by A. R. Wise
The most important thing, and the reason for these annual trips, was that Rosemary wanted to make sure Oliver never succeeded in his attempt to contact the creature that was hiding in the walls of Widowsfield. Furthermore, she knew that Oliver hadn’t worked alone. If she could track down Oliver’s boss, then she might have a chance at putting an end to the Widowsfield experiments once and for all.
She was considering this possibility when she heard a loud pop. The sound passed easily across the still water of the reservoir, making it sound as if it had occurred closer to Rosemary than it actually had. She moved to the edge of the cliff and scanned the area below, searching for the source of the noise.
Far below, across the reservoir, she saw a car stopped on the side of the road. A woman was getting out of the car and Rosemary reached into her satchel to retrieve a pair of binoculars to get a better look. She watched as a familiar looking woman inspected her blown-out tire.
“Who are you?” asked Rosemary to herself as she watched the frustrated woman open her trunk to get her spare.
Rosemary watched for several minutes before she remembered who it was that she was spying on. “Helen,” she said as she watched. It was one of the nurses that worked for Cada E.I.B. while Rosemary and Terra had been there. She remembered Helen coming in for the evening shift, and a thought occurred to Rosemary about how she might be able to finally end the Widowsfield experiments. It would require manipulating this woman’s memories, but it could lead to finally figuring out who was funding Oliver’s project.
Inside Cada E.I.B.’s facility
March 13th, 2012
Paul held Alma’s hand tightly as they made their way through the dark recesses of the Cada E.I.B. facility. He felt guilty for leaving without Stephen and Rachel, but Rosemary had been insistent that they get out as soon as possible. Rosemary was a persuasive personality, and Paul wondered if his reluctance to disobey her had something to do with her psychometric ability.
“Alma, wait,” said Paul as they got to the stairs that they were going to take up to the ground level. He shined his light down at the tracks of blood and mud that led through the door. “Are you sure we should leave Rachel and Stephen?”
“We have to,” said Alma, and she sounded sure of herself. Then her expression changed and she asked, “Don’t we?”
“Why?” asked Paul. “Just because that chick says so?”
Alma was holding Rosemary’s satchel and she adjusted its strap on her shoulder as she thought about it. “She’s been right about everything else.”
“Yeah, but are we the type of people that leave friends behind? I mean, I know we don’t know Rachel and Stephen all that well, but I’m not sure I’m okay with just leaving them here.”
“You’re right,” said Alma before she moved closer to give him a kiss. “That’s why I love you, babe.”
“I love you too,” said Paul as he opened the door to the staircase. “And about that Lacey stuff; I hope you know I’m going to break things off with…”
Alma hushed him with another kiss. Then she smiled up at him and said, “Don’t worry, I know. I almost let myself get upset about that, but I came to a realization about it that calmed me down.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?” asked Paul.
“I love you enough that I want you to be happy. Hopefully that means you and I get to be happy together, but if not, then I just want to know you’re happy, wherever you are and whoever you’re with.”
“I’m your guy for as long as you’ll have me, babe,” said Paul.
“Damn straight you are,” said Alma, making Paul laugh as they headed down the stairs together.
They’d both heard Rosemary give Stephen the directions to Oliver’s lab, but it wasn’t hard to find. The blood trail led them along, and as they got closer they could hear the crackle of electricity. Then the distinct sound of a gunshot echoed through the halls and they quickened their pace. They turned the corner and could see bright blue light emitting from a room at the end of the hall. The cacophonous noise of the electricity got louder as they approached, and they could feel the hair on their arms standing on end. Rachel and Stephen were ahead, but the electric zaps drowned out anything they were saying before another shot rang out.
Paul and Alma rushed to the room, but stopped in shock once they saw what had happened. Oliver was on his knees, a butcher knife clutched against his chest, the tip resting just under his chin. He was already splattered with the blood of the nurse that was lying on the ground behind him, but it was clear that he’d been the victim of the gunshot. The amount of blood that was pumping from his chest was startling.
Stephen stood in shock, his arms still held forward with the smoking gun gripped in his hands. His shadow danced behind him from the wavering light of the machine that dominated the space. Alma and Paul got to Rachel, and asked what happened, but the reporter just shook her head and explained, “He had to. He had to shoot.”
“Help me figure out how to shut this thing off,” said Paul as he pulled Alma along. He looked at Stephen, thinking he would ask for his help as well, but it was clear he was in shock. Stephen just stared at the ground where the nurse lay.
“Rachel’s dead,” said Stephen as he stared at the nurse. “Rachel’s dead.”
Rachel tried to console Stephen as Paul and Alma approached the machine that was producing the electricity that crackled above. Alma and Paul examined the various gauges and levers on the machine, and Paul picked the one that looked the most like it would power the thing. It was a wide-bar lever with orange and black stripes on the arms, and he pulled it down to see what would happen. It worked, and they heard the motors within the spires on the side begin to slow. The rings grinded to a stop and the blue electricity finally stopped arcing forth.
As the noise went away, they heard Oliver saying something. He was on the floor now, staring at the ceiling with the knife still clutched to his chest. Beneath his hands, the gunshot continued to produce a fountain of blood that was seeping out through his clothes.
“I won’t make it…”
Paul assumed Oliver was talking about surviving the gunshot, but then he continued.
“…make it past.” Oliver wasn’t speaking for the benefit of anyone else in the room but himself. He was staring at the ceiling as he held the knife to his wound. “There’s no light ahead. Only fog. There’s only fog.”
His hand lost its grip on the blade, and the weapon fell to the wet floor. Oliver died there, staring up with unblinking eyes, just like the myriad of sleepers he’d hidden for so many years.
“Stephen,” said Rachel as she took the pistol away from her dazed husband. “Look at me.”
Stephen looked at his wife with glassy eyes. “I’m a murderer.”
“You had to, honey. He didn’t give you any choice. You did what you had to.”
“Are they all dead?” asked Stephen.
“Yeah, buddy,” said Paul. “He’s dead. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”
Inside Cada E.I.B.’s facility
March 13th, 2012
“Rosemary,” said Helen after watching the others leave. She approached the psychometric cautiously, like a child sneaking into a sleeping parent’s room. “Honey, are you okay?”
“No,” said Rosemary with an attempt at humor. “I got stabbed.”
“You really should get to a hospital,” said Helen.
“You know I can’t do that,” said Rosemary. “You know what we have to do.” She looked over at the portly nurse and grinned. “Did you send the message to Vess?”
Helen nodded. They could see each other by the glow of a single flashlight that was sitting on the counter. “I went to Oliver’s office earlier and sent Vess an email.”
“Good,” said Rosemary. “Hopefully that’ll draw the old snake out of his hole.”
Helen’s hands were trembling, and she gripped them together as she paced. “I’m scared. I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Yes you can,
Helen,” said Rosemary. She was having an easier time speaking now, and Helen realized that her previous weakness and agony had been largely an act. Rosemary had certainly been stabbed, and she was far from healthy, but her near-death pantomime had been for Alma and Paul’s benefit. “We’ve been working on this for too long to let it fall apart now.”
“But this isn’t how it was supposed to happen,” said Helen. “I didn’t know so many innocent people would be involved.”
“And if we don’t do something about this now, then a lot more people are going to get hurt before this is over. Helen, listen to me, we’re the only ones that can put a stop to what’s going on here.”
“I know, you’re right.”
“Do you have the shots ready?” asked Rosemary.
Helen nodded.
“You should get started on that as soon as possible,” said Rosemary.
“But some of the sleepers woke up,” said Helen. “They don’t have to die, do they?”
Rosemary nodded and said, “All of them. They all have to die.”
“But, why?” asked Helen, rattled by what she was being asked to do. “They can’t tell anyone anything. They don’t know what happened here.”
“They met The Watcher,” said Rosemary. “They’re better off dead. We all are.”
Helen turned away and closed her eyes.
“You know I’m right,” said Rosemary.
“I know,” said Helen, defeated. “I just wish it didn’t have to be this way.”
Helen reached into the cabinets below the counter and retrieved the box labeled, ‘Muriate of Potash.’ She set the small box on the counter and the glass vials inside clanked together. Next, she got a syringe from one of the drawers and pulled off the plastic wrapper.
Helen took the box with her as she left Rosemary and went into the sleepers’ room. The women were still tied down to their beds, and were moaning in pain and fear. Their bodies were victimized by sixteen years spent lying in the same spot, only moving when the nurses turned them or changed the sheets. Now, for the first time since Helen started working for Cada E.I.B., the sleepers watched her.
The men were still catatonic, and staring up as their tongues licked at the inside of their jaws, but something had happened inside of The Watcher’s world that allowed many of the women to wake up. Helen thought it would be best to inject the women with the Potassium Chloride first, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. She decided to start on the ones that were still sleeping.
As she was preparing the needle, the lights in the facility came back on. The fluorescent lights above clicked on one by one, starting at the far end of the room. They clicked and buzzed, and then flickered before coming to life. One by one, the rows of lights came on, and the sound of nearby machines resetting caused the room to come alive with blips and beeps as Helen stood in the center of the sea of sleepers.
She cursed at the timing, upset that she would have to kill these people while seeing their faces. She knew this had to happen. She’d been trying to prepare herself for it ever since meeting Rosemary a year earlier. Helen looked at the bracelet that Rosemary had given her, and she felt a renewed sense of purpose that stilled her. This had to be done.
Helen injected the needle into the first sleeper and pushed on the plunger until the pinkish liquid within the canister flooded into his veins. When she first learned that she would have to murder the sleepers, she looked into what would be the most efficient way. She studied Dr. Kevorkian’s suicide machines, and decided upon using the same Potassium Chloride solution that he employed. While this compound is found at most pharmacies, it was important to prevent anyone from getting concerned about such large quantities being purchased. Fortunately, Potassium Chloride can be made at home. Over the past year, she’d worked hard perfecting the process of dissolving ash and using hydrochloric acid to neutralize it. The box she was carrying was the result of her work, and she was confident that it would kill the sleepers.
Her first victim began convulsing within a minute of being injected. His eyes rolled back and his teeth clenched as he began to shake. His fingers clawed at the sheet beneath him and his legs did their best to kick. Soon, the convulsions subsided, and the first sleeper died.
She looked around at the room full of victims she had to make her way to. All of the women watched her, but they seemed calmer now, as if patiently waiting their turn.
In The Watcher’s Widowsfield
Jeremy Tapper was at home, in his bed, as he called out for his father. There was no response. The only noise in the house was from the tree branches outside scratching at the roof.
He looked at the clock and saw that it was almost 3:14, and he felt a sense of dread as he looked out the window. A storm darkened the sky, and he could see the tree in their front yard being whipped around by the wind. The scant new buds of growth on the limbs were being torn away as the storm raged. There was no rain, but the dark clouds blotting out the sun promised a downpour at any moment.
Jeremy got out of bed and started to walk down the hall. He glanced into the bathroom and saw the straight razor resting on the edge of the sink. Then he looked at the tub and thought he saw movement behind the drawn, opaque shower curtain. He heard what sounded like a nail scratching against the inside of the plastic.
“Dad?”
No answer.
He crept in, and thought about grabbing the razor to protect himself, but he knew that his father would be mad if he caught Jeremy with the dangerous weapon. Jeremy moved to the curtain and kept telling himself that there would be nothing behind it. There was nothing to be scared of.
The wind outside shook the windows of the house, and the tree’s limbs continued to scratch at the roof. It sounded like a creature was trying to burrow its way into the home.
Jeremy gripped the shower curtain and prepared to pull it aside. He took a breath, and finally worked up the courage. He yanked the curtain to the left and the metal rings above scratched along the rod as he did. Jeremy let go of the curtain and moved back at the same moment that he’d opened it, just in case he was wrong and something was in the tub, waiting to attack him.
Thankfully, the tub was empty. He stepped forward so that he could see in fully, but there was no sign of anything inside. He was about to leave the bathroom when he heard a hiss coming from the drain. He stared down, but didn’t dare get any closer than he already was. The hiss grew louder, and was accompanied by a gurgle of liquid. Steam began to rise from the drain, and soon after water bubbled up. The water was murky, and it seemed to be boiling as it started to rise from the drain.
Jeremy cried out, “Dad!” He backed away from the tub, but didn’t turn. He was too enthralled by the spectacle not to watch.
The boiling water spewed forth from the drain, creating a miniature geyser that sent some of the water splashing on the floor at Jeremy’s feet. When the boiling water struck his toes, Jeremy finally retreated from the bathroom. The room was filling with steam, and he could see shapes within the geyser that looked like strands of long hair, or wire, rising up and clinging to the walls. He slammed the door shut and saw water leaking out from beneath it.
He continued to scream for his father as he ran down the stairs. He saw a phone lying on the kitchen floor, and could hear the dial tone as he approached. The storm outside had gotten worse. The wind was tearing the tree in their front lawn apart, and a felled branch struck the picture window in the living room, causing the glass to crack but not break.
Jeremy stared at the glass in shock, and saw that the cracks in the glass looked black, like someone had drawn them on. The wind gusted again, and the branch finally pushed its way through the glass, causing broken pieces to fall to the floor. The cracks that had been there before revealed themselves as black wires that shuddered in the wind that blew in through the gap. The wires pulled themselves back into the frame of the broken window, disappearing once again.
The noise from the wind blowing into the house was deafening as it whistled.
Jeremy could feel the air rushing past him, but it wasn’t pushing out from the broken windows. Instead, it felt like he was being pulled outside.
He heard banging coming from upstairs, as if someone was hitting a door. At the same time, Jeremy heard the screams of a child coming from outside. He didn’t know what to do, but before he could consider an escape he heard a crack of what sounded like thunder coming from upstairs. Suddenly, boiling water began to flow down the stairs and into the living room, forcing Jeremy to flee to the kitchen. The water was steaming and bubbling, and it hissed as it collided with the couch.
“Over here,” said a woman’s voice that Jeremy didn’t recognize. He looked through the kitchen, towards the back door, and saw a red-haired woman beckoning him. “Hurry.”
“Where’s the fog?” asked Jeremy. He wanted to disappear into the fog, but all he saw outside was the raging storm.
“You can’t go to the fog,” said the woman.
Jeremy had no choice but to go to her. The boiling water was filling the living room, and he had no other escape.
“Where can I go? Where is it safe?”
“Run past the storm,” said the stranger. “Look for the sunrise. Okay? Just keep running until you see the sunrise, and then head towards it.”
Jeremy went through the kitchen and reached the back door where the woman was waiting for him. He was leery of her, and thought she might try to grab him as he came closer.
She answered his unease as if conscious of his fear. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m only trying to help.”
Jeremy got to the door and looked back at the woman. “Are you coming?”
She shook her head. “No, not yet.”
Jeremy was beginning to remember the truth about Widowsfield. He remembered how The Skeleton Man had been there before, and how he’d tried to protect the children from The Watcher. He knew that the fog was safe, and that The Skeleton Man only wanted to kill the daddies. But he also knew that The Skeleton Man, who’d been Jeremy’s only friend in this nightmare, was frightened of the red-haired woman.