Chasing the Sandman

by Meyers, Brandon

  Will backed his chair away a bit. “I’ve been thinking about that, mister. I was just kind of curious. What is it exactly? I mean it won’t help me anyway, I know, I was just wondering where something so magical came from.

  Against all impossibility, Walt’s grin widened even more.

  “You know what they say about curiosity, don’t you, Will?”

  “I hate cats,” Will said.

  Walt chuckled. “Fair enough. I can’t see the trouble in granting you this one request, as it would seem you’ve come to terms with your situation. But first, the pen. Hand it over.”

  With great reluctance, Will produced the pen from his pocket and stuck it out to Walt. He pulled back. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “Will, come now. What would I gain from backing out of my word? After all,” he chuckled, “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

  Following another lengthy hesitation Will thrust the pen into Walt’s hands. Through his mask of the old man, Walt inspected the instrument very closely. “Perfect, my darling,” he said at last, eyes transfixed on the instrument.

  “At least you haven’t marred it,” Walt spat. “Now, what is it you wanted to know?”

  “What is it?” Will asked.

  “A conduit,” Walt said, twirling the pen in his fingers. “When someone signs with it, they are writing in their own blood, signing away their lives to me, of course. It’s very special paper, you see.”

  “Unless it changes owners, huh?” Will said.

  “Yes, a very astute observation, my boy. But it never really changed owners, did it? A little misplacement led to a major thievery. While the pen may have recognized you as its new owner, we both know the truth of the matter, don’t we?”

  Now speaking to the pen Walt said, “But that’s alright, my darling. We don’t fault you for that, do we?”

  “Where did it come from?” Will asked.

  “I created it, of course. As you may have guessed, it has allowed me to live quite a long time. Extending my life through using the life force of others was its chief purpose. Though, as you have discovered, it has other special properties, as well.”

  Will nodded. “It’s amazing,” he said.

  “Indeed it is,” Walt agreed. “You’ve piqued my interest, Will. You are the only person in many hundreds of years to have seen this much of my little secret. At first, I felt very much violated. But now…it is a sort of relief to be able to explain myself to someone. I’m not a bad person, you see. The whole process is painless. The contracts merely serve as binding and tracking devices. This is the real deal-sealer. Just a little prick.” He motioned with the pen on the tip of his finger. “And those who I have chosen, in essence, get the opportunity to live an eternal life.”

  “Inside you,” Will said.

  Walt grinned and the rising sunlight danced across sharpening teeth. “Your amusing display aside, am I to take it that this is the last of the bottles?” Will froze as the changing monster pointed over his shoulder. “Of course I knew you had been in my basement, Will. Things such as that rarely escape my notice.”

  Will said not a word, staring helplessly as the monster continued to transform before him. Walt’s fingers lengthened into claws; fur sprouted from every visible patch of skin. His nose lengthened into a snout full of needle-like teeth. Will decided, on the whole, that Walt had turned into something akin to a gigantic rat.

  “If that is the end of all your questions, Will…”

  “Actually, I had one more.”

  “Oh, is that so?” Walt asked.

  “I didn’t undo all of the things I created. I hope that isn’t a problem.”

  “I care not. Now, as you have cost me a fair bit in blood, I am in a bit of a hurry. Let’s make this fast.” He hissed and snapped his jaws shut, summoning Will with one claw.

  “Give me your hand,” the Walt-thing commanded.

  Will obliged.

  “That’s right. Do not be afraid. Fear spoils the potency.” In one quick movement, the rat removed the lid from the pen and brought it down with precision into Will’s fingertip.

  Will gasped, and as Walt watched, he slumped to the floor coughing and shaking. Through beady eyes, Walt watched Will’s reaction with interest, at first, and then suspicion.

  Will continued spasming on the floor until Walt ambled over to him.

  “Surely this is a consequence of your thievery, you lit…”

  Walt’s beady eyes shot back in his head. He threw his thin, hairy claws up in the air as his face became a twist of pain.

  Will sat up on the floor, smirking.

  “It doesn’t hurt at all. Just a little prick,” Will said. Gripped in his hand was the hilt of the blood-covered pen, the point of which was buried in Walt’s foot.

  Walt fumbled with his own pen dazedly.

  “It’s a fake,” Will said. “Looks real though, doesn’t it?”

  The thing in front of him began to squeal as it deflated, as if its bones had turned to jelly. Hissing and screaming, Walt writhed on the floor, disappearing into the depths of the pen, until, at last, there was nothing left of him.

  Will laughed out loud. It had actually worked!

  Feeling rather proud of himself, Will twirled the real pen in his fingers. At a glance, he saw that the bottle was once again full. He guessed that maybe a few others probably were too.

  He decided he would let his parents remain on vacation for a little while longer, before drawing them back home. But that could wait.

  At the moment, with the pen in hand that could grant him any wish, all Will really wanted was a good, long nap.

  Fare Thee Well

  It was the day of the digging.

  Dell stooped low, lifted free a spade full of moist earth, and heaved it atop the pile. The exposed dirt was dark with the wet of recent rains and it filled the air with the pungency of decay. Dell planted the blade of the shovel, took a leaden breath, and hefted it again with a grunt.

  He had been digging for almost thirty minutes, but still the hole was not deep. Not deep enough, he knew. His body was covered in sweat, and the light breeze which made the overhead leaves dance brought gooseflesh to the skin of his arms. Summer was ending, and therefore the weather was no longer comfortably warm.

  Dell paused, stood fully upright so that his entire torso protruded from the hole.

  The entire town had turned out for the event. Such a thing was customary. There were nearly two-hundred of them: men, women, and the young ones. They were all in attendance. And all of them Dell knew well. He could see the Leighmans, dressed all in black, standing nearest to him at the crowd’s perimeter. Their family had brought animals to be butchered by Dell’s for more than three generations. And beside them, Dell saw the widow Laura, also dressed in shades of midnight pitch. Her lacy veil did not conceal the tears she wiped away every few seconds. There were others. All of them, really. And every face began to blur into the next, melting into a sea of sorrow as hot tears streamed down Dell’s own red cheeks.

  Dell dragged a shirtsleeve across his face and gulped hard. The air was silent, save for his own heavy breathing and the sound of the rustling leaves. He did not want to, but could not keep himself from looking at the thing. It demanded his attention, a fishhook pulling at his heart. He stared down at the long pine box. It was the first time he had done so since picking up the shovel. A black dread filled his chest and for a moment Dell thought he would be sick. And he would have been, but he had not eaten in days. The guilt bore a hole in him, one far vaster and more deadly than the one he’d made in the ground.

  Even through the layer of carefully nailed wood, Dell could see her lovely face staring back up at him. He imagined her smile, remembered how her kisses always tasted of sweet nectar after they had returned from a day picking grapes for wine. He saw her hair, that curtain of rich chocolate, and recalled the way it framed her high, lovely cheekbones. She was perfection, his one and only. She was his life.

  Dell collap
sed then. Half of him leaned against the edge of the partially dug grave. The other half lay splayed across the top of his wife’s simple coffin.

  “I’m so sorry, Ana,” he wheezed between sobs. “I’m so sorry that I couldn’t have seen it coming.”

  After a moment, a hand nudged Dell’s shoulder. He raised his head to see Father Medson looking down at him. Without saying a word, the holy man made a solemn gesture toward the hole.

  Dell sniffled and nodded slowly. He rubbed the pinewood casket once more, softly, and returned to his work.

  He dug. He strained and lifted until his hands were raw. White blisters had appeared, even on his toughened palms, and had torn open to expose burning skin beneath. Finally, he knew it was done. When he stood upright, only the very top of his head poked out the top of the plot. He gave the pain in his battered hands no consideration, because he knew what happened next. He knew that he would have to say farewell, that he and Ana would be parted forever, each doomed to their own paths.

  The town Sherriff, Paul Twine, appeared at the foot of the grave. His bulky frame blocked out the sun and washed Dell in shadow.

  “Come on up, son,” Twine said. “Let’s get done what needs to get done so this woman can rest in peace.”

  Dell’s throat had choked up tight, so he simply nodded at the Sherriff and began to climb. When he emerged, the townsfolk were closer. They were within ten feet of him. He could see the Andersens, Chip and Nona, watching him with pained eyes. Their son Pete, probably almost ten now, dropped his eyes to his muddy shoes when Dell looked at him.

  “Thank you all for coming,” Dell managed. His eyes were running freely now and he made no attempt to stanch their flow.

  “Come now, son,” the preacher said quietly, “you know it is custom.”

  Dell turned and half-stumbled into a kneel at the side of the casket.

  He ran a hand across its surface, pretending in his mind that he could stroke his lover’s face again. Bloody smears stained the wooden lid. He wanted so badly to feel her soft hands upon his cheeks and hear her tell him that she loved him, and only him, forever and always. But he knew that she could not do that. She hadn’t.

  “Please forgive me, Ana,” he said. “I miss you so bad.”

  And then the Sherriff cleared his throat. “Alright, Dell. It’s time.”

  Dell began to shake uncontrollably, quivering as he regarded Twine. “B-but, I’m not done yet. I haven’t said goodbye. Can’t a man at least say goodbye?”

  The Sherriff hoisted Dell to his feet. He could hardly stay upright, but somehow managed to stand there beside the gaping earthen mouth. His nerves were the only thing keeping in place.

  “You already said goodbye, Dell.” Twine drew his pistol and let it rest at his side. “You got your last request. The talking’s all done, now. Nobody here wants to hear it. Least of all, that poor dead girl.”

  “I love you,” Dell said, stammering at his wife. “I always did.”

  Sherriff Twine took aim, thumbed back the hammer of his revolver. The crowd stood silent. And when the sound of thunder exploded through the trees, birds scattered.

  Dell toppled, lifeless, into the empty pit.

  After a long moment, two young men with shovels began filling in the hole again. And the gathered mass of townsfolk dispersed, carrying Ana’s coffin with them.

  Into the Deep

  Lightning flashed across the sky like brilliant electric spider webs. Rain poured from the clouds and into the turbulent waves of the ocean’s surface, swirling froth and foam in torrents.

  A small white bulb floated across the crashing surface of the water, dipping and bobbing with the force of the waves, but never submerging. The bulbous shape resembled that of a disc or an upturned saucer. Rain pelted its smooth top as it coasted along through the vicious storm, rocking in violent jerks.

  Inside of the floating orb sat two haggard-looking men in blue flight suits. Facing one another, their harnesses held them fast to the seat backs as they swayed with the outside currents. The smooth, membrane-walled interior of the vessel was lit with iridescent blue light, which played over the faces of both men within.

  “How much further?” the first inquired.

  “It shouldn’t be long, Veedle,” replied his traveling companion, with an irritated tone. “Our coordinates were very precise.” Melkins adjusted the sweaty spectacles that framed his beady eyes.

  “Right,” Veedle agreed. “The coordinates.” A particularly strong wave threw them both sideways in their seats. “As long as we’ve got those.”

  When the lightning burst outside, it lit the interior of the compartment, pulsing through the thin but tough barrier and nearly blinding the vehicle’s occupants.

  “Say, Melkins. Suppose the coordinates were off just a little bit…”

  “Impossible,” Melkins gruffed. “These are not things that the Gantry takes lightly. You have no idea how much money was spent on the design and construction of this device.” He struggled to keep his glasses fixed on his nose.

  “Right, right,” Veedle said. “Well, with all that money, you’d have thought they might at least hire some kind of decorator. It’s a little bland in here, don’tcha think?”

  “Please quiet yourself.”

  “And supposing I don’t?” Veedle prodded.

  “You know the rules,” Melkins said.

  Veedle peered over the edge of the viewing port. Save for the circular bench seat, and a short ledge for their feet, the round vacuous hole made up the entirety of the vessel’s base. In clearer waters, it would have provided the riders with a view into the depths below.

  “Are you as bored as I am?” Veedle asked. “I mean, aside from trying to keep your lunch down.”

  “Boredom is the solace of busy men,” Melkins said absently.

  Veedle raised his eyebrows. “That’s rich, Melkins. Whatever it means. But seriously, I can’t even see out of this damned eyehole, or whatever they called it.”

  “Perhaps that would have to do with the fact that we are currently floating in the middle of a storm,” replied Melkins. “And it’s called the keyhole.”

  “Right, that one. I mean, it wouldn’t have been so bad if someone would have told me, ‘Hey Veedle, bring along a fishing pole, why don’t ya?’” He watched the round-edged hole in wonder, trying to figure out the miraculous engineering that allowed for the existence of such a gaping thing that permitted absolutely no water to enter the vessel.

  Melkins ignored him, or rather tried his hardest not to have to meet Veedle’s gaze, and remained silent. This was harder to do than it sounded, given that the interior size of the orb was achingly cramped, and Veedle was quite large. While Melkins himself was no skeleton, he and Veedle differed structurally in that Veedle’s immense mass was attributed to mounds of rippling muscle.

  Melkins examined the blips on his watch that had begun its countdown sequence the moment they had hit the water. It had been nineteen minutes, though it had felt like sixty. Then again, having been thrust immediately into a raging storm, perhaps he was experiencing time a little more slowly as they were forced to endure the terrifying ride. At least he had had the sense not to eat anything before the departure.

  “So, who’d you piss off to get picked for this job?” Veedle asked after a series of sharp twists rocked the cabin.

  Melkins eyed the large man carefully before answering. “This was my plan.”

  “Your plan?” Veedle said. “Wowza, man. You must be outta your damn tree.” He looked the slightly chubby man up and down in his seat.

  “Said the pot to the kettle,” Melkins mumbled.

  Veedle laughed. Lightning outside illuminated the interior and reflected off of Veedle’s smooth skull. “I know why I’m here, man. What I can’t figure out is why in god’s name anyone else would volunteer to come along. I mean, no offense Melkins, but you’re kindofa sorry looking bastard. What exactly are you planning on doing once we get through the drop point?”

 
“No offense taken,” Melkins said. “Hang onto your seat. We should be entering the canal at any moment.”

  “Don’t you have any family, or anything? I mean, me, I got nobody,” Veedle said. “Obviously.”

  Melkins bit down hard on his lip, bracing himself against a turbulent wave.

  “No. I don’t have anyone…not anymore.”

  At once, the interior of the oblong vessel turned a brilliant white.

  “SYSTEM ALERT. ENTERING DESCENT CANAL,” sounded the bubble’s electronic voice overhead.

  “Like clockwork,” Melkins said, satisfied.

  Veedle shook his head and laughed. “Here we gooo—”

  Much like a fly finding the business end of a vacuum cleaner, the rocking vessel was sucked into a gaping hole that had formed in the middle of the roiling sea. It shot downward with breakneck trajectory, pinning its occupants to their seats. Veedle managed to crack one eye open, looking over to Melkins. Apparently food was not necessarily a prerequisite for stomach expulsions.

  The circular cabin had darkened visibly, and the passing water outside the paper-thin walls roared like thunder. Just as Veedle was starting to feel unable to control his own stomach, the propulsion slammed to a halt, and veered in another direction.

  “Melkins, you awake, man?” Veedle ground through his teeth. The momentum was a little less now, and almost afforded him the capability of normal speech. He thought he saw his companion nod his head.

  After almost half a minute, the orb came to a complete stop. The subsequent sensation of floating inside the gently rocking vehicle proved to be too much even for Veedle. He heaved his lunch onto the floor.

  “Hnnph…I don’t remember eatin’ anything that looked like that.”

  Melkins rolled his head and breathed deeply. “We’ve made it. We actually made it.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised, Mel.”

  Melkins dared to test his visual equilibrium and opened his eyes. “Numbers are numbers,” he croaked. “And that was nothing like the simulators. Actually living through the process is something else entirely.”