by Erme Lander
I begin babbling, trying to engage it in conversation. “Who are you? Speak to me. Who do you work for? Why…?” No response, the figure is eerily silent. It’s mouth open in concentration and it moves like an automation, no human grace or skill in it’s movements. Terror overwhelms me, it’s too close. I hear Talia whimper behind and don’t think any less of her for it.
I swing my staff in panic. There’s not enough space to swing properly but anything to keep it away from me. A hand lashes out and the staff is caught in a vice-like grip. I can’t break away, the lethargy is making my knees weak, driving me towards the floor. Talia grabs for my other arm, trying to pull me up. I stare into the depths of the hood and I’m caught in the eyeless gaze of death. The polished wood under my fingers turns rough, cracking as the moisture flees. It snaps like a twig under the pressure and I’m left holding the broken end. A blindly swinging hand connects and grasps it again.
My mind’s screaming that I must get free, that I mustn’t touch it. Talia is dragging clumsily at my other arm, shouting something I can’t hear through the roaring of panic. I cling to the staff, I can’t unpeel my fingers. I’m being brought closer, the other hand is reaching out for me. Instinctively I fling up my hand to block it with the vague thought of holding it back. In my mind’s eye, all I can see the previous victims, how they staggered. I’m going to die.
My fingers clutch at nothing, they go right through the sleeve and dust sifts through my fingers, streaming downwards. The hand drops into debris and the mouth gapes under the hood. It stretches, and turns back over itself into a yawning hole as the arm dissolves onto the floor. The head rolls back and the spine arches. No sound comes from it, simply a whisper of disintegration. The powdery dust trickles over my arm, it’s warm with a disgustingly intimate heat. I stand and watch, stupid in shock.
A jolt of something runs through me and I fall heavily, the remains of my staff clanging onto the floor. Talia’s arm is still around my waist and she drops with me. The body collapses into a pile at my feet, the clothes falling into the same mess of grey dust. No skeleton, nothing inside to make it walk. The dust stirs lightly in the breeze and I hold my breath as though it might infect me with the same disease.
I pull myself up onto my backside and stare at Talia, my brain unable to process what has happened. There are smears of dust on my fingers, I brush them off – unclean.
Talia’s face is awe-struck. “Layer out of the dead.”
“I didn’t do anything.” Abruptly an energy sparks through me again, making my stomach roil. I lurch to my feet as it races through every muscle in my body. It’s dirty. A loathing for it fills me and darkness shadows my vision. Filled with the absurd feeling of wanting to get away from my own body, I turn and run hard. Not looking where I’m going, I slam up against a brick wall and without warning, a brief glimpse of something deep in a cellar stains my mind. It’s black in there but I can feel the presence of something centuries old and its hunger for power. Talia scrambles up and follows me, her eyes wide.
I don’t want it near me, I want to go home and hide under my duvet, shut myself away from it and yet it’s in my own mind. I’m cursing myself for being a coward but it scares me to the point where I feel like a three year old lost in a crowd. I’m snivelling and I can’t tell Talia why. Two sides of me in conflict, one wanting to run away hard and the other says – well what did you expect? Gradually it comes to a close.
“It’s over there.” I point in the direction of the wall, I swipe the tears off my face, feeling the sting of grazes. “Underground somewhere.”
Talia looks, only seeing the wall and points at the building. “You mean in here?”
I shake my head, impatiently, “No, further away. I can’t tell precisely, we’ll have to keep looking.”
“You could always do that again if we can’t find it. They can’t hurt you.” Her voice is hesitant.
“No!” I shout the denial. I can’t do that again. I feel unclean in a way that’s nothing to do with the dirt I wear from living here. This is more than skin deep, it makes me want to rage and hurt. Talia backs away, her hand on her knife.
She’s never been this wary of me, I’ve always been the useless one. I take a deep breath, try to smile and fail. “We need to deal with this tonight.” My smile twists, “Otherwise I’m going to be too scared.” She nods at my honesty and comes to slide a hand into mine.
I no longer care about the coming night or my tiredness. I have an urgency driving me. I close my eyes and try to feel the direction it came from, then open them and start to walk. Talia walks beside me, quiet and uncomplaining.
The wall looms above us. I’m lost, the sense of direction I had has gone. The mist is luminescent from the nightmare moon riding above. I shiver and pull up my hood to hide in the depths.
“I’m cold.” I sound like a child and for once Talia doesn’t make a biting comment. I realise she’s shrunk into herself. All this time she’s been frightened of these dusty men and I’ve vanquished one with a touch. Me. The person who can barely put one foot in front of the other without falling over. I remember my thoughts the day I ran away from her about the city needing a hero. Maybe I am a hero.
I shake my head. Too often heroes die horribly. I don’t want to be a hero, I’ll settle for a quiet life. A pang of homesickness rises, despite knowing I can go back at any point doesn’t stop me wanting a normality where nobody’s out to kill me. Even living here is violent. I look at Talia, small and tough, her knife or tongue ever ready to lash out. I can’t compete.
Talia sniffs. The smell here is awful but then it is in many places. She waves a hand, keeping me at a distance and trots further down the alley. I follow more slowly, wishing for my staff. She stops at yet another dark doorway, half blocked by rubble and points down with a querying tilt of her head. I shrug, I can’t tell anymore, all I know is that I don’t want to go down a black hole in the dark. Anything could be down there. I know I’m being a coward. It’s easy to decide you’re going to save the world, less so to actually do it when it means risking your own skin. I feel the familiar tiredness hit the back of my knees and screw a tiny amount of courage up to nod.
“It’s in there.” My voice is shaking.
Talia’s eyes are huge as they meet mine. Taking a deep breath, she finds her lantern with a stub of candle in and lights it. Holding it up, the light fills the sockets of her eyes with darkness. Her mouth is firm.
“I’ll go first.”
She starts to refuse until I point out that I can deal with the grey men, ignoring the gibbering inside me shrieking that I don’t want to. I want to be at home in my shed, with Biggles’ head on my knee. I feel more than hear a hissing, like a sand timer in reverse. Something is building itself down there. I scramble down into the black hole, the light behind me throwing my shadow into the room.
A grey lump lies close to the door. We both jump, ready to run and realise it’s a dead body, mostly dessicated. It holds the remains of an axe, the metal pitted with rust. I need a weapon, something in my hand to reassure me that I’m not helpless. I take the axe and heft it, recognising the rough feel of parched wood.
Dust is kicked up by our feet. I hold my breath, not wanting to cough and I try not to think about the terror building up. I have to do this, I have to act. If I don’t then I’m going to run away and never come back again. The lantern throws a shaky light onto the walls, not helped by Talia climbing over the rubble.
The cellar is wide, blank windows suggest it was once at street level. There are openings in the walls to other rooms, piles of bricks across the floor and the ever present dust. A sound escapes me, a whimper. I bite my lip, thinking of the scorn Talia would pour if she heard it. No other noise apart from Talia’s harsh breathing and the sense of something building. No life here, not even the rustle of a rat.
The dread fills me as I begin to walk towards a doorway. My feet are being pulled in that direction. I know what is there and I fear it. Talia has hold of my elb
ow. Her fingers are tight and her skinny body resting against mine. The whites of her eyes catch the candlelight. The fatigue is growing, I drag my leaden feet, scuffing through rubble. My knuckles are locked around the axe as we move through the doorway and into the next room.
A man is standing in the lamplight. He is my height, slim and grey like the dust on the floor. He is nothing special, certainly not the horror I’d expected lurking in this cellar. His head is covered by a cloth hood, a cloak is over his shoulders and his hands are spread apart. He is the image of the grey men we have seen. My eyes are drawn to the dust growing from the floor, it glows from within and I watch, fascinated. The body grows and sways and the man sways in time, the hands shaking.
“Daniel...” Her grip tightens.
“Not now.” Twisting away from Talia’s hand, I lurch towards the figure and its toy in a stumbling run, no longer thinking about being a hero, just knowing I have to stop the building of this new facsimile.
My hand touches the dust man, it holds for a moment and collapses. The same spark flashes hunger between the two of us. The hunger is an ancient evil, tarnished with contempt and underneath lies a very human terror. The man cries out in pain and raises his hand to grasp me. The voice is eerily familiar, a rustling croak from dust in his throat. He moves fast and grabs my wrist. Talia screams from behind me. I stand, frozen to the floor. The grey from his hand shifts and begins to stain my own skin, spreading up my arm. I can feel something writhing, squirming up against my flesh. I try to pull free but his hand is a vice, gripping mine.
Terror fills me and I feel his own terror infecting both of us, I want to hold my head at the pain of both our terrors merging. That tendril between us creates a connection and something squeezes down it. It’s over in an instant and yet I feel it’s every move, a lump of something pushing its way in. It wraps a hard rind around itself, protecting itself deep inside me. A sudden drag at my arm as though he is trying to pull away and yet he’s not moved. I feel the ripping sound of a rift opening and his grip loosens.
“Daniel, don’t let him get away!” Talia’s voice comes from a distance. I twist to grab his sleeve, I can’t let him escape. The stretch increases, shaking me and making my teeth rattle. Our combined terror, the disgust of this creature holding me, the thing worming inside. This creature can’t be allowed to get away. I want to end it, I have to stop it. My voice cracks as I scream a challenge to the fear I feel and hammer the axe down over the hood. The tearing flesh and bone that shouldn’t be that fragile. The spark of a life blowing out and the rise of sanity – what have I done?
The face turns and catches the feeble candlelight as the man slowly collapses at my feet. A disintegration of body parts, desiccating into dust like the men he had created. I stand, swaying and I choke as my brain processes what I’d seen. Blackness threatens at the image of the hood falling down from the man’s head, and my own scared face looking back at me.
Chapter 14
I have killed a man. I drop to my knees, trying not to vomit. My hands are deep in the dust from his body and I jerk them into my chest. The wildly inappropriate phrase comes to me… ashes to ashes... and my lips peel back in a grimace as I gag through the bile.
It doesn’t matter that he was the enemy. Doesn’t matter that he sent men to dessicate innocent people. I killed him, I put an axe through his skull. The expected jar through my arm that didn’t happen, the way the corroded metal had sliced through his skull and the sudden disintegration… He had my face. Why? What perverse soul could take on the face of their attacker? A line of spit drools from my lips and lands in the heap.
A shadow falls over me and I flinch to find Talia crouching in front. The lantern in her hand shows the light is a little dimmer than it had been and yet I find it difficult to look at it. Every muscle shows she wants to throw herself at me, fighting her own natural reticence. She’s terrified and I hold my arms out to bundle her up with a desperate need to comfort both of us.
Talia shifts closer and hesitates, “What’s that?” I look at the grey stain coating my fingers. I rub at it with my other hand and it spreads, not coming off. It itches slightly and I feel my breath coming faster. She moves back, pointing down. “Look.”
The dust is on the move. How can it be moving? The enemy is dead, he’s not controlling it anymore. My eyes are drawn to the movement on the floor, becoming lost in it, my panic sucked into the soothing motion. Eddies and currents swirl in a parched ocean of grey. The wet dimple from my spittle is a whirlpool, the dust coiling around it.
I follow the dust’s movement to my walking boots and am jolted out of my fugue. They are covered already, particles are creeping over the rim of the leather onto my socks. I rub at the dull sheen covering the brown leather, it doesn’t come off.
Panicking, Talia finds her water bottle and empties the contents over my hand and shoes. On the floor, the wet holds the dust, swirling around the droplets. On my hand and shoes, it’s stained into my skin. I scrub my hands under the film of water, nothing changes. The dust has sunk under my skin and under the leather. I stare in sick fascination, seeing the whorls of my fingerprints and the hairs on my arms outlined in grey.
Talia scrambles away, dropping the lantern, her eyes wide. The candle gutters and nearly goes out, sending the shadows swinging wildly.
I struggle to my feet and reach out, “Don’t leave me here!” My voice cracks. She stops in the doorway with the lantern between us.
We watch, as a grain at a time, the dust rises to cover me. I can’t stop it. The prickly itch runs up over my skin, between my clothes and inside every crevice, absorbing the sweat running down me. I slap my clothes in an effort to stop the progress. Puffs of dust rise and are drawn back into the gravity of my body. I try to take a step and discover my feet are tied to the floor. I can stand but not move. I can’t walk. I’m rooted there, next to the heap which shifts itself towards me. I try to stick my knuckles in my mouth to stop the whimpers and snatch my hands away at the grey stains.
As the tide reaches my neck, I squeeze my eyes shut at the thought of them being invaded and hold my breath. The tickle of dust enters my nostrils and I sneeze, frantically pawing at my nose. I feel myself swaying from the lack of air. The second I open my mouth, it’s like a hand holds it open and the dust sweeps in to coat and dry me out. My tears as the dust climbs over my face are absorbed. In despair I open my eyes, staring at the candle, seeing spots develop in my vision and watch the cellar descend into a haze.
Like a light switching off, I know when the dust stops moving. I feel tired and hungry, the adrenalin of the hunt and fight drained. I try to smile at Talia who is watching warily from the doorway. “It’s stopped. I’m okay Talia.”
She’s not convinced. I don’t blame her, I don’t dare mention the lump inside me. It’s hard and thuds a split second later than the beat of my heart, putting me off balance.
“You look like one of those grey men. I tried to tell you earlier.” Her face turns thoughtful, “Apart from the cloak that is.”
I twist to look at myself. Hood over my face, thick boots, I am the image of the creature in the cellar. He’d had my face, I wrestle the panic down. I pull my hood down sharply in a small victory of difference. “We’ll find a way of sorting this. I’m fine. Honest.”
“I’m going to another hole I’ve got.” She looks meaningfully at me, “Not one you know about.”
“Don’t leave me.” The words burst out. I need her, the feeling rises from within, she’s someone I depend on.
“You’re him. I can’t trust you.”
“Talia!” Desperation makes my voice crack.
Her face softens, “I’ll be back tomorrow. I need to sleep.” She puts the lantern on the floor and slips out and I’m left alone with the guttering candle.
I begin to shriek at her to come back and stop. I know there are people who take advantage of those less able out there, people who would knife me without a thought. I decide to curl up in a corner and find I ca
n’t move my feet off the floor. A part of them has to be in contact with it at all times – I’m chained by the dust. A fear rises, I don’t want to go outside now. I can’t defend myself, I can’t run. I slide myself over to the wall, one painful movement at a time and curl up, grateful for the presence of something solid behind me.
I fall asleep and dream of my shed in the orchard. The wind in the leaves, the filtered sunlight and the scent of decaying apples. A deathly silence, with no Biggles running to greet me. I push open the shed door and find Dominic sitting in the cellar room, playing with his train set. He’s frowning and holds a piece of track up to me as I enter. I fall to my knees in the dust and take the piece to place it in the last gap and complete the circle. A dread creeps over me as a movement catches my eye, the dust on the floor is swirling. My eyes are dragged into the darkness behind where something is rising. I try to warn him. I can’t move! Dominic is oblivious, watching his train going round in circles. I struggle to get a noise past the blockage in my throat and see his hand move to change the points and at the same time the figure steps forwards.
I wake with my face pressed into a pile of rubble, still shaking. The candle’s gone out. I’ve fallen over in my sleep, I begin to lever myself up and nearly fall over as my arms give way. Dominic, my family. I may never see them again. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stop the tears falling and find I can’t cry. My tear ducts are blocked. The inhumanity of this is the last straw, I curl up with my mouth open and croak with helplessness.
Gasping the dry sobs out, I open my eyes again. A grey haze is in front of my eyes, I can see the edges of the room clearly, despite there being no light. My stomach rumbles and without thinking I concentrate, a new need filling me. My hands begin to warm. I pull them apart, my fingers trembling, my nails start to ache. The strain builds through my arms, making me clench my teeth to stop them shaking.