Tales from the Canyons of the Damned: Omnibus

by Daniel Arthur Smith

  Quickly, the alien bent over the two humans, absorbing their death, feeding on their dying thoughts.

  The alien tracker wanted to leave the tree line and join in the feeding, but that would have been an ethical breach. Instead, it scampered back into the trees, its commitment to finding its prey bolstered by the victory it had just witnessed.

  Through the trees, it shuffled, every step more difficult than the last, forever going up the mountainside, deeper into the canopy. Finally, it emerged into a clearing where the mountain leveled and the green grass was fed by a strip of a mountain stream. There, the water also pooled, forming a small pond. Over the pond and creeping onto the grassy banks was a rainbow of hues: blues and reds and yellows.

  The alien scanned the area and then left the obscurity of the forest to enter the thought fog.

  A multicolored explosion of thoughts filled its mind, no more just the thoughts of the human male, but of another… Adele.

  And this female human called the other human… Dan. Dan, the male human, the one that the alien had been tracking over the last day.

  A million other thoughts of fear, revulsion, disgust, and happiness overwhelmed the alien. The pole in its clutches now vibrated, feeding off the crushing avalanche of emotion. The alien had to lean heavily on it to keep from toppling as it absorbed the intoxicating rainbow fog of two young humans, driven by fear and… love.

  It paused, a raspy noise emanating from what was once a throat. What a strange word, love. Its mind bent thinking over the complex, yet simple, word. Love between the mates would definitely defeat this pathetic species.

  The alien tracker fed on the remaining thoughts in the clearing, drinking until it was bloated and couldn’t drink anymore.

  The unobstructed noon sun bathed it with warm rays, lulling it. Its peculiar metabolism slowed for an instant, as its body wanted to rest from the strenuous climb against the dense gravitational pull, but it had to finish the mission.

  It moved to the opposite edge of the clearing from where it had entered, to where the thoughts that were once a thin blue were now swirled as a rainbow, the blending thoughts of the human male and female, illuminating their path as they ran deeper into the woods.

  Renewed, recharged, overcoming its tiredness, the alien skipped over roots and trunks with surprising dexterity, using its pole to help clear obstacles and boulders. The thoughts of fear and shelter and fleeing grew stronger with each shuffling step. That spurred the alien tracker faster, faster forward.

  The trees thinned, thick pines stretching like giant toothpicks upward, and smooth stones now littered the ground, breaking through piles of rotting pine needles and leaves. And there, stooped next to a stream that had carved its way down the mountainside, were the two humans, Dan and Adele, drinking from the stream.

  But they hadn’t noticed it and continued lifting scooped hands to parched mouths.

  It shambled closer, agile despite being over eight-feet-tall, until it was within yards of the two. It lifted its pole before it.

  “I... know... you... Dan,” the alien croaked as it struggled to form the words of a language through chords not meant to produce sound, its voice a disgusting grating of cartilage against cartilage.

  The female, Adele, turned and saw it first. She shrieked and fell back into the shallow stream, splashing.

  The male, Dan, spun around and the blood drained from his face. He jumped to his feet and moved in front of her, his Adele, putting himself between his wife and the alien tracker. He fumbled with a sheath lashed to his leg, pulling a large knife from it, and held it between himself and the alien.

  This species would surely fall, and this world would be one more claimed by the rift of aliens from a distant, unspeakable planet.

  With its pole before it, the alien lowered its tip and fired one of its screaming projectiles. The compacted wave of fear from many worlds penetrated the man’s chest.

  He grasped where it impacted and stumbled to one knee, screaming in agony, the pent-up terror and hopelessness of the impossible bullet piercing his heart.

  If the alien had a human mouth, it would’ve smiled.

  It fired another projectile. This time, it slammed into the human’s head as he bent forward. He stumbled but used his arms to keep himself from dropping onto his belly. He didn’t fall.

  But the thoughts, the screams, the death of a thousand species were welled up in those projectiles. And in an instant Dan felt the terror that they all had felt, the terror that these alien invaders had carried across the universe through their velvet-black rifts, seeding death through the galaxies.

  With failing effort and straining to remain off the ground, he glanced behind him, to his mate, his wife. She had stopped screaming and now hunched over in the stream, watching him, waiting.

  He lifted his knife as he struggled to stand on two wobbly legs. His arm reached for anything to support himself, but there was nothing near. Grabbing one shaky knee, he finally stood. His flimsy legs grew steadier as he went upright. Then, turning to Adele, he pointed the quivering knife tip at her. She stepped back into deeper water.

  But he turned and leaped, clearing in an instant the yards that separated him from the alien tracker. He grabbed the tip of the pole and shoved it aside, lunging forward with his knife.

  The alien tasted the fear, hopelessness, the anguish that leaked from the man’s thoughts like drops of water, like the morning dew on the battlefield flowers, the daisies. But there was more to him than just the fear the alien had fed on for the past day.

  Dan plunged his foot-long knife blade deep into what he thought would be the alien’s head. It shrieked in its dirty, guttural voice as green blood sprayed from the wound.

  As quick as a trained warrior, Dan pulled the knife from the ashen-gray, coarse skin and plunged it five more times, blood spraying from each new wound. And just as quickly, the alien crumbled, folded, and collapsed in upon itself onto the ground, lifeless, its pole clattering to silence on the rocky riverbed.

  Shaking, he stood above the alien’s body, next to the mountain flowers that now dripped green, as if the very daisies were wilting, melting in the afternoon sun.

  Dan turned to Adele and gave her a grim smile and spread his trembling arms. She ran into them, clutching him as if they were never to be separated again.

  The man’s weakness, his mate, his wife, their love, was his strength.

  ~*~

  RAZOR

  Will Swardstrom

  ~*~

  I was married to Felicia for seven years. During that time, we loved, we fought, we laughed, and we cried. It was the best seven years of my life. Just like any other marriage, I suppose, we had good and bad times, but I am an eternal optimist. I always look on the bright side of life.

  Perhaps that was my mistake. Maybe I should have been more of a cynic. Maybe I should have questioned the way things were.

  Maybe.

  Or maybe I just made one little mistake. Over and over again. For seven years.

  When Felicia and I were married, the first thing she bought me was an electric razor. She always hated the full beard I tended to grow out from time to time, but would lovingly rub her hands across my face if I had a way of trimming it up. It was her little attempt to change me, and as a newlywed, I allowed it. She was the best thing to ever happen to me. If I had to trim my facial hair from time to time to keep her, so be it.

  I guess I’ll never really know if she loved me like I thought she did.

  Felicia died a few days ago.

  I haven’t shaved in that time. I’m afraid to. I’ve left the razor unplugged since Felicia died, terrified at the truth of what would happen if I dared to plug it back in.

  When I first got the razor, I would plug it in to the wall outlet to charge and would often forget about it. Who would? It was just a razor, charging on its base in the master bathroom. What’s the big deal? But the next time I went to shave, the razor’s charging cable was unplugged from the wall.

&n
bsp; Strange, I thought to myself. I didn’t remember unplugging it, but then remembered Felicia. Just a couple weeks after the wedding, it was sometimes tough to remember I was a married man. I used to be the only one responsible for anything in my apartment, but now that Felicia was sharing my space, I had to remember she had a hand in what was going on as well. She followed behind me and cleaned my little messes here and there. This must have been one of them—unplugging the razor when I wasn’t using it.

  I just shrugged my shoulders, plugged in the wall charger, and went to work on my beard. A few minutes later, I was trimmed and ready to go, and I didn’t really think much about it.

  Later that night, Felicia trudged up the stairs leading to our apartment, apparently exhausted after a long shift working in the photo lab at the nearby drug store. It was the years between the end of film cameras and the beginnings of digital, and the local store was holding fast to their one-hour photography services. Most days, Felicia ran a couple rolls of film, but saw more digital cameras than not and customers trying to figure out “how to get that picture off my phone and onto a piece of paper.”

  Once she opened the door, though, she was back to being my wife. Gone was the remnants of photo frustration. In its place was a refreshing smile when she saw my face.

  “Good! You shaved,” Felicia said, dropping her purse and photo smock on the couch. “I’m so glad I bought you that razor.”

  “Me too,” I said, flashing a smile. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

  “Oh. You mean like this?”

  She took a few steps into the room and placed her hands on my cheeks, pulling me closer and drawing me in for a long, deep, kiss. We’d been married less than a month. The new hadn’t worn off yet. I kissed her back, no need for any more words. The bedroom was our next, and final, destination of the evening.

  I’d forgotten about the razor. Of course I had.

  It was the first time I never asked. That was my mistake, but it would be a mistake I would repeat over and over.

  ~*~

  From then on, I just assumed Felicia was the one unplugging my razor. For years I plugged the razor in, shaved, and left it charging. Every time I went back a couple days later to trim up my beard or goatee, I would find the cable unplugged. I never saw her do it, but I was rarely in the bathroom at the same time as my wife. If we were, whether or not my razor was plugged in was certainly not on my mind.

  I guess, somewhere in my mind, I thought of that simple little act as a gesture of love. No matter what, Felicia was looking out for me, making sure I didn’t over charge my razor, and taking care of me. Even with our little ups and downs, I could always count on that little thing.

  I shouldn’t have.

  I don’t think Felicia ever loved me like that. Not that she didn’t love me, but I don’t think the electric razor in our bathroom was exactly something she ever put much thought into.

  A few years after we were married, life had gotten to both of us. And by life, I mean our student loans. Whoever invented student loans may very well have a pact with Beelzebub himself. One moment, you are cruising through life, content with very little, but excited about the future, but then the next, the payments for those unsubsidized loans begin. Crippling isn’t quite how I would describe it, but my mother taught me not to swear.

  Anyway, the job Felicia had at the photo lab eventually got phased out due to the digital age. Her degree was in accounting, but unfortunately, the recession took care of any spare white collar jobs when she was looking for work. Just to make the loan payments, she had to take a job as a receptionist at a local law firm. Then, she took a second job part-time doing basic technical service calls for the cable company. Some days, she had spent 16 hours on the phone and none of that time was used up talking to me.

  She wasn’t alone there. My loan payments were even higher than Felicia’s. Fortunately, I was able to catch on at the local newspaper, but only as a copyeditor. I also got on for a back-up press room operator, but those hours were a little more hit and miss. But, between our multiple jobs, there were a few weeks in there where we barely saw each other, except for waking up and going to sleep.

  We hadn’t had a meal together in weeks, hadn’t sat down to relax in front of the TV in days, and a date night was the furthest thing from either of our minds. To us, a good night’s sleep was what we looked forward to most.

  One day when Felicia was working an extra shift at the cable company, I had the night off. Rubbing my face, I realized it had been over a week since I’d shaved. I always trimmed for Felicia and since I rarely saw her, I hadn’t worried about shaving for a while. I wandered over to the bathroom sink and found my razor.

  Plugged in.

  My heart skipped a beat. I knew we were both busy. Life was hectic, but she had always unplugged it before. No matter what. Was this her version of the cold shoulder? Did it mean something?

  I decided not to shave, after all. The bed was welcome and close, so I laid on top of the covers. I wanted to sleep, but my mind was a mess. Between the two of us, it was rare if one of us was working less than 60 hours a week. The stress of working that much was taking a toll on each of us, but I guess I had fooled myself into thinking our marriage was safe.

  Somewhere deep inside I knew something was wrong. It wasn’t just the hours at the newspaper office or the lack of time with my wife. It was stupid, but that one little thing made it all jump out and come into focus for me.

  I needed to do something. I didn’t know how or why, but if I didn’t figure it out, my marriage was going to fall apart.

  ~*~

  My parents had always promised to help us out, but we’d proudly refused any financial assistance. We’d gotten ourselves into this mess, and we’d get ourselves out—no matter if it killed us in the process. So, as soon as I dragged myself up off the bed, I called my father. For some people, dad was the worst person to call, but my father was the most generous person I knew. I also knew he was a hopeless romantic, taking my mom on countless dates, trips, and cruises throughout their marriage. He was the one to talk to.

  I didn’t even need that long on the phone. Within twenty minutes, I’d worked it out. I just needed to talk to Felicia.

  Waiting until she got home was perhaps the most nerve-racking few hours of my life.

  When Felicia finally walked in the door, she turned and dropped her purse on the couch before she even noticed me. Before she’d seen the lit candlelight .

  “What? Greg?” Felicia asked, unsure of what was happening.

  “Let me say this: I know something is wrong. I don’t know how exactly, but we’ve gotten off track somewhere along the way. I don’t want to lose you,” I said, hardly able to contain my own emotions. I had thought about what I was going to say for a couple hours, and I was still stuck for words. “Felicia, I love you. I always have, and I want to fix it.”

  “Fix it? What do you mean?”

  I could see the tears beginning to well in her eyes, but she refused to acknowledge something was off.

  “I know what you did—or rather, what you didn’t do, Felicia. I want you to give me a second chance,” I said.

  With that, she collapsed on the couch behind her, sagging into its dusty cushions. I went to her side, but she buried her face in her hands, weeping loudly.

  “Oh, Greg. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear. I promise I’ll quit if you want. I can find a different job. Please, I just missed you—I missed us so much and he was right there…” she trailed off.

  I was confused. I had been talking about unplugging the razor in our bathroom, but she was talking about something else. Someone else.

  “What?” I asked quietly.

  “Rob from at the law firm. He’s some hotshot ambulance chaser. I think I told you about him when I first took the job there, but he likes to talk to me when everyone else is out of the office. He...he thinks there’s something between us,” she said between tears.

  “Is...is there?”
I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

  She shook her head. “No. I can’t say I didn’t consider it. I hardly ever see you anymore. Between your two jobs and my two jobs, I was sitting there one day in the office thinking, ‘what if?’ We’ve talked, but that’s it. I’m sorry—I’ll turn in my resignation tomorrow morning.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I’d planned this all out and then she dropped a bombshell. Whatever I expected, this was worse. I was silent for half a minute, before I regained myself. I needed to be Felicia’s husband. She was laying herself bare for me, and I needed to step up.

  I took her in my arms, trying to calm her sobs. I wanted to cry as well, but I shoved my own feelings aside to alleviate Felicia’s fears.

  “If you feel that’s what you need to do, I understand. We’ll make it work. I believe in you—always have, always will. Maybe you can pick up more hours at the cable company,” I said.

  She sniffled. “Maybe…”

  “But, before you do, plan on taking a few days off after you are done at the law firm. I’ve got a plan to get us back on track.”

  “Us?”

  “Yeah. I called my dad…”

  “Greg,” she said.

  “I did, and it’s too late. He’s giving us the money whether you like it or not. Anyway, we’re going to take a small vacation. We’ll go up to a cabin in the mountains for a few days—just the two of us.”

  She looked at me for a few seconds, a smile threatening to take over her face.

  “And I promised we’d pay him back,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t want it any other way.

  Felicia threw her arms around me and squeezed.

  “You don’t know how much I needed this. I miss you so much,” she said. “You aren’t mad?”

  “I can’t say I’m happy about it, but you aren’t the only one to blame. It’s my fault, too, that you had to take that job. We’ll figure it out,” I said, kissing her forehead. “I know we will.”