Where Stars Won't Shine

by Patrick Lacey

  “You’ve got some fight in you yet. We could use more like you around here.” He pointed to the ones holding him in place. “Load them up, will you?”

  The dead did as they were told. One by one, the group was led onto the float. They sat near the front. Just above the dragon’s face. Ivy leaned forward, peering at those red eyes. They were not made from papier-mâché. Whatever material it was, it shimmered with something moist.

  They’re real, she thought. Those are real eyes and if you live to see the end of the night or the day or whatever fuck span of time this places goes by, the rest of the float will be flesh and bones. Nightmares come true here.

  The wheels began to turn. Below their feet an unseen motor whirred to life. She didn’t see anyone driving, couldn’t spot a steering wheel of any kind.

  “Where are we going?” Zeke said as he stepped onto the float.

  “I’m glad you asked,” Tucker said. “I figured the graveyard is as good a place as any.”

  She did not hear Zeke’s response but she could sense his grin.

  The float picked up speed.

  TWENTY-TWO

  IN THE DISTANCE, Amy saw flames. She wasn’t sure how far away the graveyard was. She’d never been good with things like that. It had taken four tries to get her driver’s license. Her mother, as patient as could be expected, had gone over parallel parking countless times but the instructions wouldn’t stick in Amy’s mind. The mirror, she insisted, was one big lie. It showed you one distance but the truth was quite different.

  “You just have to use your gut,” her mother would answer each time, stepping on her imaginary brake as her daughter put the car in reverse.

  “That’s some advice,” Amy would counter. “You should be an inspirational speaker.” She winced now, years later, thinking how such talk must have hurt her mother. Or maybe she was being too hard on herself. She’d been a teenager after all.

  “Mark my words,” her mother had said. “When the time comes, when you get to be an adult and realize the mirror isn’t the only thing lying, then you’ll learn to trust your gut. And you’ll think back to your old lady and say ‘she was right after all.’”

  “Snap out of it,” Zeke said and just like that she was back in reality, if you could call this reality. She blinked and her mother was gone, just a corpse in a casket, the result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Another cliché, although not the least bit inspirational.

  Her mother had been right, though, about what she’d said that day.

  You did have to trust your gut once in a while. And if Amy’s gut was to be trusted, she had to act quickly.

  The flames drew closer and she could see there were three wooden structures that looked remarkably like funeral pyres.

  It’s too late to trust your gut. If you’d listened to her, you would’ve never come here in the first place. You would’ve never shacked up with a madman.

  All around her, Marlowe came alive. Everything she’d sensed earlier, every creeping, crawling thing she’d imagined—all of them slithered in her peripherals. They passed an alley in which something large and misshapen crept. It had long, sharp fangs and even from her spot on the float she could see the saliva drip from its incisors.

  On the other side, standing in the doorway of the post office, something made entirely of worms and slugs waved to her. The hand had three fingers, all of which came to points. All of which looked like knives.

  These were nightmares, she realized. Impossible things come to life to cheer them on as they approached their burial ground. Though they wouldn’t stay buried for long.

  She tried to look away from the creatures in the street. Not that the dead people surrounding her were much better. She caught Zeke staring and smiling. “What’s so funny?” she said.

  He shook his head. “It’s nothing really. I just like watching you, seeing you realize how wonderful this place is. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Makes one of us.”

  “Come on, it’s not so bad. In fact, I’m jealous of you. Pretty soon you’ll be part of this place forever. Imagine that.”

  “I’d rather not.” She gulped, a plan forming in her head. Though plan was stretching out the word’s definition. It was more of a last ditch effort. Not a solution but a way to even the odds if she played her cards right. She had to keep Zeke talking. “You really believe him?”

  “Who, Tucker?” He shrugged. “About what?”

  “His promise to let you be his glorified servant. Sure, you can come and go as he sees fit but what makes you think he won’t get rid of you when you’re not useful anymore?”

  Zeke waved her off but she could tell he was rattled. “You’ve got to be kidding. If you hadn’t noticed, he respects me, had me bring his own father back here. And the website? It’s what gave him half his power. He appreciates all of it. Told me himself.”

  “Sure, he told you. But how do you know he’s telling the truth?”

  They both looked to the front of the float where Tucker stood, the ship’s captain leading them toward a war, though it was more of a slaughter. The flames were close enough so they were reflected in his eyes, the same eyes Zeke had now. They were one in the same. Of course she didn’t believe a word she was telling him. In all likelihood, Tucker was prepping him to be the next in line to rule this hell hole someday.

  Zeke was staring at her again. “Can’t you let me be happy for once?”

  She snorted. “Happy? I thought I made you happy. We had a good thing going. Maybe your line of work gave me the creeps. Maybe I shivered every time I walked by your office. I used to call it ‘the tomb’ in my head. I wanted to make it into a joke if I met any friends at school but we both know how that turned out. Despite all of that, I never judged you like everyone else.”

  “That’s not what you said back at the hotel. Sounded pretty high and mighty to me. What happened to everyone else being right about me?”

  “Heat of the moment.” She turned her head slightly so she caught Ethan and Ivy’s attention. They’d been whispering every so often but mostly they looked defeated, heads hung low like prisoners on death row. She didn’t mouth anything, couldn’t take the risk. Instead she raised her elbow and pointed it toward Zeke, then pretended to stretch. They gave her a confused look but she’d at least piqued their interest.

  “I did love you,” Zeke said. “It may not seem like it now but I did. I still do.”

  “You just loved your work more.”

  “Don’t be like that.” He leaned in, touched her bare knee. The skirt of her dress was pulled back. She could feel the breeze on her panties. She did not like the sensation of Zeke’s clammy skin, despised the way he glanced between her legs. But she could use it to her advantage. “We had some good times, didn’t we?”

  The worst part was that Zeke was right. They’d had plenty of good times. Picnics and movies and dates galore. All the things normal couples did. Except it had been a façade. Underneath their love, there had been something bubbling, something building toward the surface.

  “Yeah, I guess we did.”

  “It doesn’t have to end here, you know.” He leaned closer. She could feel his warm breath on her ear, tickling the flesh. Once she would’ve been turned on. Now such things were unfathomable. “We can still be together.”

  That’s it, she thought. Lean closer.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” She could smell his skin. It stank of sweat. She could almost taste the salty bitterness. “A secret of sorts.”

  His smirk grew mischievous. He thought she was flirting. She had him dangling by a string.

  Or, better yet, a noose.

  “I love secrets,” Zeke said. He put his ear inches away from her mouth.

  But her mouth went lower. She wanted one last line, something with bite, so to speak. Some satisfying conclusion to all of this. But she settled on silence.

  She opened her mouth, sank her teeth into his neck, and clamped down. Blood
poured onto her tongue, warm and coppery. She gagged but she did not let go until he pushed her away. A sizeable portion of his skin came away, his jugular exposed.

  In his stare she saw something like hurt and knew he’d been telling the truth. No matter how psychotic and broken and vile he was inside, he truly did love her.

  Tucker shouted something she couldn’t make out. Whatever it was, he sounded frantic and angry. A horrible combination for a horrible man. No, not a man. She wasn’t sure what he was now but he was far from human.

  The dead moved in on her.

  Zeke gurgled something but the words were lost in the red spilling from his mouth. His eyes changed. They went from a stranger’s to the most familiar thing she’d ever known. His old eyes. His true eyes. Then they closed forever.

  Amy turned back to Ivy and Ethan, nodded. She didn’t need to tell them to run. Ivy started to move forward but Ethan pulled her back, mouthing something that could’ve been thank you. Moments later they were climbing down the opposite side of the float, taking advantage of the distraction.

  Amy spit out the shredded flesh and swallowed, breathing freely, knowing she’d followed her mother’s advice to a tee. She’d trusted her gut after all.

  And in the end, though she’d lost her parents, grown estranged from friends and family, she’d found a new family in the worst possible scenario. She would not die alone.

  The dead surrounded her, clawed at her, but she broke away long enough to rush to the edge of the float and dive head first toward the pavement. She soared for what must have been less than a second, though it felt like a lifetime. She struck the ground hard, her neck snapping and the rest of her body growing numb almost instantly.

  Her last thought as she bled out was oddly wonderful.

  She wasn’t sure what came next but she was certain of one thing.

  She would not be spending another night in Marlowe.

  Ivy ran.

  In the months after Brad’s death, she’d grown weak and frail, had lost a fifth of her total body weight, but it hadn’t been from eating healthy or exercising. Her diet was nearly nonexistent. Ramen noodles and leftover pizza. The occasional meatball sandwich when she managed enough energy to walk to the corner sandwich shop. She’d let her body, and perhaps her soul, fly away and now she suffered.

  She nearly tripped several times over the heels she’d been made to wear. She stopped long enough to take them off and toss them into a nearby yard. They struck something hard and she swore she heard a grunt in response. Not a dog or cat but something much worse.

  She no longer heard Ethan beside her. Perhaps he’d gone in a different direction. Splitting up was risky but it might work to their advantage. Or maybe he’d tripped somewhere along the way. Maybe he was being torn limb from limb this very moment. Would he scream during his final moments or would he die silently?

  Speaking of final moments …

  She tried not to think of Amy. Just a girl. A sweet, innocent girl who’d chosen the wrong man. It happened to the best of them, Ivy thought. Usually it was abuse and infidelity, not being dragged into a nightmare city that defied all logic.

  Her death must have been instant. You heard the thud when she dove off that thing. She couldn’t have felt a thing. Stop worrying about her and focus on the task at hand. Make sure she didn’t die for nothing.

  But what was the task at hand? They’d already tried to escape. The gouge in the earth was surely still there, probably bigger now. She imagined it growing by the second so the mainland was just a tiny dot in the distance.

  Footsteps from behind broke her train of thought. They were louder now, more measured, like Tucker’s victims moved as one unit, with a single motive in mind.

  To make sure Ivy’s death was not as quick as Amy’s.

  To ensure she was reborn into the place she hated most.

  Her legs grew weak and her feet stung. She could feel wetness on her toes, had stepped on something sharp. She couldn’t run forever. Her lungs threatened to fail at any moment. If she was going to even survive the hour, she needed to find shelter.

  She looked around. She was on a nondescript suburban street, the houses large but far from fancy. She imagined families grilling and playing catch in neatly trimmed yards. Now the grass was the color of ash and moved in patterns without the slightest hint of wind. She smelled something rotten, far from barbecue.

  She picked a house at random, ran up the driveway. The front door would be locked, of course. Marlowe played by Tucker’s rules and he would not allow her a hiding place. She took the steps two at a time, lunged for the door, and nearly cried with relief as the knob turned.

  She stepped inside, into utter darkness, and slammed the door behind her. She felt around for locks and tightened them as she went, testing the door after they’d all been latched. It was far from sturdy but it might buy her some time.

  The shadows were thick. She had the feeling things moved all around her, waiting for the opportune moment to take her into their grip. Tentacles and appendages and other slimy things filled her imagination. She touched a drawer, pulled it out, heard things shuffle. She felt around. There was a screwdriver, a handful of coins, and what felt like a notepad. A junk drawer like she had back in her bedroom. A place to store the things that didn’t fit in elsewhere. Which meant there might be a—

  Her heart skipped as her fingers wrapped around the lighter. It was the long kind, the sort of thing you’d use to light a candle or get the pilot going on the stove. There was something so normal about it, an everyday object that wasn’t the least bit sinister. As silly and desperate as it seemed, she took it as a sign. Some small murmur of hope.

  As she lifted it, her hand grazed something else, a rectangular cardboard box. It was crumpled, moist from condensation, but her pulse raced with excitement nonetheless.

  She knew a pack of smokes when she touched one.

  She opened the top, grabbed one of three cigarettes, and brought it to her mouth. She flicked the lighter. It protested at first, a car in the dead of winter, but eventually she got it going and lit the end. She breathed in. The filter tasted stale and sour. She wasn’t certain how long they’d been sitting in that drawer—wasn’t certain how time worked in this town—but despite the taste, it was the best drag she’d ever taken. Her lungs burned and she calmed long enough to at least consider gathering her thoughts.

  She kept the lighter on, used the small flame as a guide. The windows were grimy, didn’t let in the glow from the nearest street lamp. She risked a glance outside, sure she’d see a decaying face peering back but there was nothing. Her nerves still flowed with a warning. She felt watched from every possible angle.

  She turned back around, tried to come up with a plan.

  There is no plan. At least one of you is dead, probably two. You can hide out as long as you want but he’ll find you. They all will.

  She shone the light in the opposite direction. She stepped into the living room and glanced at the closest family portrait.

  And blocked a scream from escaping her throat. The cigarette fell from her mouth to the floor, burning a small hole in the carpet.

  These were not strangers in the photo. She recognized the father and mother from earlier that night, the latter now a rotting corpse.

  The boy in between them, though—he was the one that blocked out her thoughts, replaced them with pure terror.

  He was young, maybe ten or eleven, but even then there’d been something in his eyes, something about his crooked smile seemed inhuman.

  Her hands shook beyond control. The photo, too, fell to the floor, landing face up. The glass cracked. The boy’s smile grew more lop-sided. More horrid. He stared at her, features fractured, and she realized she’d chosen the worst possible shelter.

  This was Tucker Ashton’s home.

  TWENTY-THREE

  “NO WAY IN hell,” Ethan said to no one in particular. At least he hoped no one heard him. He’d been running for ten, maybe twenty minutes, ne
ver daring to look back but certain just the same he was being followed. Eventually his right leg gave out and he tripped, landing on his elbow. The wound was superficial, just a scratch, but it still bled. He wiped it away, leaving behind smears on his arm.

  When he dared to look behind him, he saw no dead people. Gone was the float with its fire-red eyes, not to mention the graveyard and its promise of death and beyond. He should’ve been reassured. He’d somehow managed to outrun them, losing Ivy in the process, but he was far from escaping.

  When he took in his surroundings he realized he was at Fisher Park, the tiny, oval-shaped space where he and his childhood friends had played Frisbee so often. Memories came at him from every direction. His first successful bike ride sans training wheels. His first concussion from falling off said bike. His first trip to second and third base and nearly a home run on one drunken night after a school dance, though he and the girl—Shelly McDonald—had passed out before the deed could be finished.

  He did not welcome these recollections, was in no mood for nostalgia. Yet they came uninvited.

  His mind formed an innocent game of Frisbee, the same one he’d reminisced about earlier that night at the hotel. He’d been ten or eleven. It was a sunny day, nothing like the absolute darkness he’d endured since crossing the town line. His friends—Eddie Becker (now dead from a heroin overdose) and Todd Gardner (living out west and working for a radio station)—laughed and joked and it was almost a pleasant scene.

  Almost.

  In the distance, standing on the sidelines, a figure watched. It was tall and famished, bones threatening to burst through paper-thin skin. Its smile was not one of joy but knowledge. It knew something the boys did not, some joke beyond their comprehension, and they were the punch line. It was not the Tucker he remembered. His mind conjured a combination of memory and nightmare. The real Tucker had been tall, sure, and skinnier than most girls in his grade, but he hadn’t looked so ghastly.

  Hadn’t looked so monstrous.