Valley of the Shadow

by Pawlik, Tom

  He had come so close. He’d come so far. Only to fail.

  He clawed at the rocks, but the beast was too strong. The sounds grew muffled. Time seemed to slow down. Mitch caught one final glimpse of the man’s face. His expression unrecognizable.

  “Please,” Mitch gasped with all of his strength. “Help… me.”

  The man on the cross flung his head back against the wood and struggled to pull himself up. Teeth bared and straining against the gaping wounds in his wrists and feet, he sucked air deep into his lungs and with the last of his strength, he cried out.

  Thunder shook the cavern. The ground shook. The walls shook. A light blazed inside the cave, white and clean. It flooded over Mitch, blinding him. Burning inside him. He could feel the massive claws around his chest dissolve. The pressure released.

  Wind rushed past him, roaring in his ears. He clung to the rocks to keep from being blown away himself.

  Then it passed.

  Silence hung in its place. The wind receded to a steady, cold breeze. Mitch lay on his back, gasping for breath.

  He opened his eyes.

  73

  MRS. BRISTOL DIMMED THE LIGHT while Owen pulled Conner’s gun from his jacket and held it ready as he peered through the window.

  “Is it him?” she whispered. “Can you see him?”

  Owen shook his head. “It’s too dark. I can’t tell.…”

  The slow crunching of leaves grew louder. Conner struggled against his ropes. His breath came in shallow puffs. His heart raced. His mind reeled as he struggled to come up with a plan. If he could try to talk his way out of their execution, if he could just delay until Amber managed to find help…

  Beside him, Katie was sobbing, mumbling to herself.

  Conner heard one of the porch boards creak.

  Mrs. Bristol gasped and her eyes moved to the door. “He’s here! He’s here! Let him in.” Conner caught a hint of fear in her words.

  Owen went to the door and pulled it open.

  A flash of light and a crack of thunder rocked the cabin. Owen staggered backward and toppled over at his mother’s feet. His head bounced on the floorboards. His limbs splayed out, quivering, with a gaping hole torn out of his chest. Crimson fluid gushed up over the charred remnants of tattered flesh and soaked his shirt. His eyes stared—wide open—at the ceiling; his breath came in shallow, gurgled rasps.

  Chaos filled the room. Katie screamed, twisting in her chair. Mrs. Bristol fell onto her son’s body, wailing with a high-pitched shriek.

  Conner looked up to see Amber in the doorway, a massive shotgun in her grasp. She dashed across the room and slammed the butt of the shotgun into the back of the old woman’s skull. Mrs. Bristol shuddered, then fell across her son’s body and lay still.

  Amber dropped the gun and rushed to Katie, who was still screaming. She scooped Conner’s knife from the table and began sawing at the ropes, whispering words of comfort.

  Conner’s mind was a fog. He could see and hear everything clearly, yet he felt oddly detached, like he was watching a movie. Owen Bristol lay motionless on the floor in a growing pool of blood. His old mother crumpled on top of him.

  Conner blinked and said to Amber, “You… you okay?”

  Amber nodded, her hands trembling as she worked to free Katie. “I… I got to the farm… and I was hiding in the barn. And I—and I found this gun in the barn. I had to come back—I couldn’t let them kill you.”

  “You did the right thing.”

  Katie’s arms were finally freed and they embraced, weeping and laughing. Conner could only imagine their sense of relief, having been locked inside this cabin, in a hole in the ground, tied up in dirt and filth. He could only imagine the terror they’d felt over the last few days, not knowing what was going to happen to them. Knowing death was imminent.

  “Umm . . .” Conner cleared his throat. “Little help here?”

  Amber slid over and began sawing at his ropes. “God sent you to save us,” she said. “He… He told me to come back and save you.”

  “I think they were getting ready to kill us both,” Conner said. “I don’t think we would’ve made it if you’d gone for help. You did good. You did real good.”

  Once freed, Conner stood and rubbed his arms and wrists. They’d gone numb from lack of circulation. Katie was huddled by the doorway. Conner slid an arm under her and helped her to her feet again.

  “My car’s just up the road a bit.”

  Then Conner sensed something moving behind him. He turned to see Mrs. Bristol standing there, the shotgun in her grasp.

  Her hair was matted with blood, and it dripped down her face as well. Her eyes were wide. A crazed, animal look in them. Her lips pulled back in a twisted grimace. She hissed at them, and Conner could barely discern the words through her throaty snarl.

  “You killed him. You . . . you killed my baby!” She unleashed a torrent of profanity as she brought the gun up.

  Conner pushed the girls out the door and down off the porch as the gun blast exploded behind them. The shot bit a chunk out of the doorframe. Pellets whipped past them. Conner could feel the heat on his face. He tumbled to the ground and rolled to his feet again as Mrs. Bristol moved to the doorway and cocked the gun.

  Amber pulled Conner’s arm and they rushed into the woods as a second blast echoed behind them.

  Conner felt white-hot razors slicing into his back just under the shoulder blade. The force of the gunshot hurled him forward. Blistering pain knifed through his ribs. He cried out and collapsed into the dirt.

  74

  MITCH FOUND HIMSELF GAZING up at a clear sky. An endless black canopy stretched out above him, shimmering with a myriad of stars.

  He sat up and saw that he was sitting on a wide, flat ledge. It was as if the walls and ceiling of the cave he’d been in had simply dissolved away, leaving the floor open and exposed to the sky. Behind him, the mountainside rose another three hundred feet or so; in front of him, the cliff—in fact the whole world—dropped away. Mitch crawled to the edge and peeked over. The gray rock of the mountainside fell into emptiness. More stars and galaxies shimmered below him. There was no sign of any land beyond the edge. Nothing but open, endless space.

  Mitch stood. There was no sign of his mother or the cross or the man hanging on it. Behind him was a small opening in the wall. Probably the tunnel through which he had crawled earlier to escape the Keeper. But there was no trace of the Keeper, either.

  Mitch stood at the edge of the cliff, his heart still pounding. He felt a sense of weightlessness. As if he’d been wearing a coat of sandbags and just now had taken it off. He could breathe easier. He sucked a lungful of cold, clean air deep into his lungs. He felt incredible. And he knew why.

  His hate was gone. His anger and rage. His sense of self-righteousness. He’d let it all go.…

  No. He had been unable to get rid of it himself. He had been caught in the grip of a monster of his own making. And he wasn’t able to free himself.

  The man on the cross had done it. Mitch recalled his last act of desperation, crying out for help. And forgiveness.

  But he hadn’t let go of his hate. It had been taken from him.

  And it felt beautiful.

  Mitch closed his eyes and breathed in again and thought of his father. He remembered the phone call he’d gotten just before his accident.

  “I just don’t want us to be enemies anymore. I… I love you, Mitch.”

  That call had come out of the blue. Out of nowhere. His father had dropped the news that he was dying of cancer. At the time, Mitch had tried to block it out of his thoughts. He was too occupied with his own plans to be bothered.

  But his father had wanted to mend their relationship and Mitch had not wanted anything to do with that. He’d gotten comfortable hating his father. It had felt too good to give up.

  Now those words stung in his memory. He would never be able to respond to them. He’d never be able to tell his father that he’d forgiven him and that he was n
o longer filled with hate.

  That beast was dead. Killed at the foot of a cross.

  Though now his peace was invaded by something else. Regret. All those years wasted in self-righteous anger and the harboring of a grudge. And he’d blown the one chance he’d had to fix it. His eyes stung and his chest ached.

  Mitch also wondered at the vision he’d had of his mother. Had that been real? Had he actually spoken with her? Or was it something else?

  He’d never know for sure. But he thought of all the things he wished he had said to her as well.

  How sorry he was.

  Mitch found himself weeping now. But in his sorrow came a quiet feeling of peace. That maybe some good might still come of all this.

  He gazed out over the field of stars, trying to recall Nathan’s words. This was the place dying souls appeared. There was some kind of portal here. And he would have to pass through it when it opened in order to get back into his own body. If he was to ever have a chance.

  Then a cold wind gusted from the tunnel behind him. And on the wind came the sounds of whispering.

  Mitch turned to see the shadowy forms of Reapers emerging from the tunnel. Dozens of them. They lurched out into the open, fanning out on either side of the tunnel.

  Mitch searched his pockets and found the remaining stub of chalk. He scrawled a quick line with the last of it on the ground between himself and the growing crowd of Reapers. In moments he had sectioned off a twenty-foot area at the edge of the cliff. The blue line smoldered and glowed. But now he was trapped. The Reapers gathered around the wall of light, baring their teeth and hissing.

  Then a voice echoed from the darkness.

  “Just when you thought you were free,” it said, “the harsh reality of truth comes crashing down on you.”

  Howard stepped out from the tunnel, smiling.

  “How did you… ?” Mitch stammered. His peace had dissolved into fear. “How did you get past the chalk?”

  Howard shrugged. “You didn’t think that would keep us out forever, did you? I think you overestimate the power of that substance.”

  “Well, it’ll hold you off a little longer.”

  Howard laughed and shook his head as he shouldered his way through the crowd of Reapers. He stood at the edge of the chalk line for a moment. “Yes… and no.”

  Then he stepped over the line. Nothing happened.

  Mitch gasped, backing to the edge of the cliff.

  Howard patted his chest. “Mr. Bristol’s accommodations have proved helpful in this regard. You may recall his spirit is in the same state as yours. Not so affected by this defense as the rest of us.”

  Mitch struggled to control his fear. That night in the hotel, Nathan had explained the physics behind the chalk. Or tried to. Most of it was over Mitch’s head, but he did recall Nathan had said there was a reason why the chalk had no effect on them. It obviously held true for Howard as well. He had not yet entered that final stage of death either.

  Mitch glanced over the edge of the cliff. He had no idea what he was waiting for. He didn’t know what these portals would look like. He just assumed he’d know when he saw it.

  “Come now, Mitch,” Howard said. “I’ve pursued you over a great distance. Doesn’t that indicate my intentions? My concern is for you. We all need a little companionship.”

  “You want to keep me here. You lied to keep me here.”

  “Careful not to throw too many stones in your house of glass. Are you so pious now that you can’t forgive an old man his indiscretions? Come back with us, won’t you? It’s been so long since we’ve had a good game of cribbage.”

  “I don’t think so. I think you can just find yourself someone else to trap.”

  Howard’s expression darkened. His eyes glowed white against a deepening scowl. His face continued to contort into a mask of malice. So much so that now it no longer looked human. He spread his arms out and his clothes darkened. A black mist swirled around his limbs, coiling around him like a cloak. He rose, too, growing taller until he loomed over Mitch. His arms elongated and spread out like great wings. His lips peeled back and his jaws opened. Black saliva dripped down and Mitch found himself staring at Death face-to-face.

  “I am the lord of this world. I am sovereign here.” A deep, inhuman voice rolled like thunder. Like a thousand voices speaking as one.

  A dark terror clutched Mitch’s heart. As if Death had somehow reached into his mind and filled it with dread. Mitch shrank back, his heart pounding. But in his terror one memory returned to him. Something Nathan had said. That Mitch was safe until he entered the final stage of death—the purple rash. Until then they couldn’t touch him. They couldn’t do anything.

  “Until then, it’s all just a show.”

  Then he recalled what Howard had said moments earlier. A good game of cribbage. Mitch gathered his strength again and straightened up. In all the years he’d played cribbage with Howard, the old farmer had never won a game.

  Not a single game.

  Mitch braced himself against the demonic creature’s fury. “You don’t have any authority over me,” he said. “You can’t touch me.”

  Death reared back and roared. A stream of black mist blasted down from its elongated claws, striking Mitch squarely in the chest.

  Mitch’s body seized, racked with pain. His mind flooded again with darkness and terror. Thick and heavy and impenetrable.

  Death leaned its head down. “I have more power than you can possibly imagine,” it growled. “I can show you what lies beyond this place. What you are destined for. Darkness so deep and endless that you will never find your way out. You have no concept of the horrors of hell.”

  Death released its grip and Mitch sank to his knees, gasping for breath. The image was more than Mitch could handle. The terror of it left him physically shaken and paralyzed. His limbs felt heavy, and though he struggled, he couldn’t move.

  Then below him, a light began to shine. A small spark appeared amid the stars, spinning in the darkness of space. It grew and spread until Mitch could see it clearly. A spiraling vortex of light. The center glowed brilliant white.

  It was beautiful, and for a moment, it drew Mitch’s gaze further inside. There in the middle, Mitch saw something moving.

  Something was emerging.

  75

  CONNER LAY, DAZED, IN THE DIRT. His upper back burned like someone had taken a white-hot branding iron and seared his flesh. For a moment, his arms and legs went numb. The ground was spinning and he could hear himself groaning.

  A torrent of curses continued from the cabin behind them. Conner swore at himself. How could he have been so stupid as to take his eyes off the old woman or the gun? He’d been so relieved to see Amber that he’d lost all sense of caution. Pain racked his body and he struggled to get back to his feet.

  Suddenly Amber was there, tugging at his arms. Pulling him up again.

  Unable to move his arm and not knowing how serious his wounds were, Conner hobbled on through the forest. His breath came in painful, sharp gasps. He pointed with his left hand, in the direction of the farm, but Amber seemed to remember the way.

  “Come on!” she shouted at him, wrapping her arm around his waist. “Keep moving!”

  Behind them, now a little more distant, came a third blast. The old woman’s shriek echoed in the darkness like something inhuman.

  Conner’s mind flooded with thoughts as he stumbled forward. His lungs burned and he felt like he might collapse any moment. They pushed on through the darkness—no lantern, no flashlight. Branches slapped at them, clawing at their faces. Conner hoped that Katie might be somewhere ahead. He hoped she was going in the same direction.

  Their flight through the woods seemed to take forever. Three more shots blasted from the forest behind them. Conner could hear the pellets cracking into the wood of the trees around them.

  Then they were free. The trees and brush gave way to the open field so suddenly that Conner lost his balance and stumbled into the dirt. A
sharp bolt of pain seemed to slice through his ribs and he cried out.

  For a moment, he lay facedown in the field. The ground was spinning and muffled noises echoed far off. He could hear someone pleading with him, and he knew Amber was tugging at his arm again, trying to get him back on his feet. He sucked in agonizing gasps of air.

  Branches snapped somewhere behind him.

  “Come on! Come on!”

  Conner rolled to his side, planted his one good arm on the ground, and pushed. First to his knees, then to his feet.

  The next thing he knew, he was hobbling across the open field. He could see the porch lights of the Bristol house ahead. He suddenly felt exposed. They were free targets here in the open. Once Mrs. Bristol emerged from the woods.

  He hurried, pushing his legs harder. His thigh muscles cramped. Conner stumbled and felt himself falling.

  Then another arm slid under his, propping him up again. He looked over to see Katie now, holding him up as well. The three of them shuffled across the field, past the barn, the house, and down the long front drive.

  They came at last to the road and Conner motioned in the direction of his car. They hurried off down the highway as fast as Conner could hobble. He barely managed the last several yards. He could no longer move his legs. His arms were numb as well. And he knew why.

  He was bleeding. In the dark, he couldn’t see it, but he could feel the warm wetness of his shirt beneath his jacket. He could feel blood trickling down his spine, dripping down his legs.

  They came to the spot where he’d left his car. Conner had half expected it to be gone—that maybe Owen had discovered it during his search for Amber while Conner had been unconscious. But it was still there.

  Every breath brought a new jolt of pain to his back and ribs. He fumbled for his keys but could barely move his hand.

  “Pocket…” he gasped. “Keys.”

  Amber found the keys, unlocked the doors. Conner collapsed onto the backseat, growing numb and cold. His head swam and he now felt himself sinking into darkness.