Fury

by Steven James

  And it certainly didn’t explain how he was able to write the words down in a style that didn’t look anything like his own.

  He stared at that page in his notebook.

  And as he did, the letters began to change, to wiggle free of the paper and move toward each other, becoming living scribbles, slinking across the page and combining with each other, creating bristling, wormlike creatures that moved swiftly off the notebook and onto his fingers.

  He dropped the book, but the dark worms were already on the back of his hand and had started skitching up his wrist.

  He swatted at them and managed to squish two of them, but the three remaining ones immediately burrowed into his flesh, sending a sharp, tearing pain up his arm as his skin split open to accept them.

  But that wasn’t anything compared to the pain he felt as they writhed up his arm, just beneath the skin.

  He actually thought about getting a knife and slicing open his arm to dig them out, but then he realized how irrational that was, because the narrow, black worms that were crawling under his flesh could not possibly be real.

  No, they could not be.

  But they are.

  They slid across his biceps.

  They can’t be!

  They are!

  At last, the ridges flattened out and the creatures worked their way into the muscles of his shoulder.

  He waited to see if they would return, to see if there was any pain from them inside him, but there wasn’t.

  At first.

  But then he felt them at the base of his neck, squirming, entering the back of his throat.

  Gagging, Daniel rushed toward the bathroom, but didn’t make it in time and he was in the hallway when he felt them curling and crawling on his tongue. He spat them out onto the floor.

  Three dark, glistening worms dropped from his mouth.

  He stomped on them as they wriggled across the carpet trying to get away, but when he lifted his foot they were gone.

  Last fall when the blurs started, he’d been able to tell when he was going to have one because of the piercing headaches that came first—like earlier tonight with the blur of the girl in the nightgown. Now, however, he was losing touch with reality without any warning at all.

  Not a good sign.

  In his bedroom again, he picked up the notebook.

  All the words were still there on the page.

  Enough of this.

  Rooting through his camping gear in the closet, he found a box of matches.

  He ripped out the page with that weird handwriting on it and held it above his empty trash can, then lit a match and touched the flame to the bottom corner of the page.

  As the paper caught fire, he thought of that girl again, the one wearing the white nightgown, the one who’d burned up before his eyes and then disintegrated into flecks of black embers that drifted away into the air.

  Daniel discarded the paper in the trash can and watched it flicker and burn and turn to black ash.

  He dug the Psycho DVD out of his school backpack and tossed it into the can on top of the ashes from the notebook page, which fluttered up around the DVD case, then settled back over it, as if it were a coffin that’d been dropped into a grave and they were the dirt that was being tossed down to cover it.

  He opened his window briefly to air out the room so his dad wouldn’t smell the smoke. Then, checking his phone, he took a few minutes to reply to a couple texts, including one from Nicole telling him goodnight again, and one from Kyle asking if his dad was mad that he’d gotten home late.

  Just as he was finishing up replying, he received a new text: Check the basement—M.

  M.

  Madeline.

  An unsettling thought came to him: Is someone waiting for you down there? Is she here?

  Daniel felt a tight twist of discomfort in his chest.

  He briefly thought about telling his dad what was going on, but then decided against it since he would’ve just asked who Madeline was and why on earth she would be inviting Daniel to look in their basement at this time of night. Besides, he’d seemed agitated earlier and Daniel didn’t want to push things right now or have to get into explaining everything that was happening.

  So, going alone, Daniel grabbed a baseball bat, went to the kitchen, opened the door to the basement, flicked on the lights.

  And started down the steps.

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  At the bottom of the stairs, in the rec room where he had his weights set up, he listened carefully for any sound, any indication that someone else might be here, but heard nothing.

  He checked the bathroom, the spare bedroom, and the area around the fuse panel and the washer and dryer, but found no sign of anything out of the ordinary. Nothing out of place.

  No one was there.

  No one was waiting for him.

  Only one place left to check—the storage space beneath the stairs.

  There was probably just enough room for someone to stand in there between the shelves and the door.

  He tightened his grip on the baseball bat.

  And opened the door.

  From the light that found its way past him, he could see that the space was empty, except for four cardboard boxes piled on the floor.

  A thought: It’s here.

  What is?

  What you’re looking for.

  He pulled on the drawstring to turn on the light bulb inside the closet-sized area.

  Daniel wasn’t sure which box to look in, or even what he was looking for, but he leaned the baseball bat against the wall and opened the top box.

  Clothes that didn’t fit anymore.

  The second box held some old, well-worn baseball gloves and baseballs that he and his dad had put to good use before he started to focus on football and basketball a few years ago.

  The third, Halloween and Thanksgiving decorations his mom used to hang up when she was living with them and the holidays rolled around.

  The final box contained a pile of maps that he and his dad had collected over the years from hunting, camping, and fishing trips.

  For some reason that he couldn’t put his finger on, he felt like he needed to take a closer look, and he began to flip through them.

  There were topos of the Wind River Range in Wyoming where they’d gone backpacking last summer; fishing maps of the flowage leading from Lake Algonquin, the biggest local lake; and even a nautical map that showed the location of shipwrecks on the Lake Superior shore about an hour away.

  None of those caught his attention, but a topographical map of the nearby national forest did.

  He studied it, evaluating the area, the places surrounding it, and comparing that to where the dead wolves had been found.

  There was a research station—the Traybor Institute—that’d been built near the edge of the forest that surrounded Waunakee Lake. He wasn’t certain what they did there. He’d heard something about fish population management studies.

  The place was pretty new, just put up in the fall, and it wasn’t on the map, but the location fit. It was right in the middle of the sites where the poached wolves had been found.

  You’re going to hang out with Nicole tomorrow. You can check it out with her.

  Back in his bedroom, Daniel thought about the girl with the tears of blood, the one who’d told him that Madeline was waiting.

  He wondered about the wolves and the map and the texts, and the man he’d never met before who just happened to drive into the snowbank in front of them.

  What did it mean? What did any of it mean?

  Did it have something to do with that research station?

  It wasn’t like math, where logic and clear reasoning led to the answers. This was more like unriddling a dream, with only hints and images, vague clues that didn’t lead to anything concrete.

  Not exactly his thing.

  The blurs he’d had last fall had been about a girl who’d died.

  No, not just died—a girl who’
d been murdered.

  Did someone else die? Was someone else murdered?

  This time around, he didn’t just need to figure out what the blurs meant, but what crime they might be helping him solve.

  Eventually, after failing to come up with anything, Daniel changed for bed, lay down and, even though he suspected that he wouldn’t be able to sleep very well with so much on his mind, he did fall asleep.

  But when he woke up it wasn’t morning. It was still the middle of the night.

  And he was standing in his dad’s bedroom, holding a hunting knife, staring down at his sleeping father.

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  SATURDAY, DECEMBER 22

  3:22 A.M.

  Pale moonlight slanted through the window and landed on the foot of the bed, but lit his dad’s room well enough for Daniel to see him lying on his side, turned toward the wall.

  The knife’s blade shone in the moonlight, sleek and hungry in the night.

  Hungry for blood.

  Blood.

  No!

  Yes, Daniel. Yes.

  He stumbled backward and smacked into the dresser, bumping it hard enough to send a picture tumbling off the top.

  As it hit the floor, the glass shattered.

  His father woke with a start, sitting up, instantly alert; scrutinizing the room for what’d awakened him.

  Daniel hid the knife behind his leg.

  “Dan?” his dad gasped. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Sleepwalking,” he muttered. “I must have been sleepwalking.”

  It wasn’t the first time he’d walked in his sleep. Besides doing it once when he was a kid, it’d happened last fall when everything was going on with Emily and the blurs. One night he’d gone outside in a storm and dug up the body of their pet dog who’d been hit by a car three months earlier. But later, when he woke up in bed, drenched and muddy, he’d had no memory of digging up Akira.

  In fact, he hadn’t found out what he’d done until the next morning when his dad discovered the dog’s body on the hood of his car.

  Daniel knew that his father kept a handgun beside his bed in the drawer of a small end table and right now he was just glad he hadn’t gone for it. That would not have turned out well for either of them.

  His dad flicked on his bedside light. Glass shards glinted up at Daniel from the floor all around his bare feet.

  Keeping the knife hidden, he stared at the broken glass.

  A knife. Why do you have a knife?

  His heart was hammering and he felt overcome by a caustic kind of fear.

  Typically, his dad kept the flip-flops that he wore around the house beside his bed, and now he slipped them on and stood. “Don’t move. I don’t want you stepping on any of that glass. I’ll grab a broom and a dustpan.”

  He disappeared into the hallway and Daniel dropped the knife behind the dresser where his father wouldn’t see it and where he could retrieve it in the morning.

  What’s going on?

  You’re starting to lose it.

  You’re—

  His dad returned, swept up the broken glass, and emptied it in the bathroom trash can.

  “So you’re okay?” he asked.

  “I’m good.”

  “Get some sleep.” It didn’t seem like a command. It sounded like the words were spoken more out of concern than anything else.

  “Okay.”

  After climbing back into bed, Daniel closed his eyes but couldn’t sleep. His mind just kept replaying what had happened.

  It’s getting worse.

  You need to start taking that medication before it’s too late. Before you do something you’ll regret. Something that can’t be undone.

  Although he wasn’t sure it would make much of a difference, he locked his bedroom door, located his backpacking tent in his closet, untied one of the ropes from the rainfly, looped one end around his ankle, and tied the other end to the bed frame.

  He made sure the knot was secure enough so that he wouldn’t be able to untie it in his sleep. That way, if he did sleepwalk again, the rope would stop him from going into his dad’s room.

  But in the end, none of that mattered because he hardly slept at all.

  He just lay there thinking about waking up in his dad’s bedroom holding that knife, and hearing that voice in his head telling him that the knife was hungry for blood.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  8:01 A.M.

  After untying the rope from his ankle, Daniel stowed it with his camping gear.

  He couldn’t get the whole deal with the knife out of his head.

  Why on earth would you have done that? What could have led you to get that knife, to go into your dad’s room like that? What were you going to do with it in there?

  He waited until he heard the shower start in the bathroom before slipping into his dad’s bedroom, then he gently eased the dresser to the side and located the hunting knife.

  The blade was designed specifically for cutting through muscle and flesh. It was the one he used to gut deer.

  Nicole had never been too excited about him hunting, but without an adequate number of natural predators in the state, the deer population needed to be culled or problems with overpopulation—specifically disease—could decimate the herd.

  She knew this, of course she did, and the last thing she wanted was for the deer to suffer, but still, she hadn’t warmed up to the idea of anyone shooting them—let alone her boyfriend.

  The running water in the bathroom’s shower stopped.

  Daniel slid the dresser back in place, returned to his bedroom, and replaced the knife in its sheath in his closet.

  He was halfway through with breakfast when his dad joined him in the kitchen. “You’re up early for a Saturday.”

  “I didn’t sleep so well.”

  His dad went for some bagels and an apple. “Do you remember sleepwalking last night?”

  “I remember waking up in your bedroom.” He left it at that.

  “You knocked over a picture. I was concerned you might step on the glass.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “I have to say, you startled me. You feeling alright?”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  “No need to apologize. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  “I’m a little tired, but I’m good.” After a few spoonfuls of cereal he said, “You told me once that I walked in my sleep after Grandpa died.”

  “Yes.”

  “You said that you asked me what I was doing and when I answered you, I told you that I was going to find him.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What happened then?”

  “We led you back to your room and put you to bed.”

  “Did I say anything else?”

  “You said you were going to save him before they came.”

  “To save him? But it was too late for that.”

  “Yes. It was.”

  “And before who came?”

  “I don’t know. You were asleep, mumbling in your sleep. I’m not sure it meant anything at all.”

  Daniel couldn’t figure out if that had anything to do with what was going on now or not. “Did you find out anything yesterday about the wolf poaching?”

  “The ballistics came back. The same gun was used to fire all the shots that’ve killed the wolves so far. A .30 caliber; boat-tail hollow-point bullets.” His dad took a seat at the table. “So what are your plans for today?”

  “I’m meeting up with Nicole, and then later this afternoon we were thinking about checking out a movie in Superior with Kyle and Mia.”

  “Listen, I snapped at you last night. I’m sorry. It’s just that there’s a lot going on. I should’ve cut you some slack.”

  “Yeah, no. It’s cool. It’s fine. Did they find another wolf?”

  “No. But I’d say four is plenty.”

  “Do you have to work today?”

  He nodded. “I should be ho
me by six.”

  After breakfast, Daniel took the bottle of meds that his dad had gotten for him yesterday and went into the bathroom.

  He shook two pills into his hand.

  They’re going to help you, Daniel. They’re going to make things better, get things back to normal.

  But then another voice: Things aren’t ever going to get back to normal. Not after last fall. Everything has changed and there’s no going back.

  He nudged the pills around his palm.

  No going back.

  Take them, Daniel.

  No. Get rid of them.

  Daniel was aware that everyone hears voices in their heads. We all carry on imaginary conversations, reframing what happened and thinking of clever comebacks after the fact. And it’s not just that: our consciences dog us and afflict us and ghost-words from long dead insults and cheap shots haunt us. Sometimes for a lifetime.

  But this was different. These weren’t just words whispering through his mind. It was almost like one of the voices was coming from outside his head, as if he were hearing it spoken from another person altogether.

  I’m real, Daniel. I am. You can listen to me and I’ll tell you what you need to do.

  Then the voice inside his head replied: No, you’re not. You’re just an illusion, one that I hear.

  I’m just as real as your conscience, as your dreams, as your memories. Everyone hears voices, Daniel.

  But you’re not real. I know you’re not.

  You can hear me. You can talk to me. What makes me less real than someone you can see?

  Because they’re really there.

  If I wasn’t real, you wouldn’t be able to hear me. If I wasn’t real, why would you be arguing with me?

  Conflicted, Daniel stared at the two pills.

  His thoughts continued to go back and forth, shifting, tilting, turning into an argument with himself.

  If it was going to be a week or two until the medication kicked in, even if he did take these now, it wasn’t going to change things for a while.

  He walked over to the toilet, just as he’d done so many times in the past couple months, to flush the two pills—always two at a time, never the whole bottle, just in case his dad happened to check his meds.