Shadows Fall

by Simon R. Green

  Time passed, slowly. Collins and Lewis at least had work to keep them busy. Ash and Rhea talked quietly, catching up on their years of separation. Hart just sat and stared at the wall, turning over in his mind all the things that had happened since he came home to Shadows Fall. He wished Friend was with him. Two hours passed, and all was quiet. Hart was actually half dozing when Ash’s urgent voice woke him up. Footsteps were approaching, quiet and unhurried. Hart got silently to his feet, and readied himself. What the hell had happened to the two Deputies? They were supposed to provide a warning if anyone wanted to come back this way. Surely the killer couldn’t have taken them both out already… Hart clenched and unclenched his hands.

  Theoretically, as Time’s grandson he had enough sheer power in him to deep-fry a dozen killers, but he was still learning how to use it, and didn’t feel at all ready to rely on it in an emergency. He might blow up the whole building trying to get the killer… He wished now he’d asked the Deputies for a gun of some kind. Not that he’d have known how to use it if they had… He realized he was rambling, and concentrated on the approaching footsteps. He was hidden from sight behind the closed door of a storeroom just off from the cells. The footsteps passed by his door, heading for the cells, and then they stopped. Hart tensed, listening. They’d locked Morrison’s cell door, just in case, but there was no guarantee that would be enough to keep the killer out. There was a pause, and then a familiar voice spoke quietly in the corridor.

  “Time to die, Sean. The Wild Childe demands it.”

  There was a sudden squeal of straining metal as the killer bent apart the bars of the cell door. Hart wrenched open his door, charged out into the corridor and threw himself on to the hulking figure by Morrison’s cell. The killer threw him off easily. Hart hit the floor hard, but was back on his feet in a second, fuelled by rage and adrenalin. And then he stopped and stared at the figure before him, holding his nightstick like a club. The killer. The Wild Childe. Sheriff Richard Erikson. Ash and Rhea appeared in the corridor behind him, and the Sheriff turned to look at them. Rhea shook her head dazedly. Ash looked at Erikson sadly.

  “Not you, Richard. Not you.”

  “He has to die,” said Erikson reasonably. “It is necessary.”

  Without warning, he lashed out with his nightstick. Hart ducked under it at the last moment, and the stick cracked the plaster on the wall where he had been standing. Ash jumped Erikson from behind, and tried to pin his arms to his sides. Erikson threw him off without even trying. Hart threw a punch. Erikson sidestepped impossibly quickly, and Hart staggered forward, caught off balance. The Sheriff brought his stick down hard. Hart caught some of it on an upraised arm, but the force of the blow was enough to send him to the floor. And then the temperature plummeted as Ash imposed his presence on the corridor. Dazed as he was, Hart tried to back away from the dead man. Erikson didn’t even turn to look at him. Calm and unhurried, he raised his stick for the blow that would crush Hart’s skull as it had so many others. Hart tried to get up, but knew he wasn’t going to make it in time. The stick started down, and then a dark clinging mass fell across Erikson’s head and shoulders, blinding him. The Sheriff staggered back and forth, fighting for air. He dropped his nightstick to claw at the black stuff, but couldn’t find a hold on it. He dropped to his knees as his air ran out, and then he was lying on the floor, unconscious. Hart’s Friend flowed away from him, jumped up on to Hart’s shoulders and nuzzled him like a cat.

  “Can’t I leave you alone for five minutes without you getting into trouble? I don’t know what you’d do without me.”

  “Friend,” said Hart, “neither do I. How long have you been here?”

  “Not long. I sensed you needed me, so I came straight away. I can do that. I can do other things too…”

  “I’m sure you can,” said Hart, “but first, we have a killer to deal with.”

  Between them, Hart and Ash carried the unconscious Sheriff upstairs to his private office. Collins and Lewis were suitably shocked. Of course they’d let Erikson go down to the cells without alerting the others. They were his cells. They helped Hart sit the Sheriff in his chair in his private office, and provided a pair of handcuffs to hold his arms behind his back. They also drew their guns and kept them trained on Erikson. No one felt like taking any chances until they’d got some kind of answer as to what the hell was going on.

  “It explains a lot,” said Rhea. “He could go anywhere, any time, and no one would challenge him. He had complete access to the murder investigation. Who knows how many false trails he sent his people down?”

  “I still can’t believe this,” said Collins. “I know Richard. I’ve known him for years. He’s not a killer. What motive would he have, to kill all those people?”

  “It’s not just him,” Ash said suddenly. “There’s something inside him; something dark. I can sense it.”

  “You mean he’s possessed?” said Rhea. “Like DeFrenz?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. But something’s working through him.”

  “The Wild Childe,” said Hart.

  Ash shrugged. “Presumably. We’d better work out what we’re going to do about him. Whatever’s inside him is waking up.”

  The Sheriff lifted his head suddenly and looked about him. He seemed calm and composed, but his face didn’t look like Erikson’s. Behind the calm, steady gaze something else was looking out. They could all feel it, like another presence in the office.

  “Who are you?” said Rhea.

  “You know,” said Erikson. “You were warned about me. I’m the Wild Childe. I do what must be done.”

  “You kill people,” said Rhea.

  “I send through the Forever Door those who should have gone willingly. I am necessary. There are forces that cannot be denied. You think you have me, but you don’t. I am everywhere. This is my time, come round at last.”

  The Sheriff shuddered suddenly, and then was still. Something went out of him in that moment, and his face was his own again.

  “Richard?” said Rhea.

  “Yes. I’m back. I knew it was there from the moment it first arrived, but it kept making me forget. It used everything I knew to plan its murders, and then carry them out. It used me.” His face was slack and grey, like someone recovering from a long illness. “I’m tired. So tired…”

  Collins and Lewis released him from the handcuffs, after Ash had quietly verified that the possessing spirit was gone, and took him away to one of the cells, to lie down. They didn’t lock the door, for which he was almost pathetically grateful. The others sat and looked at each other.

  “What do we do now?” said Ash. “We caught our killer, but he’s gone. He could be anywhere. Or anyone.”

  “Suzanne found him once,” said Rhea.

  “With my help,” said Hart. “I only lent her a little of my power, but that was enough to blow all her fuses. I don’t know if she could survive a second attempt.”

  “What power?” said Rhea, staring at him intently. “Who are you, really? What are you doing here in Shadows Fall?”

  “I came home,” said Hart.

  Rhea waited, and then realized he’d said all he was going to. She turned to Ash. “Leonard; what can you sense about Hart?”

  “Nothing,” said Ash. “He’s shielded. I’ve been trying to get in ever since he supercharged Suzanne back at her place, but I keep being pushed out. It’s not his shield. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.”

  “Could he be the Wild Childe?” said Rhea. “The source of the possessing spirit?”

  “No,” said Ash. “That’s gone from here.”

  “Please believe me,” said Hart carefully, “I’m not connected with the Wild Childe in any way. I want to stop these murders just as much as you do. I’m just someone who came home, looking for answers.”

  Rhea looked at him for a long moment, and then looked away. “There’s something you’re not telling us, but that’s par for the course in this town. Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait till
we’ve dealt with our current problem. We have to find the Wild Childe before he kills again.”

  “If we can,” said Ash. “He said some interesting things. He said he only killed people who should have gone through the Forever Door, but there are thousands of people like that in Shadows Fall. Why did he only choose some, and not others?”

  Rhea shrugged. “He was only one man, and there was a limit to what he could do without being suspected and caught.”

  “Now he doesn’t have to worry about that any more,” said Hart. “Still, whatever body he chooses, I can find him. Eventually.”

  “He said he was necessary,” said Ash. “What did he mean by that?”

  “Probably just trying to confuse us,” said Rhea. “We have to warn people. Find the bastard before he kills again.”

  The door burst open and Collins rushed in. “We have a problem. There are radio reports coming in from all over town. There are killings everywhere, more than a hundred, all of them following the Wild Childe’s MO. Only they can’t all be him; these murders are taking place simultaneously all across the town. You’ll have to look after yourselves from now on; Lewis and I are going out.”

  And with that, he was gone. Ash and Hart and Rhea looked at each other.

  “He isn’t trying to hide any more,” said Ash. “And it seems he’s no longer limited to possessing just one person. You could say he’s… swarming.”

  “We have to talk to Old Father Time,” said Hart. “He’s the only one with enough power to stop all this.”

  “He isn’t seeing anyone,” said Rhea.

  “He’ll see me,” said Hart.

  —

  The Wild Childe, let loose at last, ran through the streets of Shadows Fall in a thousand bodies. Their hands were claws and their eyes were dark, and they laughed and howled as they ran, slaughtering all in their path who were not also possessed. They killed as easily and as naturally as they breathed, for that was their function and their purpose. Crowds of panicked townspeople ran before them in the streets, pursued by the Wild Childe in all his many identities. No one was safe, no one could be trusted. Friend turned on friend, wife on husband, father on son. The dead were everywhere, lying battered and broken in pools of their own blood. Some of the possessed broke down barricaded doors with their unnatural strength, to get at those hiding within. The Wild Childe could not be stopped, deterred, reasoned with or warned off; there was no room in them for compassion or caution, only the endless urge to kill. They ravaged through the town, in all its many times and places, killing with their bare hands, or any weapon that came to hand.

  Most of the town’s survivors were in shock from the Warrior invasion, but still many fought back against the new enemy, using weapons they’d taken from dead or captured Warriors. Some even fancied themselves hardened fighters, only to find that was no help at all when they found themselves fighting killers with familiar faces. All too many stood helplessly and died, unable to raise a hand against their loved ones.

  Doctor Mirren watched it all from the fortress he’d made of his house. He’d barricaded all the doors and windows, and sat in his study with his shotgun on his lap, watching the growing horror through his most powerful scrying glass. He begrudged the power that took from him, but he had to know. Mystical wards surrounded the house, put together and maintained by his power over many years, and they ought to be strong enough to keep anything out, but he wasn’t as sure of his power as he once was. Too much had changed in Shadows Fall; nothing could be counted on any more. He sat in his study, hands clenched on his shotgun, and watched helplessly as the scrying glass showed him scene after scene of the Wild Childe running mad in the streets. The scenes frightened him in a way the Warriors never had. He had made many promises in return for his power and his knowledge, promises he’d never thought he’d really have to make good, and now it seemed he’d risked his life and his soul for nothing. Fear yammered at the barriers of his self-control. He couldn’t afford to die. The dead were waiting for him.

  The Wild Childe gathered around his house in crowds, pressing against his mystic wards in growing numbers, watching and waiting; a hundred faces with the same expression, the same dark smile. They prowled outside the walls of his grounds, testing the wards again and again, until finally the sheer weight of numbers was too great to be borne, the wards came down, and the possessed spilled into his garden like starving wolves. Mirren reached out with his power, and sent his dead Warriors to meet them. All the soldiers he’d summoned and tricked into his grounds and then killed with his deadly garden rose again to defend him.

  The dead fought with the possessed, and for a moment the forces seemed equal, but the dead were slow and awkward, motivated only by Mirren’s will, and he quickly realized he’d spread himself too thin. The Wild Childe pushed past the dead and swarmed through his garden. Mirren reached out again, and the deadly plants and vines of his garden fell upon the possessed, weighing them down and tearing them apart. But still some escaped the greenery, and flocked around his house to hammer on the closed doors and shuttered windows.

  Mirren knew he should stay in his study, where he was safest, but he couldn’t just sit and watch and do nothing. He rose jerkily to his feet and hurried out of the study to check the state of his defences. He ran from room to room, and everywhere the possessed were tearing away the shutters and forcing their way past the barricades. The front door shook under a thunderous hammering. He ran back to his study, his thoughts whirling, still gripping his shotgun fiercely, though he’d lost all faith in its ability to save him. He would have liked to just stop, put the barrels to his head and pull the trigger, but he couldn’t do that. The dead were waiting for him. There had to be a way out of this. There had to be.

  He reached his study unmolested, dived inside and slammed the door shut behind him. And only then realized that the Wild Childe had got there first. Three of them, two men and a woman, with the same smile and the same darkness in their eyes. He got the woman with his shotgun, and then the two men took it away from him and threw him to the floor. He huddled into a ball, cringing away from the expected follow-up, but nothing happened. He uncurled slowly and cautiously and looked up to see the two possessed just standing there, as though waiting for something. Or someone. The answer came to Mirren almost immediately, and his heart jumped in his chest. The air was suddenly full of the stench of brimstone, and a new figure appeared in the room. He was naked, slim and delicately formed, inhumanly beautiful, and he sweated drops of blood that ran down his colourless flesh to stain the study carpet. Flies buzzed in the room, circling the figure’s head like moths round a lantern. The figure snatched one out of the air and ate it, and then turned to face Mirren, and his smile was the same the possessed wore.

  “Dear Doctor, I have so enjoyed looking forward to this moment. We have so much to discuss.” The demon stretched languorously, like a cat before a fire. “The deaths of the Warriors and the townspeople have made me very strong, Doctor. The Wild Childe murders will make me stronger still.” Flames leapt up around the figure, and Mirren flinched away from the raging heat. The demon continued, as though nothing was happening. “I have used my new power to take control of the Wild Childe for my own purposes. I brought him into existence long before he would normally have appeared, and now he does my will in all things. The possessed townspeople will kill and kill until no one is left alive but them, and then they will kill each other. And the power that slaughter will provide will enable me to tap the power of the town itself, and the Galleries of Frost and Bone, and finally the Forever Door itself.” The blazing flames had reduced the figure to a charred and blackened husk, but its voice never wavered. Flies swarmed about it more thickly than ever, and the smell of burnt meat was sickening in the confined space. Mirren had backed away from the burning man till he’d slammed up against the wall behind him, and now he had nowhere left to go. He was dimly aware that he’d wet himself. He didn’t realize he was making little moaning, entreating sounds. The demon chuc
kled softly.

  “Power over the Forever Door will give me power over Life and Death. And with that, I’ll change the world till no one can recognize what it used to be. There will be an infinity of suffering and corruption, and I shall be Lord over all. Why reign only in Hell when the world’s pickings are so much sweeter?

  “And you helped to make it all possible, Doctor. You betrayed the town’s defences and let the Warriors in, but more than that, it was your questioning into areas you had no business in that let me find my first toehold in this town. You are responsible for everything that has happened here, dear Doctor, and I have come to give you your reward. You wanted so very much to know about death and what comes after; allow me to show you.”

  Mirren screamed for a long time, and then he died. And then the screaming began again.

  Outside in the streets, the Wild Childe was everywhere, and blood and death and darkness covered the town of Shadows Fall.

  —

  Rhea, Ash, Hart and Morrison dived into the plastic snowscene and clawed their way down through the raging blizzard to drop unceremoniously on to the snowy waste below. They landed hard, but the snow was deep enough to soften the impact. They got to their feet and set off through the knee-deep snow, holding hands to keep from being separated by the fury of the storm. One direction looked much like any other, but Hart could sense the right direction, like a compass that knows its way home. It was just the latest in a series of things he seemed to know because he needed to. After an endless time they finally came to the great hulking shape of All Hallows Hall, only to find more evidence that all was not as it should be. The Hall was dark, with no lights showing at any of the windows.

  Hart pushed open the front door, and herded the others in out of the blinding snow. He slammed the door shut after them, and for a long moment they all stood together, getting their breath back. Everything was dark, and silent. Hart called upon the power within him, and a pool of light formed around the group. He frowned. Things like that were getting easier and more natural all the time. He had a feeling he could do other things too, astounding things, but he backed away from the temptation. More than ever he wanted, needed, to feel human, ordinary; safe.