lightning flashed outside and lit the room. A scream welled up inside her, but she fought it down with a stick. Score, Linda. She jumped with the thunder, and Sebastian hugged her tighter. Score, Sebastian. Together they would win this game.

  She needed to get hold of herself; it was only a storm for heaven’s sake.

  “Why aren’t the lights coming back on?” Sebastian asked.

  “I think the power got knocked out by the storm. Let’s go get a flashlight,” she said.

  They slid off the couch and the lightning burst and once again showered the room in a dizzying display of light and shadow. The heavy thrum of rain beat against the house in a staccato rhythm.

  Linda loved the smell of rain. It reminded her of a natural freshness, a fresh clean smell unlike anything else. Yet this rain was different. Instead of a clean smell, a putrid stench of rotting meat permeated the air. Sebastian must have smelled it as well because he scrunched his nose up in a look of disgust. She squeezed his hand to reassure him.

  Linda took small steps through the darkened house. She didn’t want to stub her toe on the couch or end table. Sebastian latched on to her shirt and followed behind her. She touched the wall and used it as a guide to move to the kitchen. Once there, she navigated to the drawer and searched for the flashlight. It should have been one of the first things in the drawer, but she couldn’t find it. Panic started to set in, and the darkness took another step closer toward her. Score, darkness.

  Where the hell was it? She searched through the clutter with a madman’s desperation.

  Finally, her fingers brushed across the cylinder. Something urged her to look outside, and before she turned the flashlight on, Linda peered through the window. Normally at this time of night, the mountainside sat awash in small dots of light provided by thousands of homes. Sometimes it looked like numerous tiny manufactured campfires. The rain made it hard to see clearly, but other than the occasional house hooked up to a backup generator, the entire city cowered under the shroud of the storm.

  Linda hit the switch on the flashlight, and the beam flickered. The darkness took another step, and it became difficult to breathe. Another point, darkness, and now it was a tie game.

  The light struggled for a moment and then brightened to full strength, finally awake and ready to combat the gloom. She sighed.

  Linda reached into the drawer and grabbed a couple of emergency candles. She handed them to Sebastian.

  “Here, hold these.”

  Sebastian grabbed them and hugged the candles to his chest. Linda rummaged through the drawer again and looked for the long lighter. Lightning crashed again, closer this time, and sent the shadows into a flurry of activity along the wall.

  “Mom?”

  Linda kept searching for the lighter. She blocked out the storm the best she could.

  Where in the hell was it? Toby was the last one to use it; she always got after him to put it back where it belonged.

  The glow continued to sputter in the kitchen. She just needed to find the lighter, find it and go back to the living room. Then they could cuddle up again and wait out the storm.

  “Mom?”

  She pulled the next drawer open with enough force that all the contents jumped with the shock. Another point, darkness. At this rate, the darkness would pull ahead and win the game.

  “Mom!”

  “What?” Linda asked and turned.

  Sebastian pointed with the candles toward the sliding glass door. The extra light finally registered in her brain, although register was the nice way of putting it. More like tore into her mind and burrowed deep into the recesses of her psyche.

  A tornado of lightning spewed forth from a maelstrom of clouds above Salt Lake City. The vortex touched down somewhere near the mountains and shed its furious illumination across the valley. Points didn’t matter anymore; this wasn’t a game Linda could play.

  A window broke somewhere in the house. The sound tore her attention away from outside and brought her back to the here and now of the situation. She stared down the hall. Adrenaline coursed through her body, and her heartbeat jumped into overdrive. Linda pointed the flashlight down the hall. Her hands shook, and the ray of light buzzed about in front of the two. She tried to control her breathing but instead took air in short gasps.

  “What was that?” Sebastian whispered.

  “I don’t know, wait here,” Linda said.

  The hallway didn’t catch the radiance from the lightning show outside and sat in complete darkness save for the flashlight. As Fate always deemed necessary, the flashlight flickered again. Linda cursed silently and shook the cheap thing causing the beam to die.

  Linda smacked the side of the flashlight as they did in the movies, and it came alive again, and saved her from the gloom. Another crash of breaking glass accompanied by a dull thud slapped her ears. Sebastian’s room.

  She decided right then and there, she didn’t want to play the game anymore. It was time to take things to the next level. Linda reached for her cell phone, but her pocket was empty. She checked the other pocket and found the same result.

  The entire house shook on its foundation, and Linda forgot about her phone. Pots fell off their hooks in the kitchen and clanged on the linoleum. Pictures heaved from the wall and dropped to the floor. Her ears rang with the clamor and made it hard to hear anything but the roar of the earth. Linda tried to keep her footing and make it back to Sebastian.

  The beam of the flashlight wrapped around the boy as he stood in the kitchen with his mouth open and his eyes wide. He clutched the candles as if they were his salvation and gripped them so hard one broke in the middle, its top swinging from the wick like a miniature pair of nunchaku.

  Sebastian fell to his knees and scrambled to the wall. Linda finally made it back to the kitchen and grabbed on to him. She pulled him to the arched entryway that marked the boundary between the living room and dining area. Linda kept him close and tried to use her body as a potential shield in case the house decided to crash down upon them.

  Almost as fast as it happened, it stopped. The house went still, and silence enveloped Linda and Sebastian in a cold embrace. At first, only her own breathing filled her ears, wild and erratic, but soon she picked out Sebastian’s breath as well.

  “Is it over?” he asked, his voice muffled in the folds of her clothes.

  “I-I think so, kiddo,” she replied.

  The power was still out, and the flashlight in her hands provided the only source of light. She scanned the immediate area and took note of the damage. A large fissure in the drywall shot from the floor and traveled the length of the ceiling. The kitchen sat in shambles. Cupboards were open, and their contents littered the floor in a heap; plates and glasses lay broken on the linoleum. The sliding glass door sported a crack through the middle of the pane that branched into small spider webs which split off in multiple directions.

  Linda pushed Sebastian to arm’s length and inspected him for cuts or blood. She didn’t find anything and hugged him close again.

  “Are you okay, buddy?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  From down the hall, a heavy thump reverberated through the house, as if someone had dropped a dumbbell on the ground. The noise came from Sebastian’s room. S
he hoped it was just the sound of the dresser falling over from the quake.

  Thump.

  The noise wasn’t the dresser. Something dragged itself across the floor in the boy’s room. The dragging noise continued for several seconds before the house fell silent again. She looked down to Sebastian. The boy’s eyes were wide, and he looked down the hall toward the room. His body shook next to hers. Linda needed to get him out of the house and somewhere safe.

  “It’s okay, probably ju—”

  Thump. Another dragging noise. It sounded like sandpaper scraping against wood, but it was also wet.

  The words fought to come out of her throat, but she couldn’t find the strength to continue speaking. It was as if someone moved furniture around the bedroom, but deep down inside, it didn’t make sense. Someone else was in the house.

  Linda grabbed the phone from the wall and punched in 911. A busy signal blared into her ear. She tried again and got the same results.

  “All right kiddo, we’re getting out of here,” she said.

  Linda lifted Sebastian up and set him on his feet. He clung to her shirt like a baby monkey latched onto its mother.

  “Watch out for broken glass, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said.

  Thump. Scrape.

  The sound stopped her, and she stole a glance down the hall again. Whatever lurked in the boy’s room made its way closer and closer to the door. She took a step into the living room when the door to Sebastian’s bedroom started shaking. Something beat against it from the other side.

  Sebastian made a high-pitched noise and somehow got even closer to Linda. She put a hand on his head and tried to reassure him. The red door shuddered while whatever was on the other side pounded on it.

  “Mom, let’s go,” Sebastian said.

  His voice barely sounded above a whisper, but it was enough to spur her on. Linda scooped him up. The constant thud from the bedroom suddenly ceased. The door remained closed, but what she saw next sent shivers down her spine. The knob turned back and forth. Then, the knob rattled, and the door trembled under the fury of whatever struggled to work the simple mechanism.