by A. J. Vrana
The woman calmly watched his manic hopping with a twinkle in her eye. “I found him, Gavran.”
Mason winced as Gavran dropped the toaster with a loud clank and bounced back to the table to settle his new pieces into their proper places. Once he was satisfied, his peculiar dance brought him to a stop in front of his guest.
“Keep an eye on him. Make sure he’s not late this time.” He glanced up at the raven and grinned. “Take my eyes, too.”
She inclined her head as if showing reverence, and Gavran patted her hair like one would a favoured child. Then, as if guided by ritual, she turned to leave without another word, the raven following close behind.
“Wait,” Mason interrupted her exit. “Are you a friend of Gavran’s?”
She stopped just outside the doorway, speaking to him over her shoulder, “My name is Ama. We will meet again, I’m sure.”
Mason turned to Gavran after she ambled away. “How would she know that?”
The old man clapped his hands together and pranced about in delight. “Light the torch of your grief,” he cackled. “Follow it deep into the woods.”
“I don’t understand.”
Gavran reached out and placed a knobby hand on the young doctor’s chest. “When night falls, only flames reveal the road ahead.”
8
Kai
During the day, Black Hollow was a different world from the pitiful cesspool Kai used as hunting grounds when the moon was out. The main road was busy with commuters and pedestrians, shops were open and welcoming, and the urge to hide in the shadows wasn’t overpowering.
But Kai was still nervous. Unaccustomed to being so exposed, he fumbled with both curiosity and unease, leaning away from people when they got too close—fighting the instinct to snarl when someone bumped into him from behind. He had no trouble hurting people, but sometimes even the slightest human contact, the most innocent of glances, felt utterly crippling.
Social awkwardness wasn’t the only thing plaguing Kai. His ghostly menace had been awfully quiet these last few days, and Kai knew better than to believe the peace would last. Something was coming. Every time the dickish phantom disappeared, it was because he was squirreling his energy. Maybe he would hurl some moose shit at Kai’s face? Derail a train and have him mauled? The possibilities were endless, and Kai lamented that his imagination wasn’t wicked enough to conjure anything that could prepare him. The worst part was not knowing—not knowing when, where, how, or around whom the attacks would happen.
But Kai was a spiteful son-of-a-bitch. The more his antagonist pushed him, the more stubborn he became. An eye for an eye. A nut for a nut. Kai didn’t care if he had to reach into the fifth dimension and castrate the motherfucker barehanded. He swore he’d one day be rid of this curse—even if it killed him. He just had to figure out how.
Turning a corner, he abandoned the main road in favour of a quieter route where his senses didn’t feel like they were being chopped in a blender. He was only here to pawn that damn watch. Several blocks away, a bus idled as passengers stepped off. Kai’s eyes narrowed at those mammoth, rumbling wheels that stunk like tar. He loathed buses. The way they looked. The sounds they made. The way they smelled. Not to mention that every time he got on one, he felt nauseous and dizzy.
Kai picked up an empty soda can and crunched it between his fingers. He whipped it as hard as he could, satisfied by the crumpled aluminum ricocheting off the window. The monster spewed more noxious gas as it made its escape, and a confused passenger stuck their cheek to the glass to look around.
Licking the sugary residue off his fingers, Kai turned and headed the other way in a stubborn refusal to take the same path as the bus. Meanwhile, the elderly man who’d just gotten off at his stop stared at Kai like he was a lunatic, muttering something about young people and communism.
After successfully pawning the watch for a hundred dollars, Kai was eager to get the fuck out of Pleasantville. As he pushed the cash into his leather wallet, he retrieved a piece of an old lilac birthday card he always kept with him, his name scrawled on the back in dark blue ink.
Happy Birthday, Kai Donovan.
It was barely legible. He knew how hard it had been for old Alice to hold a pen, but she tried anyway.
Kai zigzagged through the smaller alleys, feeling more comfortable in the narrow corridors behind the main roads. It was quiet, and although it smelled like shit, it wasn’t disorienting like the crowded downtown streets where everything from cheap perfume and mystery meat to used tampons and acrylic paint bombarded his nostrils.
He couldn’t wait to return to his den—a tiny cabin nestled in a grove of pines and cedars. It was used by miners and forestry workers before the sudden insurgence of wolves a few years back and had long since been abandoned. The outside panelling was falling apart, and there were several holes in the roof that needed repairing. The windows were cracked, and it wasn’t unusual to find a fox or a raccoon scavenging inside. Still, it was home.
As he stalked past the chain-link fence behind the buildings, a heavy shadow followed. Kai slowed, hesitating until he felt the darkness nipping at his heels. Something cold slithered up his neck, then reached around his throat and squeezed. But it didn’t stop there. The chill spilled down his collar bone and cut into his chest, twisting through his heart.
The air fled his lungs, and his ribcage tightened as the phantom blade splintered. The ridges on his spine sundered, grinding back and forth like spider legs trying to break free. Something was inside of him, moving, shrieking, biting. It was a parasite, injected into his core by a cold, spectral hand.
“S-stop...” Kai knew it was his antagonist. He gasped as his insides constricted, his desperate attempt to breathe yielding only a pathetic wheeze. His vision was growing dark, white noise drowning his ears as he fought to move his feet, but it was like someone had welded them to the ground. Squeezing his eyes shut, Kai cursed loudly when he heard a distinct laugh from somewhere within the frequencies.
“What the fuck are you!”
From all directions came the low, rumbling reply.
Abaddon.
“Aba...ddon,” Kai strained. “Fuck...off!”
He managed to force out the words, the verbal outburst freeing him just enough to push one stride forward. Kai focused on the street ahead, the light of the main road drawing him like a moth to a flame. Gritting his teeth, he drove a fist into his leg until it moved. He didn’t dare look back where the shadow followed him step by step, inch by inch. But there was no way in hell he’d let himself collapse here, even if it meant tearing his own heart out along with whatever phantom vermin was crawling around inside him.
Grains of mortar bit into his palm as he grabbed at the wall for support. He turned the corner and stumbled out of the alleyway and into the open, the world around him spiralling into blinding white chaos. Unable to see or smell, he staggered waywardly, his every capacity crippled.
The last thing Kai remembered was the stench of carbon monoxide and the booming horn of a goddamn bus, hollering at him to get the fuck out of the way.
9
Mason
The idyllic little town Mason had been hell-bent on escaping to wasn’t providing much respite, even when he spent his time lounging in local joints, reading books on the farmhouse rooftop, and soaking up Annabelle’s stories about the ’70s. While he was distracted from his grief over Amanda, there were other, fresher thorns pricking Mason’s overactive mind. He’d been sucked into a black hole of events that clung to no rational explanation. He was a stranger in a world too unfamiliar to navigate.
Exhausted by the constant reeling in his mind, Mason decided what he really needed was a distraction—a distraction from this distraction. He found himself drawn to the familiarity of the very place he’d run away from, browsing social media and catching up with family. They were surprisingly nonchalant about his disappearance, to the point that he wondered if he was even missed. His sense of loss seemed to go over their heads as they spouted rote platitu
des.
Time heals all wounds, his sweet but somewhat vacant mother had said.
Then he remembered that Jazlyn, his old friend from medical school, was working at a hospital somewhere in the vicinity. Pulling up her profile, he sent her a message, hoping she wasn’t too busy to respond.
Mason stared at the screen in anticipation. When nothing came after several minutes, he shut his laptop and flopped back onto the bed, the textured white surface above him rippling with the after-images of the giant redwood and its ghostly inhabitant. He thought back to the woman—Ama—and the way she looked at him when she said they’d meet again. It was as though she knew, better than Mason did, that he was already far too tangled in the spider’s web. There was no hope of escape.
A ping sounded from the laptop, and Mason rolled over to push the lid up. It was Jazlyn, responding with enthusiasm that exuded from the letters on the screen. She said she was busy working double shifts the entire week but would be happy to make time for him at the hospital. Mason read on, his heart sinking as he fixated on the last sentence.
Why not stop by the hospital today? You’ll fit right in!
Oh, if only she knew. The last place Mason wanted to go was the hospital. The sight of those grey, sanitary halls, the smell of cheap burnt coffee and latex gloves, the sound of heart monitors and the pop of syringes—it was all still too fresh. And then there were the blood-stained sheets, stubborn blemishes, the essence of life and death mingling under the scrutinizing lens of a microscope. He heard the heart monitor again, the steady beeps slowing until the intervals were long enough for him to hold his breath and choke. Then there was the flat line, ringing in his ears. The deafening silence that followed. The taste of sorrow creeping onto his tongue.
He wasn’t prepared to go back.
But the other side of the coin remained. If he succumbed to his fear, would the phantoms of Black Hollow devour his mind? Was this the universe’s way of testing him? The prospect of seeing a familiar face motivated him to have faith. Maybe he was ready. Maybe after all the strangeness he’d seen in this town, he’d be ready to return to the medical community—even if it was as a mere spectator. He was not a practising physician, he reminded himself. It would be all right.
Mason and Jazlyn agreed to meet at the Tim Horton’s on the ground floor of Ashgrove & District General Hospital for a late lunch. After agonizing over his wardrobe for several minutes, he settled for a semi-casual look, reaching for his best jeans and a white dress shirt. It was a quick drive, though it felt like a hundred years. By the time the red cross on the side of the facility was visible, he’d begun questioning the wisdom of his decision. His hands were so clammy with sweat that they nearly slipped off the steering wheel as he pulled into the parking lot.
Mason stuttered through the main entrance, his eyes scanning the area for the coffee shop logo. It was easy to spot; Ashgrove’s hospital was a fraction of the size of any one of Vancouver’s major health centres. There were several people gathered around the dingy beige tables, nibbling on bagels and sipping hot drinks. Some had dark circles under their eyes and were likely waiting for loved ones in care. Seeing that Jazlyn hadn’t arrived yet, Mason ordered himself a peppermint tea.
Just as he was slipping his wallet back into his trousers, he felt a light tap on his shoulder. Turning, he was startled by the empty space in front of him. Nobody was there.
“What in the...” he muttered, looking around when he heard a giggle from his periphery.
“Over here!” a feminine voice called.
Spinning with a touch of panic, Mason came face-to-face with a young woman of elfin stature. She was a good head shorter than him and grinning like a Cheshire cat. Her strawberry blond locks were tucked behind her ears, and he reflexively sought out the familiar brown freckle in one of her blue eyes.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Cap!”
Indeed, Mason felt like he’d seen one too many of those in recent days.
“Christ, Jaz, you scared the shit out of me.” He let out his breath before returning her smile. “How’ve you been?”
“Yeah, you always were a pussy,” she snorted. “And I’m great!” She threw her noodly arms out for emphasis then gave him a hug. “Grab your tea, grandpa, we’re goin’ for a walk.”
Mason lifted his paper cup in a toast to her crassness, following her as she led him away. For a cute, blue-eyed blonde that was petite enough to squeeze through the bars of a jail cell, she had a pretty nasty mouth on her. But at least it was an honest mouth.
“How am I a grandpa?” he asked.
“Because you’re drinking peppermint tea—I can smell it. That and you being a whole three years older than me.”
“Gee, I may as well retire then.”
“Isn’t that why you’re here?” she jabbed him in the ribs before calling the elevator. “Last I checked, newbies don’t get much vacation time.”
“I’m not here on vacation,” he mumbled, the glumness in his tone surprising them both.
Jazlyn raised an eyebrow. “What did you do? Kill someone?”
Mason’s choked on his tea, his eyes darting to her face as his lips pursed. The elevator doors drew open with a light ding, the people inside looking perplexed as Mason and Jazlyn stood frozen to the tiles, unmoving as their silent exchange conveyed all that needed to be known.
“Oh…” she trailed off, then turned and walked into the elevator.
“Yeah,” he sighed once they were side-by-side again. “I’m on leave. Need some time to myself.”
“Right.”
“Yeah.”
Jazlyn shifted her weight, her posture stiff as she cleared her throat. “How are you holding up?” she asked once they stepped off.
“I’m all right,” he lied. “Just been trying to get away. I thought this town might be a good place to escape to when I saw how peaceful it looked. Saw it on your profile.”
“Hah!” she burst out, then quickly backpedaled. “I mean, sure, it’s pretty and all, but um, I’m sure you’ve noticed…if you’ve been here long enough that is.”
It was Mason’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Noticed what?” He looked up and took note of the signs on the walls. They were headed towards one of the hematology labs.
“The people here,” she hissed under her breath while faking a polite smile at a passing doctor. “They’re all freakin’ nut jobs. Weirdos, the lot of them.”
Mason straightened up. “You mean the legends. They really believe, don’t they?”
“Shhhhhhhhh!”
“What?” He frowned as they walked through a pair of swinging doors. “Are outsiders not allowed to talk about it or something?”
“Didn’t you hear?” she grumbled. “Some psycho killed his daughter because he thought she’d been kidnapped by the Dreamwalker. Gene Robinson. Took this supernatural stuff way too seriously.”
Mason grabbed her shoulder to keep from tripping. “What did you just say?” he gasped.
“You didn’t hear?” She reached out to steady him. “Her name was Elle Robinson. It’s all anyone’s been talking about.”
He shook his head. “My hostess didn’t say anything.” And why hadn’t she?
“Normally I don’t pay attention.” Jazlyn shrugged and pulled some files from a cabinet once he released her arm. “I mean, I’ve heard stuff here and there. Mostly from teenagers who end up in the ER after doing something stupid. You know, like going into the woods in the dead of night looking for that old willow—you must’ve heard about it—then getting lost or falling into a ravine. Parents here are super vigilant, too. Soon as someone goes missing for like, forty-five minutes, they call the cops. Then again, can’t say I blame ‘em. We had a girl go missing last year. She ended up on IV antibiotics for two weeks because she’d been barefoot in the woods for almost five days. She nearly lost three toes! How the hell does that even happen!” She threw her arms up, exasperated.
“I don’t know,” Mason responded, his mind reeling.<
br />
“Anyway,” she sighed, shutting the cabinet and leading him out while fanning herself with the Kraft folders. “Her fiancé was arrested a week later for her murder. It’s just like Elle’s story.”
The articles from the archives flashed through Mason’s head as he followed her. “Why does this happen so much here? Why are these people killing their loved ones after they’ve been found?”
“Capgras syndrome is the official story,” said Jazlyn. “I don’t know why there’s so much of it here, but if you’re feeling morbid, someone leaked a video of the interrogation with the dad—sick bastard. The police are scrambling to take it down, but once on the internet, always on the internet.” She started down the hall. “Come on, I need to get these to a doctor. You wanna come with? Hospital staff is pretty easygoing, small town and all.”
“Right.” Mason wanted to know more, but Elle Robinson would have to wait. The immediacy of introducing himself as a visiting physician made his stomach swim.
It felt dishonest. He wondered what it was like for Jazlyn, working under people who would have been her professional equals had she graduated as an M.D. Was she happy like this? He couldn’t imagine quitting, taking a lower-paying and less-respected job, especially when it was just as much work. “Hey, why’d you decide to become a nurse? Why didn’t you just tough it out till the end of med school?”
She slowed as she considered this. “I realized I didn’t want to be responsible for making life-changing decisions for anyone.”
Mason gulped down the last of his tea and threw out the cup. “What do you mean?”
As they waited by the elevators again, she shook her head like she was remembering something unpleasant. “I spent my whole life taking care of people. Being a parent to my own parents. Dad had a gambling problem; Mom couldn’t grow a backbone to kick him to the curb. That left me stuck in the middle, picking up the pieces. I remember being sixteen and thinking they were my responsibility, not the other way around. And that’s kind of messed up.”