by Bill Myers
Ryan nodded, barely listening.
“You don’t understand. Krissi would never go anywhere without her bag. It’s got her makeup, her brush, all the bare essentials for her life.”
Ryan stared down at it a moment. Then they both turned to the cabin. It looked completely deserted. No lights. No sign of activity. Once again Ryan reached out to take her hand — and once again Becka was grateful for its warmth and strength.
They started forward. This time it was Becka’s turn to call out. “Krissi? Philip?”
No answer.
They arrived at the porch steps. The railing was covered with a thin layer of frost.
“Krissi!”
The air was dead still. No sound, no movement. Just the shuffling of their feet and the creaking wood as they started up the stairs.
“Philip!”
They reached the door. Ryan looked at Becka, took a deep breath, and reached for the handle. Becka wasn’t sure if the shiver that raced across her shoulders was from the cold or from what awaited them inside.
She would soon find out.
Chapter 8
A wave of relief washed over Philip as he heard Ryan and Becka calling his name outside the cabin. He wanted to shout an answer, but he was afraid to send Krissi into another fit. The last one had wiped her out. They had barely arrived when she had suddenly jumped out of the Jeep, run into the cabin, and thrown herself down on the floor, screaming. It was like an epileptic seizure, only worse.
It had taken all of Philip’s strength just to stop her from crashing into the furniture and walls and hurting herself. When she had finally reached exhaustion, he did his best to quiet her.
Soon her screams had turned to soft, helpless whimpering.
“Philip,” she’d moaned, “I need a pencil — they need to write something. Please, get me a pencil.”
But he had no pen or pencil on him, and he wasn’t about to leave her to find one.
“Please, they want to communicate. We’ve got to let them communicate.”
“Shh,” was all he could say as he sat with her on the floor.
Holding her. Rocking her. “Shh, it’s going to be okay.” He fought back the tears. It had been a long, long time since he had cried.
But he was scared. More scared than he could remember — not of UFOs or aliens or whatever, but of losing Krissi. He’d lost his mother and sisters. That had nearly destroyed him. He wasn’t about to lose the only other thing he cherished.
They stayed that way, huddled together on the floor, for he didn’t know how long. It was freezing, but he didn’t dare let go of her to start a fire. At least not yet. Maybe after she fell asleep.
She was so exhausted she was nearly there.
Then he heard Ryan and Becka calling. The cabin door creaked open and there they stood.
“Over here,” he called softly. “We’re over here.” Ryan was the first to step inside. “Are you guys okay?” He fumbled for the switch on the wall and snapped it on. Welcome light flooded the room. Becka entered behind him, but as soon as her foot touched the floor, Philip felt Krissi’s body grow rigid.
“Who-who’s there?” she asked, squinting from the light.
“It’s us, Krissi,” Ryan answered. “Me and Beck.” She looked up to Philip accusingly. “You told them where we were? You invited them?”
It was time to face the music. “Krissi, I don’t think what’s happening … I’m not convinced it’s good.”
“They’ll scare him off!” She struggled to sit up. “You read what Xandrak wrote. He won’t be able to help us if their beliefs hold us back.”
“Maybe holding us back …” Philip searched for the words.
“Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”
“What?”
“After all that’s happened to us, maybe there’s something about their beliefs we need.”
“How can you say that?” Her voice rang with hurt and betrayal. “They’re going to ruin everything. Don’t you see?”
“Krissi,” Ryan said, “we’re not here to ruin — ” But he was interrupted by his car horn honking in short bursts, over and over again. Everyone turned toward the open door. Outside, bright lights flashed on the trees, off and on, off and on.
“What’s that?” Krissi demanded.
“I think it’s my car alarm.” Ryan stepped outside for a better look. “That’s weird.”
“Something bump into it?” Becka asked, joining him.
Ryan shook his head. “I never armed it. How could the thing go off if I never set it?” He shrugged, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and headed down the steps to investigate. Becka followed.
Philip wanted to call out, to beg them to stay. But he knew how weak and stupid that would sound, so he remained quiet.
He wished he hadn’t.
As soon as Ryan and Becka were out of sight, Krissi rose unsteadily to her feet.
“Where are you going?”
“He’s here,” she whispered.
Immediately Philip was beside her. “Who is? Who’s here?”
“Xandrak.”
He fought off a shiver and looked around the room. “I don’t see any — ”
Suddenly the table radio blasted on at full volume. Philip spun toward it, but no one was there. He looked back at Krissi.
She was staring off into space again, her eyes starting to glaze over. He gave her a little shake. “Krissi? Oh, not again! What’s going on?”
She didn’t respond.
The TV on the bookshelf suddenly came on and began to blare. There was no picture, just lots of snow. And static. Very loud static.
“Krissi?” He shouted over the noise. He gave her a harder shake. “Krissi!”
But Krissi didn’t even seem to hear him. She slowly turned toward the door.
“Krissi! Answer me!”
No response.
“Ryan!” he shouted, more alarmed than ever. “Becka!” Instantly the radio and TV shut off. Along with the light in the room. Once again they were immersed in darkness. And silence. Even Ryan’s car alarm had stopped.
“Krissi?” Philip whispered.
Still no answer, but he could feel her body start to tremble.
“Krissi?”
Then, ever so slowly, she raised her hand until it was pointing directly at the door. Philip’s eyes followed her gesture; then he sucked in his breath. Someone was there. Standing in the open doorway. It was impossible to make out much detail, but there was a silhouette of a short creature, maybe four feet tall. He was grotesquely skinny with long arms and a strange, triangle-shaped head.
“Xandrak?” Krissi’s voice was barely a whisper.
The creature said nothing but raised his arm. At the end of it were three long, wiry fingers.
Krissi started to move. Philip’s grip on her shoulder tightened.
“Philip …”
He held her firmly.
“Philip, let me go. He wants to talk to me.” But he held tight. Nothing would make him let go. Not this time.
Without warning, there was an explosion of light. It blasted through the doorway and windows. Blinding. Overpowering.
Exactly the same light that had assaulted them in the Jeep. The energy was so strong it knocked Philip to the ground. He barely hit the floor before he was scrambling to his knees, fighting to get back to his feet and grab Krissi. But by the time he stood, she was gone. He spun to the door. So was the creature.
“Krissi!” he screamed.
The light vanished.
“No!” He bolted toward the door and out onto the porch just in time to crash into Ryan.
“What was that?” Ryan exclaimed. “It was like lightning!”
“They’ve got Krissi!”
“Who? What?”
Then Philip spotted it. For a split second a ball of silvery light hovered over the ridge of the driveway — and then it was gone.
There was no time to explain. He raced for his car.
Ryan grabbed him. “
Philip, wait!”
“They have Krissi. Don’t you understand?”
“Yes, but — ”
“Let me go.”
“You can’t fight this stuff on your own.” He tried to pull away, but Ryan held him tight. “You don’t understand!” Philip shouted. “I let her down once. I can’t do it again!”
“You’ve got to let us help you!” Ryan shouted back. “You can’t fight it on your own.” Again Philip tried to break free, but Ryan held on. “You said it yourself. You need our help. You need our faith.”
“I tried it.”
“This is different.”
They continued to struggle. “Let go!”
“Philip, you’ve got to trust — ”
“Let go!”
“Phil — ”
Philip clenched his fist, drew his arm back, and hit Ryan with everything he had. Becka screamed as Ryan flew across the porch, hitting the window with the back of his head. The glass shattered, and he slowly slid to the floor.
Philip did not stop to watch.
**********
Ttocs’ new attacker, Wraith, was a ghoul, fifteenth class. Normally he wouldn’t waste time on someone as weak and defense-less as Ttocs had become, but Scott had been pretty ruthless in the beginning, and what goes around comes around. It was pay-back time.
The dice fell worse than before. Wraith relentlessly stripped Ttocs of his armor and weapon points, smashing, parrying, and dissolving them with deadly acid from his fangs.
Scott hunched over the keyboard in the back room of the store, typing for all he was worth. Sweat dripped from his face, but he didn’t notice. His heart pounded furiously, but he didn’t care. It was no longer his sweat or his heart. It was Ttocs’. And he was no longer in the General Store; he was somewhere in the crypt, fighting for his very life.
He rolled the dice to retreat, but Wraith was far too clever.
He cast a spell on Ttocs, paralyzing him. Then, assisted by the powers of hell, he levitated Ttocs and turned him around, forcing him to face a giant sword made of dragon teeth. Teeth that would embed themselves into an opponent’s throat and eat his flesh.
The sword flew swiftly toward his neck. Ttocs tried to move, to duck, but the spell was too powerful. The sword hit its mark.
Scott cried out in pain, grabbing at his own throat. Now the teeth began their deadly job, gnawing and tearing. Ttocs gasped for breath, but it did no good. He staggered and clutched at his neck, coughing and wheezing. Everything around him started to spin, the light grew dim, color faded.
He fell. Hard. Try as he might, Scott could not get him to move. His unbeatable creation lay motionless.
It was over. Ttocs was dead.
Scott stared at the screen, his heart thundering in his head, his breath coming in short gasps. It couldn’t be! Ttocs was too great. Scott had spent too much time making him powerful, unstoppable, undefeatable. But there on the screen lay the character, his eyes frozen in what had been a brutal, agonizing death.
Scott closed his own eyes. How could this be? How could Ttocs be gone? He lowered his head into his hands as a lump of emotion rose into his throat. His friend was dead. His creation.
His self …
Scott sat there silently a long, long time. And then he began to weep.
**********
Philip bounced out of the driveway and slid onto the main road.
He tromped on the gas and the Jeep fishtailed. He fought the wheel and managed to bring it back under control. A hundred yards ahead, the silvery ball of light hovered ten, maybe fifteen, feet above the road. It seemed to be waiting for him to catch up.
Philip was happy to oblige.
He pushed harder on the accelerator. But as he picked up speed, so did the light. It was the same cat-and-mouse game they’d played before. The faster he went, the faster it went. Philip barely saw the road. He kept his eyes fixed on the object. It was hard to make out its exact size and shape. Sometimes it seemed as round as a ball, maybe seven feet across. Other times it looked like a flattened saucer, twenty feet in diameter.
But none of that mattered. All Philip knew was that somehow, some way, Krissi was a part of that light — and somehow, some way, he had to help her.
They hit the bend in the road. It curved to the right. He straightened it by cutting into the other lane. The General Store lay ahead. He screamed past it, doing between sixty and seventy miles an hour.
Suddenly, just past the store, the light took a hard left and disappeared into a newly cut driveway that wound deep into the woods.
Philip hit the brakes. Immediately he knew he’d made a mistake. The damp fog had frozen, leaving a thin, icy glaze on the road.
The Jeep started to slide.
Everything turned to slow motion. He could feel the car sliding out of control. Spinning. Instinctively he cranked the wheel.
It did little good — he was going too fast.
Carnival rides flashed through his mind — the rides you have no control over, where you can only sit and scream until they’re over — but this ride was short-lived. The left front wheel caught the loose dirt of the shoulder. That was all it took. The dirt slowed the wheels, but the Jeep kept flying sideways.
The Jeep began rolling!
Philip clutched the wheel with his right hand and threw his left arm over his face. Tree trunks, the steep bank, and the road were all jumbled as his body slammed into the driver’s-side window, then was thrown up into the roof. The steering wheel jabbed into his legs as glass sprayed in all directions. He wondered dazedly how many times the vehicle was rolling when suddenly it came to a bone-jarring stop.
He’d hit a tree.
Thank God! He was upside down, but at least he wasn’t rolling anymore.
No sooner had Philip thought this than the Jeep shuddered and slid down a bank a dozen or so more feet before it finally came to a complete stop. A few pieces of glass tinkled; some clods of dirt fell from the spinning tires. But other than that there was silence … except for a faint crackling and popping.
Philip opened his eyes. He was inside, lying on the roof. A blue light flickered in rhythm with the crackling and popping.
It took a moment to register before he realized he hadn’t hit a tree — he’d hit a power pole.
He tried to move along the inside of the roof, but the shift-ing of his weight caused the car to creak forward. He looked out the windshield — and froze. A drop-off loomed directly ahead — seventy-five feet of sheer nothing.
Fear rose within him, but he fought it back. He moved again, more cautiously, and again the Jeep started to tip. He stopped.
Now he understood. The car was on its top, balancing on a rock or ledge or something. He was safe, but just barely. One wrong move, and he’d send the whole thing plummeting off the cliff.
Chapter 9
Scott heard the squealing tires and the sickening sound of crunching metal. He knew there’d been an accident just outside the store, but he didn’t care. How could he? His best friend had been brutally murdered. He had been brutally murdered.
With that type of tragedy, how could he pay attention to bother-some things like reality?
Still, he heard customers shouting to one another and rushing outside, so he figured he’d better join them. Reluctantly he snapped off the laptop, rose, and headed for the front door.
He hadn’t felt this bad since his father had died.
**********
Becka and Ryan bounced down the driveway in the Mustang, heading as fast as they could toward the main road. Ryan threw the car into a hard right, and they slid onto the asphalt. As he accelerated he shouted, “Where did that thing come from? It just exploded in front of us. One minute it was dark, the next minute brighter than daylight.”
“Remember what Z said about them popping in and out of another dimension?”
Ryan glanced at her. “You’re thinking the spiritual world again?”
Becka looked straight ahead, hoping she was wrong — fear-ing
she was right.
They rounded the bend in the road. Up ahead was the General Store. A handful of people were rushing out, running across the road.
“There’s Scotty!” Becka pointed to the front porch of the store, where her brother slouched against the stair railing, his hands in his pockets. Ryan turned the Mustang into the parking lot and skidded to a stop in front of him.
“Where’re they going? What happened?” Ryan shouted out the window.
Scott motioned across the road. “Some sort of accident.” Ryan spun around to look, but Becka stared at Scott. Something was wrong with her brother. “You okay?” she called.
He shrugged.
“Scotty, what’s wrong?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Before Becka could pry any further, they heard the owner running back toward the store. He was red faced and puffing.
“Got to call 9-1-1!” he cried. “Some kid flipped his car.” Becka froze. Ryan was already opening his door. “What kind of car?”
“Jeep. The whole thing’s balancing on a ledge — could go any second.”
Becka leaped out of the car and joined Ryan. They started across the road. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Scott still looking lost. “It’s Philip!” she shouted.
He did not move.
“Will you come on?! It’s Philip!”
She turned and continued to the other side. When they arrived, they saw what the store owner had described. The Jeep had smashed into a power pole, which had stopped it from flipping over the edge.
The car had slid down the soft bank on its top a dozen or so feet until it came to rest on a narrow outcropping of rock. There it balanced precariously, teetering on the edge of the drop-off. The entire scene was bathed in the eerie blue-and-white sparks of a power line that snapped and crackled on the roadway.
“Oh, man … ,” Ryan whispered. Becka shook her head in stunned silence. They moved past the three or four spectators who were keeping their distance from the dancing cable.
“Philip?” Ryan called. “Philip, can you hear me?” A faint voice answered from inside the Jeep. “Ryan, is that you?” But even as he spoke, the car shifted forward.
“Don’t move!” Becka cried.