Paranormal After Dark

by Rebecca Hamilton

  He hadn’t liked what he’d just experienced—the sensation of the Shadows inside and somehow part of him.

  He lifted his head and wiped away the mud congealing on his forehead. He didn’t want to go on, but what choice did he have? He didn’t want to go forward and he couldn’t go back. He had to see this thing out, whatever the result.

  Was he resigning himself to his fate?

  Fear still lay deep within him, but he could only think about David. He didn’t want to die—he wanted to watch David grow up, be there when he got married and had children of his own. If Tom needed to give up his own life in order for David to live his, well then he’d do exactly that.

  Tom shrugged away the exhaustion and forced himself to keep going.

  For the moment, he could do no more.

  Just keep going.

  * * *

  THE PHOSPHORESCENCE WAS back.

  Though its presence was strangely eerie, Tom felt grateful for the light. He didn’t have much battery power left in his torch and he didn’t want to risk getting stuck down here with no light at all. The thought alone made his heart catch in his throat and the backs of his eyes prick with tears. It would be like being blind—stumbling around in the dark with no hope of ever finding his way out again.

  Tom couldn’t believe his life might come down to two little tubes of chemicals.

  Before he switched off his torch, he used the light to check his watch. It was two in the morning. Already, he’d spent several hours in the wormhole, though it had felt like not much more than thirty minutes. That was the problem with this place, time seemed disproportionate, with none of the normal things to track the progress of the day by, namely daylight.

  Anxious, Tom bit at his lip.

  The morning might bring with it David’s last day unless a miracle happened and he somehow found the strength to pull through. Tom didn’t know how much more strength David had; he’d been fighting for so long now. Tom could pray for more time, but if David didn’t have the resources left inside him, his prayers would fall on deaf ears.

  Please, let him live. Take me if you must, but let my son live.

  Except it wasn’t God Tom prayed to, but the Shadows.

  Suddenly the wormhole came to an end and Tom dropped through the bottom. He fell several feet to the ground and landing jarringly on his right shoulder. He groaned in pain, feeling as though he’d left his stomach in the hole behind him. He lay still for a moment, waiting for the shooting pain to subside. How many times today would he fall through something and injure himself?

  A wave of guilt at his own self pity washed over him. His ordeal was nothing compared to what his son was fighting.

  Before he had the chance to think of anything else, he became aware of the buzzing.

  His heart sank. Had the voices returned?

  Tom froze, too afraid to look up. He was waiting for the whispering to encroach upon his brain again, but when the buzzing stayed at just that—buzzing—he forced himself to look up and discover the cause.

  Flies were everywhere.

  Big, fat flies –what he’d always thought of as attic flies—crawled up the walls. They carpeted the surfaces, climbing over the top of one another. Their buzzing filled his ears, so loud it was like static of the world’s largest television.

  Something tickled the back of his hand and he glanced down to see a couple of flies walking across his skin.

  “Urgh!”

  He leapt back, shaking them off in revulsion, and picked himself off the floor. A shudder ran down his back.

  How the hell did they get down here?

  Something must have died. It was the only reason this number of flies would be in one place. They must have come from somewhere.

  Then he caught sight of the rat. The rodent lay a few feet in front of him, its body half-in and half-out of the few inches of stagnant water that lay in the bottom of this new tunnel. It was the size of a large cat, its stomach fat and bloated with gasses, its eyes glassy.

  Immediately, Tom’s thoughts went to Bugs, the rat Otto had carried around with him until he had been infected. Surely it couldn’t be the same animal? Tom hoped not. Despite his earlier dislike, he would not have wanted anything horrible to happen to the animal.

  A carpet of flies crawled across the animal’s body and, as they parted, Tom saw the rancid hole gnawed into its back. The maggots must have infected the wound and the rat crawled down here to die, only for the maggots to mature and hatch.

  A fly buzzed around his head, close to his ear, and Tom swatted it away. Another landed on his cheek and he swiped at his cheek and exclaimed in disgust. He had always hated flies.

  Even though the rat explained the presence of the flies, it still didn’t explain the number. Hundreds—if not thousands—of flies covered the walls and buzzed through the air. Surely they didn’t all originate from one animal?

  A particularly fat fly landed on his wrist and started crawling up his arm in quick, jerky movements. Tom swatted at the bug, but it lifted only briefly before resettling. Another fly joined it, and then another. One landed on his eye, his vision blackened by the fat body and, as he opened his mouth to exclaim, one crawled over his bottom lip and into his mouth.

  He spat in horror, desperate to get the insect out of his mouth, but he felt legs crawling up his nose and the tickle of legs in his ear. He wiped at his face, frantically trying to get rid of them, but nothing seemed to work. No matter how many he got off, more and more replaced them.

  Tom screamed and they crawled across his eyes.

  He screamed and they crept up his nose.

  He screamed and they flew around the inside of his mouth and down his throat, choking him.

  Tom heard them buzzing deep inside his ears, felt their spindle thin-legs, so lightly creeping across his skin. His screams became muffled as the flies clogged his throat. He shook his head and tried to gouge them out with his fingers.

  Only one thought was coherent in his head: This is how madness starts.

  Then, suddenly, the flies were gone and Tom found himself alone in the tunnel, only the skeleton of a dead rat at his feet.

  * * *

  AT DAVID’S HOSPITAL bedside, Abby no longer tried to hide her feelings.

  Deep in his coma, she was certain David was unaware of her presence. She had always thought being near someone in a coma would be like watching someone sleep, but it wasn’t. When he slept, she always knew he was somewhere right beneath the surface, that the touch of her hand against his forehead or the act of pulling the sheets up around his narrow chest would cause him to stir. Now he no longer seemed to be lying in the bed, only a shell remained where her boy used to be.

  The doctors and nurses kept assuring her David would be able to hear her and encouraged her to talk to him, but she didn’t believe them. She knew her son—and the body lying in that bed was no longer her son. It was as though something had come and removed the essence of her child while he slept.

  Still she sobbed quietly at his bedside, waiting for what now seemed to be the inevitable. David’s doctor had warned her the time would be soon rather than later and that nothing more could be done for him.

  They had given up and so, it seemed, had David.

  Beside her was an empty space where her husband should have been. Beneath her sorrow raged an anger for him leaving them at such a time. How would he feel to know he had not been here to say goodbye to Davey? How could he go through the rest of his life knowing he had abandoned his family when they needed him most?

  Yet, she couldn’t help the other emotion Tom’s absence stirred in her. Part of her didn’t want to feel it, but the other part of her clung to the feeling like a lifeline.

  It was hope.

  Abby knew she shouldn’t be allowing herself to hold onto any thread of hope, but she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t know what her husband was up to, but he had said he was trying to find a way to help Davey. Now, in these final hours, she desperately wanted to believ
e him. Tom didn’t have much time left, yet she found herself sitting up every time the door opened, hoping he would walk through with some miracle cure.

  Abby hadn’t realised it was possible to cry so much. Her eyes streamed constantly. She had once read that when you cried, it was the body’s way of expelling the hormone that made you upset. If that were true, then surely her body was going into meltdown?

  Was it possible to cry yourself dry?

  Chapter 21

  IF NOT FOR the tunnel’s appearance, Tom would have assumed he was walking through sewer tunnels again. The place stank, an odour of rotting which knotted at the back of his throat and made him take shallow breaths through his mouth. He walked in few inches of thick, rancid water which soaked into his shoes. The hollow sound of his feet splashing in the water echoed down the tunnel.

  At least the whispering had disappeared for the moment and he no longer needed to crawl. Though this place was nowhere near as large as the train tunnels, he could at least stand without having to duck his head.

  The same muddy, porous material as the wormhole made up the walls. The strange, green phosphorescence clung to the sludge, lighting the way. As he watched, giant worms slid in and out of smaller holes in the walls. On the tunnel roof ahead, a small piece of the crusted mud cracked open and a giant millipede with a multi-jointed body and hundreds of scuttling legs broke through the muck. It scrabbled through and splashed into the water beneath, then quickly dug itself back into the floor.

  Tom had never been so lonely or scared in his entire life. He was completely on his own down here in this bizarre and frightening place and he could not have been more aware of the fact.

  Still, he kept walking on, his legs trembling from fear and exhaustion, dragging himself step by step to whatever his fate held. He only wanted this whole thing to be over so he could get back to his family. He held onto the faint grain of hope that he would be able to go home again. Only the thought of seeing Abby and David again held the final threads of his sanity together.

  He kept imaging flies crawling over him, their tiny, spindly legs stroking his skin. He shuddered and swiped at insects that did not exist. Never again would he be able to ignore a fly; the phobia would stay with him for the rest of his life—however long that may be.

  Movement in the water behind him tore Tom from his paranoia. It suddenly seemed vitally important for him not to be in the water and he leapt with one foot each the side of the tunnel. With his arms stretched across the diameter of the tunnel, bracing himself, he half-walked up the wall, getting his feet out of the water.

  He heard the cause of movement before he saw it, the hissed whispers, the sound of water moving, rippling.

  Snake-like portions of the Shadows moved through the water beneath his splayed legs, like rats fleeing a fire. Hundreds swam past; some black snakes much larger than others, some barely wisps of smoke in the shallow water.

  Tom held onto the walls, his biceps shaking. He was terrified he would slip and land right in the middle of them.

  What the hell was happening?

  Then the answer dawned on him and he knew where they all headed—the same place as him. The core of the Shadows must be recalling all of the parts of itself, assembling the whole together, like a general recalling his troops for battle. The Shadows knew Tom was coming and was gathering its forces.

  Why didn’t the Shadows just attack him here? He knew it was capable, and he didn’t think he could put up much of a fight.

  Maybe it just couldn’t. Perhaps he had some immunity or antibody which stopped it infecting him.

  Like Sky?

  Sky said she had been surrounded by the Shadows, yet it hadn’t been able to infect her. If that were the case, why was she not the one down here fighting it? Why did he have to be found and brought all the way down here? Only one thing differentiated them as far as Tom could tell—David. The Shadows had infected David somehow and that was supposed to be Tom’s fault.

  David had been fine until he’d turned seven, the same age Tom had been when he was taken out of the tunnels. It was also the same age Tom had been when he had apparently sent the Shadows back to where it belonged.

  How was such a thing possible, unless he had passed the Shadows on in his genes like some recessive disease?

  The thought stopped his heart cold.

  Surely it wasn’t possible for the Shadows to be a part of his biology? He would know. He would be able to feel it inside him like a disease. Like cancer.

  What about Sky? If they were the same, might the Shadows be part of her genetic make-up as well?

  Something nudged at his subconscious, something important, yet he couldn’t place it. His mind tried to grasp hold of where the thought led him, but it drifted away, like a forgotten dream.

  Tom didn’t have the time to worry about it. He had more immediate things to deal with.

  All of the snake-like parts of the Shadows had flooded past and he allowed himself to let go of his strained position and his feet dropped back into the water. His shoulders and biceps groaned and he rubbed at the muscles, trying to bring some relief. The frigid water filling his shoes made him cringe, but he had to keep going, dragging one foot after the other through the rancid and freezing water. He tried to ignore his growing claustrophobia, as the roof seemed to press down and the walls shrank around him.

  Trying to ward off the loneliness, Tom imagined David walking beside him. He imagined his son as he was before the illness struck—strong, energetic, and always quick to laugh. Tom imagined they were not stuck down in this God-forsaken hole, but were walking through the park on a Saturday morning, David kicking a ball and running on ahead

  But even as Tom smiled at the memory, a shard of pain struck through his heart. Would they ever get to do that again? If this all went horribly wrong, would memories be all he had left? And if they were, would he ever again be able to think of David without it being accompanied by a pain so great that all he wanted to do was push the memory away?

  Was that what a traumatic death did? It not only stole the person you loved, but took your memories of them as well?

  * * *

  AHEAD, FARTHER DOWN the tunnel, something lay on the ground.

  Tom frowned. Something was familiar about the small mound, though the poor light made it hard for Tom to distinguish the identity of the thing. His unease grew; a nervous churning of his stomach, the prickling of goose bumps crawling up his arms.

  As a few more steps took him closer, realisation dawned.

  Panic and horror burst like a firework inside of him, spurting adrenaline through his veins, making his heart race.

  A baby!

  Tom broke into run, splashing through the water. Some small part of him hoped the child may still be alive, though he knew the chances would be near to impossible in these frigid conditions and with the child partially submerged in the water.

  He stood over the body and laughed out loud with relief.

  With his hands on his knees, he bent over, catching his breath and composing himself for a moment. Obviously, this amount of time in the dark had played tricks on his eyes.

  He bent down and picked up the doll he’d mistaken for a baby. The toy was surprisingly heavy for its size. A light blue fabric made up the body and the heavy, plastic legs and arms flopped backward.

  Like a dead baby, came the thought again and Tom shivered.

  “Ha-ha-ha’, the doll laughed suddenly, the mechanical voice coming from somewhere in its belly, its face expressionless and staring.

  Tom jumped and dropped the doll. The toy fell to the ground, splashing back into the water, its arms and legs bent at unnatural angles.

  “I love you,” the doll insisted, despite its obvious abandonment.

  Tom shivered again, only this time it was more of a violent shudder. Leaving the doll, he turned his back and continued to walk in the direction he’d been headed.

  “Ha-ha-ha,” came the voice again, following him down the tunnel. “I l
ove you. Ha-ha-ha. I love you. Ha-ha-ha. I love you...”

  He didn’t turn and look back. Who the hell would leave that down here? Surely not a child? Surely a little girl didn’t leave her doll in these tunnels?

  The thought of a child being down here filled him with horror, but then he realised he already knew of two children who’d spent time in this realm.

  He was one of them.

  * * *

  TOM WAS RUNNING out of time, but surely he must be close? The atmosphere changed as he got nearer to whatever existed at the centre of this thing. The air seemed to grow thicker, making it harder to walk through. He was short of breath and exhausted—running on empty. Only adrenaline and sheer will kept him going. His legs were a dead weight and he dragged them through the water.

  Despair began to overwhelm him and he fought the self-pitying urge to cry.

  “Where are you, damn it!” he yelled to the Shadows. Around him, the walls of the tunnel shifted and pulsated and he half-expected the Shadows to start creeping out in response. But it didn’t emerge and he had no choice but to keep going.

  He did not get far.

  Tom’s walk slowed to a stop, his eyes widening in disbelief.

  A boy stood in the tunnel, and not just any boy. Tom would recognise that baby blond hair and those narrow shoulders anywhere.

  David.

  Tom didn’t believe his own eyes. This must be another trick, another way for the Shadows to mess with his mind. But then the boy looked up and a huge grin lit his face.

  “Dad!”

  “Davey?” Tom’s voice was tentative.

  David started splashing his way towards him, but Tom stood stock still, feeling as though a ghost approached. This couldn’t be the real David. The boy walking towards him looked good—strong and healthy, like he did before the leukaemia took hold. The boy had a full head of hair and even in the strange green fluorescent light, Tom could see colour in his cheeks.