by Dan Dillard
Chapter 26
He held a shot glass in his hand, inspecting it. He rolled it from one palm to the other. Then he took the whiskey bottle from the cabinet and poured a shot, which he stared at for a good, long time. When he drank it, he savored the burn all the way down his throat.
Back in the living room he puzzled at the sight of the coffee table, then picked up the shot glass and shoved everything else to the floor, including the silver laptop. Slobber jumped at the noise and scurried into the bedroom to get back to his nap.
Ethan sat on the couch facing the table and tore open the box from Parker Brothers. He pulled the board out and laid it in his lap with the intention of using it as his template. Upon inspection, it was just as crappy as he thought it would be. A piece of manufactured wood, like the material that pegboard is made out of, with a printed decal—a sticker containing all the magic symbols. This one even had little splashes of phosphorescent paint on it so you could see it in the dark.
He took the red crayon and began to write on his coffee table, copying the letters of the alphabet in the same manner they appeared on the board.
“Damn,” he said quietly, as he checked his work.
The wood stain was dark and he couldn’t see the crayon at all. He walked into the kitchen and tossed the crayon toward the trash. It missed, hitting the ceramic floor and leaving a small red spot on the tile.
Pawing through the junk drawer, his eyes locked on the tube shaped paint pen that he had once used for a presentation. Through his fog of pain, he vaguely remembered it painting nice bright white lines on a black board. It would do. He took it to the living room, followed by the ever-curious Slobber.
Ethan tested the pen by outlining the routed edge of the table. He thought when this was over he would burn the table in celebration. The marker contrasted with the dark stain nicely.
He continued his artwork, trying to make his writing as neat as possible. At the top he wrote ‘YES’ and ‘NO’, one word at each corner of the table. Below that, he wrote the alphabet, absently singing the song as he went.
A B C D E F G H I J K L M
N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Then he wrote the numbers one through nine, followed by a zero. Finally, at the bottom, on the side of the table closest to him, he wrote the word he hoped would save him:
GOOD BYE
Ethan set the shot glass on the table rim-down, and sat back to admire his handiwork. Max’s voice rang out in his head, struggling to be heard over his father’s.
Did you get any of your questions answered…from the beginnin' of your search?
There’s nothing else out there, son. Nothing is going to help you…but you.
The words ran through his mind as the hair stood tall on the back of his neck. He froze in his seat, looking around only with his eyes. There was no scent of death or rot, but he felt a pressure in the room, like the air was getting thicker.
"YOUR THEORIES MAKE US LAUGH.”
Slobber whimpered. The voice sounded as clear as if it had come from Ethan’s own mouth. He spun around to see who was in the room and Slobber jumped up to look with him. Nothing.
“Who said that!?”
Bolting off the couch and into his bedroom, Ethan tried to sound as intimidating as possible. Then he turned back to the living room and still no one was there. Slobber held a growl, lip curled into a snarl, and lowered his stance as if he might pounce. Ethan thought he must be hearing things.
“ETHAN, YOU WASTE MUCH ENERGY. SIT DOWN.”
Again as clear as if it were coming through headphones, a soothing calm voice; it was a male voice, but not his, and not one that he recognized. He sat down on the couch and looked around again, certain he had just that instant gone crazy. Slobber did not follow this time. He sat in the doorway of the bedroom, staring in at Ethan. He didn't blame him.
At that point, Ethan thought insanity might be the easy way out.
“Who are you?” he asked weakly, not sure that he wanted an answer.
No, he was certain that he didn’t.
“WE ARE WHAT YOU SEEK, ETHAN. WE ARE THOSE WHO SEEK YOU.”
It knew his name.
Of course it did. Max said he was being scouted, this must be the big leagues, come to see if he can really play.
It’s me, he thought. I’m crazy and now I’m talking to myself in my newfound psychosis. This will pass and I will be me again in a day or so. Then I’m going to drink very heavily for a couple months.
“YOU ARE NOT INSANE.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“YES, WE CAN HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS.”
Suddenly all of the reading and study seemed vastly insignificant. He had never once considered how to handle a situation like this. He had never considered a situation like this, period. All he could focus on was his former mission. Even if it killed him, he would have proof.
“Move something!” he blurted.
“DON’T INSULT US.”
Pause. Ethan scanned the room with his eyes, his breathing shallow. They stopped on his homemade Ouija.
“THE WITCH BOARD IS UNNECESSARY.”
Its voice deepened and reverberated a little in Ethan’s tender skull. Claw marks dragged across the table's surface, leaving scorch marks in their path. Tiny flames burned along the scratches and engulfed the painted letters. Illegible black splotches were all that remained in the dark finish. Ethan sank into his seat.
“IS THAT PROOF SATISFACTORY? NOT THAT IT MATTERS.”
He didn’t answer. It wouldn’t matter if he spoke—the voice knew his answer. Ethan pictured a giant of a man, muscular with blood red skin and horns, walking an equally impressive four-legged creature.
“Show yourself, then.”
He didn’t want to see anything at this point, but he thought to himself that it was already here and he’d rather see what he was facing.
“YOU ALREADY HAVE A PICTURE OF US IN YOUR HEAD. WHY WOULD WE WANT TO RUIN THE FANTASY?”
Ethan grasped his head with both hands.
“Get out of my head.” He was angry with the feeling of being invaded.
“YOU DON’T REALLY WANT TO SEE US, DO YOU? DO YOU THINK YOU COULD UNDERSTAND OUR FORM IF WE SHOWED IT TO YOU?”
It was condescending, speaking sometimes as one voice, other times speaking as many.
“Why do you keep saying ‘we’? How many are you?” Not that it would matter.
“LABELS, ETHAN. WE, I, US…LABELS. WOULD YOU FEEL BETTER IF WE HAD A NAME? THERE HAVE BEEN SO MANY THROUGH THE YEARS.”
It sounded amused at Ethan’s simple questions, though never answering any of them.
“How many?”
“WHAT WERE YOU SEEKING, ETHAN?”
He thought for a moment and then said, “Ghosts.” He figured at this point, truth was the best idea.
“GHOSTS? IS THAT WHAT YOU THINK YOU’VE FOUND?”
Its voices moved throughout the room, as if jumping between invisible speakers. Ethan could feel the air pressure changing as it traveled, but couldn’t see anything.
“If not a ghost, then what are you? Demon? Angel?”
Ethan was scared and trembling. He couldn’t see what he was dealing with and his tone was becoming erratic, his volume elevated.
“DEMONS AND ANGELS ARE ONE AND THE SAME, ARE THEY NOT? NO, WE ARE SOMETHING SO MUCH WORSE. CALL US WHAT YOU WILL, ETHAN JACOBS. AS I SAID, THESE ARE JUST LABELS.”
Then it made a sound demonstrating its disgust.
“LABELING SOMETHING ONLY STRIPS IT OF ITS POSSIBILITIES, DON’T YOU AGREE?”
The entity said no more, waiting for his response. Ethan gathered his nerve. He figured if he was going to die at the hands of this thing, he would at least satisfy his curiosity first.
“No names, no labels,” he said. “Tell me this: are there others like you?”
There was a pause.
“WILL YOU CONTINUE ASKING SUCH TEDIOUS QUESTIONS? THIS KNOWLEDGE YOU SEEK IS OF
NO CONSEQUENCE TO YOU. YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY BENEFIT FROM IT.”
“Can't you tell me who you are?” Ethan asked.
“WE ARE MANY AND WE COME FROM EVERYWHERE ... FROM EVERYTHING.”
It spoke with a chorus of voices, now sounding annoyed.
“HUMANS ARE ARROGANT AND LABELS ARE PATHETIC.”
Ethan spun, following the voice as it moved. “Help me understand. In my estimation, pathetic or not, are you a demon?”
His nerves were shaky again. He could hear the creature let out a disapproving sigh, as if it were frustrated with him.
“IF YOU MUST DEFINE US, SO BE IT. WE WILL SIMPLIFY OURSELVES FOR YOU.” The chorus of voices dwindled down to one as it spoke, and then it continued, “I WILL SPEAK AS ONE, IF YOU WILL CEASE YOUR QUESTIONS. IF YOU MUST KNOW WHAT I AM, CLOSE YOUR EYES AND I WILL SHOW YOU.”
Ethan’s mind raced as he closed his eyes. He saw flashes. He saw natural disasters, violence, war, plague, the slaughtering and raping of children, rotting corpses—then blackness. Ethan had also seen his own future with this being, and his fear was profound.
He had no idea what he was dealing with.
“Is that what you are?”
Ethan opened his eyes again.
“AS I SAID, WE COME FROM EVERYWHERE AND EVERYTHING.”
The voice paused again, as if proud of its speech. It made Ethan question his theory that spiritual beings were individuals. He had never considered the thought that maybe our spirits enter a collective where they share an ever-changing consciousness. Like a large, nebulous cloud of energy, an eternally roiling body, like water.
The voice’s own words confirmed the theory. It was made of bits and pieces of everything that had ever died and all of the knowledge gained through all of that experience—not just human experience, but all experience. That would be impossible to comprehend and Ethan didn’t think he could understand any visual representation of it.
“YOU CONTINUE TRYING TO DRAW A PICTURE OF US IN YOUR MIND—SUCH A HUMAN TRAIT. IF IT WERE TRUE THAT WE WERE ALL ONE, THINKING AS ONE, WHAT WOULD THAT PROVE—HOW WOULD YOU BENEFIT? I FIND YOU TERRIBLY BORING, BUT YOUR PERSISTENT IGNORANCE AMUSES ME.”
“Amuses? Fuck you! How amusing is that?” Ethan was furious. Fear had been completely replaced with a will to defeat the thing that taunted him.
“WORDS, ETHAN. AS YOU CANNOT LABEL ME, YOU ALSO CANNOT ANGER ME.”
“But I can bore you?”
“MOST DEFINITELY.”
Rage was building and he felt like a child who was frustrated but had no power over the situation. Either he could shut down, or he could throw a tantrum, and he was going to throw one huge fucking tantrum.
“IT WOULD TAKE TOO MUCH ENERGY TO SHOW YOU MY FORM. AS I HAVE SAID, YOU WOULD NOT COMPREHEND IT. A WASTE.”
Ethan slammed his fist on the dresser. “You lie. Or you don’t exist. If I can’t see you, you aren’t real.”
“YOU SOUND LIKE YOUR FATHER.”
Ethan struggled with the comment, but kept any response to himself. The voice chuckled, knowing that it had gotten to him.
“I EXIST. YOU KNOW THAT I DO. I AM REAL AND YOU ARE NOT INSANE. YOU CANNOT FOOL ME.”
“Then I don’t believe.” Ethan’s rage was keeping him from thinking clearly. He thought if he chose to ignore the problem, it might go away.
“YOUR BELIEF MAKES NO DIFFERENCE TO ME. NOR DOES IT CHANGE MY EXISTENCE. I WILL DO WITH YOU AS I PLEASE, WHETHER OR NOT YOU CHOOSE TO
