by Tim Waggoner
“Tell me what I did and I’ll fix it…if I can.”
The Cabal was silent for several long moments, and then the chamber was filled with the roar of riotous laughter.
The Driver, Goat-Eyes, and Rauch were laughing too as they raised their implements of torture and stepped toward her. Seconds later, her screams joined the thundering cacophony of sound within the Vermilion Tower.
* * *
She woke to wet and cold. Aashrita’s headstone lay in front of her, but something was wrong with it. It lay sideways, as if someone had knocked it over. Had she done that? She didn’t remember going close enough to the headstone to touch it, let alone shove it onto its side. And even if for some bizarre reason she’d wanted to knock it over, the thing was made of solid stone. No way was she strong enough to….
That’s when she realized she was lying on the ground. The headstone wasn’t sideways. She was. She remembered being in the Vermilion Tower again, and for an instant she felt the pain of the wounds that had been inflicted on her there. She was about to scream, but the pain receded so swiftly that within an instant it was as if she’d never experienced it at all. She pushed herself into a sitting position with trembling arms and attempted to wipe water from her eyes and face, but the rain was still coming down and her actions accomplished nothing.
She had been dragged back to the tower in the middle of the day without having to fall asleep first. If the Cabal could pull her there whenever they wanted, what would happen if they did so while she was driving? It wasn’t as if she’d had any warning. One moment she was conscious, the next she was manacled to that goddamned X-cross again. If she passed out while behind the wheel, she’d wreck, injuring herself and possibly others. That was a really nasty new wrinkle to this game.
And that’s what it was beginning to feel like to her – a game. A sick one with life-or-death consequences, but a game nevertheless. One that she was being forced to play without knowing the rules. She thought of how the Cabal had laughed when she’d asked them to just tell her what they wanted her to do. Maybe, she thought, her not knowing the rules was part of the game, too. If so, it was an even shittier game than she’d thought.
She stood, legs weak, but they supported her. She’d been out in the rain long enough that she was soaked from head to toe, and she wondered how long she’d been unconscious, how much time had passed in the real world compared to within the Vermilion Tower. She supposed the details didn’t matter much, but then again, maybe the details were all that mattered in this game. How could she know? She was grateful she hadn’t passed out during her conversation with Reeny. Her sister would’ve been on the phone to nine-one-one within seconds, and Lori would likely have woken up in a hospital.
She looked at Aashrita’s headstone once more, focused on the letters that comprised her name. She needed to remember everything about Aashrita, not just that day at soccer practice when she’d been the goalie and Lori had fucked up her knee, destroying any chance at a college soccer career. She recalled the details of that day without difficulty. It was what had happened in the days and weeks afterward that mattered, she was sure of it. If only she could fucking remember.
She lowered her gaze to read the information beneath Aashrita’s name. Birth date, death date. Aashrita had died when she was seventeen. They’d been the same age – their birthdays were only six weeks apart – so that meant Aashrita had died during their senior year of high school. That sounded familiar, more like the memory of a memory than the thing itself, though. What had the cause been? Accident? Illness? Suicide?
Migraine pain erupted in her head, so intense and crippling that she fell to her knees once more. She clapped her hands to her head and squeezed, as if trying to keep the contents of her brain from exploding outward. Through the agony, she thought, Guess suicide it is.
She hoped this realization would be the key to unlock the rest of her memories about Aashrita’s death, but she experienced no sudden influx of images and emotions, no tidal wave of data crashing into her with psyche-obliterating force. There was nothing.
I’m sorry, Aashrita. She meant this to be an apology for forgetting how her friend had died, but she sensed there was more to it than that. Much more. Before she could explore this feeling further, though, she caught a flash of black out of the corner of her eye.
Oh no.
She didn’t want to look, but she knew she had to. She directed her gaze at the slender tree next to Aashrita’s headstone, saw a shadow creature clinging to the thin limbs like an ebon spider, looking at her with its featureless dark face. Another flash of black, and she turned to see a second shadow creature half-crouched behind a neighboring headstone, long multijointed fingers folded over the top of the stone, sharp black nails clicking against it in eager anticipation. Within moments, a dozen more of the things were visible, most partly hiding among old headstones and young trees, but some standing out in the open, clawed hands at their sides, held slightly away from their bodies like Wild West gunslingers ready to draw on a foe.
Lori got to her feet, turned, and ran toward her Civic. Her shoes slipped on the wet grass, but she managed to keep from falling. She’d left the car unlocked, and when she ran around to the driver’s side, she opened it, threw herself inside, pulled it shut, and locked it behind her. She hadn’t looked back to see if the shadow things had pursued her, but of course they had. They closed in on her car from all sides and slammed into it en masse. The vehicle rocked back and forth, and she screamed. The sound of her terror seemed to energize the shadow things further, whipping them into a frenzy. They began slapping, punching, clawing at her windows, doing so with motions so rapid it sounded as if her car were being bombarded with baseball-sized hailstones. Up close, in the gray light of the overcast rainy day, the shadow things appeared even more awful than they had in her apartment last night. They’d seemed dreamlike then, things that existed half in nightmare, half in the real world. But now they fully inhabited the waking world, the contours of their forms clear, their dark substance possessing depth and a certain fluid solidity, as if they were formed from living, animated oil. Horrible black faces smooth, without even the suggestion of eyes, noses, or mouths, hatred radiating off them like heat from a blazing inferno. Their voices – sound issuing from nonexistent mouths – were like the violent crashing of waves against an arctic shore, the howling shriek of gale-force winds tearing across a midnight desert, the deep rumbling crack of stone being rent asunder by vast seismic forces…. If these voices spoke words, she couldn’t discern them, heard only raw, malignant rage, the entirety of it directed at her. And just as last night, she began to feel strength flowing out of her, and she realized with horror that the shadow things were somehow feeding on her, siphoning away her life bit by bit.
She had to do something; she knew that if she remained here much longer, the shadow creatures would shatter the Civic’s windows, rush into the car like a flood of darkness, and finish her off. She had no way to fight them, though. She didn’t know whether physical weapons like knives or guns would have any effect on them, but since she had neither, it scarcely mattered. She didn’t have any tools in her car that could be used as weapons, either. No crowbar, not even a goddamned hammer or screwdriver. And she certainly wasn’t capable of fighting them hand to hand. She was fit, but she had no combat training of any kind, and even if she had, there were simply too many of the damn things for one person to deal with, no matter how skilled at fighting he or she was. She couldn’t defend herself, and in only a matter of moments….
She realized then that she’d been wrong. She did possess one weapon, and if she wanted to survive this attack, she needed to use it – now.
She put her foot on the brake and stabbed her finger toward the ignition switch. The Civic’s engine turned over, and she put the car in drive. She removed her foot from the brake, put it down on the accelerator, and the vehicle leaped forward. She couldn’t see the access road cl
early because of the shadow creatures crouched on her hood and roof, their clawed hands pounding on the windshield. She gripped the steering wheel tightly and did her best to maneuver through the cemetery without hitting any headstones or trees. Her path was erratic and weaving, and she couldn’t go fast enough to dislodge the shadow creatures that clung to her car. She’d left the others behind, but a quick glance at the rearview showed they were running after her, and as slow as she was moving, she knew they’d catch up to her soon. Some escape this was turning out to be.
Fuck it.
She angled her Civic off the path and pointed it toward the brick wall that enclosed the cemetery. She had a relatively unobstructed route to the wall, and she jammed the accelerator to the floor. The car began to gain speed as it moved forward, and she yanked the steering wheel to the right and left as she went, doing her best to avoid the few headstones in her way. She clipped one with the edge of her front bumper, but the impact wasn’t enough to slow her down significantly. She mentally apologized to whoever lay buried beneath the headstone she’d damaged, and then forgot about it as she continued to accelerate toward the wall.
The shadow things hanging on to her car showed no indication that they were alarmed by what she was doing, and they continued pounding at the Civic’s windshield and side windows. Cracks were beginning to appear in the glass, and Lori knew she had only seconds left before the creatures broke through.
The pale orange-brick face of the wall grew larger in her vision, seeming to almost shimmer, as if she was viewing it through tears. She realized then what a ridiculous plan this was, if it could even be called a plan. She’d started driving toward the wall out of instinct, hoping to scare off the shadow creatures, or if they wouldn’t scare, to injure them when the car crashed into the wall. But either the things weren’t intelligent enough to know what she was doing, or they didn’t care. Maybe the impact wouldn’t harm them, or maybe they didn’t fear injury. Maybe they possessed no drive for self-preservation, only a need to attack and kill. Even if the shadow creatures were as vulnerable as humans – which she doubted – she couldn’t possibly build up enough speed to do them any real harm when she crashed. The most likely outcome of her grand attempt to flee was that she’d hit the wall, the vehicle’s airbags would go off, and she’d be momentarily stunned, giving the shadow creatures the few last moments they would need to smash through the car windows and get their clawed hands on her.
But her sense of self-preservation was highly developed, and as the wall loomed close, she was unable to stop herself from stomping on the brake. She gripped the steering wheel even tighter, closed her eyes, and waited for the collision to happen.
Chapter Seven
And waited.
And waited.
The Civic came to a stop, but it felt as if the car had continued moving longer than should’ve been possible given her proximity to the wall. Keeping her foot on the brake, she opened her eyes. She registered darkness first, and she felt a rush of panic, believing that so many of the shadow creatures now clung to her car that they completely covered the windows. But then the Civic’s automatic headlights came on and they cut through the darkness, illuminating a glossy-smooth length of road. She saw no other light outside – no streetlights, no building lights, not even any stars.
She had a sudden sick feeling she knew where she was.
Pain hit her then, fiery lines of agony that covered her flesh, which made her skin burn. She glanced down at herself, and by the dashboard lights she saw she was naked, her body covered with cuts, welts, and bruises – just as she’d been the last time she was here. Blood flowed freely from the worst of the wounds, but none of them appeared life threatening, and she decided to ignore them for the time being. Her wrists and ankles hurt, and the skin was red and swollen. From the manacles, she thought.
Somehow, she had found her own entry to the Nightway, and this time she’d brought her car with her. However, it appeared none of the shadow creatures had managed to accompany her. None were visible in the headlight beams, and none clung to the car, pounding their clawed hands on the windows. The silence was as eerie as it was welcome, though. All she could hear now was the sound of the Civic’s idling engine combined with the frantic beating of her heart and the rapid in-out, in-out of her breathing. Then again, maybe the shadow things had transitioned to this starless void with her, only they’d moved away from the car, taking refuge in the dark where they would be perfectly camouflaged, shadows lost in shadow. Maybe they were even now watching her from their concealment, waiting for her to be foolish enough to think herself safe. They’d wait for her to open her door and get out of the car. Maybe she’d do so to check the damage that the Civic had sustained during her improvised escape. Or maybe she’d step out of the car to assure herself that this place was real, that she wasn’t merely imagining it. Whatever the reason, once she opened the door, they would attack, finally getting their opportunity to sink their claws into her flesh and tear her to pieces. But it didn’t feel like they were out there. It felt as if she were entirely alone in this desolate darkness.
Only one way to find out.
She lowered the driver’s-side window the merest crack. Cold air filtered into the car, along with a strange odor, almost metallic, like the smell of ozone that lingers after a lightning strike. No shadow creatures rushed toward her car, no curving ebon claws slid through the opening between the upper frame of the door and the slightly lowered window. Encouraged, she lowered the window down to the halfway point, and just as before, no attack came. It looked like she had left the creatures in the real world, and she wondered what had happened to them when the Civic had vanished. Had momentum carried them forward into the wall? She hoped so, and when they hit, she hoped it had hurt like hell.
She began to shiver in the cold air filtering into the Civic’s interior, so she raised the window all the way up and turned on the heater. The car’s engine had been running long enough to produce warm air immediately, but the change in temperature provided only partial comfort. Her wounds still throbbed, and she was getting blood all over the seat. She obviously possessed the same body as she had the other times she’d been in this reality, and she wondered what had happened in the Vermilion Tower when she’d appeared on the Nightway in her car. Had this version of her disappeared from the tower, leaving the Cabal to stare at an empty X-cross and wonder what had just happened? Or had the two versions of her merged? Whichever the case, she liked the idea of those red-robed fuckers standing around and scratching their asses as they tried to understand how she’d Houdini-ed herself away from them.
She didn’t know what to do now. Could she return home by closing her eyes once more and willing herself there? If she did, would she and her Civic appear in the same place relative to where they’d been when they’d left? Probably outside the cemetery wall, and likely in the street. If so, the shadow things would still be close by, and she had no doubt they’d scent her somehow and come after her again. They might even be able to find their own entrance to the Nightway and continue their pursuit of her. There was no way to know what the goddamned things were capable of.
Speaking of pursuit, would the Driver get in his big black car and start racing up and down the Nightway in search of her? Possibly. Probably.
Certainly.
Regardless of whether the shadow creatures, the Driver, or both came after her, it wouldn’t be wise to stay here. Best to get moving, even if she didn’t have a destination in mind. After she’d gone several miles, she could try to transition back to the real world again. With luck, she’d reappear far enough from the cemetery to throw off the shadow creatures, at least for a while. She took her bare foot off the brake and pressed it to the accelerator. She started slow at first. There were no painted lines to mark the road’s edges, and it was difficult to tell where the Nightway ended and whatever lay beyond it – obsidian-colored soil or pitch-black rock – began. As she drove, she wo
ndered if she’d slipped all the way into full-blown madness, and if so, she wondered if she cared.
Humming to herself and not thinking about Aashrita, why she’d visited her friend’s grave, or what she’d hoped to accomplish there, she pushed the accelerator down farther and the Civic began to pick up speed.
* * *
The Shadowkin mill about the cemetery, searching for Lori, sniffing for her trail like dogs that have lost the scent of their prey. They do not possess the capacity for rational thought, not in the way humans understand it, and are thus incapable of reasoning out where Lori has gone. All they know is that she was here and they almost had her, and now she is not here.
Each time the Shadowkin are near Lori, they feed on her energy, growing stronger, more real. But even with their increased abilities, they cannot now sense her presence. Without her, they have no focus, no purpose. They are lost, and this frightens and angers them. Without Lori to hold them together, the Shadowkin begin to drift apart, leaving the cemetery one by one, moving out into the town in search of other food, and just as importantly, something to vent their anger upon.
Something to hurt.
Something to kill.
* * *
It was an old joke that mail carriers get invited into the residences of horny customers on their routes to deliver quite a bit more than bills and sales flyers. Wife doesn’t answer her phone when you call during your lunch hour? Your baby doesn’t look like you? Blame the mailman.
Norman Palmer was well aware of this cliché when he took a job with the postal service as a carrier, and other, more seasoned employees teased him about all the ass he’d get on the job. Not just the male carriers. The women joked about it, too. Norman had figured they were all just razzing the new guy, and he didn’t expect more out of his job than doing a lot of walking while his mind wandered. Norman dreamed of being a professional cartoonist, and he figured he could work on ideas for cartoons in his head while he walked, and then draw them later. A steady paycheck, regular exercise, and time to think about cartoons seemed more than enough to expect from his job.