by J. Thorn
“Oh, well.”
Hank turned and continued down the sidewalk toward the observatory. He could see the structure against the night sky, two observation domes with panels missing like gaping scars. Despite the exertion and the heat, Hank shivered.
He walked up the drive and stood in front of the main entrance where blue shopping bags and fast food wrappers mingled with the tall weeds. A police siren wailed in the distance and nobody was on the street. Hank laughed and shook his head. He would have to go back and see Joseph, let the old coot know he was not going to be had despite his vague threat not to return. As Hank turned to head back to his broken-down Dodge Dakota, he saw a flicker through one of the windows on the east side of the observatory. He paused and waited. The light was muted through the greasy, dirty glass that remained, but there could be no doubt. Someone was holding either a candle or a phone inside the abandoned observatory. He remembered the words on the computer terminal in the library.
Portal to the Land of the Dead.
Chapter 15
Fred and Martha stood next to Dr. Singleton. Sonya Lisander stood by the door, while Johnny Jackson hummed an old Motown tune. They gathered in the main room beneath the largest observation dome. The sun set, leaving a smear of orange and yellow hues spread across the sky. Square shapes of light fell to the floor where the waning sunlight penetrated the openings in the dome. The place retained a hint of old beer and cigarettes.
Empty cans and an occasional used condom lay on the floor. The wind came through the broken windows and several of the doors rocked back and forth, no longer tethered to a frame and hanging by a single hinge.
Sonya lit the first candle.
“Won’t someone see that?” Johnny asked.
“They’ll think it's nothing but trouble-making teenagers in here, like always,” Singleton said. “We need a little bit of light to see the portal when it opens.”
“Where’s the rest of the Order?”
“This is only the beginning. I see no need to gather everyone unless we have to. This should be all we need.”
“It's been a long time since anything came through,” Fred said. “How do you know this will be enough?”
“We don’t,” Sonya said. The candle cast long shadows on her face, making it look as though she was wearing black makeup.
“I can handle it,” Johnny said. He thrust his chin out and upward.
“I’m sure you can, Johnny. I have no doubt in your abilities. It's just, it's been a while and I’m not really sure what we’re expecting,” Fred said.
“I’ve got a week’s worth of data. The portal is puffing a little smoke, throwing a bit of ash into the air, if I may use a volcanic analogy. This is not a major eruption. At least not yet,” Singleton said.
Sonya nodded at Singleton before turning to Fred and Martha. They looked worried, but didn’t push.
“So what are you expecting?” Fred asked.
“Most likely one Gaki, maybe two. The energy charts aren’t perfectly accurate. Either way, these are newborns, unsophisticated and vulnerable. They should be easy to put down.”
“Why don’t we use guns? Why we using baseball bats and hunks of wood?”
Singleton looked at Johnny before answering his question. “There’s an energy here. Something unexplained that corrupts steel. The guns always seem to jam or misfire. We’ll use more dependable, natural weapons. You think you can handle that?”
“Yeah,” Johnny said. He shuffled his feet and both of his hands gripped his baseball bat until his skin made a grinding noise against the grip. “We got it.”
“I appreciate your confidence,” Fred said to Johnny. “But you’ve never seen this. It hasn’t happened in more than twenty years. Come to think of it, Dr. Lisander hasn’t seen it yet either. It’s one thing to stand here and explain how you’re going to react and it's another to stare into the eyes of the devil.”
“My husband is the master of hyperbole,” Martha said. “The Gaki is never a creature to be taken lightly, but the guardians have protected the portal before with less manpower and knowledge. We should be able to handle it now. What are the plans for disposal? We need to cover this abomination with six feet of dirt before the portal can call it back.”
“Grave markers B7 and C89 are both open,” Singleton said.
“Won’t they claw their way out, like in the zombie movies?” Johnny asked.
“No,” Lisander said. “Hope you brought a shovel.”
Johnny looked down at his bat and then back at Sonya.
“Wish I would have known. Could have used a shovel to kill it and bury it. Two demons with one stone. Get it?”
Singleton held up his hand and everyone stopped talking. The electronic meter in his hand flashed blue and then red. At the same time, a vibration cycled through the floor, sounding like a ceiling fan bumping against heavy drapes. The thumping increased in intensity synchronized with the red pulsing on Singleton’s meter. A pinpoint of light appeared on the wall opposite the door. It was pure white at first. The edges grew outward and turned into a dull silver. The hole expanded and bathed the room in a weak glow.
Fred looked around the room at the various death maps scribbled on the walls. He remembered them all even though several were now buried beneath graffiti tags and caricatures of the human anatomy. Summonings began with those star charts drawn on the walls of the observatory on the one-year death anniversary. They banned the practice years ago. But the Order couldn’t prevent a summoning, only contain the mess it created.
Fred began to think about seeing his daughter’s death map on the wall and winced. He pushed the thought from his mind and turned his attention back to the portal. It now spread the entire height and width of the wall. Singleton stood in front of it, the outline of his body silhouetted against the light. His meter pulsed red as if it were a strobe light on the tarmac, guiding a plane to the gate.
“Johnny,” Singleton said.
Martha looked at Fred and then watched as Jackson approached the opening vortex.
“Right here,” he said.
“It's getting closer. The creature will act much like a rabid dog. It will be instinctual, primitive and dangerous. Wait for it to come entirely through before you attack.”
“Strike the head,” Sonya said. “It's your best chance at taking it down quickly.”
“Time for some homerun derby,” Johnny said.
Fred liked Johnny. He’d hate to see him ripped apart in his training as a guardian.
“It's coming,” Singleton said. He stepped back and allowed Johnny to step forward. “Just one, according to the readings.”
The light of the portal flickered and the thrumming vibrations ceased. The air in the room felt charged, like the moment before a breaking thunderstorm. Martha grabbed for Fred’s hand and Lisander stepped backward.
“Now,” Singleton said.
The face of a Gaki came through the portal first and the sight of it paralyzed Johnny. He felt his bladder quiver and he almost emptied it. The demon looked at him with deep, dark eyes set within blueish gray skin. It had a tight mouth with razor sharp teeth protruding. It hissed and turned its head from side to side as if it were sniffing the scent in the room. The Gaki paused, then stepped the rest of the way through the portal. The demon stood about five feet tall and was hunched over with a distended belly. Its arms and legs looked like tubes of rubber. It brought the stench of death, wet garbage composting in a hot summer sun.
“Kill it,” Fred said to Johnny.
But Johnny remained frozen.
“Kill the thing,” Fred said again.
Singleton looked at Fred and then at Johnny. He reached for the baseball bat, but Fred already had his hands on it. Fred ripped it free and turned to face the beast when the Gaki lunged forward.
The creature landed on Johnny’s chest, knocking him on to his back. It moved its face to Johnny’s neck, lowering its teeth to puncture the man’s flesh. Fred stepped forward and swung the bat with bo
th hands, hitting the Gaki in the side of the head. The strike sounded like a ripe cantaloupe hitting the floor.
The creature fell off of Johnny, rolled around and jumped back to its feet, though swaying. Fred reared back and swung again, but this time he missed. The Gaki ducked the blow and struck with an open hand, its long fingers tearing a gash on Fred’s face. He dropped the bat and fell to one knee. The Gaki stepped forward and opened his mouth, moving to take a bite out of Fred’s neck, when it was knocked off its feet and into the wall.
Sonya stood in front of Fred with a two by four in her hand. She stepped toward the Gaki and raised it again. Sonya brought the makeshift weapon down hard, the butt end slamming into the middle of the Gaki’s face. The demon twitched twice and then became still.
The portal contracted as if the wall was now eating the opening from the outside in. The meter in Singleton’s hands went from red to blue and it pulsed with less frequency, like a dying heartbeat. Lisander hit the Gaki one more time and a split-second later the portal closed, leaving them in silence and the withering light from a single candle.
“Holy fuck,” Johnny said. “You’re bad-ass.”
Sonya snarled at Johnny and dropped the two by four at his feet.
“Yeah, nice hit, slugger.” She turned to face Fred. “Quick thinking for an old man. You were on your feet. I finished him but you were the one cool under pressure. Thanks.”
Fred wiped the blood from his face as Martha tried to dab it with a handkerchief. He looked at Singleton and the doctor looked as though he belonged in a shallow grave. Singleton’s hair was in wisps above his head and he was breathing as if he just finished a marathon.
“We’re not finished. Get the stretcher and the plastic bags,” Singleton said.
“You mean there’s more coming through?” Johnny asked.
“Not tonight. But we need to get this thing in the dirt. I hope you can handle a shovel better than you can a baseball bat.”
Fred smiled at Martha. They would show the young guardians a thing or two about battling demons.
Chapter 16
Hank was wandering through the observatory when he heard the cars arrive. By the time the doors slammed shut, he had scurried into the darkness to hide.
But he saw everything.
He remained hidden in an old janitor’s closet that still smelled of bleach. He shook, his head racing with a million different thoughts at one time. He wanted to know what that thing was, where it came from and why it was there. Hank knew it was not a coincidence that all of the people in his life, and those new to it, were present. He felt something was happening, yet he didn’t know what. He would talk to Fred and Martha tonight if he wanted. For now, he decided to follow them out. He wanted to see what they were going to do with the dead beast before he sat and asked them to explain. Hank was sure Fred would tell him why Singleton was working with Corey, and why he was referred to Dr. Lisander. Even Johnny, a seemingly random encounter, was part of this.
Whatever this is, he thought.
Johnny dragged the creature’s body to the middle of the floor. Lisander and Fred opened the oversized black refuse bags and slid the body inside. Singleton appeared from another room with an old stretcher. He laid it on the floor and when they were done concealing the Gaki’s body, they lifted it on the stretcher. Hank heard parts of the conversation from his hiding place inside the closet. He saw most of the confrontation, including whatever it was that appeared to open to another dimension.
The old man from the historical society sent me here. He wanted me to see this.
Hank thought about their conversation before the creature, or demon, or monster—whatever the hell it was—came through the wall. He wasn’t sure if Dr. Singleton lured that thing into their world, but Hank knew Singleton had something to do with it. Hank stole a glance at the walls covered in blurred, chalky lines and symbols. All of the articles and research began sloshing around inside of his skull, the pressure building into a low, dull pain.
Hank closed his eyes hoping to calm his vertigo.
You can bring her home.
He could almost feel the whisper brush his left ear, yet when he opened his eyes, Hank was still alone and concealed in the darkness of the abandoned observatory.
You can have a family again.
Hank put his hands to his ears, the chatter inside his head threatening to drown his sanity.
“Michelle is gone. She’s dead. She’s never coming back.”
He had to whisper the words to convince himself they were his.
You can bring her home. For you. For Corey.
Hank spun around while Singleton and the rest continued their morbid work, unaware he was in hiding and watching them.
“No. When people go, they’re gone. Forever. You can’t bring them back. It’s not natural. It’s sacrilegious. Profane.”
The cacophony of voices inside of Hank’s head eased back like a lazy low tide. His ears popped and the sounds of duct tape ripping across plastic rushed in. Hank took a deep breath and sighed, happy to attribute the voices to the stress of the situation.
Hank waited as they left through the back door, each person holding a corner of the cot, with Singleton behind them all. He counted to five and then emerged from his hiding place, following them into the overgrown courtyard outside of the observatory. Hank watched the group move toward the rusted chain link fence separating Lake View Cemetery from the edge of the observatory’s property.
They moved through a hole in the fence and into the trees, their movements masked by a moonless night. Hank decided to go home. He heard and saw enough to know where they were headed and what they were going to do. That didn’t matter so much to him. What he really wanted to know, what he would need to ask Fred and Martha, was why this was happening. And would it be happening again.
Hank turned and walked down the sidewalk and toward Taylor Road. He thought about his broken-down truck until his mind flashed back to the hideous face stepping out of the portal.
Bring her home.
Hank couldn’t be sure who spoke those three words, or whether they came from inside his head. But he did recognize his concerns about a leaking radiator seemed a bit less important than an hour ago.
Chapter 17
Dr. Singleton suggested a sleep study and Corey did not protest. The doctor wanted to gather data on his brain activity during sleep in hopes it might help them with his speech therapy plan.
“I want you to relax. Try to fall asleep and let nature take its course.”
Corey looked up from the bed at Dr. Singleton. Without the lab coat, he could pass for a doting grandfather about to read a bedtime story. But with the white coat and clipboard, Corey had no illusion they were anywhere but a hospital. He glanced at the one-way mirror and back to the pictures hanging on the walls. The colors slid from the canvas. Corey saw the red drip from the sailboat and hang in the air until it made the red sound. He smiled because red was the most pleasant tune out of all of the colors. Corey could hear colors and see sounds. The lightning strike had done its damage but it also opened up a new world of sensory perceptions.
“We’re going to be monitoring you. I know it's difficult, but try to be as comfortable as you can. Pretend you’re at home, in your own room.”
Right. With sensors all over my body and a room full of doctors gawking at me while I sleep. Perfectly comfortable.
“Can I get you anything else?” Singleton asked. He looked down at Corey’s notepad to see if the boy was going to make a request. “Great. I’m going to turn out the lights and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Corey smiled at the man and pulled the covers up to his chin. The air in the room chilled his nose and the bedding smelled like his grandmother’s room in the hospice before she died.
His dad told him this was necessary. He explained Dr. Singleton was going to help him get better, and Corey did what his dad asked because he loved him. His father never raised a hand or his voice. When his mother passed
, Corey survived by holding on to his dad. He imagined his father as the helicopter rescue pilot over a flood-ravaged city, dropping a line to Corey as the water rose. Corey made it to safety, but he had yet to heal from the emotional wounds.
Can I talk?
Corey asked himself that question every night. He could make sounds and on some nights he woke himself up. Corey couldn’t remember if he was screaming in a dream or if he was mumbling himself awake. Either way, he was convinced the muscles that controlled his vocal cords were fine. Physically, he could speak. But Corey could not converse and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. There was a comfort in being mute, a social expectation lifted that made things so much easier. It allowed Corey to crawl inside of himself and remain cloaked from the world. He would cooperate with the doctor because it meant so much to his dad.
The lightning strike left him with abilities and visions even his father didn’t know about. Corey kept most of it to himself. He didn’t believe it was right to burden anyone else. He was struck by lightning and it wouldn’t be fair to strike others as well.
The first few weeks were nothing but a blur. Corey was in and out of consciousness, fighting for his life. He had visions of his mom and dad coming and going. He remembered the soft touch of his mother’s hand on his head and the soothing timbre of his father’s voice. Corey didn’t dream in those first few weeks and he barely slept. The doctors believed he was in a coma, but Corey knew he was in a mental state they had yet to define. When the physical wounds began to heal, Corey started to experience the other powers granted to him by either God or the ten billion watts. Or maybe they were one in the same.
It started with colors. The flowers and balloons filled the hospital room with vibrant blues and greens, as though spring had exploded on the walls. At first, even with his eyes closed, the colors hurt Corey. They were inside of his head like a carpenter ant, poking and prodding into the deep recesses of his brain. His body acclimated and the pain dissipated until the colors started to sing. It was a high, soothing pitch of a female, Celtic vocalist. Unlike the mental stabbing from the visual stimuli, Corey enjoyed the sound of the colors. Each had its own frequency and they melded together like the notes of a chord played on a guitar. A picture of a sunset over a mountain sounded like a piece of classical music composed by one of the masters. Corey believed that’s how Mozart and Bach were able to write such beautiful pieces. He assumed they were able to translate what they saw and heard into an orchestral movement.
