by Sara Clancy
Thrown off of her feet, Nicole’s momentum slid her over the floor until it dropped out from under her. The sudden plummet made her stomach lurch. Panic rushed through her, promising a scream that the abrupt collision would spurt out from her throat. She crashed into a suspended buffalo with a bone rattling thud. She clawed at the surface. Hunks of the thick buffalo pelted freely as she continued to fall. Her fingers clutched desperately for some kind of support, but it was her leg that found one. She looped her leg around the crooked angle of the buffalo’s right foreleg and jerked to a painful halt.
Her chest wheezing with each breath, she struggled to get her mind to catch up with what had happened. Her fingers burrowed deeper into the buffalo’s pelt until the solid surface met them. Then she clenched. Her fingers vibrated with the force she made them exert, her leg pulsed with sharp pain as she wrapped it tighter, but she still didn’t feel stable. Pressing herself against the side of the colossal animal, Nicole lifted her eyes to seek out how far she had fallen.
The fall hadn’t been as far as her body had suggested, but still, the buffalo she now hung from was fully suspended in the air, leaving the rim of solid ground she had dropped from just out of reach. Nicole steadied herself, bit her lips, and looked down. There was nothing to catch her. There was only a sheer drop to the hard tiles below. Small traces of water marred the surface, making them glisten in the dim display lights below. She instantly squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face against the soft tufts of the buffalo.
It took an enormous amount of will power to keep herself from looking back down. Instead, she looked up. The wires that held her and the stuffed animal up stretched an insurmountable distance from the ceiling above. She wasn’t sure how much weight it could hold. Tears burned her eyes, blurring the edges of her vision before they ran free. You need to move, she told herself. She had to repeat the command a dozen more times to summon up the courage to actually move.
Every muscle in her hand screamed as she carefully forced herself to let go. She brushed her hand along the side of the animal. Despite all of her efforts and convictions, she was only able to gain a few inches before she surrendered to the need of clutching the fur again. It wasn’t enough. The ledge still seemed a world away. No matter how far she stretched, she couldn’t reach the edge. It glistened tauntingly, beckoning her forward. But there was no way she could reach it without releasing the unrelenting grip her legs had on the buffalo. Bit by bit, she shuffled over until it felt like her hip was about to pop from its joint. She stretched out again until her shoulder joint ached and her fingers shook. For all of her efforts, she was just barely able to brush her fingertips over the edge.
The footsteps came again. She scrambled back along the buffalo, abandoning the edge until she could hook her arms around the buffalo’s thick neck. Step by step, the invisible horseman drew closer. The buffalo shook with every step. The wires that were keeping her from plunging to her death whined with the strain. Nicole tightened her grip until her arms throbbed, every muscle in her body straining until they felt on the edge of tearing. The horseman’s footsteps ended at the rim. All Nicole could do was wait to see what it would do next, but it seemed content to leave her hanging in uncertainty. The sound of the blood rushing through her ears rose to rival even the recorded herd. Still, the familiar sound was clearly distinct. Unmistakable. It was the soft cry of the ‘hunters’ that was at the end of the tape. It was going to cut off soon and she’d be left to silence. And the whispers of the horseman.
With frantic jerks and sharp yanks, she tried to work the strap of the purse free from her shoulders. The task was made all the more difficult since her survival instinct wouldn't allow her to release her grip. Letting go was a desperate measure. Tossing her purse, phone included, felt like she was willingly ready to sacrifice a limb. She could live without an arm, but she couldn’t live with her heart ripped from her chest. Barely able to keep her balance, she clutched the thin chain of the purse and worked it carefully from her shoulders. Tightening her legs and her hand, she steadied herself and forced her hand off of the buffalo. Quickly, she began to swing the purse, building up the momentum. That proved easier than actually letting it go.
She threw the purse at the exhibit and the motion sensor. It should have been a hard enough throw to start it once again and ensure that the recording played again. That the light remained, but more importantly, the noise continued. The bag sailed in a wide smooth arch. Then it stopped.
Caught by its strap, the purse swung wildly in mid-air, as if held up by an unseen hand. It took her a heartbeat of gawking, her gut plummeting to the heels of her feet, before she realized that it wasn’t hovering. The horseman had caught it. It was standing on the edge of the precipice, watching her, holding her last hope in its hand. Her mouth dropped, her heart sunk. Helpless, fear drenched tear-blazed paths down her cheeks. Then the bag dropped.
She watched it as it plunged into the waiting shadows, tumbling over and over, the brass buckle glinting with every flip. It hit the stone floor with a soft, timid thud. It was a completely underwhelming sound for something that could very well signal the end of her life.
“Fight or flight,” she muttered to herself.
The barely whispered words were hollow to her own ears, but she made her burst forward anyway. The buffalo rattled under her as she clambered over it, forcing herself on top of it until she could make a final leap for the edge. Her upper body landed hard against the unforgiving tiles. There was nothing to hold onto, leaving her body weight to drag her back down. Her feet kicked wildly in the empty air as she slipped. The soles of her shoes squeaked and scraped against the smooth wall, desperately looking for even the slightest nook or cranny that could serve as a foothold. But there was nothing, and her efforts made her slip all the more.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she caught a glimpse of shifting lights, a dancing pattern of red and blue. Hope sprang within the hollow cavity of her chest as her nails cracked against the tiles. She had never been so happy to be derelict in her duties when she heard the front door, the one she should have locked at least an hour ago, fling open.
“Mom!”
Her voice cracked over the last of the recording, containing every trace of terror raging within her. Vaguely, she heard an answering cry, but she couldn’t quite believe that it was real and not just a comforting figment of her imagination. Planting her feet against the wall she pushed up again. Every fiber of her body was pushed to its limit, and all it earned her was a single inch. Blood began to ooze from her splintered nails, turning the smooth floor slick.
Her hair created a curtain between her and the world as she lifted her head from where it was pressed desperately against the floor. The recording was reaching its end and the lights began to flicker. Each time the room turned dark, a silhouette was cast onto the air before her. For the first time, she saw it. The horseman. Benton’s hurried descriptions hadn’t come close to explaining the sheer size of the man. His shadow alone was enough to turn her skin to ice and her racing heart into a lump of stone within her chest. It drew closer, forcing the floor to vibrate under her. Her grip loosened. She slid again and desperately struggled to get back what she had lost.
The recording shut off, leaving only the backdrop lights and the faint glow of the gift shop to see by. The outline of the man remained darker than the rest of the world, like something gouged out of existence rather than living within it. The whispering began once again, rising up within her skull until it seemed like a thousand voices speaking at once. They piled on top of each other until she couldn’t drown it out with her own thoughts or screams. A hand, cold and solid as steel, wrapped around her right wrist. It yanked her up, taking all of her weight and lifting her clear from the ledge. She dangled in mid-air, held hostage by something unseen. She thrashed wildly, but despite the grip on her arm, she was completely unable to strike anything solid.
She could barely see past her tears, but the shape of her mother was unmistakable as she e
merged from the top of the staircase and sprinted towards her. Nicole shrieked for her to run, but her mother only yelled her name, voice sharp with fear and desperation. Still, the horseman spoke louder, its voice slipping in-between the syllables of every word the women spoke. It had just begun to speak her surname when its grip on her arm jolted, its hold loosening, threatening to drop her. The shadow of the horseman jerked and thrashed, its free hand clawing at the back of his severed neck. It was a moment later that Nicole heard it.
It started so gently, steadily growing like a rising tide rushing towards them from some distant place. The first time she had heard Benton wail, his human voice had been layered upon the screech of an owl and something reminiscent of a microphone feedback. This was different, but inherently Benton. His banshee wail steadily increased like an air raid siren, shrieked like metal streaking against metal and mingled with the shrill cry of an enraged bat. The tidal force of a sound accelerated into an impossible pitch and the horseman was shaken, lashing out wildly, clawing at himself and then the air, as if trying to rip the very sound from within the core of its own being.
When the pitch grew to an ear-splitting volume, the horseman released his grip and began to claw at the shadowed body with both hands. The solid rim of the ledge drove into her stomach as she dropped onto it, forcing out the air from her lungs in a painful whoosh. She scrambled across the surface as she slipped back. The horseman ripped off hunks of his shadowy self, creating gaping holes that allowed her to see right through it. The tiles slipped out from under her, but she only felt an inch before another hand grabbed her tight.
Blinking the fire out of her eyes, Nicole looked up to find her mother lying flat against the rim, reaching over the edge to latch onto her forearm with astonishing strength.
“Mom!" she gasped.
“Just hold on!” Dorothy shouted back as she struggled under the weight she was carrying.
The scream cut off sharply, leaving Nicole’s ears echoing at the loss. Benton wasn’t in the horseman’s head anymore. He had been ripped out, just like the last time he had dreamed, and could no longer serve as a distraction.
“Mom, you have to get out of here. You can’t stop it!" she cried in a rush. “Find Benton. It will go after him next.”
Dorothy ground her teeth, her arm trembling as she tried to pull herself up. The horseman’s shadow loomed over her mother’s shoulder.
“Mom! Go! It’s right behind you!”
The horseman reached down, the black mass of its hand still intact and solid. The fingers inched closer to Dorothy’s own.
“Mom!” Nicole shrieked.
Dorothy glanced over her shoulder but still refused to release her grip. Her eyes widened as she saw the monster creeping over her shoulder; seeing the hand that approached her own. Dorothy’s free right hand fumbled with her gun belt, trying to yank it free from its holster as the phantom enclosed her fingers with his own.
Steam fogged the air at the contact. The shadowy hand began to crack like dry clay, clumps toppling down past Nicole before disappearing into smoke. It reared back, evaporating before Nicole could lose sight of it over the rim of the ledge.
“What’s going on?!” Nicole was bewildered.
“It’s gone,” Dorothy said, her chest heaving as she abandoned the search for her gun and instead wrapped her right arm around Nicole’s forearm.
“We can’t see it. Not if it doesn’t want us to,” Nicole said. “You have to go.”
Dorothy’s fingers only tightened around Nicole’s forearm. Her teeth gnashed as she fought to pull her back up. “Find your feet, baby.”
“But …”
“I’m not letting go,” Dorothy growled. “So find your footing right now!”
Nicole’s body shifted instantly and she plastered her feet against the smooth wall. With their combined, relentless efforts they managed to pull her, inch by agonizing inch, back over the rim. Nicole’s shoulder joint screamed and her ribs ached, but all of the lingering pain meant nothing compared to the relief she felt being on the flat, solid surface she was now laying on. Both women took only a moment to enjoy their victory before scrambling to their feet.
“Where is it?”
“I told you, it’s gone,” Dorothy said. “The question is, what was it?”
“I told you!” Nicole snapped despite herself. “At least I tried to. You didn’t want to hear about it. But none of that matters now. What does is finding out why it left.”
“How would I know that?” As she said that, her thumb aimlessly rubbed over her wedding ring.
The simple gold band shone with a weak glow, the surface looking newly polished and robbed of all the scratches earned by more than a decade of constant wear. Nicole snatched up her mother’s hand and yanked it closer. She rubbed her thumb over the band, but the shine remained.
“Gold,” she whispered. “It couldn’t touch the gold.”
Dorothy yanked her hand back and glared at her daughter. “What is wrong with you?”
Nicole ignored the question and sprinted back to the gift shop. Not willing to waste her time to go and retrieve the keys from her bag, she picked up the closest heavy object she could find and hurled it through the glass cabinet. She ignored her mother’s screaming as she continued to collect the dozens of golden necklaces that filled the shop.
“We need to hurry,” Nicole said in a rush. “We have to get to Benton before it does.”
“Stop and talk to me.”
With the last chain wrapped tightly around her fingers, Nicole turned, pushed past her mother, and ran down the stairs.
“I tried doing that, you didn’t want to listen. And now we don’t have time.”
Dorothy followed close behind her daughter, grappling for some sense of normalcy. In the end, there was only one thing her chaotic mind was able to grab onto.
“This is theft,” she snapped as she jogged down the stairs alongside her daughter.
“It’s borrowing,” Nicole shot back as her feet hit the bottom floor and she broke into a run. “I’ll give them all back. Right after we save Benton’s life.”
Chapter 7
Benton bolted upright with an aching cry. The monitors around him buzzed and sparked, the lights overhead flashed wildly as they threatened to shatter. His scream hallowed him out, leaving him to flop back, empty and boneless. The mattress bounced once as it accommodated his weight before his brain began to work again. Get out, his mind snapped. He yanked at the tubes that were embedded into his arm. Go!
The world lurched and rolled around him like a rushing tide. It made the floor swim under his feet, and he slumped back against the bed until he was able to regain his footing. The sound of horseshoes clashing against the tiles, trotted down the hallway. It was a slow, steady pace, but still enough to have his chest hammering against his ribs, narcotics or not. His knees threatened to buckle with every step. He pressed on, hurrying towards the window in broken, crumbling lurches. The cold night air poured into the room as he slid the window open, assaulting the bare skin of his arm and prickling through the thin material of his shirt.
The Fort Wayward hospital had one very helpful feature when one wanted to escape. Most, if not all, of the rooms were on the bottom floor. He twisted and stumbled, but managed to work his long, drugged, and heavy legs to open space. The hooves echoed from just beyond his door. He flung himself out into the night, his haste making him trip and end up sprawled across the rough concrete alleyway. The sudden movement scrambled his brains and, for a moment, he couldn’t tell which direction he was looking at, the ground or the sky. It all came back to him the second he heard the horse now galloping across the room with renewed speed.
The harsh ridges of the concrete scraped against the palms of his hands and the battered skin of his face as he forced himself to move. The thin material of his medical scrubs didn’t offer much protection for his knees as he positioned himself on all fours. From there it was easier to get his feet back under him. He pushed off, not
sparing a glance behind as he raced to the mouth of the alleyway.
His legs refused to work. Each step felt like he was battling his way through tar, refusing to perform the quick sprints that he knew he was capable of. He rounded the corner and emerged onto the street, the sudden shift in light blinding his sensitive eyes. Swiftly, he glanced, searching for some kind of sign to tell him which way to turn next. Streetlights carved sharp circles of light from the shadows, illuminating patches of the deserted street, and empty parked cars. Benton hurried along the side of the hospital, his helpless stumbles slowing him down. His shoulder crashed against the wall. It bewildered him how he felt no pain from the solid impact even as the burn on his hand begun to swelter.
Benton’s lungs struggled to meet his demands on them. His already abused heart kicked up to a faster pace while the air was filled with a metallic clicking noise. Trembling, he pressed against the wall of the hospital, the brick scratching at his scrubs while the chill of one of the basement windows seeped the heel of his left foot. The sound from all around him echoed out like a rolling rumble of thunder. Then the world became silent and he held his breath.
A sharp creak cracked in the night as the sheet of glass lifted from his heel. Within the same instant, something whooshed above his head. Benton ducked and whirled, his knees almost giving out as his mind was flooded with images of the horseman’s huge hand reaching for him. But there was no hand. He watched as every window within the hospital wall slid open at once.
The cars that lined the street shook violently as their doors flung open. Alarms blared as car lights flashed, their beams exposing more of the world around him. Benton slumped and swayed to the side. His instincts surging him on even as his brain struggled to understand what he was seeing. Every door and window, from homes to businesses, was opening.
Benton ran, urged on by the chaos around him. The clash of galloping hooves rose over the vehicles' screeching sounds, becoming louder with each passing second. He glanced over his shoulder, the horseman visible, but only as a bottomless black smear, a dark shadow that existed within the light. But it was all too easy to see its whip. The long trail of connecting bones glistened in the ever shifting light, as slick as if it had freshly been pulled from someone’s skin. The ground shook under the titanic horse, the thunderous quake growing stronger as the horseman ran him down. Benton swung his head back, catching the glint of the windows that gave natural light to the hospital basement. In a split second decision, he threw himself towards them.
