BOOM: A Lovecraftian Urban Fantasy Thriller

by Ben Farthing

All he could do was hope Bill Bill was more competent than the social worker who said he'd protect Liz from that high school bully.

  That frustration took over, squashing unsettling images and thoughts, and Everard finally slept.

  Everard woke to darkness. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was, and a few more to convince himself that he hadn't dreamed everything. He was still in his clothes, and this wasn't his bed. It was all definitely real.

  It shouldn't be dark, though. He'd left on the bathroom light, but now it was off. Either it was on a timer, or someone had switched it off. He checked his phone. It was plugged in, but the charging indicator said the battery was dying. The power was out.

  His bladder screamed at him, reminding him why it'd woken him up in the first place.

  Everard sat up and swung his feet over the side of the bed onto warm floorboards. Heated floors. He guessed it wasn't all original construction after all.

  A bed creaked somewhere in the dark, far at the end of the room. Everard hesitated. Another guest must have arrived since he fell asleep. They did say this was the only room left.

  He stood and opened his phone's flashlight app, but the whole thing powered down before the light turned on.

  "Shit," he whispered. His phone hadn't charged. The power must have gone out.

  Groggily, he stumbled toward the bathroom, feeling his way along the wall. The power being out triggered some alarm in his mind, but he wasn't awake enough to know why. He was still trying to separate dreams from reality.

  He opened the bathroom door silently - it was hung perfectly level - and found the toilet. He sat to avoid splattering the seat with blind aiming. Relieving yourself when it's about to burst was probably the best feeling in the world.

  Something furry brushed against his legs.

  Everard jolted backwards and kicked out. So much for not splattering the seat. His feet connected with the soft weight of cat, which hissed and swiped at his ankle.

  "George?"

  Everard's heart pounded. That woke him up. "George, is that you?"

  The cat responded with a meow that could have been George's, but Everard couldn't really tell a cat by its meow, and it was still pitch dark. Maybe-George meowed again, this time from the bathroom doorway.

  "What do you want?" Everard fumbled around for the toilet paper, then cleaned himself up. He pulled up his pants to follow Maybe-George into the bedroom. "There's no way I can feed you. I can't see a damn thing."

  The warning bell in the back of his mind suddenly made sense. The worried people in the square, the Folkmeister woman complaining in the meeting, all received the same warning: stay out of the dark.

  Everard backed against the wall, held onto his bedpost. He tried to think of everything he'd heard them say about the Boogeyman last night, but he hadn't exactly been paying attention.

  Stay out of the dark.

  Why was the power out? Were those poor idiots plugged in downstairs not enough? Had something happened to them?

  A bed creaked again. Closer this time.

  Maybe-George meowed, scratched at the door.

  Everard took a deep breath. Running was the quickest way to get a predator to pounce, whether it was a mugger or a mountain lion. Or the Boogeyman. All that mumbo jumbo about being a rebellist, maybe he could handle this.

  All he had to do was deny that the lights were off. Or maybe that the power was off. And what had Loretta said about focusing on the idea, and not the actual thing?

  The lights are not off. The power is not out.

  Something slid along the floorboards.

  He said it aloud. "The lights are not off. The power is not out."

  He got that sense again, of a thick mist around him, holding back his will.

  Something exhaled under his bed. Everard jumped away. "The power is not out!" he yelled.

  Maybe-George scrambled across the floor, and then muffled hisses and winces came from under the bed. The room went silent. The cat meowed again at Everard's feet, bit his pants leg and tugged.

  Chuffed breaths from under every bed.

  The cat bit Everard's ankle and ran, meowing and hissing. Everard followed the furious furball, sprinting into the hallway, banging his knee on the doorframe. The hallway was just as dark.

  "Hello?" he called. No one answered. This wing had been pretty abandoned when they'd taken him down here last night.

  The cat growled at him, but it was headed farther down the hall, not back toward the offices and main hall. "I'm not going that way," said Everard. This hallway had been as infinite as all the others. He ran the way he'd came.

  His socked feet slapped on the oak floors. Behind him, a low chorus of whispers rose.

  There'd be a double doorway ahead, where this wing broke off from another hallway. If he could make it there, maybe the power would be on.

  Something brushed his neck. He grunted and stumbled, found his footing just in time to smash his face against a closed door. He cursed, grabbed at the handle. It didn't budge. He leaned back at kicked hard at the door next to the handle. Earlier it had been oak doors on brass hinges, but in the dark they felt like a reinforced steel barrier.

  His jaw throbbed. He'd really been moving when he hit that door.

  The chorus of whispers slowly approached, filling the black space behind him. Everard turned around. "The power is not out. The lights are not off."

  The heavy mist bore down on his mind.

  He pounded on the door. "Help!"

  Maybe-George hissed, rowled, walking toward Everard down the middle of the hallway. The whispers parted, darted in and jerked away. The cat winced, whined, snapped its jaws.

  It was clearing a path for Everard. "Okay. We'll go your way." He ran through the whispers, covering his head like it was a rainstorm.

  The assault was behind him again, and an open hallway ahead. He sprinted past the bedroom. The cat ran behind him, spitting with anger. It winced, and its rowl was cut short. Everard's heart dropped, until he heard Maybe-George again ahead of him, scratching at a wall.

  Everard slid to a stop, expecting to find an exit. Instead, he found a fusebox. "I knew you were smarter than you let on." He yanked open the panel, felt around to find the switches, then frantically switched them off and back on.

  Cold fingertips pressed against his cheek. Spindly fingers closed around his neck.

  He found a section of switches flipped opposite as the rest, and switched them on. The lights hummed to life. He whirled around to an empty hallway, the Boogeyman banished.

  George stood at Everard's feet, along with two other cats. An unmoving cat lay sprawled thirty feet back down the hallway.

  George stared Everard in the eye, an intelligent glare that blamed him for the other cat. If Everard had listened the first time, they wouldn't have had to fight through the Boogeyman.

  "I'm sorry," said Everard.

  The cat's shoulders slouched and the intelligence left his gaze. George rubbed his cheek against Everard's feet. Whatever had saved Everard's life, he didn't think it was George. Either way, it was gone now.

  Everard sat on the floor, leaned on the wall below the fusebox. He wasn't moving from this spot until he was sure no one would switch them off again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Everard woke to the echoing click of a door unlocking.

  He stood, his back protesting the last few hours spent leaning against the wall.

  Down the hall, Bill Bill wrestled with the second door. "Did you lock this?" he called.

  Everard stretched and headed toward his neighbor. "No, but somebody did. And they switched off the power."

  The old man got the second door unlocked, then propped them both open. "Bad night for that. Howser doesn't have the Boogeyman contained yet."

  "I noticed that."

  "Oh." Bill Bill hurried to Everard like a worried kindergarten teacher on a playground. He grabbed Everard's chin and jerked it around while inspecting him. "Are you okay? What happened?"
>
  "That thing attacked me, that's what happened." He pointed to the dead cat on the floor. "George and friends saved me."

  "George is just a cat. The Ailuromancer must have stepped in. That's not good." He crouched by the feline corpse and picked it up, stroked its head. Glops of drying blood matted its fur. "Poor Daisy. She was Mr. President's favorite."

  "Who's the Ailuromancer? Why is it bad he saved my life?"

  "A rotten choice for your temporary mask. I shouldn't have let my mind slip that much. If he's keeping you alive, it's probably so he can kill you himself. Or maybe he wants a new best friend; there's no telling with him. But he never leaves his house, so never visit, and you'll be fine."

  "Perfect."

  "He's hardly our biggest problem right now." Bill Bill leaned in close and whispered. "If someone switched off the power, then they were trying to, you know..."

  Bill Bill dragged his finger across his throat. "I'll look into it. Don't you say a word to anyone. The NSA aren't the only ones employing watchers."

  "You said you could protect me," said Everard. It made him feel dirty.

  "In my defense, I said I'd protect you from those other guys. I never mentioned the Burgesses."

  "We agreed on everyone."

  "Let's not get in a fuss over details. It won't happen again. Scouts honor."

  "Can you even keep your half of the bargain? Can you actually get Inc and Undone Duncan to leave me alone?"

  Bill Bill stepped back and adjusted Everard's shirt. "That's a most definite yes. But first things first, today you start learning to be a rebellist. Go take a shower - you still smell like the Junk Shoals. I'll have someone wash your clothes and bring you breakfast. Your instructor will be along later."

  "You're not teaching me?"

  Bill Bill shook his head. "I'm an experienced rebellist and the wizened old man who brought you here. You see me as an authority."

  "I don't give a shit about the Burgesses."

  "Either way, you can't learn from me. Authority makes your bent weak. Or nonexistant. We're bringing an outside contractor." Bill Bill stroked the dead cat's head. "If you'll excuse me, I've got to break some bad news to Mr. President."

  Everard stepped out of the shower to find his clothes he'd just taken off already washed and dried. Even his boots had been scrubbed clean.

  They'd also left a tray on the nightstand with a mug of beer, a bowl of yellowish oatmeal, and a plate of thick flatbread smothered in butter.

  He dressed and devoured the food. The porridge had a healthy infusion of maple syrup, and it was all surprisingly filling.

  A scream from the hallway interrupted his meal. Everard ran outside to find Mr. President's attendant, Minnie.

  She crawled from her hands and knees back to her feet. Sweat dripped down her flushed forehead and cheeks. She didn't have her colonial jacket - just the white blouse she was quickly buttoning.

  "The hell are you doing?" Everard ran to her, helped her to her feet. "Why'd you scream?"

  "Oh, I-" she coughed, her jaw twitched to side. "I mean-"

  "Spit it out."

  She fell back to her knees, then hopped to her feet to finish with the buttons. "Sorry about that. Some water went down the wrong tube."

  "Why'd you scream?"

  "I tripped."

  "And you choked on water. From where? You don't have a bottle or anything."

  "It was from a minute ago. You know how water sticks in your throat once it gets there."

  "Sure. You look like you ran here."

  "I did. Um, a message from Mr. President."

  "I'm listening."

  The double doors opened again, and Everard whirled to see a skinny, late-teens kid standing in the doorway. Everything about him - his posture, his dress, his unkempt hair - said relaxed. "Dude!"

  Minnie cleared her throat. A dry sound. "I've come to let you know that your teacher is here."

  "You're the guy who was looking for Bill Bill and the bluecoats!" said the teenager. "I guess you found them."

  Everard suddenly recognized him. The kid from the hookah bar. "Hey, it's Brian, right?"

  "That's right, you remembered. Cool. I'm here to train you. Where's little man?"

  "What? Oh, the cat? I guess he's around here somewhere. He wasn't mine."

  "Now that you two have been introduced, I'll be on my way," said Minnie. Her boots tapped on the wooden floors as she left.

  "Weird lady," said Brian.

  "Not the weirdest I've met recently," said Everard. His half-appeased stomach growled. "You mind if I finish my breakfast?"

  Back in the room, Brian sat on one of the beds. He unwrapped some brand of organic energy bar Everard had never heard of and took a bite. "Burgess food is gross. You want one of these?" he laughed at his own voice, muffled from his mouthful of granola and nuts.

  "No, thanks."

  Brian tossed him one anyways. "I heard you almost got your ass handed to you last night."

  "Which time?" Everard pocketed the energy bar.

  "The one the Ailuromancer saved you from."

  "How'd you hear about that already?" Everard opened his breakfast.

  "All the wigs were talking about it when I came in. Well, they were talking about the Boogeyman attacking, but I thought it was more interesting that the Ailuromancer would save someone."

  "Any idea why he'd do that?"

  "Who knows. Dude's weird." Brian shrugged. He ate the last of the energy bar. "You'll be fine, though. People don't fuck with reality tweakers like rebellists. I mean, once those reality tweakers figure out their bent. Obviously."

  "Reality tweaker?"

  "Benters who tweak reality. There's only, like, seven in the whole city. Most benters just convert one type of energy into another."

  "How much of that do I need to understand to deny Bill Bill's limp?" He felt weak even asking that. It'd been fifteen years since he'd depended on someone else for safety. "None, I guess. Why?"

  "That's all I want to do. Then I'm going home."

  "You're the boss. Gonna dissapoint the Burgesses, though."

  A deep boom sounded, muffled by being inside. Everard braced himself, anticipating a repeat of the pain he'd felt after the boom in Undone Duncan's hideout. It didn't come.

  Brian peered at the ceiling. "Last one was last night, wasn't it? They're getting more frequent."

  "Is that bad?" asked Everard. Maybe Mr. President was right. Maybe whatever that wired-up barrel had done was different from what the city was hearing.

  "Couldn't tell you," said Brian. "I figure the Burgesses will handle it."

  "I'm suprised you're one of them. You don't dress like them."

  "I'm not," said Brian. "I usually chill with Capitol Bohemia, so really I'm not even a National."

  "National?" asked Everard. He finished the rest of his breakfast beer. Maybe there was something to be said for colonial food. "The Burgesses are nationwide? How many people is Mr. President in charge of?"

  "No, not like that. He just runs the Burgesses here in D.C. There's Burgesses other places, but they're pretty different. The National factions are still mostly local organizations, they're just the ones that are all 'ra ra America,' like the Burgesses, the Minutemen, a few others. Or the ones whose bents come from all over. Like the Hagiomagi." Brian patted the mattress. "People worship saints everywhere."

  "If you're not a National, what are you?" asked Everard.

  "Capitol Bohemia is technically one of the D.C. factions."

  "Groups who like the city better than the country?"

  "Eh, not really. Just groups that started here, and aren't really anywhere else. The NoGos, the Outsiders."

  "Inc?"

  "Yeah, they're sort of the head D.C. Faction, but they're assholes."

  "Then why stick yourself with them?"

  "Politics. In the Machinist Revolts during the eighties, the Burgesses wanted to force the Machinists out of the city, and Inc wanted to deal with them once and for all. The loose f
riendships based on the ideals or history of the factions became official alliances. When the dust settled, they'd divided themselves into two groups - the National factions and the D.C. factions. But since that all cooled down, a lot of us are pretty chill with both sides. Like Capitol Bohemia has an official alliance with with Inc, since a while ago we were mostly about the D.C. art scene. But now with the Internet, art comes from all over, you know? So we've kinda ironed things out with the Burgesses. That's why I'm here."

  "To train me."

  "Yep. The Burgesses asked for a favor. Capitol Bohemia sent me and my sister. You can't learn from anyone who knows what they're doing, or who's part of any faction leadership. Pretty much, the Burgesses had to get someone who would just barely agree to train you. Capitol Bohemia's relationship with the Burgesses is pretty new, and barely exists. No way you'll see me as el jefe."

  "That's true," said Everard.

  "Hey now," said Brian. "That's supposed to be like when a girl says she's not pretty, and you tell her she is."

  "I'm sorry. You're pretty, Brian."

  Brian laughed. "Shut up. Come on, let's get started. My sister's already in the gym."

  "Whatever you say," said Everard.

  "With that attitude, this is gonna take forever."

  The hallways of the Hall of Burgesses were more active now than last night. People dressed in colonial garb moved around carrying papers, chatting, checking their watches. Some of the women wore bonnets and dresses with lots of lace, but plenty wore the same jackets and knee-length britches as the men.

  Everard glanced in any open doorways they passed. One room was a chapel, with wooden pews facing a stained-glass window depicting the signing of the Constitution. Or maybe it was the Declaration of Independence.

  In another room, people jogged on treadmills, or lifted weights, or held yoga poses in the corner.

  Everard followed Brian down several flights of stairs, and into a wide hallway with walls of painted cinderblock instead of stained oak, and lit with fluorescent lights instead of oil lamps or candelabras.

  They passed a room that looked like either a pawn shop or a small museum, with shelves covered in tools, cookware, sabers, muskets, and other junk that belonged in a Colonial Williamsburg warehouse. Inside, the Burgess from the meeting last night who'd been arguing with Mr. President wandered around, dusting shelves.