by Rick Hautala
“You’re not dying, my dear,“ Arlan said, more firmly now. “But you might have, if I hadn’t retrieved this for you.“
Nearly blinded by the light, I could barely see what he was holding out to me. Then, with a graceful, languid swirl, he waved his arm, and the thing he was holding wafted around him like fine, dark silk. As I watched, absolutely amazed, a smoky, diaphanous shape took form beside him. Arlan shook his arm harder, and the object spread out and slowly assumed a vaguely distorted human shape.
“Devin never should have done what he did,“ Arlan said, his voice rich and melodious, yet also stern. Then he chuckled softly as he let go of the thing he was holding, and it drifted slowly to the floor. I watched in utter amazement as it streamed like ground fog across the hospital floor, rippled up over the edge of the bed, and then slithered underneath me with a cool, shivering touch. For just an instant, a tickling jolt of energy filled me. Then the feeling passed like the memory of a dream.
“I chased him, all the way to the WesternShore, in fact, but I finally caught up with him, and I got it back for you.“ He laughed softly. “And by the look of things, I’d say I got here just in time.“
“I...don’t...understand.“ I knew I was whispering, but already I could feel strength and vitality surging back into my body with a warm tingle.
“I’m afraid he’s been collecting and using shadows for some time, now,“ Arlan said solemnly. “And he apparently doesn’t even care about the harm it’s caused to others. You see, ever since the Sundering, many of us, particularly some members of the Sluagh, have been trying to find ways back. Devin belongs to a small group that calls itself the Shadow Warriors. Some time ago, he and several of his friends became convinced that, if they couldn’t return to Arcadia through the Gates of Dawn, because that door is forever closed to us, then they still might be able to return by constructing a ’shadow bridge’ from this realm to the other.“
I was rolling my head from side to side, surprised that it didn’t hurt so much any longer. I had no idea what he was talking about, and I was sure of only one thing—I could no longer trust what I saw and heard. I couldn’t even trust the solid reality of my own body, lying there on the hospital bed.
“No...I...this doesn’t make any sense,“ I whispered. “I must be dreaming all of this. I’m lying in the hospital dying, and I’m hallucinating you.“
“It’s not a dream, my love,“ Arlan said, his voice ringing with the sweet music of his laughter. “You do have a lot to learn, and even more to accept about the ways of the world and even about yourself and your own fae nature.“
“Fae nature?“
Just as I said this, I glanced over at Phyllis. She was still sitting beside my bed, leaning over me, her face frozen motionless, caught in an expression of rapt attention. Her eyes were wide open, unblinking and staring. Her mouth formed a perfect O. She looked as though she had been turned to stone in the middle of talking to me.
“What is—? How can you—?“ Arlan glanced over his shoulder and cocked his head as though listening to something, then turned back to me.
“I have to go right now, love,“ he said quietly but without the least trace of panic or fear in his voice. “This spell won’t last much longer. But please—don’t worry. I haven’t deserted you, Lisa. I love you, and I’ll come back for you very soon. We have to get you out of here as soon as we can, now, don’t we?“
He laughed again, and his laughter sounded like the pure ringing of tiny silver bells.
“But...tell me. How did you...? How can I be sure any of this is, that you’re real?“
“Look into your heart, Lisa,“ Arlan said. “There’s so much more for you to learn about what happened last night in the forest. And you aren’t the only one Devin has affected. He and his cohorts have been collecting shadows for quite some time, now, convinced that once they have enough, they’ll be able to use them to get back to the Dreaming Lands. Devin has caused a lot of pain and suffering...and death. I—we have to stop him and the others, if we can.“
When Arlan smiled at me, an almost overpowering charge of love and warmth and strength swelled up within me. Tears filled my eyes, blurring my sight of him.
“And don’t you ever forget,“ he said, his voice fading with a muffled reverberation. “I truly love you.“
I started to cry as the shimmering light behind him faded slowly. Tortured emotions swept through me like raging storm winds. This time, however, when I cried I felt...different, somehow.
More real.
Glowing energy, centered in my chest, sent pulsating waves of heat coursing up and down my arms and legs. I was truly beginning to feel like my old self again. The solidity of my body, pressing down against the hospital bed was real, with real substance. Once again, my arms and legs felt like solid masses of muscle, bone, and blood. When I inhaled, the air filled my lungs with an effervescent vitality. I glanced to one side and smiled to see that my arm cast a pale gray shadow across the wrinkled bed sheet.
I wasn’t going to die!
I looked over at Phyllis again and saw her still poised there, staring at me with her mouth open, and deep concern in her eyes. I jerked with surprise when her eyes suddenly blinked, and she continued speaking as though there had been no interruption whatsoever in our conversation.
“No, you’re not dying, Lisa,“ she said.
For just an instant, I confused her words with those exact words Arlan had spoken to me, and I imagined that their two voices blended together into an inexpressible music.
Tilting my head back, I took another, deeper breath, glorying in the sensation of my ribs and lungs expanding. The air was so thick it almost choked me, but I looked over at Phyllis and smiled as broadly as I could.
“No, I...I know I’m not dying,“ I said, surprising even myself with the sudden vigor in my voice. “I was kind of out of it for a while there, wasn’t I?“
Phyllis nodded, looking very skeptical about this sudden change in my behavior.
“You know what?“ I continued. “I think maybe the medication was really messing up my head or something. What was I talking about, anyway?“
“Well,“ Phyllis said, smiling tightly, “the last thing you said, before you shouted out that you were dying, was that Devin had stolen your shadow by nailing it down to a log.“
“Really?“ I snickered with laughter and shook my head. “Boy, I must have been really out of it, but I remember, now, what happened out there in the woods.“
“Do you feel like telling me about it?“ Phyllis asked, frowning slightly.
I nodded and cleared my throat.
“Well, when I started over toward the tent to get some more food, I tripped over the log Devin was sitting on. That’s when I must’ve fallen and hit my head.“
I raised my hand and rubbed the side of my head for emphasis.
Phyllis looked at me, still seeming very concerned but not wanting to show it.
“The ER resident checked you over and didn’t find signs of any injury—no contusions or bumps.“
I shrugged and said, “Well...I do remember that I wasn’t feeling very well all night. I had a terrible headache and didn’t sleep very well. Maybe that’s why I blacked out the next morning, after we’d started up the trail to the peak. But—well, maybe it wasn’t as serious as we all thought. Maybe the altitude or something got me dizzy … an inner ear thing or something.“
“That’s possible, I suppose,“ Phyllis said, still not looking at all convinced. “The physician will have to check you over again before he can release you.“
“Oh, sure. No problem,“ I said, “but do you really think I have to stay here overnight? I’d just as soon go home, as long as the doctor thinks I’m okay. Oh, and by the way...you want to know something?“
Phyllis raised one eyebrow questioningly.
“I’ll bet you anything Arlan will come by real soon now to see me.“
“What makes you so sure of that?“ Phyllis asked.
Befo
re I could answer, Phyllis suddenly shivered and, frowning deeply, glanced over her shoulder to the spot at the foot of the bed where, moments before, Arlan had been standing, bathed from behind by the radiant, white light. Even if it had all been a dream, as crazy as it seemed, it made a lot of sense to me on such a deep level that I couldn’t have explained it if I had tried. Already, I couldn’t remember exactly what Arlan had said—some stuff about ’spells’ and ’fae nature’ and ’the Sundering’ and the Sluagh, whatever that is.
But just like in a dream, they had made sense at the time; and deep inside me, I was positive that soon, now, I’d come to understand all of that and more.
Much more.
Arlan told me I would.
“Oh,“ I said casually, “Just a hunch.“ And then, because there was nothing else for me to do right then except wait, I settled my head back against the pillow and took the deepest, longest breath I could.
Off the Cuff
As he pushed his way through the Christmas shopping mob, Mike Berger was thinking that maybe coming to the Maine Mall hadn’t been such a good idea after all. Everywhere he looked, people were packed, shoulder-to-shoulder, jostling each other, their arms loaded with packages as they scurried from store to store.
And how many of them have bought appliances? ... How many don’t even know? Mike thought with a shiver.
People laughing and talking...Muzak Christmas carols blaring over the P.A. System...the incessant ringing of bells at the Salvation Army coin kettle—everything combined into one gigantic wall of sound that stripped Mike’s nerves raw. His gaze shifted over to the center of the Mall where Santa sat in his “Toy Shop,“ and kids were having their pictures taken with him while he rolled out a steady stream of ho-ho-hos. At ten bucks a whack, Mike figured Santa was going to be able to afford one helluva lot of reindeer feed this winter.
Mike was supposed to be shopping for gifts for Charlene, his wife, and daughter Tracy, but so far—thank God—he had avoided any stores that sold appliances. When he glanced at the wish list Charlene handed him this morning, his brain went numb, like it had been boosted with Novocain. The first thing—the very first goddamned thing on her list—was a microwave oven!
An appliance!
The bitch wanted a microwave oven even after everything he had told her about appliances!
He half-suspected she was doing this on purpose. Maybe she’d been talking to his therapist, and this was some kind of test they’d concocted.
“No way,“ he muttered as he stuffed the list into his jeans pocket. “There’s no way I can go into a store that sells...appliances.“
Mike stopped walking and stood for a moment, immobile in the midst of the noisy throng. He had entered the Mall through the Filene’s Basement store, knowing full well he was safe. The appliance center was on the second floor. The only problem he’d had was getting past the escalator and the desk of registers. He had actually broken out into a run that had alerted store security, and two men and a woman zeroed in on him, tailing him until he left the store.
But so what?
At least he was safe...for now.
His eyes drifted over toward Discland. Maybe he should pick up the handful of CDs Tracy wanted, even though he would never think of going near the stereo system. It was close enough to being an appliance to count. Or maybe he should get each of them a couple of books from Booksmith. Now that’s a safe gift. Or maybe he should just give his wife a gift card and money.
Let her buy her own damned present, even if she chose to get a microwave oven.
But no.
That was too impersonal. And it wasn’t as though he hadn’t warned her.
Lord knows he had.
If she had to learn the hard way, so be it.
Mike was only vaguely aware that he had slipped his left hand up under his coat cuff and placed his fingers on his wrist so he could take his pulse. It was fast-a little too fast, but what could he expect? Here he was, surrounded by appliances!
A light choking sensation gripped his throat, making his pulse quicken just a tad more. He sucked in a breath, held it for a moment, half-expecting the colors and shapes and motion all around him to blur like watercolors left out in the rain. He narrowed his eyes to slits and—thankfully—the sounds retreated to a dull roar. He tried to imagine the sounds were like waves on the ocean, heard from far, far away.
He wanted to start walking again, telling himself to go down to the book store at least until he could calm down, but the backs of his knees felt rubbery, like they were going to fold in on him. He stumbled and almost fell over the fence that corralled Santa’s fake reindeer.
Jesus God, what a klutz! He thought as anxious sweat broke out like fine dew across his face. He rubbed it off onto his jacket sleeve and tried to convince himself that he didn’t really feel a scream building up inside his chest.
Gotta relax... Gotta calm down, he told himself, but it didn’t do much good.
His heart wasn’t in the best shape. Doctor Haringa had told him as much just last week, when he went in for his semi-annual physical. He had been on blood pressure medication for several years, but this...this was different!
This wasn’t just nervousness.
It was panic. The pure, white-light of stark panic.
Maybe, he told himself, it’s just knowing there are all these appliances around me.
He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to regain his composure, but it didn’t work. Even with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, he could feel it, building up inside him like high-pressure steam. His pulse throbbed in his neck like a solid lump that he couldn’t swallow. Before long, it would strangle him. He had a vivid mental image that someone had shoved a bicycle pump down into his lung and was rapidly jerking it up and down, up and down. His ears whooshed like twin trampolines with tiny acrobats bouncing up and down, higher and higher...and higher...and higher.
Sproing... Sproing... Sproing... Opening his eyes, he allowed himself a narrowed view of where he was. In the distance, at the far end of the corridor, was the Deering Ice Cream Store.
“That’s it,“ he whispered in a voice as raw as uncooked meat.
Go down there, sit at the counter, get a glass of water...better yet, make it a root beer float!
His legs threatened to buckle beneath him, but he forced himself to start walking. Just doing something would help.
He was only dimly aware of the crowd, pressing close to him as he fixed his eyes on the distant ice cream store and moved steadily toward it. But with every step forward, the sign seemed to slip further away from him. Looking down at his feet, he had the sudden unnerving sensation that the floor was tilting back, and his shoes were slipping on oil. Like an out-of-control skater, no matter how firmly he tried to plant his feet in front of him, he slid back, away from his goal. The scream bottled up inside him filled his throat with a thick, sour taste.
But finally, with a great effort that practically tore his leg muscles, he saw that he was making progress. He was moving fast and, before he could stop himself, he walked right into the restaurant’s glassed front window. Two teenaged boys loitering in front of the store burst with laughter that burned Mike’s ears. He paid no attention to the long line of customers as he barged through the crowd and made his way to the counter.
Mike gasped and leaned forward, clinging to the counter so hard it pressed against his belly like a blunt knife-edge. Sweat broke out across his brow, and he tried to take a breath but couldn’t. The pimply, overweight teenager at the cash register watched him with a mixture of amazement and fear.
“Hey, buddy! End of the line!“ someone behind him shouted.
“Yeah—wait for your own goddamned turn!“
“Watch your language!“ a woman said. “There are children present,“ but a chorus of protests continued behind him.
Mike ignored them as he tried to force his lips to form words. All he wanted was a cup of water. He could picture a huge paper cup, filled to the top with ice cubes
and water so cold condensation beaded on the sides. He could imagine how good it was going to feel as it slid like a mountain stream down his throat.
Redemption... Salvation! His mind shrieked, but just as the word “water“ was crawling up his throat and onto his tongue, a sudden, high-speed whirring sound filled his ears like the angry snarl of a chain saw.
Mike staggered away from the counter, only dimly aware what it was. Someone behind the counter was making a frappe. The whining sound of the mixer’s blades rose to power drill intensity, skewering a clean, bullet sized hole in both of Mike’s ears.
He’s doing that on purpose, Mike thought, stifling a scream as he turned and looked wide-eyed at the young man making the frappe. Bouncing off the people around him, Mike lurched backwards with little chopping steps until he hit the wall. One of the metal coat hooks caught him in the back of the head, sending a bright bolt of pain down his neck. But the pain was nothing...nothing compared to the fear that spiraled inside his head.
“That’s right. Back of the line,“ someone said, but the words were less than a whisper, echoing down a long, dark canyon.
Another damned appliance, Mike thought. That’s what’s doing it to me. Not the kid. They know... They all know I’m on to them.
The image of a tall cup of cold water had long since evaporated from his mind. Through the roaring fury inside his head, all Mike could think about was the innumerable times appliances had done this to him. The computers at work...the electric can opener Charlene had gotten for her birthday (certainly not from him!)...the power lawn mowers every damn one of his neighbors used on their postage stamp-sized lawns...even the low threshold sounds the toaster, the automatic coffee maker, and the electric oven...all of the appliances were trying to get into his mind, trying to drive him insane. He knew they would destroy him first, and then they’d destroy everyone else in the world! For how many years, now, had he been trying to warn people about the danger they posed, but no one would listen to him!
