I Am the Storm

by Trisha Lynn Halaas

  “Lyvia, there you are,” he drawls my name out with menace. The sentence floats through the air like fog on an eerie Halloween evening. His features are ghoulish in the moonlight. His smile stretches grotesquely. Pennywise. God, I hate clowns.

  “I’m gonna need you fellows to disperse. Find your way to your vehicle and go back to your master. You’re not needed here.”

  “Lyvia, please don’t make this hard,” Bryce says. “We’ve got orders, and I want to get back to my hobbies.”

  “Oh, wow. Sorry to rain on your parade, but that’s just not happening, Bryce. And, as much as I’d like to hear about those ‘hobbies,’ I’ve got somewhere to be.”

  “Hey, we’re not trying to stop you,” he says. “We just need the skates.”

  “Yeah, we’ve got orders not to hurt you,” Chad adds.

  Bryce rolls his eyes. “I’d really love to hurt her, though,” he growls.

  “Dude, you heard the man. We can’t touch her,” Chad replies. “But remember, he said you could have fun with the friends.”

  “That’s true,” Bryce replies with a sick smile. “Plus, we got a little weapon here.” He pats the jar creepily.

  “Now, don’t make me open this, Lyvia,” he snarls. “You’ll regret it.”

  “Why haven’t you opened it already?” I ask.

  “Because we need your friends.”

  I sense movement to my right and left and realize Iris and Brooks are now in position. The problem is, so does Bryce.

  “Looks like the gang’s all here,” he calls jocularly. His smile stretches to an obscener cackle than before. He fingers the lid. “Get over here, Chad and Xane.”

  Then, a couple things happen at once.

  Xane and Chad move toward Bryce with panic. In doing so, the jar is nearly knocked out of Bryce’s hands. He clutches the piece as tight as he can.

  Still, the lid flies off.

  I see Brooks race toward it before I’m plummeted into darkness.

  It feels as though I’ve been sucked into a vacuum of blackness. It’s so thick I can almost slice my arm right through it. As it envelops me, I continue to free fall. The thick air gives me nothing to hold on to. Still, I claw aimlessly through black thickness.

  Then, I land heavily on a floor.

  I stand and spin around. No use, total darkness. I touch my eyelids to make sure they’re open. They are.

  As I try to get some bearing, I see a twinkling light across the way. Seems promising. That is until the creepiest ice cream truck song in the world begins to play. Its slow notes start quiet but build. I begin to move away from the twinkling light. I know it’s not an innocent ice cream truck; no bubblegum screwballs for me this day.

  The light grows and I realize it is an ice cream truck, though distorted, impossibly so. It would not be able to function in real life. The wheels are way too small for the burgeoning truck that sits atop. It seems to be filled with something. Knowing what is causing this vision—Oh God, I hope it’s just a vision. I keep telling myself it’s not real.

  The truck pulls to a stop in front of me. The door is held shut—barely—by a small hook. I can see movement through the cracks. I take a deep breath.

  Suddenly, a folded plastic flower pops open between the crack. A clown’s flower.

  The plastic stem reaches up and unhooks the bulging door. It parts open slowly. A giant clown head peeks out. I realize it’s a mask. Ugh, masks are even worse. I should’ve expected that. A large body follows the mask and creeps toward me. It wobbles its big belly on matchstick legs. A giant sickening smile leers at me.

  Then, a second one steps out. The hollowed eyes are even scarier on this guise. Blood frames the face. I realize at this point—with a sickening jolt—they are not wearing masks. They’re donning cut-off human faces stretched in gruesomeness and covered in makeup.

  I’m paralyzed with fear.

  Still, more clowns file out. Too many to fit in the truck. A familiar trick. However, the clowns that normally spill out of VW Buggies aren’t usually holding butcher knives. They edge closer and closer to me. The garish faces seem to be zooming in like a “Pop Goes the Weasel” toy.

  I’m not sure if Pandora’s box allows these figments to actually touch—or hurt—me. They’re not real. This is fake. Not reality. It’s all just pretend. You’ll wake up soon.

  That is, until a blade swipes my upper arm. I look down to see crimson blood begin to stream from the slash. It’s accompanied by real physical pain. There is now a jagged gash on my bicep. Blood continues to seep through the opening steadily. It’s a deep cut.

  That’s enough of that. I reach to my feet and untie my sandals. One in each hand, I stand. They don’t change form. The clowns continue to creep around me, heads cocked to the side. It looks as if they’re deciding which part of me to devour first. I feel cold steel against my thigh. Looking down, I spot a short clown about to press the steel into my soft, white skin.

  I swing the sandals and they make contact with a thunk. The clown cowers and retreats. They all seem to back away, yet still more come from the truck. The music, which has faded, grows louder again. The door reveals the most terrifying of them all.

  A memory shakes loose. I’ve seen this before. A television show. Yes, American Horror Story. It’s an archaic show that Shane and I watched together; we’d talk to each other through our shared bedroom wall’s vent until we fell asleep afterward. This particular season was filled with clowns and that very ice cream truck. I don’t think I slept a wink when we binge-watched that one. These clowns are even more terrifying.

  Way scarier when it’s real.

  The newest clown is abnormally large. Its mask seems to be made up of several painted human faces. At least three pairs of lips are sewn together revealing an overextended and distorted maw. It’s filled with pointy teeth. Wait. Those aren’t teeth. Metal nails reach beneath the lips, a sharp, grey accordion. The eyes are black hollowed out holes. Skin flaps are sewn together to make them large enough.

  At first, I think the nose is a classic innocent, albeit large, red spongy clown nose. It isn’t. He creeps closer. I see that it is in fact a human organ. It’s bloody and shaped as a squishy half-moon—a human stomach.

  With the sandal laces in my hand, I begin to swing the shoes. I’m interrupted, however, when an invisible object finds my left hand.

  The clowns start to back away as if someone hit rewind. Blackness sinks back in. I close my eyes as darkness holds its own place in my list of fears. A whoosh of wind blows around me.

  Suddenly, it stops. I open my eyes to find myself back in the forest. My shoes still dangle from one hand and in the other, Pandora’s lid.

  A quick search of the area—I find Iris, Brooks, and Xane touching the jar. No sign of Bryce and Chad.

  “Whoa, that was insane.” I breathe heavily and lean against a tree.

  “Let’s close ‘er up,” Brooks says. He motions for me to join them with the lid.

  I do, and we close the jar, sealing up Pandora and her terrifying fears. I replace my shoes and confirm that my bag hasn’t left my shoulder and the skates still rest inside undisturbed.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “Oh man, this guy—Brooks, right?” Xane asks. Brooks nods. “He caught the lid. Then he stabbed the guy with this big spear and stole the jar. Bryce disappeared. Brooks tossed the jar to me. After that, he had me get Iris, right?”

  Iris nods. Clearly, Xane hasn’t switched teams.

  “Then, I took care of Chad. Sent those two back to wherever they came from,” Brooks finishes.

  “What’s with the skates they keep talking about, Lyvia?” Xane asks.

  “Honestly, Xane, I have no idea. They were Shane’s.” I pull one out from the bag. “It’s just a pair of very old, worn-out hockey skates. Why Levi is set on having them in his possession, well, your guess is as good as mine.” I replace the skate securely and turn toward the group.

  “It’ll take them a while to make it ba
ck here. Iris, you get us to the door. Xane, you can tag along. We’ll get you back to Gold on the way, hopefully. If not, you can take the SkyChariot from Crystal. Iris, you sure you can get us to the door and get back safely to the cottage?”

  “Oh yeah,” she replies with ease. “I know these woods better than anyone. Plus, I got my bracelet.”

  “Right. Okay, let’s follow the leader,” I say, nodding at Iris.

  Iris takes the lead deeper into the woods. The trees become dense. She follows a twisty invisible path around the giant trunks. It’s farther than I expected. I’m about to ask if she thinks she can retrace her steps when she halts.

  “It’s here,” she says.

  We’re enveloped by trees. I see no door. She fits between two trunks and kneels down. She brushes dirt and leaves away, revealing an old door fitted flat in the earth.

  “Cool,” Xane says. “Where does it go?”

  “Crystal,” I reply. I rummage one-handed in my bag until I unearth the ancient key.

  “I think Iris should hold on to the jar,” I say. “Keep it safe in the cottage.”

  “Okay,” she responds.

  “You got the map?” I ask.

  “Sure do,” she pulls it from her pocket. “I don’t need it though.”

  “And your bracelet?”

  “Yes, Mom.” She rolls her eyes.

  I return the eye roll and motion for a hug. She comes in for a quick squeeze.

  “Be safe,” I whisper. “Send Seph a message letting us know you made it, okay?”

  “Done.” She takes the jar, waves to Brooks and Xane, and disappears into the foliage.

  “Well, everyone ready?” I ask, kneeling down to the door.

  “I don’t even know what the heck for, but damn it, I am,” Xane exclaims.

  I stifle a chuckle at Xane’s enthusiasm toward the dangerous unknown.

  “I’m always ready,” Brooks replies with a shrug, thumbs hooked in belt loops.

  31

  I bend down, unlock the door, and return the key to my bag. The door is very stiff from age. Brooks and Xane help me open it upward. We are greeted with darkness. The moonlight illuminates a cobblestone ramp that leads downward. The door shuts behind us. The cobblestone reflection provides some illumination.

  “Well, into the rabbit hole we go, Alice,” Brooks says with a wink.

  I take a deep breath and lead the way down the ramp. Brooks follows, and Xane brings up the rear. The slope descends steadily, then dips into nothingness.

  “Whooo are you?” Brooks drawls into the grey-lit tunnel.

  “‘Well, I-I-I hardly know, I’ve changed so many times since this morning, you see, Mr. Caterpillar,’” I respond, knowing full well he is channeling Alice In Wonderland, the ancient book, one of my favorites. I sit on the edge of the cobblestone. My feet touch something. I lean forward and feel a slick, slippery slide.

  “Wow, you’re not kidding, Brooks. Sure looks like the infamous white rabbit’s hole, if I do say so myself,” Xane adds.

  I stretch my arms above my head and say, “Here goes nothing.”

  Before I chicken out, I dip down the slippery path. The other two follow. We fly through darkness. I see doors on each side of the path as we travel downward. The doors are all different, some old, some modern. Some plain, some the many colors of the rainbow. We’re going too fast to make out much. Just a whir of exits. Or entrances, I suppose.

  Finally, the slide peters out into flat, even ground. I don’t know how far we have traveled and realize we need to drop Xane off somewhere, so he can get back to Willow. Where to start with that task seems insurmountable. There’s got to be thousands of doors.

  I stand up and brush myself off. I look and see the boys doing the same. The tunnel has become lit by lanterns placed between doors. The lanterns seem to be magic. Some eternal flame or something, there’s no fuel.

  “Welp, here we are,” Xane says with finality.

  “Where’s ‘here’?” Brooks asks, arms splayed out.

  “Who knows,” I answer. “Let’s try a door.

  There are no doors where we are currently standing. I motion for us to creep forward. About fifty feet down the tunnel I spot a red one. This one is ancient. Looks to open with a skeleton key—much like the one I currently have in my possession.

  “What do you think, guys? Try the key?” I ask.

  “Sure,” Brooks replies, nonchalantly.

  “Okay, I guess I’ll try it.”

  I put the key into the antique gold lock. It fits. The door is as stiff as the other. It takes all three of us to jimmy it ajar. Inside, we find a closet. Yeah, a really big closet. It’s impossibly long and disappears around a curve. It contains coats, so many coats, all different sizes and myriad of colors. I look at the boys. They shrug.

  “Okay, let’s see what’s next.”

  The next door we come to is on the right. It’s yellow and very old. The key works. Again, it takes all three of us to jimmy it open. We are greeted with bright morning light. The door is situated to the ground as was the first. We poke our heads out. The ground is constructed of shimmering—wait, are those gold cobblestones? I push the guys down and quickly shut the door.

  “Gold?” Brooks asks.

  “That makes no sense,” I say. “We’re going in the opposite direction.”

  “You think this ‘Holy Tunnel’ couldn’t have a few secrets of its own?” Brooks asks.

  “He’s right,” I say, turning to Xane. “Well, I guess this is your stop.”

  “Looks like it,” he replies. “You sure you guys won’t need any help with Levi or his helpers?”

  “No,” I respond. “You need to be with Willow in Gold. Act like business as usual. Pretend you’re still on their side. Chad and Bryce will be looking for you. They’re demons, Xane. They didn’t die, just went back to Hell for a minute. That’s why they disappeared.”

  His eyes grow wide. “Demons?”

  “Yup, bff’s with the Devil, himself,” I answer. “Now go back and act natural. If Chad and Bryce ask what happened, tell them you were sucked into fear from Pandora’s box. When you came to, everyone was gone. You have no idea what happened, okay, Xane?”

  “What happened?” Xane asks.

  “Oh my gosh, Xane, we were in the woods—”

  “No clue what you are referring to, Lyvia,” he says with a dramatic wink.

  “Okay, good,” I reply, returning said wink.

  “Bye Xane,” Persephone cries from my bag.

  “Goodbye, guys.” They shake hands. I give Xane a quick hug and he sets off through the magic door.

  “And then there were two,” Brooks says, pulling the door shut.

  “Ah-em.” A muffled voice.

  “Okay, Persephone, and then there were three,” he corrects himself.

  “Onward we march,” Seph cries, still in the bag.

  We continue our trek down the Holy Tunnel—me leading the way. Confidently, I might add. It’s as if I know where I’m going. And what I’m doing. Oy vey.

  Out of sheer curiosity I stop at a door, five down. This one is different. It’s a medieval double-door, wooden and shaped as though it belongs to a castle.

  “Let’s check it out,” Brooks says, joining me up ahead.

  It takes all our strength, but we succeed in getting it ajar. It opens to sky and sounds of a bustling town. What we find when we pop our heads out is quite confusing. The rough rock formations allow me to distinguish at once that we are looking at primitive Granite, the city.

  I detect no technology upon closer examination. Clothes are very outdated, and not in the modern, bring-it-back, ‘cool’ kind of way. More so, we just stepped back into the past, kind of way. It seems we are invisible to the passers-by as they bustle around the town in horse-drawn carriages, I might add. I start to wonder if this is even the new world. Or perhaps we’re getting a glimpse into the very deep past, pre-Noah’s Rain, Old Testament. We duck down allowing the door to close snugly behind
us.

  “Great Scott!” Brooks exclaims when the door clicks shut. I laugh at his Back to the Future reference.

  “Okay, Doc, what do you think that was about?” I ask.

  “Who knows? You’re the one trekking us through a secret tunnel,” Brooks replies.

  “I know nothin’ bout nothin’.”

  “You seem to be doing good with that,” Brooks replies. “So far, so good, anyway. How much further we got, you think?”

  “I don’t know, but it looks like we’re coming up to another slide,” I say, spotting the cobblestone that seems to just drop off in front of us.

  “Cool,” he says. “We can make up some time.”

  I walk to the edge of the walkway and sit down. I swing my legs over the ledge and feel a slick surface beneath my feet.

  “You ready?” I ask Brooks.

  He kneels behind me.

  “Whenever you are.”

  I push myself forward and slide into black oblivion. I hear Brooks do the same behind me. We slide through the tunnel. It curves and twists reminiscent of a water slide in an old-fashioned water park. Only thing missing is H2O. We go for what seems like hours. In fact, I’m starting to feel nauseous when the slide suddenly gives out and we are airborne.

  We land on a soft surface, sinking into what feels like down pillows. It’s not. There’s nothing there. I try to get footing on unseen fluffiness, when it changes to a hard, smooth floor. Brooks gathers himself behind me.

  “That was fun,” he says. The statement loosens a memory. Skateboard. Sun-glistening streets. Nearby waves. Turquoise. His skateboard was Brooks’ preferred mode of transportation. He always mounted impossible hills with his tricks. I always thought the ones where he caught air were his favorite.

  I look around to find the mounted lanterns are back. There’s only one door left, however. I’m assuming it’s the one we’re looking for. It’s a double door, similar to Merlin’s medieval castle door. This one is made of glittering crystals. Even the doorknob and lock are prisms spreading rainbows from the lanterns.

  “Looks promising,” I say, fitting the key into the lock.

  “I’d say,” Brooks replies, touching the craftsmanship.