Preta's Realm

by J. Thorn

  The woman shook her head and mumbled something about a nightmare.

  “Where is Drew?” he asked.

  The name struck her like a lead weight. Her body stiffened and she grabbed Ravna’s shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh. “Fighting the demon, the blue beast. They are both in my nightmare, but not in West Palm Beach.”

  Ravna turned his head sideways, trying to decipher the words of the woman, who was clearly in shock. Before he could question her further, her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed. He slid his arms underneath her and carried her away from the cabin. Ravna found a fallen tree and set her down behind it, pulling his jacket over as much of her as he could. The rain began to turn into snow. He looked at her again, knowing the elements would trigger hypothermia and take her life. Even the best gear would stave off death only temporarily, and this woman was naked except for his jacket.

  A hideous snarl came from the cabin, followed by high-pitched sounds like two alley cats fighting to the death. Ravna remembered Mashoka and what the demon had done to his body. He shrugged the mental image from his mind and walked towards the gaping maw of the cabin.

  ***

  Ravna stood at the threshold, staring into the unnatural darkness. He heard long sighs like gusts of wind blown across time. A deep cold emanated from the doorway, much colder than that brought by the late-winter storm pummeling the park and all those inside it.

  The air felt heavy in his lungs, wet and brackish. Ravna forced his eyelids all the way up, but could not tell if his eyes were closed or not. He felt the floorboards beneath his feet give way to a gravel path. The screams he heard outside the cabin subsided, leaving only the ghastly breath of whatever he had entered.

  It’s a cavern, but not one of this dimension. Be wary of Gaki’s wordplay. Mashoka’s words came to Ravna inside his head. Be the Hunter you aspire to be and send the creature away.

  Ravna felt the pitch of the floor drop as if descending deeper into the earth. His prior knowledge of the one-room cabin conflicted with the perceptions returned by his senses. He continued on until a hazy patch of dim light appeared on the horizon. It grew from the center of a dark chasm until it filled his vision. Ravna walked towards the light. He saw the features of the cave walls appear through the moist darkness. The light came from an ambient source.

  The ceiling of the cavern opened into a long room. Ravna could not see the other side. The natural walls blended into a space where ancient stone bricks had been cut and placed. An old mattress, soiled and crawling with foreign insects, sat in the middle of the floor.

  Gaki smiled at Ravna through tiny kernels of black teeth. His bald head glowed with a blue tint, as did the rest of his translucent skin. Streaks of dark matter covered his appendages. Gaki tapped his foot on the ground, as if enjoying a tune on a warm, Saturday afternoon. His eyes fixed on Ravna’s, yet he did not move.

  “Welcome, man-child.”

  Ravna stopped and looked beyond Gaki. He could see nothing of the room or the objects inside, save the mattress and the chair. The whispers about his head intensified and he struggled to decipher them, so many spoken at one time.

  “Are you Gaki?” Ravna asked.

  The creature nodded in affirmation.

  “I am here to banish you,” said Ravna.

  “I enjoyed eating the entrails of the old man. I imagine yours will be sweeter, not aged by so many years of sickness and decay.”

  “Where’s Drew?” Ravna asked, ignoring the remark that made his skin shrivel on his bones.

  “Oh, I have ‘contained’ him for now. I gather that he will join me in feasting on your carcass.”

  “Where did you come from?” Ravna asked.

  Gaki snickered and tossed his bony arms into the air. “I see no harm in fulfilling your childish curiosity, man-child. You will not leave this place alive.” Gaki motioned with one arm, inviting Ravna closer. He pointed at the mattress. “I really wish my skills of hospitality were better, but this is all I have to offer. I did not split the woman on that mattress despite its tainted appearance.”

  “I’ll stand,” replied Ravna, coming within two paces of the creature. The stench from Gaki’s mouth made him want to gag. “Why are you here?”

  Gaki looked to the ground and then back to Ravna. “I know not of my origins any more than you know of yours. You live, you came from another, yet you know nothing of your creator. Your kind loves to dream grand stories of these explanations. The religions of your day are pitiful compared to those of old.

  “The Hunter has been chasing me for hundreds of years, so you can imagine my excitement at finally killing him. We last met in Japan, in the 1940s. War brings out the feast for us.”

  Ravna shivered.

  “It was then that Drew’s line became cursed. That is all you need to know.”

  “Who put you here?” Ravna asked.

  “Who put you here?” Gaki replied.

  “God,” Ravna said.

  Gaki roared and slapped his leg with an open palm. He stood and circled around to the back of the chair, clutching his abdomen. “Yes, God,” he replied through a wall of tears and smiles. “God put you here, yes.”

  “What explanation do you have?” asked Ravna.

  “Do I look like the work of God? If he is responsible for creating the universe, why would he create a monster like Gaki?”

  “He works in ways we do not understand.”

  “C’mon now, man-child. You speak like a believer. You have spent your entire life preaching the value of atheism, mocking and ridiculing those of faith. And now, in the face of your own demise, standing before Gaki, you have found Him? That is quite pathetic.”

  Ravna shook his head and remembered the warning from Mashoka, the one spoken in his head before descending into the creature’s domain. “I cannot let you loose again.”

  Gaki shook his head like a parent chastising a belligerent child. “You hold no sway over me. It is not within your power to detain or release me.”

  Gaki stood and bared his teeth, hunching over and spreading his arms wide. Ravna took a step backwards.

  “I must not let you pass,” he said.

  “Disillusioned to the end, man-child. At least the Hunter taught you something.”

  Gaki sprang forward, driving the top of his head into Ravna’s midsection. The blow stole the man’s breath as the two tumbled to the floor, kicking up clouds of ancient dust. Ravna grasped for the creature, the slimy, thin arms sliding through his hands each time. Ravna stood and regained his stance as Gaki came at him again. This time, the creature leapt onto his back and drove his dull teeth into Ravna’s neck. He felt the cold bite of the creature and the flesh being torn from his shoulder. The pain shot through his system like a lightning bolt, and he screamed and spun, throwing Gaki off his back. He reached up to his neck and felt the warm, sticky ooze of his own blood.

  “Submit to me. I will make your passing quick.”

  Ravna ignored the creature and swung a fist at its head. It connected with Gaki’s jaw and spun him around in a circle. The popping sound echoed off the cavern walls as the demon stumbled to the ground, heaving greatly on one knee.

  Ravna caught his breath and stepped back, unsure of what to do next. He looked over each shoulder, expecting another demon to come to the creature’s rescue. When he returned his gaze to the ground, Gaki was gone. He looked left and right.

  “Almost done, man-child?” came the mocking question from the depths of the cavern. “Had your fill of being a hero?”

  Gaki came from the opposite side of the cave, strutting through the darkness. Ravna turned his head towards a slithering black ribbon, an underground river running through the cavern at the edge of the darkness.

  “Don’t bother,” said Gaki. “It does not empty anywhere you’d want to be.”

  Ravna looked at Gaki and then to the black river. “It gives me a chance.”

  “It gives you eternal damnation!” screamed Gaki.

  Rav
na stepped back, surprised by the creature’s reaction.

  “This ends now,” said Gaki, stepping towards him.

  Ravna kicked Gaki on the outside of the knee, and the demon collapsed to the ground. Ravna ran for the edge of the river. A hand came up and tripped him, sending him sprawling to the stone floor, bouncing his head and scrambling his thoughts. Gaki crawled to him, tearing at his flesh with sharpened nails. Ravna kicked both feet, the left one striking Gaki in the face, eliciting a high-pitched whine. He dug his fingers into the joints of the stone and pulled his body closer to the edge of the river, heaving his upper body over the edge and staring down into the deep abyss of the current and its unholy water. Ravna tasted the bitter tang of the liquid and felt the eyes of the cursed staring back at him from the bottom, the River of the Dead delivering souls to the underworld.

  With a final lunge, he pulled his head over the edge of the river. Ravna saw his own rippled reflection staring back at him. His hair fell in front of his face, his features drawn back, already resembling the taut face of the skull. Ravna detected motion over his right shoulder and saw the reflection of Gaki in the water. The creature’s tongue fell out and its hands reached down to grab Ravna’s shoulder. As Gaki’s fingertips brushed the fabric of Ravna’s shirt, he pushed forward with all of his remaining strength. He tore loose of Gaki’s grip and fell several feet towards the surface of the flowing water. He saw Gaki’s face before landing in the river, contorted and full of rage. Ravna closed his eyes at the moment he broke the surface, the chill of the water numbing his skin. He sunk beneath the surface, falling deeper into the depths of the profane river.

  Chapter 17

  Ravna thought he could still taste the oily water in his mouth, even now. He had continued to see the twisted face of Gaki at the edge of the river as he floated towards freedom.

  The drive felt almost routine.

  Seven or eight? Ravna could not remember how many times he had been there since the event. He was still unsure what to call it. The media attention quickly faded in favor of the next sadistic crime. Even the most heinous acts of sexual depravity slip into obscure pop culture. He had lost touch with Molly when she moved with the kids to West Palm Beach. Ravna could not understand the lure of Florida. Too much humidity, too many old people, too much Disney.

  He stopped at the traffic light and looked in the mirror. The new buzz cut accentuated his widow’s peak, once hidden by decades of shaggy hair. He ran a hand over his head and down his chin, pulling the straggly beard to a point. The old man would have loved the beard.

  “Ravna Sumtra. Here to see a patient.”

  The guard at the gate held a clipboard to the light and ran a finger down the side. He nodded and hit a button inside the booth. The gate rose and Ravna pulled through and onto the winding brick driveway leading up to the restored mansion. It took several years of renovation before the first patient was admitted, but since the grand opening, the Rader Facility for the Study of the Mind was the most prestigious institute east of the Mississippi. Surgeons and specialists from all over the country fought for the few staff positions that rarely turned over.

  Ravna pulled the car into the visitor lot. He took a last swig of coffee, now cold from the drive, and grabbed the keys. He left everything else on the front seat. Ravna felt obligated to document the experience, as if Molly or some distant relative would someday ask for justification of the money spent. He knew the old man had something to do with it, but a team of high-powered attorneys managed to shut the door on any explanation. As long as he checked in four times a year, the checks would keep coming, with or without documentation beyond a checkmark on the front gate guard’s clipboard.

  He walked through the main doors and felt the dryness of the air conditioning wash over his skin. May had not yet turned into the blasting heat of August, but the facility strived to maintain consistency for the patients, even down to the details of climate control and menu. Ravna stepped into the elevator with a woman in a white lab coat and glasses that came to a point at the edge of the frame. She smiled at him and contributed an obligatory wink for the ride.

  “Floor?” she asked.

  Ravna thought he could smell the cherry flavor of her deep red lipstick. Librarian sexy. Work hot, he thought to himself.

  “Which floor?” she asked again.

  Ravna shook himself from the daydream skidding towards sexual fantasy. “Seven. Seventh floor.”

  She pushed the button and turned to face the floor indicator as it changed from L to 1.

  “Are you a doctor?” Ravna asked. His face flushed red as soon as the question came out of his mouth.

  “Yes,” she replied with an air of dignity.

  “I didn’t mean to imply you were a nurse simply because you’re a woman.”

  The chime signifying arrival at the fifth floor spared him from the slow impact of the crashing conversation.

  “Have a great day,” the woman said over one shoulder, her eyes headed for an exaggerated roll.

  “Stupid,” Ravna said to himself.

  The doors shut and he felt the elevator pull him up two more floors. His stomach caught up a moment later as the door opened to Ward C. They could call it whatever they wanted; those who worked there or visited knew that Ward C belonged to the most mentally afflicted. A computer could douse the hallways with flame retardant foam or lock every door from the outside with magnets powerful enough to lift trucks.

  He walked down the hall, turned past the lobby and its tantalizing vending machines before turning again and stopping in front of room 709. The first few visits left him shaking, fighting to enter the room. He considered running and forsaking the check from the fund until he thought of Mashoka. Ravna could live with the sense of shirked responsibility, but not the guilt that would accompany an abandonment of his pledge to the Hunter. As time and visits passed, the trip to 709 felt like a visit to the room of a family member, one unable to function outside the walls of a hospital but not facing death either. Ravna thought it was how nurses kept their sanity.

  He reached for the handle, placing his thumb on the sensor at the same time. The light turned from red to green, signifying his level of access, granted by the administration. The door swung silently inward. The air felt stifling, even warm, despite the computer-controlled climate system that was probably the envy of NASA scientists.

  “Drew?” Ravna called out.

  No reply.

  He walked forward, the stark white of the room forcing him to squint. Ward C stood in shocking brilliance. The walls, the floors, the bedding, the doors, everything glowed in pure, alabaster white.

  “How ya doin’, Drew?” Ravna asked.

  The door to the bathroom was pinned to the wall with its magnetic latch. The toilet and shower stall were devoid of any inhabitants, not a towel or tissue out of place. Ravna took two steps into the room, the automatic door shutting behind him. He jumped and then laughed, unsure why the sudden bout of paranoia had arrived.

  Drew must be sleeping.

  He walked past the chair and simple chest of drawers that looked the same as they had on all of his previous visits. Never a balloon, card, or basket. He stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the sheets, secured at the corners by the orderly on shift the night before. Ravna felt the moisture from his mouth escape and his bowels shook with an unnatural rumble. He spun around, half-expecting to be attacked as he was in the cavern, in what felt like another lifetime.

  Nothing.

  The room was completely silent. And empty. Ravna took a step towards the door, his heart racing as he anticipated the lockdown of the floor or possibly the entire facility until the staff could find Drew. He turned to the right and noticed that the door to the small closet was open. Ravna could not remember ever seeing the door open. He moved closer and saw three hangers on the closet rod, dangling in the air. It was the contrast of red on white that caught his attention. A roughly sketched doorway had been painted on the wall of the closet in finger-strokes
of blood. Inside the doorway was a message, one that Ravna knew was for him before he even read it.

  ###

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you, dear reader, for taking this journey with me. If you enjoyed the book, please take a moment to revisit the Amazon.com product page and leave a review for Preta's Realm. As a token of my appreciation, visit http://www.kindlegraph.com/authors/JThorn_ where I will personalize and autograph your digital book for free.

  In addition, I would like to thank my children for their unending inspiration and my wife for keeping my ego in check. Illustrator Kate Sterling always creates covers that capture the essence of my writing. Carolyn McCray provided expert guidance and kept me from hitting the panic button on a number of occasions. Talia Leduc edited this book, giving it new life. I thank you all.

  Bonus short story... Retrograde

  Maidens like moths, are ever caught by glare, And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.

  --Lord Byron, Childe Harold, 1812

  Time ripped the artificial stars from the black canvas, hurtling them towards a final resting place. The show did not excite Tilla anymore. She ignored the orphaned satellites that plunged from the heavens. The burning refuse of metal and forgotten dreams drew bright lines across the night sky in their death throes. Those that obeyed the laws of gravity after The Fall did so without an audience.

  She reached for the knife strapped to her hip and thigh. Tilla’s black leather pants wore thin. She could feel her knees pushing against the thinning hide, which smelled of despair. The ink of the dead night spilled into her lustrous hair, framing an alabaster, oval face. Tilla’s bony fingers left the knife and moved to the edge of full, red lips. She tasted wild sage on the gusts meandering through the trees.

  The glow of the flame tugged at the weight of the expansive sky. The new moon hid amongst the gods, not willing to spoil the primitive fury of the fire. She recognized the leader instantly, even though Tilla stood beyond the reach of his guttural shouts.