Prophet of Doom_Delphi Chronicles Book 1

by D. S. Murphy

  Weird.

  I put the book down and opened the door to the room. The hallway was dark and the air so musty I could hardly breathe. It was almost pitch black, except for the faint starlight coming in through the ceiling behind me. The railing down the stairs was broken. The carpet looked like hell. It had been cream originally, but was now patchy and stained. There was a large, dark red stain in the center of the hall that made my skin crawl.

  The floorboards creaked under my sneakers, even though I was basically tip-toeing around. I noticed again how quiet it was. Westwood was a reasonably peaceful suburb, but it was never totally silent; the hum of modern life, cars driving by, someone with a TV or radio on—there was always something. But not here. I crossed the hall into another bedroom, looking for a window that faced East. I found one and pulled the blinds to the side.

  We were only about ten miles outside of St. Louis. I should be able to see the glow of the city lights on the horizon, but there was nothing. Just darkness, as far as the eye could see, apart from the stars, which shone more brightly than I’d ever seen them. This must be Brett’s parents’ bedroom. There were shards of glass sprinkled throughout the dark carpet, from a standing mirror that had fallen over and smashed. They twinkled like tiny stars, reflecting the night sky.

  I stepped on something hard and bent over to pick it up. It was a small family photo, in a homemade frame that had been decorated with macaroni. On the back was some childish handwriting. To Mom, love Brett. Age 5.

  There was a bit more light downstairs, due to the windows on all sides of the house and the full moon. One of the windows had been smashed in and vines and shrubs were reaching into the living room like an invading alien species. In the kitchen, most of the cabinet doors were open, the shelves empty. I stumbled against the fridge, which was unplugged and on its side. I tried flicking the light switch on the kitchen wall but nothing happened.

  Then I heard the sound of the floorboards creaking under someone’s weight. Not my weight. My heart pounded in my chest and my throat tightened.

  “Hello?” I called softly.

  It suddenly occurred to me that this was exactly the type of house where you’d find ghosts or an axe-murderer. I was breathing as quietly as I could, and the lack of oxygen didn’t do anything to calm me down. I felt sweat on my skin, which tingled in the cold air. I thought about all the fairy tales I knew of, seeking a way to wake myself up. I tried clicking my heels together three times. I imagined an “eat me” cake to restore normalcy but none appeared.

  My eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and I thought I could make out a pale shape in the corner. A shape that kind of looked like a naked man. And in the darkness, I thought I could see his shoulders rising up and down with every breath, and large, inhuman eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness.

  There was a flash of movement as the shape threw itself at me out of the darkness. I caught a glimpse of pale skin and large grey eyes, just before I shrieked and turned to run. I’d only gone a step when I heard a sharp thwap. I cried out as the shape sailed past me, crashing into the cupboards with a hideous screeching, like a metal desk being dragged across a stone floor. The creature left spurts of blood on the countertop, then fell into a pile on the floor, one thin wrist twitching before it was completely still. Its blood was black like tar and smelled like copper.

  My hands were shaking as I yanked open the kitchen drawers, searching frantically for a weapon. I pulled out the best thing I could find—a heavy wooden rolling pin. I brandished it in front of me just as another dark shadow moved towards me.

  “And just what do you think you’re going to do with that?” a voice asked. “Bakeoff?”

  2

  He was wearing all black and gray, but faded, like denim after it’s been washed too much. Jean and leather mostly, but I could tell it had been ripped and patched up again. Imperfectly, like he’d done the repairs himself and didn’t give a shit about how he looked. His cargo pants were baggy around the crotch but then tightened at the ankles, stuffed into a pair of black combat boots. There were far more pockets and extra straps than seemed necessary. His belt held a hunting knife on one side and a holster in the other. The gleam of metal told me he was carrying a pistol.

  His hood kept his face in shadow, but I could tell he was young—less than twenty for sure. I could see the tips of his long dark hair poking out from beneath his chin. His hands and most of his arms were covered by what I suspected was a pair of socks with holes cut into them for his fingers, and he clutched a crossbow loosely at his side.

  He brushed past me, ignoring my defensive stance and the rolling pin, and grabbed the arrow jutting out from the creature behind me. He twisted it out with a sharp pull, and flicked the black blood off before sticking the arrow back in his quiver. I shuddered. Then he headed to the front door, which I could see was open.

  “We’ve got to move,” he said, gesturing behind him for me to follow.

  I didn’t budge. I was staring at the grotesque body behind me.

  “What is this thing?” I asked. It was humanoid, but with leathery skin, almost no hair, and fingers like talons. Curved and edged with sharp, hard nails.

  “You’ve never seen a modified before?” The boy eyed me with surprise, then confusion. “Have you been living in a cave your whole life?”

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “The guy who just saved your life,” he said. “Now shut up and stick behind me.” He walked to the front door, raising his crossbow in front of him. The long grass and weeds in the front lawn came up to his knees, and shimmered like a wheat field in the moonlight as he crossed through them.

  I hesitated on the front porch. At least the house was familiar. I followed him to the edge of the yard but stopped at the street. What if I was sleep walking or something? I didn’t want to get run over. That’s when I saw the cars. Several were parked awkwardly or just sitting in the middle of the street. One had swerved into the curb just in front of Brett’s house and crashed into a mailbox, which was bent downwards. The window was smashed in, and the driver’s body had been pulled halfway through the window. But all that was left of the driver was a skeleton, and some scraps of the clothes he’d been wearing. His left arm had been ripped off—the bones were lying a few feet away from the car.

  There was another figure in the passenger seat. From the strands of long hair still stuck to her gleaming white skull, and the remains of a purple dress, it was all that was left of a little girl. Her jawbone was unhinged and hanging at an awkward angle, and her bony arms were still clutching a doll tightly. I felt vomit rise up in my throat. I stumbled back and fell on my hands and knees, heaving.

  The boy came up beside me. Past the smell of my own vomit, I could smell his scent. Musk, pine trees, and smoke, like from a campfire.

  “Are you sick? I’ve got some meds back at my camp—”

  I looked back at him, my brows knitted together.

  “There’s a dead guy, right there. And a little girl,” my words caught in my throat and my eyes burned.

  “Can’t you see them?”

  “Yeah but that happened ages ago,” he shrugged. “During the Modification. Those bodies will have been picked clean by now, nothing useful on them.”

  The world was spinning and I felt weak.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen a remnant before,” he said. “They’re all over. In the city there are piles of them. Some people use them to make fences.”

  My lip curled in disgust. I couldn’t tell if he was kidding. If he was it was in poor taste. Those were people. I was getting so worked up I almost believed this was all really happening. It’s just a dream, I told myself, sitting on the grass, my arms wrapped around me. He frowned at me, casting looks in both direction.

  “Mods hunt in small groups, usually four or five at a time. That one wasn’t alone, and the others will probably be here any second. So if you don’t want to die, come with me. But if you do want to die, or you’ve gone crazy, I’
m not going to risk my neck for you. You’ve got five seconds to make a choice.”

  He reached his hand down, towards me.

  I didn’t know what was going on, but something about the boy made me feel safe. And he had just saved me, right? I reached up tentatively. He grabbed my arm and hoisted me up.

  “Now, unless you’re attached to that rolling pin...” he said, pulling out his hunting knife, “this might be more practical.” He flipped it in the air and caught it by the blade, holding the handle out towards me. My arm dipped as I took it from him. It was heavier than I expected. It felt so...solid. I ran a finger over the edge and cried out as I felt the blade bite into my skin. Blood welled up in the cut. I put my finger in my mouth. The blood was tangy and metallic against my tongue.

  “This is... real.” I said.

  “Um, yeah,” he said, frowning.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw several more dark shapes materialize out of the trees, and heard another blood-curdling screech. But I also saw the pink flickers again, and smiled.

  Finally.

  ***

  I woke up gasping for breath, my eyes rolling. Everything was white. I thought maybe I’d gone blind, but after blinking a few times my vision cleared.

  I was back in Brett’s room, but the lights were on. I’d never been happier to see a functioning lightbulb. Crys was crying and squeezing me with her arms. Brett’s face was white, but he looked relieved.

  “What happened?” I asked weakly, pulling my hair out of my face.

  “You passed out,” Crys said.

  “I was just about to get my dad to drive you to the ER, or call 911,” Brett said.

  “I told you all, she was fine,” Cody said, like he’d made this argument a dozen times.

  “We checked your pulse,” Crys said. “We thought you were—that you might be... Do you feel okay?”

  I sat up and looked around, suddenly aware of everybody’s eyes on me.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry...”

  “It’s not your fault,” Brett said, “Though we were really worried about you. I mean if anything happened...”

  “We would have been busted,” Cody interrupted, nodding his head. “Like, for real. We aren’t even supposed to have this shit.”

  “And we didn’t know if, maybe we were just being paranoid, you know. We’re not in the right frame of mind to be making emergency decisions. So I was going to get my dad, even though he would have killed me, but then... then you woke up,” Brett said, running his hands through his hair in the way that I’d always found irresistible. I realized now he did it when he was nervous.

  I stood up. Crys grabbed my arm but I wasn’t dizzy or shaky. I saw the red model car on the shelf. Had I noticed that when I came in? I must have. I didn’t see any yearbook though.

  “We even looked it up,” Crys said, showing me the laptop on the desk. “We Googled passing out on weed and it’s not unheard of... this guy says it’s called ‘pulling a whitey’, which means you smoked too much too quickly and it made your blood pressure drop. But it isn’t fatal, you’re supposed to just stay calm and just ride it out.”

  I nodded, unsure if I should feel glad they looked it up or angry that they hadn’t just gone for help. But then I was relieved they didn’t. How much more of a loser would I be if I’d gotten everybody in trouble for smoking?

  “Did you see white?” Brett asked. “That’s what happens if your blood pressure drops too fast.”

  “I’m...I’m not sure.” I saw pink. But I didn’t say anything. “How long was I out for?”

  “Just five minutes or so, but it was really scary. I couldn’t get you to wake up. I even tried slapping you,” Crys said.

  I put one hand up to my cheek. She’d slapped me and I hadn’t felt anything?

  “Well, anyway, I’m fine now. Just a little... weak.”

  “You guys should go home,” Brett said. I looked at Crys and she nodded.

  There were more people than I remembered downstairs. The party was just getting started, and I was already leaving. Courtney was in the living room with her friends. When I passed near them on my way to the door, I heard her fake-cough, “slut.” When I looked up, everybody was looking at me, and her friends were laughing. My cheeks burned.

  Crys strode up to Courtney and shoved her backwards. She grabbed two of her friends and held onto their arms as she tipped over the coffee table and landed hard on the ground, with half a dozen plastic cups and bottles raining down on top of her.

  “Run,” Crys whispered, grabbing my arm and shoving me out the door. We raced to the car and jumped in, breathless. Crys turned the key and revved the engine, then we peeled around the corner and took off. After we’d gone a couple blocks, we looked at each other and laughed.

  “That’s totally going to cost me,” Crys said.

  “What do you think’s going to happen?” I asked.

  “I can’t see us duking it out in the parking lot,” Crys said. “She wouldn’t want to break a nail.”

  “I’d rather take a punch than be on her wrong side,” I said. “Courtney could make your life miserable.”

  “It was worth it to see the expression on her face when she fell over the table,” Crys said, grinning. “And anyway, she’s graduating at the end of the year. I don’t care what she does.”

  Crys pulled up my driveway and let me out.

  “Sorry I ruined the party,” I said.

  “Are you kidding, I had a blast,” she smiled. “Glad you’re okay.”

  Apart from hating myself for blowing my one shot with Brett, I felt fine. I’d pretty much convinced myself that smoking had given me a crazy vivid dream.

  Except for one thing.

  As the van pulled away, I held up my finger, which had been throbbing since my adventure. In the street lights I could see a very clean, but very real, cut on the tip of my finger.

  3

  I woke up with a groan as scenes from last night jumbled together in my brain. I must have just cut my finger on something while I was passed out in Brett’s room. Then in the dream I imagined cutting myself with the knife. That’s how dreams worked, right? Anyway I had more important things to worry about. Like how I’d gone from being invisible to notorious in one evening. If I was going to try pot, it should have been in a private, safe environment, with just Crys or trusted friends. Not Brett Peters and a bunch of other seniors. They’re all going to think I’m a total loser. I basically crashed a party I wasn’t even invited to, let myself into a smoking session I’d deliberately been excluded from, and then spazzed out, embarrassing myself in front of everybody I’d been wanting to impress.

  Which, collectively, didn’t totally suck. I mean, until yesterday they didn’t know me at all. Now they knew me and didn’t like me. It wouldn’t actually change my life very much. It’s not like we’d been hanging out anyway. But then the thing with Courtney… had she really called me a slut? What for—I hadn’t done anything. For a second I panicked, thinking something might have happened while I was passed out. I remember a story about a girl who got drunk, and then guys shared pictures of them taking advantage of her while she was unconscious. There could be naked pictures of me out there right now. But Crys had been there the whole time, there’s no way she’d have let that happen. I don’t know how I got on Courtney’s radar, but after what Crys did to her, in front of everybody, Monday was bound to be unpleasant.

  I comforted myself with waffles. I put a frozen Eggo in the toaster, then covered it in butter, syrup and whipped cream when it was done. Then added blueberries and raspberries. I washed it down with a mug of hot chocolate, until my anxiety faded to a dull ache. I had homework to do, but there was no way I’d be able to focus on math or grammar. Instead I started sorting out the recycling, tossing cans, bottles, paper and glass into the right receptacles. Dad did it sometimes, but he always left it until really late Sunday night. A procrastinator, like me.

  I wheeled the recycling bin down the driveway. It was chilly
outside. I could see my breath. I crossed my arms as I headed back to the house. I glanced sideways and saw my neighbor Eric raking leaves next door. He was wearing headphones and pretending he didn’t see me. Eric was a year older than me and had curly, auburn hair and freckles. As neighbors the same age, our parents had made us play together when we were little, and we were pretty good friends when we were ten. We’d geek out about comic books and pretend we had super powers. But we’ve been weird since middle school. We had different circles of friends and had even stopped saying “hi” when we passed each other in the halls.

  Back inside the house, I did the dishes and straightened my room. Then my hands ran out of things to do, and I couldn’t keep the images of last night out of my head any longer. The dilapidated house. The little girl in the car. The dark gaping holes of her eye sockets, her jaw hanging open in a silent scream. And that monster that had attacked me. His huge, grotesque eyes. His unnaturally long, skinny fingers. I shuddered. I lay on my bed listening to music and looking up smoking + hallucinations on my phone. I couldn’t call it a hallucination, I found out, since I was unconscious. But I was conscious, kind of, just not here in the real world.

  Dream didn’t feel like the right word either. From what I could tell, it seemed more like an acid trip. People often report very brief experiences that can seem like they last forever, a time distortion effect.

  My trip was like that—Crys said I’d only been out for a few minutes, but it had felt like at least an hour. Plus it had felt so real. I reached again for my jeans pocket, turning it inside out like I’d already done several times, but I couldn’t find the picture I’d torn from the yearbook. Obviously, because of course it hadn’t actually happened. Me and Brett, Prom King and Queen? Yeah right. It was already November, so we’d have to start dating pretty soon. That’s not likely—considering he’ll probably never talk to me again.