Dream Stalkers

by Tim Waggoner

  “My ticket’s legit, I swear!”

  The voice that came out of his beak was an exaggerated stereotype of a Brooklyn accent, the kind you’d hear in a comedy movie from the 1930s or 40s.

  The Conductor did nothing. The train didn’t move.

  Beads of sweat broke out on Rooster-Head’s cockscomb.

  “I would never try to cheat you with a fake ticket,” he said. “Seriously! I mean, who would be stupid enough to do that?” He added a nervous, dry-throated, and thoroughly unconvincing chuckle.

  The Conductor began walking now, heading down the corridor toward Rooster-Head, one deliberate footstep at a time.

  Rooster-Head began clucking softly as the Conductor approached. When the Conductor was within five feet of him, Rooster-Head stood up abruptly and pulled a gun from where he’d kept it tucked against the small of his back. He trained the weapon – which looked like a standard Earth Glock – on the Conductor and then flicked his ersatz ticket toward him.

  “All right, so what if my ticket’s phony? What are you going to do about it?”

  The Conductor stopped and stood motionless once more. I had the impression he was regarding the freeloading passenger, perhaps trying to come to a decision. He then raised one of his arms – or maybe I should say sleeves – and pointed it toward Rooster-Head. There was a sudden whooshing sound, and Rooster-Head was yanked off his feet and flew toward the Conductor. His body seemed to lengthen and narrow, almost becoming fluid as it streaked toward the Conductor, entered his empty sleeve, and disappeared. The wind died down, and after a moment the Conductor lowered his arm. He turned and walked slowly back to the front of the car before turning around once more to face us.

  The car was dead silent for several seconds after that, but then Jinx grinned and said, “When I grow up, I want your job!”

  The Conductor raised his arm again and then, so swiftly did it happen that I might’ve imagined it, a hand – a gray, pebble-skinned hand – appeared at the end of the sleeve to give Jinx a thumbs-up. And then it was gone.

  The Conductor lowered his arm, and then the Loco-Motive finally began to move.

  * * * * *

  Because of the circuitous route the Loco-Motive takes as it traverses the Rings, the trip to Deadlock would take several hours, so we settled into our seats and did our best to pass the time. None of us could sleep, so napping wasn’t an option. We hadn’t brought anything to read, except Jinx, who pulled a copy of Autopsy Monthly from one of his pockets. I thought Russell was going to lose his buffet dinner when Jinx showed him the centerfold.

  Back when I was a trainee, I’d once asked Nathaniel why Deadlock had been built so far from the center of Nod. I thought having the prison closer to the Rookery would’ve made prisoner transport a lot easier.

  “You’ve seen how chaotic and dangerous Incubi can be as they go about their everyday lives. Imagine what Incubi criminals are like. It’s best to keep them as far away from everyone else as possible, and, if that means we officers have to put up with a long train ride now and then, it’s a small enough price to pay.”

  Jinx giggled as he flipped through his magazine, and more than a few passengers got up in search of different seats in other cars. Bloodshedder closed her eyes and allowed her chin to drop to her chest. She might be incapable of sleeping, but she could do a damn good imitation of it. Mordacity had the window seat, and he kept his eyeless sockets pointed at the world outside, no doubt keeping watch for any sign of trouble. He’d have had a fit if either Jinx or I had taken a window seat, given that there were assassins gunning for us, but he had chosen his seat without hesitation. That was Mordacity, always thinking of others before himself. Then again, when you have a body covered with bone armor, you can afford to make yourself a target, I suppose.

  “Have you ever seen anything like those weapons the assassins used?” I asked Russell.

  “Nope. Whatever they are, they’re pretty damned effective, though. Scary, too. It’s like that black energy just bores right through flesh and bone, disintegrating it.”

  “More like unmaking it,” I said. “I’ll tell Sanderson about the weapons the next time Jinx and I report in.”

  “And I’ll inform my bosses. If someone starts mass producing those things…”

  I shuddered. “I don’t want to think about it.”

  “So, you and Jinx have been offered New York,” Russell said.

  I sighed. “Does everyone in Nod know?”

  Russell smiled. “You two are famous now, and people gossip about celebrities.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, well, just wait until the next time we screw up. That’ll be the end of our celebrity status.”

  “Sounds like someone has esteem issues. Is that why you’re reluctant to go to New York? Because you shouldn’t be. You and Jinx might not be the most orthodox officers that the Shadow Watch has ever seen, but you’re both tough as nails and you get the job done. New York would be lucky to have you.”

  I don’t handle praise well, so I just said, “Thanks.” After a moment, I added, “I honestly don’t know what my problem is about New York. Jinx – Day Jinx, that is – would love living there.”

  “Me too!” Night Jinx chimed in. “It’s bigger than Chicago, which means there’s lots more stuff to destroy!” He went back to reading Autopsy Monthly after that. He turned the page and began chuckling. I did not want to know what he found amusing in that magazine.

  “Maybe I just need more time to get used to the idea,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Russell agreed.

  I glanced at Jinx, then I turned back to Russell. “I need to talk to him for a few minutes.”

  Russell nodded. I got up, tapped Jinx on the shoulder, and gestured for him to follow me. He put away his magazine – rather reluctantly, I thought – got up, and followed me toward the rear of the car. There were some empty seats there now, and we took a couple of them.

  Only one passenger besides us remained, and he sat all the way in the back of the car. He was a humanoid version of some sleek, black-and-white fur-covered animal. A weasel or ferret, I guessed. He wore a blue one-piece track suit, the kind that zips up in the middle, but his feet were bare. Considering their inhuman shape and size – not to mention the claws jutting from the toes – I could see where he’d have a hard time finding shoes to fit him. His finger-claws were even more impressive. They were each a foot-and-a-half long, and they appeared to be formed from a crystalline substance that gleamed in the train car’s fluorescent lights. The claws tapered to wickedly sharp points, and I wondered how he was going to get into Deadlock with them. Visitors aren’t permitted to carry weapons, and his were built in. Maybe the prison had an industrial-strength nail clipper.

  The creature’s face was a twisted distortion of a ferret’s, with overlarge eyes that were a deep, disturbing red, wide flaring nostrils, and a mouthful of yellow teeth that were larger, longer, and sharper than a real ferret’s. Normally, he would’ve come across as frightening and intimidating – even to someone as used to Incubi as I was. But he sat hunched in his seat, whiskers quivering, eyes darting back and forth nervously, scraping his finger-claws together with soft shssk-shssk-shssk sounds. He glanced at us now and again, but I didn’t get the sense he was afraid of us. He didn’t appear to be overly fond of sharing a car with Jinx, but then who would? Being enclosed in a tight space with a psychotic clown isn’t exactly comfort-making.

  I wasn’t especially concerned that Ferret-Face might be an assassin sent to attack us. Sure, he had the equipment to do the job. Those claws of his looked deadly as hell. But a professional assassin wouldn’t look like he was constantly on the verge of a panic attack. Unless his nervousness was just an act to disguise the fact that in truth he was a stone-cold killer.

  I looked at him again and saw he’d started gnawing at the claws on his right hand.

  If his nervousness was a disguise, it was the best I’d ever seen.

  I had a good idea what he was afraid of, and I didn’t bl
ame him one bit. I wasn’t looking forward to it either.

  I ignored Ferret-Face and spoke to Jinx. “You want to tell me what’s going on with this ‘Are you clown enough?’ thing?” I asked. “You know we switched bodies when you were in Misery Loves Company.”

  “Yeah,” he smiled. “Mmmm, beets.”

  My stomach did a flip at the mere mention of the word. “Nice try, but you’re not going to distract me like that.”

  Jinx didn’t say anything more for the next several moments, but then he let out a long, defeated sigh.

  “Did you know that I’m the first clown to serve in the Shadow Watch?” he said.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Clowns are one of the most frightening nightmare archetypes. Everybody hates clowns, right? We have a certain image to maintain: scary, psychotic, dangerous…”

  “Seems to me you do just fine in all those departments.”

  “Maybe by human standards. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “Sure, I’m crazier than a shithouse rat, and I take pride in making some of the biggest and baddest Incubi mess their undies when I laugh. But, ultimately, I’m still a good guy, fighting on the side of the angels and all that. It doesn’t sit well with the others.”

  “The Unholy Fools.”

  He nodded. “They’re the nightmare clown organization. As much creatures of chaos can ever get organized, that is. They’d rather I quit the Watch and rampage through the streets of Nod like the rest of them. Actually, they’d probably like to see my head hanging from the ceiling of Misery Loves Company even more. And, if I keep on being a good guy, they’ll make it happen.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d created Jinx, or at least my subconscious had. But once he’d come into existence, he was his own being, able to make his own choices. Still, I couldn’t help feeling that I’d steered him toward a career with the Shadow Watch. We were both recruited, but I’d been the one interested in joining. I’d had to convince Jinx by telling him how much havoc he’d be able to wreak as a law officer. At the time, I’d thought I was helping to channel his violent nature toward something positive. Now I wondered if I hadn’t done him a disservice, like trying to turn a tiger into a vegetarian.

  Before I could say anything more, a loud alarm bell began ringing in the car. I knew the same alarm was sounding in each of the passenger cars. The Conductor hadn’t moved since the train began rolling, and, when I say he hadn’t moved, I mean he was statue-still, even when the train went through a curve or hit a bumpy spot on the tracks. But now he turned and opened the door between our car and the engine. He closed the door behind him, and, since there was no window in it, I didn’t see him enter the engine. No one knows if there’s an engineer driving the Loco-Motive or if the machine drives itself. Whichever the case, I knew one thing: the Loco-Motive was preparing to enter the Murk.

  It’s always night in Nod, even if that night is only a simulation of the real thing back on Earth. But, when you reach the outskirts of the Cesspit, it begins to get even darker. The stars in the Canopy fade until you can’t see them any longer, and the darkness becomes more than just the absence of light. It’s a thing unto itself, with weight and solidity, a dense black expanse of Something Awful. What little light there was outside the train began to dim, and machinery whirred as metal panels descended to cover the windows. We were unable to see outside anymore, but I knew what happened next. The Loco-Motive’s headlight came on, sending a bright yellow beam lancing into the darkness before us. Additional running lights on the sides, tops, and even the bottoms of the cars activated, wreathing the train in a protective nimbus of illumination. The Loco-Motive’s engine had been relatively silent during the trip so far, but now it began to thrum as it increased its speed. If you want to survive a journey through the Murk, the best way to do it is to haul some serious ass.

  There was another reason the Loco-Motive needed to pick up speed. If it wasn’t going fast enough, it wouldn’t make it across the Rimline. The borders between Oldtown, Newtown, and the Cesspit are open, and you can pass between them at any point with ease. But the Rimline is more than just a demarcation – it’s a barrier created and maintained by the Unwakened to keep the things that dwell in the Murk from invading the rest of Nod. Although the Rimline isn’t visible, it’s a solid wall of psychic force, and only one object can penetrate it: the Loco-Motive, and then only if it’s traveling fast enough. No one knows for certain how the Loco-Motive can cross the Rimline. Some say the Unwakened give it special dispensation. Others say it has something to do with the train’s cowcatcher; that it’s made of some special substance that allows the Loco-Motive to punch a hole through the barrier and zoom through before the breach can seal itself.

  “I love this part!” Jinx shouted, his face as eager as that of a roller-coaster enthusiast about to plunge over the top of the highest hill in amusement park history.

  I ran back to my original seat, the engine’s rumbling increasing in volume and pitch until it was a near-deafening shriek. The alarm continued sounding as we drew near the Rimline, and Russell and I put our feet against the seatbacks in front of us and grabbed hold of them with one hand. Our other hands intertwined without our really thinking about it, but I was glad. If you’re about to die a horrible death by slamming full speed into a psychic wall of force, it’s nice to have someone to hold hands with as you’re smashed to jelly.

  Jinx stood sideways in the center aisle, knees bent, arms stretched out, as if he were surfing. Bloodshedder hunkered down in her seat and curled up into a ball, like an armadillo. Mordacity didn’t do anything. He just sat stoically and waited.

  I knew when the Loco-Motive hit the Rimline, because the train slowed with an abrupt jolt, knocking us forward. It lurched from side to side, as if veering off the tracks. The Loco-Motive began to slow, even though its engine was screaming louder than ever as it strained against the barrier. And then, just as the train came to a full stop, there was a silent popping sensation, a feeling of release as the Rimline gave way, and the train shot forward, slamming us back into our seats. A few moments later the Loco-Motive’s speed leveled off, and, while it was still traveling fast, it was no longer going all-out hell for leather. The alarm stopped sounding at that point and the engine shriek died down somewhat, although it didn’t return to its more quiet cruising speed.

  This passage through the Rimline was no different than the others I’d made – except for holding hands with Russell, of course. We’d managed to remain in our seats, and, while my neck was a little sore, I didn’t think I’d sustained whiplash. Mordacity and Bloodshedder made it through fine, but Jinx had lost his footing and had bounced around the car like a giant pinball covered in clown-white makeup. He was now shoved up against the car’s rear door, ass over teakettle. He rolled into a standing position, and, while he had some fresh cuts, scrapes, and burgeoning bruises, he looked like he’d survive. He walked back toward his seat, doing his best to straighten the tattered remnants of his jacket.

  “That was fun,” he said, as he sat behind Russell and me once more. “Now comes my second favorite part of the trip.”

  The metal panels still covered the windows so we couldn’t see outside and, more importantly, so the things out there couldn’t see in. Over the sound of the train engine, thumping noises could be heard, as if something heavy struck the car, many somethings, coming from all directions.

  “What’s that?” Russell asked.

  He still held onto my hand, but I wasn’t about to draw his attention to it. I didn’t want to scare him off by making a big deal about holding hands. But then his question sank in, and I frowned.

  “Have you ever been in the Murk before?” I asked.

  “Nope. Never been to the Edgelands, either. Never had a reason to, until now.”

  Bloodshedder had uncurled and sat up in her seat once more. Next to her, Mordacity turned to face Russell and answered his question before I could.

  “Those noises are caus
ed by the Dark Ones,” he said.

  “Darkuns,” Jinx corrected.

  Mordacity sighed. He detested anything approaching slang.

  The Dark Ones – or Darkuns, as they’ve come to be called over the centuries – are primitive, savage Incubi created from the deepest, darkest part of the human subconscious. Amorphous shadow creatures that can alter their shape at will, once they come into existence, the first thing they do is devour their Ideators, merging with them. Because of this, they never Fade. They continue existing decade after decade, century upon century, never aging, never weakening. And they live for one thing only: to feed. When people say they’re afraid of the dark, it’s these Incubi that they’re talking about, even if they don’t realize it.

  If the Unwakened hadn’t created the Rimline to keep the Darkuns separate from the rest of Nod, they’d have slaughtered everyone – Incubus and Ideator alike – long ago. Darkuns are incredibly difficult to kill, so, whenever one is created, the Shadow Watch hunts it down, captures it, brings it to Nod, and takes it to the Murk to release it. Some say the Murk is so thick because it’s filled with so many Darkuns. Others say the Darkuns give off darkness, the same way some creatures on Earth give off bioluminescence.

  Russell frowned. “I’d heard Darkuns can’t stand light, and the train’s got lights all over it. How can they get close enough to attack?”

  “They don’t,” I said. “They break off pieces of themselves and hurl them like rocks. They’re trying to break the lights so they can get closer.”

  The thumping noises had increased while we spoke, and now it sounded as if the train was traveling through a storm of softball-sized hail.

  “And if they do break enough lights,” Jinx said, grinning, “then they can get in.”

  “Don’t sound so excited by the prospect,” Mordacity said. “If the Dark Ones gained entrance to this car, we wouldn’t last long.”