Through Glass

by Rebecca Ethington

I listened to the screams from where I was huddled under the bed, wishing I could block out the sound. I didn’t want to hear Cohen’s screams amongst the sounds that seemed to be moving inside of me. I didn’t want to hear the screams of my mother, my brothers. I didn’t want to hear anything.

  I clung to the carpet, listening, silent tears dripping down my cheeks as I said good-bye to everything.

  In less than an hour, the world had fallen apart. I didn’t want to think about what they were doing, or who they had killed. I wouldn’t think about why they had spared me. I didn’t want to think about being left.

  About being alone.

  The explosions continued to rattle my house for minutes, hours, days. Everything blended together in the darkness until the noises lessened to nothing more than an echo in the distance. The silence deafening in the darkness. Still, I stayed crammed under the bed, even though the pain in my body had gone; even though the screams and tears had left. I lay there, my fingers gripping the carpet until a dull grey light filled the sky and gave me back my sight.

  My eyes perked up as the room lightened, shapes slowly swimming back into view as a dim light seeped through the window. My body moved on instinct, squeezing me out from under the bed as if the sun was calling me to wake.

  However it wasn’t the sun, not really. It was a dull replica of light that seeped from the sky as if the ebony blanket that covered the world wasn’t quite strong enough to keep the sun out. It stretched over the world with that dim grey light of dawn; shapes remained undefined and colors faded to nothing.

  It wasn’t much, although it was definitely better than the previous gloom.

  I blinked my eyes furiously, waiting for my eyes to adjust after being kept in the darkness for so long.

  I slowly slipped myself out from underneath my bed, my body aching from the remains of whatever the creatures had done to me with their screams. My movements were slow as I emerged. My shoulders knit together as I tried to regulate my breathing while my eyes scanned what was left of my room in fear of seeing one of them lurking in the corner, ready to attack.

  My breath came out in a strangled puff as I freed my legs from underneath my bed. I curled against the frame as I looked around me, my clothes sticky against my skin from the layer of sweat that covered me.

  I had expected the monsters to destroy everything; to rip the room to shreds. In a way, they had, though not completely. Each of my drawers were turned over, the perfectly arranged figurines on my dresser scattered and broken.

  It wasn’t the mess that caught me off guard, however, it was what they had done to those items. The red digital clock on my dresser had been thrown across the room; the upturned display black like the rest of the world. I would have thought it to be simply because the power to the house had been cut, but no, the battery compartment had been emptied.

  I looked from my dresser to the lamp on my desk to see the bulb was crushed and the cord had been pulled from the base. They had taken away any source of light, any way for me to create light.

  They had taken it all. Cast our world into endless night. The only light we now had was a false light; gray and dead as they had now made the world. The monsters had taken away everything that was familiar and pulled out shapes and shadows that you could only see when the lights were turned out. It brought out monsters. I could feel the darkness seep into me, the fear and desperation that it brought rolling over me in waves.

  I moved away from my bed toward the contents of my dresser drawer that had been spread over the carpet. My fingers reaching for my SpongeBob flashlight that my mother had given me for emergencies. I pulled it toward me, my teeth clenching to see it broken in two.

  I held the pieces in my hands; the yellow of the flashlight looking dull in the dim light. The things were scared of the light, that much was clear. If they had targeted the light in my room, then finding a light source anywhere else in the house was going to be a nightmare.

  Even so, I had to try. I had to get out of here. Out of the hell they had brought and find the sun again. The sun that had shown brightly what felt like days ago while Cohen had held me.

  Cohen.

  I froze, the pieces of flashlight falling from my hands. Everything in me was ice at the thought of him. I had no way of knowing if his scream was one of the ones I had heard. If they had taken his life, too. I stood slowly, my head turning toward my window. I could see his clearly through the grey, the window black and dark as the world had been only moments before.

  I needed to get over there, to make sure he was okay. I needed to leave. I ignored the pain in my chest at seeing the darkness in his window and turned toward my door. My feet took me swiftly out of my room before I stopped dead in my tracks. My eyes widened at a world I had never seen before.

  It was my house, but nothing was recognizable. A tornado had come through, picked up and crushed every bit of furniture, every piece of wall. It had sped down the hall, destroying everything. The wooden railing that separated the hall from the great room below was missing, a few bars from the banister sticking up awkwardly from the carpeted ground. The carpet was ripped; chunks of wall were missing. The door to my parents’ room was torn off its hinges and thrown into the hall.

  I stared at the sight of the gaping hole to my parents’ room, the black expanse of the room behind it both calling to me and erupting through my heart in a painful cascade of loss. I couldn’t take my eyes away from it, as much as I tried. I knew they weren’t there. I felt the hot burn of tears hit my eyes, the tight restriction in my chest, but I held it inside.

  I needed to get out of here. I pulled my eyes from the door and walked past the room as I weaved my way down the stairs, leaping over the missing stairs only to come face to face with what used to be my mother’s aged and yellow kitchen.

  I might have wept over the ruined countertops, cried over the broken cabinet doors, however it was the remains of what had once sat amidst it all that rocked me to my core. The refrigerator had been turned onto its side, the contents spread over the floor as they removed the food from inside. I stared at it, a shiver of fear winding its way up my spine.

  They had taken all the food.

  First the light and now the food. Even if light was a weapon, I wouldn’t get very far without food. Judging by the mess they had left, I wouldn’t find anything here, either. They had taken it all.

  I walked over to the overturned fridge, my toe prodding through the broken jars as well as the milk cartons that had been ripped in two. I didn’t know what the monsters wanted. They came into the world, took the light, the food, and killed everything. Why would they leave me alive only to take the food. Unless I wasn’t supposed to be alive.

  My fingers slowly reached up, the pads of my fingers rubbing against the rough blood that had dried against my face. Was I supposed to be dead?

  Was I dead?

  I felt alive. I could feel my heart as it pulsed in fear, my muscles tense. Yet, nothing about this seemed to tell me that I was alive. It felt like a nightmare.

  A nightmare I needed to get away from.

  I looked toward the front door, the old, wooden slab still hanging perfectly as if my brother had just shut it, as if life was normal. Life had to be normal somewhere. I took a step forward, determined to find the normal when the screeching from before filled the air around me, the painful pressure filling my mind again in a torrent. It was the same as before and my body reacted to it as if it was now a trained response.

  I fell to the ground as my hands flew to my head, a scream escaping my lips as I tried to fight the pain. The pressure grew for a moment before it lessened, the low buzz of static taking its place.

  I listened to the crackle of white noise from inside of my head; the buzz loud in my ears. I didn’t move from where I had collapsed on the floor of my kitchen, waiting for the end, when the hissing grew. A voice grew through the buzz and filled my head from the inside.

  We are the Ulama.

  The deep, raspy voice crackled
and gasped through my head, the static growing with the sound like a bad radio connection.

  You have been cleansed and now you will be warned. Your life is now our life, your mind our mind, your belongings, ours.

  We will kill you without question unless the rules are followed.

  My body tensed at the word kill, the pain almost meaningless for a moment. The static grew for a moment before the voice continued, deeper and angrier than before.

  Any groundlings found to have left the interior of your current place of inhabitance will be killed.

  Any groundlings found in open spaces will be killed.

  Any groundlings found to make noise will be killed.

  Any groundlings found to generate light will be killed.

  Any groundlings with an intent to cause harm will be killed.

  Stay inside, be silent, no light, no fighting. They had done everything for a reason, for control. And they had it, if you followed the pathetic rules they had laid down for us, you would live.

  You have been warned.

  The voice left my head as the static returned, the crackle of the white noise loud and unwanted in my head. I listened to the noise, unable to focus beyond the sound as I lay motionless in the middle of the kitchen. Then the blare, too, began to fade, leaving me in silence again.

  I stayed still on the floor, repeating the rules in my head over and over. It all boiled down to one thing. Control. They controlled me by taking away my light, taking away the food, by keeping me inside.

  Was this real? Was everything real? I let the questions I had been haunting myself with since the sky turned black loose in my head.

  I wanted to say no, I wanted to wake up from this nightmare, but I knew better.

  I knew from the way my head still buzzed. I knew from the way my heart ached. I knew from the beginning. This wasn’t a nightmare, it was real.

  Monsters and onyx skies the color of ink. The emptiness of my house, the forever missing screams of my brothers.

  This was my new reality. It was all real.

  I wouldn’t let it be. I would find a way out of it.

  I stood quickly and ran to the front door, my feet tripping on the broken shards of my mother’s figurine collection. I swung the door open, the high pitched groan of the hinge loud in my ears.

  Everything was dark in front of me, dark as midnight. There were no stars or moon to shadow the world. There was only the dim light of the grey sky above us hovering wickedly as it kept the sun away. The street was cast in grey while the trees stilled in the windless air; the colors were faded and gone.

  I stepped out slowly, my foot pressing against what once was a bright green welcome mat my mother had put out for spring. It crunched under my feet as I moved out onto the porch, the wide awning over my head making everything darker.

  The blackness that had pressed against the window before had gone, letting me see into the once bright world, into the eternal midnight that they had covered us with. The street was covered with the signs of war. The asphalt pock marked with grey, ashen circles, cars overturned, houses ripped in two. Remnants of people who had fought, people who tried to get away, people who had lost surrounded me.

  My heart clenched at seeing the world in front of me. It was so much worse than what they had done to my house. My hands balled into fists at my side, my conviction to leave suddenly wavering.

  “Lex.”

  I turned my head at his voice, my heart thumping to see Cohen standing on his own porch, his eyes as wide and scared as my own. I hadn’t expected him to be there, to be alive. His screams had melded with all the others as they died, his window covered with black. I had expected him to be dead.

  “Cohen?” I asked, my voice breaking in surprise and relief.

  “I’m coming to you, baby, stay there,” he pleaded and moved toward me. My heart relaxed at the idea.

  The darkness hadn’t come and taken everything, not quite. I fought the urge to run to him as he leaned down to pick up a large bag. His body froze as the front door to the house across the street opened, the Jones family rushing out toward their car.

  I turned my head instinctively at the sound; the fearful grunts of the mother, the tears from the baby. They rushed out of the house, their feet moving quickly across the grass.

  Mr. Jones led the way, his skin looking strangely grey in the smothering night. He jumped off the porch and had taken two steps toward the car when a screech filled the air. The wings of the monster flashing as the talons came down on him.

  I heard the last sound Mr. Jones would make as the wide arch of blood sped through the air. As the creature turned from the wide circle of ash he had created, his jaw opened widely at what was left of the family huddled on the grass. The creature’s body folded as it screeched at them, its jaw opening more than what should have been possible while its black, shiny skin stretched unnaturally.

  Mrs. Jones screamed and turned right around, dragging her two children right back into the house. The monster didn’t seem to care that they had gone back inside. The screech called again as the Ulama ran after them, its clawed feet clicking loudly against the cement as it chased them into what should have been safety, but not anymore.

  The monster’s large, black body moved quickly across the grass as it ran through the door. The door slammed shut just as the woman’s screams rent the air, the children’s cries strangling.

  I turned away as I pushed my fist into my open mouth, smothering the scream that threatened to join the children’s. I collapsed to my knees as the screech sounded in the air, the screams of the family dying out as the shriek did.

  I looked up to Cohen, his eyes wide as they looked into me. Tears began to fall down my cheeks. One more step and it would have been him. It would have been me. The creatures had wanted full control and they had it.

  He couldn’t come. They would kill him if he tried.

  His eyes were wide as he stepped away. His hand flinched toward me, mine mirroring to reach toward him.

  “Cohen,” my voice sobbed out, the words lost in the darkness that was seeping into us.

  “Meet me at the window, Lex.” I barely heard him above the rush of blood that was filling my ears, the panic mixing with my anger dangerously.

  “Cohen, no…”

  “Please, Lex, meet me at the window.” He didn’t say anything more before he turned and walked into his house. The gentle tap of his door closing sounded like the bang of a gun through the still air that surrounded us.

  Everything inside of me closed up as I sat still, listening to the distant sound of screams and letting the heavy pulse of my heart fill me until it was all I could hear, all that was left. I stood slowly, my eyes scanning the destruction in front of me. My only path away from this nightmare was blocked and barred.

  Everything was gone.

  I ran into the house, ignoring the way the fear mixed with my loss and pain; it swirled around me in an angry tidal wave of destruction. I ran through my ransacked home, my feet tripping on missing steps as the tears continued to fall.

  They wanted control and they had it. In my panic, I couldn’t see a way around it. I didn’t think there was one.

  I closed the door behind me, my back pressed against the wood as the tears broke the floodgate, as the ugly things trailed down my chest and broke into sobs that heaved out of me.

  I looked toward the window, wishing Cohen had answers—a way out—but knowing that he was just as trapped as I was. He stood there on the other side of the glass with his hand pressed against the pane as he looked at me; his own tears streaming down his face.

  My sobs stopped in my chest as I saw him there, my heart clunking at watching him. At having to say good-bye.

  I crawled on top of my desk as I plastered myself against the glass, my hand pressing against it. There was nothing more than glass and air between myself and the last human contact I would ever have.

  He looked at me with those dark eyes, his face sad, and I knew at once what the
pain behind his eyes meant. His attempt to come to me had failed, leaving him trapped alone in his house just as I was trapped in mine.

  “Cohen?” I said, my jaw clenching, even though I knew he couldn’t hear me.

  He looked at me, his dark eyes boring into me before he stepped away; the lack of light in his room swallowing him up and leaving me alone. I raised myself onto my knees as I tried to meld myself into the glass to see where he had gone. I waited, fighting tears, only to have him return a moment later, a bright red, dry erase marker in his hands.

  “Are you alone?” He wrote the words on the glass, his writing slow as he scribbled the letters backwards so I could read them easier.

  I looked at the words, my heart aching to see them.

  I turned from the window, dropping my body to search through the contents of my dresser that were scattered on the floor only to produce my own marker, this one bright green. When I turned back to him, he had written something else; more words placed amongst the others.

  “You are not alone.”

  I looked at his words and wanted to scream at him. I wanted to cry and hit and fight. My temper bubbled over at seeing those words, at the false promise they held.

  “I am alone,” I wrote back, my hands shaking as I wrote the words, as I accepted the heart wrenching loss I was still trying to ignore.

  “No,” he wrote, his eyes pleading.

  My face screwed up as I tried to keep the sob from breaking out of my chest, as I tried to keep the sound restrained. I was alone. They were all gone. My mother with all the boys, dancing among the black ribbons before the monsters turned them to piles of ash. My father working on that skyscraper downtown, the remains of him glittering down to the street below. Cohen couldn’t even come the ten feet to be with me. I was alone.

  There was no one else.

  No more battles and fights in the house. No more pancakes in the morning. No more talks with my mom.

  “I AM ALONE,” I wrote again, my hand shaking as I wrote the words, not caring if they were backwards to him.

  “No,” he wrote again before he bowed his head, his shoulders sagging. I watched him with his head bent low, waiting for him to look back up to me, yet knowing he wouldn’t until he was ready. I wanted to pound against the window. I wanted to yell at him, but I hesitated. Although I wasn’t even sure why.