The Darkening (A Coming of Age Horror Novel) (The Great Rift Book 1)

by Christopher Motz

  The cacophonous rumble of the mall’s transformation slowly faded, like a radio playing through a closed door.

  The light dimmed.

  The sound of their heavy breathing followed them into the darkness.

  ***

  Danny only knew the passing of time by counting his heartbeats. When he opened his eyes, Sam was watching him. Her face was smeared with dirt, her eyes red and puffy. Her hair had come out of the ponytail and lay across her shoulders. She said nothing.

  “My knee,” Brent hissed. “It’s bleeding.”

  “Be glad you still have your leg,” Eric replied angrily.

  Danny rubbed his fingertips across Sam’s cheek, feeling the heat baking off her skin. “Are you okay?”

  She took a minute to answer, replying in a thin, weak voice he barely recognized. “I’m not even in the same universe as okay. What the fuck is going on?”

  “Not now,” Danny said.

  Eric scanned the parking lot. He looked like he’d been slapped. “Danny, do you see this?”

  The world was soundless. A foul-smelling breeze created eddies of yellow dust across the broken asphalt. Rusted-out vehicles sat on rotting tires, cars and trucks that no one could identify. Long-dead bodies slumped behind steering wheels, their bones bleached and clothing faded and tattered. A John Saul novel sat on the passenger seat of a dented pickup truck, unopened, unread, unwritten in the world that Danny and his friends had left behind.

  The sky was the ugly yellow of a faded bruise. The far side of the parking lot was lined with the ragged remains of white medical tents. A faded sign painted on one identified this as Quarantine Zone AG7-0037. Each contained rows of metal-frame beds covered in dirty, white linen; most were stained with piss, shit, and dried blood.

  “I don’t like this,” Eric said. “Maybe we should go back inside. Maybe there are others.”

  “There’s no one here,” Danny responded. “I already know that.”

  “It can’t hurt to check.”

  Danny nodded and stood, pulling Sam to her feet.

  “This isn’t real,” Brent said. “It’s a dream. It has to be. You guys got in my head with all your bullshit and now I’m seeing things too. I’ll wake up and this will be over.”

  A fat vulture landed on the hood of a car and pecked at the glass, trying to reach the corpse inside.

  “No, Brent, it won’t be over,” Danny said. “I wish you’d listened. I wish you weren’t so fucking stubborn.”

  Brent shook his head and pouted, refusing to hear anything Danny had to say.

  “Can someone please explain what’s going on?” Sam asked.

  “If we make it out of here, we’ll tell you everything,” Danny said. “I promise.”

  He turned and led Sam through the entrance and back into the mall.

  “Sure,” Brent said cheerily. “Let’s all go back inside the mall of death. Why not? What else is there to do?”

  He followed close behind, shaking his head, wondering when they’d all lost their minds.

  ***

  The Skryel admired its handiwork.

  It’d dragged them into an alternate Earth resting twelve slips from the one they called home. It had been wiped out by a plague designed by the United States government, a strain of the flu that had been adapted for military use at the beginning of the Third World War. President Christina Milan supported the experimentation and eventual use of the genetically engineered virus when it became evident the United States would not survive the upcoming battle on American soil through conventional means.

  She wasn’t a powerful doorway, but she was a very influential individual, one the Skryel manipulated like a puppet in its very own Punch & Judy show. World War Three had ended in 2007 with global extinction. In some realities the war had never taken place, while in others, it ended in full-blown nuclear warfare. In all of them, the monster was the true ringmaster.

  Not every apocalypse went so smoothly.

  One notable failure took place shortly after five in the morning on April 18th, 1906. The Skryel had attempted to manifest in San Francisco, California, but the veil between worlds had grown much thicker and tougher to penetrate. The attempt resulted in a massive earthquake that devastated the city and sealed that part of the veil forever.

  Hitler had been another. The man had been a very powerful doorway, one the Skryel visited many times throughout 1938 and 1939. In most of Earth’s realities, he’d committed suicide as his legacy crumbled. In others, he’d gone into hiding after the war, rejoining society years later under an assumed name, painting covers for well-known magazines and record albums, always fearing he’d be caught and punished for his atrocities. This Hitler also blew his brains out in a soiled bathroom in 1977. No matter where or when, the stupid man ended his own life as his tortured mind crumbled beneath the Skryel’s influence.

  Doorways had an unfortunate tendency to become unstable.

  The creature wasn’t worried about a few failures, not when the veil was so paper-thin in this part of Pennsylvania, not when there were so many places to hide unseen, and not when the boy was so close to bringing it all crashing down.

  It watched from its place in the void before slipping through the veil like a mouse through an open barn door.

  It was all too easy; success was so close, the monster could reach out and grab it.

  The sweet taste of victory centuries in the making.

  ***

  Their feet left tracks in the thick layer of dust that had collected on the floor. The only light entered through several cracked, grimy skylights. The overhead fluorescents hadn’t worked in decades. On both sides, from the entrance to the first junction, were additional rows of dirty beds. Next to many stood IV poles, the bags empty and deflated. Beneath the smells of age and decay was a fainter odor of disinfectant and a medicinal stink like cough syrup. Rats skittered across the hall, frightened by their first glimpse of human beings. They ran back to their homes in the dark recesses of empty stores, screeching warnings to their brethren.

  Eric stopped, bent over, and picked up a yellowed newspaper from the debris on the floor. His eyes widened. His lips moved silently as he read the headline. “It can’t be,” he whispered.

  Cautiously, as if it would bite him, Danny took the paper from his hand and read aloud. “Virus Unstoppable. One Billion Dead. New York City Burning. World Trade Center In Ruins.”

  Silence.

  He wiped away the coating of dust and continued. “The global pandemic that had begun in Chicago eighteen months ago has now raged out of control. The Centers For Disease Control have identified the super-virus as a strain of influenza that has thus far not responded to any of the known vaccines. News and media outlets have dubbed it ‘Missy’s Plague,’ named after seven-year-old Missy Rowland, now considered to be Patient Zero. The illness is said to begin with flu-like symptoms before quickly degenerating into an extremely aggressive form of pneumonia. Most of those infected perish within seventy-two hours of contracting the disease. Currently, in the United States, over three hundred thousand new cases are being reported daily.”

  “What is this, some kind of gag?” Brent asked. “Some joke gift from Spencer’s?”

  “It’s not a fucking joke,” Danny shouted. “Open your eyes!”

  “I can’t stop my hands from shaking,” Eric said to no one in particular.

  Sam dropped Danny’s hand and sat on a steel bench nearby. She was terrified but seemingly in control. It was either shed some light on the situation or close the blinds and go insane in the dark. She was too strong to give up. She listened and looked around the decaying hall, formulating a million questions she needed to have answered.

  Brent quickly went over and sat beside her. If this was only a dream, then surely there’d be no consequences. He felt her heat, the skin on their bare legs touching. He put an arm around her and kissed her tenderly on the cheek, speaking to her in hushed tones. “It’s all going to be okay,” he said. She looked at
him without responding, recoiling from the wild glare in his eyes.

  Danny and Eric drew closer together, looking at the front page as Danny continued reading aloud.

  “In major cities all around the globe, blackouts have been reported, as well as large-scale looting and an increase in general street crime. Parts of Manhattan have been devastated by fire that has raged unchecked for weeks. In Pennsylvania, the Limerick Generating Station, a nuclear facility, has been reporting problems with their cooling systems, although no major alerts have been issued.

  “Many of the reliable news networks, both television and radio, have stopped broadcasting, and the information leaking through affiliate stations is often hours old by the time it’s received. The internet has been dark for over a week, cell phone service is nonexistent, and 911 has been shut down indefinitely.”

  “What the fuck is an internet?” Eric asked.

  Danny shrugged and dropped the paper to the floor. “Or a cell phone?”

  “Stop,” Sam yelled. She slid out from under Brent’s arm and shuddered. “I don’t want to hear any more. I have to pee.” She walked past them and entered the front of Galaxy Tunez, pausing at a rack of dusty compact discs. “Watch my back, Danny.” She felt her way up the aisle and found a spot behind a cardboard display where she could go to the bathroom discreetly.

  “You got a real lady there, Danny,” Brent said sarcastically.

  Danny ignored him and stood guard at the front of the store. He grabbed a CD from the rack and turned it over in his hands, wondering why there weren’t more cassettes and vinyl lining the walls. He’d seen CDs before, but never so many in one place. A faded sticker on the jewel case stated: ‘Revolver - A classic album from Pete Best’s Beatles.’

  Who the hell is Pete Best?

  He tossed it aside as Sam appeared out of the darkness, still buttoning her shorts. She stopped to look at a sign above the door: ‘MP3 players 20% off when you reserve your copy of the new 50 Cent album, ‘Curtis.’ In stores September 11th.’ “What the hell is an MP3?” she asked. No one answered.

  Eric stared at the newspaper on the floor between his feet, fighting a wave of dizziness. The date on top was July 7, 2007.

  They walked slowly toward the center of the mall, their footfalls echoing off the high ceiling. A loud, gravely voice boomed out of the darkness.

  “Hello boys and girls,” it said. “Welcome to your destiny.”

  They turned and stopped in their tracks. The Skryel’s human disguise stood in the food court, arms open wide. It smiled, displaying a mouthful of yellow, needle-sharp teeth. Fat, grotesque wasp-like insects circled the creature lazily, barely able to fly, each the size of a well-fed guinea pig.

  “Thank you so very much for joining the party.”

  Its wasp-guard formed a protective barrier between them. Silver light glowed behind the creature’s eyes as its teeth and fingernails grew longer and sharper. The human form bulged and wrinkled, no longer able to contain the monster inside.

  “Get us out of here,” Eric pleaded.

  “There’s no need to run,” it hissed. “I’m not going to harm you. This is the part of our story where we all agree to help one another.”

  “We’re not helping you with anything,” Danny shouted. He stepped in front of Sam and spread his arms defensively. “Ben will help us. He knows all about you.”

  “Is that right? The stupid old man with the stupid human name. I don’t know what he’s told you, but he isn’t your friend. Your lives are of no consequence to him.”

  “At least he isn’t trying to kill us,” Eric blurted.

  “Eric,” the Skryel sighed. “You’re just like your father. So very talented, but so nauseatingly simpleminded.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t do it,” Danny said. “It’s trying to get under your skin.”

  Just ignore it, Danny thought. It’s using your fear against you.

  “Holy shit,” Brent said. “I heard you talk but your lips never moved. I have to write this all down when I wake up.”

  One of the bloated wasps lumbered forward and hovered in front of them, its leathery wings barely strong enough to keep it off the ground. It curled its body toward them, displaying a large stinger that dripped a thick, clear liquid onto the floor. It shot from the wasp’s abdomen like a poison dart and lodged in the soft flesh of Brent’s thigh. He gasped and staggered back a step, grabbing the stinger between his thumb and forefinger and yanking it out painfully. He rubbed the bloody hole in his leg and whined. The wasp’s weapon was the size of a small kitchen knife.

  “What the hell was that for?” Brent cried.

  “Just a little gesture to prove that sometimes dreams do come true,” the Skryel said. “Let’s take stock for a moment, huh? Danny can speak to you telepathically, which I find impressive but somewhat boring. Eric mourns for his waste-of-space father without having any idea who he really was. Sam squeezes her tiny titties in a bra that’s a size too small to give the impression she’s carrying more than a sad A-cup, and Brent can dream so vividly that he’ll still feel the sting when he wakes up. Does that about cover it? Are we getting somewhere? Isn’t this fun?”

  “Stop talking about my father,” Eric shouted. “He has nothing to do with this. He’s dead, goddamn you.”

  “Well, you’re right about that. Dead and buried in the ground like a forgotten penny. He died a coward too, just like you will, crying and begging for your pathetic life.” It smiled with its half-human mouth, baring its teeth. Thick saliva dripped from its chin as the corners of its mouth widened and tore open all the way back to its ears.

  Brent rubbed absently at the sting in his thigh.

  “I can feel the fear and confusion baking off you like a fever, like a disease. Do you want to know about your father, Eric? Do you want to know what the last months of his life were really like? What he put your mother through? How she turned into the blubbering drunk she is now? I have all the answers, all you have to do is ask.”

  “I won’t,” he moaned.

  “Didn’t you ever wonder why he was buried so quickly? Why there was no viewing or funeral? Why you weren’t allowed to see him one last time?”

  “No!” Eric screamed. “It’s over and done with.”

  “It must have been so hard without your father,” it continued. “You were still a young boy, still growing, still learning. It couldn’t have been easy seeing all the other boys with their daddies, playing catch, flying kites, going fishing. He’s not around to see you graduate, see you get married and have children of your own. He’s dead, Eric, dead and rotting in the ground in a cheap suit and a hole in his skull.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Eric bawled. He clenched his fists, shaking with rage. The monster knew every dark corner of his soul.

  “What do you think happened to your old man, anyway? Did your mother hide the truth and make up stories? Of course, she did. It was one of the last things she ever did for you before the lies finally consumed her.” Danny went to Eric and held his friend in his arms as the boy crumbled to the floor.

  “Why won’t you stop, you fucking monster?” Danny asked.

  “Eric has always wanted to know the truth, and I’m giving it to him. Right, Eric? You always knew something was wrong, didn’t you? Your father crept into the house at two in the morning, tiptoed past your bedroom, and pulled out a Keds shoebox that he’d buried beneath a pile of old sheets in the linen closet. That’s where kept the .44 Magnum hidden, the one he’d gotten from the old man, your friend Ben. I know every detail. I had front row seats, out in that rainy field past the colliery. When he put that gun to his temple and pulled the trigger, his head opened like a busted zipper. He died thinking of you, of his family, one he would never see again. If I wasn’t so angry at the time, I may have actually found it rather poignant.”

  Eric couldn’t listen to another word. He tossed Danny aside and lunged forward, grabbing one of the wasps between his hands. Its bulging bo
dy was warm to the touch. Its wings beat faster as it tried to escape Eric’s grip. It turned its stinger toward him, but before it could attack, Eric grabbed it and yanked it free, tossing it on the floor. He grabbed one furry leg on each side of its body and pulled like a giant wishbone. One leg came off in his hand, followed by hot, steaming liquid that looked like corn chowder.

  The wasp mewled loudly. The Skryel howled with rage.

  Eric threw the dead wasp at the creature as they ran past, using the advantage to find an escape. It dodged the corpse and hissed at them as they ran by.

  They bolted around the corner of the ruined concourse and looked for signs of daylight - a door, a window, a hole in the wall - but found nothing. The Skryel roared behind them, smashing everything in its way.

  They ran into a wrecked clothing store and huddled behind a rack of sweatshirts, breathing heavily. Eric shuddered as thick, sticky wasp blood dripped from his fingertips. Sam looked and gagged, covering her mouth in an attempt to remain quiet.

  “Do you think you can hide from me?” the Skryel bellowed. “I can see through walls, through the dark, into your tiny little minds where you hide all of your dirty fucking secrets.” The beast laughed. “Last night, Danny jerked off while thinking about his little girlfriend. So did Brent! I bet that will give you both something to talk about later.

  “I also know that when Eric was nine, he and Bobby Stiles killed a stray cat they found behind the grocery store and dumped it in the river. How about you Samantha? You used to piss on Mrs. Hazlet’s newspaper because she yelled at you for picking the zinnias in her garden. You’re such great friends but you know absolutely nothing about each other.”

  They looked at each other in the gloom, too scared to be embarrassed. The monster could see into their heads, down to the darkest nooks and crannies, and dig up the things they’d tried so desperately to hide. Sam felt dirty, like she’d been spotted naked through the bathroom window by some greasy pervert.

  The Skryel passed the front of the store, floating two feet off the ground. One half-human arm wrapped around a soda machine and flung it down the hall.