Silas: A Supernatural Thriller

by Robert J. Duperre

  I stood up and a yowling echoed across the valley. I thought of the Tao-Kin as Paul had described them to me in his letter, these living vestiges that prowled the Outskirts, and swiftly yanked the knife Kaiser packed for me from the rucksack. Its blade, dull when I first laid eyes on it, glimmered. My body shook and I found it difficult to grip the handle.

  Putting my thumb and forefinger in my mouth I blew a soft whistle, trying to get Silas to come back. He didn’t. That strange voice cried out again. Worry consumed me. I gathered all the inner strength I could and shouted, “Silas!” No reply. “C’mon, boy!” Still nothing.

  Then I heard a pleading moan. Not Silas. I felt of the same impression I’d had a few hours ago, that someone was watching me. Could that be it? Was it my unwanted, unseen follower? Had whomever it was snatched up my boy and stolen away with him, only to come back and torment me? “Shit,” I muttered, and then the moan came again, once more sounding distressed. Fighting back every instinct that said to go the other way, I moved toward it.

  The grass beneath my feet was dry, and the coarse blades chafed my soles like sandpaper. Radiant moonlight crystallized the smattering of trees around me, giving them the appearance of ancient Greek soldiers victimized by Medusa’s icy glare. Their limbs were motionless, just like everything else. Even the dry grass, which during the day swayed in unison, was frozen in time.

  Still I marched in the direction of the sound, approaching a short wall of jagged rocks. The wailing, silent for a few brief moments, sprung forth again, pointing me in the right direction. It seemed to come from behind one of those serrated boulders. I took a deep breath and counted my steps. One, two, three, four. The side of my right foot struck something hard and sharp. Blood trickled from the wound. It hurt like hell, but I felt certain that when the sun came out I’d find nothing but a scratch. With a wince I kept on going.

  I was only a few short feet away from the rocks now. A new sound then emerged – quiet, infantile sobs, full of anguish and fright, seeming to ascend from the stone itself. There was no menace in its tone, no aggression, which caused me to breathe easier. I wondered if it had always sounded like that, if in my confusion and uneasiness I’d given it attributes that weren’t there. I swallowed hard and jogged the last few steps, ignoring the pain in my sore foot and squeezing the knife’s handle, preparing to lash out with the blade just in case.

  The boulders were only waist-high. The side of my heel brushed against one of them and the rock crumbled like dried clay. I leaned over and pressed my fingers into the stone, discovering that what had seemed hard and jagged in the distance was actually soft, almost spongy. The tip of a spire broke off in my hand and I worked it around in my palm, disintegrating it, the powdery residue falling through my fingers. For a moment I forgot where I was and mentally retreated back to Wendy’s studio as she showed me the basics of how to spin the pottery wheel.

  The voice wouldn’t let me retreat for long. It suddenly screamed, so close now that dagger-like vibrations stabbed into my eardrums. I backed up a step, convinced that my original thought had been true and it was coming from inside the soft stone.

  Just then, movement caught my eye. It came from my left, disappearing as quickly as it came. In that brief glimpse, even in the eerie blue light, I saw nothing frightening – there were no teeth, horns, or bulging eyes, only a flurry of shaggy black hair.

  “Hello?” I said.

  I moved around the malleable boulders with caution. It seemed to take forever, as if I’d been trapped in a bubble of stagnant time. Gradually, I came upon the hiding place and saw its occupant fully. Two skinny legs were held tight to a thick, barrel chest by a pair of just-as-skinny arms. Eyes stared up at me, shimmering with tears. It was a boy – a frightened, shivering, naked boy. A sense of relief passed over me, along with a sudden urge to take the child in my arms and protect him. I thought of Paul and understood how he must have felt when he first happened upon Kaiser and Will, abandoned in some wrecked and burning village.

  As if sensing I meant no harm, the young boy of around eight uncoiled his body and crawled in my direction. I knelt down, put down the knife, and held out my hand. He lowered his head into my palm, pressed his black hair into my fingertips, and then pulled back and licked my wrist. I yanked my arm away. The boy stared up at me, still on all fours, and cocked his head. I knew where I’d seen that motion before, even though my brain told me that what was unfolding could never in a million years be real.

  In an apparent act of defiance the boy leapt forward, knocked me over with surprising strength, and collapsed in my lap. He curled up, buried his face in the crook of his arm, and shuddered. I ran my hand down his bare back.

  “Silas?” I whispered.

  The boy raised his head. His tongue dropped out of his mouth, and he panted.

  36

  I stayed awake for hours, the bright, dinner-plate moon staring down at me while the child Silas slept on my chest. Though I still found it hard to believe that the snoring, thick-chested boy had been a spry, eighty-pound mutt only a few hours before, my waking dreams facilitated the illusion. To me it felt jarringly similar to the dream I’d had when I first woke up in this strange place.

  I fantasized that Wendy and I were happy, laughing and enjoying each other’s company while building our lives around the raising of our beloved child. I imagined all the things we would do: we’d go to Disney World in the spring and sit by the fire reading Charlotte’s Web on cold winter days; in the fall we’d all stand together at the bus stop, camera in hand, anticipating the arrival of the big yellow bus that would take the boy – our boy – off to his first day of school. He’d smile up at us, book bag slung over his shoulder, an excited gleam in his eyes; I’d help him with his schoolwork and Wendy would teach him about art; when he got older, I’d introduce him to my favorite authors, Browning, Orwell, and Joyce, to name a few, and lead him on the path to manhood. We would be a family. We would be constant. I ruffled the sleeping boy’s hair. He mumbled and shifted position on my chest. My heart soared.

  For the first time in my life I realized how wonderful having a child could be.

  The mirage didn’t shatter when I recalled my numerous arguments with Wendy about this very subject. Instead, its veracity increased. The more I thought of what I desired but didn’t have, the more determined I was to hold tight to the dream and rip it from the ether of my conscience with all the force I could. I’d take this dream and bring it back to her, my wife, my Wendy, the love of my life I’d ignored for so long.

  “Is it really you, Silas?” I whispered. “Tell me, is it?”

  The boy chuckled in his sleep. I couldn’t tell if he was subconsciously affirming or mocking the question. With my heart set in a happy place, I decided on the former.

  “I wonder if you’ll stay this way,” I said. It felt good to talk to him like a person, even if he couldn’t hear me. “Will you be a boy in the morning? Or will you be a dog again?” I ran my fingers over his dark, smooth cheek, and my tears started to fall. “Either way, it’s okay by me,” I said, choking on my words. “I love you no matter what. I thought you should know that.”

  A strong, youthful hand reached out in sleep-motion and grabbed my own. The boy Silas, who had an oddly Brazilian appearance, brought my fingers to his mouth and sucked on them. He’d done the same thing with his toys while in his doggie state, lying with eyes shut tight while his jaws worked on the soft plastic. It hurt a bit when his teeth dug into my knuckles, but not in a bad way. Saliva – human saliva, not the thick and stinging canine type – dribbled over the back of my hand.

  So this is what it’s like to finally live.

  I stayed in that position for a long while, with the child’s weight and warmth on my chest. I don’t know if I’d ever felt more satisfied. I wanted it to last forever, but it only persisted as long as my weariness held out, for a few minutes later I fell asleep.

  This time I didn’t dream at all.

  37

  The
sun was bright and oppressively hot by the time I opened my eyes and wiped away the sleep-dust the next morning. I sat up, conscious of the lack of pressure on my chest. Beats of sweat trickled over my brow, stinging my eyes. I wished the reality of my situation would leave me be, but the swaying grass whose blades nipped at my neck offered me more than clues. I knew exactly where I was and what I was supposed to do. I just didn’t want to admit it.

  I glanced to my left and there sat Silas, a majestic black-haired canine whose barrel chest heaved as he stared at me with his head tilted and a strange, baffled expression in his large, sparkling eyes. His tongue dangled between his lower incisors. My heart dropped a little. Was it a dream? I thought. Did last night actually happen? There was a silent moment between us, and an unspoken acknowledgment passed from his soul to mine.

  Yes, it said, I was human and you were my dad. This much I know to be true.

  A web of sadness wrapped around my insides. I patted Silas’s head and allowed him to lean into me the way he had, in his alternate state, the night before. I pined for that experience again. Part of me wished he’d stayed a boy. When I get home I’m definitely getting Wendy pregnant, I thought, and not just because I enjoy the process.

  A supersonic buzz echoed through the valley. It pierced my brain, lasting only a few short seconds before it dissipated like a submerged car engine. I didn’t know for sure what caused it, but I had a pretty solid idea.

  Your job’s calling you, Kenny. Time to get to work.

  I gazed west, where the Crystal Mountain loomed like a sparkling mound of incense in the morning light. I didn’t realize how close we were. It looked to be only a mile or so away, a blocky phantom surrounded by haze, both tangible and intangible at the same time. The night prior, by the time we’d settled down for the evening, it felt like the journey would take forever. But now I felt excitement build in my chest. We were approaching the point of no return – I just hoped not literally.

  “Okay then,” I muttered, picking the knife up off the ground by its leather-bound handle before laboring to my feet. My knees cracked. Silas broke out of his odd, meditative stupor and hopped up on all fours, his juvenile energy returning full-force. I felt those same stabs of disappointed sadness as I watched him bounce ahead of me, heading for the spot beneath the dead tree where I left our blanket and supplies, but I resigned myself to the process. We would eat our breakfast of odd fruits, pack up our belongings, and head out walking once more. In time, if I lived long enough, the events I was sure I’d miss forever would fade into nothingness.

  I didn’t want that to happen, but something told me I had no choice in the matter.

  38

  After walking for only an hour, things got weird. The Crystal Mountain grew so large it literally blocked out the horizon and the sun disappeared behind a thick gathering of ominous black clouds. Though it was relieving at first to be free of the oppressive heat, what replaced it proved just as harsh. The temperature dropped a good thirty degrees and the wind kicked up in frigid squalls that stung my flesh.

  Silas, back to his normal self and seemingly impervious to the drastic climate change, circled ahead and behind, protecting his pack of one the only way he knew how. Soon the grasslands and withered trees withered away and the Deadland began. I saw nothing but cracked earth with deep crevasses that zigzagged across the terrain like a thousand tiny, dry rivers. The occasional small plant poked through the parched soil, looking like lonely and spineless desert cacti. I was baffled – it was as if the entire topography of North America had been condensed into an area of only a few square miles. I shrugged, only because I couldn’t think of any other appropriate action.

  With the mountain almost upon us – it really was a mountain, I discovered, probably a little more than two miles high, though consisting of toothed pumice instead of the black diamond it appeared to be in the distance, and it only shined because it was sheathed in a thick layer of moisture – I began to see some very, very strange things. The reason they were strange was because they were so commonplace. First there appeared a rusted mailbox, half-buried in the ground, its door wedged slightly open in a menacing way. Then we came across the emaciated remains of a tire, then a hubcap, and eventually the sunken remains of a small van. By its shape I assumed it was a Volkswagon, or at least this place’s equivalent. A layer of crusty earth covered its aluminum shell, hiding all signs of its previous life and purpose. I heard a soft rattle come from the decaying vehicle. Silas gave it a wide berth, and I followed suit.

  Even more debris crossed our path the longer we walked, all of it as familiar as the mailbox, tire, and van. Bricks, malleable strips of metal I assumed to be siding, and even a pair of wire-rimmed glasses caught my eye. I thought of the sign – the one found outside the underground lair of the deceased Paul Nicely. Adding that to the memory of the placard Silas found on that first morning brought about a stark and depressing conclusion.

  This wasn’t some far-off land. This was home.

  There were no other worlds, I concluded, only different points in time, different confluences of events that either happened or didn’t. And this, as I saw it, was the inevitable end result of our ever-expanding population. At some point in the past the planet turned on us. The weather became violent and unpredictable. The polar caps melted, swallowing much of the coastline. It made perfect sense, as unbelievable as it seemed.

  I felt like giving up. If this was nothing but an exaggeration of the place I came from, how could I even consider bringing a child into the world? Everything could crumble at any minute, and that child would be cursed to bear something it had no part in bringing about. I stopped in my tracks and sat down on the hard, sandy ground. I pulled my knees to my chest and rocked, feeling like Charlton Heston at the end of Planet of the Apes.

  Silas, evidently sensing my distress, ambled up to me and stretched in the way he always did before lying down, and rested his drooling maw on my drawn-up knees. His mass pushed me back and I had to brace myself with my elbows to keep from toppling over. He stared at me, motionless save the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Short gusts of breath puffed from his black nostrils. I got lost in his eyes, regarding them as intently as he did mine. The totality of creation’s beauty was encapsulated in those large orbs. Though they’d obviously mellowed in brightness since his puppy days, there were still sparks of blue in them, bursting like fireworks from the darkened pupils. The deep brown was in fact gray and green, swirling together. There wasn’t any obvious design to their formation, no solid foundation, no predictability. It was as if nature had dumped various tubes of color into his eye socket and stirred, leaving behind this eddying mass of beauty.

  It amazed me that I’d never taken the time to notice these features in anyone’s eyes before. I’d been so busy I lost perspective. Busy doing what? The answer was simple.

  Busy falling into my own dark and lonely hole, just as I always had.

  I nodded to my boy, thanking him silently for the way he seemed to constantly pull me out of the doldrums in his wordless and knowing way. “What would I do without you?” I asked, shivering as a brisk arctic wind rattled my teeth. He stuck out his tongue, straightened up, and then glanced over his shoulder, where the base of the Crystal Mountain began, less than a football field away.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “Screw the second guessing. Gotta live for the moment. I get it. When everything’s quiet, when I’m rested, I’ll take it all in.” I stood up and squeezed the fleshy spot where his neck met his torso. “Right now moving forward is all that matters.”

  One foot in front of the other, surrounded by the crumbling remnants of a former existence, we kept on moving. The mountain seemed to open up its wet, menacing belly, greeting us with darkness. I looked down at my boy treading beside me, loyal as he’d ever been, and felt no fear.

  As long as he was here, I knew nothing could touch me.

  39

  At the precipice where one land met another I stood with my hand on my chi
n and stared. We’d followed the base of the mountain, circling around a cracked, dangerous landscape until we reached the other side. It was a harrowing experience, complete with shaky footing, sharp cliffs, and a snaking gully bordering the rise at least a hundred feet deep. I shuffled on the edge of this gully with my back pressed to the mountain’s soft, prickly rock, trying to keep my balance with twenty pounds of supplies hanging off my back. Whenever I found myself teetering toward the brink of falling in, Silas would circle around and steady me with his large frame.

  “Like I said, boy,” I muttered between gasps, “where would I be without you?”

  When we reached the other side, the afternoon sun reemerged from its sheath of clouds to greet us, illuminating the Wasteland beyond.

  It was as if the mountain acted as a dividing line. Before me was a vast jungle that stretched as far as I could see. The horizon line was marked by a thick wall of haze. Unlike by the ocean’s edge, the humidity here was so complete that water filled my lungs each time I took a breath.

  What struck me the most, though, was that while the other side of the mountain lived up to its name, Deadland, this side teemed with life. I heard insect sounds and what could’ve been monkey calls. Birds – at least I thought they were birds, since they were mere black specks in the distance – soared above the canopy. Every so often I’d see one of the dots drop through the tops of the trees and rocky cliffs, presumably after spotting something tasty to eat. I felt the way the early explorers must have when first opening their eyes to the Amazon – dumbfounded and filled with awe.