Dark Confluence

by Rosemary Fryth

  “What are they?” Trent asked, scratching his head in bemusement. “Do you reckon they are aliens?”

  Deven shook his head, “I’ve no idea. I’m guessing paranormal, so we could be dealing with anything from aliens, to demons, to ghosts and spirits.”

  Bill pointed to the laptop screen where the footage had been uploaded, “Don’t forget fairies, I mean that one looks like something out of the St Paddy’s Day march, except check out the teeth on it. Try asking it for a pot of gold and you’d get your arm gnawed off.”

  “Don’t forget the one at three hours, thirty-seven minutes in,” Trent whispered. “That one was like something out of nightmare. A demonic amalgamation of teeth, scales, fur and claws. It was like the end-result of a mating between a hyena and an armadillo, and the size of it! I reckon it would rival a Great Dane. Did you see it go up the side of the bank? Whffft, seconds only and then it was gone!”

  “And then there are the ghosts,” Deven stated. “Not only those dratted trees that have sprung up everywhere, but the dead as well. We have footage that would blow the socks off those ghost programs on cable. I have seen researchers go into paroxysms of delight over single orbs and indistinct shadows. What we have here, are full bodied, floating phantasms going through walls, and through cars. It’s like opening a window into the last one hundred years of settlement here.”

  “I’d like to think we could win awards with this, but really, look at it. It is unbelievable; most people will think that we faked it ourselves. You guys have seen the stuff that’s up on the net, most of it is computer generated and we’d just be a laughing stock.” Bill mused, “I know Mac has given us the go-ahead, but this stuff is hot and it could either make or break our careers.”

  “I’m thinking, break it,” Trent replied. “No-one would be believe us, even with you...geezus, did you just see that!”

  The three men stared at the computer screen that showed, faintly and in the distance, a tall spindly, tree-like creature walking slowly and deliberately across a road and into the scrubby bush.

  “It’s like something out of Grimm’s fairytales.” Bill breathed, “Deven, did you see it when you were filming?”

  Deven shook his head, “I just left the camera running at one stage...call of nature,” he explained with a rueful grin.

  “Looks like nature called whilst you were away,” Trent grinned. “Do you know what gets me about all of this weird stuff?”

  Bill shook his head, “No, tell me.”

  Trent pointed to the townsfolk who occasionally would walk into camera range, “They’re totally oblivious to it. All this stuff happening in and around them and it’s like they are sleepwalkers, are they even aware of it?”

  “We weren’t even aware of it,” Bill reminded him. “We would have been unaware of it too, until we saw what was really happening, then our minds cleared, but you were right in how you described the people as sleepwalking. Really, when you think about it, has anyone here been properly awake, since we arrived. It is as if the entire town is apathetic, unconcerned. It’s as if they don’t care about what is going on or that it simply doesn’t bother them.”

  “Keep in mind that the mist is obscuring most of what is happening,” Deven replied. “We’ve taken identical footage with two cameras running. The regular camera shows just the mist, and the other, everything else. The mist simply vanishes. I doubt that the regular camera even picked up that tree-thing.”

  “The only ones that seem purposeful are the contractors doing the digging for the power company. I heard them talking. Seems like the entire town will be hooked up to the new underground power network mid next week,” Bill added. “It’s hard to rationalise everything. All this effort going in for what effectively is a town full of sleepwalkers, mindlessly going about their daily lives with their town falling apart around them.”

  “So what are we going to do with this footage?” Trent asked Bill’s question.

  “Sit on it,” Bill advised. “We’ll keep on with the story about the structural breakdown of the town, and the new power network going in, but the paranormal angle; it’s just too out there.”

  Deven stared at the footage on the laptop and reluctantly nodded, shutting down the laptop and closing it, “You’re right, no one would believe it.”

  *

  Chapter 20

  As Jen drove slowly through town, she was aghast at what she was seeing. It had been five days since the funeral, and she had deliberately stayed away from Emerald Hills, choosing instead to do her shopping at Cromhart, despite the longer drive. However, curiosity had won out, and she had decided to investigate and see exactly what had transpired in the town over the last few days.

  Pulling in next to the bank, she saw many shops and businesses closed and the few that remained open, seemed almost devoid of customers. Apparitions openly walked the streets, and most of the footpaths looked ruined and ravaged. The roots of the Fae trees had broken the concrete and paving apart, leaving behind an uneven, fractured mess that was proving hazardous to most pedestrians. The traffic lights now shone a steady red, illuminating the ever-present mist with a sickly scarlet haze, and most walls and structures showed significant cracking. Every surface seemed covered with a dark greenish-black mould, and vines and creepers worked their way across the sides of buildings; even across and onto tin or tile roofs. Jen had noticed that the council or police had put warning barriers and tape across the entrances to many buildings, so evidently someone in authority was aware that civilization was breaking down in Emerald Hills. Jen just could not figure out why nothing else was being done to stop it or fix things – there seemed to be a strange disconnect or dissonance present in the town.

  The very few people that she recognised seemed unaware of their surroundings. When first driving into town, she had to brake hard in order to avoid a mother and child heedlessly wandering across the road, seemingly caught in a daydream. She had honked the horn at them, but they just ignored her, so she had to wait until their aimless walk took them to the relative safety of the opposite footpath. As she watched, all the townsfolk seemed caught in a daze, drifting singly or in small groups, conversation almost non-existent. For a town that seemed packed with people, she saw little sign of busyness or occupation – just a zombie-type of haphazard drifting here and there.

  As for the others, well, there were crowds of people who seemed to her so utterly foreign to the regulars that she normally observed. Hard faced individuals in business suits brushed shoulders with hippies in cheesecloth. Then there were the others, dressed all in black with pale skin, dyed black hair, and possessing an unnerving dead-eyed gaze. Once before in Brisbane, Jen had seen one or two hanging about the Valley near the nightclubs, but she had never dreamt of seeing them in country Emerald Hills.

  Evidently, there was no accommodation left, because she noticed that tents had been erected on almost every bit of green space and parkland, and cars with interstate plates were parked everywhere, even in no standing zones and across driveways. Jen couldn’t remember the last time she had seen the local bus on its regular route.

  The town was crowded, but Jen felt it was a bad sort of crowd. She could feel the wrongness oozing, even from where she sat in the locked car. She did not know why or how these people knew to come, but she knew that Emerald Hills was no longer safe for her. It wasn’t just the Fae that she had to fear now, others had come that might see her as a threat. Jen was thankful that she was immune from the haze and apathy that was afflicting the townsfolk. Although she did not properly understand why she was spared. She guessed it might have to do with her Sight.

  Jen innately knew that the mist must be responsible for the mental haze, but to see the whole town so affected was not only frightening, but depressing as well. The town was falling down about everyone’s ears and no one cared. The ones who did care, and did have purpose, seemed to be like vultures or parasites feeding upon a dying host.

  Not wanting to look out on the corrupted town, Jen inst
ead turned her attention to the local paper that she had bought in Cromhart. She had read it cover to cover, and although the mist, the abductions and the unexplained deaths featured prominently, there was not a single word of explanation to be found. Jen put the newspaper down on the passenger seat and forced herself to look out of the car window again. Going by the news reports, the electrical work was almost complete, only a day or two more and then the town would be wholly reliant on underground power. Jen knew that she had to act soon, but did not know how to undo all the changes and bring the town back to life.

  Jen turned on the indicator and slowly began to turn out onto the main road, narrowly missing a cyclist who had shot out of the mist, seemingly oblivious to traffic. Jen wound down her window to shout out at him, then immediately stopped, her actions had attracted the attention of a group of people, two of whom she had seen days earlier. Dressed in expensive, European styled clothes, they gestured at her to stop and walked over to her car, pulled halfway out from the kerb.

  “You’re awake,” one said, without preamble or introduction. “How can this be so?”

  Jen felt waves of misgiving and fear - these people were not to be trusted.

  “Awake? Of course, I am awake. What on earth are you talking about?” she nervously blustered.

  The group looked at one another and then noticed the hire car sticker on her vehicle.

  “Tourist?” another asked.

  Jen nodded, deciding that it would be best to keep them ignorant of where she lived and who she was.

  “Ach...makes sense.” The elder of the group, a man in his forties, looked back at her. “Keep driving, this place...not good. Better to...eh...go on.”

  Jen stared at them in disbelief, “You can’t tell me what to do!”

  Suddenly, all four turned their eyes on her and Jen felt the temperature drop, one started chanting and a background headache immediately started up behind her eyes. Jen knew that they were trying to do something to her, but her Sight seemed to block most of what they were attempting. Instantly, she knew what to do. She had to comply. Otherwise, they would understand that she was different and she understood that it would be dangerous to be found out.

  Scared now, Jen allowed the annoyance to fade from her face, and instead sighed apathetically and let her face muscles relax into blankness.

  “Yes...you are of course right,” she intoned, “I should drive on.”

  They smiled as one, their faces tight and taut, and as a group, they stepped out of the way, as she turned the car onto the road and slowly drove off.

  Jen floored the accelerator as soon as she was out of sight of the group, and drove out of town.

  *

  Bag slung over her shoulder, Carma looked at her front door, and then back to her bedroom. She sighed, every day for the last three days she had fought an internal battle to walk out of her house and go to work, and each day she had failed. She was running low on food, but oddly enough she did not care, all she wanted to do was go back to bed and sleep.

  She knew she should open the shop and earn money. She knew she should be taking advantage of all the visitors flocking to Emerald Hills, but she simply could not will herself to move beyond the confines of her house.

  She thought back on last night, the EHGAG meeting had been a bust. It had been pencilled in on the calendar for weeks, and she knew everyone who remained was aware of it, but still no one showed. She had pushed herself to make herb muffins especially for it, and now they sat on the table, uneaten, and going stale.

  Dispiritedly, Carma let her leather and fabric shoulder bag drop to the floor - it lay on the wooden boards looking as dispirited as she felt. Mechanically, Carma put her car keys back in the wooden bowl on the dresser and took off her shoes. She walked listlessly down the hallway, her bare feet whisper-silent on the polished wooden floorboards and headed straight to her still unmade bed.

  Sitting down on the covers, her head drooped, as if she did not have the strength to hold it erect. One part of her mind knew that she should be angry, upset, frustrated, yet all those very familiar emotions seemed to be foreign to her now. She felt...nothing, drained of all vibrant emotions. She had tried yesterday to work her craft, to brew herself a tea to enliven her spirit, yet even the most simple of concoctions seemed beyond her now. Instead, she had sat for hours at her kitchen table, just staring at the herbs spread out before her, trapped in a haze of apathy.

  Dimly Carma remembered a time when she was full of energy, decisions, and purpose. She recollected being driven, always working to attain her goals of influence, power and wealth. She vaguely remembered it, could almost taste the memories of such passion, but now, even thinking of such memories, seemed to tire and weary her. She knew this wasn’t her, she understood it wasn’t natural, yet she could not lift a finger to correct or stop it.

  She depressingly clambered onto the bed, lay down and pulled the soiled covers over her head. Perhaps sleep would right all wrongs. Perhaps waking would bring the world back into sharp focus again. She could but hope. Carma closed her eyes and let the insistent pull of sleep claim her once again.

  *

  Chapter 21

  Jen pushed the print button on her word processing program and watched as the machine slowly churned out a dozen or more pages of typed text. She had written two lengthy letters, one with a letter already stamped and addressed, the other letter was to go into a blank envelope – although, she was not yet certain what address she was going to write on it.

  It had taken her most of the day to write those two letters, and although she was skilled with language, they were the hardest words she had ever written in her life.

  Jen sat back, fatigue written in every line on her face and she remembered the last twenty-four hours.

  ...

  She had driven home from town as if the hounds of hell were on her tail. Gone was the fear of the mist, gone was her sedate and careful driving. All that mattered now was finding a way to fix things, to change the terrible fate of Emerald Hills. She did not know how she was going to do it, but by God, she would do her best. She simply could not allow everything she knew and loved to go into the darkness. The changes to the town, the horrible people gathering there, the missing children; Jen knew that she could no longer stand aside and just be a witness.

  She ran from the car, slamming the door behind her. In her haste, her feet slipped on the mossy, lichen-covered ground, almost throwing her off-balance, but she recovered sufficiently to stumble the last few steps to her front verandah

  Turning from the house to face the garden, she threw her arms out wide and called out, “Fionn!” She heard her own voice pealing and echoing, even though the heavy quagmire of the mist.

  She did not have to wait long. A figure stalked out of the fog, with his green eyes luminescent in the semi-darkness. He did not bother now to apply his mask of mortality, he wore his natural face and form and Jen, her knees threatening to give way beneath her, leaned heavily against the wood of the balcony and watched him walk towards her. His lean body was clad in a billowing black shirt with a lace collar. Over it, he wore a black leather jacket slashed with dark grey silk, and black leather trousers and knee-high riding boots encased his legs. He held a great wide and feathered black hat in his hand. It seemed to Jen that he had stepped just that moment from the great halls of Europe in the seventeenth century.

  He was beautiful in the way a stallion was beautiful, or a thundering waterfall, or an arcing rainbow. If he had worn his natural face the first time they had met, Jen did not think she could have refused him. Pale straight hair flowed over his shoulders, and his ears were ever so slightly pointed and thrusting up through his fine locks. His face was flawless yet wholly masculine. High-sculpted cheekbones and a narrow arrogant nose hinted at cruelty, whilst the softness in his green eyes showed a deep, almost eternal capacity for love. He seemed the very epitome of nature, in that it could be both magnificent, and dangerous. Jen sighed when she saw him and she felt her s
tomach knot in both pleasure and anxiety. He exuded sexuality and a raw power, and Jen moaned aloud at the very sight of him.

  “You called me, Jenny,” he murmured, reaching her and placed a cool hand upon her cheek.

  Jen gasped and nodded. Frantically she tried to pull herself together. “I did, I need your help.”

  “You know it comes with a price?”

  She nodded again, a blush suffusing her face and neck, “It is why I called you, fairy man.”

  “I dislike that title, call me by my name,” he demanded, caressing her cheek with his thumb.

  She shivered at his touch, “Fionn.”

  He shook his head, “My true name.”

  Jen whispered the name he gave her weeks earlier, “Ionuin”

  He sighed, shuddering like a leaf.

  “I am yours, fair Jenny, what would you ask of me?”

  “I cannot save the town by myself, I need your aid. I don’t know what to do or what you can do...” her words staggered to a hesitant stop, and her stomach twisted with nervous anxiety.