Twice as Dark: Two Novels of Horror

by Glen Krisch

  Three months ago, Maury accepted an offer to join Gage's research team. Maury soon realized that he could never again live his simple life. Treating the Rosemarie Clements of the world would leave him hollow and unfulfilled. He only kept his practice going as a safety net until he learned the end result of the dream research. As time went by, the prospects looked more and more promising that he would close shop and work exclusively for Nolan Gage.

  Reaching for his coffee mug, he absently spilled it across a stack of notes. Using the tissue that he always kept handy for his patients, Maury wiped up the mess. He picked up a potted plant and pushed aside a few family photos to make sure he didn't miss a spot. As he dried the corner of one of the picture frames, he realized the family portrait taken under an azure summer sky at Cape Cod was probably their last family picture before the apartment fire. His parents stood shoulder to shoulder with their arms wrapped around one another. Maury and Dale sat at their feet, while everyone wore big smiles and squinted against the water's glare. The picture brought painful emotions to the surface as he fought off tears.

  He finished drying the frame, tossed out the tissues, and went over to his couch. As he sat down, his emotions were back in check, but his mounting fatigue felt like a physical weight on every inch of his skin. He pulled his legs up on the couch, held the Cape Cod picture against his chest, and closed his eyes.

  Eight months after the fire, Maury came home from the hospital for good. The first night, after an unbearably awkward dinner, he excused himself and turned in early. His parents were treating him differently, as if he were a fragile object instead of their son. Dale also wouldn't stop staring at him as they ate. They lived in a new house and none of the stuff in his new bedroom felt like his. Maury felt more comfortable in bed with the light turned off.

  At some point, he must have fallen asleep. The room was completely dark when Dale woke him, shaking his leg.

  "Maury, Rocky won't leave me alone." Dale was sitting on the edge of Maury's bed and sounded terribly upset.

  "What do you mean?"

  "When I go to sleep he's always there. He's on fire just like that night."

  Maury couldn't see his brother's eyes in the darkness, but he could hear in his voice that he believed every word he said. "It's only a dream. Dreams can't hurt you, Dale. Go back to bed."

  "But he's after me, he's gonna…" Dale said, stopping mid-sentence. Maury's eyes adjusted to the dark bedroom. Dale's face was all shadow and gloom.

  "What's Rocky going to do?"

  "Nothin'. He just scares me."

  "That's not what you were going to say. Spill your guts. What's Rocky going to do?"

  "He's gonna… burn me," Dale said, turning away.

  He knew he couldn't calm his brother with words. He patted his bed, and Dale climbed up next to him. "You can sleep here tonight. Rocky won't hurt you. I'll make sure of it."

  Dale looked skeptically at Maury, but he seemed more at ease. He climbed under the covers and gave off a worried grunt. Maury turned on his bedside lamp and started reading the newest Incredible Hulk comic. He was really into it, enthralled by the concept of an outsider housing monstrous powers deep inside his soul. By the time he had finished reading it for the third time, Dale was snoozing fitfully next to him.

  Maury snapped off the light and pulled the covers up over his shoulders. His eyes burned from reading so much, and he felt like he could fall asleep in about two seconds. He was in the gray area between sleeping and waking when Dale began to stir. He could feel his brother's tension next to him, but Maury was frozen in some kind of in-between state.

  It wasn't until Dale screamed that Maury sat up, fully awake.

  "Hey… you okay?"

  Dale didn't seem to hear his brother and continued thrashing about the bed. His eyes were closed while his legs tangled with the sheets.

  Maury shook his brother, trying to wake him. When his fingers touched Dale's shoulder, the fiery image of Rocky burned behind Maury's eyelids. Every time he blinked, the cat was there. He could feel Rocky's pain. His calico fur blazed with six inch flames and his green eyes were watery and skittish. Maury had to pull away, had to get away from Dale and the image of the burning cat. When he removed his hand from his brother's shoulder, he felt a magnetic pull under his dead, nerveless skin. And in the gap between his trembling hand and his still sleeping brother, a bundle of flames emerged. The more Maury pulled away, the more the form took shape. It was as if he were pulling a calf from its mother's womb. Rocky, his fur burning, his skin sizzling, appeared right there on Maury's pillow. By touching Dale, he had flipped some type of switch. He had somehow pulled his brother's dream into the waking world. Maury felt the cat's burning body.

  He dragged Dale away from the cat, while a humming noise filled their bedroom. It could've been the cat purring, or possibly his flesh burning, he couldn't tell. Maury still had bandages over much of his torso and had trouble moving his left arm. He hooked his right arm under Dale's armpits and pulled until stars shot across his vision. His brother inched along the floor with him, the effort aggravating his wounds.

  Rocky slinked along the bed as he always had, not seeming to notice the flames. He meowed as if he wanted them to pet him, and then jumped from the bed. Every step he took left a small flaming paw print on the floor. The paw prints burned brightly for a few seconds before extinguishing to a black sooty mark on the floor. The scorch marks faded to a silt-brown, before disappearing altogether.

  "Dale, wake up. Come on...I can't carry you!" Dale didn't stir, the cat only a few steps away. "Come on, Dale, wake up!" Maury yelled into his brother's ear. Maury slapped his face, startling him awake. As soon as Dale saw how close Rocky was to touching them, he started to scream.

  The bedroom door flew open and their parents stormed into the room. Rocky darted for the open door and meowed angrily, bolting down the hallway.

  "What's going on in here? Are you two okay?" their father called out. Dale leaped into their mother's arms and wrapped his legs around her waist, hugging her, new tears soaking into the shoulder of her nightgown.

  "Rocky… the cat. He came, and then…" Maury tried to explain, but how could he explain what had just happened?

  He felt a mixture of fear and awe, and as the seconds ticked away, this mixture was joined by curiosity. Since the paw prints had disappeared by the time they looked for the cat, they all began to doubt if Rocky had been there in the first place.

  Their father was going to call the fire department, but there wasn't a fire to report, or any damage to indicate there was a fire at all. Their father, an overwhelmingly practical man who was afraid to sound just the opposite, called no one.

  The next morning, their mother discovered a half-healed burn hole in a screen of a living room window. It was oval shaped, and just big enough for a cat to slip through. The family never brought up the subject of Rocky again. Their dad replaced the screen with a new one, and Dale didn't have any more dreams about their dead cat.

  Maury found the Cape Cod picture on the floor next to his office couch. When he picked it up, emotions once again threatened to surface. This time the emotions were different; he felt joy and a growing pride at seeing the Maury in the picture. He had left that Maury behind in that world of innocence--the world of happy summertime vacations, trips to the ice cream stand on hot nights, and building snowmen with Dale during the endless gray winters. But it was okay.

  For many years, he had regretted the night of the fire. He had been marred forever and seven of his neighbors had died. And it was all because of a silly cartoon. Maury had seen Jerry set Tom's tail on fire and had laughed hysterically when the cat ran around until he finally dipped his hind end in a sink full of soaking dishes. At the time, Maury knew that trying a similar stunt with Rocky would never end with the same result. No one would laugh, and no one would be left unscathed. But he did it anyway, childhood whimsy getting the better of him.

  He remembered the spark as he struck the wooden match aga
inst the box. The flame sped along the trail of lighter fluid faster than he could have ever imagined. When Rocky felt the fire bite into his tail, he was off like a pinball, running into furniture, bumping into walls, setting anything he touched ablaze.

  After all those years of guilt, and wishing he could only have a chance to do things differently, Maury finally accepted what he had done. In fact, he was swiftly coming to the conclusion that he appreciated what he had done. If he hadn't done such a stupid thing as a child, he would have never become the man he was; a man who could pull dreams--the essence of fear, guilt, rage, or lust--directly from people's minds. After years of turmoil, he could finally harness and wield a power that no one could ever imagine.

  He stared at the photo, a momentary glimpse into the life of those photographed. The transmuted dream-beings were somewhat like that. Once birthed from the mind of a dreamer, the transmuted dream was a still-photo of the dream taken at the moment of transmutation. But unlike the Cape Cod photo, transmuted dreams changed. They evolved, adapting to and absorbing surrounding details. Depending on the strength of the dream, this evolution could be limitless.

  He supposed he owed a debt to his poor dead cat. If someone forced the issue, he would also have to thank Nolan Gage for his money and patience. Now all he needed was a star. A main attraction. Nolan Gage's money was leading to the eventual unveiling of the transmuted dreams in a museum called Lucidity. All Maury needed was a dream so devastating to the museum goers' psyche that they would leave the museum of dreams changed forever, clutching their chests in both horror and joy, certain to return to Lucidity again and again.

  Chapter 2

  Just inside the doors of the Warren Cove bus station, Kevin already lagged behind his parents. He couldn't help it. His excitement about the trip to Chicago made him have to take a leak that could put out a forest fire. The station wasn't crowded since it was so early in the morning. Even so, a woman clipped Kevin on the shoulder as she rushed to catch a bus on time.

  "Sorry," the woman said, barely giving him a glance.

  "No problem, Mrs. Hepner." Warren Cove was a small town, nothing more than a rest stop in a long journey through the endless farm fields of central Illinois. Kevin had started a newspaper route when school let out two weeks ago, and he already knew every customer on his route by name and face. Mrs. Hepner lived four blocks away. Kevin delivered to her the thin Cove Herald every other weekday and on weekends.

  "Oh… Hi." Mrs. Hepner gave him a vague look of recognition, her freshly applied makeup making her look like a clown.

  "Kevin Dvorak. I deliver your paper."

  "Yes. Sorry, Kevin. I'm running late." Mrs. Hepner looked at her watch, looked even more exasperated, and gave him a slight wave. "You're doing a fine job with the paper. Better than that Callahan boy ever did. I'll see you later."

  Whenever he saw one of his customers, he made an effort to acknowledge them, hopefully resulting in better tips. His parents trudged on ahead, distracted, without looking back to see if he was keeping up. He could probably ditch them and duck into a restroom, but they would throw a fit even though he felt old enough. They let him ride his bike at 5:30 in the morning for his route, but wouldn't let him go to a public restroom on his own. Go figure.

  He was getting desperate. His palms were sweaty and it pained him to walk. Stopping in mid-stride, he called out to his dad, but he didn't seem to hear. The overhead lights were so white, like the lights he imagined shining down in an operating room. The tile floor echoed his mom's heel clicks, seeming to amplify them. His dad tried to take hold of her hand, as he often did when they walked together, but she shrugged off the attempt. She increased her distance from him and their hands swept by at their sides, alone and empty.

  He felt like screaming, anything to get their attention. But he didn't want to anger his dad. He was angry a lot lately. Something about his job, and people at his job. Whatever it was made his mom angry, too. She focused her anger more at his dad, while at the same time, his dad would grumble under his breath about things Kevin didn't really know about. Things like entrapment. Things like harassment.

  Kevin had an idea about harassment. People talked about it all the time on T.V., boring him to the point he'd change the channel in search of cartoons. He was fuzzy about entrapment. It sounded like something straight from one of the army movies his dad liked.

  Walking faster through the station, Kevin focused on keeping his bladder full, trying not to think of anything wet or anything cold. Or anything wet and cold.

  "Dad!" This time tension strengthened his voice, cutting through the empty bus station. His dad turned around, and after a couple of steps so did his mom.

  "For God's sake, what is it, Kevin?" His dad looked tired, like he hadn't slept in a thousand years.

  "I have to go…" Kevin started to say, but then just nodded his head and bugged out his eyes, the obvious universal sign for MY BLADDER IS ABOUT TO EXPLODE!

  "Can't this wait? The bus is about to board. You can use the bus toilet after you find your seat."

  It would be a mad thrill to take a leak while on a moving bus, but Kevin couldn't wait."I-Have-To-Go…" Kevin explained.

  "Carin, I better take him."

  She already had her arms folded and tense in front of her. "Fine. I'll be right here. Hurry up. The bus is leaving in ten minutes," she said and then leaned forward. She whispered to his dad, trying to keep her voice from Kevin's ears, but he heard anyway. "Don't take so long that you can't say a decent goodbye to your son."

  Kevin had no idea what his mom was talking about. Goodbye? What was that all about? He thought they were all going to his grandma's house. He was excited because he envisioned the trip bringing happiness back to their family. Sure, he had been aware of the tension between his parents, but it wasn't the end of the world. Or so he hoped. Just awkward silences during meals, or his dad working late and missing dinnertime altogether. They didn't fight all of the time. They never had any shouting matches, and thank God, never threw any punches. And now this… goodbye?

  His dad placed a hand on his shoulder to guide him toward the restroom, but Kevin was still looking back at his mom.

  Goodbye?

  He tried reading her face, but just as his dad looked really tired lately, her face seemed as expressive as a clean chalkboard. She watched him watching her, but her look was cold, the pained glassiness of her eyes the only sign of any emotion.

  Kevin's dad led him to the restroom, and his mom disappeared from view. Finally, he was going to take a leak.

  Kevin, feeling considerably lighter in the bladder, was washing his hands when a man entered the restroom. He wore his black denim shirt tucked into his faded tan carpenter pants. His sleeves rolled to the elbow, Kevin couldn't help noticing that his thick gray arm hair matched the color of the unruly hair on his head. He stepped up to a urinal next to a balding guy with a gut so big he had to stand back about a foot to avoid bumping into the white porcelain.

  The new guy stared intently at his urinal neighbor as if trying to memorize his features for future reference. A number of silent seconds ticked away, and when the fat guy became uncomfortable with the invasion of privacy, he gave the man a scowl. The old man frowned, his unshaven face sagging as he looked away. He seemed to be stuttering under his breath, small bursts of air escaping between his clenched teeth.

  Kevin was getting a bad feeling. His dad was in a stall smoking a cigarette, and he wished he would hurry up so they could get out of here. He turned on the hand dryer, but his eyes didn't leave the two men.

  The old guy turned, once again studying the other man's face. His hair stuck out in weird spikes, as if he hadn't brushed it in a week. His eyes were yellow and seemed somehow both fatigued and frantic. When his urinal neighbor faced him, he didn't look away.

  "Do you have a problem?"

  The old man paused, as if considering the question, a puzzled look deepening the wrinkles across his forehead. "I'm afraid I don't."

 
"Keep your eyes to yourself."

  The fat man hunched over, grunted, and closed his fly. He tucked in a loose tail of his shirt, glowering over his shoulder as he walked over to the sinks. As he washed his hands, he nodded to Kevin. "Stay clear of that guy. I think he's a perv."

  Kevin wondered if his dad was ever coming out. First that weirdo came in, and now this other stranger was talking to him. He was uncomfortable and just wanted to get on the bus, even if his dad wasn't coming with. He could sort out his family problems later.

  The guy wiped his hands on a paper towel, and then turned to exit. The old man was already blocking his path, his back against the swinging exit door. He casually zipped his own fly.

  "I'm only going to say this once, get the fuck away from me." The strength of the big guy's voice deflated with uncertainty as he faced this odd crossroad.

  "Hey now. I'm talking. You're listening."

  "Why you little shit--" The big guy snapped, charging with his shoulder lowered like a battering ram. The old man sidestepped the charge and shoved him shoulder-first into the cinderblock wall. Kevin, seeing the pained contortion of the man's face, backed away from the sinks.

  The old guy grabbed the stranger's neck with both hands, his fingers twisting into his considerable jowls. The wounded man cradled his shoulder and fell to his knees, but didn't slip away from the old man's grip. The old guy's yellow eyes were bloodshot and a rope of drool descended from his lower lip. Suddenly stirred by rage, he was panting, forcing the fat guy to stand up. He then pressed the man's meaty face against the mirror, the steam of his frantic breath clouding his reflection.