Dark Side Darker

by Lucas T. Harmond

  “Hello Ladies!”

  “What’s up, Collin.” Josh grinned back. Secretly he hated the guy, but it was useful to remain friendly.

  “The sky!” Sarah giggled from behind and her and Rob fell about laughing. Josh rolled his eyes and began to pace down the stairs into the Factory. Something incredibly heavy, with an insanely fast industrial beat was booming up from below. Josh passed over the money, continued, turned and moved down the next set of steps. He looked through the barred, glassless window that looked out into the raised seating area of the club. He looked about the faces, nodded to a few and grinned at Rufus who was ‘at work’ in the corner. He made a mental note to take the piss out of him for having found the underage partner he was busying himself with, and pushed open the door onto the dance floor. Strobes flared and the noise hit him like a physical wall. He grimaced and made his way towards the bar with his hands deep in his pockets.

  Roach, with his flame haired spikes and clothes so fucking baggy they seemed to defy the laws of gravity, came leaping out of a group of skaters who all looked far too young to be in the place.

  “Yo, what’s up Josh?”

  He resisted the urge to say the obvious. “How’s it going?”

  “Pretty good.”

  “That’s better than ugly bad then.”

  The kid laughed. Josh had always liked Roach since he was one of the few people he felt fully grasped his warped sense of humour, added to the fact that Roach himself was also pretty weird. They just gelled well. Most of the younger kids down the Factory on the other hand just pissed him off.

  “You down with Sarah?”

  “Yeah she’s...” he looked behind. “Not here!” He said to himself mainly and shrugged.

  “Must be lost back on the stairs with lover boy.” He continued. “Yeah, I did that once, couldn’t find my way back for six weeks. Dude, I’ll tell ya’—I had to eat my own legs and recycle my urine just to stay alive.” Josh looked down at his legs.

  “They grew back.”

  “Listen kid. you’ve got to understand I want a vodka, I need a vodka and while I’m standing here making small talk I’m not in the queue to get my vodka.”

  “Ah, sweet vodka, it eases the pain!” The kid said in a mock Simpsons voice and grinned with his spike pierced lip.

  “Yeah, whatever, see you later Roach.”

  Thinking about it, Josh realised that the kid was also one of the few people who didn’t think he was a complete prick. Which in truth, he supposed he was.

  At about one, Josh was sitting in the corner, sweating, drunk and completely bored with watching Sarah get off with Rob. Roach was asleep on a pile of jackets, Sarah’s brother—a tiny and largely silent kid with black hair—was sitting silently next to him slowly drinking from a pint and Rufus was crouched on the bench staring out past the black brick pillar to the dance floor, looking out with a vague sense of disgust at a sea of thrashing bodies and hair. Another great night. Strange, that when you get to a certain age, going out starts to seem like a chore and not recreational.

  “Jesus, what am I doing here?” Josh was thinking as he glanced round the dark interior. What am I doing here?? The club seemed quite alien to him now. When he’d first started coming he had been blagged in by some of his older friends back when he was sixteen—sixteen and due to his painfully young appearance, very obviously sixteen— it had seemed closer to some kind of haven. Now the place seemed quite different and it was the same every week, or at least slightly worse. The music was getting poppier, all new-wave punk and fucking rap music which for some reason seemed to be classed as rock these days. Plus the crowd got younger and more stupid, all dressing in expensive and trendy anti-fashion clothing, which didn’t quite make sense. All wearing leather, chains and spiked collars despite the fact the heaviest music they listened to was probably the freaking’ Manics. It was a goddamn pantomime, Halloween, fancy dress now. Still he supposed in some ways it always had been. It was all bullshit and the fact he knew that, made him feel more out of place than ever.

  Rufus suddenly interrupted his thoughts.

  “Fucking little kids man! Shit it’s like a freaking’ nursery in here, man. The only good thing is they’re easy to screw.” He was slurring pretty badly.

  Josh smiled slightly. He’d heard this rant so often.

  “I know man, it bugs me too. Still there’s a lot of things that bug me. Can’t change them, so fuck em’.”

  “If you get sullen on me tonight I’ll jam my thumb up your ass!”

  “Oh do!” Josh grinned. “Besides you haven’t been a bundle of joy either!”

  “Yeah, well it’s all these little clueless runts and the shit they keep asking for. I swear if I had a bullet for each weak little pop punk track they’ve played tonight...” He let the sentence hang and shook his head sadly.

  Josh looked over still grinning. “Yeah?”

  “Well I’d have a shit load of bullets wouldn’t I?”

  They both laughed, the numbing effect of alcohol somehow making the quip funny.

  Josh drained the last of his pint—the real shitty bit at the bottom. For a second his stomach threatened to explode then quietened. Then he shivered violently.

  “What’s up?”

  “Someone walked over my grave.”

  “Weren’t me. I would’ve pissed on it.”

  Josh didn’t answer. His eyes moved over the crowd and something seemed wrong. Then they locked on someone. They stood out instantly.

  Wearing a plain white T-shirt and neat well pressed white trousers, a handsome face and dark, almost black, hair brushed back into a sort of ridge at the front. Dark eyes stabbed out from behind black-rimmed glasses. There was something deeply unpleasant about the figure, something that made him feel terrified and exposed. More to the point, he could feel those midnight black eyes drilling into him. Left over paranoia from the weed? No, the guy lifted up what could have been a double vodka with ice and, still looking at Josh, raised it in a toasting gesture before downing it in one. He placed the glass down and began moving through the oblivious crowd. For a few terrible seconds Josh thought he was heading towards him, but then realised he was moving towards the stairs, the exit. Again fingers raked up his spine and an image flashed into his skull, quickly, something red, and then was gone.

  “Shit!” He hissed quietly to himself. Josh frowned, his face grimaced into confusion. He glanced at Rufus who seemed oblivious.

  Josh’s heart was blasting and he felt cold terror deep inside. Something had just happened to him, an experience so vivid he was convinced it was real, not just seeing the man but...

  “Rufus, man, did you just see some guy in white walk out of this place?”

  He shrugged then after a few seconds. “Why?”

  “Oh nothing.”

  “Then why did you ask?” Rufus said, pushing for a answer, mildly annoyed.

  “Er... thought I knew him?” Josh attempted.

  Rufus lost interest, instead staring at a girl with enormous breasts. “No.” He said distantly.

  Josh sat back silently, the guy hadn’t really seemed real. The way he’d looked had seemed like an impression more than... than... than what? He wasn’t sure. Everyone else had seemed somehow oblivious to him. It dawned on him suddenly how he’d almost felt he was there, like he would have known even if he hadn’t seen him. What was worse though, was how the guy had looked at him. He’d felt almost as if he was being assaulted.

  Suddenly Josh knew he was going to be sick and made his way to the toilets as fast as he could, his head spinning with some unexplained dread. Images of the white guy, the living painting, blood, something black that had once touched him, voices. A close up picture of an emerald green eye with it’s eyelid being snipped away with garden shears. His stomach clenched like a fist, sweat was pouring down his brow, not just from the room temperature. He collapsed through one of the cubical doors, slipped on the piss-wet floor and vomited violently down the graffitied walls, most, but n
ot all, of the deep brown liquid cascading into the mouth of the toilet. Then static ate away his vision, numbness filled his head and he felt himself being pulled down. A grey, unclear and constantly darkening image of the sick-coated toilet seat rushed up, a hard impact, no pain, and then everything went entirely black.

  Black and warm.

  OTHERS

  THE FORK SCRAPED around the edges of the open tin, disturbing the bright yellow wedges of fruit that were drifting in the syrup. “Damn,” the owner of the fork muttered and tried again unsuccessfully to scoop one of the pieces up.

  Behind him, crouched up small into the room’s corner, in front of a mustard yellow damp stain and peeling white wall paper, sat a second figure. He looked almost insect-like, long thin limbs, a needle sharp face with a bald scalp and dark piercing eyes. His ears were slightly too pointy on top and a single stud was placed in the side of his nose. His scrawny body was covered by a red-net basketball shirt and a pair of baggy white combat trousers. He was slowly playing with an eight-inch blade with only a vague sense of interest, casually spinning it. He looked up suddenly.

  “I’m going to get a tattoo. They are... visually appealing.”

  His lips were a thin smile and his voice poured out like honey. Unnaturally sweet and not belonging to the spindly form it was attached to.

  The other, who sat on the bed, span round. His face looked incredibly young and was without any trace of weathering. His voice however, despite being smooth, held an element of age as if from a much older soul. His eyes were impossibly blue, seemed to glow and his dark eyebrows raised.

  “Really? Good, good, good! I think we should all make the most of it while we’re here. Me? Well I’m just happy to enjoy life’s simple pleasures, such as these peaches.”

  He tried to pierce one of the slices and dropped the fork. “Admittedly I’m still trying to get the hang of it but I’m enjoying the challenge. It’s good to challenge ourselves, don’t you think Nickoloi?”

  “Yes.” The other said in a honey whisper.

  “Welcome back to our filth infested arsehole of a dwelling.” The other announced to the air, sensing the return of the third member of their group.

  The room’s door opened partly, jammed on the badly cut carpet and was then kicked impatiently open.

  “Well Malok, what news?”

  “The idiot still hasn’t sold any!” Malok said coldly as he towered over the other two, his head touching the low ceiling.

  The man on the bed sighed.

  “Maybe we should sell it ourselves, to the punters?” said the angel voice from the corner.

  “No, I don’t think that is wise, dear Nik’—we’re not from this city, were not familiar with it’s peoples. Who knows, they may even think us to be odd.” He laughed.

  “He did, however, try some.” Malok’s rough face slipped into a mild smile.

  “Good! That should help.”

  “The only other event of interest was that I believed I saw a Casendrull.”

  The room slipped into intense silence.

  Malok relished the fear, then spoke again. “He was, however, not a Casendrull and was in fact just partially that way or our way, if you will. Naturally so, as well, which is rare.”

  “You’re sure!” The first man said with no trace of what seemed to be his usual humour.

  “Yes, I followed him for only two minutes, but he was with some girl who was definitely not Casendrull, showed no traces of being such, and neither were aware of me. He wasn’t an undercover operative. Just an offshoot of normality.”

  “Good, good, good. Tomorrow we shall have to look into some mode of transportation. Do we have any funds left?”

  “Not as such but we can get some.”

  The first man was thoughtful, jammed a piece of fruit into his mouth and nodded. “Yes, but this has to be the last time, for a while. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.”

  The knife of Nickoloi swiftly pinned a cockroach to the wall. The other two looked round at the dull sound of the impact.

  “This Harper may not be the best man to represent us. I get the feeling he’s pushing the substance at the wrong people. Maybe, like Nickoloi suggests, we should approach people ourselves.”

  “Only if all else fails. Everything is not quite right yet, we need more time and call him Nick. you shall be Mark and I Zakeriah. These names are less conspicuous, don’t you think Nick?”

  Nickoloi was examining the squirming insect on the point of his dagger. He looked up. “Ugly!” He said simply and smiled.

  DREAM TIME

  A BLACK BULL WAS CHARGING at him, and Josh stood confused. All the people he had previously been standing with were gone and now there was an unusually large beast charging down on him. He jumped forward clumsily and felt the air rush past him. The thing screeched to a halt before colliding with a lamp post.

  At some level he was aware he was dreaming and like always realised that everything that happened was in his control. The van disappeared. He wondered what the hell that incident had been about and looked round for his friends.

  Before, he, a girl called Karen, Sarah and Rufus had been walking down a street talking, trying to find something. That was all he could remember. Josh strained his memory, knowing that it was extremely important that they find whatever it was they were looking for, but couldn’t remember anything beyond that. BLUE. The word suddenly filled his head, faded and turned to dust. “What the fuck?” he questioned to the silent street. No one else was around and the whole city seemed strange. very unreal. Which of course, it was.

  Then suddenly, he knew Sarah was watching him. He just knew. He began running, uncertain why. Heading for the alley next to kFC. Only the place wasn’t what it should have been, it was something else, something he didn’t understand.

  Sarah was standing there, her skin seemed almost luminous, seemed to glow. All around her were unnatural shadows. She was silent but that alley was alive with fear.

  Josh filled with fury. “Go away!” He began to scream and as he did he was changing. He continued to shout and wasn’t even sure who he was shouting at.

  The room was dark, only some light crept past the thick curtains. There were shadows that didn’t seem to be caused by the furniture.

  Sarah stood glowing in front of were he lay.

  Slowly Josh began to realise he was now awake. Then the sleep was blasted away, his mind became razor sharp and he was fully aware.

  Sarah was now gone.

  He was lying on a floor, alone except for Rufus’ heavy snoring coming from somewhere nearby.

  Josh rubbed his eyes and looked around. There was an uneasy sensation in his mind, not just a clinging hangover but something else. He frowned, convinced for a second Sarah had been there. Still dreaming, he told himself. There was something else though, a message that was gone now. For one second, when he’d just woken up, he’d known a terrible truth about Sarah; but now that was gone. He was still troubled though, part of that was due to the fact the walls were rippling and moving in the darkness. More than that though...

  He awoke with a start—was he really awake this time?. The room was dark, only some light crept past the thick curtains. Dim dawn light. The walls were still now and he was covered in a cold sweat beneath the layers of his clothing. He was lying on the floor, alone except for Rufus’ heavy snoring coming from somewhere in the room. He had just dreamed the very same thing.

  He was alive with fear. He’d just discovered something terrible but it was fading. Something about Sarah. Maybe? But even that was fading now. He frowned concerned by the lack of control he’d just had while he was dreaming. Normally he made his dreams work for him perfectly. In the back of his mind a distant voice was telling him this dream had been no different. It had been him in control.

  He lay there feeling deeply troubled as he did normally at this time in the morning. Usually though the source was some vague problem he was being troubled by or a reasoned dread which never really f
aded and could never really be justified. Now though, it did feel justified and real. Quite simply Josh realised he was cracking up again and although he knew it, he wasn’t sure he could do anything about it. He had the same hollow hungry feeling welling up deep inside his chest, soul pain as he’d called it back in the day. Most of all was fear, incredible fear, that he was never going to feel better, that part of his life would always be missing. Still, he couldn’t say he understood why it was happening. His partial breakdown at eighteen, when he’d began to see things and maim himself, randomly fly into rages, break apart anything near him, throw knives at doors, drink himself into oblivion and a list of violent insanity that seemed distant even to him now, had made sense. Quite simply a collection of events had all collided at once. Mainly his mother’s extreme alcoholism had reached an all-time high, his father’s health had been failing critically and he was still struggling with the loss of his Nan to cancer, his short-lived atthe-time girlfriend—probably the first girl he’d actually been serious about—had cheated on him. He had still been angry and scared about being attacked and nearly killed. Plus, at this time, when he felt at his lowest, when he was only half convinced that life had any value at all, he had started University with a complete bunch of strangers, felt unable to respond to them, couldn’t bring himself to act cheerfully around them, to act human, to make the forced effort to fit in, and the complete isolation of days walking around alone going home to chaos had finally tipped him into oblivion. Counselling and anti-depressants had finally got him out of a slump which had been spiralling down for about six months before its complete climax. It had all made sense, quite simply he had been given more than he could cope with and had folded, could not see a single reason for continuing. Now though, despite occasional bouts of depression, he felt good, antidepressants still helped and in truth his expectations about the future were good.

  “So why,” he questioned, “is it happening again?” Still, he didn’t feel exactly the same. There was no anger, anonymous anger and bitterness at everything he felt was wrong with himself, the world... people.