9 Tales Told in the Dark 10

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

  Cans flew off the far wall that split and then opened up. Several hands reached out, fingers rapidly opening and closing like claws and grabbed the woman by her collar. She fell backward into the orifice which immediately closed behind her. The wall, once more solid, pulsed and there were violent vibrations that caused the Hummer to stall. When the tremors stopped, the wall remained, with one new feature. Amongst the grit and grime was the two dimensional image of the woman, arms and legs splayed, her face twisted in pain. He walked slowly toward it and felt that it was smooth to the touch. Only her eyes moved when he backed away.

  He remained transfixed until Herb careened through the doorway, falling forward onto the floor. Quickly, he got up. “They’re coming.”

  Feet scurried across the tin roof of the garage, and Tommy held his breath before pressing the remote.

  ><><

  His mind betrayed him, and Tommy was ashamed at the disappointment he felt when the Hummer started. Part of him wanted to give up, to be done with this ordeal, but another fought to survive. The latter was less prevalent, and this concerned him. He even lacked concern for Midnight, for as comforting as his presence was, it was not really his dog, just a cartoon version of him. So, why not surrender? There was a reason and that reason involved the slight possibly that whatever happened here affected the real world. If he didn’t make it here, he wouldn’t wake up in the Other. That was unacceptable.

  He became detached from what was happening around him; a spectator of a movie that played on rotating screens. A Hummer was operated by enormous hands, the truck crashing through the aluminum roll down doors of a garage. There was barking, breaking glass, and pounding on the roof, as it veered onto the roadway. A man jumped up from the cabin and through the sunroof swinging at emaciated figures that tried to pile on top of him. The attackers were odd, long fingers extended from nondescript bodies that moved stiffly, yet quickly, across clear coated steel.

  The vehicle swerved to avoid a burning car in its path and struck a wood medium. Tommy was jolted and then propelled into the driver’s seat of the Hummer, suddenly a participant amongst the chaos. He abruptly turned the wheel and saw bodies fly off onto the roadway, bouncing along the blacktop. One of them fell onto the hood, as if from an impact, and the Brand disappeared over the nose of the truck moments before tires rolled over it.

  The rear and passenger side windows were broken and wind, cool yet stale, sent his hair into a wild rage. Herb dropped from the sunroof, landing on the rolled leather of his seat with a thud. Tommy did not dare look away from the road, a road occupied by wrecked cars, garbage pails, broken light posts and the occasional corpse. For a quarter mile or so, the road was littered with prone circus clowns, pastel attire covering the corpses, oversized shoes sticking up as rotted painted faces stared at the sky. He couldn’t avoid all of them and as the Hummer rolled over the bodies, there was brief laughter like that of a child’s doll when its plastic stomach is squeezed. There were more obstacles the further he got from town, which seemed to be by design.

  He relaxed slightly as he approached the ramp for the Vin Wyke Expressway, suddenly aware of the how tightly he’d been clutching the steering wheel by the sharp tingling in his hands. The steering wheel had actually bent down to the post, more like a crescent moon now than a circle. Only then did he turn away to look at his companions.

  Midnight occupied the back seat, oblivious to the pellets of glass that covered them. His head stuck out a window, eyes closed, enjoying the breeze. The dog did not appear injured.

  Why should you worry? You said he’s not real.

  Tommy squeezed his eyes shut and there was again silence when he opened them. A dull throb began its rhythm behind his eyes.

  When he turned to Herb, the man was already staring at him. There was the look he’d seen before, one of despair and deep sadness. No injuries were apparent other than the ones he’d sustained in the ring so many years ago. Ones that would never heal.

  “Where’d you go?”

  Tommy flexed his hands alternately until he was satisfied with the circulation. “Who do you think drove you out of that mess?”

  “You were sitting here Meathooks, but you weren’t all here. It was like your brain checked out of the Manning hotel.”

  Tommy cut the wheel to avoid an elephant lying in the road. Its trunk was attached to a hydrant and water poured out of its ears spilling into the nearby catch basin. “I got disoriented. Apologies. It’s my first experience with an electrified hooker who was sucked into a wall and became a painting. Except she wasn’t a painting because her fucking eyes were moving.”

  Herb looked away. His tone was softer when he spoke. “There are Sparks out there, desperate and hopeless, who will do anything to escape. They never do. Most of them belong here, sinful acts in the Other-”

  “Who are we to judge? I don’t know why I’m here and you killed someone in the ring. For all I know, I’m a deranged lunatic. Which would explain a lot about what I’m seeing here. Are we any better?”

  Herb looked back at him, his top lip quivering. “I don’t belong here. I never meant to kill that man. I told, you I respected him.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I have to make amends, I guess, by helping someone else who doesn’t belong here.”

  “Yet you don’t know what I did so how do you know I don’t belong here?”

  Herb shrugged and sweat sprayed onto the dashboard. “Because I do, that’s all. Instead of trying to figure everything out, deal with the current situation and the solution. We were meant to meet and help each other. We’re on the precipice of-”

  “Insanity,” Tommy finished. ”or don’t you see what’s out there? It’s liked a psychedelic carnival with trick mirrors. Except these mirrors have souls trapped in them and there are mannequins after us.”

  “What’s insanity anyway and conversely, sanity? Since there are no clear guidelines, we can’t really define them.”

  Tommy entered the ramp which after twenty yards was swallowed up by the right lane of the expressway. “Do you usually philosophize when you’re punching the shit out of your opponent or after the fight?”

  Herb’s laughter was refreshing. “Usually when they’re lying on the canvass is when they’re more open to ideas.” The boxer turned to the window. “Know what I miss the most?

  “Crown cheering your name?”

  “Spaetzle with brat on the side. That’s eatin.”

  The roadway was surprising clear but he kept the Hummer under twenty allowing for reaction time. They travelled south toward the parkway, familiar homes facing the service road rolling by on either side. Instinctively, Tommy looked up at the green sign that hung over the road supported by a thick L-shaped post to verify he was crossing Atlantic Boulevard. He slowed and then stopped, putting the truck in park. The words were bold and their red color stood out against the green background. They blinked like the old fluorescent store signs popular in the sixties and seventies.

  “WHY FIGHT US, TOMMY?”

  He turned to his companion who was staring straight ahead. “You see that?”

  “What?”

  “The sign, the big green sign!” His frustration grew by the second.

  Herb craned his head upward and then settled back down. “Atlantic Boulevard. That mean something?”

  Tommy continued to stare at the sign for a few more moments waiting for something, anything, to happen that would prove he was mistaken. When nothing did, he put the truck in gear and continued on.

  They knew where he was, his every move, and he wished that they would attack and get it over with. Herb had mentioned something about depletion of energy and that the Bad Place existed based on its supply. The anticipation of what was to come was unnerving, and for that reason alone he was comfortable in calling this world Hell.

  The next sign that should have read “Liberty Boulevard” was changed as well.

  “BECOME ONE OF US-BECOME PART OF US.” While the other words
blinked, “PART” remained solid.

  He was still thinking about that sign when the Hummer’s undercarriage exploded.

  ><><

  He stared at a world turned sideways. The scent of oil and something burning filled his nostrils as he began to stir and clear his mind. There was a weight on him, a weight that groaned when he attempted to move. That weight had a name, and Tommy realized just then how heavy Herb was with thick muscle covering broad bone. The man appeared to be awake but was clearly disoriented and his eyes darted back and forth like a pinball machine. Tommy used one massive hand to push his companion off him, and was successful in creating a space big enough to sit upright. Herb also managed to sit up and kicked out what was left of the windshield. Behind Tommy, a giant tongue lapped at the back of his head.

  When he crawled out of the opening behind Herb, he used a hand as a shield to ward off any sharp objects. He stood up when he was able to and was not greeted by pain. Surprisingly, he’d survived the ordeal unscathed. In fact, his sunglasses were still on his face, askew but intact. The sun was bright, augmented by the reflection of the Hummer’s chrome bumper and he squinted as he walked around the vehicle. Black power lines like venomous snakes extended from wood poles onto the roadway. One was wrapped around the muffler pipe and another around the oil pan. Most of the undercarriage was scorched. Copper wire extended from the end of both lines through the casing that’d been crudely cut, and a dark puff of smoke rose from them. Luckily, the vehicle was not electrified as only the casing was making contact, but movement such as that caused by a strong wind could change that. He pointed to them and Herb shook his head in acknowledgement. Circling the vehicle, they found no additional threats. Their enemy had achieved their goal; the Hummer was toast. Though the hood remained closed, a serpentine stream of antifreeze seeped from it, crossed the lane, and accumulated in the form of a green lake at the shoulder.

  Herb turned his head and there was a popping sound that did not sound healthy. “Everything working, Meathooks?”

  “Yeah, not a scratch which is a surprise after that.” He pointed at the wreckage.

  “They don’t want you injured, son. That would be damaging the merchandise.” He paused. “I don’t see any of the Brands around. This little lasso trick probably cost them some zap. I say we start walking.”

  Tommy was about to agree when there was a thump from the Hummer. Both men took fighting stances as they stepped quietly toward the passenger side of the vehicle that now was the top of it. The sound repeated itself but this time it was followed by a hoarse whining.

  “Midnight,” Tommy exclaimed and grabbed the rocker panel of the truck with both hands while Herb pushed from the other side. Slowly, they lowered the Hummer onto the ground in its rightful position conscious of the power lines that were still attached. No sooner had the tires made contact with the road then the passenger door flew outward and a black bear wearing a studded dog collar bounded out. The dog was panting as he pranced around, while Tommy struggled to wrap his arms around his thick neck.

  “Love you boy, even if you’re almost the size of a Grizzly. I won’t forget you again, “he whispered.

  Midnight gazed up at him and if there was such a thing as a dog’s smile, this was it. Yet the happiness was fleeting and that smile became a snarl very quickly.

  Not this time, Tommy thought and spun around to face a Brand with two heads and four arms. He picked up a manhole cover and slung it at one of those heads but was grabbed from behind and dragged away before he could turn again; steel needles dug into his arms and neck, the roadway shredding the back of his tee shirt along with the skin beneath it. He barely felt the road rash thanks to the adrenaline being dumped into his bloodstream, but at the same time, he hyperventilated from fear. He was then falling, the sun giving way to darkness, as he descended deep into the earth. Down he went until he was met by water and then something soft. His ankle twisted in mud and when he yelled in pain, his mouth was filled with vile-tasting liquid. Frantically, he kicked up with his good leg but the task proved difficult as the muck was unwilling to let him go. He almost yielded to its grasp, yearned for the struggle to be over so that he could lie down in a watery grave. Then he was free and when he broke the surface, his gagging echoed while tears trickled from his eyes. He pulled himself to the edge of the pool, resting most of his weight on his elbows. His heart maintained a frantic rhythm as he crouched in the dark trying to clear his lungs. His stomach was sore from vomiting and he tried to spit the last of the acid taste from his mouth.

  A dim light somewhere above provided just enough illumination to make out that he was in a cavern of some type. The smell made him nauseous and the liquid around him bubbled with pools of foam. He covered his nose trying to prevent another round of puking but it helped little to keep out the stench.

  The room was little more than an opening at the end of a steel ladder that rose to street level. At the far side was a tunnel cloaked deep in shadow and he couldn’t see where it led to from his vantage point. The pool was eight feet deep and ten feet across, and a 12 inch concrete ledge bordered it abutting the wall. A hard hat that resembled a miner’s helmet sat on the ledge next to a pair of filthy work boots.

  Tommy used the front of his shirt to clean off his eyes but it made them worse. His glasses were gone, most probably at the bottom of the pool, and he wasn’t willing to search for them. He wasn’t in a cavern but rather a sewer and the chances that he’d caught some time of infection were considerable based on the amount of sludge that he’d ingested. That is if the methane didn’t collapse his lungs first.

  He splashed toward the ladder but a more pronounced bubbling made him pause. The bubbles started in the center of the pool and then spread out forming a circle around him. They then made a clockwise turn, a whirlpool of chemicals and human waste. White faces with black eyes rose out of the tainted water. The Brands flowed with the water increasingly fast, and Tommy found he could not move as he was pulled downward in the pool. Their eyes changed and there were red flashes, intermittent and then solid, as they sped up. Eventually they were one, not separate beings, and the crimson light burned Tommy’s eyes like hot coals. Instinctively, he brought his hands up to shield them, but the pain was overwhelming. He cried out and then he was floating and did not resist. He prayed for death, an escape from the flames that danced across his eyes and then buried themselves in his skull. Opening his eyes increased the agony, so he squeezed the lids shut and braced for the end.

  His initial perception was incorrect; he was not floating but rather being carried by hands that embedded themselves in his skin. Where there was such contact, the skin felt warm, and currents coursed through his body. The sensation was not pleasant and failed to invigorate in any sense of the word.

  At multiple points along his journey, he drifted somewhere beyond the border of consciousness, and snapped his eyes open in panic. He’d then be off again, somewhere, devoid of rational thought and feeling. He didn’t know how long he went through this cycle as he lost all perception of time, but it did provide some relief from the pain. Eventually, the flames ceased their barbaric dance upon his skin. He’d been preparing himself for another attempt at opening his eyes when he was lowered onto something hard. The surface was cool, a nice contrast to the warm spots left by the Brands’ fingerprints.

  Slowly he opened one eyelid and when there was little discomfort, did the same with the other. His eyes could not focus; shapeless white shadows moved against a black background. While he lay there, the shadows changed, taking a more solid form, but still lacked features. They then became heads atop slender bodies with long limbs. All the shadows were the same as they moved about, and none seemed to acknowledge him. He sat up and was surprised to find that he wasn’t restrained and that he was in his clothes, wet and ripped as they were.

  The palm of his hand passed across the smooth surface of the platform, a polished marble. This couldn’t be a dream; his friend was right on one account. Realty was the
present and he needed to find a solution. It was time to figure out an escape.

  Plow through them, said the caveman. This was the only voice in his head, so Tommy went with this advice and his hands were sledgehammers as he stepped quietly off the platform.

  ><><

  His nose picked up numerous scents but one stood out. This he followed over the sidewalk and into the dark hole where others greeted him. He sniffed around the opening to be sure and then backed away. His master was no longer there and this made him sad. There was also fear that made his legs tremble, and he cried out to voice his displeasure.

  The other man, whose scent included blood, was smiling and called his name. The man’s face made him feel happy and he liked being scratched by him. He was led by the collar to a metal machine that moved, one he had been in before with his master. The back of the machine was soft but sudden movement made him jump up. Dark eyes stared at him and there was no smile. He didn’t like these faceless men; they gave off no scent, and had threatened him and his master. But the friendly man was next to him, scratching him the way that he loved, and he slowly closed his eyes.

  ><><

  He continued forward, arms churning and legs shuffling. Whatever his fists came in contact with were destroyed; Tommy was knee deep in broken Brands but he continued to advance. Yet, no matter how many he pulverized, more came. It was like a bowling lane with perpetual rows of pins. He didn’t feel any blows. The Brands seemed indifferent to him but as he became increasingly outnumbered, Tommy found that he was being directed gradually into a larger room.

  It was a crude yet clean room, spacious in terms of square footage but most of it occupied by machinery and pipes. The center of the room was dominated by the largest generator he’d ever seen; from it sprouted stainless steel pipes that lined the walls and ceiling like vines. There was intense heat and the occasional angry hiss of steam.