Blind Shadows

by James A. Moore

  The ground shook when the tree landed. No one noticed. There was no one nearby and even if there had been, they’d have been far too busy wondering about the way the ground shook as Frank stormed past.

  * * *

  Wade and Carl followed the trail carefully, both of them moving with smooth strides that looked unconsciously graceful. It had nothing to do with an attempt to be quiet; that was already a thing of the past. It was about not tripping over themselves. They moved on the balls of their feet and tread carefully because they couldn’t afford to screw up.

  Just to make that point clear, Wade dropped back two paces and drove the blade of his knife deep into the throat of a pale-skinned, lumpy thing that tried to creep up on them from behind. Carl never even heard the thing coming, but partly he could accept that. He knew Wade had his back.

  The stench of the thing was as vile as anything he could remember. Wade wiped the blood off on the wall and caught back up as soon as he was sure nothing else was coming out of the door they’d passed.

  And then both of them stopped as another wave of unreality came rippling up the hallway. There was simply no way to adjust to the feeling as far as Carl could figure. His vision distorted—how else was it possible to explain the way his mind ached when he looked down the hallway when the angles shifted and no longer made any sense? It was like looking at one of those damned eye-straining optical illusions that seemed to move when there was no actual motion; only the entire world went that way all at once—his hearing went crazy, ears popping like he was on an airplane that was descending at high speed—and his stomach did back flips that would have had him vomiting his guts out if there was anything at all in him to disgorge.

  But this time was different. Instead of simply snapping back to the way the world should work—or at least feel—Carl could feel himself slowly adjusting to the change.

  “What the hell was that?” Wade’s voice sounded distant, but when he looked, his friend was in the same spot as before.

  The difference was that the area behind Wade had changed. The hallway they’d been in was warped and staying that way. Even as he realized that it came to him that the area in front of him was likely the same. He was afraid to move too quickly in case it caused another bout of vertigo.

  Wade’s eyes grew wide and his friend was bringing up the shotgun an instant later. “Drop!”

  Carl didn’t waste any time listening. He dropped. Despite his fear of nausea, he also took the time to look over his shoulder as he fell, and regretted it instantly. Not because of the sudden dizziness he’d feared, but because the rules of sanity insisted on stretching to the breaking point again.

  Wade’s friend Decamp had warned them about the differences in dimensions and he was starting to understand the gravity of the comments. There was something coming through the wall behind him. Not through a door, not bursting through the solid barrier of the wall, but literally ghosting through the faded wallpaper. And that something had no right to exist in the universe as far as Carl was concerned.

  Partially it looked like Terrell Blackbourne, a four-time loser who should have been in lockup in Dandridge Federal Penitentiary in Savannah, Georgia at that exact moment, serving his twenty-seven year term for trafficking in meth, kidnapping and attempted murder. Partially, because while it had the face of Terrell Blackbourne—in all his buck toothed glory—that face was fused to a body that made absolutely no sense. It was grossly disproportionate. There were too many limbs and a lot of those limbs didn’t belong on a human being, not even one as flat out homely as Terrell.

  The thing looked at Carl with recognition and grinned. “Lookit here. Carl Price.” Whatever it was going to say at that moment was lost behind the sound of a load of buckshot blowing all hell out of its face.

  If Carl had jumped any harder at that precise moment, it’s possible he could have reached escape velocity. The leap was purely instinctive, brought on by the sheer mental repulsion of what he was looking at, and it was a blessing, because while the thing’s face had his undivided attention, the bloated body had been reaching for him, slithering thin tendrils across the ground that had been reaching up to tear into him. Each of the whipping cilia ended in a wickedly hooked barb. Wade unloaded three more rounds into the thing, picking his targets and pulling the trigger with terrifying efficiency. The look on his face said he was as repulsed as Carl felt.

  The Terrell-Thing—what was left of it—flopped back against the wall and sloughed down to the ground.

  Carl pulled the .38 with the special rounds and looked around the area. Sure enough, there were more of the damned things coming and they were stretching through the walls same as the Terrell-Thing had.

  He needed to know if the bullets were as special as Decamp claimed. He needed to know now, because there were four holes the size of footballs in the goddamned thing that Wade had blown the hell out of, and those four holes were getting smaller and the face was almost reformed and looking a mite pissed off.

  Those bullets didn’t do the job, Carl figured they were dead men.

  * * *

  The sky shuddered above them, and Siobhan moaned her pleasure into the universe.

  Another body. The last of the locals. She looked to the west, and smiled as she saw her children coming toward her. Lorne led the way, his pale face smiling back, thrilled to see her in her full glory. The worlds were starting to fuse and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she could feel all of herself in one place. It was an exhilarating sensation.

  Behind him the sacrifices that Jolene had promised were being herded by the Muhneyht—the pale folk that some people referred to as Moon-Eyes. The sacrifices were mostly too busy looking at the pale creatures around them to notice her at first, but one of them looked toward her and slowly absorbed her magnificence.

  And upon recognizing her for what she was, that fool screamed, as if there were any chance at all that fear or panic would change what was about to happen.

  Oh, he tried to run, he turned and he pushed against the tide of others that were being forced toward her, and when a few others looked up and started to panic they tried to get away too, but the Muhneyht were not easily swayed. This was what they had hoped for, prayed for, planned for. Nothing would stop this.

  The pale forms pounded their pray into a stupor and carried them forward, eager to see her in all her glory, a pale example of the One, true, but still a spectacular sight to behold.

  They called to her and she answered with one of her mouths, unable to resist offering her thanks to them even as she carved the sacred symbols into flesh and uttered the words that had to be spoken and drove nails into the eyes of the meat offering its life to the One.

  Far above her, oh, still so far away, but so much closer than ever before, the One sang a long, ululating note that pealed across the skies and brought with it a flare of colors that could not be seen by human eyes.

  The Muhneyht responded with a glee that was nearly angelic.

  Siobhan cried out in pleasure.

  The humans shrieked.

  Siobhan’s children shivered in delight.

  And the One came closer, closer still.

  Siobhan grabbed the next sacrifice. The woman stared at the skies with uncomprehending eyes.

  Siobhan did her the courtesy of blinding her before her inability to see offended the One any further.

  * * *

  Frank roared, his body swelling even more, and charged at the house where Auntie was hiding behind walls and doors and twists into other worlds. She thought to hide away the gifts that he had coming to him. She thought to deprive him of what was his. That would not be allowed.

  The squad car stank of the sheriff. He stomped on it, flattened it into the ground with his foot, and continued toward the house as the siren was silenced and the engine collapsed. Gas fumes leaked into the air and he ignored them. The buses were between him and his goal. Frank swatted them aside, ignoring the way the metal groaned, the glass exploded and the
vehicles tumbled away from him as if they, too, found him repugnant.

  The air around the Blackbourne house shimmered and vibrated. Most would have failed to see it, but he was not like most. He had been blessed by his Auntie, cursed by his Auntie. And now he would return the favor. He would bless her. He would curse her.

  He would own her and he would destroy her.

  And he would be with the One as he was supposed to be with the One.

  The Other inside of him roared, and Frank liked the sound so much that he joined in.

  The house seemed so much larger than he remembered.

  That was okay, he was bigger too.

  Frank charged, knowing that he would never fit through the door.

  That was okay. He would make his own doorways.

  And then he would find his Auntie.

  And the sheriff, who was still hiding Meemaw’s charms from him.

  And he would kill anything at all that got in his way.

  * * *

  “I have to tell you, Whit,” Isaiah Blackbourne said. “This is a truly sorry selection of magazines. Field and Stream? Georgia Backroads? Not a skin mag in the stack.”

  Isaiah was seated in the single visitor chair in Whit Gramling’s hospital room. He glanced over at the old man to see if he had managed to invoke any trace of fear or panic. The geezer was still staring at him with that damnable level gaze. Even tearing out the throat of the duty nurse who had come in when Gramling had pressed the ‘call’ button didn’t seemed to have freaked the old man out.

  Isaiah paused for a moment to enjoy the feeling of gradually building power that he was getting as a result of the ceremony going on right now in the old family place. Ah, dear mother was working away. Toiling in the fields of the Lord as it were. But not the Lord generally associated with that statement.

  “So, Whit,” Isaiah said, finally. “Nothing to say? No threats or curses? You used to have a lot more venom back in the day, I can tell you.”

  Gramling said, “What’s there to say, you pasty faced bastard? You’re here to kill me, so get it over with. I’m too old to care much.”

  So that was it. The old man wasn’t afraid to die. Hell, maybe he’d even welcome it. Couldn’t have that. Oh no.

  “I hear you, Whit old pal. I hear you. I mean compared to me, you’re a spring chicken. I was my mother’s first born so I passed the century mark a long time ago. But it’s different for you humans, isn’t it? Age brings pain and loss and suffering. Maybe you’re thinking I’d be doing you a favor by offing you.”

  Isaiah warped through the closest dimension so that he was standing over Gramling with his face right down next to the old man’s, and from Gramling’s viewpoint it would seem that he had appeared there instantaneously.

  “Well make no mistake, old man. I’m going to kill you. I’m evening up some old scores tonight. That’s why I’m not at the ceremony.” He saw Gramling’s eyes widen. Oh yeah. That got his attention. “That’s right. It’s happening right now. There’s going to be a lot of changes made, as the old song goes. Your world is going to become my world, the way it was in the days of my ancestors.”

  “You’ve tried before,” Gramling said. “Tried and failed.”

  Isaiah smiled. “You’re right about that one, old son. Things are different this time though. We’re bringing in some folks from the old country to help out. Even a special guest star.” He leaned close to Whit’s ear and whispered a name.

  “Oh but don’t worry,” Isaiah went on. “You’ll be dead before all that happens. I’m not even going to kill you slowly as I’d planned. I don’t need to torture you, Whit. I just need to tell you a few things. Like the names and addresses of your children and grandchildren.”

  “You fucking cocksucker!” Gramling said, struggling to rise.

  “Now there’s my old Whit. Yep, yep. Going to visit the whole family after the path is open. Not only them but your old pal Decamp. Now that one is going to take a long time to die. He’s safe now, huddling in his house with that tasty little Goth chick, but as soon as the ceremony is complete, his wards and spells won’t do him a damn bit of good.”

  Gramling was sitting up in bed now, his gnarled old hands twisting the bed sheet. His eyes glaring with hate and yes, finally, with fear.

  “Well, old buddy. This has been a great visit. I’d say we’ll have to do it again, but you know, we won’t. Any final curses or threats before I end your worthless existence?”

  “Please,” Gramling said. “Please don’t hurt my family.”

  Ah, begging. This was a good day. “It will take them forever to die, Whit. And I’ll probably eat the little ones when I’m done. Might even eat parts of them while they’re still screaming.”

  Isaiah let Gramling scream once in frustration and rage, then he sank his clawed fingers into the old man’s throat and twisted, sending a fountain of blood spurting across the room.

  “Thus passes Whitfield Jeremiah Gramling,” Isaiah said. He plucked a single flower from a vase on the bedside table and tossed it on the old man’s chest.

  * * *

  Griffin cursed as he saw the creature’s wounds begin to close. The shotgun loads had done their jobs on the more human Moon-Eyes and the garden variety pale ones, but these things were obviously othersiders. He dropped the shotgun and drew the .357. He took aim at the reforming head of the buck-toothed monstrosity that had recognized Carl and put a .38 through his newly grown skull. A ragged black hole appeared and the flesh and bone stopped repairing itself. The creature slumped to the ground and Griffin picked another target.

  Carl was firing too, and within a few minutes the hallway was full of dead othersiders. Carl said, “Score one for Decamp.”

  “Like I said before, the man knows his business.” Griffin grabbed several loose bullets from his gear bag and reloaded. The speed loaders were only good for an empty cylinder. “Problem is, even these bullets won’t stop the more powerful othersiders.”

  “How are we going to stop them?” Carl said.

  Griffin shook his head. “First we have to find the ceremony and disrupt it. Beyond that, I haven’t got a clue.”

  “First things first then,” Carl said. “The trail somebody was leaving seems to have ended and these things came oozing through that wall, so this may be the spot. There’s a door over there anyway.”

  Griffin dug into his gear bag and took out one of the fragmentation grenades and held it out to Carl. He said, “Not to sound overly dramatic, man, but we may reach a point where the only way to stop these things is by blowing them and us to hell. Take this, just in case.”

  Carl took the grenade and looked at it. “Suicide mission, eh? Well, if it’s us or the rest of the world, I guess that’s how it plays out.”

  “Just don’t be in any hurry to use it,” Griffin said. “It didn’t kill them the last time.”

  “It did set them back a long time though.”

  “Yeah, and if that’s the best we can do, then we’ll try for that. Personally I’d rather end those sons of bitches.”

  “And the bitches too,” Carl said with an odd, crooked smile.

  The two men stepped up to the door. Griffin grabbed the handle and slowly pushed the door inward. Of all the things he has seen so far, the scene that met his eyes when he looked into that room came the closest to sending Griffin’s reason and sanity running for cover. It was the ballroom. He had found it again. But this time it was filled, wall to wall, with every conceivable variation of Moon-Eye one could imagine, from something resembling a giant, pale slug, to some of the most perfect looking specimens of humanity he had ever seen. And down to the last man, woman, or abomination, they were screaming and chanting and wailing.

  But that wasn’t what pushed at the edges of Griffin’s mind. No it was the great pile of mutilated corpses on one side of a massive stone altar and the crowd of wailing, begging humanity on the opposite side. Even as Griffin and Carl entered the room, a man was led to the altar, screaming for mercy. Griffi
n knew that this was the fate of the rest of humanity if the Moon-Eyes plan succeeded.

  A woman of almost impossible beauty stood behind the altar. She seemed to be the one in charge of the Kodiak proceedings. She was surrounded by the Blackbourne clan, some of whom Griffin recognized and others he had never seen. Something hung in the air behind the altar. To Griffin it looked like a shimmering vortex of fire. That had to be the gate. How close were they to opening it fully?

  Griffin said, “We’ve probably got a few seconds before somebody notices us. I say we go all out and try to reach the altar. If we can do enough damage there, maybe we can stop this thing they’re summoning from coming through.”

  “Maybe we should just lob our grenades from here,” said Carl.

  “It’s too far. We’d kill a lot of the crowd but we wouldn’t reach the gate.”

  “Okay, but how the hell do we get through that mob?”

  “There’s more than one kind of grenade,” Griffin said.

  He reached into his gear bag and removed a thick blue cylinder, what the cops called a flash-bang. It would make a lot of noise and light and was generally used as a way to clear mobs of rioters. Griffin figured this crowd fit the bill. He also figured that creatures who didn’t like strong light would be particularly susceptible to the flash-bang.

  “You ready?” Griffin said.

  Carl said, “Throw it.”

  Griffin pulled the pin and lobbed the flash-bang into the center of the crowd. He looked away for a second as the incendiary device went off. Then the Moon-Eyes went berserk. Many of them slapped hands over their eyes and screeched. Others scattered, trying to get as far from the explosion as possible.