by Tim Marquitz
“You can raise your head. We are alone in my office,” she added.
“No … we are not alone.”
For some reason, Doctor Dobbs felt an icy chill run along her spine, raising the hair on the nape of her neck. She scanned the comfortably lit office for his shadow, her shadow, any shadow.
“I see no one, nothing, no shadows,” she replied.
“I can see him.”
“I understand,” she answered, nodding her head as images of Jimmy Stewart and his invisible rabbit, Harvey, danced across her mind. She grinned.
“Okay, Mister Arnold. I am going to schedule another visit. I’d like to talk more and prescribe medication for—”
“Psychosomatic disorder,” he stated.
“Why, yes,” she said, surprised of his self-diagnosis. “That is what I feel is the root of your images and visions of this apparition you say has murdered people. I think perhaps the lightning that struck your home has brought emotional turmoil to your senses, causing—”
“Just like the others,” Benedict interrupted.
He lifted his head and brought his eyes directly to hers. “It’s amazing, doctor, just how little faith some have in others. How quickly someone’s problem appears illogical, unbelievable, therefore they must be lying … or insane.”
Arnold stood. His short frame tired, weak, in need of rest. She watched him step toward the door. “I’ve heard all the diagnoses before, yet thought I could convince you of the truth. You seemed different. Sorry I wasted your time.”
“Mister Arnold, please, we can discuss—”
The door closed quietly behind him, shutting out her words. Doctor Dobbs looked at the closed door for a moment, then buzzed her secretary.
“Ruth?”
“Yes, Doctor Dobbs?”
“Has, Mister Arnold left?”
“Yes, he has just stepped into the elevator. Shall I find him?” Ruth questioned.
“No … it’s all right.”
Doctor Dobbs returned to her notebook wondering about Arnold’s case, his emotional turmoil, and the deaths of his parents. I should alert the authorities …
She picked up the telephone, dialed the police, and sat back listening to the ring at the other end. The icy sensation that raced along her spine earlier returned, followed by the pressure of powerful, stubby fingers on her neck, gently looping around her throat.
She tried to stand, tried to yell, but the strong hands squeezed, then quickly twisted. Doctor Dobbs heard the crunch of bones breaking and witnessed a shadowy hand replace the phone onto the cradle as her vision weakened.
“He told you not to upset me,” a voice whispered the last words she would hear before her eyes closed.
Light Save Us
Ryan Lawler
The noise is constant, insistent; relentless: the loud thrum of the gas-driven generator, the soft hum of the high power fluorescent lamps illuminating the compound, and the sharp scraping of claws on corrugated iron. The noise never stops. It attacks my mind as I try to sleep and gnaws at the remnants of my spirit. It’s driving me crazy.
I’m sure I am not alone. The disappearance of the sun has been devastating for everybody, ripping the joy out of the compound and replacing it with suffering as we prolong the inevitable. There are times when I suddenly regain a semblance of consciousness, finding my finger resting on the generator’s kill switch. A single muscle spasm is all it would take to plunge the compound into darkness and deliver my community the peace it deserves.
The people place too much trust in me. What would they do if they knew the engineer appointed to keep the lights running was not fully committed to his charge? No, I don’t want to die. The thought of dying scares me, but I am so tired.
The sound of a sputtering engine brings me back from my reverie. The misfires let me know the generator is running on fumes. I groan as I pull myself out of the chair, stiff joints popping as I stand for the first time in hours. These misfires have happened so often lately I barely have to think about what to do next. I pump the primer, switch to the reserve tank, and feed the fuel through the line until the sputtering stops and the smooth thrum returns.
“Fuck.”
The reserve tank is close to empty. There’s maybe half an hour left. I don’t want go outside, not now. It would be easier to ignore everything and let events run their course, watching the generator consume every last drop of gas. Why should I care about an ungrateful community that cannot be bothered to do the menial tasks that keep everyone alive?
Because somebody finally needs me. Because I, too, have something to live for.
It is the small remnant of human spirit left inside me, a hard coded survival instinct, that forces me to pick up my Remington 870, fill it with shells, and trek across the compound towards the fuel farm. I set the timer on my watch to thirty minutes. It is going to be tight, but if I hurry I should be able to make it.
I step out into open air, taking a reluctant breath as I scan my surroundings. The scratching at the walls is louder and more frenzied than it’s been inside the control room. They know just how close we are to losing our lights and are getting ready for a full-blooded assault.
The small skirmishes that test our defenses have intensified since the wind stopped blowing and we transitioned to generators. The creatures must have a greater affinity with our generators because each and every failure has been followed by the scratching at the walls and a swift, probing attack. We often lose one of our sentries in its wake, their prolonged screams reminding us of what awaits if the lights go out.
When the lights go out.
Eyes fixed on the fuel farm, I stride across the courtyard. Fragments of light catch my eye as they reflect off the gas can at my side. Just five hundred steps to the bowser, a thousand steps total; should be a fifteen minute round trip.
While I walk, my mind wanders. My field of vision fixes on the bowser in front of me, and I barely notice the figure following me from the shadows.
“Hey, Ted, where ya goin’?”
I sigh and glance at my watch. The timer reads 26:40.
“You hear me, Ted? What’s with the can?”
26:20. I keep walking, trying to ignore the mocking voice as it approaches from behind. I know what to expect. It happens almost every time I leave the power station.
“Don’t you ignore me, ya freak.”
A firm hand lands on my shoulder, sharp fingernails digging into my flesh.
“Let go, Dan. I don’t have time for your games.”
“Oh, I think you do,” the voice rasps. “I own this facility. I own you.”
I tear my shoulder away and lurch towards the fuel farm, wanting to get this beating out of the way as quickly as possible. I don’t have to wait long.
Fleshy palms strike the small of my back and I lose my feet, the ground meeting my face with a sickening crunch. Writhing in pain, I can only make a weak attempt to protect myself as Dan buries his steel toed boot deep in my stomach. He cackles as I start to cough, wild glee lighting up his eyes as I desperately try to regain some air. I hate this. I hate that my only choice is to lay down and take it. I want him to die.
“Enough.” A shout echoes from across the courtyard.
Gray.
My relief is short lived as pain explodes at my ribs, my gurgled cry accompanying the snap of breaking bones. Dan kneels beside me and leans in close. The rank smell of his heavy breath invades my nostrils.
“This isn’t over,” he hisses over the sound of pounding footsteps. “Gray won’t be around to save you next time, and I’ll gut you both like the pigs you are.”
I flinch as a thick wad of spit hits the side of my face, coating my cheek with a warm sticky film. Gut me like a pig? I want to record the sound of me breaking every bone in his body and listen to it while I quarter his body. I want to splay his organs all over my work bench and pulverize them in with my sledge hammer. I-I ...
“Easy, Ted, it’s alright,” whispers a soothing voice at my ear. �
��I’m here now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
My mind is still racing as I try to slow my breathing. Soft fingers wipe the shame from my cheek, the calming touch guiding me onto my back and allowing me to regain control. He has always been very good with his hands.
I take a deep breath and regret it, my body clenching as a sharp pain pierces my side; a few broken ribs, and with luck, nothing more. I open my eyes and see the concern etched on Gray’s face. I must look like shit.
“You always do this, Ted,” he scolds, concern turning to disappointment as he reaches down to give me a hand. “You should have waited for me. You know you don’t have to do everything alone.”
Gray. Always wanting to be the hero. Always wanting to be my hero. I wince as he pulls me to my feet, and double over as I am taken by another coughing fit. When I try to stand, the world is spins before my eyes. I take hold of Gray’s shirt to maintain my balance.
“I need to get to the fuel farm.”
“You are in no condition to be doing anything right now.”
I glance at the timer and curse under my breath. “We only have eighteen minutes until the lights go out. Time for you to be our hero.”
~
I’ve fallen behind schedule. It only takes a few minutes to reach the fuel farm, but I know we’re not moving fast enough. Claws drag across the outer the wall, becoming louder and more deliberate as each second passes. They know we aren’t going to make it.
But I have to try.
Feeling steadier on my feet, I turn my attention to the job at hand, unfastening the nozzle from the nearest tank and securing it to the gas can. I signal Gray to release the valve, the corners of my mouth turning up as the torrent of fuel passes through the hose.
“I like it when you smile.”
I blush and turn my head away, trying to focus on the fuel filling the can. For all his qualities, he has a poor sense of timing.
“You know, once we get back to the power station, I’m going to take care of you properly.”
My mind fights against the thought of Gray’s body pressed against mine, the thought of passion igniting his steely blue eyes as his hands explore my body. I need to regain control of the situation. I need to lower my heart rate. I need him to focus.
“I thought you would be taking care of Zoe.”
A look of anguish creases his perfect face, and I know I’ve hurt him. It was a cheap shot, even by my standards, and I wonder if I might have gone too far this time. I wonder if I’ve gone far enough.
The sound of gurgling fuel accentuates the awkward silence between us. Gray closes the valve and I start to fidget, waiting for the last of the fuel to drain from the hose, waiting for him to say something. The timer reads 15:35.
“I’m sorry, Gray,” I whisper while fastening the lid and securing the hose to the tank. “I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”
Taking up the can, he heads towards the power station. He doesn’t say a word.
I follow Gray across the courtyard, static discharges interrupting the hum of the fluorescent lamps.
That can’t be right, I still have ten minutes left.
The flickering light draws everyone to the courtyard, low voices demanding to know what is going on.
“What’s wrong with the lights, Ted?”
“What have you done, Ted?”
“I knew we shouldn’t have trusted you faggots.”
The power station is still two hundred paces away when the flickering turns into pregnant pauses. I have overestimated the remaining fuel badly. I have doomed us all.
I unsling my shotgun and awkwardly work the action, the bolt catching on a loose shell and becoming stuck as I try to slide the action forward.
“Are you sure you can handle that?”
I slap the barrel and shake the shotgun, removing the blockage and slamming a shell into the chamber in a much more fluid and confident motion. “Just hurry up and get moving. We only have a few minutes left and I want to be ... ”
I notice the scratching, or should I say the lack of scratching. Despite the crackle from the lights and the panicked shouts from the crowd, the sound of silence outside the walls is deafening. The lights make their final stand, a valiant attempt to hold steady before they are finally overcome. The compound is plunged into darkness.
~
My breaths come fast and shallow, my sense of direction disoriented by the sudden lack of light. My hands fumble along the barrel of the shotgun as I reach for the torch attachment, fingertips trembling as I depress the switch. Looking up for the first time, I can see a number of beams emerging from the darkness, scanning the walls for any sign of breach.
“Over there,” I yell with a shrill voice, waking the crowd from their stunned silence. Shouts turn to screams and people cry out for help, fear of the darkness fuelling their need to possess the precious torchlight.
The creatures are scaling the wall now, panting and growling as they close in on their prey. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as multiple thumps strike the ground from all directions. They are surrounding us.
“They’re coming,” I call out, desperation creeping into my voice. “Run!”
I turn towards the power station and try to sprint, but the searing pain at my side is too much. Glimpses of a shadowy form dodge in and out of my torchlight, coming straight at me. It strikes me just above my pelvis, lifting me off the ground and slamming me onto my back. Its weight drops onto the shotgun and crushes the remaining wind from my chest. My ribs scream in agony.
An acidic spray burns my skin and furious talons catch on the shotgun as they try to tear me open. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, telling me to fight back, telling me to survive. I kick upwards with all my strength. My boot meets solid flesh, flinging the monstrous body through the air and freeing my arms from its deadly embrace. In a motion more fluid than I thought possible, I draw the shotgun into my shoulder and level it at the roaring beast. Finger on the trigger, I squeeze.
The blast is deafening, and the shadowy being is no more. My body aches as I force myself to stand, my ringing ears drowning out the sound of people being massacred around me. I have to find Gray.
A crumpled form lies in front of me, bloody entrails and a God awful stench leaking from what might have been its stomach. The whole scene is repulsive, and yet I am intoxicated by the thought of doing this to someone else. I lick my lips. What would Dan’s entrails smell like?
“Come on, Ted, hurry up.”
Gray. I whip around and shine torchlight at the sound of his voice. He has a pistol in one hand and the gas can in the other. His bloodstained body seems to glisten. He has never looked sexier.
~
We jog towards the power station, my aches and pains dulling to a heavy throb. Leaving the screams behind us, we travel in silence, meeting no resistance along the way. Gray pauses and I approach the station cautiously, aiming my light through the open door and searching for signs of disturbance. This is far too easy.
The familiar sound of claws against metal echoes deep with the power station. They are going for the generator, to make sure the lights never come back on.
“You ready?”
“You’re a fucking nut.”
“I love you, too.”
I motion to Gray and tip-toe inside the station, making a b-line for the generator workshop. Rows of shelves line the walls, housing an odd assortment of nuts, bolts, and broken parts. The thick coating of dust is undisturbed.
A metallic clank sounds directly above me, and the torchlight briefly illuminates a shadowy form scampering across the ceiling, and then silence. The soft pant of Gray’s breath is suddenly disturbed by metal containers crashing to the floor only a handful of paces ahead of us. Something dark flashes across the corridor, moving too quickly for me to make out. I inch forward, the creaks and groans far too loud as the tread of my boots catches on the grated floor. My hands shake as I try to keep the shotgun horizontal. They’re too f
ast.
Edging closer and closer to the workshop, I’m able to make out three shadowy forms. The residual torchlight barely illuminates them as they scurry about, looking for ways to damage the remaining generator. Pale, torn skin is pulled tight against a misshapen skull, while rotting flesh hangs from the sharp, angular frame. They are grotesque. I take a bead on the nearest one and pull the trigger.
Click.
The skeletal figure lifts its cold, dead eyes and stares back at me with an evil grin. It lets out a blood curdling screech and sprints towards us, its companions close behind. I pump the action and shoot.
Boom.
Again and again I fire, shotgun blasts accompanied by screams of pain as two of the monsters drop before me. Something crashes into my side and slams me into the wall. Barely able to keep my feet, I try to buy some time by firing randomly into the darkness. The muzzle flashes illuminate a set of gnashing fangs bearing down on me, acidic saliva scorching my neck.
I whip the stock of the shotgun around and shatter tooth and bone, chambering a shell while the creature rears in pain. I fire directly into its chest, my heart thumping as I end another life.
“Help,” a weak voice calls from behind me.
I pivot on the balls of my feet, the torch illuminating a dark figure bent over a large body lying on the ground. Gray. The liquid sound of tearing flesh tells me all I need to know. I fire. An animalistic cry echoes throughout the empty power station, freezing me where I stand.
“Gray … you okay?”
Silence.
“Come on, stop messing around.”
I focus my eyes on Gray’s form and startle as his chest expands with a heavy wheeze. He’s still alive! I rush forward and take a knee, the back of my hand gently brushing against his cold, clammy forehead. I stroke the side of his face, whisper that everything will be alright, and die a little bit inside every time his wet coughs bring up blood and bile. My eyes fall to his chest and my heart sinks. Tears streak down my face. I need bandages. I need to get him to the doctor. I need to save him, this time.
