by Allie Jean
“H-hello?” she said, her voice weak and timid, and she took a step backward, her shoe scraping across the loose gravel. It startled her, making her stop. A deep growl echoed from the darkness, and she backed away in earnest. Her head was screaming, run girl . . . danger, scary dude . . . growling! Her body barely able to move the few steps back due to fear and frank curiosity.
Out of the shadows, stepped a creature she’d only heard of in horror stories described as a hellhound. It was the size of a large horse but shaped more like a rabid dog, sharp teeth hanging from a gaping mouth. Smoke came from his huge nostrils as he breathed, his fangs dripping streams of nasty black liquid.
Holy God . . .
She took an unsteady step backward and then another, her mind catching up belatedly with her panicking, uncooperative body. The creature followed her retreat, eyes fixed on his captive. Snarling in anticipation, the thing opened its horrendous mouth and bared its enormous teeth.
Chantal screamed just as the beast leapt to attack, and then her unsteady legs gave out, sending her stumbling to the ground. She covered her head and neck in a vain attempt to protect herself, waiting to feel the bone-wrenching pain that was sure to come at any moment.
The attack didn’t happen.
She flinched when she heard a loud bang echoing as if something big hit the brick tunnel hard. She heard the thing growl followed by the sound of scraping metal.
“Go!” a male voice said, and she lifted her arms to see a figure encased in odd wisps of shadow crouching in front of the beast, standing as her guard.
“Go!” he yelled again, turning with a fierce gaze, and when she saw his beautiful blue eyes, she gasped. She knew him, but didn’t know from where.
His features were somehow not completely solid, surrounded by a heavy fog. An odd sense of warmth enveloped her, the earlier panic completely forgotten. She was lost in him—time frozen—as he looked through her.
A terrifying war cry grabbed their attention, and her defender turned back to his enemy, ready to take him on to give her a chance to escape. Chantal stumbled to her feet. She turned and raced away from the battle, heading toward the direction she’d come, the faint hint of train tracks along the ground helping to guide her.
Forgetting the possibility that the train could round the bend at any second or even the reason she’d followed a young boy in the tunnel to begin with, her mind had one purpose: Get out of danger.
She ignored the strange looks from the truant station attendant as she climbed onto the platform. Without a single acknowledgment of his hollered questions and threats of police involvement, she sprinted up the stairs toward the street.
As she ran, her mind went into sensory overload, reevaluating everything from her sanity to whether she’d been asleep this entire time. A boy who turned into a rabid beast? She was going mad, but it had all seemed so real. Who was the dark stranger and where had he come from? Why did he seem so familiar to her, and why did she feel safe once he’d appeared?
Chantal tried to convince herself that she was dreaming, but when she rounded the corner that lead into her apartment complex, she knew the she wasn’t.
Monica approaching their building as well only confirmed what just happened was real.
“Hey, sweets! How did the interview . . . are you all right?” Chantal watched as her friend’s face morphed to abject horror.
“I-I don’t feel good,” Chantal said, shaking.
“Let’s get you inside,” Monica said, ushering up the stairs toward her apartment door.
Chantal let her mind go as her friend helped her inside and pulled her purse from her frozen arm, but she didn’t have the conscious effort to do anything to help. She stared straight ahead blankly, seeing nothing but the gruesome red eyes of the beast, and then the calming of her savior’s gentle gaze.
She heard Monica saying something, but she couldn’t make it out. Her thoughts were consumed with more pressing, life-altering events. Then her answering machine came on. Monica had probably been trying to tell her that the phone was ringing.
“Uh, Chantal, this is Tony,” the manager of the diner said, sounding very timid. “I’m sorry about earlier. You ran out of here before I could explain. I meant no offense, honest. I was testing your ability to take care of yourself, that’s all. New York is a dangerous place. You never know what may blow through the doors.”
“I want you to call me first thing in the morning,” Monica glared at her friend with a fierce expression, and Chantal nodded, pulling the covers up to her chin, still feeling frazzled.
“I can’t believe that asshole had the nerve to touch you.”
“He didn’t do what you’re thinking, Mon.”
“Yeah? Then why do you look so shocked?”
Chantal didn’t answer. Could she tell her the truth about what she’d seen down in that tunnel without sounding like a complete nutjob? She’d been here before, deciding whether to take anti-psychotics to offset her anxiety, or head off to the races with the crazies in the loony bin. She would never venture down that road again.
“Tell me what happened,” Monica said, offering Chantal a warm place to fall.
“He just made a pass at me, that’s all.” Her voice seemed distant. She just continued reliving the horror she’d witnessed down in that tunnel; the idiot manager’s lesson on “how to handle a forward customer” was far from her immediate thoughts.
“Did he touch you?”
“Yeah, but not how you’re thinking. I punched him in the face, anyway.”
“You did?” Monica said and laughed. “You’re a spitfire, you know that? Maybe I should have you deal with Jeremy. Teach that asshole not to mess with me, or I’ll sic my little pit bull on him, huh?”
Chantal shrugged.
“If it’s no big deal then why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Monica’s voice sounded serious, all humor forgotten.
“It was just unexpected, I guess,” she said and tried to smile, but it fell flat. “Welcome to the real world.”
“No, Chantie. Maybe you should call the police in the morning.”
Chantal recognized the true concern in Monica’s face for the first time, and she sighed, wiping her palm over her face to hide her true worries.
“It’s not that big of a deal, I swear. I’ll be fine in the morning.”
“Promise me that you’ll call me when you get up. We can have coffee before I have to go to work, okay?”
“That sounds perfect,” Chantal said with a genuine smile.
Monica stood, watching Chantal warily. She glanced around, checking every nook and cranny for any sign out of the ordinary. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”
“Positive,” Chantal said, rising from her comfortable spot and ushering her friend to the door. “I’m a big girl, Mon. I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”
“Okay,” Monica said, walking out into the hall but pausing to gauge Chantal’s condition one more time.
“In the morning,” Chantal said again. Monica nodded and went to her own little hovel. Chantal watched her go, glad that she had a person like Monica in her life. Although she didn’t want to divulge the details of the night to her new confidant, Monica had become a person she could depend on for many things. The way she’d stepped up and took care of her tonight made her feel more like a big sister than a friend, and right now, it was exactly what she needed.
“Hey,” Chantal called. “Did he come by again?”
“No,” Monica said, her eyes downcast. The faint bruising above her right eye seemed to be healing. “He’s been calling, though.”
“Don’t invite him over again, okay?”
Monica gave her a small, conspiratorial smile. “If he shows up, I know who to call,” she said with a wink.
Chantal stared blankly into the vacant hallway long after her friend disappeared behind her door. Monica seemed so strong, always able to pick herself up from the terrible things that had happened to her. She’d been th
rough life’s wringer, yet was still standing, and seemed to be trying to rid herself of an abusive relationship. At least, she hoped so.
Chantal cringed as possible images of finding her friend bloodied and beaten after another round with her boyfriend flashed through her mind.
Evil.
It seemed to be everywhere as of late. Evil was in that subway station, she was sure of that. She was having a hard time comprehending what exactly she had seen.
Chantal closed the door after a couple of minutes, making sure it was dead bolted. She rested her back against the door and sighed. She’d turned every light on that she could, thereby eliminating every shadow and lighting every crevice. She’d sleep like that tonight, not caring that it would reflect in her electricity bill for the month. She’d figure out how to pay it when the time came.
Climbing into her bed, she lay flat on her back and pulled her blankets up tight to her chin, mirroring the position she’d held night after night as a young girl. Hating the weakness, her mind traveled to her childhood and the nighttime companions that had kept her safe.
The wolf had disappeared long ago, but Nick had always been there. She never had the heart to destroy his image. It just didn’t seem right.
She glanced over to where he usually was, but he wasn’t there, of course, she’d made sure of that with a flick of a switch.
But there was no way she’d turn out the lights, not after tonight, not after what she’d seen. The night seemed to hold so many elusive questions, and she lay there for a long time, waiting for the numbing sleep to come.
Several hours of anxiety and fear passed before her dreams finally found her.
Lethargy pulls her into a peaceful sleep, melting away the day’s events into something more familiar and far less terrifying.
She stands inside a bare field, looking out into the bright sky. She is alone, and she prefers it that way. A sense of serenity fills her, but she knows it won’t last.
This dream, like the others, has a purpose. She doesn’t know what that is, but she keeps a wary eye open, trained to notice even the smallest of details. It’s become apparent to her that the dreams mean something; the dark boy’s appearance is a testament to that. She’d seen him before in this ever-changing place; she remembers that now.
She takes a step forward, then another, not knowing where she’s going. She doesn’t trust this false feeling of safety.
A small figure comes into view sitting on the grass, humming. She approaches, hunting for the oncoming threat she feels in her gut, but sees nothing except endless grass and peaceful blue skies. Taking a small breath, she sits by the unknown figure.
“I knew you’d come,” the little girl says, and the dreamer turns to see herself as a young child, sitting on the ground picking at the grass, singing the lullaby her mother always hummed. The familiar melody hits her soul in the most purest way—raw, honest, with heart-wrenching loss and pain.
“How long have you been here?”
“Since you left,” the little girl says, playing with a blade of grass with vague interest. “He’s missed you, you know?”
“Who?”
The girl turns to glance behind her, and she follows. There stood a familiar house, appearing out of nowhere. It’s the one she shared with her mother, and she feels a wave of yearning engulf her.
The dreamer gasps as she sees her wolf looking out at her, a sad expression on his fierce face. He stands guard, ever vigilant. She longs to enter the house, to tell him she’s thankful for all those years of protection, but something keeps her still. Her will is not her own in this place; she should know that by now.
“You’re getting closer.” The girl sighs, resting her head on a bent knee.
“Closer to what?” the dreamer asks, even though she knows the answer will not be forthcoming.
“To the truth, of course.”
The truth of what, the dreamer doesn’t know, but perhaps if she stays in this scene long enough, things will start to make more sense.
A strange rumble breaks apart the peaceful silence, and the scenery shifts.
The dreamer finds herself standing alone in the middle of her old street where she grew up. There’s no movement from the surrounding houses. It’s as if they’re vacant. No one is leaving for work. No children are out playing.
The top of a white van drives around the bend, and the dreamer hears cries coming from the girl still on the front lawn. She’s in a fetal position, her arms wrapped around her tiny legs; her whole body trembles.
“They’re coming for me,” the girl says. “They’re here!”
“Who is here?” the dreamer asks, looking between the terrified child and the oncoming vehicle with an unknown urgency.
“The Movers!” the girl cries. She points toward the van, her little finger shaking. The dreamer turns and finds the van has stopped in front of her neighbor’s house, and two large men get out.
No, not men. Beasts. Grotesque faces, looking more like slabs of dripping raw meat, shaped into barely recognizable features. A stench comes from their direction, putrid and rank.
They enter the house carrying a large gray bag. The sight of it makes the child let out a muffled cry of alarm.
“What are they doing?” the dreamer asks.
The child has hidden her small head between her thin arms, pulling herself into a tiny ball as she rocks back and forth, muttering something. The dreamer takes a step closer to her to hear what she’s saying.
“No, no, no . . .” the child says, each word punctuated by the sway of her movements. She sings to herself, the words both beautiful and terrible.
“Dream happy thoughts, my dear. The time of goodness draws to a close. Kiss this world goodbye, my dear. For only the Angels belong in Heaven, and you are a heathen evermore . . .”
The song she recognizes as the one her mother would sing, but this version has words of alarm and abandonment.
A chilling scream comes from the neighbor’s house, and the dreamer turns to see the two creatures leaving, one carrying a child-sized bag over his shoulder dripping a red fluid onto the pavement below. The girl continues to sing, a sob in her beautiful voice.
“They come for the children, innocent and bright. Blight of the world, they smite you out. They’ll come for you, too, my dear. The horrible smell precedes their pain.”
The van moves, both creatures staring in their direction. One points toward the little girl, and nasty grins spread across their vile faces.
The dreamer moves with haste to stand in front of the girl, and she doesn’t move but focuses on her singing; the words are becoming louder.
“They rip, they tear, they’ll suck your blood. And then the ashes come to fall. Time will stop. Your fate is sealed. You’ll be in the Hell forevermore.”
The dreamer looks around her in panic, trying to find someone to help. She sees the wolf standing inside the house snarling and tearing at the window. He’s trying to get out to protect them but something keeps him inside. It’s as if he’s chained, fighting against invisible binds.
The dreamer spins back to the street as the van pulls up and both men jump out with mad purpose in their step. She backs up, crouching in front of the girl.
“You can’t have her!” she says, posture like stone, her will, iron.
“We didn’t come for her,” one says and laughs, his eerie voice snake-like.
“We came for you,” the other says, holding the cloth bag open.
“No!” she screams, her own voice changing to that of a young child. She fights but her strength has weakened. “You can’t take me. I won’t go!”
“Come now, my dear. You know it’s time to leave.”
The one carrying the bag steps forward and the dreamer screams as the bag comes over her head, plunging her into blackness.
Chantal awoke from her dream, a layer of sweat covering her entire body. She sat up, disoriented and realizing she was in darkness.
Shaking off vague remnants of the horribl
e nightmare, she tried to regain her bearings.
“Hello?” she called, not expecting an answer. Perhaps somewhere in the back of her mind she hoped that Monica had come back to stay.
“Mon?”
There was a small clanking noise from across the room. Maybe it was just the settling of the wood framing, she thought, knowing full well wood didn’t make that kind of noise. She swallowed hard against a thick lump in her throat, her hand trembling as she reached for the new bedside lamp she’d borrowed from Monica. She clicked the dangling cord, but the light didn’t come on.
Chantal panicked, clicking the cord a couple of more times in fast succession. Then, taking a deep, steadying breath, she fumbled with the nightstand drawer, trying to find the old flashlight she kept there as backup. Finding it, she felt a small spark of relief.
But the stupid thing didn’t turn on. She hit the side like she’d done before, but nothing happened. The old batteries had given out.
Why didn’t I pick up more batteries? She silently scolded herself.
This felt unnatural, like one of her nightmares. It had happened before, when she thought she’d awoken from her dream, only to realize the nightmares had tricked her, trapping her in a horror film so twisted it had left her anxious for weeks.
The clanking came again, this time more forceful, and she hoped one of her friends from the subway hadn’t followed her home.
“You better be a rat!” she said, and squinted into the darkness, hoping her eyes would adjust. The street lamp outside her apartment offered some help, but the majority of her room was dark and gloomy, congregating by the kitchen where the damn noise came from.
Hating that she felt so terrified and vulnerable, Chantal couldn’t help but look over to Nick’s corner. Maybe his presence would help alleviate her fear. There he was, with his head angled in her direction.
“The lights won’t come on,” she said, speaking to him aloud for the first time now that she lived alone. “I don’t know if that means some boogey man is coming for me, or my landlord needs to fix the connections.”