Enter the Uncreated Night

by Christopher Rankin

  “I’m not sure what I saw,” Oscar told them. “All I want to know is if I’ll see it again.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this dude looking so fucking serious,” Arnie told his brother. “Something must be up.”

  “Oscar, what the hell is going on?” Dale asked him.

  “I appreciate you guys coming to pick me up,” Oscar said. “To answer your question, I don’t know what’s going on, Dale. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know if I’m going crazy.”

  “That’s not good,” Arnie in a half-serious way. “We’ve driven our shrink crazier than us.”

  Oscar was still staring forward like he was speaking in a trance. “That glass factory closed years ago,” he said. “Yet the other night, I see cars there. Dozens of cars. Like someone was having a party. And, I thought, though I can’t be sure, that I saw my other patient Beth being carried in there while she was unconscious.”

  “How could you have seen all that, Oscar?” Dale asked, sounding skeptical. “How close were you to the place?”

  Oscar didn’t answer him.

  Dale continued, asking, “You saw someone, something, the other night but what makes you think they’ll be there again?”

  “I guess I have no reason to think that,” Oscar admitted, while he stared in the direction of their destination. “I just didn’t know what else to do.”

  They drove the rest of the way to the glass factory in silence. The city lights were fading with every mile they got closer to the nearly abandoned part of the city.

  In that part of Philadelphia, the police response time was well over three hours. Most of the people of any means had fled like refugees. Those that were left, clusters of mostly homeless and insane people, acted as a sort of skeleton crew in North Philadelphia. The faint orange glow of garbage can fires and makeshift lanterns made some of the broken-down buildings look like jack-o-lanterns.

  Within a few blocks of the factory, even those vague signs of life disappeared. No trees or even weeds in the abandoned lots. The industrial warehouses and plants remaining had given nothing away to nature. Other than a deep coating of dead earth and dust, the elements had left the place alone. In the city of Philadelphia, it was remarkable not to see a single piece of garbage or litter, any sign of the homeless, or any life whatsoever.

  When they reached the base of the stubby hill where the Bardo Glass Factory perched over the area, Arnie noticed something odd right away.

  “What the fuck are they doing?” He mumbled when he saw all the high-powered construction lights and crew of perhaps thirty working outside the factory. “It’s the middle of the night and this whole place is abandoned.”

  “Is this what you saw the other night, Oscar?” Dale asked.

  “No,” said Oscar. “I didn’t see a construction crew.”

  All dressed in white coveralls, the crew of men working on the factory moved in unison like a well-balanced machine. The trucks outside were also white and looked brand new. It was difficult to see exactly what they were doing, but it was clear the men were bringing in large pieces of steel scaffolding.

  “That’s not right,” Dale said, sounding official and very much like a sergeant. “That’s not a union crew,” he went on. “I’ve lived in Philly for my whole life. Look at the way they’re working.”

  The members of the building crew all looked like they were on a mission. Not a single one was taking a break, resting or loafing. Instead, the men in the crew marched like a determined line of ants, in and out of the factory, bringing in scaffolding, dozens of large boxes and what looked like giant sheets of glass.

  “What the fuck are they doing?” Arnie asked. “Nobody is building shit in this part of the city.”

  “We’re going to find out exactly what’s going on here,” said Dale as he put the car in drive. He followed the road to the factory entrance. When their sedan reached the chained-up gate at the front, there were two armed men waiting.

  Dale immediately held up his badge, telling them, “Philadelphia police, I’m going to need to see permits for those guns.”

  The men, burly, pale and clean-cut, just looked at each other. They didn’t waver from their unexpressive military stares. One of them rolled his eyes to the other, mumbling something in German.

  “If you don’t show me your permits,” Dale told them, “I’m going to bring about twenty of my officers down, take your guns, and throw you in a fucking holding cell where you can stand with the fucking crackheads in about an inch of piss. You want that, you fucking Krauts?”

  The men quickly brought out their gun permits from their pockets and held them out to Dale. “Permits,” they said at the same time in a German accent.

  Dale looked at the papers, quickly but reluctantly surmising their authenticity. From the passenger seat, Oscar asked the men, “What are you building? I thought this factory was abandoned.”

  “Asbestos,” one of them said. “We’re a remediation team.”

  Just beyond the gate, a crew of ten was moving large, perhaps six feet by six feet sections of glass into the doors of the factory. Flickers from welding sparks were coming out through the windows. The entire place seemed to vibrate with activity.

  “Asbestos?” Arnie asked them. “I think you boys are doing it wrong. I think you’re supposed to bring the asbestos OUT. You pricks are carrying stuff IN. Do you see the problem?”

  The men seemed to be aware that Arnie was antagonizing them. “We have permits for our weapons and this is private property,” one of them said.

  “I need you to tell me what’s going on in there,” said Dale, sounding like a cop in charge.

  “Like we said,” answered one of the men. “Asbestos remediation,” they said together.

  “Who hired you?” Dale asked them. “Why remediate an abandoned building?”

  “The city hired us,” said one of the German men.

  “The hell they did,” said Dale. “There’s barely enough money to keep the roof from caving in at city hall. There’s dozens of abandoned factories around here. Why this one? What are you doing?”

  “Like we told you officer,” said the taller of the men, “asbestos remediation. The city hired us.”

  The normally easy-going Dale was quite flustered by what was clearly a lie. He told the men, “You can lie to me all you want. I’ll be back with the authority to come in there.”

  Dale drove the three of them back down the factory road. He stopped the car at the base of the hill. “What the fuck?” He said quietly to himself as he stared up the hill. “This is really weird. What could be going on up there?”

  “I think it has something to do with my patient, Beth,” Oscar told them. “But I have no idea what.”

  “I get a bad feeling around this place,” said Arnie, who had been quiet in the backseat. “My body feels cold and my eyes hurt. This place makes me feel sick.”

  …

  The next day, Oscar cancelled appointments with his patients and drove back to North Philadelphia. On his way through the slums, the streets were vibrant, filled with a dirty, chaotic but simultaneously joyful energy. Many were already drunk, hanging out on street corners, yelling to all the familiar faces.

  As he got closer to the glass plant, the ringing of life fell silent.

  Oscar saw one man on what had to be the edge of the homeless civilization. The lean, sinewy statuesque man could have been thirty or seventy. A weathered, sleeveless white tee shirt pulled at his body in the wind. His dark eyes were wild like the dust storms in Saudi Arabia. The man pulled at his beard, which had taken on a grey mineral color of dust, while he gazed out toward the glass plant or perhaps somewhere beyond.

  Oscar pulled the car over and the man didn’t pay him any mind. When he walked over and stood beside him, the man seemed comfortable with his proximity. “Hello,” he said to him, “I’m Oscar.”

  “If you try a god-damned thing,” the man said, with the baritone volume of a stage performer, “I’ll take your hea
d clean off, boy.”

  Oscar took a step back from him, taking out a bottle of gorgonorphan from his pocket. He sipped it with the pleasure most get from the first taste of morning coffee. “I forget how good this stuff is in the morning,” he said. “I’m sorry to bother you but I’m on a bit of a mission.”

  The man chuckled, “A mission, huh?”

  “What is it with that place?” Oscar asked him. “I don’t see anyone over there ever. I don’t think I’ve even seen a rat.”

  The man finally looked at Oscar. His wild eyes had taken on something like sadness. “After a while, everything learns. First it was the plants, then the mice and rats. The people learned last. It took more than a few disappearing before people got the picture. You heard the stories?”

  “No,” Oscar told him. “I haven’t.”

  “I’m moving through here,” the man said. “I’m going to California.” Then he looked at Oscar like he might leap at him. “And I’m going well around that fucking spot.”

  ...

  That night, down the hill from the Bardo Glass Factory, Detective Dale McSorley watched the place through a set of binoculars. It was bustling again, this time with an assortment of high-priced automobiles in addition to the German work crew. When his cellphone rang, he expected to receive word that his warrant to search the place had been issued.

  “What the fuck do you mean our warrant is stuck somewhere in the system,” he told the caller. “That’s ridiculous. What does that even mean? Which judge was it?” He listened to a less than satisfactory explanation from his subordinate then answered, “Fine. Fine. It’s just that I’ve never heard of such bureaucratic retardation. It’s beyond weird and I’m pissed off.” He hung up.

  At the factory, a few more fancy cars pulled in the gate. Through the binoculars, Dale could see the tuxedos and valets. It looked like some kind of party. He also noticed a number of plain-clothed security personnel around the perimeter. They were armed with automatic weapons, guns definitely illegal in the city limits.

  He called into the station, telling the operator, “I’ve observed illegal weapons on the premises. That’s probable cause. Now I don’t need a warrant. What can you get me as far as backup?”

  The operator told him no backup was available in the area.

  “Christ!” said Dale. “That figures in this city. Fine. I’m going in,” he told the operator.

  After he hung up, he called his brother. “Arnie, he said, “I’m going into that factory for a search. There is something I don’t like going on up there. I’m tired of this fucking shit.”

  Arnie told him to wait until the following morning but Dale had his mind made up.

  “I’ll be fine,” he told Arnie. “There’re some guns around but it looks like some kind of fancy dinner party. I don’t think I’ll be in any real danger.”

  “Why don’t you let me come with you or we’ll call Oscar?”

  “Listen,” Dale stopped him. “I’m a sergeant. I turn to neither my big brother nor my therapist for backup. Thank you very much,” he said, hanging up the phone.

  He ignited the red and white flasher built into dash of the unmarked police car, then headed up the hill toward the Bardo Glass Factory.

  ...

  Chapter 22

  The Glass Snowflake

  Oscar’s phone woke him well after midnight that night. When he picked it up, Arnie McSorley was on the line, in a panic that made him barely comprehensible.

  “Something is fucking rotten!” He yelled into the line, cracking the speaker. “I can’t find my brother. I don’t know where the fuck he is!”

  “Hold on, Arnie. What do you mean?”

  “I mean he went into that fucking glass factory hours ago and no one has heard shit. No one at the station knows a god damned thing.”

  “What do you mean he went to the glass factory?”

  “Those Germans really pissed him off the other night and he’s been jonesing to get a look in there. I told him to wait. Jesus Christ, why didn’t that stupid asshole just wait?”

  Arnie agreed to meet Oscar outside the therapy office to look for Dale. When he showed up, it was clear that he had been crying. His voice was hoarse and he could barely look Oscar in the eye.

  “I know something’s wrong, Doc,” he said. “I just know it. I have the worst feeling. I feel like I’m gonna have a seizure. But worse. It feels like my innards are getting ripped apart.”

  Oscar’s phone rang in his pocket. When he answered, he heard a group of women chuckling in the background. When he asked who was calling, it took a few moments for a man on the other end to answer.

  “Who am I, indeed?” the man said. His voice rang familiar to Oscar. It could have been someone he met recently or heard on television. “I’m the one entrusted to give you a message.”

  “Where do I know your voice from?”

  “My dear therapist, we have a present for you. A work of art, if you will.”

  “It’s late,” said Oscar, “why don’t you tell me who this is and what kind of message are you talking about?”

  “I hope you’ll find it a clear message,” said the man. “It represents nature and its cruel and insurmountable forces.” He chuckled to his group, while they whispered and cackled.

  “Well, it doesn’t seem very clear to me, asshole,” said Oscar while he and Arnie scanned the area around the parking lot.

  Just then, something crashed and crackled on the street, just outside the parking lot. When Oscar and Arnie got there, a white van was smoking its tires to get away.

  The van left something under the streetlamp.

  It looked like a shimmering red snowflake, about the size of a refrigerator. Hundreds of glass panes and shards beamed out from something at the center, something dripping and oozing blood red. The glass shards were still shrieking and clacking as they continued to crack under the weight of the thing.

  Arnie was too afraid to approach it. He stood back, nearly cowering, as Oscar got closer. “What the fuck is it?” He asked Oscar, with panic in his voice. “Tell me what it is, man!”

  It looked like a pile of skyscraper windows, slicing Dale from every direction. The glass split him at so many angles that the whole thing seemed to defy the eye. It looked as though a monster crystal was exploding from inside him. Dale’s mouth was hung open in what looked like a scream.

  Arnie fell to the ground, eyes wide and his face trembling. “I’m seeing things,” he told Oscar. “Right, Doc. I’m not looking at my brother right now. I know this isn’t real. I just know it.” He turned to Oscar with an impassioned plea, saying, “Please, Doc. Just tell me I’m not looking at my brother. Just tell me, Doc.”

  ...

  Chapter 23

  The Magic Spot

  Two days later, Oscar showed up to the Bardo estate for his regular session with Beth. He noticed a work crew on the side of the house. They were laboring away with their floodlights and tools, working to repair damage to the electric fence. The night before, a two hundred year old oak tree blew down in a freak windstorm, destroying a considerable portion of the perimeter wall.

  Oscar met two large and imposing bodyguards at the door to the home. The men each held probably two hundred pounds of plain muscle. They stood in the doorway and just stared when they saw Oscar.

  “I’ll be seeing my patient, Beth, today,” Oscar told them with the glare and tone of a frustrated boss.

  The bodyguards, both wearing black suits probably specially made to fit their physique, looked at him as though he had challenged them. “We weren’t told about any visitors,” one of them said.

  “I don’t see that as my problem,” said Oscar, who looked like a mixture of sadness and rage. Dale’s death and nearly forty-eight hours without sleeping were evident in his face. “Considering that I have a judge’s order to be here, I don’t care what you were told. Fact is, I’m going to see my patient. And I don’t give a damn what you two lumbering fuckheads say about it.”

  E
va Bardo’s voice rang out from down the hall. “Doctor Loste is indeed correct about the judge’s order,” she told the men as she appeared behind them.

  The bodyguards stepped out of the way but kept their sights on Oscar. Both Eva and Lorne now stood in front of him in the hallway. “We’re so sorry to hear about your patient,” said Eva without any emotion. “That part of the city is so dangerous. It takes a real hero to try to help those neighborhoods. What a pity.”

  “Yes. What a pity,” added Lorne.

  Without looking either in the eye, Oscar asked, “How did you know he was my patient?”

  “Although the factory isn’t in business anymore, we own a great deal of property and we take an interest in the neighborhood. Of course we had to make a few calls and look into what happened.”

  “I see,” said Oscar, almost as though saying it to himself. “I’ll be seeing Beth now.” He started to walk to the stairs.

  “You know, Oscar,” said Lorne, “We’ve spoken to the judge numerous times and he’s finally seen it our way. So, I believe we’ve already satisfied the requirement then. Turns out this will be your last session with Beth.”

  “She’s going to miss you, Oscar,” said Eva. “Make sure you say your proper goodbyes.”

  ...

  Beth was waiting for him when Oscar knocked on the door to her room. The moment she saw him, she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Mister Smiler told me what happened. He said you’re very said about your friend.”

  “Thanks, Beth. He was my friend.”

  “Mister Smiler didn’t tell me what happened to him. He just said it was very bad.”

  “Yes. It was very bad.”

  “I’m really sorry,” she said in a near whisper. “Was it my fault?”

  “Of course not. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I’m scared. Mister Smiler says that stuff is going to happen and I need to be ready.”