Window in the Earth Trilogy

by Fish, Matthew

  Bill gives the knob a turn, and it opens easily. He swings the door open, ready for anything, but not ready at all for what he sees.

  “Jesus Christ,” Bill sobs, dropping his rifle to the ground. He rushes into the room in reckless abandon. “No!”

  Jack lowers his gun and takes a few steps into his old bedroom. It has been left unchanged; all of his familiar pictures are there, his airplane models and books untouched, everything the same—except for the man handcuffed to the bed.

  “Please, god, no…,” Bill cries out as he pulls the body of Jack Olen close to his own. “Please, Jack, please don’t leave me.”

  Jack Wolfe stares in shock, unsure how to act. The sight of a man as big and seemingly tough as Bill taken over so completely by hopelessness and grief makes him fear only more for his own state. How will it be when he finds Emma? He finds some measure of selfishness in this thought, however, he finds the thought inescapable. “Bill…”

  Jack Olen’s body is lifeless and slumped on the floor, his right hand handcuffed to the bed. He is naked, just like the others, his clothing piled in a neat stack behind him. His body has some bruises, some minor cuts and scratches. His face has a few scrapes, and his throat has been slit. A trail of deep black blood leads from his throat down the front of his chest, covering the floor beneath him.

  Bill cries out even more loudly, holding Jack as close as he can, as though the act might rouse him in some way from his state. It does not, of course. It cannot. No matter how much Bill wishes it, it is not something that cannot be reversed.

  Another quake rocks the house, shattering the window to Jack’s room. Jack is knocked to his knees. He looks to the window for some sign of Emma, but does not receive one. Instead, the rain starts to come, blown inside by the wind.

  “Bill…,” Jack starts, and then hesitates. “I am so sorry.”

  “Leave!” Bill screams at him, tears streaming from his eyes and mucus running from his nose and into his mouth. “Get the fuck out of here!”

  Jack begins to back away. “I’m sorry, Bill….”

  “I love you,” Bill sobs, refusing to release Jack Olen. The rain falls upon the pair, washing some of the blood away from Jack’s chest. “I should have never sent you here. This is all my fucking fault. Please forgive me, Jack.”

  “Bill,” Jack begins, now at the door. “It’s not your—”

  “Get the fuck out of here! I don’t need to hear a fucking thing you think you have to say to me right now!” Bill shouts. The rage in his voice is a complete turnaround from his sadness. “I fucking hate you! Go off and fucking die—it’s what you deserve, it’s what you all deserve!”

  Jack gives up. He walks out of his own room, the only familiar place that he has found in this new house which his father has not altered and twisted so horrifically. He shuts the door behind him.

  He stands alone.

  Jack Olen

  “I know you,” Jack says quietly, calmly as he stands face-to-face with the shadow form. All at once it is a man once again, almost as though it is struggling to hold itself into a specific shape. The form reaches out with a billowing hand and grabs Jack by his face, squeezing with great pressure.

  Jack lets out a horrible scream. It feels as though the hand is burning straight into his mind, setting it ablaze with thoughts and memories. For a moment, his mind flashes back to something he said to a young man once, many years ago. Jack sees himself, almost as though it is a dream—although it is more vivid than any dream he has ever had. He watches himself as he walks up to a silver van, leans forward and talks to the teen through the window. The teen’s name is Christopher, a name he has not thought about for quite a few years now.

  “We will keep looking, I promise you,” Jack says, placing a hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “If he’s still on this earth, we’ll find him.”

  “I’m not sure that he is anymore,” Christopher replies quietly. “Though, I don’t think he minds.”

  “Someday you’ll have to let me in on this,” Jack whispers as he pats Christopher on the back. He picks up Christopher’s suitcases and helps place them in the back of the van.

  Jack’s mind flashes again, to an older teen—an older brother. It was James Janes, Christopher’s older brother that he promised to stay behind and find. Jack remembers trying, returning to the cave every now and again—never finding any sign of the missing boy, other than a pair of shoes. It has been so many long years. The memory brings up the thought of so many failed cases. It reminds him of a career as a detective, filled with missed chances, cases that will never be solved. It is these cases that have haunted him the most through life, hanging about his mind like old ghosts of regret.

  Before his mind can linger on the thought any further, he is pulled through the darkness and into the light of a new memory: this time it is shown to him through his own eyes, although things are disorientated—it takes a moment for the world to come into focus. The first thing he feels is the pain in his head—he reaches a hand up and it returns with blood. His other hand grips the steering wheel of a truck. The windshield is cracked and the front end is crumpled about a tall oak tree. He coughs; there is a pain in his side.

  Then, the smell comes, the smell of something foul like feces. His eyes begin to water from the stench. Confused, he looks around for the source. He worries for a moment that he has soiled himself in the accident. A loud metallic pop is heard from his right side as the door flies open. Jack turns his head just in time to catch a glimpse of the man looming over him. The man is the source of the smell—he has covered his body in shit. He stands upright, wearing the mask of a wolf’s face that crudely covers the top portion of his head.

  “Landon?” Jack asks, still dazed from the accident.

  The man yanks him violently from his car, dragging him through the mud. His nails tear at Jack’s wrists—they are long and sharpened.

  “Please help me,” Jack pleads, “Where are you taking me?”

  The man only snarls in return, and continues to drag Jack along the driveway that leads to the farmhouse. Jack’s side burns in pain; he is sure that he has busted a few ribs. The rain is in his eyes, stinging as it mixes with the blood from his forehead. Thunder booms overhead, causing his ears to ring loudly and his head to ache even more.

  The rain begins to fall even harder, and it is impossible to make out any sense of surroundings. For a moment, Jack sees a car, but is pulled away before he can make anything else out.

  “I need to go to the hospital,” Jack adds, as he is laid to rest against a set of stone steps. “Please, just call me an ambulance.”

  Jack finds a small measure of comfort as he is finally pulled into the house and out from the rain—for a moment he suspects that Landon has not completely lost it after all. Then, as he is dragged into the kitchen, he quickly finds his assumption is very premature. He sees the body of what he can only guess is a woman, crumpled upon the floor. She looks as though she has been dead for months.

  Jack attempts to struggle free, despite his pain. Landon only tightens his grip more, his sharp nails now cutting deeply into Jack’s wrists, causing him to cry out in agony. “You don’t have to do this, Landon—we’ve been friends for a while now, right? Just call me an ambulance and I’ll help you get all this sorted out.”

  Landon ignores Jack completely, pulling him through the dining room and then the living room. Jack kicks his legs around the ivy-covered banister leading up the stairs, attempting to gain some leverage and escape Landon’s nails. Landon delivers a swift kick to Jack’s side, completely knocking the wind out of him—he feels faint now, dizzy. Landon takes no care as he pulls Jack up each step, each stair hitting him in the back and causing him further pain. Jack is almost thankful when they reach the top of the stairs and he is pulled into a normal-looking room. Landon tosses Jack to the floor.

  “Please,” Jack says one last time, having no energy left to fight back. His body feels broken and weak. “I can help you.”

 
; Landon quickly removes Jack’s coat and undershirt. He takes great care in folding them up nicely and sets them beside Jack. Landon reaches for a white towel that is sitting on the bed and wipes down Jack’s face and bare chest in an almost comforting way, the way a mother would wash her son after he has been caught in a rainstorm. He loosens Jack’s belt, and removes his pants. He finds the handcuffs first.

  “It’s not too late to fix whatever…,” Jack says, dazed from the loss of blood and the pain. “We can work this out.”

  Landon handcuffs Jack to the bed. He removes Jack’s boxers, placing them carefully in the pile of clothing. Then, finally, he removes Jack’s socks and shoes placing them at the top of the pile. He finds a gun in Jack’s pants and studies it for a moment before tossing it carelessly beneath the bed.

  “Please, don’t hurt Bill,” Jack says half-conscious. “Please, just don’t hurt Bill.”

  Landon pulls a kitchen knife from in between the mattresses and crawls behind Jack, whose head is bobbing up and down as though he is clinging to consciousness by a mere thread. Landon plunges the knife into Jack’s neck and, with a strong, swift motion, he rips open Jack’s throat.

  Everything fades to black once more. Jack knows now that he has passed. Yet, somehow, he still remains. Some part of him, at least. He expects it is merely his last moments of life; he wonders why there isn’t a grand review of all his memories, or a tunnel and some distant beautiful light to lead the way. Instead, he gradually feels all the pain subside. His body no longer aches, and feels free. He feels warm again. Slowly, he opens his eyes.

  “Heard you were looking for me,” a voice says.

  Jack looks up, bewildered by his newfound surroundings. He is in a wood, it is summertime. Tiny particles of pollen dance about in the bright rays that shimmer through the treetops. Sitting barefoot, beneath a tree, is James. He hasn’t aged a single day.

  “James?”

  “Looks like I’m the one that found you, though,” James replies, his head hanging down as though he is deeply troubled.

  “Where are we?” Jack asks as he pulls himself up from the ground, and sits against the warm earth next to James, happy to be out of the rain.

  “You don’t think like that,” James replies quietly. “Not here anyway,”

  “Am I dead?” Jack asks, although he is sure that he is—he just needs to hear it.

  “Yes,” James answers.

  “I don’t understand. I was somewhere else before, a hospital. There was the wolf, the one that looked like…,” Jack starts, finding the memory hard to recollect.

  “That was me,” James says as he faces Jack for the first time. “I am sorry, but I had to get you out of there… that place. His place.”

  “There was another with me,” Jack says, remembering the girl he found in the hospital bed. “Emma… Emma Creek.”

  Jack Wolfe IV

  Jack Wolfe raises a hand to knock on the door to his room, but thinks better of it. He can still hear Bill sobbing loudly on the other side. Jack knows that there is nothing that he can do at this point to help either Bill or Jack Olen. He reaches for his gun, readies it. He begins to walk toward his brother’s room. A note on lined paper reads “Do not enter” and is secured on by a single piece of tape. Jack rips down the paper, crumpling it up and tossing it to the ground.

  He places an ear to the door, unsure as to why he was doing so—he has never had to act in such a cautious capacity and has only seen this kind of thing in movies and videogames. He places a hand on the doorknob, wondering whether he should go for the slow or forceful approach. His mind sides with caution and, slowly, he opens the door.

  His brother’s room is just as he remembers it—just as before, the room has been left alone. However, luckily, there is no body in this room, nor any sign of foul play. Jack lets out a sigh of relief. He walks into the room, shutting the door behind him. He sits down on Daniel’s bed, resting his head against the back wall. He knows what he has to do—he has to kill his father. However, he is so tired and confused. He wonders how things have come to be the way that they are now. What happened to his father to make him turn? Jack wonders if he may one day face the same terrible fate. What must it be like to lose complete grip on one’s own identity and become something different, something animal?

  As Jack thinks of Emma, he begins to cry. He allows himself a few tears, for he knows that he will never see her again. He has no proof that she is gone, but after seeing what his father has done to Jack Olen, he has no doubt in his mind that this is truth. Still, he hopes, and the hope is so small that it is in danger of leaving him completely; a tiny spark in a sea of darkness exists. He cries tears for his mother, something he has not given himself a chance to do. He tries to remember her when she was happy; the caring face with the kind eyes of a mother—yet the twisted form keeps popping into his mind, the dead, vacant face.

  Jack buries his face in his hands. He knows what he must do. He repeats it to himself once more. If not for saving Emma, then for revenge—revenge for Bill, for Jack Olen, his mother, and the innocent people he brought in with his 911 phone call. Most importantly, though, revenge for Emma.

  Jack gets back to his feet. He shakes his hands to get the blood circulating. He fights off the exhaustion and picks the gun up from the bed, eyeing it. The safety is off. He remembers to what Bill said earlier, about how it was easy—“just point and shoot”. Noticing the window is covered in more newspaper, Jack reaches over and pulls it down, revealing the field down below. There is no sign of Emma, not this time. He leaves Daniel’s room.

  Jack heads toward his parents shared bedroom. Just like before, he tears down the handwritten note, tossing it aside. He holds the gun out before him, opening up the door. The room is empty. He takes a few steps in, checking the bed and the closet. There is no sign of his father or Emma. Just as before, this room is empty, and normal.

  Jack stops before the storage closet, the last room on this floor. He has a pretty good idea at this point that his father waits for him in his office at the very top. He opens the door, gun raised. To his surprise, he finds a body in this room, naked just like all the others, a young man lying with his neck torn open, as though it was ripped out with fangs. He realizes that this must be the “partner” that the dark-haired girl from the ambulance was talking about. Having seen enough, he turns and shuts the door behind him. His exhaustion has led him to no longer even be shocked by what he sees. He is worried by the fact that he has so quickly become desensitized to seeing death in so many violent forms.

  Jack begins to head to the door leading to the staircase when another earthquake shakes the house. He braces himself against the side of the hallway. Moments pass. He can hear items falling and breaking in parts of the house. Jack begins to worry that if these tremors keep up as they are that the entire house will fall apart.

  Jack places a hand to the door, running his fingers along the familiar intricate wooden carving of the animals. There is a giant tree in the center, and a fox, a wolf, a bear, and a rabbit that circle it. In the sky a hawk chases after a sparrow, and an owl sits at the top of the tree. Jack remembers this carving from his childhood. It is a representation of some of his father’s most popular stories. The sun is represented on the right in a brilliant yellow stone, the moon on the right in a pearl inlay. Jack remembers that if this door at the bottom of the staircase was ever shut, it meant that his father was busy writing and was not to be bothered.

  This would not be a rule that Jack would follow today. He opens the door, revealing the stairs to the office above. He ascends the staircase, pausing at each framed illustration that was done for his father’s books. Each drawing is of a different animal: one is a wolf and a fox having a conversation beneath an ash tree. Another is a rabbit feeding its family. Jack begins to breathe heavily, his heart pounding away in his chest. He holds his gun before him with shaky hands.

  Emma Creek IV

  Emma dodges branches as she runs, breathing heavily and lab
oriously. Her feet are in agony as they slam against the rock, her thin socks offering very little protection from the uneven ground. The woods gradually give way to a field of tall golden grass. Illuminated in the light of her stone, the waist-high wild grass glows brightly around her. She glances over her shoulder, yet she can no longer see her pursuers. She continues to run, cutting a path through the tall grass.

  Exhausted, Emma stops. She can run no farther. Her lungs burn and her heart is beating so fiercely that it feels like a pounding lump in her throat. She collapses to her knees, dropping the moonstone to the ground. She fearfully looks about, her eyes darting in every direction, checking for any approaching sound. Finally, the blood-pulsing sound in her ears subsides, replaced by the gentle whisper of wind, which passes over the tall grass and produces sounds like ocean waves. For a moment, Emma feels at peace. Still, she knows that this is most likely temporary.

  She waits a few moments, gathers her thoughts and attempts to regain some sense of motivation to continue on. Finally deciding that she cannot remain for the wolves will find her, she holds the stone before her in one hand and makes her way swiftly through the tall grass. Every now and again she checks behind her, her ears piqued and vigilant for the slightest out-of-place noise. After walking for a time, she comes to a large bluff. She holds the moonstone above her, surveying the area. Small trees grow out at odd angles from the surrounding rock and she can hear the faint trickling of water. She carefully navigates the edge until she comes upon a small opening in the stone wall of the bluffs. She carefully peeks in, hesitant that she may find something sinister ahead. It looks like a normal cave, damp, and smelling slightly of stale air. She decides to take refuge here, rather than try and find another way around. After the shed and its subsequent burning, she figures that she could find no worse in this cave.

  She walks farther in, careful to duck in the narrow, low-hanging areas of the cave. She dodges stalagmites along the ground, and crawls up a few rocks in her way. She feels as though she is travelling upward, which she hopes will lead to some form of exit on the other side. She comes to a point where, ahead, she can see some dim light. Exhausted from both lack of sleep and the constant escaping, she decides to rest here for a moment. She sits against a large, smooth stone. She reaches into her front pocket and produces the partially-eaten candy bar. She hungrily eats the remains of it, saving none for later. She figures that, at this point, it does not matter anymore. In some small way she has given up—she knows that the wolves will eventually catch up to her, or something worse will have her.