Migrators

by Ike Hamill

  Rick’s shadow from the firelight, dancing through the doorway on the front porch, began to grow. Alan couldn’t take his eyes from it. Rick’s shadow swelled and bulged until it filled the whole trapezoid of light projected out from the cabin. The shadow reached dark hands around Rick’s midsection. Rick began to scream.

  Alan clutched Joe’s clothes to his chest. He watched Rick try to move out of the way, but shadowy arms held him in place. They held him up as other shadows consumed him. Beginning at his hips, the shadows dissolved Rick’s uniform pants and his shirt. They ate into his skin and Rick turned his shouting face upwards.

  Alan looked to the windows. At each one, darkness spilled over the sills. Pools of darkness settled to the floor and spread around the perimeter of the room. At the back wall, the other man slid down to a seat and hugged his knees to his chest. He put his hands over his ears to block out the sound of Rick’s screams.

  The screaming stopped soon enough. Rick’s ribs were visible where his shirt used to be and a shadow slipped over his face. For a second, Rick looked somewhat like the faceless creature that Alan had seen in the marsh. His head was a smooth, dark shape. Seconds later, a pile of bones and organs collapsed in the threshold of the door. With the echoes of Rick’s screams fading away, a new sound filled the air. It was the sound of whipping wind and low murmurs.

  The shadows passing through the window parted around the woman. She stood up and walked towards the fire. Alan looked down and saw the shadows swirling around her feet.

  “I’ve never seen them like this,” the woman said. She was nearly shouting to be heard over the sound of gusting air. Despite the sound, the air inside the cabin looked still. She pushed a dirty tangle of hair away from her eyes.

  Alan glanced to the other man who had been sitting against the back wall. All that was left was another pile of bones and organs. The man hadn’t made a single sound as the phantoms consumed him.

  “I don’t want any part of this,” Alan said. His eyes darted around, looking for an escape route. “And I don’t want you using any of my son’s things either.”

  “He’s been promised to my daughter,” the woman said.

  “No,” Alan said. “By whom?”

  She raised her arms in an exasperated shrug. The little girl—Pauline—raised her arms and dropped them, mimicking her mom’s gesture. When her jacket lifted, Alan saw a folded piece of paper sticking from her back pocket. He was still close enough that he might reach that paper, but then what? Where could he go with these flesh-eating shadows spilling in through the windows and door?

  “I thought Pauline’s mother was dead,” Alan said.

  The wind sound rose to a crescendo and the murmurs sounded like shouts. The woman rubbed her tired eyes. The sound was still there, but it faded enough that Alan could hear what the woman said next.

  “That’s just what they tell people. It’s a good enough explanation for why I don’t have time to take care of my kids anymore,” she said. She sighed. “Look—you’re still pretty young. Just put down the clothes and move along. We don’t need your cooperation, and there’s nothing you can do to stop what’s about to happen.”

  Alan dove forward and plucked the piece of paper from Pauline’s back pocket. It unfolded as he pulled it back to the bundle of clothes—it was Joe’s apology letter. The shock on the face of Pauline’s haggard mother brought Alan a tiny smile.

  Alan inched towards the window. The shadows were still spilling over the sill, but he thought maybe he could dive over them. He glanced back at the woman. She just stood there, looking shocked and tired and increasingly angry. Pauline stared up at her mother’s face. Alan looked back to the window and prepared himself for the leap.

  “Alan,” she said. Alan glanced up. Her eyes were white with blinding light. She held her arms out, away from her body. Her fingertips were dissolving into white light. He couldn’t tell if she was rising up, or if it was just an illusion created by the light erupting from her toes. Her shoulder-length hair lifted from her head and stood out to the sides.

  The shadows were driven up the walls. Alan looked back to the window—his escape route—and saw that a veil of shadow covered the opening.

  “Drop the clothes, Alan,” the woman’s voice said. Her face was lost in the glare of the white light. Her dirty dress looked like it was lit from within. She grew brighter by the second. The light of the fire was dwarfed by her glow.

  Pauline was entranced by the sight of her mother as she walked right through the edge of the fire to stand at her mother’s feet. She stared right into the bright light. Alan raised his arm to shield his eyes. He looked to the door. Above the pile of bones in the doorway, another dim screen of shadow blocked the exit. Overhead, even the top of chimney swirled with the odd shadows.

  Alan took a step towards the glowing woman so he could move closer to the fire.

  If I can’t escape, at least I can burn Joe’s clothes, he thought.

  Movement caught Alan’s eye at the window behind the woman. A white object slid through the opening—it was the porcelain box from his own attic. The murmurs and sound of wind returned to their earlier strength.

  “Go get help!” Alan screamed, hoping Bob could hear him.

  The box bounced to the floor behind the woman. She didn’t seem to notice. She rose higher.

  “Prepare yourself, Polly,” she screamed.

  The little girl wasn’t paying attention. She saw the box and was moving towards it. Alan watched as Pauline crouched next to the box and touched the lid. She glanced up at her mother, but the woman was focused on Alan. Pauline fingered the latch and began to lift the lid. Her mother finally looked down.

  “Prepare yourself,” the woman said as she looked. When she saw what her daughter was doing, her tone changed. Fear and anger flew from her mouth—“No, Polly! NO!”

  It was too late. Pauline had opened the lid and was looking at the old bones nestled in their purple velvet. She fell back on her butt as a new shape rose from the bones. It was the woman in the pink hoop dress. As soon as she took shape, hovering over the old bones, she erupted in a white light a thousand times more dazzling than that of the other woman. Alan backed towards the wall, forgetting the hungry shadows that lurked there. The woman in the hoop dress burned so bright that it took the light from the other woman. She lowered to the dirt floor as her glow faded. Pauline’s mother fell to her knees and reached for her daughter.

  The shadows gathered. They flooded into the white porcelain case on the floor and rattled the bones. The murmuring fell away. It sounded like all the wind was being sucked out of the room through a small hole. The sound whistled and swirled. The shadows rose to meet the bottom of the apparition. Alan saw their shapes, outlined in white light. Their faceless heads turned up towards the light and their stubby arms reached towards it. They seemed to consume the light, pulling it down with their greedy, fingerless hands.

  The light began to wane, absorbed from underneath by the creatures. On the floor, the woman gripped Pauline to her breast. Her light had gone out—the two looked up and watched the apparition.

  Alan’s back found the wall. His eyes were burned from the light. As it faded, he was left looking at purple images of the woman in the hoop dress. He slid along the wall and tripped. He felt air rushing into the little cabin and he pulled himself into the wind, hoping to find the door. He still clutched Joe’s clothes and the letter with one hand. The other hand felt the way. It found wet bones and soft organs.

  Alan heard a laughing behind him. He looked back and behind the purple blobs burned into his eyes, he saw the fire swell. He felt the heat on his back. Alan crawled farther. His hand found the book. He pulled that to his chest and gathered it in with the clothes. The wet ribs of Rick Prescott crunched under his knee and Alan spilled out onto the porch. He found his feet and ran. Behind him, he heard an explosion of fire.

  A dark shape loomed in front of Alan. He tried to turn, but he crashed directly into the trunk of a maple
tree. Alan fell backwards and the world spiraled to black.

  X • X • X • X • X

  Alan woke. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed. The world was a purple blob. Both of his arms were wrapped around Joe’s clothes and the book. His toe throbbed. He was being dragged.

  Alan twisted and fought his way out of the grip of whatever was dragging him through the forest.

  “Are you okay? Get up,” Bob said.

  “I can’t see,” Alan said.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Hotel

  OCTOBER 24

  “ARE YOU awake?” Liz asked.

  Alan opened his eyes and blinked against the light.

  “Too bright,” he croaked. His throat felt like he’d swallowed broken glass. A loose sheet and a blanket were draped over him.

  “Sorry,” Liz said.

  He heard curtains being drawn and the world on the other side of his eyelids dimmed. Alan tried his eyes again. Despite the ache, he could see shapes and shadows. His arms were gripped tight around his torso. Liz pulled at his hand and Alan fought her.

  “It’s okay, Alan. You’re okay,” she said.

  He let her unwrap his arms and pull him into a hug. He held her tight. She was sitting on the bed next to him. He saw the flickering light of the TV over her shoulder.

  “Where are we? Where’s Joe?” Alan asked.

  “We’re at the Kingston Village Inn. You always said you wondered what it would be like to stay here. Joe’s got the adjoining room.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You were pretty out of it. Speaking of which, it’s time for your pills. How’s your pain?”

  “I don’t know,” Alan said. “Fine. It hurts. What did they do?”

  Liz handed Alan a cluster of pills. He tossed them back and then she helped him lean forward so he could take a sip of water.

  “They took off a chunk of your toe and then sewed it up. You’ve got painkillers, this anti-swelling stuff, and antibiotics,” Liz said. She pulled back the blanket. Alan’s foot had a loose bandage around the toe. “You’re supposed to use those until the stitches come out.” She pointed at crutches leaning against the wall.

  “And eye drops,” Liz said.

  Alan tilted his head back while Liz squeezed a couple drops in each of his eyes. He tasted salt and iodine in the back of his throat.

  “Bob! Is Bob okay?”

  “Yes, he’s fine,” Liz said. “You don’t remember your trip to the hospital? Bob drove.”

  “No,” Alan said. He swallowed.

  “I have to go into work for a few hours to take a couple of meetings. I’ll open the door to Joe’s room. You can yell if you need anything,” Liz said.

  “Okay.”

  “You’re going to be okay?”

  Alan nodded.

  “When I get back, I want to hear what happened,” Liz said. “Bob told me some of it, but he didn’t know all of the details.”

  Alan nodded. He closed his eyes. They felt better closed. There was still a purple dot in the center of his vision and a frustrating itch that originated somewhere within his skull. Liz kissed him on the cheek.

  X • X • X • X • X

  A knock woke him up.

  Alan pushed back the blankets. He felt sticky and hot under the covers. He pulled himself up to more of a sitting position.

  “Joe?”

  Alan blinked. He heard his son jogging up to the bedside.

  “Yeah Dad?”

  “The door,” Alan said. He reached for the water. It felt like there was a cricket trapped in his throat and it struggled to get free whenever he talked. He gulped at the water, hoping to drown the insect. The water helped.

  “Who is it?” Joe asked. He stood on his tiptoes to see through the peep hole.

  Alan couldn’t hear the answer. Joe opened the door and Bob was standing on the other side.

  Joe turned to Alan. “Can he come in?”

  Alan waved Bob in. Joe closed the door and set the chain again. Joe lingered by the foot of the bed for a second and then went back through the door to his adjoining room. Alan heard Joe’s TV come on.

  Bob set his bag down and pulled up a chair.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Okay,” Alan said. He drank the rest of his water.

  Bob took the glass over to the sink and refilled it.

  “You were pretty out of it after you came out of the cabin,” Bob said. He kept his voice low. “I got you back to my car and then you passed out again.”

  “How did…” Alan began. He cleared his throat. “How did you get out?”

  “Manchester Road,” Bob said. “The flooding had gone down so I went around the barricade. No big deal. My cell started working again as soon as we got out of Kingston proper. Your wife met us at the hospital. Look, I hope I didn’t screw everything up. When I saw all those things going in through the windows of the cabin, I figured you might want the box in there. After I pushed it through the window, the place exploded. I hope that wasn’t my fault.”

  “It was,” Alan said, “I think. But it was a good thing.”

  “Huh,” Bob said. He sat back.

  “Dad?” Joe called from the doorway. “Are we going to get some dinner soon?”

  “In a bit,” Alan said. “Where’s my cell?”

  “Your phone is toast,” Bob said. “You soaked it. Your wife said she was going to try to pick up a replacement at some point.”

  “Oh,” Alan said.

  “What happened in that cabin?” Bob asked.

  Alan tried to piece together all the strange events. He tried to order them in his head so he could convey them efficiently to Bob. Nothing made sense.

  “I’m having trouble…” Alan said.

  Remembering.

  “Talking? Yeah—your voice sounds terrible. It’s okay. I can tell you what I figured out. Or, at least what I think I’ve figured out,” Bob said.

  Alan raised his eyebrows.

  Bob reached down into his bag. He pulled up the book that Rick Prescott had read from in the cabin. Alan pushed himself away from Bob. The sheet dragged across his bandage and pain flared from his foot. Alan shook his head violently. He put a finger to his lips.

  “No?” Bob asked.

  “No,” Alan said.

  “Okay, I understand,” Bob said. “Definitely some weird thing going on. I’ve got a bunch of clothes here also. You were hanging on to them for dear life when we walked through the woods. I guess I should have given them to your wife last night, but I didn’t think of it. They look a little small for you.”

  Bob pulled Joe’s hat, jacket, shoes, and pants from the bag. Folded in with the clothes, he saw the apology letter that Joe had written to Polly. Alan took them all from Bob and tucked them under the blanket next to himself.

  “Thank you,” Alan said.

  “No problem.”

  “I should let you get some rest,” Bob said. “You have my number in case there’s anything you need.”

  “No—it was in my phone,” Alan said.

  “Oh, right,” Bob said. “Your wife has it. I’ll write it down.” He turned and wrote the digits on the notepad sitting on the little desk.

  “You want me to take this with me?” Bob asked. He held up the book.

  “Leave it,” Alan said.

  Bob set it on the desk.

  “Call me when you can talk, okay?” Bob said.

  “Yes,” Alan said. “Thank you for everything. I mean it.” His emotion welled.

  “No big deal. Hope you feel better. Joe? You want to see me out?”

  Alan pulled Joe’s clothes in tighter to his body and watched as his son came in. Bob stood back as Joe unchained the door. Bob gave a wave as he left and Joe chained and locked the door behind him.

  “You okay, Dad?”

  “Yeah,” Alan said. He inched his way over to the edge of the bed.

  “You need some help?”

  “No. Thanks,” Alan said. Joe wa
tched him as he swung his legs to the floor. He winced at the new throbbing from his foot. He pushed to his feet. “Hand me that crutch, please.”

  Joe gave him the crutch. Alan took it and realized he was still holding Joe’s clothes.

  “Put these somewhere safe, okay?”

  He handed the clothes to Joe. His son looked puzzled and then took them to the other room. Alan crutched his way to the bathroom and looked at his pajamas. His shirt was embroidered with “Kingston Village Inn.” He used the facilities and then crutched his way back to the bed and sat down on the edge with the last of his energy. His head swam. Alan found his way under the sheet and drifted back to sleep.

  He woke again to another knock at the door. This was the light, insistent knock of his wife—he would know it anywhere.

  “Joe?” Alan asked. His son was already headed for the door.

  Liz came in with two big bags.

  “Who wants Indian food?”

  “Did you get me gaboosh?” Joe asked.

  Liz smiled. “It’s not called that.”

  “I know,” Joe said. He took the bags to the desk and started pulling cartons from inside.

  “You can eat in bed, Alan,” Liz said.

  “No, thanks,” Alan said. He made his way from bed to the table next to the window. He pushed open the curtains and looked down on a strip of grass next to the lake. The view was beautiful. Technically, this wasn’t the same lake that emptied into the stream near their house. This was the next lake up in the chain. Somewhere near the southwest corner of this body of water, a little stream spilled over a dam into their lake. Alan sat down. He propped his leg up on the edge of the bed to relieve some of the throbbing from his foot.

  Liz brought over a plastic container and set it in front of Alan. The spices smelled wonderful.

  “I’ve got a bag down in the car with clothes for us.”

  “What?” Alan asked.

  Liz took a seat. Joe was still working on dishing out his food—picking out all his favorites.