Nightmare Valley

by David Longhorn

  Which must, she reasoned, be feeding me oxygen. Because I'm not inhaling air.

  'Don't fight anything with your body, Denny! Fight with your mind! Form words with your mind!'

  Denny struggled to speak silently, imagining the sound words would make.

  'This any good?'

  The reply came instantly.

  'That'll do! Okay, I've got good news and bad news. Want the bad first?'

  'Okay,' Denny signaled.

  'We're being eaten. Real slow, the way big beasts do it … but eaten nonetheless.'

  Denny felt panic rising again, although she had always known this was the most likely scenario.

  'And the good news?' she asked.

  There was a pause, and Denny was about to ask again when Frankie replied.

  'We're going to redefine the concept of bringing something down from the inside.'

  Denny tried to laugh, forgetting there was no air in her lungs. She became aware that she was not, in fact, in total darkness. There was a faint, greenish glow in the distance, a blob of light linked to her by a few filaments of dimmer radiance. She blinked, then closed her eyes, but the pattern did not vanish.

  'Frankie? I'm seeing some kind of network with – I guess my mind's eye?'

  'That's me!' Frankie responded. 'Keep looking, kind of. See the rest of us.'

  Sure enough, dozens and then hundreds of luminous strands materialized around Denny, a huge network extending far into the distance. They were, she realized, like veins of precious mineral inside the living mountain.

  'Psychic links,' Frankie explained. 'But most of the humans are scared kids, hard to get much sense of out of them. The Interlopers in here just don't give a damn. Fatalistic. Still, you're here now. Really appreciate you following me through!'

  In her own mind, she's only been here maybe a few hours, at most, Denny reminded herself. No point in going into that.

  'How does this work?' Denny asked. 'Can I talk to anyone?'

  'Yeah,' Frankie replied. 'But the further away they are, the harder it gets. It's almost impossible to mind-share with Interlopers outside the creature. And, like I said–'

  'Interlopers?' Denny interrupted. 'Tell me more about that.'

  Before Frankie could reply, Denny felt a wave of movement pass through the dense fluid around her. It was a slow-moving spasm within the vast organism. At first, Denny assumed it was just part of the colossal creature's normal behavior. But then the wave came again, and she felt it shift her body with a definite jolt.

  'What was that?' Denny asked.

  'It's what we were hoping for,' Frankie replied. 'Can you feel the stone getting warmer?'

  Denny focused her attention on the talisman. Was the stone transmitting heat to her body? It was hard to tell in the luke-warm surroundings of jelly-like tissue.

  'Not sure,' she admitted. 'I might be imagining – Whoa!'

  The third wave was violent, a seismic shock that must have embraced a large part of the mountainous Soul Eater.

  'That's what we were all banking on,' Frankie said. 'The talisman is the one thing it can't digest. That's why all of us in here – the ones who can still think, at least – wanted you to come.'

  Before Denny could frame a reply, the Soul Eater began to heave and shudder in a continuous outburst of discomfort. Now the heat coming from the talisman was unmistakable. The stone was affecting the vast predator at least as violently as it had harmed the Interlopers.

  'What happens now?' Denny managed to ask as more ferocious convulsions hurled her back and forth inside the glutinous darkness.

  'With luck, it throws up,' Frankie replied.

  Oh great, Denny thought. I get to be a pavement pizza.

  The buffeting from the throes of the monster was so violent now that it was hard for Denny to think. She had no idea which way up she was, and the mucilaginous tissue was now uncomfortably hot. And getting hotter.

  Broiled alive, she thought. What a way to go.

  But now the darkness around her was giving way to a faint glow.

  I must be nearer the skin of the beast.

  'I can see–' she began to signal, but before she could finish, one final, tremendous spasm flung her up toward the light.

  ***

  Lucy wailed like a terrified seven-year-old as the guards pinned her down and fastened the restraints. Zoffany hoped that the others weren't feeling as conflicted by the situation as she was. Her mind knew that they were dealing with a dangerous, inhuman creature. Her emotions – no doubt boosted by Lucy's psychic powers – screamed that a child was in distress.

  Fortunately, Forster had picked his team well, and the creature was soon laid on a gurney and wheeled briskly through the under-level corridors. A gag reduced the screams and sobs, but Lucy continued her convincing act all the way to the door of the medical research unit. When the team took her inside, however, the creature fell silent. Lucy stared around her with huge, dark eyes.

  Zoffany glanced up at the camera in the corner of the room. Benson was expecting success from his chief researcher, not doubt and hesitation. Lucy's gurney was wheeled under a modified X-ray machine and the creature's head placed in a special clamp. Zoffany had expected the captive to struggle, but it remained still. The security team withdrew to the doorway, knowing what was coming.

  This might be easier than I thought, she thought as she retreated behind a lead screen. But we still don't know what effect the radiation will have on it.

  “Right,” she said to a technician. “Fire it up.”

  There was a deep hum, a click. The machine was re-positioned by a remote control and another image taken. The procedure was repeated until Lucy's body had been scanned from all angles.

  “Now, we'll see,” Zoffany murmured. “The moment of truth.”

  She stepped out from behind the screen, beckoning Forster's team back in. The last position of the X-ray unit had placed it between Zoffany and the gurney. As she stepped around the bulky machine, she saw that Lucy had managed to tear one arm free and was slashing at its restraints with razor-sharp talons. After a brief struggle, Forster's men subdued Lucy with a steel net and cattle prods. The creature lay curled on the tiled floor while Zoffany reported to Benson that the first phase of the plan was complete.

  “There was no kind of talisman in that body,” Zoffany declared. “No magic amulet to change the laws of nature.”

  “I can see that,” the chairman replied. “I can also see that the internal organs are fascinating and that the subject is proving awkward. I've received some information from one of our field operatives that might be of use to you.”

  As Benson explained, Zoffany started to shake her head.

  “A huge overdose of morphine?”

  “Apparently it does subdue them, if only for a few moments,” Benson said simply. “That country doctor seems to have performed a very worthwhile experiment.”

  Zoffany looked at Lucy, still writhing in the steel net, surrounded by guards. It would be impossible to do anything with the creature unless it could be immobilized in some way. The last time it had been rendered inactive had been with a massive blow to the cranium. Compared with that, a drug overdose was at least more scientific.

  “Very well,” she said. “I'll try it.”

  “Don't kill it,” Benson cautioned. “Unless it is unavoidable.”

  After Lucy was knocked out, Zoffany prepared for exploratory surgery. She carefully drew a dotted line down the sternum and called for a scalpel.

  I'm going to be the first person to explore the internal organs of a non-human intelligence, she thought. But the Nobel committee won't be getting a nomination.

  The scientist began to cut into the pale, colorless flesh. Dark fluid leaked out, ran in rivulets down the creature's rib-cage into a gutter.

  “I will first expose the heart and lungs, or more precisely the Interloper organs analogous to those,” she said, glancing up at the camera. “It seems reasonable to assume that functionality–”
r />   Lucy opened her eyes and lifted her head, looking straight at Zoffany, and her features returned to those of a defenseless child. Zoffany was so startled that she froze. One of Forster's guards took a jab at the creature with his electric prod.

  “No,” Zoffany warned. “Just put in a morphine IV, should have done that earlier.”

  One of her lab assistants clumsily inserted the needle into the creature's neck. Lucy did not flinch, but simply looked down at the incision on its chest. Then it looked up at Zoffany again and spoke in a breathy, little-girl voice.

  “Denny says hi,” it said, as its head fell back onto the operating table. “And she'll be back soon.”

  Zoffany hesitated, then started cutting again.

  ***

  “Say Aaah for me,” said Wakefield.

  “Aaaaaah!” replied Isobel, loudly.

  Wakefield shared a smile with Mel Bavistock.

  “I think she's made a remarkable – let's call it a recovery,” he concluded.

  Mel nodded. Wakefield had noticed that she never let her daughter get more than a couple of feet away from her.

  Can't blame her, he thought. She's been through hell. And so has her little girl.

  “Are you sleeping all right?” he asked Isobel.

  The girl nodded.

  “I thought I would have nightmares about that bad place, but I didn't,” she said.

  “And you know it's best not to talk about it if you want to keep the nightmares away?” Wakefield said in his best 'kindly uncle' voice.

  Isobel nodded, looked up at her mother.

  “I promised I wouldn't say anything. And so did Trudy and Michael.”

  “That's right, dear,” Mel replied, absent-mindedly tidying her daughter's hair. “Least said, soonest mended.”

  Three days had passed since the return of Isobel and the Hawkes twins. As before, Wakefield supported the official line that the traumatized children had returned to Branksholme Woods in some vaguely-defined 'cathartic gesture'. The media feeding frenzy had soon abated when it became apparent that nobody else had been brutally slain. Jim Davison had prevailed on Mel not to reveal Denny's disappearance.

  “Well, that's about it for now,” Wakefield said, standing up and getting a lollipop from a jar on his desk. “Here, don't tell the dentist I gave it you.”

  After the Bavistocks had gone, the doctor finished the day's online admin. After his receptionist had left, he stood for a moment in the empty waiting room. Then he went into his house, changing into old walking clothes, and set off up the hill toward Branksholme Woods.

  Jim was getting ready to leave when Wakefield entered the clearing. The gateway, Wakefield saw, was still present. At twilight, the shimmering globe was just perceptible under the trees.

  “Nothing going on?” asked Wakefield, already knowing the answer.

  “Just a few hikers passing by – didn't see me,” replied Jim, shouldering his backpack. “I'll be back to relieve you at midnight. Looks like rain, so–”

  Wakefield ran past the other man, heading for the shotgun that leaned against a stump. A figure was forming in the gateway. By the time Wakefield had picked up the gun, a clearly-defined human form had appeared.

  Or at least, it looks human, Wakefield thought.

  The figure fell onto the leaf-mold with a thud and gasp. It was not Denny, Wakefield could see that. The newcomer was feminine but far too small, the hair too short. What's more, the person was caked in a layer of yellowish gunk that looked something like congealed bacon fat. She got up and crawled out from under the gateway, then collapsed.

  Exhaustion, thought Wakefield, but then remembered some medical cases he had seen. Or someone who hasn't been able to walk for a good while.

  “Who are you?” snapped Jim, stepping forward and holding out a cattle prod.

  “Jim?”

  The voice was weak, rasping, but the name was clear.

  “Frankie?” Jim said, lowering the prod. “Oh my God.”

  The gateway darkened again and another figure fell through. This one, the doctor recognized. Denny, too, was covered in the hardening mucous. Jim took a step back, glanced at the puzzled Wakefield.

  “We can't be sure it's really them, not without tests,” he said.

  “Feel free to test us all,” Denny said, struggling upright, and then moving swiftly out from under the gateway. “But you'd better be ready to put in some overtime.”

  “What–” began Jim, but before he could ask what Denny meant, the sphere darkened, and a third mucous-encrusted figure fell onto the forest floor. Denny dashed forward and picked up what Wakefield saw was a small boy. The child's eyes were huge with fear.

  “See, Jimmy, I told you it was okay,” Denny said soothingly. She looked up at Wakefield, grinned. “We came through first to show them it was safe.”

  The boy made a gagging sound and a lump of hardened mucous came out of his mouth.

  “Here,” Denny went on, handing the boy to Jim. “This is Jimmy, your namesake! Maybe you could help clean the gunk off of them, guys?”

  Wakefield nodded, baffled, and started to tear the encrusted organic matter from Frankie. The diminutive woman smiled ruefully, raised herself up on an elbow.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Proper introductions later, I guess. There were about a dozen of us in there, not quite sure. Some of them …”

  A frown passed over Frankie's face.

  “Some had been almost totally absorbed, but their brains and nervous systems were still active. We didn't realize until we escaped. We had to leave them behind.”

  This is lunacy, thought Wakefield. But I've seen so much madness already. Why not another dose?

  A fourth person fell through the gateway, this one a full-grown man. He lay inert, and Wakefield left Frankie to check on the man's pulse. As he reached down, he saw that the man's clothes seemed oddly archaic. The outfit reminded him of pictures he'd seen of his grandfather in working clothes. But this man was painfully thin, like a famine victim.

  A time traveler, he thought. Decades spent away in that evil place.

  “Yeah, he's been in there a good while,” said Denny, seeing Wakefield's expression. “Probably the oldest survivor. See if you can help him, doc?”

  They dragged the man to one side just before another small figure appeared out of thin air and landed with a pathetic squeak. Frankie was helping out now, moving slowly but with determination. As Wakefield examined the man, he found that almost all of his fat and muscle had been eaten away. Fortunately, his skin, while thin and badly abraded by his ordeal, was still mostly intact.

  “I think we can save him, but we need to get them all back to the clinic,” he said. “And after that, to an intensive care unit.”

  “We have good facilities at the foundation,” Jim said quickly. “Otherwise, there'll be too many questions. I'll call it in.”

  “What happened to these people?” asked Wakefield.

  “We were offered to the Soul Eater,” said Frankie matter-of-factly.

  “Soul Eater?” asked Jim. “What's that?”

  “Let's just say it's big, dumb, and is getting over a terrible bellyache,” Denny said. “But did the children get home all right?”

  It took Wakefield a moment to realize that freeing Isobel and the Hawkes twins had happened only minutes earlier from Denny's perspective. Jim explained the situation. Denny frowned at one revelation.

  “So the Interlopers posing as the twins are still on the loose?”

  “They could be waiting for a chance to go back through the gateway,” Jim pointed out. “Since we're going to have to leave it unguarded they could get home today.”

  “Yeah,” Denny said, not sounding convinced. “I guess they could. I suppose they wouldn't want to stick around now that we know what they look like.”

  ***

  “It doesn't look like much,” said Gould, turning over the dull purplish stone in his hand. “Hard to believe it can slay monsters.”

  “I know,�
�� Denny replied. “But believe me, it gets the job done. Any idea how it does it, by the way?”

  Gould put the talisman back into a clear plastic container labeled 'Artifact #1' and closed the lid. He stared at the box for a few moments.

  “The best theory we have at the moment,” he said finally, “is that it somehow draws power from a singularity. A point where normal laws of space and time break down.”

  Denny frowned.

  “Sorry, but isn't that like saying 'it's magic'?”

  Gould shrugged.

  “I suppose so,” he admitted. “It certainly defies conventional analysis. There's talk of putting it inside a particle accelerator, bombarding it with protons, neutrons, helium nuclei – see if we can boost its energy.”

  “Or make it go boom. Cool,” she said.

  He isn't going to say it, she thought. Up to me.

  “I'm sorry we didn't find your sister,” Denny said, in a gentler voice. “We wanted to, believe me – but Lucy definitely wasn't there.”

  Gould nodded, not meeting her eyes.

  “At least now you've got some protection,” she pointed out. “We know there are other Soul Eaters, right? She was offered to another one, that's the logical explanation.”

  Gould looked up at that, frowning.

  “That information was supposed to be classified.”

  “Tough,” Denny said, “because when I was in there I got a lot of info about the whole setup. All of the survivors were linked in to this kind of organic internet, I guess you'd call it. Fragments of Interloper history, why their world is screwed up. Not everything, but a lot.”

  “And you'll tell us what you learned?” Gould asked, tentatively. “Full disclosure?”

  Denny gave a thin smile.

  “Not much point in me holding anything back when you have all those other guys in the basement, right?”

  Gould reddened slightly.

  “The survivors are being given the best treatment money can buy–” he began.

  “Sure,” Denny put in, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “I'm sure they are, but most of them are kids, and you guys are not their legal guardians.”