Harbinger Island

by Dorian Dawes

  The creature rushed forwards, claws outstretched. Veronika held out her fingers and shrieked another spell. A burst of supernatural speed filled her and she fled from the car before the monstrous thing would surely have eviscerated her. The windshield shattered from the force of its blow, but by that point Veronika was already fleeing into the cornfields, one arm tightly curled about Yiggie to keep the small spirit safe.

  Veronika only looked over her shoulder briefly. There was no sign of the creature by the car. It was following her and she had no idea where it could be. She could only pray that her spells would help her outrun it. She'd never faced anything that strong before. To fight it head-on would be suicide.

  Corn stalks brushed past her face as she fled, slapping her cheeks and leaving sharp little stings. She thought she saw a flicker of movement to her right and almost screamed. The beast was drawing closer; she could hear its snarling and heavy breathing. Its face neared and its massive bloody tongue hung out of its mouth, bitten tightly between yellow teeth.

  She ran until she came to another dirt road where a strange white light shone with no discernible source, like the spotlight on a stage. Several feet away, she could see a red door like that from the hotel. On either side stood Rosie: one grim and dour with graying skin and a star tattoo on her right cheek, the other fresh-faced and smiling with the star tattoo on her left. They had their hands outstretched towards her.

  "Hurry," both Rosies said in unison.

  Veronika rushed towards them. She yanked the door open and made one last look behind her. The creature was there, large and looming and walking about on all fours like some form of animal. It let forth that terrifying dissonance of static and screams, and charged.

  Both Rosies stood in front of her, locking hands. Veronika turned her head away and rushed through the door. She slammed it shut and collapsed against it, panting heavily. Somehow, she found herself back inside her hotel room.

  It was only after taking several deep breaths that she looked down to check on the unconscious serpent lying against her arm. Her mouth fell open as she worriedly rushed over to her bed and laid Yiggie against the soft blankets. She began hurriedly whispering healing incantations under her breath while gently prodding at the bruised areas on its body. Little by little, as positive energy washed over the familiar, it stirred, slowly opening its eyes.

  "Flesh-thing …" Yiggie's voice came small and quiet. "That creature …"

  "It's gone for now," Veronika assured it in a gentle tone. "It's okay."

  "We know what it was, and we are afraid."

  "What is it?"

  Yiggie remained quiet for a moment curling up and looking around the room worriedly. "A familiar … like us, but not like us. Changed. Wrong. Altered."

  "Do you think it was Eileen's?" Veronika's brow furrowed.

  If a snake could shrug, that's what Yiggie did with its coils. "But who else? Though this is also worrisome. Without a master, a familiar returns once more to its original plane."

  Veronika's eyes narrowed. "Eileen isn't dead."

  "Not completely, anyway. Part of her is at least alive enough to keep that creature here …" Yiggie murmured.

  Veronika sighed. "All right. We'll worry about that later. Come on, let's get cleaned up. I'm wet and cold and in need of a change of clothes."

  She scooped the familiar off the bed and held it close to her chest as she marched to the bathroom.

  * * *

  There was a knock on her door again the next morning. At first, Veronika thought it might be Rosie; she was surprised to see Donovan there with a tow-truck instead. He was smartly dressed in a button-up plaid shirt tucked into his jeans. There were bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, though he seemed full of a renewed vigor.

  "Hey, sorry to wake you, but Rosie said you needed to get your car picked up and I don't have too much time today, so I thought I'd get you up early," he said.

  Veronika shrugged. "Yeah, no problem. I'm gonna get dressed and shit and then I'll be good to go. Thanks, by the way."

  "No problem," Donovan said. "I already owed Rosie a favor."

  Veronika dressed quickly and pulled her long hair back to keep it out of her eyes. She didn't bother with any makeup so figured she looked a mess when she walked out of the door; jeans and a t-shirt were a far cry from her usual ornate gothy get-up.

  "You look more like the locals now," he teased as she climbed into the side of the rusty tow-truck.

  "I don't think this town could handle me when I'm fully done-up," she said. "Everyone would probably explode and the local church would spontaneously combust."

  Donovan shook his head. "Can't. Already happened last year. People still think it might have been arson. Insurance fraud, most likely."

  "Noted."

  He gave her enough time to buckle her seatbelt then pulled out the parking lot. The thing clanked and sputtered noisily and every slight bump almost jolted her ass right off the uncomfortable, torn-leather seats. She noticed he was taking the back-ways through town, avoiding any main roads.

  "Nice truck," she said, attempting to break the silence. "Another thing of Big Harv's?"

  "Yeah, sometimes we get a call and Dad has me take it out to help people out," Donovan said. "We're kind of the only auto place here so we get around. About the only way we can afford to stay in business, really. Anyway, you're a witch, right?"

  Veronika's shoulders tensed. "Who told you that?"

  He shrugged. "I've been doing research on the supernatural stuff around the island, and corresponding with this professor in Wakefield. Least I was until about a week ago."

  "Lemme guess, Bartleby?"

  "That's him. How'd you know?"

  "Local kook, gets around, but he's forgotten more stuff about the occult than you and I will probably ever know."

  "He was nice enough. Real helpful. Willing to investigate my case. I'm kind of worried about him, though."

  Veronika sighed. "Lot of people are. He up and left Wakefield one day without telling anyone. Kind of like me, I guess. So what were you and the professor talking about?"

  "Well, since you're all witchy and you have powers and shit, I'm sure you've noticed there's something weird about Rosie, right?"

  "Like how there's two of her?" Veronika held two fingers in the air. "Probably not a twin, I'm assuming, right?"

  "Definitely not. Well, there's another me … kind of? See, sometimes I'm me, and sometimes I'm … her." Donovan trailed off; he looked rather deep in thought. "She looks like me and I think is me, somewhat. But she's beautiful, and she's dressed real nice, and she doesn't put up with other people's shit."

  Veronika stared. "She sounds great?"

  He gave her a sideways look. "Don't be an ass. It's as confusing to me as it probably sounds to you. The professor had one theory, though. There were apparently magic users on this island several years back who thought that they could open up rifts to other worlds at locations on the island where the boundaries between them were weakest."

  "You think that the boundary here is so thin that you're in touch with one of your other selves?" Veronika mused.

  "It'd explain a lot, don't you think?" He said. "Like how there's two Rosies … and sometimes I'm a pretty girl named Donna."

  "There's another possibility," Veronika said. "You ever think you might be transgender, or gender-fluid? Not everything has to have a supernatural explanation."

  He fell quiet. "I have to think on that one. Though the other one? She's real, and she's been with me for a long time."

  She looked out the window. They were finally getting out of town and into cornfield territory. "Why are you telling me this?"

  Donovan looked hurt. "I was hoping you would understand, maybe? I can't contact Bartleby now, seems like, and I've got nobody else to talk about this stuff with. Like, I'm sure there's other people around here who know about the weird shit and the magic, but nobody wants to admit it."

  Veronika remembered Roxanne's reaction at the dine
r to the suicide story. People had a similar way of looking at things back in Wakefield. You had to be blind to not notice all the murders and the horror throughout the island, but people found it easier to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary. For them, magic was still the stuff of fairytales and they liked it that way.

  "Maybe I don't want to talk about it," Veronika said. "I mean … how much do you know of what goes on in this town, or even on this island?"

  Donovan shrugged. "No more than what I've discussed with Bartleby, and I think he's tried to keep me in the dark about some of it as much as possible. He only shared what I think he felt I needed to know."

  "All right," Veronika said. "You want to talk about it, then let's talk about it. Once upon a time there was a witch, and she was a mom. She found other moms who were witches and they formed a little coven. This witch and her coven took their own kids to a little house a short way from town where nobody would find them. They kept them there and abused and tortured them for weeks, until one of them died. That was too much for the other witch mommies.

  "So the witches turned on their leader and killed her and took their kids back. They disbanded the coven and raised their kids so that nobody would ever know the horrible things they did. One little girl grew up and then she remembered. She remembered every fucking horrible thing that her mother did to her, and the memory destroyed their relationship.

  "She went to her mother's while she slept and placed a curse on her, a horrible, horrible curse that would paralyze her and then eventually kill her. That's how angry she was. That's how violent she was willing to get in order to make her own mother pay for what she'd done.

  "Welcome to the magic of Harbinger Island, Donovan. It's a lot of backbiting witches and wizards. Cults and conspiracies, and a whole lot of fucking dead people."

  Donovan stared at her with eyes full of sympathy and horror. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that happened to you."

  "That's what I've got to deal with," Veronika snapped. "Not exactly the most pleasant of topics for me, so forgive me if I'm not prone to discussions."

  "If it's any consolation," he said in a quiet voice. "I kind of know a little bit of what you've been through."

  "I really don't see how that's possible." She wrinkled her nose and looked out the window.

  "My dad beat me for as long as I could remember," Donovan said softly. "Well, last night Donna decided she'd had enough. She'd ordered a pretty dress in the mail and when Dad came home and found me wearing it, he tried to hit me again. Donna was ready though. She took his gun from the cabinet and shot him before he could even lay a hand on us. We spit on him as he lay bleeding out at our feet. That's why I'm leaving town, before the police figure it out and come looking for me."

  "I am such an asshole," Veronika said after a minute of stunned silence.

  Donovan couldn't help but start laughing. "Yeah, you are. It's all right though. I mean, it's not, but you get it."

  "Fuck," Veronika said. "Jesus fucking Christ, do you need help or anything? I mean, I think I know of a few spells that can help clean up a crime scene if you need it."

  He shook his head. "Rosie told me she'd take care of everything, but I'm not taking any chances. I'm getting off this island."

  "You're better off then. Get out of this awful place." She sighed. "You seem to be handling yourself fine."

  "I am this morning," he admitted. "Last night though, it felt like I was the one who'd been shot. I couldn't help but imagine that it was me lying in a puddle of my own blood on the floor like that. That's not even the scariest bit, though. When I thought about it, about part of me lying cold and dead there, I kind of liked it. Fucked up, right?"

  "Depends?" Veronika mused. "Was it a part of yourself you wanted to kill off?"

  "Hell if I know." He pointed directly ahead. "Is that your car?"

  Veronika's car was coming into view. They could see the smashed windshield from here. The front door had been torn from its hinges, and the front and back had been smashed so badly it looked almost as if two other cars had smashed into it from both ends. Veronika jumped out of the truck and stood in stunned silence, staring at the wreckage.

  Donovan whistled. "What happened here?"

  "One pissed off familiar," Veronika said, glowering.

  * * *

  Rosie looked up from the lobby counter to see three men standing before her. She furrowed her brow. The bell on the door should have rung when they entered. The hair on her arms began to stand. Her other had mentioned these men to her in passing.

  Each of the men had an ancient, withered appearance, with frazzled white hair and liver spots along their necks and the sides of their cheeks. By contrast, they were sharply dressed in black suits and shiny black shoes and fashionably thin sunglasses. Most telling and garish were the gold-yellow neckties they each wore. They saw the look of dawning horror on her face and each parted their mouths into a wide gaping smile.

  "Hail Carcosa," the short one in the middle said.

  The others repeated his words in soft, solemn voices. Rosie clamped her mouth shut. She leaned underneath the desk and retrieved a small item. It was an amulet bearing the insignia of a snarling three-headed dog. The three men looked upon it and laughed.

  "Put away your charms and talismans," the short one said, stepping forward. He held his arms out in a non-threatening gesture. "We are only here to clean up a mess."

  "What do you want in my hotel?" Rosie snapped, still holding the amulet forwards, her arm shaking. "Doesn't the Syndicate have its sights set on Oakridge?"

  "Our business is everywhere." He shrugged and sighed. "Specifically, we are here about the man who was murdered in one of your very rooms. He was one of our own, and did something incredibly stupid, I'm afraid. Do you know who he talked to when he last came into town?"

  "Afraid not. I don't much like prodding into other people's affairs," Rosie said. Her face looked determined, even though every part of her was shaking.

  "Oh, we both know that's a whole lot of hooey," the man in the yellow tie said, then giggled in a shrill, high-pitched manner. "Though I suppose for now, I'll have to believe you. You do have a tradition of remaining tactfully neutral in these affairs, and I respect that."

  He shrugged his shoulders and turned away. The other two men followed suit. Rosie sighed as she watched them head out of the lobby single-file. Her heart was racing.

  "On another note though …" He stopped inside the doorway, staring at the ground intently.

  Rosie's entire body seized up. She looked from the desk to see him suddenly standing inches in front of her, smiling wickedly. She could see over the tip of his sunglasses to the shining yellow eyes burning with cruelty and hate.

  "One of our own did die on your watch, and that is bad business," he said, his voice taking on a hissing, menacing quality. "We're going to need payment for that."

  Rosie's mouth fell open. He continued to laugh hoarsely as her body was overcome with spasms. Black viscous liquid drooled out of her open mouth, staining the collar of her shirt. She collapsed against the front of the counter, heaving and shaking. The black sludge made a nasty stain, running down the front of her desk as she continued to vomit profusely. The other Rosie stood in the corner of the lobby watching silently, fists clenched.

  "That was unnecessary," she said in a grim tone. "She was all the light and warmth we had left."

  He gave the other Rosie a condescending little grin. "Well then, that'll teach you to take better care of other people's things. You break something of mine, and I break something of yours."

  Another Rosie appeared behind him. "We think you should leave."

  He took a look around the room. He was instantly surrounded by three new Rosies, each standing before him as if they'd always been there. The man raised his liver-spotted hands in surrender. His wretched smile never left.

  "Is it that time of the month or something?" he chuckled meanly. "All right, I'm leaving."

  Then he was gone, as wer
e the other Rosies. Only one remained to look sadly over her other self. Her face awash with grief, Rosie slowly knelt at the corpse of her innocence. She wept tearlessly.

  The Boy with the Golden Eye

  There were only a few people Justin really trusted. The members of his band, Kara and Helena, and probably Professor Bartleby. None of them answered their phones that day. None of the messages he sent via Facebook or Twitter were even looked at. He posted a cry for help on his blog, demanding that someone out there acknowledge his existence. It was a day when he reached out in his desperation and clutched at empty air.

  He couldn't know, of course, that on that particular day, Helena was investigating a supernatural occurrence at Blackerly House, or that later the same day, Kara would come face to face with a literal ghost from her past. Certainly none of them could possibly glimpse what their poor former history professor was experiencing in the town of Oakridge. Even still, he couldn't get angry or bitter; it was reasonable to expect they'd have their own lives and issues to sort out. Didn't stop the feelings of isolation and abandonment from creeping in, the anxiety that whispered past all logic and reason.

  That night at the barn, he'd felt closer to his little family than ever. They'd experienced a single evening of pain and terror and somehow emerged alive. Emotions had run high, of course, but after that, everything kind of fell apart. Bartleby vanished, and so far as he knew, Kara and Helena had all but stopped talking. The only thing he had left to remind him such a night had even existed was the new unnaturally gold color of his left eye; another by-product of his brush with otherworldly evil.

  At first, he'd considered wearing an eye-patch to cover the thing up and pretend to have suffered an injury, but then decided that'd be drawing too much attention to it. He found it generally easier to pretend he was wearing a colored contact lens. The eye was the least of his concerns.