The Revenant: A Horror in Dodsville

by Brian L. Blank

  Shaking my head in disbelief, and not knowing what else to do, I pulled the pocket flashlight from my jeans and turned my attention to the room next to me. No marks were made in the dust on the floor, but I knew I probably wouldn't be able to see them if they were they there. The wooden floor itself was neglected and worn enough to have taken on the color of the dust. An old fear arose within me as I shined the flashlight around the room, for I recognized that same mirror in the same place it had been a lifetime ago. And, just as it did before, when I shined my flashlight directly at it, the light didn't reflect back out into the room. The mirror absorbed the light— as if neither one of them existed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE:

  Through the Looking Glass

  Still standing in front of the mirror ten minutes later--taking that long to rebuild all the courage I had lost--I could see my own dark ghastly reflection. Shadows born from the pocket flashlight I held limply in my right hand caused me to look frightful enough to scare even myself for a moment. I had to tell myself twice that it was only me I saw in the reflection. My eyes held wide with terror, and sweat had plastered my hair unnaturally to my scalp and forehead. A single bead of perspiration dangled precariously off the tip of my nose, which flared in and out like a bull's on the verge of charging. A scratch not deep enough to bleed edged horizontally across my left cheek and ear and disappeared beneath my hairline. A man from hell, I thought. No, not from hell, but a man about to enter hell.

  I closed my eyes and cringed, trying hard to push away images of twelve years ago. "Just how brave am I supposed to be," I said aloud in a monotone, and opened my eyes again. Sly and Melissa were somewhere on the other side of this mirror, of that I had no doubts; and I was now being summoned to cross all lines of sanity. Somehow, suddenly, I no longer felt any fear. I had gone past that realm of emotion--I felt nothing.

  A wind blew into the room from the single broken window to my left, and a plastered strand of hair broke loose and fell down over my eye. I switched the flashlight to my left hand, and reached out deliberately to touch the mirror with my right index finger. I met no resistance at the point where I should have reached glass. The tip of my finger simply disappeared. My heartbeat quickened again, but only for a few seconds, and I yanked my finger back out into the room.

  Anyone--or anything--could be standing right on the other side, smiling at me right now and waiting for me to make my next move.

  "Don't you see?" I said aloud to the mirror and anything with ears on the other side. "It's not like I have a choice. Either way I'm dead."

  Without hesitating any longer, I plunged forward into the mirror.

  I slashed outward with the flashlight, to knock any adversary off balance, but only struck open air. Nothing was there to greet me, and I could feel a grimace of triumph form on my face. A small victory for the good guys. When I regained my composure, I gaped in astonishment. In front of me now was not the small room I had anticipated (hoped for), but a huge underground corridor that went far beyond the length of illumination cast by my pocket flashlight. A tunnel had been cut out in what looked to be solid granite, reaching a height of twenty feet at least, and another thirty feet in width. The walls were jagged, as if the stone in front of it had been ripped out like a grader cutting through icy snow. Empty torch holders had been riveted into the granite at twenty feet intervals, but none held the torches they were designed for. Beneath my feet, conversely, someone had painstakingly laid a smooth cement floor. A thick layer of dust that had to have taken decades to build up blanketed the concrete. And freshly disturbing that dust, a single set of footprints headed away from the mirror and into the depths of the corridor.

  Nodding to myself, I said aloud in a whisper, "Sly." He was still alive.

  I turned to look back out the mirror, and the room on the other side was just as I had left it. I put my hand back through to see if I could move both ways through the mirror, and again my hand met no physical resistance. No glass impeded my way. Just an optical illusion and nothing more.

  Without wasting any more time, I began my journey into the unknown. Surprisingly, I didn't feel any fear as I trudged along the concrete floor, stirring up a set of footprints of my own. I was too confused to feel afraid. So I simply walked blindly forward shining my pocket flashlight ahead of me, praying the batteries would last long enough to reach whatever destination that lay before me, and followed Sly's footprints.

  A timeworn musty odor rose from the dust below, reminding me distinctly of the pungent smell from my parents' cellar when I was a kid. This was a fragrance I liked, and it helped to lighten the heavy mood of my heart. No danger appeared imminent, and if this tunnel stretched on as far as I expected it to, I would be safe for some time. So I breathed more easily and relaxed as best as I could. At worst, someone would sneak behind me unknowingly, but I would stop and shine my light back down the tunnel to make as sure as possible that particular scenario didn't occur.

  About a half an hour into my sojourn, I came upon a smaller corridor that shot off the main tunnel to the left. It was only about five feet wide and reached just barely above my head, but Sly's prints headed that direction. I followed. This tunnel seemed darker to me, though I knew that was impossible, and more ominous. The relaxed mood I had enjoyed only moments earlier waned rapidly. I felt my heartbeat increase and that old friend fear make its uninvited return. This tunnel angled downward slightly for about fifteen minutes before leveling.

  "Sly," I said aloud to myself, thinking about climbing my way back out, "you had better be the owner of these Godforsaken footprints." The dust hadn't settled nearly as deep in this corridor as the previous, but the prints remained easily visible in the short swath of my flashlight.

  After another half hour of walking, I came to a sudden stop as I thought I heard a noise coming from ahead. I stood silently a minute, waiting for the sound to repeat itself. And it did. It sounded like a drum beating. I moved forward, more cautiously now, and the drumbeat soon was joined by other sounds. What I heard was music, rock and roll music. The sound would stop for a minute, but soon would start again--the same song. I continued, walking as close to the inside wall as possible. The song, what sounded like "A Hard Days Night" by the Beatles, played over and over again--becoming louder and more distinct as I moved forward, yet remaining muffled as though coming through a closed door. A few minutes later, I could make out a light at the end of the tunnel. I shut off my flashlight, and moved foreword, even more alert now than before.

  The light didn't come from the end of the tunnel, I noticed as I approached it, but from a spot on the left-hand side of the wall. The tunnel itself continued into the debts of the unknown. I was almost on top of the light source before recognizing what it was. A single door made entirely of glass, right down to the crystal doorknob, led off the tunnel and into a well-lighted room.

  The music emanated from the other side of the door.

  I slid forward with my back against the wall as I edged around the corner of the door, which was indented two feet into the granite. An empty room illuminated with ceiling fluorescent lights was on the other side. A half a dozen ropes dangled from the ceiling, like something out of a high school P. E. room. Three of the walls were constructed of concrete, but the wall at right angles to the door I peered in from was made of glass. And on the other side of that glass wall, young men and women danced sixties' style to the beat of the Beatles. The room they danced in was narrow, more like a hallway. In the middle of the crowd of about twenty persons, an old phonograph twirled around. They all appeared to be in their late teens or early twenties, and when the song ended one of them picked up the stylus and started the record over. And the dance continued.

  All the males had identical three-quarter-inch crew cuts, and the girls' hair reached to the same point just below their neckline. Their clothing was definitely out of the sixties, miniskirts and flowered shirts. On a small table on the right-hand side rested a pitcher filled with a greenish liquid. Empty glasses
were littered about it.

  The footprints I had been following up until this point walked right up to the door and disappeared on the dust-free concrete floor on the other side. Sly, or whoever I was ensuing, turned off the main path and sojourned past the party inside. I, consequently, would have to follow. The group of dancers did appear friendly enough from where I presently stood, as they were laughing and smiling--and just plain having a hell of a good time--so I took a deep breath and opened the door. I moved a few feet into the room and stopped, waiting for them to take notice of me. If they reacted violently at all, I could still get a good head start back the other way. The door clicked shut behind me.

  I must have stood there, motionless, for more than three minutes before someone noticed me. With the loudness of the music pouring through the glass I knew I probably wouldn't have even been heard if I shouted, but finally a girl standing off to the side by herself, drinking a glass of that strange greenish liquid, looked up in my direction. Her eyes widened, and she tipped her head slightly, as if trying to place my face. She frowned in disappointment after a few seconds and tapped the shoulder of the man dancing closest to her, pointing with her other hand in my direction. She said something to him, also, but I couldn't hear over the music.

  The man, dressed in a bright blue shirt covered with red and orange flowers, stopped dancing when he saw me, and a wide, friendly smile spread across his face. He walked up to the glass wall and shouted to me. I barely made out what he said.

  "Hey, everybody." He turned around briefly to see if they were paying attention. "Look who's here!"

  Like dominoes, all of them stopped dancing one at a time. When they spotted me, still standing quietly in the same place, they halted their dance and stared mutely in my direction. No telltale expressions formed on any of their faces, except for the first guy who saw me, and I couldn't tell if I was safe or if I should turn and run out of there.

  Yet, the young man in the bright blue shirt kept smiling, and, at length, he slid over to the glass door and pointed down on the doorknob. "Open it up!" he shouted above the Beatles.

  The record hissed to an end, and this time no one moved to restart it. They all simply remained staring mutely at me. Except for the one pointing at the door and nodding emphatically. His smile did appear to be warm and friendly, but I wasn't yet convinced.

  I shrugged my shoulders in response.

  "No, really," the man in the blue shirt said, not shouting anymore now that the music had stopped. "Open the door." This last he said methodically, as if talking to a small child.

  I didn't know exactly what to do. Hell, I didn't even believe any of this was actually happening as I saw it. Yet, I did know one thing: Sly's footprints ended in this room, and the only way out would be past the party crowd, who wanted a simple favor from me. Walking as casually as I could, trying to hide my fear and confusion, I approached the door in question. Grabbing onto the glass door handle, I hesitated for a second. There was no handle on the other side, explaining why they couldn't open it themselves.

  "Come on," one of the girls said. She was dressed in a black miniskirt and wore black panty hose over her legs. "We need room to party." And she mimed the twist for a second.

  I shrugged again, cringing just slightly, and then opened the door.

  Most of the group proceeded to shove right past me, ignoring me now as if I no longer mattered, and poured into the vacant room behind me. Someone started "A Hard Day's Night" over, and the dancing began again. One guy climbed one of the ropes and started swinging back and forth.

  I appeared, for now at least, to be safe, so I relaxed a little. A blonde beauty grabbed my arm and pulled me in the direction of the dancers. "Got to dance," she said, smiling.

  I, on the other hand, was far away from that particular mood. The feeling of living through a dream washed over me again, and none of what was happening felt real. Where the hell was I?

  "Did another guy walk through here not too long ago?" I asked the girl, who was still attempting to pull me onto the dance floor. "A little taller than me, with the same color hair, though more wavy?"

  "You have neat hair," she replied, matter-of-factly. "Kind of cute, too." She began to gyrate around me.

  "Thanks," I replied, becoming more nervous as the dancers moved closer to me. "But didn't anyone else come through here recently?"

  She stopped in front of me. "Nope." She let go and started to dance by herself. "Come on," she said as she slid away from me. "Dance."

  I shook my head. "No, thanks. I have to find my friend." I left her and walked through the door and into the little room where all the dancers had previously been trapped. A tunnel wormed on in both directions out of the room, replacing both the left and the right hand walls. No concrete covered the floor, as it had in the previous tunnels, so I had no way of knowing which direction the footprints had headed. Do I go left, I thought with growing consternation, or do I go right?

  A young man, slightly out of breath entered the room behind me and poured himself a glass of the greenish liquid. I decided to try for some answers.

  "Hey," I yelled over the music. "Where the hell am I? And what is down these tunnels?"

  His eyes widened in terror, and he dropped the glass to the floor. It broke and pieces of glass shattered out into the dance room. The song had picked that exact moment to end, and everyone now stared in our direction. The guy in front of me only glared at me in disbelief.

  "What's the matter?" I asked, becoming suddenly afraid. "What did I say?" Somehow I had offended them.

  "You swore," the man whispered. Then he turned to the quiet crowd behind me. "He swore!"

  The man in the bright blue shirt, the friendly smile no longer covering his face, walked up to me and shook his head. "You shouldn't swear in here," he said.

  "Sorry," I replied, taking a cautious step backward. "But where is here?"

  A corner of his mouth turned up into a slight grin. "Don't you know, man?" He flung his arms outward, and held them there. "This is the house of our Lord."

  Blinking deliberately, I shook my head in confusion. "You mean this is a church?" The rest of the crowd gathered closer, edging almost surreptitiously toward the door.

  "No, man," the guy in bright blue shirt replied, the smile now complete on his face. "Not a church!" He lowered his arms to his sides. "But the house of God himself."

  I cocked my head in disbelief, but didn't say anything. I could not trust my words.

  "Want me to go and get Him?" He must have seen the incredulity in my expression.

  "No, Eddie." The woman who had first spotted me came forward and grabbed the guy in the blue shirt by the arm. Her voice and gesture suggested concern. "You remember how angry He got the last time you went to bother Him."

  Eddie put his arm around her and held her close to him. "This is different," he said, not taking his eyes off me. "We have a disbeliever in our midst. The Lord would want to meet him personally."

  "Don't do it, Eddie," the girl said, turning her gaze to me also. "In faith is the only way to worship Him."

  Yea, Eddie, I thought, listen to her. Don't do it.

  Eddie let the girl go and stepped in front of me, facing the crowd. They all looked as concerned as the girl about what was going down. "Hey, everybody," he said, displaying jubilance. "I'm going to retrieve our Lord." And without waiting for a reply, Eddie turned and ran down the tunnel to the right.

  The crowd let go a cheer that made me jump in surprise. Only Eddie's girl remained concerned. "Come back!" she yelled after him. But Eddie disappeared into the darkness down the tunnel. The lights that illuminated the immediate area stopped about twenty yards down the corridor and only the black void glared back at me.

  Someone shouted from within the crowd: "Hey, start up the music, will you?"

  And the Beatles began to sing again, and the crowd took to dancing. Except for Eddie's girl, who watch a panel on the wall in front of her, a panel that I hadn't noticed before. It looked to be
a map of sorts--of tunnels winding through a series of different levels. A flashing white light the size of a fingertip moved noticeably down a tunnel on the second level. There were four levels in all, and the tunnel on the uppermost level ended with a small green square.

  The girl noticed me watching the board. "That's where my Eddie is," she said, still somewhat apprehensive, but not as nervous as earlier. She pointed to the white flashing light. "And up there," now pointing to the green square at the top of the panel, "is where God lives."

  The record wound down to a stop, and this time nobody restarted it. The entire group had edged up behind the girl and was intently watching the flashing white light on the panel. "He's really going to do it," somebody said from within the crowd.

  Eddie's girl shifted uncomfortably next to me as the white light reached the top level and moved on toward the green square. "Don't do it, Eddie," she whispered softly.

  But Eddie didn't stop until he reached the end of the tunnel, and his flashing light disappeared into the green square. I heard uneasy whispering behind me, and Eddie's girlfriend clutched my right arm. The flashing light started again after only a few seconds, but this time it flashed a bright red.

  Eddie's girlfriend was the first to scream. "Run!" she yelled as she let go of me and ran down the left tunnel. I turned to the rest of the group, but they too began shouting and screaming, pushing their way past me and sprinting in a panic after Eddie's girl. The blonde who had tried to get me to dance with her was the last to push her way through the door. She stopped for a second when she noticed me standing there, dumbfounded as to what was going down. Shaking her head, she said, "Get the hell out of here." And then she disappeared down the left tunnel with the rest of her gang. Darkness swallowed them up, and their screaming and shouting became more and more distant.

  On the panel the flashing red light was retracing the route the white light had taken only moments earlier. Though at a much faster rate. At the pace it was moving, Eddie, God, or whatever it was, would be back here in about twenty seconds.