Eldritch Night

by J M Hamm

  “If that is so,” said the captain, “then what do you want from us?”

  “There are certain concessions my leaders wish to receive, including pledges of assistance, supply chains, and the rights to recruit from the local populations.”

  “Recruit? I’m not going to freely give our people over to you, but I won’t stop them from making their own choices. As for aid and concessions, we would have to discuss that in more length. What are you offering in return?”

  “Sir—” Pat objective.

  “That’s enough, Pat,” the captain said, “let’s at least hear them out.”

  “Please continue,” Pat said, “I apologize.”

  “I’m not qualified to negotiate or to make any promises,” Catayla said. “I suspect my superiors will offer material aid, mostly. Equipment, weapons, maybe even some training. The only thing I have been authorized to negotiate is the meeting location and timing.”

  “All right,” the captain said. “We’ll discuss the timing and size of such a meeting. Not right now though. I need to discuss this with my advisors. Pat?”

  “If you’ll come with me,” Pat said. “Rooms and food have already been prepared for you.”

  After we left the dining room Pat gave me a pen and a sheet of paper and asked me to write down the names of the people I was looking for. I quickly jotted down a note and passed it back. She took the paper and glanced at it before handing it off to one of her men.

  Without another word, the blonde woman looked over at Catayla and extended her arm, pointing forward.

  “If you’ll come with me.”

  Catayla and I followed, but we were split at a set of narrow stairs. I considered insisting that I stay with Catayla, but after hesitating for a moment I realized that I didn’t have a good reason to object. Did I expect we would share a room? Since the scout went along with it, I decided not to protest.

  Pat escorted Catayla to a higher floor, while a guard in a tattered police uniform led me down an access hatch and through a dark, cramped hallway. After less than a minute of walking, we reached a door and the guard grunted as he pushed it open.

  The room was small, just barely large enough for me to lie down in. It had a low, slanted ceiling that angled downward toward the back of the room. The walls were smoke gray, and a small cot was unfolded against the far wall. That simple bed took up almost half the floor space.

  A sliding door led to a bathroom with almost enough room for me to sit down without my knees touching the sink. Not the Ritz, but it’ll do.

  My mind was restless, so I decided to amuse myself by levitating objects with Mage Hand. I feared what sleep might bring, so I resisted it. I wondered if my increased Might and stamina would make it easier to pull an all-nighter.

  At high levels, I might not even need sleep. I couldn’t help my mind from wandering. My father had once warned that the only thing worse than idle hands was an unfocused mind. I needed something to work on.

  I found a towel and began practicing by folding and unfolding it using only Mage Hand. At first, I was barely able to flop the towel open, but after an hour of practice, I was able to fold the towel into a perfect square almost as quickly as I could have with my own hands. I had also managed to level Mage Hand to the third level.

  Not a bad use of an hour. Being able to see my progress gave me a feeling of warm pride. It was a bit addicting, to be honest.

  I scanned through the rest of my skills looking for ones that I could easily level. I’d noticed a bit of a cutoff at the third level, after which skill leveling slowed down immensely. Those early levels gave just as much FP as the higher levels that were more difficult to obtain. The only skill I had below three, however, was venom spray – which was hard to practice indoors.

  What I needed were more skills.

  If I could get others to show me their skills I might be able to copy them – even better if I could convince them to use those skills against me. Should I goad someone into a fight, or maybe just ask for a spar? The apocalypse may have been turning me into a masochist.

  I continued to practice Mage Hand, the rhythmic sound of cotton folding, and unfolding was calming. The repetitive actions had a meditative quality to them. I let my mind drift off and the process became automatic. I soon lost track of how many times I folded the towel but sometime during the night I was rewarded with a status message.

  Congratulations! The skill Mage Hand © has increased in level (4/10).

  I smiled, allowing the feeling of contentment to embrace me as I drifted into sleep.

  ***

  A light rap on the door woke me. I was still fully dressed, with my back leaning against the wall. At some point during the night, I had kicked off a single boot. I felt tired and stiff.

  So much for higher stats lessening my need for sleep.

  “Who is it?” I protested.

  “It’s Tiller,” A voice said from outside my door. “We met last night, may I come in?”

  I made him wait for me as I splashed some water on my face and pulled on my other boot. I looked into the mirror, which was just a polished piece of metal, and saw bloodshot eyes and days’ worth of stubble.

  I’d looked worse during finals week.

  I opened the door, walking out of the cramped room. At some point, a new guard had been assigned to my room. This one was dressed in camo pants and reeked of body odor.

  “Maybe we could do this out somewhere else?” I said. “Not a lot of room in there, or out here,” I looked toward the guard with a slight frown. He didn’t seem to notice.

  “Besides, my legs could use a stretch.”

  “Actually, that’s perfect,” Tiller said. “Would you mind going to my office? I was hoping we could speak about something.”

  “Sure, I don’t mind. Think you could answer a few of my questions?”

  “Of course,” he said. “What did you want to know?”

  “Last night, Smith said you’d been recording skills? Could I take a look?”

  “It could be arranged,” his smile was a shade of white generally only seen in Hollywood or toothpaste commercials. “It’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Anything special you’re looking for?”

  “Lucid dreaming,” I said. “Hypnotism, meditation or anything to do with attacking or defending the mind.”

  “I’ll tell you what, if you’re willing to give me a breakdown of your skills and feats, how you got them, what they do, general thoughts based on your experience with them… I could let you take a look at what I’ve collected already.”

  “Deal,” I said. “Have you collected any info on classes?”

  “Not a bit,” Tiller’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any ideas?”

  “I’ve learned a few things, but nothing useful.”

  Before we left, I asked the guard to let Pat know that I would be with Tiller, in case she had any success tracking down any of the people on my list. He didn’t seem pleased to be treated as a messenger, but he accepted with a curt nod.

  Tiller led me through the passageways of the ship. I found him to be quite friendly if a bit chatty. Mostly, he talked about skills and various theories on how they functioned. He was already nerding out over the end of the world.

  His casual enthusiasm about everything seemed in stark contrast to reality, but I found it a welcome reprieve from all the doom and gloom. The constant seriousness of everyone around me had started to wear at me.

  We quickly left the ship, and I found myself walking through the camp once more. It was a completely different place during the day. Families and small groups would huddle together around small fires. I noticed suspicious looks turned my way, but no one dared to approach me.

  It reminded me more of a camp of starving and desperate refugees than the band of valiant survivors that I had expected.

  “How rough have things been?”

  “Everyone has lost someone, many of these people are the lone survivors of their entire fam
ily. Others have been forced … to do desperate things to survive. We have plenty of food, water, and even ammunition but we don’t have what these people need.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know. My uncle would tell you they need faith. Hope maybe. I think most of them have given up on life altogether. They need something to live for. We have to show them that the world can be rebuilt.”

  “I thought there’d be more,” I sighed.

  Hundreds of vacant faces turned towards me as I walked. There should have been thousands. Hundreds of thousands. I felt helpless before their gaze, unable to even understand what it is they wanted.

  “This is it,” Tiller said, “we can talk more inside.”

  Tiller’s office was inside the Port Authority building. A few guards were stationed at the door, but none of them gave us trouble. They each gave Tiller a respectful nod as we entered.

  The office itself had a single table stacked with books and various materials. Tiller had collected a wide range of weapons and armor, all stacked in neat piles. Bookshelves were built into the walls, but they mostly held vials of brightly colored liquids.

  One disturbing shelf seemed to hold pieces of monsters, or at least I hoped that they were monsters. Eyes floated in a jar. Teeth, and scales were laid out neatly in a row next to a massive horn that was heavy enough to snap a bull’s neck.

  “This is it,” Tiller said, pulling a large leather-bound book from one of the shelves. “The result of my research since the system took over. It has every skill we’ve learned about, and notes about how they work and interact with other skills. I’ve also included observations about the new flora and fauna and some of the gear we’ve collected.”

  “You some kind of military scientist, Tiller?” I asked.

  “What? No, yeah, I was military,” Tiller said. “I’m an Air Force imaging tech. I take x-rays. Or at least I did, most of that equipment doesn’t work anymore.”

  “This,” Tiller waved his hand around indicating his collection. “This is more like a hobby, just one the boss has taken an interest in.”

  “Mind if I take a look?” I asked while picking up the book.

  “No, go ahead.”

  As I flipped through the pages, I told tiller what I knew about skills and classes. He was fascinated by Talith’s theories on specialization and how they related to skills and classes. I also told him what little I had been able to pry from Catayla about classes and Soul Forging.

  “Interesting,” Tiller said. “I’ve seen mentions of it in the manual, but …”

  “Manual?”

  “The guide provided through your status menu? You’ve read it, right?”

  “Oh, yeah… umm briefly. I might have skimmed a few parts.”

  “That’s something you need to fix, but we don’t have time now. I need to record your skills and feats, if you don’t mind.”

  I briefly went over my own skills with him, mostly just reading out the system generating descriptions mixed in with my own observations. I held back on some of the details, my paranoia creeping up on me again.

  Tiller spent the whole time rotating between asking me questions and furiously writing in a spiral notebook. I continued my search through the leather book he had given me.

  “This,” I suddenly said, interrupting Tiller in the middle of a question. “Who has this?”

  Tiller took the book from me and looked at the description before frowning.

  “That might be a little tricky,” he said. “She values her privacy, and I doubt she’d want visitors demanding she shows off her skills.”

  “This is important, Tiller. Life or death, literally.”

  “Look,” he said. “I can talk to her, but you’re going to have to give me a day or two.”

  I reluctantly agreed, before starting to look through the book again. Tiller asked me a few more questions, but his inquiries seemed to be slowing down.

  “How about this one?”

  Tiller leaned in and read the description, smiling. “That one I can do. Come on, I’ll take you over to meet my uncle. We’ve been at this for a while and he’ll be looking for me around lunchtime, anyway.”

  “Sounds perfect,” I said with a grin.

  Chapter Fourteen: Words of Blessing

  In front of me sat a plate of steamed vegetables and rice on flatbread. A carafe of sweet tea, unfortunately with no ice, had been placed in the center of the table. Upside down paper cups were stacked neatly beside it. Frankly, it was the best thing I’d seen in weeks. Even before everything had changed, my diet tended to come out of a microwave, or a fast-food drive-through.

  “This is great,” I said. “Thank you so much for having me.”

  “You’re quite welcome,” a said man wearing a clerical collar.

  Tiller had introduced the priest to me as his uncle, Pastor Belk. He had been a minister at St. Matthew’s Lutheran Church, at least he had been before the events of Eldritch Night. Pastor Belk was the first I’d heard use that term to describe the upheaval that had changed our world. Apparently, it was commonly used among the survivors of Charleston. Generally, only spoken of in hushed tones.

  No one used the ‘A’ word. ‘Apocalypse’ or ‘Rapture’ had become taboo. I guess the connotations were too final. If you admitted the world had ended, then what was left to do but wait? I wondered if it was the end Father Belk had imagined when he gave his sermons. Did he hold out hope for some robed messiah to set things right?

  Sitting to my right was Tiller, and Pastor Belk sat on the other side of the table. To my left was a young girl with a blue dress and two puffy, gravity-defying ponytails. When I caught her staring she turned away, hiding her face.

  “This is my sister,” Tiller said. “Tish, say hello to our guest, Mr. Finn.”

  “Hi,” she said with a small wave, still not meeting my eyes.

  “Hello, Tish,” I said. “I was wondering who was keeping Tiller in line. It’s nice to finally meet you. I love your dress.”

  “Thanks,” she said hesitantly. “Is it true you’re a monster hunter, and you travel with a blue demon? My friend Mike said…” The words were a torrent, flowing together until they were almost unintelligible.

  “Calm down, sweetheart,” Pastor Belk said. “Let’s say grace first. We can talk over our meal. Unless our guest objects?” The pastor turned towards me, awaiting an answer.

  “Uh, no,” I said. “It sounds nice.”

  Pastor Belk had us all briefly hold hands as he said grace. The simple prayer gave the meeting a sense of normalcy. I cherished that feeling, fleeting though it was.

  “Please, eat,” Said Father Belk.

  “Thank you, again,” I said. “Really.”

  The vegetables were crisp and fresh, and the bread was flaky and warm. The tea was room temperature and overly sweet, but it was exactly what I needed. It made me think of home. Home was no longer a place. That place was gone, changed. Home was a time. Time and the people who had shared it with me.

  “Pastor Belk ...” I said.

  “James is fine,” he said.

  “Alright, James,” I continued. “You don’t know a woman named Margaret Finn, by any chance? She’s short, blonde. Goes by Maggie. She’s not Lutheran, but my mother probably would have sought out a priest if she were here.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know her,” The pastor said. “I’m not the only minister that survived, however. I wouldn’t give up hope. Is that why Jonathan brought you to me?”

  “Who is…” I started before realizing who he meant. “Right, Tiller. No, but it is the thing that is on my mind the most. Thank you, anyway.”

  “Uncle Jim,” Tiller said. “I was hoping you could show Finn the skill we talked about, the one from last week.”

  “I’m still not comfortable with all this,” Pastor Belk said while shaking his head. “This skill… business.” He spat the word ‘skill’ pausing after as his face twisted into a frown.

  “It still seems like sorce
ry, witchcraft, and the act of receiving power from any source outside of God doesn’t sit right with me.”

  “Pastor Belk,” I said. “James. There are real demons out there. I have seen them. I’ve fought them. Whatever this system is, whatever its source of power, I do know one thing. It can help us fight the things that are truly evil. It may be the only way to stay alive.”

  Pastor Belk met my eyes, his expression unreadable. He shook his head and stared down at his plate.

  “I know. We’ve all seen them,” his fork fell from his grasp. “I’ve seen children literally snatched from their mother’s arms, and cars pried open like a tin can. My calling is not to fight those demons, however. Mine is to safeguard the souls of my flock. I will pray, and leave fighting the more … literal demons to others.”

  “The two types of demons may not be as exclusive as you think. I’m fighting one now, it warps my memories. Infects my soul, and your skill might give me what I need to defeat it.”

  “God will be our Shepperd,” Pastor Belk said. “But he gives with one hand as he takes with the other.”

  The pastor sat here for a minute, picking at his food before he looked up and spoke. “All right, I’ll show you, but just you. I won’t have this affecting my family.”

  “Good. Thank you,” I said. “Where can we go?”

  “We have a small room over at the Port Authority building. It’s used for prayer meetings and counseling. It should be empty right now. Let’s finish our food first, how ‘bout it?”

  “No complaints here,” I said.

  “I’ll come with,” Tiller said, quickly backpedaling when faced with Pastor Belk’s glare. “What I meant was that I have some stuff to do back at my office. It’s on the way.”

  The rest of the meal was mostly silent and a bit awkward. It reminded me of mornings spent around the family table. Vague question would be followed by noncommittal answers, everyone wanting to connect, but unsure of how. We finished our meal with smiles, as we all stood and turned away.

  Tish stayed behind to wash the dishes as the Pastor guided me back towards the Port Authority building. I was still faced with silent glares as I passed through the city of tents, but the outright hostility of the survivors had lessened. They still didn’t approach, but no longer made an effort to move from my path. A trail of children followed us, though they always kept at a distance.