by Brian Harmon
To the left was a modest bathroom and a third bedroom. At the rear of the house was a dining room and kitchen. The cupboards were stocked with dishes and cookware, the drawers with silverware and cookware. The refrigerator was running, but there was no food inside, only half a case of bottled water. And there was no trash in the trash can.
The place looked ready to live in, but it showed no signs of anyone staying here at the moment. But if no one was using it, why was it left unlocked?
It made no sense.
Holly sneezed.
“Bless you.”
“Thanks.” She sniffled. “It’s a little dusty in here. I don’t think anyone’s been here in a while.”
“I’m not so sure of that. I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel like someone’s been here recently.”
She looked around at the place and began playing with her lip. She did that when she was feeling uneasy, he’d found. “What are we looking for?”
That was a good question. What had he been looking for all day? “Another letter?”
“The little boy from the past?” Karen had told her over the phone what was going on, but she hadn’t elaborated.
“His name was Hector. He had dreams that sometimes came true. And one day he dreamed about me.”
“So he’s like you.”
He glanced over at her. “I guess. Maybe. He’s in trouble. Was in trouble? The whole thing is kind of confusing.”
“Karen said there were agents involved.”
“Looks that way.”
“That’s scary.”
“I know. I need to find the next letter. I was hoping that’s why you brought me here, but what would he be doing here?”
“Maybe he saw you here in one of his dreams.”
“I guess. But why?” He turned and walked back through the bungalow. There were stairs leading up into a loft. A fourth bedroom was up there, but nothing more.
He couldn’t be expected to tear this place apart. If Hector was here in 1962, he wouldn’t have hid it somewhere complicated. But he also had to have hid it where it wouldn’t be found before now.
When he came back down the stairs, he found Holly standing in the middle of the living room, looking uneasy. “There’s something about this place,” she said.
“What kind of something?”
But she only shook her head. “It’s like Isabelle said. Something feels wrong.”
Did it? He couldn’t tell if he was feeling the same thing or if he was simply being spooked by what these girls were telling him.
“Come on. Let’s check the basement. It’s the only part of the house we haven’t seen.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Oh goody.”
He opened the basement door and peered down. The steps were dark, but the basement itself was lit by two windows, one on the east and one on the west side of the bungalow.
“I don’t know, Eric…”
He looked back at her. She was standing with her arms folded in front of her, clutching at her elbows. Her expression was strained.
“I have a bad feeling about this.”
It did seem like a bad idea. A really bad idea. But he started down the stairs anyway, bracing himself for whatever horror might be waiting for them below.
Holly whimpered. “Please be careful,” she whispered.
He glanced back up at her. “You want to wait for me up here?”
She looked around at the empty bungalow and then shook her head and started down after him. “Don’t leave me alone.”
“Okay…” He looked down at the basement floor at the foot of the steps again. Now he was anxious. It probably wasn’t a good sign if the place was giving Holly the creeps. What kind of horrors were awaiting them down there?
He clenched his fists at his side and descended the rest of the steps, his eyes and ears wide open for any sign of danger.
And yet nothing terrifying happened.
The basement was fairly nice, even. It was dry. It was open. There was some junk under the steps, but otherwise there was nothing down here.
But then why did it feel so strangely oppressive in this place?
He could feel it for sure now. Something wasn’t right about this house.
Holly shivered. “I don’t like it here.” She pressed herself against him, hugging his arm. It should’ve been awkward, but he was too preoccupied with whatever it was that was so wrong. It was like there was a weight on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
With Holly clinging to him the whole time, he examined the junk under the stairs. There were three cardboard boxes, an empty, broken chest, a milk crate full of canning jars and an old wardrobe that he eyed carefully as he approached.
He didn’t like wardrobes.
In his experiences, they never led to Narnia. Or anywhere else particularly nice for that matter. But sometimes monsters came out of them.
Against his better judgment, he opened it.
It was empty, which was both an enormous relief and a bit of a letdown, since he therefore still hadn’t found what he came here for.
He started to turn away, but something caught his eye. A small, wooden cabinet was sitting on the floor, sandwiched between the wardrobe and the wall. It was covered in dust and cobwebs, as if it had been there a very long time.
He reached in and slid it out. Then he opened it up. Inside was a dart board.
There were also several sheets of old paper with familiar handwriting.
Hector was here.
He wasted no time. As Holly crowded even closer to him so she could see, he began to read.
Chapter Twenty-One
I wonder what’s going on in your world. Where have you been? What have you seen? What have you been through? And are you as afraid as I am?
It’s so weird to think that I’m sitting here now, writing this to you, while in another now, you’re also here in this room, reading these words. At this very moment, time is folded on itself, like a ring, destined to come back around someday, circling back to these very words. It’s like the past and the future are one and the same, as if we are one and the same. It makes me wonder… Are you me in another life? Am I you?
I suppose I’ll never know for sure. And it doesn’t really matter. Right now…in your right now…you’re wondering how I ended up in this basement. And I need to tell you.
Obviously, I was able to escape the Goss Building without being captured. By the time I sealed that last letter in its bottle and made my way back out to the hallway, there was no sign of Zachery or the men in gray suits. I walked out of the building without anyone even looking at me. I found my bike. I rode home as fast as I could.
That was two days ago.
That night, I dreamed the same scary dreams I’d dreamed before. I saw the monsters crawling up from the sewers with their shining eyes. I saw the city in flames and its people burning. I saw the same dark tunnel with the light at the far end and felt the same, gut-wrenching dread.
The only difference was that this time I clearly saw Sherry Jolinger’s face. Her eyes were wide and filled with fear. A single tear streaked down her face. She was screaming. I’m sure now that she was the girl I saw lying at Zachery’s feet the first time I dreamed about him. She’s in terrible danger. I’m afraid she’s going to die before this is over.
And I don’t know how to stop it from happening. I saw nothing that told me what I should do next. The following morning I woke up and dragged myself to school. It was impossible to concentrate. I kept looking at the clock. I kept glancing out the windows. I kept wondering what was going on out there, what the men in gray were up to.
I kept expecting something to happen. I don’t know what, exactly. I was looking for a sign, I guess. Anything to tell me what I should do. But there was nothing. Except for those horrible dreams the night before, the day was painfully ordinary.
But that night, last night, I had a new dream. I saw you standing in front of an old closet. I saw you reaching around it and pulling out a wood
en box with hinged doors. There was a dartboard inside. I saw that my letter was hidden there, the one I would write next, the one I’m writing now.
Oddly, the dream seemed to go backward after that. I next saw you descending a set of wooden stairs. I saw you inside a house that I somehow knew wasn’t yours. Then I saw you standing on the porch. I saw the house. I saw the driveway.
It was strange. There was something haunting about the way the dream unwound itself that way. And there was something even more haunting about the house itself. I sensed that there was someone there with you, but for some reason I couldn’t see who it was. And I kept seeing a dark shadow looming behind you wherever you went, as if you were being stalked by something unnatural that you weren’t aware of.
I think I must have stirred in my sleep after that, because the dream fell apart before I could see more. When it came back, the city was in flames again. I saw the river coming to life. I was standing on the bridge, watching it rear up, its watery claws reaching out for the city.
Then, in a flash, it was on me. I was swept away in a cold current. Everything went dark.
Except that there was one thing I could clearly see. A wooden sign floated past me. A single name was etched into it. Oberlock.
I’d seen that sign before. It was mounted on a mailbox at the end of a driveway I’d seen countless times. It was on the way to my grandmother’s house.
I immediately realized that this was the sign I’d been looking for, although I hadn’t expected it to be a literal one.
I woke up gasping for breath, still half-convinced I was drowning in the living river. It was a little past four o’clock in the morning, but I couldn’t get back to sleep again. I lay there and waited for the sun to come up, plotting my next move.
I didn’t think it was possible, but school was even longer today than it was yesterday. It felt like weeks had passed by the time we were released.
I ran home, lied about going to a friend’s house to study and then jumped on my bike. I had my school bag over my shoulder with my paper and pens and the supplies I’d gathered. I was as ready as I was ever going to be. I rode all the way out of town, to where I’d seen that sign mounted over the mailbox. As soon as I saw it there, I turned, ignoring the sick feeling in my stomach.
Halfway down the long, curving driveway, I hid my bike in the brush and continued on foot.
As soon as the place came into view, I knew it was where I was meant to be. It was the place I saw in my dream, the place you’re at now.
It was staggering to me to stand there looking at the place. Even knowing what I know now, it was still a shock to see that it actually existed. I couldn’t help but wonder what events led you there. Here. Both here and there, I suppose. And I began to wonder, also, whether you were the reason I was here, or I was the reason you were there.
Either way, it seems we’re destined to walk the same path.
I only wish those paths could truly intersect. I wish you could be here with me. I’m still not sure I’m brave enough to finish this alone.
No one seemed to be around. There were no cars in the driveway. The place was deathly quiet. But I took no chances. I walked all the way around the building, peering in all the windows, making sure no one was home.
The place looked a little bit like my grandmother’s. It had the same sort of simple style about it.
The front door was unlocked. I should’ve been relieved, but I instantly felt concerned, instead. Why was the door unlocked? Was someone home? Had I made a terrible mistake?
But no one was there. I walked into the living room and looked around.
My heart was thumping in my chest. I felt like I was going to puke. What was I doing here? It was stupid. Someone was going to catch me. At the very least I’d be arrested and have to explain all this to my parents. At worst, I’d find myself looking into the face of the fat man in the gray suit, who would no doubt make sure I understood him very well before he killed me.
In my dream, I saw you go down the stairs, so I began searching for the door to the basement.
Up until this point, I was afraid, but so far I hadn’t found anything to justify my fear. For all I knew, this was just an ordinary house and I was just a creepy prowler.
But then I found the basement.
The smell hit me first. It was horrible. It reeked of urine, cigarette smoke and blood.
Then, as I crept down the stairs, I saw the woman.
She was lying in the corner of the room, her body naked and bruised. There were shackles around her wrists and chains binding her to the concrete walls. Her long, tangled hair lay across her face, hiding those features from me, but the rest of her was fully exposed.
For a moment I was in utter shock. I just stood there, staring at her, unable to grasp the true horror of what I was seeing. I had no idea what I should do. Finally, I ran to her side and knelt over her.
I’d never seen a woman naked before. The way she was lying there, motionless, I could see every part of her, but there was nothing sexy about the scene. She’d been there a while, I think. She was very thin and pale. Her whole body was bruised. She was lying in her own waste, like an abused animal.
She was pretty at one time, I could tell, but now she just looked like death.
In fact, I thought she was already dead. But then she spoke.
“You…can’t be here,” she said. Her voice was so weak I could barely hear her. “If they find you…they’ll…kill you.” She seemed to struggle just to find her breath, as if her insides were as battered as her outsides.
I brushed the hair from her face and barely managed to not cry out at the sight of her eyes. They were blood-red where they should’ve been white, as if something had caused the blood vessels to burst. It gave her an otherworldly look, almost demonic, except that her expression was so pitifully tortured.
I told her I was going to get her out of there, but she shook her head.
“Can’t…” she said. Her lips were dry and cracked. There was blood caked on her chin. She appeared to be missing some teeth. “Impossible… Get out…”
“I’m not leaving you. I can break the chains, I know it.”
“Get out…” she said again. She spoke in sharp, shallow gasps, as if it caused her great pain to even breathe. “Find…book… Stop them…”
Find a book? I remembered spying on Zachery and the other teenagers. They had a book. Was that the one she meant? “What kind of book is it?” I asked.
She only managed one word, but it chilled me all the way to my soul: “Evil…”
I had no idea how a book could be evil, but I didn’t doubt that she was telling the truth.
“Stop them…” she said again.
Upstairs, I heard the front door slam. I looked up and followed the sounds of heavy footsteps. They were moving toward the basement door.
“Hide…” groaned the woman. “Don’t let them…find you…”
I jumped up and checked the nearest window. I could reach it. And I was sure I could fit if I pushed my bag through ahead of me. But I was also sure I couldn’t squeeze through it in less time than it was going to take those footsteps to come down those stairs.
I turned and surveyed the room. I saw a closet under the stairs. It wasn’t very big, but it was my only chance. I ran over and slipped inside, just as the basement door opened.
“See?” said a familiar voice. “Just like we left it.” It was the fat man in the gray suit.
“I don’t care. Something’s off in the house. She’s up to something.” That was the tall one.
I peered through the crack in the closet doors. They were there, standing over the woman, still dressed in those gray suits. Crazily, I wondered if they always dressed like that. Like, did they wear those suits when they had the day off? Did they lounge around the house in them? I know it sounds weird, given the situation, but that’s what I found myself thinking about as I crouched there in that dark space, trying not to move, praying they didn’t find me.
>
The woman was muttering something that I couldn’t hear.
“What’s she saying?” demanded the tall one.
“How the hell should I know?” returned the fat one. As I watched, he turned and kicked the woman in the stomach. “Shut up!”
She had no choice but to do as he demanded. She writhed on the floor, her eyes bulging with pain, gasping for air.
I turned away. I couldn’t bear to see it. I think it was right about then that I made up my mind. If I ever had the chance, I was going to kill these men. Not just stop them. Not just escape them, but kill them. They were too evil to live.
“We should just clean up this mess,” said the tall one.
“We will.”
I dared to peek through the crack again. The tall one was looking around the room. He seemed suspicious. “Energy’s all wrong in here,” he said. “It’s like someone passed through.”
“You worry too much. It’s just her. She’s trying to fight. They mess with your head, you know? It’s what they do.”
But he clearly wasn’t convinced.
It was obvious to me that I was what was wrong. I was the one that upset the “energy” in the house…whatever that meant.
The tall man in the gray suit could feel me somehow.
I was in danger.
His gaze seemed to fall on me. I shrank back, deeper into the closet, terrified of being spotted.
He walked toward me and I felt an icy panic grip me. I had to bite back a scream.
But he didn’t open the closet doors. He stopped and stood there, a puzzled look on his face. His gaze washed over the closet, then the entire back wall.
Seconds passed in painful silence.
I didn’t understand. Why didn’t he open the closet and look inside? Why was he just standing there?
I looked past him. I saw the woman lying on the floor, her bloody eyes fixed on me. She made no sound, but her lips were still moving. She was muttering something to herself.
The tall man rubbed his head and winced, as if at a shooting pain in his temple. Then he turned his back on me. “Finish it. I’m bored.”
