by Brian Keene
“He ain’t never acted like that before,” Clay said. “Sorry, Drew.”
“I told you they wouldn’t go,” Dez said.
Cranston sighed. “I think maybe our new friend is right, man. What now?”
“Maybe we should listen to the dogs,” Olivia said, doubt creeping into her voice. “Obviously they know something we don’t.”
“They’re gonna know my boot up their ass if they don’t listen,” Drew said. Despite his bluster, I noticed that he was keeping clear of Steakhouse. The dog’s reaction had clearly rattled him.
“Shit,” T said, puffing out his chest. “I’ll go first.”
“You can’t, yo,” Irish reminded him. “You in the middle of the chain.”
“Shut your dumb ass up. I know that. I was just saying, is all.”
“Fucking mutts.” Drew whistled, motioning to Dez. “Here. Take these leashes and hold on to them. Don’t let go, or they’re liable to run off.”
“How can he pull us out if he’s holding on to the dogs?” Russ reminded him. “How about we just untie Olivia and let her hold them?”
“Oh, please,” Olivia groaned. “Now is not the time for chivalry. Although I appreciate the gesture, this is my town, too. If this will help, then I want to be a part of it.”
I had to give her credit. The schoolteacher had balls. Russ had offered her an out—an out that I’m sure all of us, despite our protestations of bravery, would have been happy to fucking take at this point. But she’d turned it down.
My thoughts went to Christy, and once again I wished she were there with us.
Russ pointed to the edge of the vacant lot. “Wrap their leashes around that light pole, Dez. Then get your ass back here.”
Nodding, Dez collected the dogs and led them away. They trotted along behind him, eager to get away from the darkness. After he’d tied them up, they lay down, panting, and stared at us. Dez returned.
“You still won’t listen.”
“No,” Russ said, “we’ve listened. Now we need to find out for ourselves.”
Clevon held up his hand. “I’d be willing to listen a little longer.”
Everyone ignored him.
Drew took a deep breath and crossed into the darkness. It enveloped him almost immediately, and he vanished from sight. Clay followed close behind him, if somewhat reluctantly.
“Oh, damn…” Irish balked.
“Move, yo.” Stan the Man pushed him forward. “Those old dudes gonna get hung up if you don’t.”
Irish followed after Clay. Stan the Man stayed right behind him. He stretched out his arm and put his hand on Irish’s shoulder. Then they disappeared, too. The darkness seemed to flow over them like water.
We could hear them breathing through Cranston’s walkie-talkie. They sounded like they were having asthma attacks. Their breathing was harsh and ragged and loud, and reminded me a little bit of Darth Vader. Clay mumbled something unintelligible. Then Drew muttered that it was cold.
Mad Mike and Olivia were next in line, but before they could pass the symbol, Drew and Clay began screaming. Cranston’s walkie-talkie emitted a blast of static and then went dead, but we didn’t need it to hear their cries.
“Oh, shit,” Cranston gasped. He dropped the dead radio and tugged at the rope around his waist. “Run!”
“Wait,” I shouted. “We don’t know what’s happening.”
The shrieks increased in intensity, as Irish and Stan the Man joined in. Again, I noticed the weird dampening effect that the blackness seemed to have on sound. The four of them couldn’t have been more than a few feet beyond the barrier, but it sounded as if they were much farther away. Irish was crying for his parents. Drew screamed at someone named Hank and told him to get off the ice before it broke. Clay’s cries were unintelligible. Stan the Man shouted at someone to get it off of him. I didn’t know what the “it” he referred to was—the darkness or something else inside it.
Olivia tried to back away and Mad Mike tried to simultaneously plod forward. The rope stretched taut between them. Behind me, Russ and T pulled on the rope, jerking me backward a few steps. Mario, forgetting that he was tethered to the rest of us, turned to flee and ran into Cranston. Both of them tumbled to the ground. I heard the air whoosh from Cranston’s lungs. Clevon just stood there, gaping.
“Stan,” Mad Mike hollered. “Irish!”
“Pull them out,” Russ shouted. “For God’s sake, pull them the hell out!”
He and T gripped the rope and yanked hard. They spaced their feet apart and locked their knees, angling for leverage. After a moment’s hesitation, Clevon joined them. Then I did the same. In front of me, Olivia screamed at Mad Mike to follow her. If he heard the frightened woman, he gave no indication. He just stared, slack-jawed, arms hanging at his sides, as the darkness rippled in front of him like a wall of black water. I got the distinct impression that he was hypnotized or something. I wondered what the blackness was showing him—or who it was showing him.
T shouted at him, but Mad Mike still seemed oblivious. He took one step forward, then another, and his feet slipped past the symbol on the ground. Immediately, the darkness rushed forward. Although I couldn’t see it, I had no doubt that the teenager was seeing a vision much like the ones we’d experienced. He reached out, and his hand sank into the black substance. It flowed over him like tar, engulfing his forearm, and then his entire arm.
“C-cold,” he stammered, turning toward us. His face was pale. “It feels so cold…”
The darkness raced over him, and Mad Mike didn’t even have time to scream. It slithered up his shoulders and neck, and rushed toward his gaping mouth. It poured into him, gushing into his mouth and ears and the corners of his eyes. Then, just like that, he was gone—absorbed by it.
Black tendrils shot out and grasped at Olivia, but she remained behind the runes, and they faltered at its edge. The bottom dropped out of my stomach, and suddenly it was very hard to breathe. Watching the tentacles reach for Olivia, there was no doubt in my mind now that the darkness was a solid, living thing. It clung to the length of rope between Olivia and the space where Mad Mike had been as if the rope were a bridge. In a way, I guess it was.
Olivia ran toward us. Despite the fact that I was fucking terrified beyond belief, I noted that she didn’t struggle. She moved quickly, as if there was no one left tied to the other end of the rope. Russ, T, Clevon, and I lunged forward, pulling the still-prone forms of Cranston and Mario with us. Sobbing, Olivia collapsed into Russ’s arms, almost knocking him over. The two of them teetered back and forth before Russ caught his balance. Clevon closed his eyes and sank to his knees, gasping for breath. T and I faced the darkness alone. This was the closest I’d stood to it yet. The air seemed colder. Not damp. Just frigid. T must have noticed it, too, because I saw that he was shivering. I put my hand on his chest and pointed at the ground.
“Whatever you do, don’t cross beyond that symbol. That’s the only thing keeping us alive right now.”
“Shoot it,” he said.
“What?”
“You said that you and your boy had guns, right?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, then shoot the motherfucker!”
“You can’t shoot darkness. That wouldn’t—”
I stopped in midsentence. It hadn’t occurred to me, but if the darkness was a living thing, then wasn’t it possible we could hurt it—maybe even kill it? If so, then why wouldn’t firearms work?
“Shoot it,” T urged again. “Cap that fucking thing.”
I fumbled for my pistol. Russ handed Olivia to T and pulled his handgun out as well. The two of us raised the weapons and fired into the darkness. The pistol jumped in my hands. Flashes of light erupted from our barrels, blinding us for a second. The shots were louder than I would have imagined. My ears rang from the sound, and my hands vibrated.
“That’s no good,” Dez shouted, running up from behind us. “Get back. Get behind me.”
My ears were ringing so bad that Dez had to re
peat himself twice. Stunned, we did as we were told. Dez charged forward, standing squarely in the middle of his crude symbol. Both of his fists were clenched, and in the dim glow of Cranston’s flashlight (which had fallen to the ground and was pointed directly at us) I saw glittering grains of coarse salt falling from between his fingers.
“Ia Ishtari, ios daneri, ut nemo descendre fhatagn Shtar!”
He tossed both handfuls of salt at the looming shadows. The grains seemed to spark with a blue energy as they flew toward it. When they struck the darkness, it withdrew as if shocked. The black tendrils dissipated like smoke. Dez shoved his hands into his coat pockets and pulled out two more fistfuls of salt. He repeated the gibberish and flung them as well. The darkness fell back completely.
“Pull them out,” Russ yelled, stowing his gun again. “Get them out of there!”
Blinking, I nodded and stowed my gun as well. Then me, Russ, Clevon, T, and Olivia clutched the rope and pulled. It came easily because there was no weight on the other end. My stomach sank. I held my breath. T swore. Inch by inch, the rope snaked out of the darkness. Vapor rose from it, billowing in the beam of the flashlight. There were no cuts or frays. Indeed, the rope still looked brand new. The knots were still there from where we’d tied them around Drew, Clay, Irish, and Stan the Man’s waists—but the people were missing. There was no sign of them. No blood or skin. No scraps of clothing. Nothing. Not even a hair. It was as if they’d never existed.
“Yo,” T whimpered, sounding very much like a scared teenager and less like a street thug. “Where the hell are my friends? What the hell is going on?”
“They are part of it now,” Dez said. “Your friends are no more. They are darkness.”
“Fuck that noise. Irish! Stan! Holler back. I’m coming to get you. Just hang tight.”
He stumbled forward, but we grabbed him and held him back. He fought with us, struggling to get free and screaming for his missing friends, but the darkness didn’t answer.
“Let me go,” he cried. “Get the fuck off me.”
“They’re gone,” I whispered. “T, listen to me. They’re gone, man. Don’t kill yourself, too. It’s over.”
“The hell it is. If it’s over, then we might as well give the fuck up now. Know what I’m saying? How the hell are we supposed to fight that?”
None of us answered because none of us had an answer for him. In truth, I’d been wondering the same thing. Other than throwing a truckload of table salt at it, I hadn’t seen anything that hurt the darkness, and something told me there wasn’t enough salt in Walden to do the job anyway.
“It ate my friends,” T screamed. “That fucking shit ate my goddamn friends!”
I turned to Dez to ask if he had any ideas and to have him explain what he’d been hollering at the darkness before he threw the salt, but he was already gone. He’d slipped off into the shadows while we’d struggled with T.
“Where did he—”
Robbie…
It was my grandfather’s voice, but when I turned to look at him, instead of seeing his ghost, I found myself confronted by a creature straight out of a fairy tale. At the edge of the darkness stood a half-goat, half-man. I recognized it from the fantasy novels I used to read when I was a kid. It was a satyr. It had my grandfather’s voice and face, but that was where the similarities ended. Thick, curved horns jutted from its furry brow and a huge penis dangled between its legs. The obscene organ bobbed and swayed.
I blinked, and when I looked again, the goat-man had transformed into a giant snake. The creature writhed back and forth. Its coils and scales were black. As I watched, the darkness changed shape again, turning into a pillar of fire, then a massive razor blade, then a needle, and then a wheelbarrow full of severed dog heads. I was horrified and disgusted. I felt like screaming, but I couldn’t turn away. The process sped up, the transformations flickering by like camera flashes. A baby with a fishhook in its mouth. A mound of bloody feces. Children on wooden pikes. A massive worm, bloated and blind. A nun with forks in her eyes. Something that looked like a dolphin but screamed with a woman’s voice. A moving corpse, pieces of it falling off as it stepped forward. A creature made of green mucus. A looming monster that looked like a cross between a gorilla and a cat. Kurt Cobain with half of his head missing. Hooded men, like the terrorists who beheaded people live on the news, holding large curved blades. A naked woman, vomiting tiny snakes from her mouth and nose and then her vagina. A quivering, gelatinous mass composed of what looked like raw flesh. A giant penis that spurted blood instead of semen. And finally a huge floating eyeball, dripping slime in its wake.
Around me, the others alternately gasped or screamed. Finally able to break the spell, I looked away from the horrifying images and turned to my friends. All were staring into the darkness. I wondered if they were seeing the same things I was. I glanced back at the darkness. I didn’t want to, but I felt pulled. The visions had turned into my grandfather again. Then the figure became a swirling black tornado, which eventually morphed into Christy. She was naked and bleeding. Tears ran down her face as she reached for me.
“Robbie? I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I love you so much. It hurts. Help me…”
“Christy? Holy shit! Hang on, honey.”
I stumbled toward her, but Russ pulled me back.
“It’s not real,” he shouted. “Robbie? Remember, it’s not real. She’s not there. None of these things are. It’s testing us—showing us the things we’re afraid of.”
His voice seemed to calm the others. One by one, they slowly turned away. The voices in the darkness ceased. The visions vanished. The blackness became blackness again.
Olivia fell to her knees and sobbed. She grabbed fistfuls of dirt, lowered her face to the ground, and shook. Russ and Cranston tried to comfort her. Clevon stood staring at the darkness, his expression blank.
I put my hand on T’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about your friends, man. I didn’t—”
He shoved me away. “Get the fuck off me, bitch.”
“T, I’m trying to—”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what you trying to do. You’d best stay clear of me from now on, motherfucker. Know what I’m saying? You see me coming, you’d better cross the fucking street. You step to me again and you’ll get your motherfucking cranium cracked. If you doubt me, then just go ahead and fucking try.”
“T…it’s not my fault.”
“Step off, motherfucker.” Mario got between us, holding T back. “Come on, T. This bitch ain’t worth it.”
“It’s not my fault,” I insisted. “I didn’t—”
T lunged for me. I fumbled for my gun, but before I could pull it, Mario pulled him back.
“Let me go.” T struggled with his friend. “He’s got it coming!”
“Another time,” Mario whispered. “Not now. He’s got his boys here.”
“Fuck him and his boys.”
“Not now. We’ll do this later, T. You know I’m right.”
“I’m sorry,” I apologized again, holding up my hands. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
T spat at my feet. Then he and Mario stomped away. I turned to Russ, Cranston, Clevon, and Olivia. Russ stared into the darkness. Olivia hung her head. Clevon wept. Only Cranston met my eyes. His expression was hard to read, but whatever he was feeling at that moment, it wasn’t pretty. You know the old saying, “If looks could kill”?
It was kind of like that.
I glanced around for Drew and Clay’s dogs, but they were gone. Maybe Dez hadn’t tied them tight, or maybe he’d untied them before he slipped away. Whatever the case, they’d run off. Clevon had been right when he said that they were smarter than us.
The dogs were still alive. Half our group wasn’t.
Eventually we went home, drifting off one by one. Russ, Cranston, and I walked together, but we didn’t speak the entire way back to the apartment building.
As we walked, I resolved not to try to help anyone anymore. I decided to stop tryi
ng to do the right thing, or trying to figure a way out of our situation. It was pointless—and besides, there was already enough blood on my hands.
The darkness weighed heavy on my conscience.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When I got home, Christy didn’t ask me about what had happened. I was grateful for that because I was afraid that if I tried to talk about it, I might start screaming or crying and not be able to stop. She didn’t seem pissed at me anymore, but neither did she show the slightest inclination to know what had occurred. I might have gone to work or out to eat for as much interest as she showed. Actually, I think she would have showed more interest in even those mundane activities. Usually, when I got home from work, she’d ask me how my night had gone. There was none of that this time. I played along and pretended that nothing had happened. I felt sick to my stomach and my nerves were jittery, but I put up a good front. If she heard me puking, she didn’t mention it. I did it out the bedroom window so as not to contaminate the dwindling fresh water supply in our toilet bowl.
Cranston had disappeared into his apartment without as much as a good-bye, and Russ had gone upstairs as soon as we got back. I didn’t see or hear from either of them for the rest of the day. I wondered if they were pissed at me, too. I’d asked them on the way home, as we passed by the car wash (a trash can was burning in one of the empty bays, and it sounded like there were people having a party inside). Cranston just shrugged and grunted. Russ swore that he wasn’t mad—said he was just tired, and it had been a long day. He insisted that what had happened wasn’t my fault. I took him at his word and hoped for the best.
T and Mario were gone by the time we left the vacant lot behind the mall, but I’d looked over my shoulder the whole way home. My paranoia grew, urged on by the darkness, my sense of helplessness, and my burgeoning guilty conscience. I was okay with them blaming me for the death of their friends. I blamed me, too.
I got undressed, took a sponge bath with some bottled water, put on some fresh deodorant, and then sacked out on the bed. The sponge bath didn’t do much. I still felt grimy and tired. Eventually I fell asleep. I don’t know how long I slept or what I dreamed about, but when I opened my eyes, I didn’t feel rested. If anything, I felt worse than ever.
