by Iyanna Orr
Run, the voice whispered to them urgently. Take him and run.
In front of them, something was moving, rippling in the air even as they watched. The baby was taken from Zafrina who was holding him and dropped back into the stroller. The woman didn’t move as Drake and Zafrina began to appear. The woman’s eyes widened at their naked appearances, but they weren’t paying her any attention. They were glaring at the air a few feet in the opposite direction of her. Chandler and the woman turned to look as the air moved again, and a man and a girl appeared, wielding thin daggers in each hand. The girl was watching Drake and Zafrina, her blue eyes blazing, but the man’s eyes were on the woman. There was a birthmark across his temple that looked like a tree.
“Go,” his ghostly voice commanded.
She picked up her son from the stroller and left it sitting on the street as she ran home, tears streaming from her eyes.
Chandler’s eyes snapped open, and he was once again staring at the door to the dark house. His eyes flickered left and right as if looking for something, but there was nothing but the clean painted wood. Finally, his eyes drifted to his hand around the knob, and as if of its own action, it turned the doorknob, and the door swung open. Chandler stared at the house before stepping inside and closing the door.
Walking into the living room, Chandler was met with more darkness, but he could see the woman and the man he’d just met were there. There were dark spots under the man’s eyes but the woman’s were darker, and in them was a wildness that hadn’t resided there the first time he’d seen her face. She was thinking that since her son’s birth three months ago, their lives had gone beyond the spectrum of strange and had crossed into impossible. She knew her husband had become secretive, hiding in the basement with the leather bound book he’d found aging in the attic of his parents’ old house.
The man had wanted to know if the book had answers to all the questions he’d been asking himself over the last three months. Once they’d left the restaurant and had gotten to the hospital, their son had been born the next day. Even though the man had been afraid of what he’d seen inside the restaurant, they’d stayed in the hospital for a few weeks because the baby’s health suddenly started to deteriorate. They’d both knew the doctors were afraid, unwilling to admit he might not survive. When they were released, at the man’s suggestion, they moved into this house and hadn’t looked back. He had hoped that once they were gone, they’d leave it all behind, but it followed them. For an entire month, it was perfect, and they weren’t faced with the man from his nightmares.
Chandler clutched his head as it all was suddenly thrust at him. He staggered, landing heavily against the wall, turning his face from the couple as the man paced in the middle of the room. His fingers kneaded his temples, attempting to ease the slow ache of the information that had taken residence in his memories. The attack on the woman had been weeks ago, but here they were, both terrified at what might still come next.
Despite their situation, the man wanted to see his wife before their child had been born, the bubbly and obliviously happy woman he’d asked to marry him as soon as they’d graduated high school. But he knew stretching his fantasies wouldn’t bring her back. Now, all he knew was the shell that was left of her. Chandler finally lifted his head and turned to watch them as the man spoke to her.
“This isn’t going to stop,” he muttered. He’d known it from the moment he’d opened that book and found out what he’d been told as a kid was real. The book was filled with spells and prophecies written in an ancient language, not even the most educated historians could make sense of. He groaned in frustration and stood up, gripping his hair tightly. “There’s no way we can stop this.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” the woman whispered, looking up at her husband.
“I didn’t tell you because my father told me it was a story, a legend. Don’t you see?” He turned to his wife pleadingly. “Elizabeth, this wasn’t supposed to happen.”
The entire room slowed, and Chandler stepped in closer to stare at the faces of the man and woman in front of him. Elizabeth, his mother’s name, was mixed up in this strange world. It was her name, but it wasn’t her face.
“Oh, but it is happening.” The voice slid from the shadows, scaring Elizabeth more than the raw terror on her husband’s face. She jumped from the couch and whipped around to stare at the wild woman who stood behind it. She was clothed this time in leather with a whip that swung lazily as she stood disturbingly still. The weapon looked alive, a snake waiting to strike. Chandler's eyes roved from the swinging whip up to Zafrina’s face, and his heart froze in his chest. He gazed from Zafrina to the woman standing across from her.
The man squared his shoulders and stepped in front of Elizabeth and the baby she held. The child was calm, staring around his dad and into Zafrina’s eyes.
“You’ve known this was coming for a long time, little Peter,” another voice added, drawing a shriek from Elizabeth. “You do remember me, don’t you?” He stepped into the light, his hand trailing around Zafrina’s waist before it dropped. He walked forward and through the couch. Everything Chandler thought he knew had come together at this moment; in the lives of these strangers who had his parents’ names and his parents whose faces were those of strangers. Peter swallowed past the lump in his throat. He’d pushed the memories away for so long, but now, he knew with the utmost certainty that he and his family would die.
“Just give us the child, Peter, and we will leave you and your lovely wife—” His gaze slid over her like water. “—alone.”
“No, Peter,” Elizabeth begged. “No! Make them go away.” She sounded like a child once again afraid of the monsters lurking under her bed or in her closet. She buried her baby’s face in the crook of her neck, and she cooed a name softly against his head. Chandler moved forward sluggishly; his entire body was heavy as lead.
“Enough of this!” Zafrina’s voice was sharp. She stepped forward, her eyes ablaze, and the whip rang out. Peter was dead before he hit the floor. The whip hissed in satisfaction, then coiled around Zafrina’s wrist as she strode forward and took the baby from Elizabeth’s weak arms.
“Chandler!” Elizabeth shrieked, and then she felt paralyzed. Her mouth wouldn’t open. She couldn’t scream anymore. Chandler stopped where he stood, and it all suddenly came full circle inside his head. When the whip hissed again, Elizabeth fell beside her husband, her eyes open, and a single tear leaving a trail of salt on her cheek.
Baby Chandler looked down at his parents and then back to Zafrina. He reached up and touched her hair. His toothless mouth smiled. Chandler gasped loudly as Drake, Zafrina and the baby disappeared from the room. His hands came up to clutch his head. He gazed at the dark carpet until his vision became blurry. He squeezed his eyes closed and screamed, voicing something that had been waiting for him ever since this moment so many years ago. His entire life was built on top of his real parents’ graves, and the man and woman that had raised him had killed them.
On cue, it came back to him. The very first dream that had haunted him once he became what he was. Never before had he been able to remember what those dreams told him, but right at this moment, he knew this was the time for him to remember. This is what his dreams had been leading him to. Chandler closed his eyes and began to dream again.
He was standing outside on the street in darkness, and all around him were houses. They looked abandoned as if every citizen had just dropped everything and went away. The only house that seemed to carry some aspect of life stood at the far end of the block, and a single light was on in a small window just above the browning grass. The window was barred, and from this far, nothing was visible.
Chandler started walking toward the house and found that his feet weren’t touching the ground. He was drifting, and he felt like he was stuck in the motion, but the house seemed to be getting farther away. As he watched, Chandler saw two figures appear, just standing on the street, waiting. He considered going to them, asking wh
at this was, but his eyes were drawn back to the window.
Suddenly, the house was closed, and he took his first step onto the patchy lawn. He knelt down, peering through the bars. The man, Peter, sat in the basement, the book opened on the table that was the only piece of furniture besides the chair. Chandler looked back toward the street, and the figures were still there, yet he couldn’t get a better look. Again, he debated going to them and then decided the house was the clue for why he was here.
He made his way to the front and climbed up the few stairs to the porch, where a swing lazily moved back and forth sideways, banging into the slats of the house. He reached his hand forward to open the door, leaning forward slightly to get ready to push at it. His hand closed over the door knob, went through it, and then Chandler fell through the wood entirely.
A surprised grunt left his lips as he stumbled into the first room. It was a family room with only a couch and a cold fireplace. The curtains were drawn over the windows, and it seemed abandoned, just like all the other houses, but he could feel something alive here. He looked around, but there was no evidence that anyone lived here; no photos or personal belongings. Remembering Peter, though, he quickly found the door that led down. He walked down the stairs slowly, afraid Peter might hear him. Chandler moved towards Peter as quickly and silently as possible. He let out a soft breath of relief when the man didn’t look from the book. Chandler peeked over his shoulder and looked just to see what was so interesting. He was surprised to see a picture moving.
A woman in a lit room sat on a couch, rocking a small baby. As Chandler looked closer, he saw that it was the house and the woman; his real mom. There was someone upstairs. He looked towards the door and then back down, only to see that Peter had closed the book and was standing.
Peter sighed and pushed the book away; then, he squared his shoulders. Quite abruptly, he turned, and he was facing Chandler, his eyes hard. Chandler held his breath, but Peter only squeezed his eyes closed before opening them and walking up the stairs. He couldn’t see Chandler. As Peter disappeared, Chandler was struck with the realization that this dream was just moments before his real parents had been killed.
He listened as the door closed and looked around the basement. Paint that had long since faded to nothing was peeling from the walls. Mold grew on the ceiling, and uninhabited webs and countless cobwebs hung from every crevice. It was entirely empty except for the table with the book and the decaying hand-carved stool. Even though the room itself was dilapidated, the book was pristine with brown leather covering the outside. Chandler reached out to pick up the book.
“Chandler!” Rory’s voice called. His eyes slid open, and he was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. Chandler’s body was stiff, and as he sat up, his limbs cracked. His wings stretched out to the sides, forcing Rory backward. Chandler tilted his head to the side and felt the firm crack at the base of his skull. He grimaced and looked over at Rory, but his friend was on the other side of the room, pulling back the polyester curtain hanging over the window. While he was out, Dane had found them and was running from the bed to the window continuously, barking loudly as he struggled to see over the window sill. Chandler moved over to them, pushing Dane out of the way to see what Rory was looking out.
Outside the hotel, a small army had gathered. They stood there; swords were drawn and raised. Abandoned papers and fallen leaves blew in the wind, but they went right through the soldiers. And Chandler knew no matter how they appeared, they were real. He pushed the curtain back into place and pulled Rory away. Rory turned to study Chandler, and there was a strain in his eyes, but he spoke before Chandler could ask questions.
“The entire hotel is empty,” he spoke quickly. “One day, I went down to ask to use the phone, but nobody was there. I checked all the rooms, and every door was unlocked. All of the rooms looked like there hadn’t been anybody inside for years, but I could swear when I checked in that the lobby was swarming with people.
“One day?” Chandler looked around the room and frowned. “How did I get here?”
“I don’t know!” Rory ran his hand over his head nervously. “I was waiting for you to wake up to ask you the same question.”
“I was asleep?”
“Yes! After I checked in, you never came in through the window like we planned. I went outside to look for you, but the street was empty. I walked until I found a gas station, and when I came back, the hotel was abandoned. I got upstairs, and you were in bed. I thought you were dead.”
“How long?”
“Three days,” Rory said. There was a quaver in his voice. “For three days, they’ve been standing out there.” Chandler turned to go back to the window, but Rory stepped forward and grabbed his shoulder, turning Chandler back to look at him. “I saw them again; that girl and the boy that flipped my car. They were out there before those soldiers got here.”
Chandler stood before Rory, angry and miserable, feeling the slow rumble of a growl that was building in his throat. His skin bubbled, and muscles rippled. He could hear Rory calling his name and telling him to calm down, but he ignored Rory as needle pricks erupted from every pore. Chandler felt his teeth lengthen, and his jaw grew. He heard his clothes tear, sliding to the ground in shreds. He shrank a few inches and then stopped as he fell to all fours. His wings melted into nothing on his back. As Chandler stood there, his tail twitched, flickering out behind him. He crouched down, just barely able to see over the windowsill. Chandler felt the rumble build in his chest, and he roared, opening my jaw wide, flashing elongated teeth and a powerful jaw.
Then he jumped.
The glass fell around him, littering the pavement as he flew ten feet from the hotel before landing. He roared again at the motionless arm, but their red eyes only watched him sightlessly. Chandler braced himself and pounced right into the crowd of them. They came to life then, trying to get in any hit they could, but he twisted and grabbed a bead between his jaws, crushing it. Metallic blood filled his mouth, and the sudden rush of energy in his body as some of the foul-tasting heat slid down his throat. Chandler spat out as much as he could, then swiped a claw and slit the throat of the nearest soldier. Before he could fall, Chandler rammed the soldier, sending him flying into those gathering behind. With the soldier’s body bowling over those behind him, the battle went on. The only sounds were the swords colliding with each other as they each swung at him. Chandler turned and jumped over three soldiers. Their swords came up, ready to cut through his stomach and spill his blood over them. It never happened as a glowing two hand-long sword reached up and cut all three blades in half. Chandler landed and turned to see the white-haired girl there. Her hair was bound and her eyes bright as she pushed into the crowd. She caught his eyes and nodded once; then, she disappeared.
“So we going in or what?” a grim voice asked. Chandler turned his head and looked at the boy. He was no longer dressed normally. He wore a leather vest that was fitted to him and crossed across his back were two sword sheaths. They were empty, though, because he held one of the glowing blades in his hands. Chandler knew the other was with the girl, Max. He was torn between taking care of the soldiers trying to cut him to ribbons and attacking this boy who’d tried to kill him. Weighing his options, he knew for whatever reason, they had this common enemy, and he should trust him and the girl he’d saved. Chandler stood glaring at him as fiercely as he could before the boy suddenly sprang into action. He jumped and landed somewhere behind Chandler. He turned around to see the boy cut one of the soldiers in half and the blood sizzling into oblivion on the blade. When he looked at Chandler, he nodded. The boy flashed a grin and fell into the soldiers, giving a loud cry as his next kill sprayed blood over him. Chandler crouched there, his back to the hotel, waiting for a chance. Then, he glanced over.
Rory was coming out of the hotel with his eyes wide, and his mouth opened in a shout of warning. Every muscle in Chandler’s powerful body rippled as he moved closer and closer, the image of himself being echoed in the windows of th
e hotel. When he stood in front of the window, it was the clearest, and he understood why they had been screaming.
Chandler darted forward and ran up the glass window. Flipping from it, he landed on the soldier’s back. He slammed onto the ground without a sound, and Chandler lunged, tearing off his head and flinging it over his shoulder. He flung himself back into the fray, and in the few minutes it took to finish them off, he remembered only blood and limbs and the flaring of blue blades. Rory had disappeared back into the hotel, and Chandler could vaguely hear him throwing things into a bag he assumed Rory had bought when he was out. By the time Rory came back, Chandler was resisting the urge to lick the blood from his paws when the grass failed to get all of it from his fur.
Seeing Rory, Chandler paced over to him. He carefully picked the bag from Rory’s hands and ran behind the hotel. He shifted back and then dug through the bag until he found a suitable pair of pants. Pulling them out, the book he’d see in my dream rolled out onto the ground. Chandler stared at it before tossing it back into the bag and zipping it closed. He threw on the pants and went back around, where Rory was holding tightly to Dane’s collar while trying to keep his distance from the boy and the girl. They were clearly waiting for Chandler because they started over to him before he held out a hand to stop them.
“That’s close enough,” Chandler told them. “You two have got some explaining to do.”
The two didn’t say much as they led he and Rory from the hotel. The friends followed their new allies through the woods, keeping a good distance in case they tried anything. Dane paced between Chandler and Rory, nudging their hands every so often. Chandler rubbed Dane’s head absently and didn’t notice the blood he left in the dog’s fur. The woods began to thin, and they were walking along a path, waiting for the others to explain.