Dreaming In Darkness

by Chamberlin, Adrian

“And Dean is in…”

  “Hammond,” Alton said.

  I couldn’t even believe I was thinking about this - or better yet, even contemplating doing this. I glanced at Oscar. He looked miles away, probably thinking about his wife and his home. I looked to Alton, and saw him bent over one of his keyboards. “The closet monolith is where, Alton?”

  Without looking up, he said, “Just off the coast of New Orleans. About three miles out.”

  I heard Oscar groan and mutter, “Martha ain’t gonna like this one bit.”

  I turned back to Oscar. He looked back at me and nodded. I whispered, “You sure?”

  Oscar’s eyes looked sad. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, looked around and then spoke before I could. “We’ll go, Alton, as long as we can meet Dean somewhere safe. If any place is safe now.”

  Alton stopped typing on his keyboard and turned to look at us. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes; they were red from lack of sleep. “Do you know what you two are telling me?”

  “We do,” Oscar said. “Don’t try to talk us out of it because we just might change our minds.”

  “I have to ask: are you completely sure?”

  “We are,” we both said in unison.

  Alton’s face lit up. “Excellent! Let’s go get Dean on the HAM radio. He will be most ecstatic.”

  6

  The meeting was going well until a friend of Alton’s sounded over one of the other radios. Alton picked it up quickly. I could tell his friend – Jerry Fowler, Alton told us - was in a state of panic.

  Jerry had made a terrible mistake.

  “I know what you said, Alton, but there’s things here I had to get,” Jerry said in an over-excited voice.

  “Have you gotten out of there?” Alton asked.

  A pause, longer than I would have liked, fell over the room. I looked at Alton and then at Oscar who just shrugged his shoulders.

  “No, and I can’t. They’re here, Alton, twenty of the changed ones, and they’re trying to get in. I shot five but it didn’t do any good. They are huge, and their eyes…Alton, their damn eyes, big as dessert plates and all black. Their skin is shiny and slick and the stench is unbearable. Dead fish is the best I can compare it to.”

  Jerry paused. Strange bubbling, high-pitched noises filtered through the radio’s small speaker. “What are they doing, Alton? What the hell are they doing?” Jerry was in a fresh state of panic.

  “Jerry, I don’t know.” Alton tried to remain calm, despite the visible fear for his friend’s safety. “Damn it, Jerry why did you go back there?”

  “I told you goddamnit! I had things to get here. Now try and help me!”

  Alton hesitated. The background noises grew louder, then faint. Jerry dropped the mike and feedback screeched in our ears. Jerry’s voice was barely audible. “Oh God, there’s more…there’s more, Alton!”

  Sweat beaded Alton’s forehead. He gripped his small mike with grip like iron. “Say the chant, Jerry. Say the damn chant like I taught you.”

  Jerry started speaking strange words, words we would hear later from Dean. Then he stopped and the background noises became louder.

  “I can’t remember the rest. I can’t remember the -”

  A loud crash was followed by Jerry’s scream. A single gunshot. A thick wet sound and Jerry screamed again. “Tentacles, Alton! They’re sprouting tentacles out of their backs!”

  Alton left his chair and raced to his desk. He rummaged through a stack of paper as more strange, high-pitched sounds blared through the small speaker. Then, Jerry picked up the mike again. “They’ve stopped, Alton. I don’t know why but they’ve just…stopped.”

  “Start saying the chant,” Alton ordered, in a low voice.

  “I can’t remember the damn chant!” He paused. “Alton…”

  “Yes?”

  “They’re huddling together… looking up at something.”

  I saw the puzzled look on Alton’s face as he ran frantic hands through his hair. New sounds came from the radio; dreadful and purposeful followed by a loud squeal and yelp. “They’re all making that sound. Can you hear me?”

  “Just about. What’s going on?”

  “I dunno. They’re all looking up and making that noise together.” There was a pause, and we leaned closer to the speaker to hear the strange noise. “It’s like they just…forgot all about me.”

  “Can you get out of there?”

  A few moments passed. “No, they’ve got me blocked in. They aren’t moving or anything – sure as hell aren’t leaving. They’re just making that damnable racket.”

  “If you see a chance to escape, Jerry, you take it. You hear me?”

  “Don’t worry about that. They give me so much as a hair’s width of a chance I’m gone.”

  Tense moments passed, filled by the unearthly sounds of those things baying in the twilight, while Jerry lay trapped in his summer home, scared and alone.

  A distinctive, wet-sounding wail rose above the cries, and the baying ceased.

  “Jerry, what’s happening?” Alton’s grip on the mike trembled. “Jerry, are you there?”

  Shuffling noises, wet slapping sounds, and a gurgling of water mixed with air came over the speaker. Then Jerry spoke again. “Yeah, I’m here. Quite puzzled, to say the least.”

  Alton glanced in our direction and ran another hand through his hair. “What’s happening now, Jerry?”

  “They left. They stopped making that ridiculous racket and just…left.”

  “Left as in ‘gone’?” Alton asked.

  “Well, I don’t know what dictionary you read from, Alton but in my book ‘left’ means just that.”

  “Well what are you waiting for? Get the hell out of there Jerry, right now!”

  A few seconds passed. “I will. Just a second, though. ‘Bout time I had some good luck.”

  We heard Jerry rummaging around in the small house, muttering and swearing at the mess the creatures had made. We began to relax, listening to Jerry curse some more as floorboards creaked and articles were tossed to the floor.

  I was about to go get another Coke when a sound akin to one I heard at my house blasted through the speaker.

  Alton jumped, and we heard Jerry running across the floor.

  “What is it, Jerry?” Alton asked.

  Jerry sounded distant, like he was in a hollow tube, “I don’t know.”

  “Get out of there, now, Jerry!” Alton screamed at the top of his lungs.

  “I hear trees snapping,” Jerry said, again in that strange, distant and muffled voice. “Snapping like twigs. I’m getting out of here now. I’ll be over at your place in abou -” A loud ear splitting thud rang out. Jerry screamed. We heard floorboards protest and then break. “It hit the house. It hit the damn house!” Another crash sounded. Jerry screamed again.

  Fear once again distorted the calm, serene features of Alton Sleighbach.

  The sound of ripped boards came next. Then another raging roar echoed. “It’s tearing off the roof, I can’t get ou -”

  Another loud crash filled the basement. Jerry began screaming like a child. Then a piercing shriek of feedback blasted our ears.

  The last thing we heard was Jerry’s microphone being dragged across the floor along with other items in his house. Another high-pitched squeal signaled the end of transmission; nothing followed but the low hum of dead air.

  Alton fell into his chair, stricken with shock at the sudden loss of his friend. I could hear Dean demanding someone answer him. I looked at Alton and saw he was in no fit state to answer, so I made my way over to the small table and told Dean what happened.

  We began talking a little easier after that, and Dean was just as I expected. A professor in his late fifties, living just outside the Hammond city limits. I could tell by his voice he was a fan of bourbon, and I could almost imagine him as an audiobook narrator. His excitement showed a few minutes into the conversation. Dean’s voice was fast for a southerner; we’ve been known
to talk slow down here in the South, but he had no accent and could fit right in up north with no problems.

  Dean poured out details that went over Oscar’s head and towards the end of the conversation it went over mine as well. I have no singing voice but he told us that’s what we would be doing to set things right. Singing.

  The quick history lesson Dean gave us was mind-boggling. I wonder why we never heard of these things in school or in college. I think everyone has the right to know, and we need to know the events that have come and gone, the things that stay secret but live on behind closed doors in the squalid corners of the world.

  I nearly fainted when I learned that one of these age-old cults still flourished in the deep backwater swamps of Louisiana. A lady named Sabrini is a local legend, Dean told us, and the things people say she’s done are downright evil.

  Sabrini was the figurehead of this cult, before she was killed by an evil older than we can possibly imagine. Dean’s tale said she had control of things not of this world - possibly from one of the worlds that have become new additions to our skyline. The cult surely had something to do with the recent catastrophic events, but Dean said we needn’t waste our time searching for them.

  “They’ve already undergone the change. Now they’re transformed, they’re looking for new sacrifices for their gods.”

  Oscar didn’t argue the point and Alton seemed to turn a shade lighter upon hearing this. Dean even hinted that an incident back in 2011 close to Summit, Mississippi that had been dismissed as an earthquake might well be related to the events ravaging our planet.

  A local artist named Darian lost his life during this “earthquake” and many people can confirm the old man’s regular attendance at the local watering hole. I had even been there myself a time or two back in the iold days. The waitress who started a brief relationship with the artist moved away, her whereabouts unknown. Maybe she went to wherever the old man came from. I guess it’s only for the privileged to know, and I’m not one of them. It amazes me still that something so close to home and so sinister can be swept under the rug and only talked about behind closed doors in a small southern town.

  But this…this can’t be covered up now. Not a chance in Hell.

  I stood tall and tried not to waiver, but my nerves were shot and my mind was about to implode with all this new information. A person has their limits: Oscar had reached his and I wondered how he had held it together so well. I considered that the trip back home wouldn’t be a pleasant one, and we still haven’t decided if we are going to tell Martha all of it.

  We may have a chance at this if we are careful. Dean’s plan was straightforward, simple. The best plans usually are.

  “So. You got all that?” Dean asked.

  I nodded. Oscar followed suit.

  “They got it, Dean,” Alton said. “I’ll fill them in on the rest once we’re done.”

  Dean hesitated. Then, in a quiet tone, said, “I’m sorry about Jerry, Alton.”

  “Thanks, Dean.” Alton swallowed.

  “Don’t mention it. Now, don’t you go and do something as foolish as he did.” Dean’s tone was almost fatherly.

  Alton sighed. “Like the one you and the other two are going to do?”

  “This is different, Alton. We’re trying to end this madness.”

  Alton didn’t reply. He hung his head.

  “I know, Dean,” he said finally. “I’m just upset and tired. Please forgive me, old friend.”

  Dean chuckled. “No forgiveness is needed. You just make sure you give those two the right directions to my house. And not by the main routes; back roads only.”

  “I got it, Dean.”

  “Well, Trent and Oscar. I’ll see you in three days.” He sounded almost cheerful. Then his tone changed, became serious. “Alton, I’ve made a tape the two can watch about the monoliths, the cult, and my theory on what has happened. It may seem old news to you, but you might need a refresher course. In addition, there’s some more information that I didn’t go over.”

  “It would do me some good to watch it,” Oscar said.

  I glanced at Oscar and smiled. I was wondering if all this would make him reluctant to go, but I realized then that he needed the information in slow feeds, not all at once. He was putting it all together a piece at a time and making sense of it that way. I guess that’s how he had to do it, to keep from losing his mind altogether.

  “Me too.” I didn’t want Oscar to feel at odds, or lacking in intelligence.

  “I will watch it with them,” Alton said.

  “I’d hoped you would, Alton. I’m sending it to you now,” Dean said. “The tape is very crude, somewhat rough around the edges, but it’s to the point, and I doubt anyone in Washington or the military will have any better idea as to what’s actually going on here.”

  “I see it coming through. When are we going to talk again?” Alton asked.

  “Tomorrow. I think Trent and Oscar need a little time for all this to sink in - especially if they watch the tape before going home. That is if they are going home?”

  Oscar raised his head. “Yeah, I have to go. I have to tell Martha what’s going on. She’d kill me if I didn’t.”

  I was silent. I didn’t have any reason to go home. Guilt and loneliness would be my only companions. I couldn’t stand the thought. I considered the possibility of staying with Alton. Perhaps I could help with his computer set-up, or maybe he could teach me a thing or two; anything to get my mind off things for a short while.

  I took a deep breath. “Alton, do you mind if I stay here with you? I really don’t want to go home and be on my own.”

  Alton gave a weary smile. “You can stay here, Trent. You got clothes to wear?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. I think you might be able to help with a few things around here, computer-wise, if you don’t mind?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “I’d be more than happy to help.”

  Oscar nudged me. “Trent, I think it’s best if I go home alone for this. Martha can be pretty stubborn and I know how to persuade her. Especially when I know what’s right and what’s wrong.” He checked his watch. “How long’s the tape, Dean?”

  Dean’s voice rattled through the speaker. “About thirty or so minutes.”

  “Okay, I didn’t want to be away much longer. I’m sure Martha is about to climb the walls with worry already.”

  “Sure thing, Oscar,” Dean said. “It’s almost done uploading anyway. After a quick watch you can get home safely to your wife.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So, we talk tomorrow same time, Alton?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Alton replied, rummaging through papers on his desk.

  “I’ve included some attachments for you to print out, Alton. I suggest you put these around your house. You have some paint, or something you can draw with that’s permanent?”

  “I have some full spray-paint cans. Will they be suitable?” Alton asked.

  “They’ll be perfect. Just make sure you get the symbols right. No artistic flourishes.”

  Alton laughed at that. I got up for another Coke.

  “Will you grab me one too, Trent?” Oscar asked.

  “Sure.”

  The next few minutes passed by quietly. It was like we all were in some sort of strange trance, each of us lost in our thoughts and worries. I opened my Coke. The familiar pop and hiss seemed to wake us all up. Alton got busy doing stuff again and Oscar stood up and stretched. Dean came over the speaker again.

  “Okay, I’m going to get off here for now. I have to get things ready for the trip. If you need me, just buzz; I’ll be nearby. So: all good for tomorrow?”

  “We will be here,” Alton said.

  “Great. Take care going home, Oscar. And be safe again coming back.”

  “Roger that. You take care yourself,” Oscar said.

  The small click of the radio echoed in the room. I could feel another long silence coming and I broke in before it could arrive.<
br />
  “The tape ready, Alton?”

  Alton pressed a few buttons on his keyboard. “It is. You two ready?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Oscar said.

  “Roll’em.” I was trying to lighten the mood, but no one laughed. I eased back in my chair, took another sip of my Coke. Oscar moved his chair closer. Alton moved off to the right so we could have front row viewing.

  The video began.

  A middle aged man, who I presumed to be Dean, appeared in the center, before a chalkboard. Gray hair matched his neatly trimmed beard, which was also gray.

  Strange writings ran across the top of the chalkboard and I had no idea what they meant. I heard Alton whisper a quiet “Oh,” when he saw the chalkboard. The recorded Dean began speaking.

  “What we have witnessed is a power older than anyone of us could imagine. After studying the monoliths for some time, I have learned that the scientists of our age have got it all wrong. Their baleful ignorance is astonishing at best, harmful at worst.

  “They told us we have discovered everything there is to know about our home planet’s history, that the entire universe composed of the same elements…they are wrong.

  “The material that the monoliths are composed of is unknown to our Periodic Table; none of our geological or chemical records contain any material that even resembles it. Oh, how I wish I could have them all sit down and let me tell them a thing…or rather, show them a thing or two. I guess that’s why we haven’t heard more about these strange things that came from our oceans. I am certain the scientists are afraid to admit they’re baffled, but thanks to the person sitting next to you some light has been shed on these alien things that have made our world home.

  “Perhaps I should say they’ve reappeared; maybe it’s their home and not really ours at all. The little information I have gathered – and a special thanks to the very few people who wanted this carbon-dating knowledge known - tells us that the foundations of these monoliths date back to before the first dinosaurs walked the earth.”

  Dean then held up several printed pictures of the monoliths from around the world. They were all the same: three-sided, triangular tubular structures that curved slightly inward as they rose, terminating in a sharp point.