by A. I. Nasser
The coffee shop story worked just fine.
He took another sip from his mug, winced and reached for the sugar. The Kent Coffee and Chocolate Co. was brimming with a dense afternoon crowd. Most were waiting in line for their coffee and cake to go, while others stood idly by the sandwich display, laughing and chatting. There was only room for four or five tables, and they were all packed. Kyle had been lucky, finding a nice corner table away from the crowd where he could sit and watch and not think about what had happened that morning.
You're safe.
The words kept repeating in his head, and he scoffed at how ridiculous they sounded. He was definitely far from safe. Safe meant being able to go to sleep without having to worry about flaming cities and screaming bodies hanging on crucifixes. Safe meant not having to see his wife and son burn every night while the taloned claw held his head, forcing him to watch. Safe meant waking up without having to hallucinate about ghosts and monsters wearing his dead wife's face. He was definitely not safe.
Kyle watched the crowd. He envied them. A large group of high schoolers sat at the table closest to him, texting, laughing, without a worry in the world. His eyes fell on a couple, the girl sitting on her boyfriend's lap with her cellphone in her hand while he stroked her back. Kyle wondered if they had nightmares. He wondered if anyone in the coffee shop shared his agony of sleepless nights.
He took another sip of coffee.
"Hey, you guys have to see this!"
Kyle looked up at the girl he had been watching as she swiped her finger across her phone, then held it out for her friends to see. Kyle watched as their eyes grew wide. One boy reached out and grabbed the phone, bringing it to him for a closer look as his friends crowded beside him and looked over his shoulder.
"Damn!" Kyle frowned at the look of excitement on the boy's face.
"Was this last night?" another girl asked.
Kyle looked at the first girl in anticipation, already drawn into the conversation although he had no idea what they were talking about.
"The whole place burned down," the girl nodded. "They say two people died in the fire. It's all over YouTube. Kent's finally going viral!"
"Yeah, my father told me something about that this morning," her boyfriend replied. "He said an office building down on South Main Street burned down, too."
"My mom's accounting firm," the boy with the phone confirmed. "She said her boss died in the fire. She wasn't too sad about it, though."
Kyle pulled out one of his Lucky Strikes, lit it and inhaled deeply. He turned to the window, trying not to look like he was paying too much attention to the group, and listened. Two fires and three dead bodies in one night. News like that should have been the talk of the town, and he was surprised that it wasn't the main topic of discussion between other people he had eavesdropped on since his arrival.
"Witching hour, man. Told you strange things happen after midnight."
Kyle's head snapped around.
"Shut up," someone else replied. "You and your damn witchcraft stories."
Kyle's vision became blurry, and the world around him began to suddenly swim in and out of focus. A sharp pain started at the back of his head and slowly crawled its way across the rest of his scalp, stopping just above his eyes where it began to hammer wildly. Small flames began to ignite like a thousand candles across the coffee shop floor, slowly coalescing and lapping at the legs of the chairs and tables. The fire spread, cautiously, slowly, snaking across the coffee shop as if trying to steer clear of its guests while it ate away at the foundations around them. The sandwich display caught aflame, and all of a sudden, the fire burst in intensity all around him.
The guests screamed, instantly engulfed by the flames. The fire swirled, latching onto anything that could burn, spreading through the coffee shop in a violent wave. People started falling over each other, trying to get out but trapped inside by the wall of fire around the door and windows. Smoke rose and filled every breathable space, and Kyle watched in horror as one guest after the other fell to their knees, choking. The air was filled with the stench of burning wood and flesh, and from the midst of the flames, a dark shadow rose.
Kyle watched it slowly manifest itself, growing in size, taking on the familiar shape of the beast from his dreams. From the dark smoke, twin eyes snapped open, blazing a deep shade of red, staring directly at him. Kyle wanted to run, but he was trapped in his corner, the fire around him drawing in closer and closer. He coughed, gagging on the smoke, and suddenly jolted from his chair when the first of the flames scorched his hand.
He rushed back and crashed into the wall behind him, his head slamming against a picture frame and breaking the glass. His vision blurred again and he closed his eyes against the sudden pain. When he opened them again, he was standing over his toppled chair, and everyone in the coffee shop was staring at him.
"Hey, mister, you're bleeding," one of the teenagers said.
Kyle reached up and winced as he gently touched the gash on the back of his head. Blood trickled down the nape of his neck and into his shirt.
"Are you okay?"
Kyle looked to his right where a waitress held out a checkered table towel and was gesturing towards the wound. He thanked her, took the towel and gently pressed it against the back of his head. He glanced at the broken frame that hung awkwardly on one nail, the picture of a clown drinking coffee smiling at him through shards of glass.
"Yeah," Kyle replied, giving the waitress a small smile. "Sorry about that."
The crowd had begun to lose interest, a few briefly giving Kyle a second look before going back to their business.
"Don't worry about it," the waitress smiled. "I hated that picture anyway."
Kyle returned her smile, picked up the chair he had toppled over and sat back down. The waitress raised a questioning eyebrow, and when he nodded at her, smiled and went back to her station. Kyle looked up at the group of teenagers who had fallen silent and were still staring at him.
"I'm okay," Kyle assured them.
They turned away, all except the girl on her boyfriend's lap. Her phone was in her hand, and Kyle wondered if maybe he'd be the next viral YouTube video to come out of Kent. He gave her a weak smile, and only then did she turn away and go back to scrolling on her phone.
Kyle brought the towel back, saw the blood stain there, and returned it to his wound. He used his free hand to take out another cigarette, stick it between his lips and flick the spark wheel of his lighter. Nothing happened, and he flicked it a second and third time before tossing it onto the table in frustration. He felt for his back-up lighter. Reaching into his back pocket, his hands curled around something he had forgotten was there, and he pulled out the matchbox that Fegan had left him the other day.
You will come face to face with the truth soon enough.
Kyle turned the matchbox over and over in his hand, the Kent Country Inn logo printed on both sides in matching silver colors.
Kyle slid the matchbox back into his pocket and asked for the check.
***
Tracey couldn't think of a worse day for Kyle to call in sick.
Usually the library didn't attract too many visitors. It was one of the reasons Tracey had decided to intern here in the first place. She was never keen on a job that required too much work, and with Kyle around and handling most of the heavy lifting, she was left with the simple things. Stacking books, organizing cards, making sure no one slipped out with a book that wasn't entered into the system. Most of the time, though, she just sat behind her desk and texted, occasionally checking her Facebook. With little more ambition than that shown by a rack of coats, Tracey could easily see herself doing this for the rest of her life. Even on the rare occasions Kyle came in late, she never had to do anything more than say good morning and smile.
Not today, though. Today she was in way over her head.
The school trip had been the first disaster. She had completely forgotten about that, most of the library's scheduling left for Ky
le to handle. For two hours, she had fifteen third-graders rushing about the library and a teacher that was as useful as a flat tire. At one point, she had even begun to toy with the idea of shooting one of them in the head as a warning to all the others.
Then, of course, was the book club, and without Kyle around to work his charm and manage the complicated logistics involving fifteen very loud elderly women, Tracey was ready to shoot herself in the head. At one point, one of the women asked her if she cared to share her opinion, to which Tracey had dutifully smiled and declined. She had no idea how sour the women would be following that.
By the afternoon, Tracey had already made up her mind to close up shop and just go home. Besides, who would miss her, or the library? Everyone was on their iPhones and Kindles these days, and it was a miracle the library was still open in the first place. She believed that if it weren't for the fact that it was an important monument in the community, it would have probably been turned into a coffee shop or restaurant years ago. Or a parking lot.
She had just logged into her Facebook account and was waiting for a video to load when Helen Lint walked in. Tracey sensed trouble the instant she laid eyes on the woman. She slowly stood up behind her desk as her hand instinctively went for her phone.
Helen looked like she had been to hell and back. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, but strands had broken loose and hung wildly across her face. She was wearing a two piece suit that at some point in the past could have been beige, but was now covered in soot and torn at random places. The white blouse under her suit jacket was stained dark red, looking to Tracey very much like dried blood, and was missing a few buttons, revealing the top of her push-up bra. She wasn't wearing any shoes, and her feet were coated in mud. The skin on her shins was red and covered in blisters, and Tracey couldn't help the shudder that raced through her at the sight of them. She knew what first-degree burns looked like. She knew the agonizing pain that they caused.
Yet the wide smile on Helen Lint's faced made it seem as if she were enjoying a nice stroll through town, soaking in the sun and fresh air, fully content with her appearance. If she were feeling any pain at all, it didn't show, and that worried Tracey even more.
Helen took a few steps into the library and lifted her face towards the ceiling, looking like she was admiring the woodwork. She ran a finger along one of the many tables set up by the door, then turned her attention back to Tracey. All the while, her smile never faltered.
"Can I help you?" Tracey asked, expertly unlocking her phone and searching for Kyle's number while her eyes remained fixated on the visitor.
Helen's smile widened, and she began to slowly make her way towards Tracey's desk. "This is a nice little haven," she said.
Tracey frowned, giving up the search and pocketing her phone. She didn't want to alarm the woman, worried that maybe the few screws that were loose in her head might blow completely if she saw what Tracey was doing. Right now, her best option was to keep Helen calm and find some way to convince her to leave. If that didn't work, she might just have to resort to violence. She sized Helen up and quickly decided that if push came to shove, she could easily take her down.
Great day to decide not to come in, Kyle.
"We try to make it as cozy as possible," Tracey replied, keeping her tone level. "It's a library, after all."
"Quaint," Helen nodded, looking around again. Tracey noticed scratch marks on the side of the woman's neck. "I expected something else completely, but when I think about it now, I guess it makes sense."
"Excuse me?"
Helen turned back to Tracey and winked at her. "Don't mind me," she said. "Actually, you can help me with something. You see, I'm looking for someone, and I have a feeling you might just be able to point me in the right direction."
Tracey frowned. Everything about this woman screamed crazy. "Who are you looking for?"
Helen stopped and squinted her eyes, inhaling deeply through clenched teeth. "See, that's the problem. I don't actually know his name," she said, pursing her lips and looking up as if in deep thought. "All I know for sure is that he keeps popping up where I don't want him to."
"You're going to have to be a little more specific," Tracey said.
"I know, right?" Helen replied, leaning against one of the tables and crossing her arms over the blood stains. She shook her head in embarrassment and shrugged. "That's all I got. And of course, this little place here." She brought one arm out in a wide arc, gesturing at the library. "Every time I see him, I see books. Lots and lots of books. So I thought to myself, where would I find that many books in one place?" Helen snapped her fingers and tapped the side of her head with one finger. "Why, a library, of course."
Tracey took a tentative step back, regretting her decision with the phone. She glanced at the door, quickly calculating the distance between it and her, and decided that running was probably not the best option. She gazed at Helen again. The smile only added to the uneasiness.
You can take her. Come on, you know that already. Don't be a wuss!
Tracey ignored the voice in her head. That option had seemed valid a few seconds ago, before she saw the look in Helen's eyes. There was something dark in them, something sinister, and Tracey had a feeling there was more to Helen than her scrawny limbs and working-mom looks. Something inside her was warning her that the woman might be a lot more dangerous than she looked.
"You look worried," Helen cut through Tracey's thoughts.
Tracey forced a weak smile and shook her head. "Just thinking," she replied. "I don't think I can help you after all. Maybe try the police station?"
Helen chuckled, and Tracey felt something cold grab onto her spine and twist. There was no merriment in that laugh, nothing close to amusement. If it was supposed to lighten the mood, all it did was give her chills.
"Now you're just being silly," Helen said. "I told you, I saw books. And since you're the only library in town, it's safe to assume the man I'm looking for works here."
"The school library has books," Tracey offered.
"No!"
Tracey almost fell back at the sudden roar that erupted from Helen's mouth. It was like a rumbling tidal wave, strong and menacing, crashing against her ears with such force that it made them ring. Helen's face changed, shifting slightly and quickly, and would have gone unnoticed if Tracey hadn't been watching her so closely.
Helen raised a hand up in a gesture of apology and shook her head. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I have a tendency to lose my patience." She smiled again, but it did nothing to ease the cold that was coursing through Tracey's veins. "So, let's try this again. Are you the only employee here?"
"Yes," Tracey replied, her voice weak and far from convincing.
Helen shook a finger at her. "Now, you see what you're doing there? You're lying to me."
"I'm not," Tracey said quickly, shaking her head.
Helen only stared, her head cocked to one side as if trying to make up her mind about that, then smiled again and shook her head. "You know, I actually thought this was going to be a lot easier," she said, standing up straight.
Tracey didn't wait to see what would happen next. Throwing caution to the wind, she bolted for the door. She pushed over a chair, stumbled, then found her balance and raced forward. Just before her hand grabbed the knob, she felt a vice-like grip around her neck, and she was lifted off her legs and flung back. She hit the desk hard, crying out in pain, and rolled onto the floor.
"You see what you just did there?" Helen asked, walking around the desk and looking down at her. "Now I know you're lying to me."
Tracey pushed herself to her hands and knees, a sharp pain radiating across her back and sending aching bolts of agony to the base of her skull. While part of her mind tried to deal with the pain, the other part failed to understand just what had happened. Crazy was one thing. Supernatural, something else completely.
Helen crouched down beside her and pulled Tracey's head back by the hair so that she was looking directly at her.
There was a red tinge in Helen's eyes, like a cloud that swirled around her irises until they melted over the whites in a crimson film. Slowly, the veil began to coalesce and cover her pupils as well, until all that remained were twin red eyes that seemed to stare right into Tracey's soul. Tracey felt the blood in her veins freeze as Helen's smile widened menacingly.
"You want to try this again?" Helen asked.
Tracey had no idea what had taken over her. Terror, panic, a sudden survival instinct, or all three together. She lashed out, her hand slamming against the side of Helen's face, throwing the other woman off balance. Tracey jumped to her feet and ran, this time making her way to the rows of shelves and the office at the back. There was a small corridor there that led to the parking space behind the library, and beyond that were the backyards of neighboring houses. She could find help there. She could be safe.
Behind her came manic laughter, and almost as if on cue, the library fell into sudden complete darkness. Tracey kept going, racing forward, trying not to think about how it was still mid-afternoon and there was no logical explanation for the sudden lack of light.
Ahead of her, a bookcase slid from its place and crashed against the wall, books flying out and landing in piles on the floor. Tracey slid to a halt, eyes wide. She stared at the massive oak shelf with the remaining books on it, knowing well that there was no way something that heavy could have been moved like that.
More laughter prompted her to keep going, and she raced to the aisle in an attempt to run around the displaced bookcase. Ahead of her, two of the tables began to shake, and then slid quickly across the floor as if being pushed by invisible hands. They crashed into each other with enough force for them to shatter into large chunks of wood, overflowing in all directions like thousands of miniature stakes. Tracey didn't have enough time to react, and screamed in pain when one of the stakes buried itself into her left shoulder and sent her spinning on her heels. She crashed into the shelves behind her, books raining over her head, and almost fell to her knees if not for the rush of adrenaline that was propelling her forward.