Darkness Ad Infinitum

by Regalado, Becky

  The priest cleared his throat. He threw up a prayer for strength and another for solace and then he called for silence. His head was throbbing, and his stomach cramped and pulsated as though something were trying to escape from its cage of ribs. Sweat dropped in fat globules from his pale forehead. He didn’t have long. No one did.

  “You’re wondering why you’re here. It’s no accident, and it’s not what you might call free will. Just as I had no choice but to invite you into my church, to allow you to soil it with your brokenness, your filthy souls, your putrid excuses for lives, you had no choice but to come.” A cough wracked the priest’s entire body, shaking him down to his pointed shoes. Blood spattered his lips and he drew his starched sleeve across his mouth to wipe it away.

  The ones at the front had noticed.

  But they said nothing.

  Everyone knew the priest was dying.

  The ones at the very front had noticed something else, too. A pain in their stomachs, sharp and stabbing, gripping and grabbing at their insides, ripping and tearing, and it was getting worse, worse all the time.

  The priest kept talking. “And once you were here, you had no choice but to do as I told you to. You ate and drank from me and not once did you question it.”

  They were questioning it now. Not just the ones at the front, but more, further back, a ripple effect as those who had taken communion first became more ill and those who had been last starting to feel the bite of the poison.

  “My church—this beautiful building—was in jeopardy. It was. Once I was gone, they were going to take it from the town, tear it down, and build houses here instead. The graves . . . God knows what would happen to the graves.”

  He had to speak louder now, to drown out the dying cries of the congregation. Some, those with enough strength, those who had only taken the smallest sip of wine, managed to stumble to the doors; but they could not open them. The priest was pleased. Thomas was a good man; Thomas had done as he had told.

  They had to die in here.

  That was the point.

  Father Fletcher gripped the lectern to deflect as much pain as he could. “I was told in a dream to make this place so special that no one would ever take it. To make it the final resting place of hundreds. Now, I believe my church is safe. And it is thanks to you.” He waved an expansive arm across the pews.

  The blue haired girl fell to the ground, convulsing, foaming at the mouth. The priest swallowed his own pain and held up his hand. “We entreat you, Lord, to look with favor on your servants who are weak and failing, and refresh the life you have created. Chastened by suffering, may they know that they have been saved by your healing; through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

  The Last Rites. His last job as a priest. His last act of mercy.

  Father Fletcher didn’t hear the screams of the saved as they scrabbled at the door, fingernails tearing, bodies folding in on themselves and each other, some crushed before the poison could have time to work.

  It didn’t matter.

  He knelt on the altar and thanked God for allowing him this opportunity. And then he closed his eyes, dying on the stone steps, blood spewing from his mouth, his nose, his eyes, a smile on his red-stained lips.

  It was Thomas who raised the alarm. The more he thought about Father Fletcher’s words, the more he realized there was a problem. A huge problem. A problem that needed more aid than he could give. He called the police, the ambulance, even the fire brigade—anyone and everyone—and he rounded up the stragglers in the town, those who really had been saved.

  And afterwards, when the bodies had been cleared away and the identities found, they had to make a decision. The mayor was gone, of course; and the letter in her handbag, the one that said they no longer wanted the church, that it was safe and sound and would not be razed for money, was shredded because it was no longer required to show anyone.

  But still, what would now happen to the church?

  They voted on it, those that were left, and it was unanimous.

  The place of massacre would have to go; no one could bear to look at it anymore, and it was said that the dying cries of those trapped inside by the mad priest could still be heard. It was said that the silent bells still rung and that the priest’s voice wailed through the windows; The body of Christ. The blood of Christ.

  They would tear the church down.

  They would plant flowers in its place.

  Perhaps they would even grow.

  Lisamarie Lamb started writing in her late teens but it was only with the birth of her daughter that she decided to write more seriously, with the aim of publication. Since that decision in 2010, she has had over 30 short stories published in anthologies and magazines. In November 2012, Dark Hall Press published a collection of her short stories with a twist, entitled Over The Bridge. In November 2013, J. Ellington Ashton Press released a second short story collection entitled Fairy Lights. She has collaborated on—and edited—a project entitled A Roof Over Their Heads, written by six authors from the Isle of Sheppey about the island where she lives with her husband, daughter, and two cats.

  themoonlitdoor.blogspot.co.uk

  facebook.com/lisamarielambwriter

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  The slick, rain-covered city streets were always deserted during the hours approaching midnight. Only an occasional warm light shone from the rows of blackened windows that glared onto the roadway from stern concrete towers. Silent and grim, a lone dark silhouette walked along the cold, deserted sidewalk.

  Cameron had always hated the late shift, but money was difficult to come by these days. Darkness enfolded him as he hugged his warm woolen coat closer to his body and looked at the twisted silhouettes of trees that lined the distant roadway. The late shift, however, did have its advantages.

  Rowland, one of his work mates, had introduced him to his wife Judy at a Christmas party some time ago. Cameron was surprised that she was much younger than Rowland, and remarkably beautiful. They had accidently met again in town while Rowland was at work not long after that, and she had been unusually friendly. At first, Cameron ignored her advances; but he was never one to knock back a good time. When they met a second time, a relationship developed. Rowland had never suspected their infidelity; even now, Rowland was blind to what was happening while he was at work. Cameron smiled to himself then looked around at the darkened street.

  Tonight Cameron had decided on a different route, which, although unfamiliar, may have been a quicker way home. The towering buildings that surrounded him made him feel small and insignificant; their cold, hard surfaces seemed foreign and distant in the diffused lighting cast by the few streetlights that lined the roadway. Rubbing his hands together before putting them in his pockets, he quickened his pace in an effort to be home and out of the detestable cold night.

  Nervous glances down the ominous openings of darkened alleys caused him much consternation. Imaginary things moved within the thick, black shadows; creatures ready to spring out of the cluster of rubbish bins and piles of waste eyed his solitary form.

  Another alley yawned in the distance. Hastily, he walked past in an effort to avoid any danger; however, upon glancing into the murky darkness a soft light shone eerily halfway down the lane. The light was entrancing; it captivated him and held him fixed in awe with its warm iridescent glow. Hesitant at first, an intense need to see this strange phenomenon overwhelmed him until he unconsciously began walking down the darkened alley.

  The light gently illuminated the surrounding area; its golden glow hovered in the darkness, beckoning. Approaching closer, Cameron could see that it came from an open door within a shadowed wall toward the far end of the desolate lane. When he finally stood before the strange glow, his mind became a soothing blank slate; all thoughts and troubles that had previously filled him suddenly disappeared. A premonition made him enter the doorway. But, after advancing cautiously along the long corridor that lay before him, the light began to dim. Still entranced by
the surreal radiance, he continued following the dim light in an effort to find its source. There were strange doors on either side of the hallway, but the peculiar glow continued in a forward direction before turning left. It continued in this direction until the light disappeared into a room and could be seen emanating from an open door in the distance. Excitement gripped him; but the nearer the doorway, the dimmer the light became. Upon entering the door, only a thick, fetid darkness remained; the walls seemed to vanish, and only an empty, black abyss remained.

  Darkness had never been frightening to him in the past, but the atmosphere in this tenebrous place was thick with death. A feeling of emptiness, as hollow as a tomb, filled the room. The silent, gentle caress of darkness sent a tingle of fear through him. Stress turned to panic; his mad scream was lost in the thick, black void.

  Soft and featherlike, something scampered nearby. A sudden slither of fear made his legs feel weak. The sound repeated itself before it faded into the darkness leaving only a palpable silence. There was something inside the room.

  An apparition, a face—faint but discernible, made its presence in the dark—then slowly faded into nothing. The repulsive, ancient shape radiated a feeling of intense evil that made him realize how vulnerable and defenseless he was. The weakness he had previously felt suddenly returned and he thought that he would collapse. A sudden surge of strength flowed through his body. He must go on.

  The room smelled of dampness and decay. Death lingered in the shadows. Not just mortal death, but something that threatened his very essence. Again, that soft breeze-like presence caressed his body before slithering away. Then something emanated from within the blackness; a small glowing light. It did not illuminate the room, but hovered within the black void. He watched with awe as it drifted silently toward him and began to float before his face . . . then, without warning, it entered through his nose.

  The feeling was ecstatic. Blinding colors flashed through his mind before he awoke to find himself standing in front of the empty alley. The strange light had disappeared, but a peculiar numbness filled his head. An illuminated clock on one of the distant towers tolled the hour. The sound was a thick, muffled note that drifted through the empty street before pounding softly deep within his head. He glanced at the white, glowing disk, then continued his journey home.

  It was a cold and miserable night. The moon and stars had disappeared from the sky and left a silent, empty void above. Dreary, poorly lit streets unfolded a melancholy tale as he trudged wearily through the desolate gloom. He arrived home eager only for the warmth of his bed and the peaceful realm of slumber. The autumn rain persisted throughout the night and lulled him into a deep, tranquil sleep.

  Although the peculiar numbness within Cameron’s head had subsided the following morning, an inexplicable feeling still persisted within his skull. He thought the fresh air would clear his mind of visions from the previous evening, so he stepped outside his residence.

  Brown leaves from the elm trees that lined the roadway thickly blanketed the footpath. A biting autumn chill hung in the air; the distant sun in the cold, blue sky provided little warmth as it drifted listlessly over the new morning. It had been raining constantly for the past few days, but the turbid sky had finally cleared and everything felt fresh and clean.

  Tranquil pools of water by the roadside mirrored the cerulean sky. Vibrant colors of the morning allowed Cameron to forget the occurrences of the previous night. But when he walked past a large pool of rainwater, his reflection on the still surface attracted his attention. Time had etched marks onto his face, and when he stopped and gazed at his reflected image his thoughts drifted over the water and into the darkness within. A sad moan rose through the recesses of his mind—or was it his own thoughts?—as memories and hidden fears began to surface. Looking at the image on the surface of the water, he could see the blue sky framing his tired, worn face. Suddenly, a strange shadow crept over the cool blue before a deformed face appeared in the reflection behind him. Upon turning quickly, the distorted image disappeared. There was nothing there.

  The vision broke his spell. Bewildered and confused, he rose from his crouching position beside the pool and looked around at the surrounding cluster of trees, but could see nothing untoward. My imagination, he thought.

  Town proved to be a mistake. The crowds were irritating and strange. Talking to acquaintances had become laborious—their conversation seemed shallow and distant—so he decided to return home and seek rest.

  It was then that the voice began.

  At first, it was a distant hum in the depths of his mind during the dark oblivion of sleep. The sound was scarcely audible, but as he focused on the indistinguishable drone it gradually increased until the murmur began to resemble words. It whispered thoughts that were incomprehensible at first, but with time, its barbed, parasitic force entangled his consciousness and smothered him with vile suggestions that he previously would never have contemplated. At first the words were only a trickle, but the trickle became a cascade . . . until the voice within was screaming for release.

  Malicious, twisted, and evil, it surfaced at odd times during the day until he began unwittingly talking to himself in a voice that was unlike anything he had ever heard.

  The voice surfaced during periods of solitude, but as time progressed it became audible when people were present. Obscene suggestions that made them stare at him in disgust.

  “What are you looking at, you maggot!” The virulence in his voice and the evil glint in his eyes were enough to make anyone nervous and quickly walk away.

  The nights became restless, and sleep riddled with nightmares. Shadowed and barely discernible, the faint outline of the hideous, ancient face that had been glimpsed within the room he had stumbled upon a few weeks past appeared before him, its brown parchment like skin softly glowing in the blackness. Pernicious eyes glared through the shadows of his mind as it whispered:

  Fear not the darkness; feel its velvety embrace as it entwines your heart. Feel its hard, black strength surging through your veins as the waves swell through your bosom and carry you into ecstatic worlds of nightmare. Silent and brooding, its soft caress permeates everything. Feel your longing as its power swells and fills you. Placid and timeless, before the first glimmer of light, in time immemorial, the eternal black void has always existed. What horror was spawned within its ancient depths? What lies hidden within the sempiternal blackness ready to devour those that walk within?

  The ancient face lingered before him; the evil in its sinister smile was eclipsed only by the hatred that shone in the glare of its eyes.

  As the face faded, dreams of madness filled his sleep. Nightmare worlds in other dimensions, other galaxies, overwhelmed him. Incredible, forbidden visions of landscapes, desolate and barren, filled with the very essence of death.

  The strange vistas persisted well into the next day while he was at work. Rowland, his work mate, found him distant and slightly more quiet than usual. “You should take the rest of the day off,” he told Cameron, who seemed unconcerned.

  “It’s only a passing problem,” Cameron replied. “Perhaps a rest over the weekend will make me feel better.”

  But instead of alleviating the morose feelings, the days passed and the dreams persisted only to become more vivid while the landscapes became populated by strange beings. They wallowed in darkness as they crawled and moaned in their pain while pleading for release. Twisted, deformed shapes bred from the ancient night; alien beings that would tear the very fabric of existence in an effort to enter the wholesome world of sanity and light appeared before him. Within what resembled faces were globular, off-set eyes within which insanity lurked. Elongated mouths filled with teeth that resembled shards of broken glass were ready to devour not just flesh, but his very soul.

  Such things could not possibly exist in a normal, sane world—they must surely be delusions created from dark dreams. The dreams began to fill his mind during his waking hours until the images became so vivid that r
eality and nightmare became indistinguishable.

  It was then that the things began appearing amongst normal people during the day when the crowds were busy rushing to their respective destinations. Why could they not see them? Somehow, the creatures had escaped their dark, twisted world and had entered the normal sane world of man. There was one crawling amongst a group of school children. Another was sitting on a bench, apparently waiting for a bus; it dripped some sort of excrement onto the pavement below where it was seated. Its obnoxious form slithered and moved as it stared at him through protruding globular eyes set on its strangely shaped head. Ignorance proved the best solution. He mixed in with the surrounding people and continued walking along the footpath.

  How had they escaped the darkness? Someone had let them into the world of light, and they would eventually overwhelm humanity. Looking around, he was relieved to find he could not see any more of the creatures within the crowds. But as he approached the curb and prepared to cross the road, a taxi pulled up at the intersection in front of him. He was overcome by a sudden shock when he looked up from his pensive reflections and into the darkened interior of the cab. One of the creatures was driving, and stared at him from the car. The driver waited for the road to clear before turning onto the main highway. Cameron watched the distorted head in the taxi cab drive away, and a spasm of fear flowed through him as the vehicle gradually disappeared into the flow of traffic.

  No more creatures were present along the way home, but in the darkness of his room he could hear the sound within his head. Like a freight train, it began within the distant depths of his mind; a gentle throbbing that became gradually closer and louder until, within the darkness of his thoughts, the twisted, foul voice was instilling suggestions into his mind. The voice, a screaming bellowing horror, was intolerable. The intensity of his thoughts was so strong that he began repeating the suggestions loudly. Foul, twisted sounds came from his lips without him consciously willing them to be said.