by A. I. Nasser
He was pulled into a dark abyss, falling with no end in sight. He tried to make sense of what was happening, tried to break free of the woman’s grasp, and he felt the strands of sanity in his mind ripped like threads. He saw everything, and he saw nothing. He knew everything, and he knew nothing, and in the few seconds his lips pressed against her lips of death, his entire being seemed to shatter into a million pieces.
“Leave him.”
The voice cut through the obscurity, strong and commanding. It echoed in the night, raspy and cold, a voice of authority that made David’s skin crawl and his muscles tighten. It was a nightmare on its own, a voice that promised nothing but darkness.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.
David opened his eyes to the woods around him, the soft haze of the moon piercing through the canopy above, barely illuminating his surroundings yet strong enough to show that he was alone. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, eyes darting back and forth between the trees, trying to make out where the woman had disappeared to. There was no sign of her, but David would not wait for her return.
Jumping to his feet, barely able to stop his body from shaking, David Whelm ran.
Bonus Scene Chapter 3: What We Know
Stella gazed at her client in silence.
She watched him light another cigarette and waited for the first few puffs before saying, “And then?”
David looked at her through the smoke, his eyes begging her to stop asking questions. It was clear he was uncomfortable, but she was adamant to get to the bottom of the man’s fear. She had never failed to help a client before, and this would not be the first time she would fail. David Whelm was disturbed, but she had seen worse.
“I ran back,” David said, his voice barely a whisper in the quiet room. “The police were there. The shooting was over. Everything was over.”
“And Fiona Bright?”
David shook his head slowly, frowning as he remembered to bleeding sheriff lying on a gurney as the paramedics tried to keep her alive. “She barely survived. The bullet had pierced a lung, I heard.”
Stella flipped through her notes, trying to remember the details.
“I saw him,” David said suddenly, whispering as if speaking to himself.
“Excuse me?” Stella asked.
“I saw him.”
“Saw who?”
David took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaled and then took another.
“David,” Stella said. “Who did you see?”
“Alan Carter.”
Stella remembered the name from their last conversations. She remembered the national search for the man everyone assumed could help the FBI solve the missing children cases. It had been a big deal for a very long time, and the media could not stop talking about him. Yet, as with all news, the search had died out, and Alan Carter had become a conversation piece used to break awkward silences.
According to what she knew, the man was still missing, and the FBI had no leads.
“When did you see him?” Stella asked, leaning in with interest.
David smiled. “In my closet.”
Stella frowned. “In your closet?”
David Whelm nodded, his smile unfaltering, as if he knew something funny that he did not want to share. His cigarette died out in his hands, and as he dropped the lit stub into the ashtray, he quickly pulled another out of his pack and flicked the lighter on.
“David, are you saying that Alan Carter visited you at home?”
David began to chuckle, his arms wrapped around his body as his shoulders bobbed. The smoke from his cigarette rose in hazy waves, forming a grey cloud around the man’s face and making his smile seem a lot more manic than it truly was.
He’s lost his mind, Stella thought.
“Did Alan Carter break into your house, David?”
David shook his head. “He doesn’t need to,” he said, his eyes fixated on the small coffee table between them. “He can go wherever he wants to, now.”
Stella leaned back in her seat and tapped the side of her pad with her pen. Her client was circling again, speaking in riddles and testing her patience. Her eyes glanced up at the clock on the wall, registered the time, and sighed when she realized that the session had ended.
“Okay,” she said. “David, our time is up, but I would like to pick up from here, tomorrow. Can you promise me we’ll do that?”
David quickly put out his cigarette and stood up, adjusting his suit as he nodded. “Sure thing, Doc.”
Stella stood up as well, eyeing the man as he looked about the room and patted his pockets. On any other day, he would have looked like a regular Joe, going about life without a worry in the world. Yet, Stella could see the blacks under his eyes and the hollowness there, the signs of insomnia and stress apparent on his face.
“Try to get some sleep tonight, okay?” Stella said.
David smiled at her, a tired smile that assured her he would do nothing of the sort, and pocketed both his lighter and Lucky’s. She shook his hand and waited patiently as he idled to the office door and lumbered out.
Bonus Scene Chapter 4: Pay Your Dues
David Whelm lay in his bed, eyes wide open, the lights on, the doors and windows locked.
There would be no sleep tonight. He knew this well, just as he had known it for the past four months. Not that he couldn’t sleep; he was tired enough to know that the minute he closed his eyes, he would immediately drift away. But, he wouldn’t.
David couldn’t handle the nightmares anymore. Every night would be the same, a replay of that night in the woods, the woman in red as her face changed and her mouth opened to engulf him into the abyss beyond. Every night, he would hear the raspy, cold voice telling her to let him go, but unlike reality, he would stay lost in the darkness and insanity. In his nightmares, the woman would not let him go.
On some nights, he would hallucinate, imagine seeing everyone he had come across standing over him or sitting on the chair in the corner of his room. Fiona Bright would visit him sometimes, smirking and harassing him, bombarding him with one insult after the other until he felt like he was being scolded by his mother.
Sometimes, it would be Stanley Turk, a noose around his neck, his eyes white and dead as he smiled down at David and promised that one day they would be downing drinks together again. Often, Rachel Adams would sit on the side of his bed, looking out into nothing, then turning her head slowly towards him with a snarl so menacing, his skin would crawl.
And then, there was Alan Carter.
David knew he was only hallucinating, but when it came to Alan Carter, he could never be sure. The first time David had seen him, Alan had come out of the closet, shoulder length blonde hair instead of the black shown on the news, wearing a crimson suit that looked absolutely absurd. Since then, the man seemed to appear out of thin air, stepping out from the shadows as if he, himself, were part of the darkness.
That was why the lights were always on. That was why the closet door was nailed shut. Unlike the other hallucinations David had, the one with Alan Carter was too close to reality for comfort.
David sighed, rubbing his eyes to stay awake and glancing at the digital clock by his bed as he counted down the hours to dawn. Light; that was what he needed. In only a few hours, he would be safe from the darkness.
The lights above his head flickered, and David paused as he gazed at the twin bulbs above his head, his body frozen in place as his mind prayed that they would not burn out. He watched them carefully, willing them to stay on, but his prayers went unheard.
The lights flickered and went out, and the room immediately fell into darkness.
David held his breath, waiting to see what would come out from the shadows for him. He wondered who would visit him tonight, but a small part of him already knew the answer. When a voice echoed across the room, calm and composed, David felt his heart sink.
“We need to stop meeting like this, Whelm.”
David closed his eyes
, a shiver racing through him at the sound of Alan Carter’s voice.
“You do know there are better ways to get rid of me than turning on all the lights, right?”
“How did you get in here?” David whispered. “How do you do it, every time? I nailed the closet door shut.”
Alan chuckled in the darkness, and the laugh made goose bumps break out across David’s skin. “There is always a backdoor.”
David shook his head, cursing and silently wishing for an escape from the constant stress of uninvited visits.
“They could stop,” Alan said.
David sat up slowly, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and looking in the direction from where the voice was coming. A faint light broke through the shades on his window, and in the corner, a silhouette sat completely still.
“What do you want?” David asked. “What do you all want from me?”
“All?” Alan asked, chuckling. “David, I’m the only one here.”
David shook his head quickly. “Fiona Bright, Stanley Turk, Rachel Adams, you’re all here. You’re always here!”
David was shocked at the sudden outburst, his voice rumbling in the dark room.
Alan shifted in his seat. “I don’t know what it is you’re seeing,” he said, “but I assure you, it’s only me.”
“You’re not real,” David mumbled. “None of you are. You’re all in my head. Get out of my head!”
Alan sat completely still, a dark figure sitting on David’s favorite chair, his features hidden in the darkness. David waited for the man to reply, but nothing came, and he scoffed and shook his head.
“You’re punishing me,” David said. “That’s what you’re doing. You’re all punishing me.”
“For what?” Alan asked.
“For the riots,” David said. “You’re blaming me for them.”
“Should you be blamed?”
“Stop it!” David screamed. “I didn’t do anything wrong! It was bound to happen. The corruption, the cover-ups, everything your founding families did. It was bound to happen!”
“And you just sped it up?”
“I tried to help those families,” David shot back.
“You tried to write a story,” Alan replied, calmly.
“What the hell do you know?” David snapped. “You’re just a figment of my imagination. You’re not real. None of you are. You and your urban legends and your curses. It was all just to shy away from taking the blame for those children.”
“Maybe,” Alan said, “and maybe not. There’s only one way to find out.”
David stared challengingly at the figure in the corner, his brows furrowed and his lips pulled back in an angry snarl. He was suddenly enraged, no longer scared, willing to jump onto his feet and go a few rounds against the nightmares in his head. Alan Carter included.
“Get out of my head,” David said.
“I’m not in your head,” Alan replied. “I’m here because you have dues to pay, and you will pay them.”
“Who are you to judge me?” David snarled. “You’re just as bad as the rest of the Council. Your family is just as corrupt as the rest of them.”
“My family is not free from sin,” Alan said. “However, we own up to them. We pay our dues. I’m paying them for all of us.”
“You’re running away,” David said. “You’re hiding.”
“I’m right here. I’m not hiding.”
“You’re not real!”
The figure in the corner stood up, slowly, the couch creaking as the silhouette moved in the darkness. David’s eyes widened as he watched the figure grow into the shadows and become one with them. He could hear nails ripping from the wall, planks of wood falling, and the sound of a door creaking open.
“It’s time, David,” Alan Carter said. “We’ve been back and forth for too long. It’s time.”
“You’re not real,” David stuttered, more to himself than to the darkness around him.
“You have to understand that this has nothing to do with the riots, David,” Alan’s voice echoed all around him. “Your actions had terrible consequences. Your greed resulted in much misery. There have been ramifications you cannot possibly fathom, and the only way you will be able to make peace with yourself, is when you come to terms with what you did.”
“I did nothing,” David said, his eyes suddenly watering as the realization of what was happening suddenly washed over him.
“You did much,” Alan replied.
David shuddered as the tears escaped his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. “Please,” he whimpered. “Please. I’m scared of the dark!”
Hands suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder, strong and sure.
David’s body lurched forward, propelled firmly through the open closet door.
Alan Carter whispered from the shadows, “So am I.”
* * *
Listen to Me Now
Chapter 1
John Krik pulled up into the large Victorian’s driveway. He squinted through the rain at the large structure that stood ominously in front of him. He waited, taking in deep breaths as the sound of the car’s windshield wipers swished back and forth in perfect harmony.
This is it, he thought to himself.
He looked at the houses around him, two structures that were remarkably similar, albeit a little homier, to the one he was going to inhabit for the next six months. The illuminated windows promised warmth and comfort, and he couldn’t help but wonder what his neighbors were like. Then he decided that he didn’t really care.
He was here to work. Nothing else.
John took another deep breath and stepped out into the rain.
***
“This will be good for you.”
John Krik sat silently in his seat, looking at his editor with a frown on his face. He had been listening to the man repeatedly go over deadlines and contracts so many times that he had forgotten why he had come in the first place.
Derrick Fern was an odd character, burly and balding, and quick to light a cigarette without a care in the world as to whether his company would mind. He was a small town man who had fallen in love with the city, and he fit in perfectly with everything obnoxious New York had to offer. He knew what he wanted, got what he wanted, and was quick to voice his displeasure if the opposite of either happened.
John secretly wondered if, sometimes, the man had a little bit of the devil in him.
As an editor, Derrick was worse, and it showed with the number of manuscripts he had shoved to a corner where they waited to be shredded. John suspected that at least two of his own had experienced the same fate, but things were different now. He was famous, and he had fans.
That brought out a kindness in Derrick that was even scarier.
“Maybe the place will spark some creative juices,” Derrick was saying.
“I can’t just up and leave,” John replied. “My son is in school, and Karen’s been promoted. I can’t pull them away from the life they know because you think I need some time away.”
Derrick frowned. Then he faked a smile John had gotten used to over the years, a smile that bordered on annoyance, the calm before the storm. “Who said anything about taking them with you?”
“What do you mean?” John asked, already planning his next reply carefully.
“You need to get away from them as much as anything else.”
John shook his head quickly, waving away the suggestion as if it were ludicrous. “That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever suggested.”
Derrick leaned in, folding his arms over each other, and fixed his eyes on John’s. “It’s not a suggestion, John, it’s a request from your editor who is on the verge of canceling your contract.”
John gazed at the man in anger, half of him wanting to throw in the towel and tell him to stick the contract where the sun didn’t shine. However, he knew that he had no leverage, and the last two manuscripts he had kept aside for a rainy day had already been handed in.
The truth was, John was in t
rouble, and Derrick could smell it.
“I still have six months to hand in a new novel,” John said.
Derrick nodded in agreement. “Hey, it’s your call, buddy,” he said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “But I happen to know that you haven’t written a goddamn thing in three years, and there’s no sign of anything cooking in the oven.”
John sighed and looked away, hating how well the man knew him.
“What do you say?” Derrick asked. “The house has been empty for years, and no one’s going to ask you any questions. Besides, I grew up in the town. It’s boring, a bunch of lifeless stores and farms and run-down factories. You’ll be surrounded by a bunch of people who’ve lived too long to know any better.”
Derrick threw a set of keys across the desk and John watched them land perfectly in front of him.
“Take what you need, tell the wife and kid, and disappear for the next six months,” Derrick continued. “Consider it a gift from me to you. I want you to write the next John Krik bestseller.”
John gazed at the keys, then back at his editor. “You want your commission.”
“And you want to keep your advance,” Derrick smiled. “Do us both a favor and take the keys.”
John left with a frown on his face and the keys in his pockets, jingling the song of defeat as he walked towards his car.
***
John Krik pushed through the front door, wiggling the keys out of the lock and failing miserably as the bags he balanced under his arms fell heavily to the ground. He groaned at the dust that rose in their wake, hanging in the air as if freed from their endless sleep, the specks dancing about in the sunlight that seemed to have been missing from the interior of the house for years.
He kicked his bags inside, barely glancing at the dust trails they left on the hardwood floor as he forcefully pulled his keys out and shook the rain off his coat. It had begun to really pour, and he decided that he’d go back for the rest of his things later.