Fading Light: An Anthology of the Monstrous: Tim Marquitz

by Tim Marquitz

The snowy weather had completely cleared by Wednesday afternoon, but there was a solemn wariness palpable in the chilly foggy air hanging over the village like a fallen thick cloud—the pale sun unable to warm and penetrate the misty shroud of tension. Only a handful of the most active children ventured outside to play in the afternoon icy snow. Main Street businesses had been closed since much earlier in the day, the streets virtually empty by suppertime.

  Then, after nightfall, the entire village, every man, woman, and child had made their way down and assembled at the Community Hall, taking their places on the cold folding chairs. Marek and Krasna had found two seats on the end of the last row. The crowd all looked up respectively at the sober-faced five Village Elders sitting stiffly in their store-bought black suits and evenly spaced along a fold-up table bearing only the locked strongbox and a gavel. Even the youngest baby lay quietly in her mother’s arms, all the older children equally subdued, perhaps sensing, even if they didn’t understand, the serious nature of the event. As the minutes ticked by, the crowded room remained eerily quiet as the last folks finally settled in; husbands and boyfriends naturally clutching their eligible loved one’s hands tightly in their sweaty grips—most every adult remained on edge.

  At 8:00 p.m., as prescribed by custom, the Head Elder rapped his gavel and said simply: “It is time to make our Autumn Lottery selection.” He turned to the Elder seated in front of the strongbox, who had been picked earlier in a private draw: “Lev?”

  Lev nodded, his expression etched deeply with the responsibility he bore, took out a key, and unlocked the strongbox. Then, he reached in, and withdrew one of the printed cards. Without looking at the number he handed the card to the Head Elder.

  The audience held its collective breath, as the Head Elder read the number and announced in a hoarse voice: “Thirty-five.”

  For a moment no one moved, or even dared to look about to see who had been picked.

  Then: Oh, God, no! Marek cried silently from where he sat on the edge of his seat. It was Krasna’s number. His darling. He was too dumbfounded to speak, couldn’t even face his sweetheart, who hadn’t moved a muscle, sitting stiffly beside him.

  She knew.

  A few moments ticked by. Then, after carefully consulting the master roll, the Head Elder cleared his throat and explained: “The Lottery pick this year, number thirty-five, belongs to Krasna.”

  Muffled murmuring … followed a moment later by louder talk.

  A few in the crowd ventured to turn and look around, their gazes searching out where Marek and Krasna sat in the last row.

  But the two continued to sit in silence, looking forward as if entranced, as the seated crowd finally began to slowly arise from their seats and slip by on their way out of the Hall, most averting their eyes away from Marek and Krasna. All of the eligible women and their men no doubt sighing quietly with a guilty sense of tremendous relief—

  But little Willie stopped and gently patted Krasna’s shoulder, before his father jerked him along with the rest of the family—they had been next door neighbors to her family, and Krasna had often babysat Willie when he was younger.

  Still stunned, Marek finally shook his head: It isn’t fair, no, no, no. We are so young, strong, and just beginning. Why couldn’t it have been one of the older women, someone who had raised a family, or even one of the younger widows? Or perhaps Mrs. LeDoux—she’d lived a full life, never selected in all these years of Lottery eligibility. But no, it’s my Krasna, she’s only twenty-two. My sweet, lovely bride. His eyes were blurry—

  “Marek?”

  It was another husky logger, his friend, Janos, standing beside him, clutching his shoulder, a sympathetic look on his face. He nodded, smiled thinly, and said, “It’s time to take Krasna to the MedCenter.”

  Marek whispered under his breath, “I know,” and stood up, but immediately reached down on the chair for support, weak-kneed.

  As prescribed by tradition, it was Marek’s sole responsibility to ensure his young wife went to the MedCenter for the necessary female treatment, which would finish preparing her for the upcoming Transformation.

  With an effort, he helped Krasna up, and led her away from the Community Hall and down Main Street to the MedCenter three blocks away. She said nothing, and only once brushed a tear from her cheek.

  Krasna was a brave girl. He was proud of her.

  Two hours later, after the procedure was completed, Marek guided his red-haired beauty home to their modest cottage on the northern outskirts of the Village proper.

  Only then did she look at him and with absolutely no irony in her voice, she whispered, “Regardless of whatever happens tomorrow, I love you.”

  Hoarsely, he replied, “And I you, my darling.”

  They kissed passionately.

  Inside, after the stove was properly stoked up, but before the cold room was warmed much, they shrugged off their winter wear, all their clothes—even their underwear—staring lustfully at each other’s youthful nakedness, panting geysers of moist steam from their noses and open mouths.

  They clutched each other fiercely.

  Then, they fell together on the floor, and made love.

  Gasping, kissing wetly, clawing, snipping, sticky thumping, grunting, bruising, biting and even drawing blood. Copulating with little tenderness, and moaning fiercely. Breathless, wicked, wild, and violent love, like two animals in heat encountering up in the nearby forests. They were warm now. But still it went on and on dryly with a frantic edge, almost as if it were their last opportunity to ever make love to each other again—

  And it was that.

  They came for Krasna in the early hours after midnight, long before sunrise; and they took her off to the Stockade to ensure her safety during the final stages of the Transformation.

  Of course that was the last time Marek was allowed to see Krasna in her normal state. At the door of the cottage, she lingered in his arms; and he wiped the tiny tears from her cheeks, whispering his eternal love for her; the two now kissing ever so tenderly —

  They finally pulled the lovers apart.

  Clutched in her keepers’ arms, she shouted back over her shoulder as they drug her away, “I’ll love you forever, Marek. No matter what.”

  All he could manage was a wave at her back, too choked up to even speak.

  As was customary, and despite his unsettled grieving feelings, Marek took the sedatives; and he was finally able to nap through the entire late afternoon. He knew it was best for him, because it was important to maintain his strength. Tonight would be an extremely difficult physical, mental, and emotional time.

  They came for Marek shortly before 8:00 p.m.

  His heart was pounding, the blood rushing through his veins, and his bare chest sweaty despite the icy evening temperature.

  Most of the village was assembled as spectators down by the Stockade. All the children and women and ineligible men. The younger eligible men remained separated from the larger group. They waited patiently for Marek and the final stage of the Transformation …

  Finally, the moon began to edge up over the jagged, indigo mountains to the east, first peeking through the Devil’s Mouth —

  And Marek felt the beginning of the last phases of the Change gripping him—the strength, the power claiming his fast altering body, most of his human perceptions and feelings blunted now, his senses more acute.

  At last the moon was up, full, silvery … and triggering the final stage of the Transformation—both female and male.

  They released her from the Stockade, the small, sleek, reddish-gray creature; and after a parting furtive glance over her shoulder at the assembled crowd, she immediately dashed off into the countryside to the west, heading for the ultimate shelter and safety if she could make the hardwood forest thereby before they caught her.

  Fully transformed now, he glanced up … and howled at the shining full moon.

  Dropping his gaze, he looked across the glistening snow at the fleeing reddish creature and growle
d fiercely from deep in his throat, in the full grip of the bloodlust. Grrrrrr. Even at this distance, her she-smell flared his nostrils.

  Then, enraged, he bounded off strongly, the ferocious huge alpha male, leading the snapping, barking, hungry pack after the fleeing vixen.

  They caught her a few yards from the edge of the western forest, and left only a wet crimson stain on the snow.

  Where Coyotes Fear to Tread

  Gef Fox

  Lester didn’t want to be a hero. He just wanted to get the hell out of Knoxville.

  “What’s wrong?” Carla asked, as she climbed into the passenger seat of his Chevy pickup.

  “She won’t turn over,” he said, trying to start up the truck. He’d hoped the old gal would be spared the fate of every other vehicle in Tennessee, but his luck had about run out.

  He had driven down from Jonesborough after Carla, his ex-girlfriend, accidentally called him on her cell. He didn’t go looking for her because it was the right thing to do, but because he didn’t want to die alone.

  When the sun didn’t rise on Wednesday, he and a lot of other folks thought it might be a terrorist attack, but things got too weird for it to be Bin Laden’s boys. Carla had meant to call her mother, but got Lester instead—he was pretty surprised she hadn’t deleted him from her speed dial. He didn’t tell her about seeing her mother wander into the woods with the rest of the folks in town, while the man on the radio barked crazy shit about monsters coming out of the ground, then chanting some strange word over and over until the signal went quiet for good. The power blacked out soon after. Lester thought he was the last sane person on the planet, and then Carla called.

  They sat in his truck in front of her cousin’s house on the eastside of town. Thunder rumbled overhead. The storm clouds kept getting worse, and Lester had a real good hunch it had something to do with the Knoxvillites downtown by the banks of the Tennessee River. With the power out, the city was dead quiet except for the chanting, and it just kept getting louder as those glassy-eyed people came on foot from all over the county, and beyond, to join in. He didn’t know what exactly they were chanting for, but the nightmare he had a few hours ago about a snake swallowing the moon told him he’d rather take his chances in Jonesborough.

  “I guess we’re walking,” Lester said. “At least ‘til we can get far enough from Knoxville to find a car that’ll start.”

  “Jesus, Lester. Some rescue.”

  They piled out of the truck. Lester grabbed his rucksack and shotgun from the middle seat, while Carla got her shoulder bag. Her only weapon was a can of pepper spray, but Lester figured she was handier with that than a gun considering how she blinded him with it on a dare back when they were dating. He handed Carla a sweater and a pair of night-vision goggles, then put on a pair himself, which he’d liberated from the gun shop in Jonesborough. She had some trouble adjusting the strap on them, so he gave her a hand. When he turned them on for her, they looked at each other for a bit. Lester hadn’t been this close to her in a long while. She looked great as ever, fit, long black hair, and that dimple on her left cheek that drove him wild.

  “Where do we go from here?” Lester asked.

  “The river’s south, so how does north sound?” Carla said.

  “Fine by me.” It wasn’t exactly the answer he was looking for, but at least he and Carla were on speaking terms again.

  Lester didn’t have much by way of a plan, just a truckload of provisions they were going to have to leave behind, and an unsettling Omega Man kind of vibe. He would’ve preferred a blaze of glory ending to the world instead of this fade-to-black shit. Finding Carla in a suburb called Morningside did strike him a bit funny, though.

  He hefted his rucksack and started down the street until Carla tapped him on the shoulder. “This way, hero.”

  She led him through her cousin’s backyard, through a park. According to Lester’s watch, it was 3:17 p.m. on Thursday. Walking behind Carla through the pitch, he kept thinking about the nightmare and wanting to ask about hers, since she’d been pretty shook up when he found her, which wasn’t like her at all. But his mind kept focusing on the fact that the only thing he could really hear was that chanting to the south, a mile off, and all around him the park was dead quiet. No birds, no crickets; nothing. They cut up a small hill of trees and Lester saw an ambient light coming from somewhere on the other side.

  “You see that?”

  “Yeah,” Carla said. “Any chance that’s a good sign?”

  “Hard to say, but I’ll take all the light I can get.”

  “I got my cousin’s flashlight in my bag.” Carla rifled in her bag, then turned the flashlight on—right into Lester’s goggles.

  Lester let out a yelp and fired his shotgun into the sod off to the side. Carla screamed, as he dropped the gun and wrenched the goggles off his head, blinking at the white haze in his eyes.

  “Dammit, Carla!”

  “Keep it down. I’m sorry. I’ve never worn these things before. Are you alright?”

  Lester picked up his shotgun and blinked away the spots. “I’m alright, it’s just—”He focused on the light from the other side of the hill, and for a second would have sworn it was moonlight had it not been for the storm clouds overhead. What was a dull lime green haze with the goggles became a startling pale glow. He put his goggles back on and said, “Come on. Maybe it’s the cops or National Guard.”

  Carla followed after him. “I doubt it. I saw them heading down to the river with everyone else.”

  Lester took her at her word. He wasn’t in a hurry to cross paths with the authorities anyway, given his rap sheet back home. Still, he wanted there to be someone—anyone—out there that wasn’t under some kind of spell with this darkness.

  They came out of the park, following the glow across the street to a monument. A man in a gray suit and a porkpie hat sat on the stone steps next to some big bronze statue of a man reading a book. Lester and Carla stopped in the middle of the street just beyond the reach of the stranger’s soft glow. At first Lester thought the light came from the statue, but there was no disputing that the old fella hunkered down on the steps was lit up like a bug zapper.

  “Come a little closer, children, and let me get a look at you,” the man said, looking in their direction.

  “Fuck. This,” Lester said and tried to nudge Carla up the street, but she brushed him off and started towards the stranger. “Carla, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “I ... I dreamed this. I think I know this man,” she said, and stepped onto the stone walkway, removing her goggles.

  “Hello, Eagle,” the man said, looking up at her. “It’s been a long time.”

  “I … do I know you, sir? You seem familiar.”

  Lester followed after Carla with furtive steps and the shotgun aimed at the stranger. He slipped his goggles down around his neck to get a clear look at the guy, noticing he was easily in his seventies or older, and Indian to boot.

  “My name is Moon, child, and though we have not met until now, I know your spirit very well.”

  “Alright, mister. I don’t know who you are or how you’re pulling off that night-light trick of yours, but I will blow out your candle if you so much as twitch.”

  “Lester!” Carla gave him a deploring look.

  “Shut up, Carla. There’s something all the way wrong about this Injun and I—” The shotgun flew from his grip, across the small promenade, and into the old man’s bony hands.

  “Hush, Coyote. You’ve done enough howling already. It’s a wonder you’ve made it this far.” The old man grimaced, then propped the shotgun against the stone wall next to the steps. “Now, listen carefully, because we’re running out of time and you have a long journey ahead of you.”

  Lester gawked at his empty hands, then back to the man. “What the hell are you talking about? And what’s this Eagle-Coyote shit?”

  “Those are your spirits, boy. Now hush. My sister, Sun, is dead and your world is a nightworld now.”
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  “Wait,” Carla said. “The sun ... is your sister, and it—she is dead?”

  Moon nodded. “Uktena tried to kill her long ago, but failed and was banished from this world, but now she has help from spirits who would keep this world in darkness and raise her children from the earth.”

  “Slow down, Moonbeam. Who the fuck is Uktena, and what’s she got to do with what’s happening here?” Lester figured the old man should be fitted for a straightjacket, but he couldn’t shake the way Carla kept looking at the guy, like what he said was something she’d heard before.

  “Uktena is a great horned serpent and more powerful than you can imagine. She was exiled and buried her babies all over the earth. Now they’ve awoken. Her eldest, Gulega, will rise from the waters of the Tennessee soon, and rule over these lands and its people.”

  “Do I even want to know who or what Gulega is?” Lester asked, pressing his fingers to his temples.

  “Gulega is the black serpent and her eldest son, a demon that can control the storms. He has been calling to your people since Sun died.”

  “The chants,” Carla said. She and Lester looked to each other and listened. They could make out the word, “Gulega,” now. “It’s building its strength, isn’t it?”

  Moon nodded, then stood up with a weary shrug.

  “You need to find something for me,” he said looking to Carla, then to Lester. “And you must steal it. Once you have it, bring it back to the city and to Gulega. It will be his undoing and the first step to saving this world.”

  “And just what in the hell is it we’re going to steal that’ll kill an overgrown garden snake, old man? You got a bazooka squirreled away somewhere?” Lester said.

  “An egg,” Moon answered simply.

  Lester burst out laughing, tear-stricken as he looked from the old man to Carla. “There’s a demonic snake turning everyone into zombies, and we’re supposed to save the day by going on an Easter egg hunt? Are you hearing this?”

  Carla glowered at him, then looked back to Moon. “Tell us what to do.”