Darkborn

by Matthew J. Costello

  “Pull the door shut, doofus!” Tim said to him. And Will reached behind him and grabbed at the metal handle.

  The handle was cool, a curved piece of metal maybe a hundred years old. How many hands have grabbed that handle? he wondered. And how many of those people are dead?

  “What now?” Will whispered.

  Tim answered in a full voice. “There’s no reason to fucking whisper,” he said. “Who the hell are we going to wake up?”

  “Maybe there are guards,” Will said. “Or dogs.”

  “Christ,” Whalen said, “he’s back on that again.”

  “I see another door,” Tim said.

  Amazing, Will thought. Because I can’t see anything. To prove that fact he held his own hand out in front of him. And he wriggled his fingers.

  Nada.

  But then-while his hand was still suspended in front of his face — he did see something. His fingers were catching some light.

  Light that came from ahead.

  “No,” Tim said. Will heard him take a step.

  “This is really creepy!” Kiff said.

  “Not a door. It’s a stairway, leading up.”

  “Great!” Kiff said. “It will take us to the amusement area … the slides . . . all that neat stuff.”

  Will didn’t see anything amusing about their current position.

  Now, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could barely make out Tim, Kiff, and the others, shuffling toward the stairwell, pale gray in total blackness.

  “Anybody bring a miner’s hat?” Whalen quipped.

  Everyone laughed.

  That’s nervous laughter, Will thought. I know fucking nervous laughter when I hear it, and that was it!

  Then he heard steps. Tim going up the stairs. Then the cautious, trudging steps of the others. And Will wondered — banging his foot into the first step, waking up his injured ankle — is it such a good thing to be bringing up the rear?

  Is that a good thing?’

  He remembered the old Abbott and Costello film where they meet Frankenstein’s monster, and Dracula, and just about every other monster. There was a scene where they’re all in a line and one by one they get snatched.

  Will let his hand flail out behind him. He groped around.

  His heart was beating wildly in his chest.

  He licked his lips.

  And then he had a weird thought. I’m scared. Sure, I’m scared half crazy. But then . . . I’m also excited. He felt the thin handrail as he went climbing up, his hand sliding along the metal.

  This is damned exciting!

  And it was getting lighter and lighter. Less black . . . more gray.

  Somewhere, right above us, there are windows, letting in light.

  It’s just there, Will thought. Just ahead of us.

  “Holy shit!” he heard Tim yell.

  “Fan-fucking-tastic,” Kiff squealed.

  Will grinned.

  This isn’t so bad, he thought.

  We’re inside.

  With no dogs. Not even the smallest yelp.

  Inside the great Steeplechase building.

  “C’mon,” he said, nudging Narrio, just ahead of him, to keep going up the stairs.

  Not so bad at all . . .

  In fact, it was marvelous.

  The roof was mostly glass, an endless checkerboard of glass and wood. A cloudy light, more of a glow, filtered down from there, a mixture of the streetlights and the dull shine of what must be the moon hidden behind clouds.

  It was just enough light so Will could see where they were.

  He looked around, soaking up the very strangeness of the experience. To his left he saw the great open barrels that spin around. And he thought; I’ve been through them countless times. To his right were the spinning disks, different sizes, designed to spin at different speeds. You tried to hold on until the centrifugal force sent you spinning away, laughing, holding on to the legs of a perfect stranger.

  If you were lucky, a girl rolled on top of you.

  And further away, Will saw the outline of a rope bridge that shimmied and shook, left and right, trying to knock you over the side into a pool of foam rubber.

  Will was grinning from ear to ear.

  Who cares if the place is closed and dark?

  “This is great,” he said.

  Except — everything was quiet now. Usually there were the voices, the sounds of a thousand people. Laughing and screaming. And the engines were quiet, the big machines that made the barrels turn, and the wooden dishes spin, and the bridge shiver.

  Now there was no sound.

  “Sure is quiet,” Will said.

  And — in answer — Kiff hooted and ran into one of the barrels.

  But it was no challenge.

  He came running out and then pointed behind them.

  “Hey,” he said, ‘‘I’m going to try the slides.”

  Steeplechase was famous for its slides, giant wooden slides that gave you a nasty burn if you tilted to the side and let your arm drag all the way down. You could tell who caught a bad slide from seeing the kids with big red blotches on their arms and knees.

  You could get hurt on the slides.

  The stairway to the slides was barred by a small gate. But Kiff ran over and jumped the gate. He tore up the stairs. Narrio followed.

  Will turned to Tim.

  “This is great,” he said, “really —”

  But Tim wasn’t there. Will looked around, expecting to see him running across the rope bridges or inside the barrels.

  But he didn’t see him.

  Whalen was grinning, watching Narrio and Kiff, now nearly at the top of the slide near the roof of the building.

  And at the top, through the great glass panels of the side wall, Will saw shapes.

  Horses . . . lined up, just beside the slide.

  The steeplechase horses, ready to race on their rails, ready to gallop around the outside of the park.

  “Watch this!” Kiff yelled. And then crazy Kiff took a flying leap off the edge of the slide, a full gainer, and he was rolling down the slide, spinning out of control.

  Halfway down, Kiff’s smile vanished.

  His arms were getting burned by the wood.

  He landed like a human pretzel at their feet.

  Will laughed. He looked around for Tim. But he didn’t see him. Where the hell was he . . . ?

  Kiff popped up.

  “Damn . . . shit . . .” Kiff said. Then, for good measure, “Damn!”

  Now it was Narrio’s turn. And he went sliding down with a loopy grin on his face, his arms folded in front of him, squealing all the way.

  He caromed into Kiff’s feet, nearly knocking him over.

  “Hey, watch it,” Kiff said.

  “Sorry,” Narrio said insincerely.

  Maybe I should try the slide, Will thought.

  But Kiff, rubbing at his wounds, ran over to the gate, wanting to brave it again. Narrio followed him.

  And Will decided to just watch them one more time.

  He watched them take the steps, two, three at a time. Right to the top.

  When Kiff got to the top, he checked the slide, getting ready for his leap. Narrio was just behind him, right next to him . . . when he turned . . .

  Narrio saw something.

  “I’m all set,” Kiff announced, the fierce daredevil.

  Narrio moved away from Kiff.

  What’s he doing? Will wondered. And Will took a step closer to the small gate, to the stairway.

  “Here we go,” Kiff said.

  Narrio moved to the side. To a door. Leading out of the building up there, right by the Steeplechase ride, out to the horses . . .

  Will heard that door pop open. And he saw that Kiff heard it too. Kiff stopped and looked at Narrio.

  “Kiff,” Will said.

  Then, turning to Whalen, he said, “What’s Narrio doing? Where is he going?”

  “What?” Whalen said, as if he hadn’t heard or hadn’t seen Narrio.<
br />
  Kiff looked back, ready to go on with his jump.

  “One,” Kiff said.

  But Will saw Narrio go through the door. There was a landing there, a platform next to the horses. Right, Will remembered. That’s where you got off the horses. And you came right into the fun house there. One breathless experience after another, one thrill —

  “Two!” Kiff yelled.

  Will took another step, getting a better angle. What’s he doing? thought Will. What the hell is Narrio doing?

  Through the door. Touching one of the horses. Touching its head.

  Climbing on top of a horse.

  Will jumped over the fence.

  “Kiff! Get Narrio the hell away from there. Stop!”

  Did he say those words? Or did he just think he said them? Because Kiff just yelled, “Three!” and flung himself into space, onto the rolling, wooden hills of the slide, while Will ran up the stairs.

  As fast as he could, the steps creaking, the wood of the slide squealing as Kiff slid by him going the other way, sliding down.

  The creaking.

  The clicking.

  Will almost stopped.

  Almost froze on the steps. Because here it was again.

  The clicking, the chattering.

  Like crickets, but only louder.

  Sharper. Teeth.

  First faint, but then louder and louder until it seemed as if the sound filled this giant room . . . as if the racket was echoing off every pane of glass.

  Narrio was on one of the horses, sitting on it.

  Will got to the top of the stairs. breathless.

  You’re out of shape, Dunnigan, Henkel yelled. You’re out of shape! Drop ten. Do some laps. You’re disgustingly out of —

  Will gasped at the air and ran up the stairs, toward the door.

  He grabbed the handle.

  To the door leading outside, to Narrio.

  Narrio looked at him and smiled.

  The door wouldn’t open.

  Narrio, the little Italian cowboy.

  Yippee-tie-yay.

  Will grunted and pulled at the door.

  “What’s wrong?” Whalen yelled.

  The clicking grew louder.

  Don’t they hear that? Will thought. Can’t they hear that sound?

  What is it? he thought. What could it be?

  The door was jammed.

  Or locked.

  But then — how did Narrio get out?

  Narrio rocked on the horse.

  And Will thought he heard a different kind of click.

  His hand froze on the handle.

  Another click — no louder than the thousands of others — just different. . . .

  And easily found.

  It came from the bottom of the horse, from the post that held it locked on the single rail it traveled.

  Narrio laughed, holding on to the metal stirrup.

  The face was on each door. The wide toothy smile. The slicked-down hair. The poached-egg eyes.

  The twisted symbol of Steeplechase.

  The latch holding Narrio’s horse popped up. And then the horse started sliding away.

  Narrio’s smile faded.

  He tried to slide off.

  Not a good idea.

  Because the horse picked up speed, hitting an immediate downhill that sent the horse speeding away, to the other end of the building, toward the beach, and sea, and the waves.

  Narrio nearly fell off.

  Through the closed door, Will heard Narrio scream.

  Will pushed his face against the glass. Narrio’s horse soared up one side of the hill and then turned the corner of the building.

  And Will couldn’t hear him anymore.

  He’ll come around the other side, Will thought, looking across to the other side of the building.

  And Narrio will be able to jump off there. If he moves fast enough, if the blotto fool thinks.

  Will ran over there, thinking, What’s the big deal? What if he goes on the ride all the way, what’s the problem?

  He heard Whalen behind him, following him, finally aware that something was wrong.

  “What did he do?” Whalen called from behind Will.

  But Will didn’t answer. He had to get to the other side before Narrio went sailing by, without a drunken idea about how to get off.

  Will got there, to the other side, to another door, another platform, another door that wouldn’t fucking open.

  I’ll smash the glass, he thought. I’ll yell at Narrio.

  And then he saw what he must have known, must have seen before — but only in some dank corner of his subconscious.

  The rails, the — four rails for the four horses, came to an end.

  They just ended.

  In thin air. Right there, next to the platform.

  Somebody had taken them down already. Started taking Steeplechase apart.

  Part of the demolition.

  They ended.

  And now Will heard the scream again, closer, louder …

  As the insane clicking, the sharp sounds, mixed now with Narrio’s screams.

  Will pulled against the door.

  Surrounded by the din, the sound of a million teeth chattering in the frozen darkness, a million crazy, jabbering hungry teeth about to eat them all alive . . .

  * * *

  16

  Narrio galloped toward Will.

  His face twisted sadly to the side, as if he’d had a stroke, as if all the muscles in his face were gone. Even from yards away, Will could feel those dark eyes locked on him, begging him to help.

  He looks sick, thought Will.

  And Will screamed at him.

  “Jump off the horse! Jump off the goddamn horse!”

  I said the words, thought Will. I really did. I screamed at him. Then why isn’t he moving? Why the hell isn’t he doing anything?

  The horse’s eyes were frozen into the wild, frenzied excitement of the race. Its front hooves were perpetually up, ready to leap over the next fence, the next stream.

  Narrio flew past Will.

  And Will thought of smashing the glass. Reaching out and grabbing him. Yank Narrio right off the horse.

  Except — he saw that Narrio’s hands were locked on the metal stirrup, holding on for salvation.

  “Jump!” Will yelled.

  One last time.

  As Narrio sailed by, unaware of what was ahead. Goddamn you, Will thought. Why wouldn’t you listen, why wouldn’t you jump off the horse and —

  The clicking was deafening.

  I’m going crazy, thought Will. I’ve drunk too much and I’m going mad . . .

  Like that gibbering idiot in the Poe story.

  Screaming about that heart, still beating, under the floorboards . . .

  There was a wrenching sound. Metal scraping against metal.

  “Jesus.” Will whimpered.

  A prayer this time.

  Another wrenching sound. And there — Narrio’s scream.

  Will watched it happen.

  At first. Narrio and the horse sailed together, a wild leap into space as the rail ended. It was like the diving horse at the Steel Pier in Atlantic City. The horse climbed up. high above a giant tank at the end of the amusement pier. while some fat announcer in a spangled suit made lame jokes.

  And when the horse finally dove off the small board, its legs shaking — so scared — its eyes were terrible to look at. They were so big with fear that they looked as if they’d pop out of its head.

  A beautiful girl rode the horse. She held on tight. pressing her lean thighs against the sides of the horse.

  She smiled. The horse looked insane.

  This was like that.

  Narrio’s scream echoed from down below.

  And Will had plenty of time to watch it all. It took forever to happen. Forever. He watched Narrio separate from the horse. still trying to hold on to the stirrup. but then the horse’s heavy body pulled away.

  Mass times acceleration.


  Equals force.

  Ouskoop demonstrated the principle with steel balls and an inclined plane. Different masses move with different force.

  Then Narrio was flying free, the scream swelling, sounding pitiful, horribly sad. He knows what’s going to happen to him, thought Will.

  Plenty of time for that. Plenty. And Will watched the way Narrio’s body landed.

  Narrio’s head was up. As if he were straining to get back to the rail. His hands were in front of him, like a kid trying to stop himself sledding too fast down a snowy hill.

  But just below Narrio was a shed of some kind. It had a tin roof, a roof that protruded around the top of the building.

  The horse crashed to the ground. The sound, the shattering sound of the metal carcass exploding against the ground, made Will shiver.

  But then Narrio flew into the shed.

  And the roof, the flat piece of metal, hit his neck.

  Narrio’s body smashed into the building. There was a sick dull thud, the sound flesh and bone makes when it smashes into something. The sound a rotten tomato made when he threw it against old Mrs. McDaniel’s door at Halloween.

  It went splat.

  The roof sheared off the head.

  The snapping sound was sudden, electric. Narrio’s head tossed up in the air. A free ball, in play, spinning around and around. Still with that same lopsided look, still not too happy about what was happening.

  Will saw the face move. It didn’t know that it had no body.

  “Jesus.” Will whispered again.

  Around and around, until the head careened off the top of the metal roof. There was a bang, a thud, and it rolled away.

  Mike Narrio’s ride not yet over.

  Will backed away.

  He looked around.

  The clicking stopped.

  It’s just in my head, he thought. Just in my fucking head.

  For a second. it was as if it hadn’t happened.

  He turned and saw Whalen, sweating, bug-eyed. Almost funny-looking . . .

  And then Kiff, standing there, mouthing words, trying to say something, but Will didn’t hear anything. Nothing at all.

  Just the water now. And the wind whispering through the building. Whistling and wheezing the way it does in a cheap horror movie.

  Oooooo!

  And then — coming behind Will — he saw Tim.

  Where’s Narrio? he wanted to say. I’ve just seen the damnedest thing. So where the fuck is Narrio?

  But that was just it.

  Narrio was down there.