Nightmare Abbey

by David Longhorn

  “It's her!” Gould reassured Forster, then reached to help Denny to her feet. “What happened?”

  “Long story, they're close behind,” Denny gasped. “Help Lucy.”

  Gould froze, then stared down at the huddled figure on the floor by his feet. He saw now that it was a girl with long hair, wrapped in spirals of white fiber. Dark eyes looked up at his. The child was clearly terrified. There was no hint of recognition. But her face was so familiar that for a moment Gould wondered if he was dreaming.

  “What?” he demanded, unsure that he had heard correctly. “Lucy?”

  “It is,” said Denny. “But we're going to have company in a second.”

  She stooped down and grabbed Lucy by the hand, then pulled her towards the staircase. Forster shouted something, taking aim at the gateway. A lithe creature appeared, materializing in the act of leaping forward, clawed hands outstretched. It was not remotely human. Gould glimpsed a nightmarish face with a circular funnel-like muzzle containing a ring of teeth.

  Forster fired, catching the Interloper in the thigh. It screeched and fell, black blood spraying over Gould. He fired both barrels into the hideous face, watched its monstrous features explode into a massive gout of foul liquid and torn tissue. The Interloper writhed, limbs twitching, then grew still.

  They were both reloading when the second Interloper appeared. Behind, a third was coming into view. Denny and Lucy were clambering up the stairs. The two creatures were focused on catching the fugitives. Gould shot one in the back, while Forster knocked the other down with the butt of his gun, then finished it off.

  “Too many,” Forster said, jerking his head at the gateway. “Retreat.”

  By the time the fourth Interloper had fallen into their world, Forster had lit one of his firebombs. Raising it above his head, he smashed it onto the cellar floor, directly below the portal to the Phantom Dimension. The Interloper squealed as burning gasoline sprayed over it, but still bounded forward. Gould shot it in the face. Two more bombs covered the whole area around the altar with burning liquid. The stench of burning flesh mingled with gasoline, the roar of flames not quite masking the screeches of Interlopers in their death-agony.

  Gould and Forster waited at the top of the stairs until the smoke and fumes drove them out into the corridor. It was clear that nothing else would be coming through for a while.

  “What the hell?” asked Jim.

  “Close enough,” replied Denny. “Guys, this young lady is called Lucy.”

  She looked at Gould, who was clearly puzzled.

  “Ted,” Denny said gently, “maybe now isn't the time …”

  “Lucy!” Gould said, falling to his knees in front of the little girl. Tears blurred his vision as he tried to take hold of her. Lucy wriggled, began to shout in panic. Denny gently disengaged Gould's arms from the child. Lucy's eyes were wide with fear, now, and she clung to her rescuer.

  “Think about it, Ted,” Denny said quietly. “She hasn't seen you grow old. She still remembers the little boy who teased her.”

  “All fascinating and maybe heartbreaking,” Forster said, not turning his gaze from the doorway. “But we have a problem when that fire burns out. Which will be soon.”

  “We can leave,” said Jim. “The fog's lifted.”

  “Fog?” asked Denny.

  “Tell you on the way,” Jim replied.

  ***

  “You'll be okay with Brie while I go and get you some great new clothes,” said Denny. “You don't want to wear those raggedy pajamas forever, right?”

  Lucy had finally stopped clinging to Denny when they had arrived in Chester. The sight of a normality, an English town bustling with shoppers, tourists, and commuters, had seemed to calm the child. Now they were in the apartment rented by Forster and Davenport, who had discreetly left 'the girls' to use it and gone with the rest of the party to find a hotel.

  “I don't want you to go,” Lucy pleaded, tugging at Denny's hand.

  “You'll be okay with me, sweetie,” said Brie, smiling down at the girl. “We can make sandwiches for lunch – or you can just watch TV. Denny will be back real soon and then we can get you dressed nicely”

  Lucy looked skeptical. Denny scooped up the child and deposited her carefully on the sofa. The Phantom Dimension organism attached to her back still pulsed with alien life. The black filaments spread under the girl's skin were much more apparent in normal light. Lucy curled up, careful not to let the nodule touch the back of the sofa.

  How the hell will they get that thing off her? Denny wondered, then pushed the thought aside.

  “Brie's right,” she said soothingly, stroking Lucy's hair. “I'll get you some cool new clothes and in the meantime, you can get something to eat. It's a win-win situation. So you be good, now, and do what Brie says?”

  Lucy managed to smile along with Denny.

  “All right,” she said. “I promise.”

  Lucy picked up the remote and switched on the TV. The screen filled with a vista of burning buildings. At the bottom of the screen words crawled by detailing bombing raids, diplomatic overtures, stalled peace talks. Denny took the remote and searched for a cartoon channel, found something bright, noisy, and innocuous.

  “I'll try not to be too long,” she said, kissing the top of Lucy's head.

  ***

  “This is a very seedy hotel,” grumbled Davenport, running a finger along a picture frame. “Our expenses can't be this pathetic?”

  “Nice hotels don't let you smuggle smelly, half-naked old nutters past reception, as a rule,” Forster said, nodding at Lord George Blaisdell. The old nobleman was sitting on the hotel bed, enjoying a triple-decker cheeseburger and fries. An empty coffee cup stood on the bedside table.

  “I know he's not had real food for a while,” Davenport observed. “But still, they must have had bloody awful table manners in those old times, don't you reckon?”

  “And he smells a bit,” Forster added. “But I daresay they didn't bathe too often, either. Think we can persuade him to shower at some point?”

  “So what's the plan, boss?” Davenport asked, raising his voice to speak to Gould, who was standing by the window gazing out at Chester's rooftops.

  “Hmm?” Gould looked round. “We need to get both victims to London. The foundation's doctors might be able to figure out how to remove those – symbiotes, or whatever they are.”

  At that, George looked up from his meal in alarm.

  “Doctors?” he exclaimed. “Barber-surgeons and apothecaries, quacks the lot of 'em! I will not let a sawbones near me. I would rather be hag-ridden by this demonic leech to my dying day, sir!”

  “With all due respect, your lordship,” said Davenport. “You're talking a load of bollocks. That thing might have kept you alive in the PD – in Hell, if you like – but it can't survive in our world.”

  “Then let it wither away of its own accord, lad!” thundered the old man. “Why tinker with it? Doctors – charlatans all.”

  “Now might be the time to wrong foot him,” Davenport whispered to his colleague.

  “You never did tell us, your lordship,” said Forster, in a friendly voice, “how you managed to make such a remarkable escape. After all, it's no mean feat to get out of Hell, is it?”

  George looked blank for a moment, then gave a broad, yellow-toothed smile.

  “They were distracted,” he said. “Moved me to a spot close to one of their magical doorways – why, I was not even a dozen yards from it! Then they left me alone, went off about other business. I managed to reach a shard of bottle glass and cut my bonds, and voila! Thus, I returned to the world of men!”

  Gould turned from the window to stare at George, then exchanged glances with the other two.

  “So, my lord,” Gould said slowly, “you certainly enjoyed tremendous good luck.”

  “Fortune favors the brave,” said George smugly, dipping his last curly fry in a puddle of ketchup.

  “Excuse me, gents,” said Gould. “I just need to ste
p outside and make a phone call.”

  ***

  Denny went into the first store she found that sold children's clothing and headed for the section marked Girls. She made a guess at Lucy's size and bought sneakers, pants, several shirts, a jacket, and a variety of socks and underclothes. The store was busy, and Denny found herself in a long queue. In front of her a mother was trying to tell her daughter, who looked around six, that going to feed ducks in the park would be fun.

  “I want to play on your iPad!” the girl kept repeating.

  “We didn't have iPads in my day,” the mother eventually said.

  Like that's gonna work, lady, Denny thought. She smiled wryly at the way children so quickly seized on new gadgets, and how quickly adults forget that they had been just as obsessed with novelty.

  Denny frowned. A thought had nearly crystallized in her mind, a nagging doubt that – she realized – had been with her for some time. Something did not quite fit. Something about the little girl and her mom's iPad. The way kids pick up new tech, new trends.

  “Can I help you?” said the assistant.

  Denny realized she was holding up the line, and rushed forward to pay for Lucy's new things. She was just leaving the store when her phone rang. It was Gould.

  “Denny,” he said, in a voice that was pitched higher than usual, “how is Lucy? Is she well? Does she seem okay?”

  “Yeah,” Denny replied. “She seemed fine when I left her with Brie. I went out to get some clothes.”

  “Right,” Gould said, “Jim went out to get some for George. It's about George, I'm calling, in a way. It seems like his escape was – you could call it a set-up. Contrived.”

  Denny felt confused, impatient, all the stress she had suffered conspiring to fog her mind. She nearly bumped into a young couple, frowned at them, stopped walking.

  “Why would they do that?” she asked.

  “To prepare us for Lucy's return,” Gould said. “To prime our expectations. Make it seem more likely. Just as all the terror and killing was designed to confuse us, make us more susceptible to tricks.”

  Denny's head span with the implications.

  “But that would mean they took Frankie to lure me through, simply so I would rescue Lucy – no, come on!” she protested, ignoring odd looks from passersby. “How could they possibly know–”

  She paused, reflecting on the way the Interlopers understood people's deepest hopes and fears. And then the thought that had been worrying at the back of her mind sprang into the foreground, clear as daylight.

  “Oh my God!” she yelled. “Lucy knew how to work the TV remote! Nobody showed her – Ted, did you have a remote, when she was still with you? Did they have those in England then?”

  “No,” said Gould. “Or at least, I don't think so. God, I can't remember! It was so long ago, I–”

  “If it's not Lucy, she could have picked the knowledge straight out of my mind,” Denny said, starting to run. “But Ted, try and remember!”

  ***

  “Hey guys!” said Denny, trying to sound cheerful as she dumped the bags of new clothes onto the dining room table.

  Lucy was still curled up on the sofa watching TV, the nodule on her back pulsing steadily. Denny could hear the low rush of water from the small bathroom.

  “Hey!” Denny said. “Got you new clothes. Where's Brie?”

  Lucy looked round and gave a perfect, angelic smile. She picked up the remote and muted the TV sound.

  Kids are just quick learners, Denny thought. Proves nothing. Anyway, Brie could have helped.

  “Brie's taking a shower,” she said, uncurling and jumping up. “Can I try my clothes on now?”

  “Of course,” said Denny, resisting the urge to back away as Lucy ran over to her and grabbed her around the waist. Denny looked down at the tangled mass of chestnut hair, forced herself to pat Lucy on the shoulder.

  “Okay,” said Denny, “let's take the things into the bedroom.”

  Lucy cheerfully picked up two large bags and scampered ahead. The bedroom was dark, its curtains drawn. Denny hesitated in the doorway.

  “Lucy, you're big enough to dress yourself, now? Right?”

  Lucy turned to look up at Brie, and now her face was in shadow it was impossible to read.

  “Of course I am!” she said, and closed the bedroom door.

  Denny let out a sigh of relief, looked over at the sofa, and the black oblong box of the remote. Then she re-crossed the room and stopped at the bathroom door.

  “Brie?” she shouted. “I'm back!”

  There was no reply. Denny tried the door handle, and it opened, releasing a wave of heat and steam. The shower was of the old-fashioned type, with a curtain enclosing a bathtub rather than a glass cubicle. Denny stepped forward and pulled the gaily-colored plastic sheet aside. Brie lay in the tub fully clothed, mouth open in a silent scream. Torrents of boiling hot water were parboiling her face. The dressing on her face had been washed away, revealing the dark patch where she had been wounded the day before. A bread-knife protruded from her chest.

  Denny stifled a scream, staggered back into the living room. The TV screen was still radiant with the bright, colorful images of kids' cartoons. In the bedroom, Lucy stood, dressed now like a typical small girl.

  Innocence in pastel shades. The thought swam into Denny mind, and as it appeared, the diminutive Interloper tilted its head to one side.

  “You're very easy to read,” said the entity. “But hard to scare. No real demons. Brie was much easier. I frightened her with the girl she helped to kill, so she didn't put up much of a fight.”

  “What do you mean?” Denny asked, partly to play for time, partly out of genuine fascination with the weird being in front of her. “No real demons?”

  The thing with Lucy's face tilted its head to one side, and smiled.

  “Most people have a deep-rooted fear,” said the Interloper. “But you are almost a blank slate. No fear to draw upon. And no frustrated dreams, either. Nothing to exploit.”

  Denny began to edge toward the apartment door. Lucy made a sudden leap, scarily fast like a jumping spider. It blocked Denny's escape route.

  “I did make a mistake with the remote control,” the Interloper said, in a flat, emotionless voice. “It was stupid. As I said, you're easy to read, so I picked the knowledge out of your head. And now look what's happened.”

  It took a pace forward, crouched, its face starting to elongate, while its forehead seemed to shrink.

  “Now, I have to go back,” said the Interloper. “And leave no loose ends. I still have plenty to report. I've seen your world first-hand, not in fragments, not distorted through your strange minds.”

  “Why?” asked Denny, backing away. “Why do all this? Why try to fool us?”

  “To find out more about you,” Lucy said, its voice growing harsher, the syllables less clearly formed. “To spy on you. It took a long time to make me. I'm very special. I can survive for weeks, months maybe. But now I won't get to see inside the foundation.”

  Denny still struggled to understand the lengths of scheming the Interlopers had gone to. The question ‘Why’ kept circling in her head, even as she glanced about for possible weapons.

  “Why?” it grunted. “Because we don't like you.”

  It made another sudden, terrifying leap and landed squarely on Denny's chest, knocking her back against the table, which collapsed under them. Denny screamed, but the entity that was no longer anything like Lucy Gould, and put a powerful hand to her mouth.

  “We don't like the way you are now,” it hissed. “We don't like your machines, your cities, your science. We liked you before, when you were weak and scattered, and scared of the forests, of all the shadowed places. Then you showed us respect, you gave us nice things to leave you alone! Now you think you're gods, but you're greedy and cruel and stupid and you're spoiling everything!”

  It reared up, its transformation complete, an unearthly beast brandishing vicious claws. It lowered the weirdly
prehensile funnel of its muzzle towards Denny's face. It half-hissed, half-slobbered words at her that she could barely understand.

  “You're killing us!”

  Amid her terror, Denny felt something alien probing her mind. It was like a dark tendril, touching memories and emotions, sending a chill through her. Then the invading force stabbed deep into the roots of her identity, trying to tear apart her very essence.

  “Stop!” she gasped. “Get out of my mind!”

  “No,” Lucy gurgled. “I need to know more before you die! You are a strange one. Mysteries!”

  “No!” Denny screamed, battling Lucy with her mind and body. For all its power, the Interloper was still no heavier than a small child. Denny visualized all her anger as a glowing ball of fire, erupting from the core of her being. She hurled it at the questing black tendril. Lucy flinched at the psychic impact, startled by an impulse so immediate and primal that she could not have predicted it. Denny seized her chance, broke the creature's grip, bringing up both knees to hurl it across the room. Lucy crashed into the TV screen. But even as Denny was scrambling upright, the Interloper had recovered, and knocked her down again.

  “Simpler to kill you,” it said.

  The muzzle-mouth opened revealing a circle of long, thin teeth that turned outward. Denny struggled frantically but this time the grip of the Interloper's wiry arms and legs had immobilized her. She closed her eyes and twisted her head to the side, feeling the creature's hot breath on her face. But the pain that came next was not the kind she had expected. A jolt shot through her, and she arched her back in a spasm. The grip of the Interloper relaxed, and Denny heard a bestial screech followed by a sickening blow.

  When she opened her eyes, Gould and Forster was standing over her. Gould was holding a taser, while the other man was putting down a shotgun with a bloodied butt. The creature had collapsed, and Denny easily heaved the Interloper off her and scrambled away from it.

  “I didn't think it would be wise to blow her head off,” remarked Forster, almost casually. “Besides, taking them alive might get me a bonus.”