by Alec Dunn
Gregor stopped painting and looked at him with a merry twinkle in his eyes. “If you promise not to tell anybody, I’ll show you.”
He opened up one side of his dark robe to show Tristan its lining and it was beautiful. It shimmered and moved with intricate shades and colours, but not just colours, emotions. There was joy and happiness and fear and hatred and it moved. They moved. Tristan stared, fascinated by the shimmering, swirling, changing colours and depths. And Tristan saw what moved. He flinched in horror, for what he had thought was beautiful were people, trapped. They were caught within the cloak and were pushing against each other, some conscious, some trapped, lost in moments of their own. He glimpsed bodies reaching for escape and faces bubbling up to the surface. There were so many people, so many souls. He caught a glimpse of the emerging face of Joshua, rising like a bubble, clawing at his neck, gasping out his life, among all the others, before it submerged again and disappeared.
He was already horrified, in a state of shock, understanding but not accepting so when he saw his mother’s beautiful face, eyes and mouth wide open, rise to the shimmering surface, he had no more emotion to give. He looked into her tortured face and his eyes spoke the words his tongue could not.
Gregor drew the cloak back around him. He placed a finger against his thin purple lips and smiled. “Our secret,” Gregor said in a hushed voice. “Amazing what you can get hold of if you’re willing to barter with some of the, ah, darker spirits, shall we say. I said I would deal with it. I told you I had gained her release from the demon, but everything comes with a price. The price of gaining your trust was dear. To be honest, my boy, I wasn’t sure it was worth it, but seeing the look on your face makes it all worthwhile. You’re just too precious.” He smiled warmly, his lips thinly spreading across his face. Suddenly, mockingly, he was worried. “You won’t tell anyone will you, Tristan?” Gregor waited for an answer and then gave it himself, “No, no, I forgot, you’ll be dead.” He smiled happily at Tristan. “And now we come to our third and final point. There is a great beast that devours worlds and it is knocking at the door to this one so it is time for me to say goodbye and take our special friend, Stephanie, into the Shadowlands. I have enough to buy my way back and, once I am back, my boy, then worlds will be mine for the taking, knowledge and worlds and power.
I have been keeping this little crack safe for so long, Tristan. There were so few who knew of it. Lucretia, of course, and Max, he was desperate to find a doorway home, the poor boy. He didn’t have the first idea.” Gregor laughed to himself. “It’s barely even a doorway, really, more of a servants entrance, what. But we’ll open a doorway wide tonight.”
Gregor took out the amulet Tristan had last seen at the museum and raised it before him. He seemed to speak to the wall. His aged voice sounded firm and resonated through the library. He chanted strange words and incantations. His voice was deep and commanding, pulsing through the building and Tristan’s brain.
Tristan watched him in hatred and fascination, the demented old man was standing there facing a massive patch of congealed blood that formed a solid looking rectangle on the wall. There was so much blood there that it looked absolutely solid. It stood out like a physical shape.
How much blood had Stephanie lost?
Tristan stared at the rectangle, shaped like a door – Gregor’s obsession, doorways, knowledge. Was the old man insane? Was there a door? Tristan stared and noticed the rectangle that had looked so solid now looked hollow.
It was like a corridor painted red and Tristan could look down it. Was there something there?
Was there movement? He could see something. He wasn’t certain, but thought he could see something moving. He felt dizzy. He was sure of it now. As though through a thick veil, he could see another world, a monochrome world, a world of shadows.
Gregor turned to him, his face sneering triumph. “Ah, cracked teacups opening a lane to the land of the dead are nothing compared to the blood of an Elarim, eh? Time to go and claim what is mine.”
Gregor strode over to his desk and grabbed the velvet bag he had hidden his book of secrets in. He draped it over his shoulder.
Tristan stared through the veil and saw hills of grey grass blowing in the wind. Far in the distance he thought he could see a stone walled city.
Gregor coughed to get his attention, “Quite a sight, eh, my boy? Not a bad final sight.” The old man was looking at his shoe as though embarrassed, “I’ve one last favour to ask, now that you’re here. I might as well collect one more soul before I leave. You can keep your mother company, eh. You do seem to be remarkable, quite remarkable, so…” Gregor looked up suddenly, his aged yellow eyes filled with malice, his purple lips pulled taught in an evil grin, “Die, please, Tristan. Fall down, choke and die so I can take your soul.”
Tristan felt the compunction to collapse, but it was distant. The foul chemical stench filling his mouth was bringing tears to his eyes and he fought Gregor’s command.
He did not fall down; instead he took a step forward.
Gregor’s mouth dropped a little to show his crooked brown and yellow stained teeth, “FALL DOWN!”
Tristan had to stop moving, but he did not fall down. He was almost choking, but not quite. He steadied himself, the acrid fumes filled his nose and throat and he was fighting the urge to vomit, but carefully, purposefully, he took another step forward, another step towards Stephanie, towards saving Stephanie.
Gregor was seething, “Stop! Stand still!”
Against the invisible ropes that were pulling him back, Tristan leant forwards and put his foot out once more. It was like pushing against a great weight and Tristan had to force himself, slowly, deliberately, he shifted his own weight forwards.
Gregor, free from invisible bonds was moving towards him, his face bent and furrowed in hatred. Tristan heard him mutter, “Remarkable, just remarkable, aren’t you, Tristan?” Tristan saw him pull the thin curved bright blade from beneath his robe and raise it in a striking position. Gregor was disgusted, “If you won’t die when you’re asked then I’ll have to do it for you. How primitive.”
And the old man stepped swiftly towards him, dagger poised, and Tristan felt like a statue. He could fight Gregor’s commands; he could move, but slowly, so slowly.
Compared to him, the old man was nimble, fast. He was upon him in seconds and Tristan looked at the hatred squirming in his eyes, the dark liver spots and stained teeth and knew that he had failed her. He had not saved Stephanie. He could not fight him.
“GREGOR!” The roar filled the whole library so Tristan could not tell where it came from, but he knew the voice: Max – or the Max beast.
Gregor’s eyes stared at the door Tristan had walked through not so very long ago, the dagger remained hanging above Tristan, forgotten for the moment. He heard Lucretia’s voice, sweet and syrupy, “Gregor, Gregor, Gregor, who’s been a naughty boy? Keeping secrets is not part of our agreement, you know.”
Tristan could hear footsteps behind him, Max and Lucretia, spreading out, one to either side of Gregor, encircling him. He felt Gregor’s attention shift and the paralysing weight lifted from him.
Gregor stepped backwards to the table on which Stephanie lay. She made a small murmuring noise. Waking up? He held the dagger casually now, and he smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Max, Lucretia, welcome. What an eventful night, my friends. Tell me, how is it that you are not dead?”
Lucretia countered with another question, “Why would you want us dead, Gregor?” Tristan could hear the pout in her voice. She sounded like a five year old, “That makes me sad. And is that a doorway to the Land of Shadows you’ve opened?”
“Ah, yes, the doorway home,” Gregor replied, gathering the semi-conscious Stephanie into his arms and talking intimately into her ear, “Stand up, my dear, lean on me, that’s it. We’ll have you out of here in no time. It’ll all be over soon. You’ve done marvellously, absolutely marvellously.” Stephanie seemed unaware of who was talking and lea
ned into the stinking robed form for support. “That’s it, easy now.”
“It’s not my doorway home, Gregor.” Max’s voice sounded heavy, guttural. Tristan saw the two circling forms appear at the corner of his vision at the same time, the bulky Max beast and Lucretia. “Where is my doorway home?”
Gregor was stepping backwards, Stephanie leaning in on him. “You’re doorway home?” Gregor snorted. “You insolent pup. Who do you think you are? I took you from your home at great personal risk. I have no intention of taking you back. I have done with you, so you may die, or live, kill or be killed. Get yourself neutered. I care not. I thought Earnest would have put you down, but it seems not, so stay here, wait for your doom and rot.”
Now Max was more clearly in his view, Tristan could see the state he was in, cut and bleeding and broken, but with a growl the beast flashed towards Gregor.
Gregor dropped the dagger and his hand held outwards wrapped those invisible ropes around Max. “Stay, boy,” Gregor’s voice hissed with contempt.
Max seemed to have a wall between him and Gregor, he snarled and snapped at him, but he could not pass.
From the other side, Lucretia ran towards Gregor and Gregor threw out his other hand, releasing his hold on Stephanie, “Stop there.” Lucretia too stopped, although she strained towards Gregor.
Gregor’s arm swept back around Stephanie’s waist, gathering her up, and he pulled her backwards with him towards the veiled doorway, disappearing towards the doorway with his mother’s soul. But Stephanie was waking up now and could see what was happening.
Tristan watched her beautiful face transported with the horror of remembering where she was, with confusion as she watched Lucretia pushing desperately against nothing, with horrified panic as she looked at the monster Max had become and finally her imploring look to Tristan for help.
They stared into each other’s eyes, seeking a centre to the spiralling chaos around them.
He took a step forward, then another, and another.
Gregor was pulling her backwards, staring at Tristan in confusion and fear, but Stephanie was struggling now, trying to break free. He had dragged her back to the doorway between worlds.
Tristan stepped again and again, sucking deeply. He was almost there.
Stephanie’s hands were gripping the walls either side of the doorway, screaming, Gregor’s face was behind the veil, monochromatic and shadowed, his arm wrapped around her. He pulled on her roughly, seizing and jerking, demanding obedience, again and again. Her hands slipped a little on the walls, slipped more. Her head was leaning forwards but her waist was in the shadows, behind the veil, she was halfway between the worlds.
Her hands slipped, and Tristan was there, holding her hands.
The winds blowing the grass on the hills of the Shadowland swept past him. He held her hands and pulled. She convulsed in Gregor’s grasp, terrified, clinging to Tristan desperately.
Somewhere in the corridor between worlds they fought for her, their strength and force equally balanced, until, raising his foot to the wall at the side of the doorway and giving a mighty wrench, Tristan broke Gregor’s grasp.
Tristan spilled backwards, falling onto the floor of the library, holding the soft and yielding body of Stephanie in his arms. Relief flooded him, he had saved her. He had saved Stephanie. He turned his head away from her and spat the foul chemical tasting air freshener out of his mouth. “Stephanie.” He was caught in a fit, coughing up the chemical saliva that had been dribbling down his throat, and stripping the skin from inside his nose, “Are you… are you alright?” It sounded weak. ‘Alright’ was nothing close to what he felt and he doubted it was anywhere near what she felt.
“Stephanie?”
Her soft and warm body did not move. It lay on top of him, a dead weight.
It was with fear he lifted his head up to look through the thickening veil to the Shadowlands. The doorway was closing, but he could still see through. There he saw Gregor, moving across the grey hills of sweeping grass, and Gregor was looking over his shoulder at Tristan, and Gregor was smiling. For in Gregor’s arms was the struggling shape of Stephanie. Tristan looked at Stephanie’s struggling soul, glowing golden in the twilight world, reaching out to him for rescue and saw Gregor’s black tongue flick out over his thin and purple lips as the old man looked at Tristan in victory.
Twenty Two : So Far
The hospital smelt like bleach. The nurses and orderlies came and went. The doctors checked and noted.
The police had questioned and the disappearance of the school librarian been investigated. Tristan was part of the inquiry. He had answered lots of questions, but that was over now.
This librarian – invited you for special lessons, did he, son – liked you to call him by his Christian name – had abducted Stephanie Worthington, a pretty girl, performed some sort of ritual, maybe Satanic, complete whacko if you ask me, Sir, and done a bunk. Seems like he was grooming a few of them, sick bastard.
There had never been any connection made between the vandalism at the museum or the abduction of another school girl from a nearby village.
What nobody could figure out was what he had done to her. Cut her a little, bled her as part of the ritual, covered part of the wall with her blood so she was suffering from blood loss, but physically fine. Toxicology shows nothing, no poison, no drugs, nothing. There’s no blunt trauma, so why won’t she bloody wake up?
Her parents visited the hospital room all the time. Tristan got to know them fairly well. Her mother was nice. Tristan? She mentioned your name, liked you. You were meant to be going on a date with her, weren’t you? Mr Worthington was more reserved, asking if he was the boy who had stood her up.
Tristan visited the hospital often – guilt perhaps.
Or love.
She looked like she was asleep, her golden hair resting on the pillow. She was in touching distance, so close to him.
But Tristan knew why she wouldn’t wake up. The medical reasons the doctors gave as possibilities meant nothing to him.
He knew what Gregor had done to her. He knew what Gregor had done to him. And he knew where Gregor was.
Revenge was eating him from the inside out.
Hate gnawed at his guts.
Dark thoughts filled his mind. Dark dreams filled his nights. Serrated visions of death and pain cut into his consciousness, the past, present and future collided, what was, what would and what might be. Sights of the monsters that he was determined to fight, to stop, and their victims pain and fear filled him, and there was always Gregor’s back, hiding his secrets from sight. And was it in his nightmares or his visions that the ruined face of Earnest Matthew Grim leered at him?
He trained every day. He would be ready.
He sat beside her on the wipe clean, fake leather seat and waited for the right time.
She was special, precious. He knew that Gregor had wanted her alive. He could still save her. He was going to save her. He was going to reclaim his mother’s soul.
It was the quiet time at the hospital. The nurses were handing over at this time and the doctors never came until much later. Her parents were at home. He slipped the needle out of his bag and went over to her comatose form. He turned her arm and found a blue vein, tapped it a couple of times and inserted the needle. Carefully, he drew out some of her precious blood, filling the phial attached to the needle. He withdrew the needle, pressing down with the prepared ball of cotton wool on the puncture wound as he did so. He placed a little tape over the cotton wool and swiftly hid the phial and needle back in the bag. It would need to be frozen quickly, so he couldn’t stay long now.
He sat on the edge of her bed and thought of how much blood Gregor had taken all in one go.
How much blood did he need to paint a doorway to another world? About a bucketful.
But there was time; he had plenty of time while he was figuring things out. He reached into his pocket and drew out the amulet that Gregor had held, the amulet Gregor had taken from Earn
est. It had become caught in Stephanie’s flailing arms as she struggled for freedom. It was the key to the door – somehow. He stroked her hair. He would find out how to unlock the door, he had everything he needed after all.
He smiled grimly.
It always made him smile to think of it, Gregor’s face especially. Although it was written in a language that he couldn’t understand – he didn’t even know what the language was – he had Gregor’s book – the big bumper book of secrets –in his bag next to the phial of blood.
He was learning to read again. Not that that amused him so much, the fact that he would have to learn to read Gregor’s book in order to chase after Gregor. No, what made him smile, what really made him laugh was the idea of Gregor’s face, opening the special velvet bag to his special secret book, only to find Tristan’s aunt’s Argos Superstore catalogue inside it.
Was it worth getting Stephanie to set off the fire bell and arriving late so he could steal it? Oh yes, definitely. He stroked her hair. “You did it for me, didn’t you? I still owe you for that. I still owe you.”
He placed the amulet in his pocket, looked down at Stephanie and silently promised again that he would save her.
He grabbed his bag and threw it across his back.
It was time to go: blood to freeze, books to read, demons to kill. Lucretia and Max were meant to be meeting him tonight. They had planned a ghost walk. He had been having visions of murders approaching them, violent and unnatural murders. Tristan knew something wicked was coming, something bad.
For by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.
Book Two:
Falling into Shadows
By Alec Dunn
Coming Soon
One: The Kiss of Shame