I didn't see where Charlie had ended up, his form lost in the rain. I assumed he was sprawled somewhere else on the other side of the roof. The dark form had moved on to Nick and seized the young man. It held Nick at the edge of the roof, its long fingered hands wrapped around Nick's body as if he was a doll. The arms extended so that Nick dangled in empty space over the edge of the roof, his lantern swinging in the rain.
Lightning flashed again. Due to this stroke and Nick's swinging lantern, I had a better look at the thing which held Nick. It had to be at least seven feet tall. It was sort of man-like, in that it had two arms, two legs, and a generally humanoid form. But those arms were long and thin, far beyond human proportions, ending in long claw-like fingers. Its powerful legs kept it standing, but it had additional joints more indicative of an animal, ending in the hooves we had heard. The creature's body was dark-gray, almost black. It was emaciated, as if kept alive despite a deathly hunger, its ribs sticking out and bones visible through much of its form. Its long head had a snout like a horse, the equine comparison continued as a long tangled mane of black hair was matted down by the rain. Even at this distance, I could follow the pinpricks of red eyes in the night.
That's what the creature looked like, but that isn't what I felt. That's not why I felt chilled to the bone as I took in that dark figure. My realization seemed impossible, even with every other completely impossible thing I had ever encountered in my life. Something in me refused to believe it, saying there was no reason it could be true, but as I stared at this tall monster on the roof, I knew that it was true, despite my desire for it to be false. Though less monstrous, I had seen this basic figure before. This was either the nightmare version, or here in the night and the rain I was seeing its true form. I took a breath and admitted it. This was Hornswaggle.
This wasn't the puppet, this was something else. The puppet was a cleaned-up and kid-friendly version, different from this monster. Yet the puppet was this horrible figure, and this horrible figure was that loveable puppet. The PBS puppet was a sanitized version of some horse demon, tailored in felt and knit cloth so that it would enter the minds of children easily. Here I was seeing its pure unadulterated state, a horrible thing that would strike terror in children.
I knew now that Nick had never been talking about a mere evil puppet. Even a magically animated puppet, a murderous marionette, would have been easier to deal with than this. Hornswaggle was a nightmare made flesh. As I watched, its mouth moved as it spoke to Nick. They were too far away and the rain too hard for me to understand what they were saying. All I knew was that Hornswaggle then threw back his head in laughter. Then he began to release his grip.
I tried shouting, but my gasping lungs couldn't produce anything worthwhile. I don't know if anyone besides me could hear the anguished noise that escaped my lips. I did hear Charlie shout, but it was too late.
Nick's scream drowned out both of us as he slipped from the creature's clutches and fell into the empty darkness below him, disappearing from our view. We heard a loud crash below and then the shrill sound of car alarms. Then there was the sound of Hornswaggle's horrible laughter.
Hornswaggle turned toward me next. I saw its red eyes look at me and saw something like a sickening smile on its horse face. It began clopping its hooved legs towards me.
Gunfire echoed in the night. Charlie had opened fire at the creature. Hornswaggle jerked as a bullet pierced its side, red blood trickling from the wound. But unlike a person, it did not fall nor falter. It simply paused and looked down at the wound. Then it reared its head back in laughter. It was as if we had simply stung the beast.
However, the shot did change Hornswaggle's attention. After its laughter it turned, its large body surprisingly agile and began clomping its heavy hooves toward Charlie. As I lay on the ground, barely having caught my breath, I wished I had my own gun. With its back turned and both of us firing, maybe we could have done some damage to it.
There were more gunshots, fired wildly at an oncoming monster. Charlie was struggling to reload as the creature stomped toward him, unconcerned with its bleeding wounds.
I had no gun, no weapon, and I was still dazed, struggling just to get to a standing posture. It wasn't that I was out of shape, it's that I had barely recovered from Hornswaggle throwing me at the cement wall. I still marveled at its strength if just a single swipe of its arm could do that. What could either of us do against that?
What else was there? Nick had babbled so much about the evil that hunted him, but I had hardly taken him seriously. I thought he was talking about a puppet, not a gigantic horse demon. This thing had attacked Nick at the studio, but how had he escaped? And why hadn't it followed him? I racked my brain. What had Nick kept saying? He moves through images.
I looked down at my phone where the tiny Hornswaggle figure dangled. That's how he had gotten here, Nick's scream had been clear enough about that. If Hornswaggle travelled through images, did he still need them once he got there?
I yanked the little figure off my phone and dropped it to the ground.
Hornswaggle had reached Charlie and was now looming over him, almost enjoying his fear as Charlie finally realized his bullets were useless.
I looked down at the tiny keychain figure as rain dripped on it. I didn't know if this was going to work. I only had an idea, and I remembered how my wild ideas had worked out in Bellingham. I had made things worse and just barely escaped. How badly would I mess this up?
But Charlie was in danger and Nick probably dead. After Charlie, I would be the next victim.
I decided what the hell - I could try to do the only thing I could think of.
I slammed my foot down on the tiny Hornswaggle figure.
There was no fanfare, no flash of light, no magical effect. One second Hornswaggle was towering over Charlie, and then the next it wasn't there at all, like a skip in movie frames.
At first I didn't believe it. It couldn't be so simple. Hornswaggle's disappearance couldn't be so sudden. I rubbed my eyes, trying to make sure it wasn't rain in my eyes or me losing track of him in the downpour. But I just didn't see him. He was not hiding on the top of the building, the stairs or the sky. I couldn't believe it. I was almost sure that Hornswaggle must have been lurking somewhere else on the roof. I walked around the roof, looking for a horrible monster that I didn't want to actually find. I met Charlie halfway around, doing the same strange patrol, confusion etched on his face as well.
"He's gone," said Charlie. His voice said he didn't believe it either.
"I smashed the little figure," I said, still dumbfounded. "He moves through images." I shrugged with the repetition of that litany.
Charlie nodded, as if he understood, as if the logic that made me do it made perfect sense, even though we both knew it didn't. He nodded like we were sane men and had not seen a dark horse demon that shared a likeness to a puppet. As if we hadn't just seen a monster throw Nick off the building.
We both found ourselves at the side of the building, looking down at Nick's corpse.
He had fallen on the roof of a parked car, smashing it and causing its alarm to go off. While I've heard stories of people surviving such a fall, Nick did not. His body was unmoving, his eyes blank as he bled out. Below us there were people reacting to the horror, but because of the darkness and the rain they could not see us on the roof. We already heard sirens in the distance.
I had succeeded in my job. I had found Nick.
And because I had found him, he was now dead.
Twelve
Pop quiz: you finally found the subject of your missing person case. You find he's neurotic, anxious, possibly delusional, but you talk him down. Then some horrible demonic creature appears, nearly tosses you off the roof, and then drops your subject to their death. Add in rain, car alarms, and police sirens in this distance as necessary. What do you do?
You get the fuck out of there and you have a drink, that's what you do.
Whiskey, two shots in a glass and keep it
coming. A towel to wash off the rain, but nothing is going to get the fear and confusion off you.
We sat in Charlie's condo, trying to use the alcohol as medicine to our shock. Neither of us truly understood what had happened on the roof, other than something beyond belief and the death of a good kid. Immediately after Nick's death and the demon's disappearance, each of our instincts for action and survival kicked in, and we followed those impulses, the rest of our minds numb.
Getting off the roof was number one, especially after the sirens started. Neither of us wanted to be involved in the investigation of the incident or Nick's death. I was a private detective, and so always wanted to avoid being a person of interest in any criminal investigation. That went double for murder. Though Charlie was a cop, he was off duty. He didn't even know what he saw, but he knew enough that he didn't want to be included in the investigation. Some part of him knew this went beyond the law. Some part of him didn't want to have to explain what he saw or lie to people he worked with.
We were both cowards. Nick deserved better friends, ones who stayed and told the police what they knew. Ones who stayed and identified the body. Ones who could have saved him in the first place.
Charlie and I were gone from the roof within five minutes. I wanted to be gone immediately, but Charlie wanted to spend time trying to find the shell casings from the bullets he fired. I thought it was a fool's errand in the rain and the darkness, but I ate my words when he found all but one. If he didn't find the last one, odds are the rest of the police wouldn't either. While he was searching, I was interested in just one thing: Nick's backpack, which had his laptop. Unfortunately, Hornswaggle had stepped on it, so it was broken in pieces, the hard drive damaged. I wasn't sure what I'd get from the laptop, but I took it anyway. Once I had that, I waited impatiently on the stairs as Charlie finished up. We were Downtown and not far from the local police station, so they were making good time. Only the rain was slowing them down.
Once in Charlie's condo, we sat on the couches across from each other, towels around our necks, drinks in hand. Once we were moderately dry and were on our second glass of whiskey, things seemed manageable, our minds less numb, our nerves not shaking. We hadn't said much as we drank, both having been in enough fights to know the experience needed to sink in. On retrospect, I sometimes wondered why Charlie didn't toss me out immediately, using anger over Nick's death to get rid of me; then he'd never see me and have to think about it again. But I know that he didn't do that because I was the only other witness to Nick's death. I was the only person who could help him make sense of it all. Even if it didn't feel like there was much sense to be made.
"Nick's dead," he said flatly, breaking the heavy silence.
I nodded, not even knowing what to say. He was saying it just to say it. That wasn't a question, it was the diagnosis of calamity. I simply stared into my drink, as if the whiskey would give me an answer out of its amber depths.
Charlie scratched his head, his breath half a sigh. His brow wrinkled in thought. "And he was killed by... by... shit, what even was that?"
"Evil, horror, nightmares," I said, my own voice flat as well.
"But what was it?" persisted Charlie. "I believe in evil, but it's still gotta be something."
"I have no idea," I said. "Something supernatural? God, I hope not, not again." Charlie looked like he was about to ask about that, so I skipped past that question. "What I do know, is that whatever it was, it definitely wasn't a puppet."
Charlie gave a sudden bark of a laugh, but it was strained and faded a moment later. "Yeah, Nick kept saying it was all his puppet. But that was no puppet. What the hell is going on? And how did a kid like Nick get sucked into all of it?"
"Sometimes you don't know what's happening until you're already drowning," I said.
"Got some experience here?" he said.
I thought of Bellingham and thought of the dark water in my dreams. I shook my head. "Let's just stay on this. We thought Nick was crazy. What if he wasn't?"
"I feel like we're the crazy ones now."
"Right, so let's go over what he told us, now that we know there's something like that. Something horrible."
"Something evil."
I nodded, as I tried to remember more of what Nick had told us. I had discounted a lot, but now I wanted to dig all that back up. "If Nick was right, that thing made him create the show. Somehow it got into his head."
"I'd think that part was impossible," said Charlie, "but it just appeared and disappeared on the roof. Like magic."
"Yeah," I said. "I wanna call this all impossible, but I don't want to get caught with my pants down if I deal with it again."
"Again?" said Charlie. "You think you'll see it again?"
"It could want revenge and come after us. Or..." I trailed off.
"Or..." echoed Charlie. I think we both knew what we were thinking. In case we can't let this go.
I pulled the conversation back to Nick's ramblings. "He said that it wanted him to make the show so it could go nationwide. He said then it could go everywhere."
"But how? Yeah, it appeared on the roof and then vanished, but how does the show help it? How does a kids show help it? That sounds so ridiculous, except... except -"
"Except that it tried to kills us," I said. Despite the whiskey, the bruises from being thrown by the creature still throbbed. I know Charlie had some too. "It's possible some of what Nick said wasn't true. Maybe he got some things wrong. But at least some of it is very real."
"And that's frightening," said Charlie.
I nodded and slouched back on the couch. I wondered if I should tell him about Bellingham, then vetoed it. How does anyone understand that? And how do you tell of an insane rollercoaster of a story that occurred in a mental hospital without people thinking you were just a patient there? I hadn't even told Franny all of the details. On my most sleep deprived days when work went far longer than usual, I still find myself worrying that she or Morty is going to mention something that happened "during that time when you were committed." No monster is scarier than the fear that you had a mental break, that reality's version of events and the ones in your head have significant disparities.
"I've seen some weird shit in my day -" I said, pausing when Charlie gave me that look that said he'd heard that a million times, " - no, really, I seriously have. But this is beyond anything I've experienced. What else do we think we know?"
"Why did it suddenly disappear?" said Charlie. "It seemed like it was going to kill us, then it vanished. Why did it run when it had us?"
"I have the answer to that, I think. It disappeared immediately after I destroyed a small figure of it - the one hanging from my phone. If Nick was right, that's how the creature appeared, by using the doll. He kept saying it moved through images, so I thought I should smash the figure. And a moment later, the creature disappeared."
"You guessed right. And I'm very glad you did." He tried to take a drink, but his glass was empty. He leaned over to the coffee table and his hand moved toward the bottle, but he instead just put the glass on the table and leaned back on the couch. I noticed his hands move absent-mindedly, his right hand rubbing the base of his ring finger on his left hand, though there was nothing there. I guessed that's where he used to have a ring. So he was divorced, probably in the last few years. I put together a picture of Charlie from what I knew - his age, a Downtown condo, recent divorce, his comment that he never made detective. A man focused on his work, probably to the exclusion of other things. Loyal to his job and his work ambition, a loyalty never rewarded and an ambition never fulfilled. And now without his marriage, he was living it up in a small condo by Downtown. Maybe he was as lonely as Nick, and that's why their casual friendship had been struck.
I shook my head. Charlie wasn't my subject nor an enemy. I didn't need to delve into his life.
"So, I guess if I was right about the figure, then we can assume that this creature can appear anywhere there's a representation of him," I said. "That's
what I'm taking from 'he moves through images'. Dolls, pictures, the show. We need to stay away from anything having to do with the show. That should keep us safe." I thought back to my job at Studio Austin. That was one place I wasn't going back to unless it was unavoidable. The thought of the Hornswaggle puppet made my skin crawl.
"Until the show comes out," he said.
We both paused and let that sink in. He was right. A kids show going national would mean it could be on any TV, any phone, any tablet. It also meant that there'd be merchandising. Kids would have pictures, lunchboxes, toys, stuffed animals, everything. Hornswaggle really could be anywhere.
"We may be screwed," I said.
Charlie nodded.
"Maybe it doesn't want us dead anymore," I suggested with a twisted glimmer of hope.
Charlie gave me a look of disbelief.
"Maybe it was just after Nick, and we were in the way," I said.
"Do you really want to take that chance?" he said.
"No," I said glumly.
"So where does that leave us?" said Charlie. "We can't live a life where it can appear at any time. Not if it goes national. So that means we need to do something. We need to do something now."
I nodded faintly. He was right. And I was right before. We couldn't let this go. Not even if we wanted to.
"What can we actually do?" he said, less asking and more wondering.
"Burn down the studio?" I joked. When he gave me a funny look, I explained. "It would get rid of all the puppets."
"How about we keep our plans within the law," he said.
"Oh yeah, right. The law," I said sarcastically. I admit, the whiskey was starting to get to me. That and all the adrenaline from the roof had long been flushed from my system, leaving me tired and more susceptible to alcohol.
"I'm still an officer of the peace," he reminded me.
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