Ancient Awakening (The Ancient)

by Matthew Bryan Laube

The world slowly came back to Mike. He awoke to find it was dark, which instantly terrified him. Realizing he was in a hospital bed made it much worse. He panicked and tried to get out of bed, but his head spun too much. Panting, he lay back down and waited for the spinning to stop. On his bed was a sleeping shape that he recognized as his son.

  “Sam!” He gave a shout of joy. The boy snapped awake and glanced around the room in surprise.

  “Dad?” Then, after a second of focus, “Dad!” Father and son embraced for a long time.

  “I thought you went away too, Dad.”

  “Never,” Mike swore.

  In time, a doctor came to check in on him, and Sam fell back to sleep in his bed. Mike stayed awake, too busy processing the events of the past day to find rest. He had learned and seen so much. He knew now that there were monsters out there, and not the human kind. He had seen the basis of the vampire and werewolf legends. It was all a bit much to take in. It had to have been an insane dream.

  In time, he realized that he was at St. Michael’s Hospital. They had found him in the street, unconscious. Besides several deep cuts, heavy blood loss, and a concussion, he was actually in fairly good shape. Obviously, with the situation at College Hospital, they were not taking patients there, much to Mike's relief. It would be a long time before he could set foot in that building again, if ever.

  According to the news, a gas leak at the hospital had killed close to 70 people. Twenty-seven people were apparently rescued from the basement and had managed to escape unaffected. No mention was made of the demon flying through downtown Newark. It sounded like the weakest cover story Mike had ever heard. But then, the truth sounded even worse.

  Mike had been in the hospital for a good twenty-four hours before they came to visit. Mike was watching “Power Rangers” with Sam when two tall men in dark suits and dark shades entered the room. Seeing them, Mike couldn't help but whistle the theme music from “Men in Black.” One was quite large. The other was a much smaller man with a cruel scar on his cheek that started at his chin and made a line directly to his ear. The ear was missing its lobe.

  “Mr. Samson,” the scarred man said, “I'm Agent Smith from the FBI.”

  “Smith? Like in the Matrix?” Sam asked. The man stiffened for a moment. He responded in a voice so dry with sarcasm, Mike thought it might snap.

  “Yes, just like the guy in the movie. We were wondering if we might have a word with you, alone, for a few minutes,” Smith said, glancing at Sam and his grandmother, who were both sitting in the room.

  “Of course. Sarah, can you take Sam to the cafeteria and get him something to drink?” She nodded, taking Sam by the hand and leading him out the door. As it closed behind them, Sam said, “But I want to see the secret agents!” And then they were gone. That put a smile on Smith's face, and he took a seat next to Mike's bed. Smith's backup remained standing..

  “So, what can I do for you? I’m guessing this has something to do with a gas leak.”

  Another smile from Smith. “Yeah, you might say that. We understand that you may have seen some pretty strange things.”

  “Pretty strange doesn’t even begin to cover it. The stuff of nightmares is more like it,” Mike responded.

  “Can you tell us what you saw?”

  Mike licked his lips. Could he? Would it even make sense? He had to. The world should know, even if no one would believe him.

  So he told them the truth, or most of the truth. He left Miller completely out of the picture, but told them all about troubled Ann, who was looking for her missing ex-boyfriend, and the things they witnessed together. He told them about the monsters’ plan in the basement. He told them about their escape from the hospital. Finally, he told them about Ann's abduction.

  “Did she make it?” Mike asked.

  “Who?”

  “Ann…Melakh, I think her last name was.”

  Smith flipped through a pad before answering. “Looks like we aren’t sure. She’s on the missing persons list.”

  There was a long pause, and then Smith spoke again. “I think you’ll understand when we ask that you tell this to no one.”

  “Who would believe me? But I need to know that you guys are doing something. That you understand that I'm not just some crazy guy seeing monsters in the shadows.”

  “Well, I can't really release any details at this time, but we are investigating the matter. I've had a talk with your chief and arranged two weeks of paid leave for you.” Smith stood up to leave. “Spend some time with your son and try to forget all this.” With that, he and his silent partner left.

  The next day, Mike went home and tried to get on with his life. Several of his fellow officers and friends had been killed by the “gas leak,” and so he found himself in his dress uniform three days later for a large funeral. Jessica Jones was one of them, as was her partner. While he had not known her well, her death saddened him. He brought her a single white rose. While there, Sam and Mike also visited Sam's mother. As Mike did every time he visited his dead wife, he made the sign of the cross and asked for her forgiveness. Not that it ever helped.

  And so, Mike Samson tried to move on. His nightmares were still the same nightmares, except that sometimes Ann would appear, or Miller, crazy grin and all. He didn’t dream of demons or werewolves or vampires. His own monsters remained center-stage in his dreams. Maybe he felt that the things he had seen were too terrible to possibly be true, or maybe his mind just wanted to pretend the whole thing had never happened. For nine days, he managed to pull it off, even with the Zhangs’ empty house across the street.

  On the tenth day, there was a knock at the door.

  “I think it is one of the joyless witnesses,” Sam said, peeking from behind a curtain.

  “It’s Jehovah’s witness, Sam.” But it wasn't a Jehovah ’s Witness. It was Joseph Miller.

  He stood at the door of the house, dressed in beat-up old jeans, ruined sneakers, and a black t-shirt. He no longer had a cast on his foot, and in fact, looked as good as new.

  Mike hesitated before opening the door. Having Miller outside his house was like having a visitor from another world, a flashback from the day things went mad. What would happen if he let this man back into his life?

  Miller had saved his life; he could at least see him. Mike opened the door.

  “Mr. Samson!” Miller’s face split with that God-awful grin of his.

  “Miller?” was all Mike said before the strange Hispanic man had him wrapped up in a hug, pushing himself inside.

  “Oh, this is a lovely place you have here. And look! You have your own TV.” Sam looked sheepishly at this new stranger in his house. They certainly didn't get much stranger than Miller. “And a boy! What a fine looking lad you are.” Miller rustled Sam's hair playfully.

  “Err, Sam, this is a friend of Daddy's. His name is Mr. Miller. Miller, this is my son, Sam.”

  Sam looked Miller up and down. “Are you a bum?” Sam asked. There was such an honest tone to Sam's voice that Mike had to laugh a bit.

  “A bum? Is that good?” Miller asked, looking confused.

  “It's your clothes, they just look a bit, err, dirty.”

  “Aye, well I obtained them from a kindly priest. Many things have changed but the good folks of the cloth are always there to lend a hand when in need. Too bad they are such prudes about the ladies. Otherwise I could quite see myself as a holy man. ”

  “Right. Look, I’m happy to see that you’re alive, but what are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  “Ah. It was easy! As I think you may have guessed, after our little run-in with,” he looked down at Sam, “that rather rude fellow, I found myself a bit under the weather. Luckily, I managed to drop in at a nearby church, where some very nice folks took care of me. Once I had had a few days to pull myself back together, I expressed my need to find my long lost cousin, o
ne Mike Samson. After a bit of doing, they kindly gave me a ride in one of those fine horseless carriages...”

  “Cars, Miller, we call them cars.”

  “Cars. Right. I will remember that. In any case, they brought me here. As I said, good people. Do you have anything to drink? Preferably ale?”

  “Umm, yeah, in the fridge, hold on. You’ll have to deal with root beer. I don’t keep alcohol in the house anymore.” Mike motioned to the couch and moved to the kitchen. Miller took a seat and Sam followed his father into the next room.

  “Mr. Miller seems kinda funny. And he smells bad.”

  “Yes, yes he does,” Mike agreed. Of course, bathing habits had changed in the last hundred years. “Listen, why don't you play in your room? I think I need to talk adult stuff with Mr. Miller.”

  “It’s not about sex, is it?” Sam asked.

  “No, and what did I tell you about sneaking out and watching HBO after bedtime?”

  After sending his son off, Mike returned to the living room. He tossed Miller a can of root beer. Miller caught it and stared at it.

  “Err, need help?” Mike walked over to him and popped the can open.

  “Ah, thank you.” Miller took a quick slug, made a surprised face, shrugged, and drained the can.

  “Before we start…Ann?” There was no need for a clearer question. The smile drained from Miller’s face and he shook his head slightly. “No.”

  There was a long pause as both men stared at the floor. At last, Mike let out a shaky sigh.

  “So what can I do for you, Miller?”

  “Straight to business. I like that in a man.” Miller grinned. “Well, to just come out with it, I am here to offer you a job.”

  “A job?”

  “Aye. You have shown me that you can handle yourself,” he paused, looking for the words, “under less than normal circumstances. I have need of a man of your caliber.”

  “I'm sorry Miller. I don't see myself doing the professional monster hunter gig. It's just not me. I'm a single dad now. To be honest, I've been thinking about retiring from the force, finding something safe. For Sam's sake.”

  “You have a fine boy there, Samson. I can see why you would say that. But men like you and me cannot give up the good fight. It is in our blood.”

  “Maybe in your immortal blood, but I have a child to look after.”

  “That is fine. I am not looking for another monster hunter.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No, I am looking for a guide. This world is a strange place to me. I need a local guide. Someone to show me how things work. Being in my line of business, it is handy to have a guide who is also a fair shot with a rifle.”

  “Look, I'm sorry. I still can't.” Mike paused a second, and for once Miller did not break in. “I've tried to help with things before. Many times. And, well, I don't have the best track record. Look at poor Ann.”

  There was another moment of silence between the men. For some reason, Mike’s eyes drifted across the street at the now-empty house of his neighbor. The massacre that had happened across the street would happen again. Shouldn’t he try and stop it if he could?

  “Aye, we did lose that one, did we not?” Miller said. Then he slapped his hands to his knees and got up. “But that does not mean that we get to stop trying. Those beasties are still out there, and they like to stay busy and do exactly what you saw the other day. Many more folk like Ann will come to the same end. That is, unless you help me stop them.” Mike looked down at his drink. Miller tried again.

  “We failed Ann and many other people in that hospital, Samson, you and I both. We must redeem our honor. Otherwise, those people died in vain.” That struck a deep chord for Mike. Redemption? Was that even possible for him?

  Mike could not believe it, but he found himself seriously considering Miller’s request. He had to be crazy. After a bit more thought, he said, “Ok, Miller. You’ve got yourself a guide, but under two conditions.”

  “Name them.”

  “One. Sam always comes first. Always.”

  “I have been a father many, many times and would expect no less.”

  “Two. We find a way to help these people whenever possible. Most of the people who died in that hospital, at least the ones we killed, were just innocent people infected with some sort of...”

  “Curse?” Miller offered.

  “Disease or something. A lot has changed in the last hundred years, buddy, and we don't just go chopping people's heads off. We try to help them. There must be a way.”

  Miller rubbed his chin. “That is no easy task.” He stopped and considered. “But I accept. If we can find a way to help the Cursed, then of course we will. The world has changed so much. Perhaps I should as well. Although I'll warn you, like the events of last week, sometimes it’s us or them. And, in my mind, it’s always them.”

  “Fine. Deal.”

  They shook hands. Miller grinned his mad grin and slapped Mike on the back.

  “So it begins!” He laughed.

  Chapter 20 - Next Time

  Bad Blood - Ministry - Dark Side of the Spoon