by Allison Hurd
There, in the gravel, is my sister’s phone.
Shit.
C HAPTER 2
“Oh, no. Oh, Lia, oh no,” I moan. This is always happening to her. You’d think I’d have learned by now. Don’t split up. But that’s not a way to live. If I can’t trust her to be safe out of my sight, then I’m going to completely lose my mind, and probably also piss her off to the point that she may get homicidal. And then we’ll just be a tabloid news story about a girl who couldn’t take it anymore and stabbed her sister, but dammit, the spectacle of my death will make it on national news, at least.
I sigh. First things first: I need to track her. I check her phone, and sure enough there’s a text started on it. “Ate weird flo” it says. “Weird flo?” What does that mean? No time to mull that now. She’s eaten something weird, which tells me she could be sick. I turn my attention to the gravel for signs of struggle or drag marks. The only noticeable tracks are to the front door. I search the front of the building for another way in because while I need to pick up her trail, ideally I don’t want to follow it so closely that I get sneak-attacked, too. I crouch up under one of the large, curtained windows, one of my stronger knives in hand. If I remember correctly, I’m on the other side of the hall from the check-in station..
“Sorry, Lia,” I whisper as I jam the knife under the sill. She is more inclined towards keeping knives maintained than I am, so using one as a pry bar is going to bend Lia out of shape. I know, that was a bad joke, but don’t take my outlet away from me; it’s bad jokes or drinking, and while puns may make someone want to die, they won’t hurt the liver. Oh God, help me. I can’t stop.
My heart flutters as the window squeaks up a tiny bit. I work the knife back and forth a little, loosening the wooden frame until I can get my fingertips underneath it. With a satisfying heave, the window creaks open about a foot up from the sill. At least it’s enough to squeeze through. Well, mostly.
“Battle corsets’re making more and more sense,” I mutter out loud, squirming to get the last bits of me on the proper side of the window. The room is eerily devoid of life. There’s not even furniture to give it the pretense of occupation and someone’s taken the liberty of removing the copper pipes—or maybe the holes in the wall are part of a complex art piece I don’t understand. A bare bulb hangs dispiritedly from old, cloth wire. Perhaps this room is why they couldn’t put the “No Murdering Here” sign at the driveway entrance.
Sufficiently convinced that I won’t be immediately arrested, kidnapped, or exsanguinated, I move stealthily to the door which should lead to the main hall, if I’ve got my bearings right. I take a deep breath to steady myself. In charged situations it becomes really easy to pursue the end goal at all costs. Threatening Lia is a great way to see my instincts in action. There are strategies for dealing with crises to override this instinct, and I begin cycling through them, working through three steps of the plan and preparing for contingencies.
Step one: secure hallway. Execute.
I remove the baby Glock I brought with me as I open the door and survey the hall. Nothing.
Step two: secure check-in room. Execute.
I launch a vicious sidekick at the door to the room containing the woman we spoke to earlier. The old, painted wood splinters under the impact and I crouch down back in the doorway to the barren room, waiting for someone to scream or come running. Again, nothing. Apparently this house is built on lies. I stay in my crouch and run over to the now-open room. I train my weapon on the figure on the floor until I realize it’s the woman who told us to leave. I’ve got one in the chamber ready to take out whoever kidnapped by sister, so I quickly point the muzzle away from the woman.
“Hello? Lady?” I say, approaching carefully. She’s muttering to herself, a faint whisper just escaping her lips. Up this close, I can see that her scrubs are dirty and her hair snarled.
“Can you hear me?” I ask, crouching down, waving a hand in front of her eyes. No response. Warily, I lean in closer, trying to hear what she’s saying.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you don’t deserve this.”
“Don’t deserve what?” I ask, grabbing her by the shoulder. Still, she doesn’t react to me.
“You’re a freak, you’re a freak, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said it.”
This simply repeats over and over, so I stand back up and revisit my plan. It’s hard to believe that the woman on the floor is the woman with whom we spoke just an hour ago. That woman was coherent. She was in her right mind. Wasn’t she? If this is the woman from earlier, either something has changed drastically in the time that has passed, or this is her natural state and something changed when we arrived.
There are several monsters that can do things like this. Really, just a frightening number of them. Some can use people like puppets. Some mush the brain or drive the people who see them to madness. Combined with the stabbing pain in my ear, it has to be something serious, but no one is turned to stone or attacking me, and only this woman seems to be in bad shape so far. The others appeared clean and fairly well off, except for the part where they were so high, NASA was probably researching them. So, then. Not a Greek creature, not one of the African pantheons, and probably not Mesoamerican, thank all the gods. Good. That’s three off of the list of the ten or so big categories, and countless subcategories. Wow. I feel so much more prepared now.
This woman needs help, but is stable at present, so the plan remains to find my sister. I search the room quickly, looking for anything else helpful, but all I see is another one of the flowers. Good lord, they’re everywhere! Someone has a serious fixation on these things. I think back to Lia’s text. Flo? Flowers? Why would she eat a flower? Coming up blank on what that could mean to me, I return to the plan I do understand.
Back out in the hall, I feel very exposed. Step three is to search the hall for clues, and step four is either to follow the clues or start breaking into rooms, which means that I’ll have to focus on the floor and not on any of the probable spaces from which an attacker might jump. This is why I work on a team, dammit. Usually, Lia would cover me while I did the more boring but critical “staring at the ground” part of the job. The pit in my stomach tightens thinking about that. It was for her sake that I got into monster banishing in the first place—a fae made her life Hell when she was a kid. Traveling around with Lia, fighting booga boogas...this is what I do. I can’t lose her.
“Focus, Summer,” I berate myself with an angry shake of my head. No use writing eulogies. I haven’t lost her yet, and I swear by every god I’ve ever prayed to that today is not the day I do. Someone please make sure that memo gets circulated.
The hall, too, is empty, strange light filtering from underneath doors and the windows in the front. However, I notice gouges from fingernails dug deep into the chipping paint on the walls which ends in rusty brown streaks—blood. The small hairs stand up on my neck thinking about what could drive a person to do that to themselves. As I approach the first door, I see a flower just beyond it, on top of a pile of dust. One of the petals is missing, and a tingle courses through me. I would bet you all the money I don’t have that Lia dropped this and took a petal so that I’d be sure it was her. So, she’s alive, or was an hour ago. If she is otherwise when I find her….
“We’re not Humperdinck-ed yet,” I remind myself. The flower is up against the door frame, which might mean that she was trying to tell me that she’s in this room, or that she’s not in the first room, and is in fact further down the hall. It could also be a third option, that it was not done purposefully, but I don’t like that thought and so I dismiss it. At the risk of losing time, I crouch down, exposing myself to every goddamn thing that might be waiting to attack, and peek under the door—nada. No movement or sounds reach my side of the wall. That is, until I kick open the door—that at least makes a lovely amount of noise. The door slams into the interior wall and I cover the room again with my gun in one fluid motion.
I take back what I said about t
he first room. This is the murder den. Bare mattresses lay on the floor, most of them supporting people whispering their regrets up to the stained ceiling. I scan each—none of them are Ophelia. I turn to leave again before this room imprints itself on my memory, but not before I see the word “SHADOWS” scratched into the wall. Well. That’s terrifying. I stare at the word, thinking hard even as I reach into my pocket for my headlamp. I put it on and push the button to activate it, trying to make the light in my head turn on, too.
There are lots of monsters that dwell in shadows. Our lore universally demonstrates a fear of darkness and shadows. Science says that as beings who inhabit a planet with a single light source, shadows are critical to our understanding of space and time. But it goes further than that, doesn’t it? Having spent a lot of my time in shadows both as the scary thing and tackling the scary things, I think we have primordial memories of when our shadows served as shelter for the evils that preyed on us in a young world. Like that lovely sigbin Lia and I met up with last year. I chew on my lip while I dismiss the sigbin as our monster. This pattern is totally different from its preferred methods; another thing to be thankful for, although we’re definitely not out of the woods yet. There are many monsters that prey on or from the shadows, and they are none of them are what I’d call friendly creatures.
It does at least give me something to work with, so I’ll hold onto that until I have something new to disprove it. Armed with a flower and my headlight, I continue down the hall. I search as I move, looking for another clue from Lia. The doors are all locked, and give no indication that Lia came in contact them, so I round the corner of the hall. The lighting here is minimal. It is apparent that the front hall is an act to lure victims, and the rest of the building is in disarray— water leaks from the walls, wires dangle from the ceiling with cheap, clear bulbs glowing intermittently. A few steps in, the hallway terminates, and I must choose, left or right. A sudden scream reverberates on the left, making my choice clear.
I run—well, shuffle, really—around low-hanging bare bulbs in a continuous state of brown out, and down the hall. I put my gun away, because if I’m looking for a shadow monster, shooting at them will hurt my eardrums more than it. But even unencumbered by my nine mil, running quietly while trying to watch every shadow in the flickering light is not conducive to speedy or elegant movement. My headlamp moves back and forth as I caper, illuminating a slightly brighter swath before the foot that extends out. The scream wasn’t Lia, I tell myself. I know what “hurt Lia” sounds like, and that was not it. “Scared Lia” doesn’t scream; “scared Lia” bites, and therefore is too busy to shriek. Not that screaming people is good, of course. Once I have my partner in crime back, we’ll save everybody, I promise to all of my gods. I hiss at myself. Bargaining already, Summer? Pull yourself together.
I halt before a doorway shrouded in darkness, in front of which is a lone petal.
“Fuck yeah!” I whisper to myself. I knew it! I knew she was leaving me a clue! Which means she’s not so bad off. Unable to fight back for some reason, but mental faculties and hands intact. These are good signs. Excellent signs. My jubilation fades as I concoct the next step of the plan. This doorway is a shadow monster buffet. Assuming the shadow lead is solid, the first goal is not to wander into them. I need more light. Where can I get more of that? I look around the hallway at the flickering bulbs. Unpromising. And yet….
“Sorry, Lia,” I mutter again, taking out my abused knife. I find some debris that I can stand on, and drag my knife through the crumbling plaster by the bulb closest to the doorway. I blink away the grit that showers down on me as chunks of the ceiling fall. Revealed like this, the wiring is more accessible. I take a deep breath before sticking the dulling point of my blade under an old, rusty staple that pins the wire to a beam. Rolling brown outs like this mean the system is either compromised or overloaded. If it’s compromised, I’m about to get zapped—possibly pretty good.
“Probably a ten amp circuit,” I remind myself, trying not to think how even a tenth of that would kill me if it crossed through my heart. “Probably on an old breaker system. Probably won’t die.” I pray that I’m right and then I pry the staple out, keeping my left hand against my pant leg, just in case. As yet un-electrocuted, I exhale nervously, trying not to think about how Mississippi doesn’t generally license its electricians. Dealing with live current in wiring this old is dumb. Though most do not guess on the first date, I am a licensed electrician. So right now, I’m being expertly dumb. I hate being shocked. But it’s certainly not more dumb than agreeing to split up, so I pry out another staple. Soon, I have a nice tail on my bulb and can venture a goodly way into the darkened door. Here goes.
I step into the unlit corridor and instantly slam my back against the right-hand wall, away from movement I sense to the left. The architecture is different here and even through the thick fabric of my coat, I can feel the rasp of stone instead of drywall. Carved out of the same damp rock, a narrow doorway gapes across from me, with someone in it. Okay, self? You’re at a nine; I need you at a six, please. I shake my head and focus my light on the person who’s also hallucinating, like those outside, but this person is talking to no one. As soon as my knees confirm they’re operational, I step away from the wall and towards the woman. She’s lying on a low cot, deep in conversation with the air.
“It’s dark, isn’t it? That’s when it’s hardest not to think of you,” she whispers, reaching up a tender hand. “I’m so lonely, Eric.”
I pull away, fighting back a blush. Her sincerity makes this an intimate moment not meant for intruders like me. I continue down the hall a few more steps. Another narrow entryway, more like a hole than a door, is on my right. Expecting to see someone this time, my adrenaline stays on an even keel. The man inside is crying. “I never meant to hurt anyone. It was just a prank. We were just kids.” He wipes away a tear.
The next room has a man staring straight at the ceiling, like those in the murder-room. “I’ll get them. They’ll pay or I’ll die trying,” he repeats to the darkness. Again the sincerity of his statement pushes me away. He obviously means it—hopefully “they” see him coming first. A tug tells me that I’m out of slack on my bulb, so I retreat back up the ten feet or so to the slightly-better-lit hallway. It’s easier for me to think when I’m not surrounded by creepy whispering and darkness. Back in the dimness, I sprint through the facts in front of me. Stoned people reliving bad things in the darkness with a cautionary notice about shadows in a backwater place in Mississippi. Vaguely, the pages of an old book I perused during one of my sleepless nights come back to me, and I match it with the evidence in front of me. There’s a missing element here that still scares me, but the monster by itself shouldn’t be able to hurt Lia, if my guess is right. Me, on the other hand….
“Need more light,” I mutter, looking at my depressing makeshift flashlight. There isn’t any, though. The only thing to do quickly is to start a fire, and while I’m beginning to question my own intelligence, I’m not that dense. I’m like a “I’d still float in the ocean, but not a pool” level of density.
Welp, get out your floaties, Summer. Nothing for it but to head down that tunnel and know that my sister will be there, and then everything will be okay. I’m good at believing that story.
With a deep breath, I head back down the tunnel with my small lights as far as I can go. When I reach the end of my tether, I carry on with just the headlamp.
“Lia?” I call out strongly. Surprise is not critical any more. Another scream resounds throughout the small space and I jump.
Distracted as I am, something grabs my shoulder from behind, pulling me into another one of the small rooms.
C HAPTER 3
I jump again and spin around, instinctively throwing an elbow at the thing grabbing me.
“Cool it!” my sister hisses as she ducks back inside the doorway to her own small cell. Her left hand is tied to a heavy, protruding ring over a ledge in the wall that serves as a bench
.
“Lia! Oh, thank God! Are you okay?” I ask, running in with my blunted knife to free her. Apparently steel and plaster are not friends. Luckily, what I consider “blunt” is still plenty sharp enough for rope.
“Still a little woozy—nothing out of the ordinary. But, Summer it’s a—”
“Nalusa Chito,” we say together.
“Oh.” She stumbles out of the small cell. “So, you figured it out. Well, did you get the part about the flowers?” she asks smugly.
“This isn’t a contest, Lia.” I reply, catching her as she trips over herself. I put her arm around my shoulders—she seems like she could use a little extra stability right now.
“Ha! So, you didn’t, did you?”
“I was sort of preoccupied finding my kidnapped sister, jackass,” I grumble, steadying her again. “Easy now, dude. Are you stoned, too?”
“Mmmaybe. Them flowers is good shit.”
I sigh and tilt my head back towards the hallway with the flickering lights. “Okay, Cheech. Let’s catch up and strategize.”
She nods, eyeing me critically. “Probably a good idea for you to move back to the light, huh? I’m a tasty snack, but you’re a seven course meal for a Nalusa Chito, aren’t you.”
I don’t respond. Nalusa chito are large, black, leathery demons that haunt shadows, both in nature and in the hearts of humankind. If you let evil or sad thoughts fester, it can enter and eat the part of your soul that is supposed to go to The Happy Land. I’m not sure I’ll make it there myself, but it’d be nice to have the option.
“This is so weird, I feel like I can see the thoughts you’re having,” Lia says as we start walking. “Right now you’re thinking about…high school and…poptarts? Is that right?”
