by Brian Rella
Frank called to them, “What is it? What’s happening?”
They didn’t answer. They couldn’t hear him and he couldn’t reach them. He willed his body forward, but he moved in slow motion.
A woman screamed and his eyes darted to the center of the kitchen.
A woman was suspended in the air. Red flames lapped at her body and seemed to hold her in the air above a swirling pool of blood. Blood splattered the walls and cabinets. It seeped through the walls and dripped from the ceiling. It streamed along the floor toward the woman and Frank’s feet felt wet. He glanced down at his shoes and found himself ankle deep in a crimson river.
The woman called to him and he flitted his eyes back to her, her eyes pleading. “Protect them,” she said, then she turned her head and rolled it back. An inhuman moan filled the room and the flames around her mutated to almost-human forms that writhed all over her body. The creatures were black as night, like looking into a deep hole, and identical looking. They had but one feature on their face: a fishlike mouth with crimson lips and a circle of long, sharp teeth. No eyes, no nose, no hair, no ears, just mouths, and slender bodies slithering all over her. They pulled at her, stretching her, biting her.
They devoured her a bite at a time.
Frank shouted to her, reaching out to help her, but he was too far away. He could not help her. He couldn’t do anything but scream her name.
What was her name?
Frank jolted awake, the gun gripped firmly in his hand, eyes wild, heart pounding. He sat up in bed and a sound somewhere between a groan and a cough escaped his throat.
He raked his fingers through his hair and his hands came away wet. Soaked with sweat and shaking, he put his head in his hands and shuddered at the vision.
Not again.
He relived this nightmare over and over. Nothing worked. Nothing helped. And he worried. He worried about the family he saw. Who were they? Why couldn’t he help them. What did the recurring nightmare mean?
He flipped a smoke into his mouth, lit it, and inhaled deeply. His watch read 2:40 AM. It was time. He shuffled to the bathroom and dropped the cigarette in the toilet, hearing it fizzle. He leaned over the sink and splashed water on his face, consciously avoiding the mirror.
He slid on his black T-shirt on the way to the front of the window. He pulled the shade away, looking out over Main Street. The town was quiet. The only sound came from the high-pitched rhythm of crickets and the low hum of electricity of the neon lights in the storefronts.
He holstered his gun and checked the pouch tied to his belt, tucking it into his pants.
The floor creaked softly as he went to the door. He paused, listening for any movement outside; then, confident all was quiet, he opened the door and slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. “At’fhua,” he whispered as he waved his hand over the doorknob. A blue glow briefly covered the knob and then disappeared.
At the end of the hall was a window opening to a fire escape at the back of the building. Sliding the window open, Frank stepped out onto the landing. Catlike, he leaped up from landing to landing until he reached the roof, making scarcely a sound.
On the rooftop, the full moon cast long shadows across the town. He moved to the edge of the building and measured the gap to the next roof. Twelve or fourteen feet across, three stories down, give or take.
He knew the bookstore was eight buildings from the Inn. He backed up a few steps and ran silently across the roof, jumping to the next building and landing gracefully in stride, and continued his sprint across the roof, leaping from rooftop to rooftop until reaching the eighth building. Breathing easily, Frank kneeled low to the roof of the bookstore, looking around, listening intently for any sign of an observer. Hearing nothing, he rose and silently moved to the back of the building.
No fire escape.
“Lvath’na,” he whispered and stepped off the back of the building, gliding gently down and into the back alley, as light as air.
8
FRANK
October 14, 1983
Hudson Highlands, New York
The forest blossomed with the colors of fall. There was no trail to follow. The warriors and the Bishop family pressed through thick underbrush, cutting their own path through the woods, hopping over stones and fallen tree branches. No one spoke. Frank couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened.
He glanced at his mother as they held hands in the middle of the group. A line of worry creased her forehead and every once in a while, her breath would catch and she squeezed his hand a little too tightly. Frank wondered if she was afraid of the praying mantises coming back.
I am, he thought.
He kept an eye out for the flashes and shadows he had seen before. If he saw them, he would tell the warriors. They were like superheroes. They were magic.
His father walked in front of him, and Frank stared at his new leg. His magic leg. Before today, Frank thought magic wasn’t real. He remembered getting a box of magic tricks as a birthday present this year. It gave away all the secrets of the tricks he loved. Magic was pretend, he had thought. But then these people used magic weapons and healed his father’s leg, so maybe it was real. And the giant bugs – they were real, too.
“How much further?” his father asked.
“Not far,” Shizu answered.
They had been hiking higher into the Hudson Highlands. The trees were thick and rooted deeply in the sloping hills, looking like giant Christmas trees. Frank couldn’t tell where they were going. He had never been this deep in the forest. It was nice up here, he thought. Quiet, and lots of big rocks and trees to play on.
Finally, the ground leveled, and a small plateau appeared among the big pine trees. In front of them was exposed rock and the side of the mountain.
“This way,” Shizu said, walking toward the face of rock.
He murmured something and the rock dissolved in front of them, revealing a wide opening in the side of the mountain. Just inside the mouth of the opening, large doors made from thick metal opened outward.
His mother and father stopped, gaping at each other. His father nodded and everyone headed inside.
There was light inside, but Frank didn’t see any light bulbs above him or on the walls. The ground sloped down as they walked. His legs ached and he glanced up at his mom thinking about asking her to carry him. She looked scared and tired and he thought he could walk a little further, like a big boy.
They were in some kind of tunnel and the light faded the further they went. Just when fear started rising in Frank, a yellow light filled the tunnel, lighting the way in front of them. His mother gasped and Frank flitted his eyes at her wondering what was wrong.
He followed her eyes. Rowan held a ball of light in his hand. He raised it above his head and it floated to the ceiling. Frank and his family all froze, staring at it.
More magic!
“This way,” Shizu said again, and they resumed walking, the ball of light leading and lighting the way.
The tunnel opened into a big room. Rowan waved his hand at the ball of light in the air and it danced across the wall, lighting torches stuck in the rock.
They were deep inside the mountain. The walls were grey rock, the ground was dirt; a long wooden table and chairs were arranged in the middle of the room and three passages were cut into the sides of the great room. It looked kind of like the cafeteria at kindergarten had been put into a cave.
“Where are we?” his father asked. “What is this place?” He glanced around the room, a frightened and surprised expression on his face, like that time David had fallen off his chair and hit his head on the floor. Frank’s mother moved closer to him and huddled with the family.
Frank scanned the ceiling. Paintings covered it. The painting illustrated people doing strange things. Some were dancing, some were fighting, and some were doing stuff he didn’t understand. He was following the images across the ceiling when he met Shizu’s eyes. Shizu grinned at him.
&
nbsp; “You are in the Highland’s Temple of the Watchers,” Shizu said, his eyes still locked on Frank’s. “We are members of The Order of the Watchers and this is our home. You are safe and welcome here.” He bowed slightly, never removing his eyes from Frank. Frank unconsciously bowed back.
Robin walked over to the table and collapsed into a chair, pulling Frank with her. “Jason,” she said. “I feel sick.”
“We’ve been through a lot today,” Jason said, shifting a sleeping David in his arms. David woke up and his eyes went wide staring around the room. “Fire,” he said, pointing at the torches on the wall. “Yes, buddy. Dangerous,” Jason said to him. Then he turned to Shizu.
“Shizu, I never thanked you for saving my family from…from…those monsters. I don’t understand any of this. Please, tell us what is going on?”
“Sit,” Shizu said. “Maza, please ask the others to bring food and water.”
Maza nodded, brushed her brown hair away from her green eyes, and ducked down one of the passages as the others sat down around the table. Moments later a few young men and women, some only a little older than Frank, came back with water and cups. Shizu began pouring and passing out water. He handed Frank a cup and Frank suddenly realized his mouth was very dry. He gulped it down and it landed in an empty hole in his belly. His stomach gurgled with the sudden semi-fullness. He finished his cup of water and moments later a platter of fresh vegetables, fruits, and cured meats were placed in front of them. Frank took a long orange carrot and started crunching on it. It tasted sweet and he chewed it greedily, a little trickle of orange liquid running down the corner of his mouth. Frank gazed around at his family. They sat with anxious looks on their faces, their eyes on Shizu, waiting for him to speak.
Shizu was at the head of the table. He tilted his cup back, finished his water, and placed it back on the table. He looked around at all of them as Rowan and Maza sat on either side of him.
“What I am about to tell you will be difficult for you to believe,” he began. “But know that it is the truth of things as they truly are, and have been since the beginning of time.”
9
JESSIE
October 17, 2015
Chicago, Illinois
Tears spilled over the rims of her eyes and down her cheeks as she ran from the store. She knew exactly why she was upset. That look on the little girl’s face when her daddy scooped her up—it reminded Jessie of herself when she was a little girl and her father was still alive.
The ghosts of her father’s strong arms wrapped themselves around her, and lifted her off the ground, as she wept… In his arms, she had felt safe, protected and loved.
Why? Why did you have to leave? You promised to always take care of me, and then you left. Why?
Jessie wiped tears and snot furiously away, trying to stifle her emotions with every sniffle. The world was cruel. She hadn’t deserved this. No one did. All girls deserved the love of a father. Jessie couldn’t help think life would have been so much different, so much better if her father were still here. Her mother would never have neglected her for a bottle and all the other shitty men that she allowed in their lives, especially Steve, and his slut daughter, Marie.
And I wouldn’t have had to…to…
She couldn’t finish the thought. This is my do-over. That is behind me now. I need to move on. And she would.
You are stronger than your mother, princess, a dark, ominous voice in her head told her. The voice was right. She didn’t need a man in her life. She could find happiness on her own.
Sniffling, she wiped away the last of her tears. I won’t cry like this again. There’s more to life than looking back. I need to move forward and put the past behind me. It’s the only way…
Another tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away, clenched her jaw, and her face hardened. No more tears.
Hungry, tired, and emotionally drained, Jessie walked the second floor of the Water Tower Mall, passing store after store, but not seeing any of it. She was numb and lost inside herself.
Then something glimmered and caught her eye. It came from a storefront ten yards to her left.
She followed the glimmer to the end of the floor and to a store called White House Black Market. In the window, dangling from a mannequin’s neck, a charm necklace sparkled, attracting her attention.
She walked to the store window and looked through the glass. Bass thrummed from inside the store. The mannequin wore dark blue skinny jeans, black leather boots, and a heather-colored tunic sweater. Around its neck, the necklace – a large, purple heart hanging from a gold chain – glinted at her, transfixing her. The world faded around her and only the necklace existed. Something stirred inside her. Captivated by its shine, images flooded her mind that were at once familiar and vague, as if she were looking at an impressionist painting up close.
Jessie struggled to make sense of what she was experiencing. A purple heart; why is that so familiar to me? The answer was at the tip of her tongue, yet she couldn’t focus in on it and grasp it completely. It was right there in front of her, yet miles away.
“Beautiful, isn’t it,” a voice from behind her said.
“It’s… Yes, it is,” Jessie stammered.
“We are having a sale if you’d like to come in and try it on?” the woman’s voice said.
Yes, Jessie. Go and try it on. It’s yours.
Jessie’s eyes widened at the voice in her head and she followed the woman with the emerald green eyes and jet-black hair with purple gloss into the empty store. The woman led Jessie back through the aisles of clothes and through the dressing room curtains in the rear. She guided Jessie down to a padded bench.
“Wait here,” the woman said. “I know just what you need.”
The woman disappeared through the curtains, leaving Jessie alone with the thudding bass of techno music that played throughout the store. Jessie sank into the beats, her mind numbed by the emotional drain, and trained on hypnotic music.
The woman returned shortly, carrying several articles of clothing in her arms. She opened a changing room door and hung them up on the hooks.
Jessie took the woman’s outstretched hand and let the woman guide her into the changing room. A sinister smile stretched across the woman’s face as she pulled the door closed. “Everything should fit and be to your liking,” she said.
Jessie gazed at the hooks lined with expensive clothing. She began to undress and change hypnotically. She put on the heather tunic sweater and the jeans and shoes. All fit perfectly. There was also a tweed jacket with a faux fur collar.
She looked at herself in the mirror and didn’t recognize the person staring back at her. The woman in the mirror was mature and sophisticated. She was tall in her heeled boots; reserved yet sexy. She was a long way from her Louisiana-backwoods roots, looking more like a high-class urbanite.
“Does it fit?” the woman called from behind the door.
Jessie stared, momentarily unable to speak.
Who am I?
She opened the door and the woman’s eyes lit up at the sight of her.
“One more thing,” the woman said and reached around Jessie’s neck. She was so close Jessie could smell her flowery perfume as the woman attached a clasp behind her neck – the purple heart charm she had seen in the window now hung around her neck.
“Come,” the woman said. “Bring me your old clothes.”
Jessie did as the woman instructed and followed her to the front of the store. The woman smiled when they reached the exit.
“I’ll take care of these for you,” she said. “You’re all set.”
Jessie glanced down at the clothes she was wearing, then back at the woman, a look of confusion spread across her face.
“But…I didn’t pay for these. I…I don’t have the money…”
The woman grinned wider and raised her hand touching Jessie’s lips.
“Shhhh,” she said, leaning in to Jessie. “A gift, from Him. Now go.” And she motioned for Jessie to lea
ve.
Jessie took two steps back then paused. From who?
The woman frowned. “Go, now, Jessie,” she said. Then the woman turned and walked back to the changing rooms.
Jessie stood there for a moment, watching the attractive woman leave, unsure what to do. She hadn’t paid for the clothes, but someone had given them to her as a gift? She didn’t know anyone in Chicago. What was going on?
Go, princess. This is the first of many gifts.
Jessie relaxed at the sound of the voice in her head and did as she was told.
10
FRANK
October 20, 2015
Beauchamp, Louisiana
Frank tried the back door of the bookstore and it was locked. “Endrat’e,” he said, and heard a click. He grasped the knob and turned it, opening the door, and stepped into the bookstore.
Darkness enveloped him as he shut the door behind him. He raised his hand to his side and said, “Luft’hwaa.” A small ball of light formed in the palm of his hand, filling the room with light.
He held his hand up above his head, and set the ball of light afloat. He was in an empty back storage room. There was no furniture, boxes, or adornments of any kind. To his left, an entranceway jutted out from the side of the wall. To his right, a door that opened out from the wall. In front of him, a red curtain, partially drawn, that separated the back room from the front of the store.
Tape outlined the shape of a body on the floor. Dark splatter stains covered the area. Crimson stains covered the door to his left and ran up the white wall.
Frank stepped over the stains on the floor and pushed through the curtains into the front room. Beyond the curtain was a small counter with some shelving underneath. It looked like the sales counter. In front of the counter were rows of wood shelves that almost touched the ceiling. Light from the streetlamp outside glistened off the dark, varnished wood.