Damned Lies!

by Dennis Liggio

  I watched the ritual a little more closely this time. At no point did I even imagine that I could somehow do magic or whatever the hell it was that he did. But for my plan I just needed to figure out the levers of it, the most important parts. I knew that by the time he finished singing, I’d have to go forward with what I knew. That was my only opportunity. No chances to learn more after he was done.

  Following the ritual even with a close eye still wasn’t helpful. Strange singing, something with powder. And then he swept his hand out – no wait, he was just scratching. There, powder into the fire and the strange color. More singing, more singing. Then he spills the gems in line. More singing.

  His voice rolled to a silence. He sat for a moment with his eyes closed, unmoving. Then his eyes opened slowly and he looked at me. “We are ready. Take the backpack.”

  “No special face paint this time?” I asked, picking up the backpack.

  “None. Follow,” he said as he stepped over the line of gems and disappeared.

  With a reluctant sigh, I followed him. The Dark looked like I remembered it. Very black, lit only by the white fire. The house looked as monstrous as it did before. He signaled for me to stop, and then he rooted around in the backpack for something. As he did, I heard the strange cry of a bird.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Ignore it,” he said.

  “But what if I didn’t want to ignore it? What if I was concerned that it was actually something dangerous?”

  “Ignore it,” he growled, pulling something from the backpack. As I turned around I noticed it was a disc like a dinner plate.

  “Is that from the Franklin Mint?” I asked.

  He sneered at me. “This compass will point the way.”

  I looked over his shoulder as he focused on the disc. It was full of strange arcane writings (or perhaps the McDonalds menu written in Arabic, I really couldn’t tell), but it was still a plate with no other parts.

  “I think your compass is missing a needle,” I said.

  “The needle cannot be seen,” he said, “so it can show the unseen.”

  “But then how do you see where you should go?”

  He hissed at me and I dropped the issue. He stared at the disc for a while, then he began a slow walk towards the darkness. I reluctantly followed, stopping a few paces from the impenetrable blackness. He seemed prepared to walk right through it.

  “How will we see through that?” I asked.

  “No need, we have the compass.”

  “But how do we see?”

  “There’s no need. All you need to do is follow me. If you keep that thought you will be safe,” he said. He stepped into the darkness.

  I stared at that inky blackness. I wondered if now was time to put my plan into action, or whether I should follow. The longer I stared at the blackness, the more I was uncomfortable with it. There was a wrongness to it that prickled my senses. The old man wanted me to follow him into that?

  I reached out my hand to just have the tips of my fingers touch the blackness. The second I touched the blackness I yanked them back. It was cold, so horribly cold. But that was not the worst of it. It was like an electric jolt through my mind. I saw everything I was ever afraid of, from shadows that scared me as a little kid through the paranoia that my clone was homicidal. At the same time, my mind was filled with every bad thing I had ever done, everything I had ever regretted. It was like all of my buttons were pushed at once.

  How could the old man go into that? How could he be enveloped by such madness? It would turn me into a broken man so quickly. He must have iron will or balls of steel. Possibly both. There was no way I would go through the black. My plan had to start then, before he realized I wasn’t following.

  I ran back to the fire and saw the comforting swirls of the exit back into the real world. Stepping through it, I wasted no time tossing the backpack to the ground. My goal was to trap the old man in the Dark. Which meant I had to undo whatever was keeping the entry open. I had no idea how effective this was, but since it took him a while to open it, I figured at best it would take him a while to get back without it. If I was really lucky, he’d be trapped there and unable to open an exit.

  I kicked through the line of gems, dispersing them as much as I could. I opened all the old man’s remaining pouches of powder and tossed handfuls of each on the fire, turning it a myriad of colors. Only when I found the right one did it go out completely as it had a few nights prior. Hesitantly, I stepped over the broken line of gems. On the other side of the line, the night was still night, the house not monstrous. I had broken the power to send people there; I hoped I had also broken its power to send the old man back.

  Even though I might have trapped the old man, I treated my plan as if my time was short. This was not the time to rest on my laurels. The old man was tricky and resourceful. I ran into the house and began shouting for Emily. I kept shouting as I packed what few belongings I had together in the backpack. I filled it with everything I owned, even the cursed bowler hat. I reasoned that if he had anything of mine, he might have some link to me, something to track me as Jim had tracked me. I wanted to give him no such link.

  Then I ran to the door of the study, still shouting for Emily. I was rattling the handle when she showed up.

  “Shut up, he’ll hear you!” she said in a hushed voice.

  “I’ve trapped him in the Dark, it’s time for us to make our escape!”

  “You WHAT?”

  “He’s trapped,” I said. I took a few steps back and rammed the study door with my shoulder. It hurt my shoulder but stayed locked. However, I did feel it give a little. “I put out the fire and broke the line. He can’t use it to get back.”

  “I’m not sure it works that way…” she said, as I rammed the door again. She winced from the sound of impact. “What are you doing?”

  “If there’s something, anything to help us escape, it’s going to be in here,” I said, ramming the door again.

  “We don’t know what’s in there,” she said, her arms crossed. “It could be bad.”

  “Whatever it is, we need it!” I said in a gasping breath as I rubbed my shoulder. “Go grab your things, we’re leaving.”

  She watched as I rammed my shoulder at the door again. It was beginning to splinter. “I’m not going,” she said her arms folded around her, as if hugging herself.

  “You’re coming,” I said. “Grab your stuff!” I rammed the door again.

  With a splintering crack, the door burst open and I stumbled into the room. Behind me Emily peered around the corner into the room.

  I’m not sure what I expected to see in the study. Books lining the walls, a big desk, candles? Bodies stacked in the corner like Bluebeard? His secret collection of vintage Barbie Dolls? Somehow none of that was true, yet all of that was true. The center of the room was taken up by a large circle made with white paint. Around it sprawled all sorts of arcane symbols. Some of those connected with other smaller circles around the room. Most of the were on the edges of the room near the walls. There were many books, old volumes frayed and covered with burned down candle wax. There were bones in various places around the room. There were actually some dolls, but alas, not Barbie Dolls. No, these were strange traditional dolls, maybe more porcelain mannequins, their faces cracked, symbols drawn on them in strange places. In one of the smaller circles I saw a full human skeleton and the doll of a young girl. There was something very familiar about it.

  I began to hear the old man’s singing. I looked around, but could not find its source.

  “Do you hear that?” I asked. “Come in here and tell me where it’s coming from.”

  “I am not going in there,” she said, dread in her voice.

  “Why not? I just need to know if you hear it. Come in here.”

  “Nothing would get me to go into that room,” she said, her voice near tears.

  At this point I saw the old man singing. Not in the room. It was almost as if in my mind’s eye I cou
ld see him. I looked at the room, but also somehow saw the old man sitting in the Dark near that white fire. He was singing while fiddling with his damn pouches.

  “I can see him!” I said.

  “Where?” she said, her head swinging around outside the room.

  “In my mind,” I said. I began to look around the room, frantically. Maybe there was a map. Maybe a compass with a real needle on it. Maybe there was something that could help us.

  “In your mind?” she asked. Her voice made it obvious she was freaked out.

  “I can see him somehow,” I said, grunting as I overturned a table with books and a skull. A jar of something broke on the ground. Something skittered away from the broken glass.

  All of the pots and metal hanging from the ceiling all over the house began to slowly bang together. It was almost as if there was a wind blowing inside the house.

  “I don’t like the sound of that…” she said.

  “I don’t either!” I said, knocking over a stack of books, looking for something that would help us. But I found nothing.

  I raced out of the room as the clanging got louder and louder. I could hear the singing in my head growing. “We’re getting out of here!” I said, grabbing the backpack and running out to the deck.

  “I can’t come, I really can’t,” said Emily, reluctantly following me out to the deck.

  “You have to come! We have a chance to be rid of him!”

  “Then go!” she said. “You be free!”

  I stepped down the deck stairs and stood on the dirt. “You need to come now! Listen to that, he’s coming! Somehow the old bastard is coming back!”

  She looked behind her, at the house with the clanging of pans, her face white with fear. Still, she clung to the wood railing, refusing to leave the deck.

  “Look, I just can’t come!” she said.

  “I don’t care what he did to you, now’s your time to escape!”

  “It’s not that! I just can’t. You won’t understand!” Her voice was screeching, her eyes tearing up.

  I stepped up one stair and went to grab her, but she flinched. “No!”

  “We need to go!” I said. In my mind, the old man’s song was so loud, the clanking of the house so strong. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen soon.

  “Please, no!”

  At the time, I decided she was hysterical, that she really didn’t know what she wanted. I knew she needed to get away from the house, from the old man. I arrogantly thought I knew better than her. I'm sorry, Emily. I grabbed her hand and then stepped back down, yanking her partly down the stairs.

  When I grabbed her hand, I didn’t notice at first how cold it was. My hand tingled the whole time I held it. Her hand was light and lacking in substance. I barely held it; I only held and yanked based on the idea of it being a hand. It was strange, but in the frenzy and panic of the moment I didn’t notice.

  As I yanked her forward, she crossed some invisible line. I know that now. Her hand and her head crossed over this line, crossed over the divider between the house and the wastes. In that moment, I saw – I truly saw. In that moment I realized exactly why she couldn’t leave. I realized all the reasons she had given, I understood all the real meanings between her cryptic allusions. I realized exactly what I had seen in that study. As I yanked her forward, her hand and head changed. Pale flesh turned to gray flesh, old and decaying. A hand of flesh turned to a hand of bones. Her face changed from a pale and scared young girl to that of a desiccated corpse. But even with that change, that face was still her face. I looked upon the face of death: Emily’s death.

  I let go and yanked my hand back, falling back upon the ground. She stepped back up onto the deck, tears in her eyes, her face normal. We stared at each other for a long moment. I was in shock, and she was afraid, truly afraid. I knew the exact secret she didn’t wish me to know.

  “I’m sorry,” she cried. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t!”

  The clanging of pots and the singing grew to a crescendo.

  “He found me,” she said, “out in the wasteland. Dead. I was dead already! But he wouldn’t let me go!” She wailed. “He just keeps me here and doesn’t let me go…”

  The singing grew louder and I could see the old man so clearly, sitting cross legged, his hand full of a strange powder. Then all at once, he stopped singing. His eyes were dark and he had a cruel smile. It was almost… it was almost as if he could see me and that was why he smiled.

  Then he blew the powder out of his hand. As he blew, I felt my body lifted as if I weighed nothing. I felt myself tossed into the air, out into the strange sky, tumbling through space. It must have been a good twenty seconds I tumbled, but it seemed an eternity. The next thing I felt was myself tumbling onto the ground, hitting my shoulder hard. I rolled over a few times and just missed cracking my head on asphalt.

  Asphalt… there was a road here. Double yellow line down the center, white painted lanes and everything. I was in the ditch on the side of the road. Usually being there is considered a bad thing, but in this case, I was happy to be there. A real road!

  It was nighttime, but a real nighttime. The sky was clear and there shone a real moon. This was nothing like the wasteland’s sky. I picked myself up and dusted myself off. I rubbed at my sore shoulder.

  There was no singing, no Emily. I didn’t know where I was, but I was back to civilization. I was happy to be back. But for one moment, my happiness was soured when I remembered that she was still there. Dead or not, she didn’t deserve all that. There was the plaintive cry of some strange bird as I began my walk down the road.

  An Unexpected Ride

  The police visited me today. They had initially shown up right after the accident for my statement, but I wasn't able to talk with them. Due to their backlog, they didn't get back to the case until today.

  They asked me my account of what happened, which I gave as best as I could. You'd be proud to know that I used the fewest amount of embellishments I could, trying to do my civic duty so they could find the fuck who ran me over.

  They particularly asked me about the last moments before the accident. I told them how I had stepped into the street. I recalled hearing a car noise.

  "What type of car noise?" asked a detective by the name of Stearne.

  I paused for a moment, trying to remember. It was still a painful memory because of... well, the actual pain I receive at the end of it when the car hits me.

  "A car accelerating...?" I said. "I think. I don't know cars well, but I think it was that sort of sound.

  Detective Stearne nodded, writing something on his notepad. "Continue."

  "I heard that noise, and it was loud enough to turn my head. I recall looking at the car coming at me. I remember realizing I didn't have enough time to move. I remember looking at my reflection in the windshield..."

  "Did you get a look at the driver?"

  I paused, trying again to revisit that moment and get more. "No," I said with a frown. "All I can remember is seeing myself reflected in the windshield. It was night and there were so many lights on that street..."

  "I understand, I just wanted to see if you remembered more."

  "No," I said sadly. "I'm sorry. I wish I could help more. Is there anything you can do about this?"

  "Well, as you know, this was a hit and run," he said. "The driver didn't stop nor has anyone come forward claiming responsibility for it. Typically there's not much we can do with that, but we're seeing what we can piece together."

  I sighed, "So nothing?"

  "It's not that bad yet," he said. "I managed to get a few witness reports. They match what you told me. In fact, more than you'd expect."

  "What do you mean?" I said.

  "Well, everyone willing to make a statement agrees with the same thing: The car accelerated to hit you."

  "What?"

  "Let me ask you frankly," said the detective, "do you have any enemies?"

  August, 1994 - An Undisclosed Locati
on in the American Southwest

  In contrast to my police conversation, out in the middle of nowhere I couldn't get hit by a car if I tried. After escaping Mestigus and his craziness, I had been dropped on an empty road in the middle of the night. I could see no distinguishing features around me, no signs. I had not even the first thought of where I was. When I last knew where I was, I had been somewhere in Texas, maybe New Mexico. But after that dream-like experience of dark worlds and walking houses, all bets were off on where I actually ended up. I wouldn’t be surprised if I was in Oz.

  Being lost with only a backpack full of meager possessions is in some people’s minds a very romantic way to get to know a place. Having been there, I disagree. Sure, if this were Paris, Rome, London, or New York City, I might agree. But when you’re on a highway at night with darkness as far as the eye can see, you are not very endeared to the desolate expanse. I was tired and hungry, weary of travelling and wanting a bed where I didn’t expect a crazy person to wake me up with cryptic words in the middle of the night.

  And so I walked. The good thing about roads is they go one way or another. Walk far enough and long enough and you’ll find something. It’s important not to second guess yourself, though you inevitably will; about an hour in, you become sure that only five minutes from your original starting point in the other direction was the cheapest, comfiest hotel in the world that allows guests to sleep away and gorge themselves on a continental breakfast based on the promise of money via Western Union in the morning. When it’s just you, your tired feet, the dark nowhere, and self doubt rattling around in your head, your thoughts don’t have to be rational or practical.