by Jen Klein
Now looking down at the mud, I remembered the whole fuss when we were trying to leave his house: the boots. He’d had to find the right pair. They were necessary because they’d bring us good luck. Star Wars boots, with the outline of the Millennium Falcon engraved on the soles.
So very Norbert.
This particular Falcon imprint was pointed straight at the building looming over the patchy, muddy lawn. Beyond the first Falcon was another and then the blurred outline of a third.
Norbert had checked out this building.
Which was fine. We were here to check out buildings. But then I suddenly realized why this specific building looked different. It’s because it was dark, darker than everything around it. And it wasn’t because the lights were off. It was because the windows had been painted black.
I briefly considered texting Norbert or calling him again. Even more briefly, I considered calling Sky. Maybe there was a chance he wasn’t actually an evil liar with a moral compass that stunk worse than hellfire. Perhaps he had good reason to scare me . . . and confuse me . . . and lie to me.
No. Sky was a terrible person—maybe even a sociopath—and I couldn’t trust him at all. I couldn’t go to him for help.
I was on my own.
Best to keep moving until I found Norbert. I crept along the side of the building until I reached the back corner. I stepped just past it, to a nearby tree. Setting one hand against its rough trunk, I cast my phone around, using its dim light to hunt for anything that would clue me in to Norbert’s whereabouts.
Nothing.
I aimed my phone at the building. I heard a gentle, rhythmic slapping sound but couldn’t pinpoint the source. From back there, the building looked like it was probably a fourplex, with two apartments above and two below. On the bottom floor were two sliding doors leading onto two small patios made of cracked concrete. I peered into the gloominess between the patios and a wooden deck that stretched from one end of the second floor to the other.
My fingers and toes went numb.
The whole deck was covered with a giant piece of black tarp, as if to shield it from the sun. One side of the tarp was completely shredded. It looked like giant claws had ripped it from top to bottom. The torn pieces flapped gently against each other in the rain.
At least I knew where the sound was coming from.
I backed up against the tree trunk. “Norbert?” My stage whisper carried through the night, but no one answered. I tried again—louder—but there was still nothing. I jerked my phone downward, casting its glow on the ground. There they were, all over the mud at my feet: smudged Millennium Falcon imprints. I pointed my phone up. A small branch hung at an angle, newly broken. There were wet, muddy scrapes against the trunk.
Norbert had climbed this tree.
Norbert had gone into this building.
Shit.
I shoved my phone into my pocket—I was down to eleven percent battery life—and scrambled upward toward the closest branch. It wasn’t the easiest thing in the world, climbing a tree in the dark, but the trunk was knotty with lots of solid bumps and thick twigs to grab. I was able to hoist myself onto the first branch and then another. If Norbert could do this, so could I. I wormed my way across the thick limb, extending over the deck. The branch bent a little as I reached the railing. When I made it onto the balcony, it sprang back into place with a rustling of leaves.
Up here, a full floor above the relative safety of the ground, the air smelled like fire and fear, and I knew not to call out for Norbert. I took a step toward the building. Something crunched beneath my foot. Light glinted from several places on the wooden balcony.
Shattered glass. Lots of it.
I stepped over the pile to the apartment’s entrance. What had been a sliding door was now a jagged opening. It had been broken. Violently. The shards had exploded out in every direction. Faint starlight reflected on them.
Beyond the door was a pitch-black abyss. I pulled my phone back out, holding it before me as I stepped inside.
Ten percent battery life.
It had been a bedroom (this wasn’t my awesome detective skills at work; there was a king-size bed pushed up against the wall). Now it was a deserted war zone.
From the middle of the room, I could see that there had once been something behind the sliding glass door: a barricade to keep out intruders . . . or sunlight. It was made of thick iron, but it had been completely obliterated. Whatever had shattered the glass had blasted right through it too. Now that I was inside with my phone held high, I could see splinters of dark metal mixed with the glass shards.
This is so bad.
I cast my phone’s light over the bed. It was simple: white wooden rail headboard, white sheets. It looked totally ordinary, like something you’d see in that discarded Target ad, except for one thing.
Splayed across it were ashes in the shape of a human body.
I leaned closer. It could have been my imagination, the darkness, whatever; there were what appeared to be charred pieces of bone mixed in with the ashes. A set of metal handcuffs was looped over the wooden slats at the head of the bed, the locks closed. On the white pillow right beneath them was a melted, misshapen circle of gold.
A ring. But destroyed, like the rest of the place.
I held my breath and reached out to touch it. It was smooth and cool, so I lifted it, hefting its weight. My mind flashed to Misty and that big golden ring on her finger . . .
Within the depths of the fourplex, there was a clunk. I shoved the ring into my pocket and looked around for something—anything—that could be used as a makeshift weapon. I found a jagged piece of iron on the floor and lifted it. It was about the size and shape of a long dagger, with some serious weight. I didn’t know if I had it in me to use it against another human (or nonhuman), but it was better than nothing. I tiptoed toward the open door of the bedroom and peered out into the living area.
There was no living area.
My heart began to thud. The building wasn’t even a fourplex. At least, not anymore. The inside of it had been ripped apart and crazily reassembled like a jigsaw puzzle from a lunatic’s nightmare. I was looking at a corridor: sloping downward, lined by cavernous openings into other darkened rooms. Unlit lanterns swayed from the ceiling.
Below, I caught flickers of light. Candlelight. I felt like I’d stepped into a three-dimensional M. C. Escher painting, one that smelled like rotting garbage and was freaking terrifying.
And my cousin was somewhere inside.
I descended the corridor, holding my phone before me and testing each step before putting my weight onto it. The floor creaked, but it felt solid. I edged along until I reached the lip of the first opening: a gaping hole in the wall to my left. It was like a mouth. An uneven, black mouth waiting to swallow me whole.
I slid my foot ahead, hearing the scraping sound it made against the ground, and then shifted my weight forward.
One step.
I could do this. I could do this for Norbert.
I took another shuffling step, and then another. I was past the lip of the hole now. I had to look inside. I couldn’t not look inside. So I slowly turned my head, my breath coming in shallow huffs, hearing it loud in my own ears along with the scraping of my foot moving forward . . .
Except I had stopped moving. I was frozen, staring into utter blackness. And I was still hearing footsteps drag across the ground.
Somewhere nearby, someone else was walking.
It came down to this: I could keep sneaking along, trying not to be seen or heard even though I was pretty sure I had already been both seen and heard . . . or I could charge in like I owned the joint and deal with whatever came at me from the darkness. Both options sucked. I went with a third: the one that might get me out the quickest.
I raised my phone high in the air and yelled for my cousin: “Norbert!”
&n
bsp; There was an awful pause in which the world stopped turning on its axis . . .
And then, the noises started.
From above me, there was a rustle. From the black hole to my left, a moan. From behind me, more scraping. But from down below, something much more welcome: an electronic squeal.
Norbert’s key-chain alarm.
He was here. He was alive. Getting us out was all that mattered. I thrust my phone before me and headed downward as quickly as I dared. Passing one more awful, ripped-open hole of darkness, I briefly wondered if I had dipped below ground level. Was this the building’s basement?
I turned a corner and found myself in a room made from stone. It could have been a wine cellar or a dungeon. It was empty except for two candles on a narrow wooden table and the most welcome sight I’d ever seen in my life: Norbert in a heap on the floor.
He blinked up at me. “Jillian, I found the lair.”
I tried to swallow back the lump in my throat. He had no freaking clue how scared I’d been for him. “Good job,” I managed, hoping Norbert wouldn’t notice how my voice shook. “Are you okay?”
He set a hand on the side of his head and winced. “Not sure . . . I think something hit me.”
I reached his side and helped him stagger to his feet. There was a dark smear along his temple and cheekbone. “Norbert, we really need to get out of here.”
“First we should look around at—”
“No.” My grip tightened around his shoulders. “I’m serious. We have to get out.”
He forced a smile despite his pain. “Copy that,” he said.
I grabbed his hand in my own, clutching my makeshift metal weapon in the other, and turned back toward the corridor ramping down from above. But something blocked our path. Norbert’s fingers tightened around mine. I shoved myself in front of him. “Stay there,” I murmured.
A flare of light erupted, so brilliant that I thrust the iron dagger in front of my face, temporarily blinded. Norbert and I reeled backward, blinking. A wave of something foul but oily—kerosene, I think—hit my nostrils and made me cough. I blinked furiously, my eyes watering against the light and the smell, until a man took shape.
He was seriously tall and muscular. He was also seriously naked. He held a torch, staring at us from the only exit.
“The Abomination is coming,” he croaked.
We are starring in our very own horror movie.
“What is the Abomination?” Norbert whispered from behind me.
“Shh,” I whispered back. I didn’t want to question the large naked guy. I just wanted to get past him. His eyes were unfocused. He sniffed, like a bloodhound trying to find game. He cast his head about in jerky motions.
“The key,” he said. “We want the key.”
“I don’t have it,” I said, edging toward the exit.
“It is hidden.”
“Um, who hid it?” Maybe if I pretended that we were having a normal conversation (like any part of this was normal), he’d drop his guard.
“The seven who didn’t sleep,” he said.
“Do you have any idea where they might have put it?” I asked. I vaguely remembered reading that if you are ever taken hostage, you should try to connect with your kidnappers so they’ll think of you as a person and not kill you.
“The seven lied. The seven lied and one of them died. Six aren’t enough to hide the key.”
So much for connection. He was basically a naked, crazy Dr. Seuss. Awesome.
“What is the key for?” I asked, taking several more tiny steps in his direction, tugging Norbert along.
The man moved slightly to block the exit. “The key leads to the bridge.”
My insides clenched.
His words were crazy, yes. But this time they were familiar crazy. For a dizzying instant, I was Norbert’s age. Back in my mother’s room. Back where she was chained to the bed so she wouldn’t hurt herself again. Back where, no matter how hard I’d scrubbed, some of the walls were still streaked with bloodstains. I remembered her incoherence and the way she had shrieked until she’d lost her voice and could only ramble in whispers. The same words had tumbled out over and over and over before she died: “Burn the bridge, burn the bridge, burn the bridge . . .”
The man swung his large head toward me. “It is prophesied.”
I hesitated. I wanted to know more. I had to know more—but first I had to get Norbert out of here. “Okay,” I said to the man in what I hoped was a soothing voice. “I’ll go look for the key.”
He moved the torch in my direction, and this time we were close enough that I could see his face clearly. Patches of red whiskers dotted his skin. His bloodshot eyes bounced around the room, never seeming to fix on anything. “We will find the key! The key will lead us to the bridge! The armies will come—”
“I called the police,” I shouted, just to shut him up. I raised my iron dagger again and tried to stop my voice from trembling. “They’re on their way and we’re just kids, so if you want a prayer of not getting locked up for the rest of your life, you’ll back up and let us go.”
The man surged forward, lowering his huge face right in front of mine. His breath was hot and smelled like cooking meat. “The world is splintering,” he growled. “We won’t stay out forever. Some of us are already here. Like me. Like her.” He paused, sniffing at the air again. I tensed to make a run for it. “Her gold.” He snarled, spittle flecking his curled lips. “You have her gold!”
Gold. The lump of gold in my pocket. Holy crap mother of God, he could freaking smell the freaking gold in my freaking pocket . . .
No time to wonder how or why. My cousin and I were trapped in the presence of a muscled giant who—best-case scenario—was off-balance. A guy with a voice like a beast and a hair trigger.
I reached into my pocket for the circular gold lump. I held it level with the man’s face. “You want this? Here you go, right here. Her gold.”
The man’s eyes tried to focus. I waved it around. He lurched forward, grabbing at it.
I whirled and threw the gold as hard as I could. It clinked against the far wall.
I spun back to the man. “Go get it,” I told him. Clutching the iron dagger so hard that it cut into my skin, I darted to one side, pulling Norbert with me.
It was a super great escape plan, and it totally should have worked, except that the giant heaved first toward the gold, then back to block us. He came to a complete stop, staring at us with wide, angry, bloodshot eyes. He threw his head back and—there’s really no other word for it—howled up into the darkness. The sound echoed back down to the floor where we stood. I felt Norbert crowd close behind me, his body sticky hot against mine.
“The Abomination!” The man’s voice was so loud it hurt my eardrums. “Blood of the seventh! The Abomination is near!”
And then he went apeshit crazy, waving his torch around and shrieking.
I gave Norbert a hard yank toward the exit. The man whipped around with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible for his size. He hauled back and hurled his torch at us. I ducked, pulling Norbert down with me, and the torch flew over our heads. It hit something in the corner—a pile of debris—which burst into flames. Norbert and I screamed and careened away from it as the man charged toward us.
The whole world was fire and smoke and the thundering sound of the man’s footsteps. I launched myself between him and Norbert, flung my hands up in the air, and just like outside Lilith’s Bed, I pushed. Something erupted from me—an energy, a force, a wall of strength larger and stronger than the fire burning around us—and I felt it slam into him. He was hurled backward, crashing into the edge of the doorway. Norbert screamed again as the wooden doorframe cracked. The top half came loose, already smoking from the fire, and fell onto the man. It knocked him off his feet and pinned him to the floor, holding him there as the flames leapt to his bo
dy.
The man’s screams mixed with Norbert’s, and I tried to scream too, except I had gone weak, and my voice didn’t work, and my legs wouldn’t hold me up. I might have fallen, but my cousin caught me and dragged me toward the opening. As the flames jumped even higher, they illuminated something in the corner, beyond the debris. Something that had been previously hidden by the darkness.
No, not something. Someone.
Huddled in confusion and terror was the person whose face had haunted my every waking minute for the last few days:
Todd Harmon.
*
Sirens had already begun to pierce the air when Norbert and I emerged onto the smoldering balcony, a half-conscious Todd Harmon supported between us. We coughed, watery eyed, and staggered through the smoke pouring from the broken entrance at our backs. The heat grew in intensity, pushing us forward, trapping us against the railing. I looked down and relief washed through me.
Below were a pack of firefighters and cops. “They’re up there!” one of them yelled.
I leaned over the edge, trying to scream that there was still someone inside. Instead I nearly puked up a lung.
“Go, go!” Norbert choked out.
I realized that he was trying to get me to jump over the side onto a trampoline below. No way. I’d go last. I dragged Todd Harmon toward the edge. Embers whizzed out of the building, landing like tiny red darts all around us as Norbert and I hefted Todd up and over the railing. There he goes . . .
The fall didn’t look so bad. Not far at all. It looked almost pleasant. Todd landed smack in the middle of the trampoline. Firefighters cleared him off of it in a flash and stared back up at us, waving us to jump. “You go,” I instructed Norbert between wheezes.
He looked like he was going to argue, but I gave him a hard shove and he obeyed. When he was safely on the ground, I followed. My insides heaved as I dropped, weightless, and I felt only a gentle smack on my back when I landed. A firefighter gave me her hand to help me to the ground. And I was coughing again . . .