by Tim Waggoner
The door swung open smoothly, hinges silent. Diane felt a wave of cool air roll over her, and she understood why the doorknob had felt so cold. Whatever was inside, the air-conditioning was turned up all the way. She peered through the open doorway, but no lights were on and all she could see was darkness.
“Go inside.” Caroline sounded more than eager now. Her voice was husky, and if Diane hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought the other woman was becoming aroused.
Maybe she is, Diane thought. Maybe she didn’t bring you here to kill you. Maybe she brought you here because she wants to do something else with you.
The prospect of being used like that, being forced, whether by a woman or a man, sickened Diane, but it allowed her spark of hope to grow just little larger. If I give her what she wants, maybe she’ll let me live. Especially if I’m good.
Diane stepped through the doorway and into darkness.
The black enveloped her like a cold velvet blanket, the sensation at once disturbing yet somehow comforting. The cool air felt clammy, as if she had entered a cavern deep in the earth’s bowels. When she turned around, she saw Caroline framed in the open doorway for an instant before the other woman pulled the door shut and sealed out the light.
“A word of advice.” Caroline’s voice seemed to come from all around her, and though Diane knew the effect was caused by the disorientation of being in complete darkness, she was unsettled nonetheless. “Just because you can’t see anything in here doesn’t mean that I can’t. I have exceptional night vision. I can see you just fine, and I’m pointing my gun right at you. And if you think I’m bullshitting you, consider this: even if I can’t see you, I’ve got a full clip of ammo. If I shoot wildly, there’s still a damn good chance I’ll hit you.”
Diane nodded, but then she said, “I understand,” just in case Caroline was lying about being able to see so well in the dark.
“Great.” Caroline took a deep breath. “We’re almost finished, Diane. What I want to show you is about eight feet straight ahead of you. All you have to do is start walking toward it.”
“It?” There was something about the way Caroline had said the word that bothered Diane, as if the it was some sort of thing instead of an object.
“Just start walking. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
As if of its own volition, Diane’s right foot slid forward, then her left. She took small steps, feeling her way with her toes and outstretched hands. The air grew cooler and more clammy the further she went into the dark room, and though she couldn’t see, she thought her breath might well be misting in the cold air. How far had she gone? Three feet? Five? If Caroline was impatient with Diane’s tiny steps and slow progress, she said nothing about it. A couple more steps, and Diane began to feel a tingly-crawly sensation at the base of her skull, and she sensed that she and Caroline weren’t alone in the darkness, that there was something else here with them, and that something was directly in front of her.
A fist of ice gripped her insides, and she felt a strong, primitive urge to turn and run back toward Caroline, back where the door must be, and to hell with Caroline’s gun, to hell with the possibility of getting shot. Diane would gladly take a couple bullets if it meant she wouldn’t have to confront whatever presence waited for her swaddled in the room’s darkness.
But Diane wasn’t by nature an irrational or impulsive person, and she hesitated a moment — and in that moment her left foot stepped across a thin curved line embedded in the cold concrete floor. She couldn’t see the line, had no idea that it even existed, but she knew at once that she’d entered a Bad Place. The air was far more frigid here, and she could feel tiny particles of ice form on her nose hairs as she inhaled. The tingling feeling on the back of her neck got worse, and she had the sensation that she stood mere inches away from something … something that lay at the heart of this cold space, something that perhaps was even the source of it.
Without realizing it, she’d continued to walk with her hands held out before her, and now her flesh came in contact with something smooth and firm, though it yielded slightly beneath her fingers. When Diane had been younger — back before she’d met Walter and began dating him — she and a girlfriend had drive down to Florida one summer vacation. Among the various sights and attractions they’d visited was Seascape Aqua-Park. Diane had never been much for either museums or zoos, and to her mind Seascape was simply a combination of the two. But one spot in the park changed her view. It was a large outside tank where people could reach in and pet dolphins while they swam. Diane hadn’t wanted to touch any of the animals at first. Despite the dolphin’s cheerful, friendly image on such TV programs as Flipper, Diane had read somewhere that the creatures could get too playful with humans at times and try to … mate with them, regardless of gender. The thought deeply disturbed Diane. Weren’t dolphins supposed to be pretty smart? And if so, did that mean they chose to try to screw humans on purpose? Or rather, on porpoise? And they had those creepy little beaky mouths with tiny white teeth, and that weird, mocking laugh, like some kind of demented aquatic version of Woody Woodpecker. And their bodies looked like giant gray penises anyway, with a few extra barbs where their fins protruded from the shiny-slick flesh.
But Diane hadn’t wanted to look like a fraidy-cat in front of her friend, and there was no way that she was going to admit the truth about why she was hesitant to touch the dolphins. So she gritted her teeth, stuck her hand into the surprisingly warm water, and hoped the dolphins would sense her reluctance and avoid her.
Of course, the dolphins, perverse creatures that they are, swam straight for her. She closed her eyes as the first animal brushed its flank against her hand. The dolphin’s skin felt exactly the way she’d always imagined it would: hard, slightly spongy, slick, and a trifle oily. But instead of being revolted by these sensations, Diane experienced a deep and profound sense of well-being, as if the dolphin was somehow using their contact to telepathically communicate reassurance to her, to let her know that it meant her no harm. So unexpected and exhilarating was this feeling that Diane’s eyes snapped open and she laughed out loud. After that, she’d spent the rest of the day at the dolphin pool, touching the animals, experiencing the same feeling of well-being over and over, much to the frustration of her friend, who wanted to move on and see the rest of what Seascape had to offer.
The thing in the silent dark cold felt the same — except for the water, of course. And touching it gave Diane the same sense of contentment and joy that touching the dolphins had.
A happy smile spread across her face, and she was about to turn around and thank Caroline for bringing her here, when the smooth flesh turned burning cold. She yanked her hands away with a hiss of pain and backed away, but before she could get far, a tendril of solid darkness shot forward, inserted itself between her lips and began slithering down her throat. Diane wanted to scream, but the best she could manage was a soft, wet gagging sound. She grabbed hold of the tendril and tried to yank it free, but it was too strong, too cold to the touch, and she had to let go. She sensed something then, almost like a faint voice whispering. But this voice came from inside her mind, as if she were experiencing someone else’s thoughts. She couldn’t understand what it was saying: it seemed so far away, and she was too terrified to listen closely. And then the voice stopped, and Diane tumbled into a darkness far deeper than that of the thing that had taken her life.
As soon as Caroline saw the Overshadow reach for Diane, she tucked the 9mm between the waistband of her pants and the small of her back. She had no further need for the weapon. She watched as the Overshadow fed, having to resist the urge to reach inside the front of her pants and finger her vagina. If she allowed herself to get too turned on, she might lose control entirely, and that would be a very bad thing. The Overshadow was feeding on something far more substantial than a mere rabbit, and the pleasure it would grant in thanks would be more intense. Far more so than any one person could hope to absorb on her own. If she allowed herself to giv
e in to temptation and accepted the Overshadow’s thanks — all of it — alone, there was an excellent chance she’d sustain permanent brain damage or even die. She wouldn’t be the first to fail to resist and suffer the consequences, but she couldn’t imagine a better way to go. Still, she remained standing where she was and managed to keep her hand out of her pants as the Overshadow finished up.
When it was done, what remained of Diane’s body was no longer capable of standing on its own. Two more tentacles of black emerged from the dark center of the Overshadow’s being and gripped the woman beneath the armpits. Diane’s body was lifted easily, as if it weighed no more than a bit of down. The Overshadow set the corpse down on the floor near the edge of the circle that served as both its home and prison. The Overshadow couldn’t reach much beyond the area defined by the concrete circle, but that was enough to allow it to shove Diane’s body until it was almost all the way out of the circle.
Caroline approached the corpse cautiously, however. The Overshadow, while usually not greedy, definitely enjoyed a little dessert after a meal. Especially if said dessert was alone and unprotected. She slowly edged closer to Diane’s body and then, without taking her gaze off the Overshadow, she took hold of the front of Diane’s blouse and tugged. The woman was far lighter in death that in life, and Caroline had no trouble sliding her body away from the Overshadow, which continued standing in the middle of the room, constrained by the circle etched into the concrete around it. The Overshadow had not reabsorbed its three tentacles yet, and now it waved them lazily in the air, seeking the forehead of one of its worshippers so that it might properly give the thanks that such a fine, full meal deserved.
“Sorry,” Caroline whispered as she backed toward Penumbra’s rear entrance, pulling Diane’s corpse along with her. “But I’ve got to go. You’ve done your work, and now I have to do mine.” Now that the Overshadow had been fed — and a snooping outsider had been eliminated — there was only one thing left for Caroline to do.
Take out the trash.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Aaron sat on the couch, pretending to watch an old Humphrey Bogart film on television. But what he was really doing was trying not to scream. He normally didn’t drink much at home. A little beer now and again, maybe some red wine. Tonight he held a glass of vodka in his hand, gripping it tight as if it were a lifeline. It was his second in the last half hour, and it was already two-thirds gone.
He’d felt all right when he got home from work, but as the evening progressed, he began to feel increasingly agitated, nervous, and irritable. He’d barely spoken to his family at dinner for fear that he’d begin snapping at them — especially Colin. The boy seemed to effortlessly push all of Aaron’s buttons these days, whether purposefully or not. Perhaps Colin reminded him too much of when he’d been a teenage, one who’d never been able to do anything well enough to please his father. Or maybe Aaron simply resented the boy’s youth with the bitter envy of a middle-aged man who’s seen his best days gone by.
“Fuck,” he muttered, and took a sip of vodka. It was warm — the bottle had been leftover from last New Year’s and tucked away in the back of a kitchen cupboard — instead of being refrigerated, the way he usually liked it. The warmth made the vodka seem to burn all the more as it trickled down his throat like liquid fire. It hurt, but that was okay. It was a small price to pay for taking the edge off his nervousness, even if only a little.
Intellectually, he understood what was happening. Caroline had said that the aftereffects of one’s first touch of the Overshadow could be rough. Since last night he’d gone from exhilarated ecstasy to nausea and depression, and now to extreme agitation. Caroline had promised that the aftereffects would lessen over time, and maybe that was true, but right now he felt like putting his fist through the TV screen — right through Bogey’s smug hound-dog face — and then going outside and running down the street. Faster and faster, until his lungs were on fire and his overtired heart threatened to explode.
What he did was take another sip of vodka.
Kristen had taken a Lindsay over to a friend’s house to go swimming. Kristen knew the girl’s mother well, and they were no doubt chatting happily while the kids played in the pool. Colin had retreated to his lair after dinner — surprise, surprise — and hadn’t emerged since, which suited Aaron just fine. The way he felt right now, the last thing he needed was —
“I’m going over to Steve’s. I’ll be back later.”
Colin’s voice echoed from the foyer, followed by the sound of his opening the front door. Aaron slammed his glass down on the coffee table, splashing vodka over the rim. He then leaped off the couch and ran out of the living room and toward the foyer. Colin — wearing a Mudvayne T-shirt and baggy jeans that rode too low on his hips — was already halfway out the door.
“Hold up! Where did you say you were going?
Colin stopped but he didn’t turn around to face Aaron.
“Steve’s.”
Aaron stopped a foot away from Colin and stared at the back of the boy’s head. His hair was greasy and tangled, and Aaron wondered when he’d last combed it, let alone washed it. He almost said something about the hair, but instead he said, “Steve who?”
“Jesus, Dad! Steven Carsner?”
The last name meant nothing to Aaron, but then he’d never been able to keep straight the names of his children’s friends. Rather than admit this to Colin, he asked, “What are you going to do over there?”
Colin still didn’t turn around, and Aaron experienced a violent urge to grab the boy by the shoulders and spin him around so he would be forced to look Aaron in the eye. With an effort, he kept his hands to himself as Colin answered with a sneering tone.
“We’re going to smoke crack, watch porn DVD’s, and jerk each other off. Christ, what do you think we’re going to do? We’re going to play video games.”
Without waiting for his father’s reply, Colin stepped outside, leaving the door open behind him.
Fury overwhelmed Aaron and he dashed outside. Colin was already off the porch and heading catty-corner across the lawn. It wasn’t much past 8:30, and the sky was a pinkish-blue above, a rich fiery orange near the horizon. Aaron ran to catch up to Colin, grabbed the back of the boy’s shirt, and spun him around. Colin cried out, “Hey!” and then he lost his balance. Aaron released his hold on the T-shirt, and Colin fell to the grass, landing hard.
Aaron squatted down next to his son, arms resting on his knees. He leaned forward and looked Colin in the eye. He was pleased to see glimmers of fear mixed in with building resentment. Fear wasn’t exactly the same as respect, but it was close enough.
“Don’t you fucking walk away from me when I’m talking to you, boy.” The voice was Aaron’s, but the words belonged to his father. Aaron had heard them himself during a similar incident long ago, though it had been winter and Aaron had refused to re-stack a pile of wood because his father wasn’t pleased with the job he’d done. Aaron had gotten less than three yards before his father had him down in the snow, yelling at him so loud spit sprayed Aaron’s face, feeling hot enough to burn his cold skin.
But instead of bleeding away Aaron’s anger, this realization only served to intensify it for reasons he didn’t understand.
Do it, Colin. Say one more smart-ass thing, and I’ll —
The resentment in Colin’s eyes faded then, leaving behind only fear and hurt. He suddenly looked like a frightened little boy instead of a teenager trying to seem tough and cool.
“I’m sorry, Dad, I didn’t … I mean, I wasn’t …” He lowered eyes now brimming with tears. “Sorry,” he finished.
Aaron knelt next to his son for several more seconds, feeling the cool of the evening air, hearing crickets call to one another. And then, just as if a switch had been thrown somewhere deep inside him, the anger and tension were gone, so suddenly and completely, it was as if they’d never existed in the first place. Shame rushed in to fill the emptiness the anger had left behind.
“Okay. Just … remember to look someone in the eye when they talk to you, and don’t walk away until the conversation is over.” The remark sounded ridiculous, as if he were a communications professor giving advice to a student.
“Yeah, sure. You bet.” Despite his words, Colin didn’t meet his father’s gaze, and Aaron didn’t blame him.
Aaron stood up and took several steps back to give Colin some room. The boy rose to a sitting position, sniffled, wiped his nose with his hand, then brushed it in the grass. He stood and then started walking across the yard once more. When he reached the edge of the property, he looked over his shoulder as if fearful that Aaron might come after him. When he saw that Aaron hadn’t moved, he faced forward and started running down the street as fast as he could.
“That wasn’t exactly one of my finer moments as a father,” he muttered.
“From what I could see, the little sonofabitch had it coming.”
Aaron turned toward the speaker. Despite the summer heat, the man still wore his gray sweater. His mouth was pinched in disapproval as he glared in the direction in which Colin had run.
“Do you really think so?” Aaron asked his father.
“You’ve been too soft on him. That’s why he mouths off to you so much. What you did was long overdue. It’s about time you showed a little backbone, Aaron.” The older man put his hands in the pockets of his sweater, and though he didn’t look at Aaron, his voice softened a fraction as he added, “Keep up the good work.”
Then without another word, Martin Rittinger walked across the front yard and disappeared around the side of the house.
Aaron grinned as he watched his dad depart. As far as Aaron could remember, this was the first time the man had ever given him any encouragement, and it felt damn good. Whistling, he put his hand in his pants pockets in unconscious imitation of his father and started back forward the house, intending to find something to do to pass the time until he left for Penumbra. But as soon as he set foot on the front porch, he paused as the full realization of what had just happened hit him. He’d just spoken with his father — his dead father.