by Amy Cross
“Where is it?” Donald shouts, and I turn to see the others coming up behind me.
“Did it come this way?” Adam asks breathlessly. “We have to kill it! It won't stop until we do. And if it lasts much longer, it's going to start coming for us.”
Turning, I look back toward the forest. There's no sign of the creature – whatever it was – but I know that I saw something in-human. Something that looked as if it had crawled up from the depths of Hell.
Thirteen
“I only got a glimpse of it, very briefly,” Craig says as we sit by the window in the front room, with a single candle flickering nearby. “That was enough, though. I could tell that it was... not from here.”
“Not from where?” I ask. “From the farm?”
“From the whole world,” he replies, keeping his voice low as the others talk in the next room. “You saw it, you said it yourself, it didn't look human.”
I pause for a moment, but at the same time I know that I can't really argue with him. Every time I think back to the sight of that creature earlier tonight, I feel more and more certain that what I saw was some kind of monstrosity.
“I think these are the things that took the music away,” Craig says.
I turn to him.
“I know how it sounds,” he continues, “but hear me out. There were reports of them showing up right around the time that it all happened. It seems like they can usually hide themselves from us, unless something goes wrong. Apparently they were swarming in certain places, and then they were gone. For whatever reason, this one seems to have stayed behind.”
“You're right,” I reply. “That does sound crazy.”
“It ripped through the side of the barn,” he points out. “That shows strength. But it keeps coming back, almost every night. I think maybe it's hurt in some way, or there's something keeping it from going home.”
“Home?” I ask. “Where would home be for something like that?”
“I have no idea, but it keeps going for the chickens in the barn.”
I open my mouth to tell him that none of this can be true, but then I realize that I saw the wretched creature with my own eyes.
“Has it ever attacked anyone?” I ask finally.
“Almost,” he replies, “but I think that was defensive more than anything. Donald and Adam want to kill it, but I think it'll go away if we just give it whatever it wants. Not that I know what that might be. The thing is, I think Donald managed to hit it the other night, but he only managed to slow it down. Just going out there and trying to use brute force is never going to work. We have to try to understand this thing.”
Before I can answer, I hear footsteps nearby, and I turn to see that Dean has come through from the front room.
“We were thinking we should all get some sleep,” he says. “There's a cold wind blowing from the south, and that usually means rain's coming. Besides, Donald says that thing never attacks twice in one night, so we should be safe for now. And then tomorrow we can start trying to figure out exactly what's going on.”
“How long are we going to stay here?” Craig asks.
“Hopefully just until things get fixed,” he replies.
“Which is when?”
“I don't know, but -”
“We need a better plan,” Craig continues, and he sounds a little agitated now. “Right now, we're sitting ducks. We're going to run out of water at some point, and then things will get really bad. We have to consider the possibility that things aren't going to get better, at least not any time soon.”
“The government -”
“There might not even be a government!” he hisses. “For all we know, everything has collapsed. The sooner we start making a proper plan, the more likely we are to be able to survive this mess.”
“He's right,” I suggest, even though I don't want to admit the fact. “I've been waiting for things to magically go back to normal, but I have to admit that if anything it would seem that we're headed in the opposite direction. Most people seem to have lost their minds, and the rest of us seem to have little hope of being rescued. I think we might be better off trying to settle in for the long-haul.”
“We'll talk about it tomorrow,” Dean replies, but his voice sounds heavy and tired, and I think he knows that I'm right. “I know Donald has some thoughts that he wants to share with us all. He's been a farmer all his life, he knows how to live off the land. If anyone can figure out what we should do next, it's him. Now, please, try to get some sleep. Something tells me that if the weather's really bad tomorrow, we've got a real bad day in store.”
He turns and heads back through to the others, and I realize after a moment that he might be right. Besides, I'm exhausted and in pain, so I haul myself up from the chair and wince slightly as I feel a flicker of pain in my right leg.
“Are you okay?” Craig asks.
“Never better.”
“I hope you don't mind the question,” he continues, “but did you get beaten up recently?”
“I don't mind at all,” I tell him, “and yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”
“Before or after the music went away?”
“After,” I explain. “It was last night, actually. I think I'll be okay, though. Nothing too important seems to be broken.”
With that, I turn and start limping toward the door.
“What was the name of your song?” he asks.
I turn to him, startled by the question.
“Sorry,” he continues, “but I heard Dean telling Sharon that you had some kind of hit song.”
“You wouldn't have heard of it,” I tell him. “It was released before you were born.”
“Try me,” he replies. “I might know.”
“As a matter of fact, it was called Picture in Your Pocket,” I explain. “Three minutes and twenty-eight seconds of the poppiest nonsense you ever heard.”
“I know that song,” he says with a faint smile. “It shows up in TV shows sometimes.”
“That's good,” I reply, “I'm glad someone somewhere is getting some royalties for it.”
“Do you still write songs?”
“I'm more into classical music these days,” I tell him. “Elizabethan is my favorite, the likes of John Dowland. Some of his...”
My voice trails off as I suddenly realize that there's no point explaining. Besides, it's not as if I can go and fetch my guitar to play him some examples, even if he seems genuinely interested. The boy seems keen, however, so I put my lips together and whistle a few bars of Dowland's In Darkness Let Me Dwell. At least I can still whistle a little, although even this is probably being subtracted from whatever musical ability I still possess.
“That's cool,” he says. “That's the first music I've heard in well over a week.”
“Me too,” I reply. “I hope I shan't run out now.”
“Can you play me something when this is all over?” he asks. “If it ever ends.”
“When this is over,” I reply, “I imagine there will be some very special concerts all around the world. And I will certainly get involved in some capacity.”
“I can't wait,” he replies. “Sometimes I see people going nuts without music, and I worry that I might join them. I'm holding it together so far, but it's hard. I really need to hear music soon.”
“Fingers crossed, eh?” I say, before turning and heading out of the room.
The kitchen is mostly empty as I head through to the room in which I am to sleep, although I notice that Jessie is still tapping at her phone. She must have spent all day glued to that thing, and I've barely seen her move from her spot at the table. I tell her that I'll see her in the morning, but she doesn't respond and I doubt that she even heard me. By the time I reach the next room and push the door shut, I feel as if I'm absolutely exhausted. Despite the pain throughout my body, and the thoughts that are rushing through my mind, I think I shall sleep rather well.
Once I have settled on the camp-bed, however, my thoughts turn to poor Sarah, and
I find myself staying awake for hours, reliving the moment of her death over and over again.
Fourteen
Hearing a whispering sound in the dark, I open my eyes and turn to look across the room.
I have no idea of the time, but it's still dark outside as I sit up. I instinctively reach out for a light-switch, before remembering that there's no point. I must have dozed off after thinking about Sarah, but now I'm wide awake and I'm quite certain that I heard somebody whispering close to my ear.
I listen, but all I hear now is silence.
“Hello?” I say cautiously. “Is somebody in here?”
I wait, and I watch the darkness, but there's nothing.
“If somebody's here,” I continue, “I should like very much to get back to sleep.”
Again, I wait.
Perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps the whisper was something that existed merely at that point between sleep and wakefulness. Besides, after everything that has happened over the past few days, I wouldn't be surprised if I start hallucinating and hearing things. Why, it's a miracle that any of us have managed to remain even remotely sane.
Once I'm satisfied that there was no whisper, I settle back down onto the camp-bed and try once more to find a comfortable position.
Almost immediately, however, I hear the whisper again.
Sitting bolt upright, I look yet again into the darkness. Apart from the faint outline of the door, I really can't make out much in this room, and I suppose it's entirely possible that somebody could be lurking nearby. After a moment I look over at the window, and I start to feel as if I'm being watched. I tell myself that this is nonsense, of course, but the feeling persists and finally I get up from the camp-bed, which creaks as it's released from the burden of my weight.
I stare at the window for a moment, and then I take a step forward.
Instantly, I'm hit by a strong sense of hunger. It's as if sheer, uncontrollable hunger has filled my body, and I immediately step back. This doesn't help, however, and I have to steady myself for a moment against the wall. Still the hunger burns through my soul, but I'm starting to realize now that this hunger isn't physical at all. It's as if I'm hungering for something intangible, for something that should be a part of me.
Finally I let out a faint gasp, and I'm forced to sit back down on the edge of the camp-bed.
“Help me,” I whisper as the sense of hunger gets stronger and stronger. “Please, someone...”
For a moment, I start to wonder whether this is the end. Is it possible that after all the extremes of the past few days, not to mention the beating that I endured, perhaps my heart is failing? This strange sensation doesn't feel like a cardiac arrest, but – as I lean back against the wall and struggle for breath – I can't shake the fear that my time is up. I squeeze my eyes tight shut, hoping against hope that I might miraculously recover.
And then, suddenly, I feel a breeze against my face.
Startled, I open my eyes and find that I am no longer in that dark little room. I am on a beach of brilliant orange sand, staring ahead at a calm, tranquil purple sea. Above, a bright sun burns high in an auburn sky, and after a moment I realize I can hear the sound of water lapping against rocks. Turning, I see that the purple sea is pushing against a set of green rocks that rise up from the sand.
Getting to my feet, I realize that the sense of hunger has left me as swiftly as it came.
“What is this place?” I whisper, turning around and seeing that behind me there is a vast green cliff-face. “What -”
Before I can finish, I hear music playing.
I turn and look out toward the sea, and then I realize that the music is coming from just a few paces away. Hanging in mid-air, there is a flickering black line barely a couple of inches wide, with flashing stars twinkling in the heart of a small void.
I step closer, and now it's very clear that the music – which sounds like a simple composition played on a flute – is definitely coming from this strange shape. Instinctively, I reach out to touch the small stars, only to feel the same sense of hunger returning to my body. This time, however, something is different, and I realize after a moment that the hunger is now mixed with a sense of wonder. I stare at the stars for a moment longer, and then – quite inexplicably – I lunge forward and try to bite the sparkling shape.
Of course, I fall straight through and land hard on the orange sand, and then I turn to see that the shape is gone. The music has stopped, too, but I'm stunned for a moment by the realization that I was briefly filled with an urge to try to eat the music.
I must be dreaming.
I get up again and brush the sand from my jacket, but suddenly I hear footsteps. I turn, just in time to see a figure coming this way along the beach. Whoever this fellow is, he's jet-black from top to toe, glistening as if he's covered in some kind of thick oil. His arms and legs seem longer and more gangly that might be possible, and after a moment I realize that the bald head reminds me of the creature that I saw breaking out of Donald's barn.
“Who are you?” I call out, but the creature ignores me and instead stops to peer at the spot where the strange shape previously hung in the air.
I wait, but it's as if the creature has not noticed me.
“What is this place?” I ask, taking a step toward him. “I'm dreaming, aren't I? Tell me that I'm dreaming.”
The creature stares at the empty space for a moment longer, before slowly turning to me.
“This isn't real,” I whisper, before starting to pinch my left hand. “It can't be real. I must be losing my mind. I must be having a stroke or something, right there on that camp-bed. I can only -”
Suddenly the creature's featureless black face begins to change, and I see row upon row of sharp little teeth starting to poke out from beneath the surface. I take another step back, but more and more teeth are appearing until finally the creature's entire body seems to be made of nothing but these dark little shards, all shifting and scraping against one another. And then, just as quickly, the shards turn in on themselves and the creature's body goes back to its former smoothness.
I can't help thinking that I was just warned for getting too close.
“What are you?” I ask, but already I'm feeling more and more certain that I recognize the creature. “Are you... I think I saw you tonight, coming out of the barn. That was you, wasn't it?”
The creature stares at me for a moment, before slowly tilting its head.
I wait, not daring to say another word, until suddenly some more teeth appear on the creature's face.
Stepping back, I realize that the creature is now emitting a brief, repetitive whistling sound, and I finally recognize this as the notes that I whistled when I was talking to Craig.
“What are you doing?” I ask cautiously. “I don't understand.”
Slowly, the creature reaches down and scoops up some of the orange sand. It slips the sand into its face, through a hole that briefly appears, and then it scoops some more sand and holds it out for me.
“I can't eat that,” I reply.
The creature steps closer.
“I can't -”
Suddenly the teeth return, filling the creature's face. Startled, I reach a hand out and take the sand, and I realize that perhaps I have no choice in this matter.
I take a few grains of the sand and slip the into my mouth, and to my surprise I find that they dissolve quickly on my tongue. I'm also surprised to notice that the taste is rather familiar, like...
Eggs.
This strange orange stand tastes like eggs.
“Very nice,” I mutter, “but I really don't know what I'm doing here. Please, you have to help me understand. Is this a dream, or...”
I pause, before reaching down and scooping up a handful of sand myself. As I let the grains run between my fingers, I can't shake the feeling that this all feels so much more real than any dream I've ever experience before. At the same time, I know quite well that a moment ago I was in that dark little room on the
farm, so I suppose the only possible explanation is that I'm going through some kind of neurological episode.
Suddenly the creature steps toward me and reaches out, shoving me hard in the chest and forcing me to take a step back. At the same time, another hole appears on its face – ringed by sharp little teeth – and I hear a harsh, grating rattle coming from somewhere deep within its body.
“What was that for?” I ask. “I don't even know why -”
Before I can finish, the same thing happens again, except that this time the shove is harder and I'm sent splashing back into the purple water.
“I don't know what you want!” I shout, as the rattling sound gets louder and the creature seems to become more agitated. “Can't you speak? Can't you just tell me what's happening?”
The creature stares at me for a moment, or at least I assume that's what it's doing. I can see no obvious eyes, although the dark teeth are now starting to come back to the surface of its body in more and more places. The sense of menace is impossible to ignore, and I'm starting to feel more and more threatened.
“I want to go home!” I say firmly, unable to hide my fear. “Do you hear me? I didn't ask to come to this place, wherever it is, and I demand to go home!”
Suddenly the creature's growl becomes a full-throated roar, and thousands upon thousands of tiny black teeth are now dancing and writhing all across its body like little shark fins that constantly criss-cross against one another.
“I don't know what you are!” I shout, struggling to be heard as the roar gets louder and louder. “I demand that you -”
And then, before I can get another word out, the creature lunges at me and screams, and all the tiny teeth rush toward me through the air. I raise my hands in a futile attempt to protect myself from the swarm, and I fall back and land in the purple water as I feel all those sharp little razor-edged teeth slicing against my body.
Fifteen
Gasping, I open my eyes and sit up, and to my astonishment I find that I'm back on the camp-bed. Grey morning light is streaming through the window, and rain is battering against the glass. A moment later I feel a drip land on my forehead, and when I look up I see that there's a hole in the roof. I must have been dreaming after all, although I still have to look down at my trembling hands to check that I wasn't cut to ribbons by those monstrous teeth.
