Pretty Dark Nothing

by Heather L. Reid

  “You haven’t heard me play, yet.” Aaron pulled her into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. This means a lot to me, you know?” He squeezed her once and let go. Placing his finger under her chin, he guided her eyes to his, giving her no choice but to look into the golden-green light shining behind them. “I mean it,” he said with such sincerity it almost made her cry—like he knew exactly what she needed to hear—and then he kissed her. His lips, warm as the sun, burned away her fear and doubt, leaving her tingling from her toes to her hair. She wanted to hold onto that kiss forever, and when he pulled away, she broke into a cold sweat as anxiety and timidity returned to her two-fold.

  “Hey, Aaron.” A thin boy with blond hair approached them. “So, this is the date I’ve been hearing about.”

  “Quinn, this is Ben, our drummer.”

  “Glad you could make it.” Ben held out his hand.

  Quinn forced herself to take it. “Me, too,” she said, trying to turn on her usual social charm. “I can’t wait to hear Aaron play.”

  “Well, you won’t be disappointed. Speaking of, Jenna’s ready to start. Nice to meet you, Quinn. I hope to see you again soon.”

  “You, too,” Quinn added.

  “This is so exciting.” Teresa squealed, startling Quinn. “Your boyfriend! A real musician!”

  “One date doesn’t make him my boyfriend. But a date to homecoming? Now that’s another story.” She warmed at the memory of Aaron’s homecoming proposal and grinned.

  “No way!” Teresa squealed again.

  “Way.”

  Quinn’s phone chirped. Digging in her bag, she checked the text flashing on her screen. Jeff. Again. He wanted to meet her.

  “Who is it?” Reese asked.

  “Nobody important.” Quinn ignored him and turned her phone to silent.

  “What’s up, y’all?” Jenna stood at the front of the altar, the band in a semi-circle behind her. She surveyed the room, making eye contact with the audience as she spoke. “Habitual Reality is in the house. Are you ready to rock?” The crowd erupted in whistles and cheers. “Before we get started, we’d like to pay homage to the ruins of this beautiful church with a quick prayer.”

  Quinn tried to concentrate: head down, eyes closed, just like she should, but Jenna’s prayer came through in static bits, like a bad cell connection to someone in China. She shook her head and rubbed her ears.

  Concentrate. Concentrate. You’re supposed to be praying. What will Aaron think if you can’t even sit still for a prayer?

  The tiny hairs on Quinn’s arms and neck stood on end. She was being watched. She opened one eye and tried to find the source of the stare, but every eye was closed, and every head was bowed. She closed her eye again, concentrating on Jenna’s words.

  Blah, blah, blah, how much longer will this prayer last?

  Her palms sweated, and the oppression of her watcher intensified. She jerked her head up. Jenna’s steel gray eyes penetrated hers. Her mouth moved, like a silent movie without the subtitles. She stared at her, never blinking, never losing eye contact. She raised her finger, pointing, singling her out.

  “Amen,” Jenna said, causing Quinn to jump.

  Jenna raised her head and opened her eyes, as if she hadn’t been watching Quinn. Quinn looked around to see if anyone noticed anything out of the ordinary, but if they did, no one let on.

  Jenna looked at Aaron, and he nodded. Calm, he stood in front of the crowd and smiled right at Quinn. That small gesture—his smile, his voice, his presence—was the eye in the storm of her distress. He gestured to Ben to count off, and the music started. People beside her came to their feet, clapping their hands with the beat. Not wanting to look out of place, she followed their lead.

  The ruins were truly rocking as the band played through their varied set list of classic-rock covers, punk, garage, and more. They spun a seamless homage to great music through the decades. She lost herself in the tunes, and the world melted away. The fervor with which the musicians played lifted her spirits, and she forgot all about her uneasiness, the shadows, the blood on the cross, and Jenna’s haunting stare.

  For the finale, Aaron took the microphone. He waited until quiet lulled the crowd.

  “This one’s called ‘Starlight Memory.’”

  He nodded to Jenna, who stepped up to the lead mic once again. The crowd sat, expectant. Soon, the a cappella notes poured from Jenna. Aaron joined her a few phrases later, his tenor harmony entwining with her clear alto.

  Under the night’s bright canopy,

  Your eyes and mine,

  We stare into infinity,

  In heart, in mind.

  Quinn felt his love in every note. He had written her a song about their night under the stars. Their song, so beautiful.

  We’re made of star stuff, you and I,

  And I think about the possibility,

  Of life and secrets, no more mysteries.

  Nothing between us but stardust and moonlight and a billion years of history,

  And I think about the possibility,

  Of you and I, in that bright sky and wonder if you feel it to.

  The way I care for you.

  Moisture flowed down her cheeks. She did feel it. She cared for him. More than cared, she loved him.

  Orion grant me one more kiss,

  One more moment just like this,

  Beneath the stars,

  To let me care for you.

  She longed to run up to him, to wrap her arms around him, and tell him. When this was over, she would. She would tell him everything, no more secrets, nothing between them but stardust and moonlight.

  Quinn beamed at Aaron, and he winked as he started the second verse. She held her breath in anticipation, but static crackled through the speakers, drowning the music. Quinn rubbed her ears and frowned. An intense ringing overtone drowned the music. She shook her head and glanced around, but nobody else seemed to notice anything unusual. Wind whipped through the sanctuary, blowing out the candles nearest to her, and cloaking the audience in dusk. Uneasiness kicked her heart with a thud. The dark oak beams of the cross moved and stretched. Quinn shifted in her chair, watching the cross as it creaked and groaned, stretching itself to the four corners behind the band. Blood bubbled at the crest. Silent, crimson ribbons flowed down the dead wood, first dripping, then pouring all over the alter.

  The room glowed red in the wake of the flood. The band played on, oblivious to the blood oozing down their faces, running into their eyes, down their bodies, clinging to their clothes, covering them in sheets of scarlet. Quinn swallowed a scream as Aaron disappeared under the gooey plasma.

  “Quinn, are you okay? You look a little pale.” Teresa patted Quinn’s knee.

  No one else saw. She sat on her hands, fighting with the knowledge that only she could see the blood. Tremors rocked her legs as she shifted in her seat, resisting the urge to grab Reese, to run to Aaron, and drag them all away. “I’m fine.” She crossed one leg, then the other. The blood surged down the stone steps, toward the audience, toward her. Sweat beads popped up on her forehead. “It’s just a little hot in here.”

  Quinn squeezed her eyes shut, hoping the gruesome scene would disappear, but when she opened her eyes, the blood continued to envelope everything in its path. Down the stone steps it surged, toward the blind audience, toward her.

  “How can you be hot? It’s freezing outside. Can’t you feel the draft coming through those broken windows?”

  “I just am,” Quinn snapped.

  “Shhhhhh,” a girl behind them warned.

  The bloody magma continued toward Quinn’s seat, turning from living gore to a giant crusted scab at her feet. Eyes wide, she forced herself to ignore the overwhelming compulsion to yank her knees to her chest and curl into a protective ball. Instead, she sat straight as a pencil, staring forward, refusing to let fear ruin her night, refusing to believe any of it was real. Around her the blood coursed, splashing the legs of the audience, covering their shoes, creeping up to
their knees, their waists, but Quinn remained untouched by the flaming flow, the dark scab swelling with each wave of crimson as the blood stopped just shy of her.

  She flinched as the crusted mass at her feet cracked like a ghoulish egg, birthing shadowy wisps of smoke, her tormenting horde.

  Please. Not now, not here.

  One landed on her shoulder. She shuddered as it rubbed its bony head against her neck, scraping soft flesh with its sharp, pointy ears.

  You’re not real. Knuckles white from gripping the sides of her chair, her mind tried to rationalize the irrational. Red lights, that’s all it was.

  “Oh, Quinn,” the shadow-demon whispered in her ear. “You always fall back on the old ‘you’re not real’ mantra. You still believe that?”

  No. Every day, she questioned their reality and her sanity.

  More wisps emerged from the cracked scab, flying around her head, gathering near her feet, on her lap, her shoulders.

  “Are you crazy?” One approached her left leg, eyeing the white, soft skin of her ankle and running a forked tongue over three rows of razor-sharp teeth.

  No. She questioned that, too, and she wasn’t sure which would be worse, them being real or her being crazy.

  “Either we’re real, or you’re crazy. Yes?” A bigger shadow-demon knocked her tormentor sideways with a leathery wing. It knocked him back. They tumbled, biting and scratching each other, until the first one’s head hit the cooling magma. It cried out in pain before blinking out of sight.

  I don’t know. She didn’t know what to believe anymore.

  “Maybe?” The victor blinked out and reappeared above her head, resuming the conversation his brother had started.

  What do you want?

  “We want you to leave.”

  We had a deal.

  The demons laughed. “You believed what you wanted to believe. And you should know better than to deal with the devil.”

  I told you I wouldn’t tell him anything.

  “You will.” The three on her lap inched closer. “We know you will. We can feel it. Here.” The sharp tip of a leathery wing dug into her chest, just above her heart. “We can’t have that.”

  The pressure took her breath away, a knife of pain exploded inside as the tip cut through her flesh like butter.

  Reese shushed her and pointed to the stage, where the band played on under a blanket of blood, the crowd cheering them into an encore as if everything were normal. Aaron stood at the front, cocooned in dripping gore, eyes closed, arms raised to the ceiling.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and sent a mental scream at her attackers: Go away!

  This sent all of them roaring in hysterics. The beast withdrew its wing. She opened her eyes as it took flight with its brothers, turning, twisting, swooping, and blinking in and out of her reality. Clutching her shirt, she expected to see a red stain where the beast had cut her, but her sweater was clean, her flesh whole.

  What do you want?

  “Leave.”

  No.

  “Don’t draw attention to yourself.”

  No.

  “Quietly.”

  “Quickly.”

  “You don’t belong here.”

  No!

  A beast the size of a condor rose from the oozing wound at her feet. Gore dripped from its massive wings as it pushed off the ground and hovered in front of her. The metallic tang of blood assaulted her nostrils. Dizziness gripped Quinn as its yellow glowing eyes stared into hers. Then it screamed, “GET OUT!”

  Quinn struck out at the leathery beast, but it blinked out of sight.

  “Don’t whap at the beasties,” one of the demons on her shoulder mocked.

  “Are you okay?” Teresa whispered.

  “Mosquito.” Quinn tried not to whimper.

  “God I hate those bloodsuckers. Did you get it?”

  Quinn nodded.

  “Good.” Reese turned back to the stage.

  “If you leave, we’ll leave them alone.” The biggest of the demons, the ringleader, planted itself on Teresa’s shoulder, rolling its bulging yellow eyes until they focused on Reese’s throat.

  How?

  “Lie. Any excuse will do. Hurry.” The beast snapped its jaws at Reese.

  Quinn scrambled for an answer, spewing the first idea that popped into her head. “Do you have a tampon?” Quinn ignored the slick wet ropes of crimson that snaked up Teresa’s legs, concentrating on her blood-free face.

  “What?”

  “A tampon, do you have one? It’s an emergency.” Quinn drummed her knee with her fingers. “An unexpected red tide.”

  “Oh, I hate when that happens,” she whispered. “Hold on.” Teresa reached under the chair. “Crap. I left my purse in the car. Do you really need one right now?”

  “Hurry.” Its fat, greasy belly undulated as it fluttered its wings in agitation.

  “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.”

  The urgency in her voice prompted Teresa to nudge Marcus in the ribs. “I need your car keys.”

  “What for?”

  Still attached to Teresa’s shoulder, the beast licked its leathery lips with a forked tongue.

  “You leaving me or something?” Marcus’s eyes grew wide, and he raised his hand and sniffed his underarm. “I showered, used deodorant. Is it my breath?” He cupped his hand in front of his mouth and breathed out. Then he sucked the air back into his nostrils. “Ahhhh, minty fresh.”

  “Just shut up and give me your keys.” Teresa held out her hand, but Marcus just stared at her. “Quinn needs something out of my purse, and I left it in the car,” Teresa snapped. Marcus still didn’t move. “It’s a girl thing. Do you want me to go into detail?”

  “No!”

  “Keys.” The demon hissed at Marcus.

  “Here, take them. I don’t want to know.” Marcus dug in his pocket, handed the keys to Teresa, and Teresa dangled them in front of Quinn.

  Had Marcus heard the demon? The beast smacked its cracked lips, turned its narrow head toward Reese, and inserted its slimy tongue into her ear. Quinn blanched.

  “Damn mosquitoes.” Reese slapped at her cheek. “Do you want me to go with you?”

  Yes! The imp narrowed its eyes at her, stroking long talons through Teresa’s hair.

  “Um, no … I need … I think I can handle this mission on my own. Besides, I don’t want you to miss anything.” Quinn grabbed the keys from Teresa. “Be right back.” The demon laughed and blinked from Teresa’s shoulder to Quinn’s. Its fetid breath, rank as a rotting corpse, made her stomach coil. Holding her breath, she walked up the aisle, blood parting like the red sea wherever she stepped.

  Don’t panic. Calm, normal steps. Nothing is wrong.

  She kept her head down, pausing when she reached the stone arch. Was she abandoning Reese, Aaron, and Marcus to the bloody gore? She knew, knew it wasn’t real. Still, she couldn’t help but take a step back into the church.

  The demon horde flew at her. She covered her face as they scratched and clawed at her exposed flesh.

  “Get out!”

  She sprinted through the door and into the dark. There wasn’t anything she could do for them now.

  More writhing shadows wrapped the outside of St. Angeles. Demon gargoyles lined the headstones in the cemetery, taking flight as Quinn raced across the dirt lot. Hundreds of wings beat behind her, their stinking breath hot on her neck. She had to lead them away. Away from Aaron and Reese. Home, she had to get home.

  Quinn pushed the button on Marcus’ key fob. The headlights blinked twice, illuminating the scarred bark of the oak tree in front of it. Shadows hung from the branches, like an evil, weeping willow.

  Keeping her eyes on the tree—afraid at any moment it might come to life and crush her beneath the weight of all those shadows—she opened the door, got in the Jeep, and locked it. She jammed the key into the ignition, turning it hard. The motor roared to life, and she realized the Jeep was a standard.

  “Great.” She grumbled under
her breath. “Okay, don’t panic, you can do this.” Quinn turned the interior light on and glanced at the gearshift. “R for reverse. That’s simple.” She looked in the rearview mirror for the all clear. A dozen leathery beasties leered at her through the rear window, wings beating slowly as they pecked at the glass with curved talons.

  Gripping the stick shift in her hand, Quinn shoved it to the right and back. She pressed her foot on the gas, revved the engine, and let her foot off the clutch. The Jeep sped backward. The demons screeched and shot straight up. She turned the wheel to the right, then slammed her foot on the brake before she crashed into another car.

  “Piece of cake.” Quinn worked on relaxing her mind. “Forward? No problem.” She pushed the stick up into first gear and paused. Again she revved the engine, took her foot off the brake, and let out the clutch. This time, the Jeep lurched forward, then died. Quinn glanced out at the tree where several of the demons perched, staring at her with beady eyes, craning their necks, daring her to abandon the Jeep, but she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Determined, she leaned forward, gripped the stick, and tried again, doing her best to ignore the watching throng.

  First, clutch, gas, lurch, stall. Clutch, gas, lurch, stall. Clutch, gas, lurch, stall.

  Quinn pounded the steering wheel. “Who drives a stick shift in the twenty-first century!”

  The outburst inspired her dark audience to taunt her from their twisted wooded balconies. Quinn took a deep breath and turned the radio full blast, drowning out the grating cackles—at least for the moment.

  “Come on, girl,” she cooed at the Jeep. “You can do it. It’s not that hard. Please, baby, for me. It’s just five miles.” She turned the key, let out the clutch as she put her foot on the gas, and the vehicle lurched forward. This time, it didn’t stall. Quinn popped the Jeep into second, making her way out onto Westland Boulevard.

  Turning left onto the dirt road, Quinn shifted into third, then fourth gear. She raced through the first stop sign, not daring to look in the rearview mirror for fear of what she would see. When she hit fifty-five, Quinn shifted the Jeep into overdrive. The Jeep jerked and swayed as she sped down the potholed, winding, two-lane road.