Nightmare Valley

by David Longhorn

  “I'll let you file the report on this one,” said Jim.

  “I'll make sure you get plenty of credit for your contribution,” Denny said, smiling wryly. She took out her phone. “Okay, let's get this location pinned.”

  “You're not just going to dive straight through, then?” asked Jim.

  “Watch that tone, mister, or I might just do that,” Denny warned, only half-joking.

  Jim looked suitably abashed.

  Remembering when she went through and he stayed behind, recalling her first foray into the Phantom Dimension.

  “I'll try and prepare a bit better this time,” she said, in a softer tone. “And I'll need your help.”

  Denny finished noting the location on her phone's mapping app and they set off back to the vehicle. Denny had to stifle several yawns, then gave up.

  “We could all do with some sleep,” Jim commented. “Big day tomorrow, apparently.”

  “You really think that pendant will protect you?” asked Wakefield.

  “Your ancestor, the wise woman, gave them to the soldiers who served in the First World War,” Denny said.

  She gave them a potted version of Pelham's diary and her theory that the talisman's powers somehow involved the clash of different sets of 'natural laws'.

  “That's one for the eggheads,” Jim commented sourly. “Sounds like Gould's quantum double-talk. Gives me a headache.”

  Wakefield's response was more thoughtful.

  “So they traded something powerful and dangerous for human infants,” he mused. “And this went on for centuries?”

  “Yeah,” Denny said, “but remember, time flows much faster here. So to them it might have been a short-term arrangement.”

  “Yes!” Wakefield said, now sounding intrigued. “Different physics, different time flow, and strange materials with variable properties.”

  Jim groaned.

  “Oh God, my brain hurts! And I've got to drive all the way back to bloody Hereford.”

  “You could stay at my place,” Wakefield said, surprising the others. “After all, we don't know whether those creatures will come back.”

  “Okay,” Jim said. “Save time tomorrow, I suppose. Yeah, why not?”

  This could be the beginning of a fine bro-mance, thought Denny, trying not to smile.

  ***

  “I doubt they will try again tonight,” said Jim, from his position slumped on Wakefield's couch. “Great booze, by the way. Better not have too much, though. Stay alert and all that.”

  “Yeah,” said the doctor.

  He was gazing out onto the moonlit valley again.

  Poor bastard, Jim thought. If I'd been through what he's suffered, I'd have lost it well before now.

  “So, what was this about a legend Denny was talking about?” he asked

  He asked mainly to distract Wakefield from brooding. Jim had heard many folk stories and fairy tales that might – at a pinch – be linked to the Interlopers.

  This one is probably just the usual old guff, he thought.

  Wakefield turned from the window, leaned against the sill.

  “Oh, you mean Tam Lin? It's a fairy tale from the Scottish border region. Tam Lin is a handsome young man, and the Queen of the Fairies sees him and decides to make him her plaything.”

  “Lucky lad,” said Jim with a wry grin.

  “At first, yes,” agreed Wakefield. “The Queen has her minions kidnap him and bring him back to her realm. Tam enjoys himself, and doesn't seem too bothered at being her love-slave. But then comes the kicker. Every seven years the Fairy Queen must pay a tithe to Hell. A sacrifice, in other words. And Tam Lin, a mere human, is it. That's when Tam resolves to escape, with the help of his girlfriend, Janet, who's actually the hero of the story. There's a lot more, involving shape shifting …”

  Jim leaned forward.

  “So, changing form is something this legend ties to so-called fairies?”

  “Oh yes,” the doctor nodded. “Plus, the power to sway people's minds.”

  Jim sat back, and took another sip of the doctor's single malt whiskey.

  “It does sound credible,” he said, slowly. “I've never heard of this. Maybe the foundation should spend more time on folktales and a bit less on weird science.”

  Wakefield laughed.

  “One can do both, given sufficient funds,” he pointed out. “Okay, I'll get you a spare duvet. Oh, and should we prop furniture against all the doors, do you think?”

  “Mmm,” said Jim, distractedly.

  So you think the Interlopers are taking humans, the best specimens they can find, as offerings to something else? Kids preferably, younger adults if none are available?

  Jim thought about what Davenport, one of Forster's clean-up team, had told him about graffiti at Malpas Abbey. One message that had apparently appeared after the carnage was over kept popping back into his mind.

  THERE ARE WORSE THINGS THAN US

  ***

  After bidding goodbye to her companions, Denny returned to the Black Swan, feeling burned out by everything she had just experienced. The ever-helpful Mel had given Denny her own key, but the pub was still open. From the cluster of people at the door she guessed it was what the Brits called 'chucking out time', when people in cities vacated pubs and either went home or went 'clubbing'. Machen, Denny assumed, only offered home as an option for its revelers.

  Denny pushed through the crowd, ignoring a few ribald remarks, and entered the bar room. Mel was being cheerful but persistent in her attempts to get the last few drinkers to finish up and leave. Phoebe was slouching back and forth, collecting glasses and bottles.

  “Hi Mel! Hi Pheebs!”

  Denny got a satisfactory scowl from the teen and a cheerful ‘Hello’ from Mel. She offered to help with closing up, but Mel insisted that she get to bed.

  “You look dead on your feet,” the landlady added. “Overdone the walking? Often get that with big city types.”

  “Yeah, that must be it,” Denny said. “Overdid it on the first day!”

  The exchange did not quite feel right. Mel's tone was a little too bright, as if she was putting on a show of normality. Something was clearly weighing on her mind. As she climbed the stairs, Denny wondered how much she should or could reveal to Mel. If the woman's own daughter had been replaced with an Interloper, it seemed only right to tell her. But if Denny was wrong, it could prove disastrous.

  Maybe the kids were just – changed in some way? Hypnotized, something like that?

  If Isobel and the Hawkes twins were real human children, it would simplify things. Denny would have one less reason to venture into the Phantom Dimension.

  One less reason to look for Frankie, she thought. That's what this is about. The fact that she was taken and I just can't help feeling it should have been me.

  Denny had got into the habit of analyzing her own motives since arriving in England. It was not a pleasant pastime. Sighing, she took out her laptop and typed up a report, and emailed it to the foundation. She made a point of including the Tam Lin legend. She hesitated to go into details about the talisman, but then added a concise paragraph.

  'The object appears to have a powerful negative effect upon Interlopers, and they are keenly aware of how dangerous it is.'

  No doubt Jim will have his own say on tonight's events, she thought.

  She was too tired to wonder if Jim would soft-pedal in his report, or condemn her for recklessness in letting the fake Marie go. She brushed her teeth, flung herself into bed, and shut her eyes. At first, sleep would not come. She simply became frustrated as well as tired. She told herself this was because of the noise from the street, where a few late drunks were still shouting what might have been compliments or abuse.

  Assuming they can tell the difference, she thought. Brits sure like their beer but so many of 'em can't take it.

  The shouting died down eventually, but, still, sleep did not come. Rolling over onto her side, Denny felt a dull irritation and realized it was the penda
nt. She sat up and took it off, placing it on the bedside table, then lay down again. Sleep finally came, but it was not peaceful. Almost at once, Denny found herself dreaming of another world. A world in a state of disintegration, a world falling ever more rapidly into chaos.

  ***

  Mel Bavistock mounted the stairs again. Dog-tired, she moved slowly, feeling every second of her thirty-eight years in her bones and muscles. Thirty-eight was not old, she knew that. It just felt ancient at the end of the day.

  Used to be a time I ran up here, she thought. Never do that again. Knackered every night now.

  She paused outside the guest bedroom, and listened. There was no sound of radio or TV. Mel wondered if she should share some of her concerns about Isobel with Denny, who seemed a sympathetic listener. In a small town, it was hard to talk to someone about your problems without being the subject of gossip. Unkind remarks had already been made about the fact that she had let her eight-year-old daughter go astray in Branksholme Woods.

  I was just preoccupied for a few minutes, she thought, as she walked towards the door of her apartment. Now all the old biddies think they can call me a bad mother.

  She was inclined to slump onto the couch and watch late-night TV with the sound low. But she forced herself to go into Isobel's room again to check on the child. As she drew close to the small bed, the nagging inner voice resumed its harsh monologue.

  Bad mother – neglect – selfish – don't love her enough …

  “I do love you, more than anything!” she whispered, sitting carefully on the edge of the mattress. “I'd do anything for you.”

  Isobel stirred slightly but did not open her eyes. Again, Mel tried to feel the love she told herself was there, intense and real. But something prevented her, choking off the emotion. It were as if a cold, hard stone was lodged somewhere in her throat. She could not quell the inner voice. But when she got up and left the bedroom the voice dwindled, became manageable. It was always there, but seeing Isobel seemed to make it worse, scrambling Mel's thoughts and feelings.

  Maybe I should ask Doctor Wakefield, she thought. He might give me something. Pills.

  A few minutes later, she was under her duvet trying to get to sleep. The noise outside had quickly died down. Now only the occasional car broke the silence, and threw sweeping rays of light across the ceiling. Mel felt weariness submerge her anxieties. Then, on the brink of sleep, she heard the sound of a door being opened nearby.

  ***

  “Been a while,” said Frankie, who in Denny's dream had her camera perched on her shoulder as usual. “Okay, let's get this shot lined up.”

  Denny was in the nightmare world of the Phantom Dimension. Around her were ruins, long-eroded remains of what might have been a city. The Interlopers, she knew, now dwelt underground in crude tunnels. In the sky and on the distant horizon were huge, strange entities.

  “Frankie?” she said. “What's going on?”

  “Got a show to make!” replied her friend. “Tick-tock, we're on a schedule here.”

  Denny felt chastened, even though she knew she was dreaming, despite the absurdity of the situation. She was standing in an unearthly wilderness under a sky filled with black stars. A bitter wind blew across the rolling red plain. And she was expected to present a show about the paranormal.

  “The paranormal,” she said, following the familiar script. “Ghosts, poltergeists, spirits, doppelgangers, demons – do they exist? We aim to find out. Do supernatural beings haunt the earth? Do monsters lurk in the shadows? Welcome to another episode of … of …”

  Denny hesitated, forgetting her lines, despite having spoken them dozens of times.

  “Sorry, sorry – can we go again?”

  Frankie lowered the camera, shook her head.

  “Sorry, that was the last take.”

  As Denny began to protest, a shadow fell across them. Frankie dropped her camera and ran, shouting for Denny to follow. Instead, Denny felt herself compelled to turn, and look up. A towering form, vast as a skyscraper, was moving ponderously toward her. Though, at least a hundred yards away, it blocked out half the sky. It tore up the reddish turf, producing a cloud of dust that swept into Denny's face. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she could just make out a huge column of dark, glistening flesh, writhing tentacles thicker than tree trunks. Now came a sound so deep she felt it rather than heard it.

  Denny fell backwards, and found herself in her bed at the Black Swan. The pale, yellowish glow of a street lamp filtered through a crack in the curtains. Denny heaved a sigh of relief, sat up to check the time on her phone. Then she realized she was not alone. The bedroom door was open, and a small figure stood at the foot of her bed.

  “Isobel? Is that you?”

  Without replying, the girl walked around until she was standing between Denny and the faint light. The small intruder seemed oddly larger, more imposing.

  “I couldn't sleep,” said Isobel. “I had a bad dream.”

  “Well,” said Denny, still fuddled by her own nightmare, “maybe your mommy can–”

  But before she could say anything more, Isobel had climbed onto the bed and was trying to wriggle under the covers.

  “I don't think this is right,” Denny exclaimed, but Isobel had already grabbed her around the neck. She could not bring herself to push the little intruder away.

  Is she too strong for a real kid? God, I don't know, Denny realized. The small body pressed close to her.

  “Tell me a story,” said Isobel. “Then I'll go to sleep.”

  Denny was about to protest, but then a thought occurred to her.

  “Okay,” she said. “A long, long time ago, there was a young – a young prince called Tam Lin. One day when he was out riding his horse, the Queen of the Fairies saw him, and decided that she wanted him to come live with her. So, she had her warriors follow Tam Lin and …”

  As she continued her improvised version of the folk tale she felt Isobel grow tenser, until eventually the high-pitched voice demanded, “Stop! I don't like this story. I don't want to know how it ends.”

  Denny reached over and turned on the bedside light. She looked into the tiny, pale face a few inches from hers.

  If she's an Interloper, she thought, she could kill me right now.

  “Well, how about I tell you all about this amazing adventure I had when I went through a magic gateway into another world?”

  As she spoke, Denny was reaching past Isobel toward the talisman, which she had laid beside her phone. Isobel grew very still as Denny lifted the stone by its strip of hide. She dangled the pendant above the small head.

  “And,” Denny went on, “I found this amazing, scary world, full of monsters?”

  “I don't like monsters!” whispered Isobel urgently.

  “Aw,” Denny said, “don't be scared! Monsters can't get you if you have a magic charm like this one. Would you like me to–”

  “If you kill me,” Isobel hissed in voice suddenly devoid of any childishness, “you know it will destroy the mother!”

  Denny froze. Small hands that now felt colder, scalier than before, detached themselves from her arms and neck. The Interloper wriggled away with startling speed, sliding off the bed onto the floor, careful to avoid contact with the hanging pendant. The creature stood up, still far too close for comfort, its form starting to flow in the dim light. Denny wound the lanyard around her hand so that the stone was sticking out from her clenched fist.

  If I have to go down, she thought, I'll go down swinging.

  “What's going on?” asked Mel from the doorway.

  A moment later, the light clicked on, dazzling Denny. She blinked, squinted, and by the time she could see clearly again, Isobel had run across the room and wrapped her arms around Mel's waist. The creature whimpered, a perfect facsimile of childish distress. Denny hastily shoved the pendant under her pillow.

  “I'm scared mummy!” Isobel sniffled.

  “Sorry, Mel, that's my fault,” said Denny, climbing out of bed. “I th
ink she was walking in her sleep. I know you're not supposed to wake a sleepwalker, I just got shocked when I saw her standing there.”

  “Right,” said Mel, uncertainty, looking from Denny to Isobel and back. “Okay, Izzy, let's get you back to bed.”

  Denny made a point of accompanying Mel and the creature into the family apartment. She watched Isobel carefully. The creature avoided her gaze, its eyes downcast. Now that she knew for sure, Denny wondered how she could have ever been uncertain about the girl.

  How could a mother not know? Denny wondered. Then she answered herself. Then again, what mother would believe such a crazy notion?

  Denny lingered in the living room, listening while Mel put her 'daughter' to bed. She felt a pang of remorse. Sooner or later, she would have to tell the woman the truth. It made sense to do it sooner, given the risk all Interlopers posed. But she had no idea how Mel would react.

  She could call the cops, Denny thought. Accuse me of being a threat to her kid. And by any reasonable standard, she'd be right. I'd be no use to anybody in jail. They could cancel my visa, throw me out of the country.

  Denny was still struggling with the dilemma when Mel emerged, running fingers through her tangled hair. Mel gave Denny a weary smile, gestured at the sofa.

  “Sorry she woke you up,” said the landlady, in a low voice. “Let me make you a cup of hot chocolate? I was going to have one.”

  “Chocolate's great!” Denny replied, also lowering her voice.

  Mustn't wake up the little girl next door, she thought ruefully. God this is hard.

  As they sat and sipped their chocolate, they engaged in desultory chatter. Denny carefully avoided being too specific about her job, talking about 'media work' and 'TV production'. Mel was interested, but seemed preoccupied.