Twice as Dark: Two Novels of Horror

by Glen Krisch

  "Ma'am, it's no bother. I remember being Kevin's age."

  Kevin's expression, bordering on dire, broke her will. She waved for him to continue his tour. Maury didn't follow until he was sure that Carin was okay with it.

  "So you like nightmares?"

  "No, sir," Kevin said. "Not one bit."

  "Then, why don't we take a walk through the Serenity Wing?" Maury suggested, gesturing to a far doorway. "It's my favorite place to be. Nothing scary there."

  Carin followed a few steps behind. When she entered the hallway with the glassed-in wall, the amazingly detailed mural with it's magical waterfall and shimmering shore, she picked up her pace, as if pulled by a subordinate gravity.

  "Look at that!" Kevin shouted, pointing a trembling finger at the glass wall. Carin traced the focal point of his excitement and was astounded. Somehow, the room contained a dense tree line snaking into an S-curve backdrop. A downy purple fluff carpeted the ground in front of the woods. The trees bowed over under the weight of basketball-sized oranges.

  "This is what I meant by display. This dream is called 'Gavin's Glade.' It was taken from the mind of a four-year-old boy."

  Crystal-clear sunlight shone through the leaves, and a gusting wind rustled the branches, sending puzzle-piece shadows dancing into the ground-fluff. The shadows tumbled over each other, taking on the shape of black-furred squirrels with over-large ears and paws that would normally be attached to the body of a golden retriever. They bit and scratched at one another playfully, and chased about under the lowest branches of the dense copse.

  "This has to be some kind of monitor or T.V. screen." Carin touched the glass, but couldn't figure out the trick. It seemed so convincing.

  "I'm afraid not. 'Gavin's Glade' is as real a physical environment as this hallway."

  Kevin pressed his face against the enclosure with his hands cupped around his eyes to block out any glare from the overhead lights.

  He looked up at Maury. "This is pretty neat, Maury."

  Maury leaned over to Kevin's eyelevel and stared into his eyes. He seemed to be searching for something. "I can see it, young man. You have a monster haunting your sleep."

  "Mr. Freakshow," Kevin said quietly.

  "Ah, the powerful ones always seem to have a name. It gives them credibility, and authority, I suppose."

  "Dr. Bennett, can I have a word with you?" Carin asked. Kevin looked forlorn, upset over the interruption and the possibility that she might make him leave. Which was exactly her intention.

  "Sure."

  They left Kevin nearby, walking to the end of the Serenity Wing.

  "Dr. Bennett, I don't know what you're trying to pull, but I'm not falling for it. I thought I could trust Dr. Edwardson, but you obviously have him fooled."

  "Please, just see what I can do for your son."

  "My son is fine, it's his dreams I have trouble with."

  "Dealing with dreams is my specialty," Maury said. "I have the ability to perform a homeopathic, noninvasive removal of dreams from the dreamer's mind."

  "And what does that mean?"

  "You saw the dream, the mutant squirrels."

  Carin turned and watched Kevin peering into the glass enclosure.

  "This is so crazy. I don't know how you can get away with this… fooling people like this."

  "I can help Kevin," Maury spoke solemnly. "I can see it in his eyes. He's dying inside. Rotting from some recent hurt, something so painful that he can't bear to fall asleep. It's to the point that he sees his horror, this parasitic haunting of his mind, even when he's awake."

  "That's a good guess, but we're going to see a real doctor."

  "Ma'am--"

  "Carin. My name is Carin."

  "Fine. Carin, a family physician won't be able to do what I can for Kevin. I can take his nightmare away. Afterwards, you'll take him home and he'll slowly heal, he'll recoup, and eventually, when he closes his eyes to sleep, he won't see this Mr. Freakshow. His life will extend beyond just this minute, this excruciating minute when he can barely hold onto his wits long enough to make it to the next. He will have hopes and dreams that won't scare him, that won't leave him hating life."

  Carin's heart ached for Kevin. Her will was bending, but she tried her best not to show it.

  "Let me talk to him. I can take away his pain. He can be home in time for lunch."

  "And how much would this cost?"

  "Nothing. Not a penny. We display the dreams to recover our costs and to not limit this procedure to the wealthy. You have to let me help your son. I won't be able to look in the mirror knowing I didn't do all I could for Kevin."

  Carin looked down the hall, and she saw her son--gaunt, weary of the waking world, weary of the world hidden behind his eyelids. "Okay. Just let me know what you're doing. Every step of the way. If anything happens to him… if you hurt my son…" Carin said, and her will broke completely. Kevin couldn't take much more pain.

  Carin stood outside an enclosure in the basement of the museum. Gooseflesh traveled her arms, spilled over to her spine. Kevin was in the enclosure with Maury. They were both seated in old wooden chairs, facing each other. In Maury's lap, he had a rubber reflex mallet and a small pocket flashlight. Kevin's eyes were glassy, and he seemed entranced by Maury's gaze.

  Maury leaned forward, his lips moving deliberately, rhythmically as he spoke. He placed his left hand on Kevin's forehead. Maury's touch made her son flinch, as if in pain. Carin's fatigue was stripped away. She was ready to charge into the room, but Kevin quickly settled down to his docile trance-like state. Maury was now so close that his breath, his words, blew through the hair by Kevin's ear. Like a small breeze on a fall day and…

  Distant words, torn from the wind, seep into the ruin. A hollowed, broken shell. A form crumpled across the bus station floor. Blood trickling, imbuing the air with copper. Life spiraling away, struggling for one more ragged breath. Losing all. Through fingers slipped. Away.

  And the words, from without this sullen boy's mind, break through the barrier, break through the fragile bones grown round his mind; Mr. Freakshow's fist gripping him, tightening. And still, the blood spreads across the bathroom tiles, with its sad meaty stench drowning the cinnamon disinfectant stench drowning the urine and shit stench of his father's dying place. These words like rumor twice removed. These words prodding for answers, torn from the wind.

  Kevin answers with a mumble. Maybe words, maybe a whimper of pain. Someone from somewhere far away shines a beacon of white light into the whites of his eyes and the pain pulls the Freak's hand into an even tighter grip. Someone from somewhere far away taps below Kevin's kneecap, sending a short and quickly forgotten jolt through his leg. It kicks forward, once. Then again a tap, a jolt, a kick. Again the beacon of white light. First one eye and then panning across to the other, sending a wash of pain stabbing through his skull.

  Again, he hears words from a distance. Again prodding, again feeding on his mumbled response. Then the white-hot white beacon dims to darkness. The pain stabbing his skull, the Freak's clawed fist, insensate and cruel, slackens.

  And the words, torn from the wind, fallen upon the ruin of his mind, coalesce: "Do you want this nightmare to end?"

  And Kevin, sobbing, eyes closed to the sight of his father's dying place, his last breath: "I never wanted to hate him. I never wanted to miss him. I just wanted to be with him and be like him. Now I hate him. He's gone, and I love him and miss him. He won't let me forget it. His blood…" the boy's words become hitching, uncontrollable sobs. Oblivion. Ruin.

  Kevin exhausted, bone-weary, speaking in his withered voice. "Mr. Freakshow… he won't let me go. Won't let me forget. His dying place, his last breath. Him fucking some whore…"

  Now the words no longer prodded. They reassured. "Don't worry, it will soon be over."

  Kevin took in these words, like a stranger's laundry pulled from a clothesline. As he focused to understand, seeing the fabric of these words, he exhaled some of the pain away. Someone w
as going to kill him. Take him away from this ruin. An end to it all. Peace and emptiness.

  The emptiness of death would be sweet relief. "Okay."

  …suddenly with the dexterity saved for mad magicians pulling rabbits from top hats, Maury removed his hand from Kevin's forehead, struggling for control of his deformed arm as if it had a will of its own… and suddenly, in the blink of an eye, without flashing lights, the roar of thunder, or a crowd's raucous clapping, the room held three people.

  Kevin slumped in his chair, his eyes closed, the pain etched into the skin of his brow gone. Taken away. Replaced by tranquil repose.

  Maury sat up in his chair, wide-eyed and awe-struck. He quickly gained his feet and looked at Carin. She was frantically slapping the glass until her palms stung and throbbed.

  In the far corner of the tiny room, a slumped form, dead-gray skin stretched over massive, tattooed arms, greasy hair fallen in tangles over sharply ridged cheekbones to the level of the square jaw line, a beast more monster than man, stirring in his awakening. Her child's nightmare. Mr. Freakshow. In the flesh.

  Maury, seeing Mr. Freakshow, pulled Kevin to his feet, and together they stumbled to the doorway. Maury closed the door behind them, nearly panting for breath. He locked the door, then double checked to be sure.

  "What the hell is that, Dr. Bennett?" Carin asked, still struck numb by the transmutation.

  "Mr. Freakshow. Let's get your son upstairs, to the sunlight."

  Kevin wobbled between them, and they worked together to get him down the hall and to the elevator. His head listed from side to side and he appeared to be asleep.

  "What did you do to him? What's wrong?"

  "He's exhausted. He was exhausted when he entered the museum After a nightmare's removal, it's not uncommon for the dreamer to sleep quite a bit for a few days. Once he gets plenty of rest, he will be back as good as new in a week."

  "So this is normal?"

  "Certainly." Maury watched the elevator lights above the door. They reached the ground floor and the doors opened.

  They struggled as they walked Kevin toward the door. A kind-looking old lady rushed to open it for them as they approached.

  "Miss, don't worry," the woman said. "Maury helped me, and I couldn't be happier. He's a genius. A gift from God."

  Carin thought she could be just one more crazy person in the population of crazies that seemed to fill the building. She was covered in different shades of paint, and her eyes were filled with joy. Joy. Carin couldn't remember ever feeling the emotion. It was foreign to her. All she knew was pain and anguish and loss. Anyone so full of happiness must be crazy.

  Carin nodded, taking Kevin from Maury.

  "Everything should be fine from here on out. Let me know if there is anything else I can do for Kevin, or anyone else troubled by their dreams." Maury gave her a smile that warped his features. It wasn't a friendly smile, and she wanted to be free of this place.

  Kevin was starting to walk, one foot awkwardly thrown in front of the other. His eyes rolled to whites, fluttered, and finally opened.

  "Maury… thank you. It's gone. The blood, it's gone. Thank you…" Kevin said, weeping softly, his eyes fighting to remain open.

  Carin half-carried Kevin down the concrete steps to the Explorer. Adrenaline still coursed through her system. She wanted to speed away, but took a deep breath and forced herself to drive the speed limit.

  Chapter 9

  Nolan Gage thanked Nika's day nurse, Shirley, as she left the museum for the night. After watching how gently Shirley cared for his Nika at the hospital, Gage had hired her away at double her salary. He felt better knowing someone with such a kind spirit was keeping an eye on her. Gage closed the door to the basement room and was alone with his daughter.

  He turned to face her as she drifted through her endless sleep. His heart caught in his throat. Every time he saw her, he had the same reaction. A thick throb in his chest, self-loathing gripping his every breath. His daughter, his once angelic cherub, now a husk of bones and sunken skin hooked up to prosthetic machines that stimulated her heart to beat, forced air into her lungs, monitored her brainwaves. Her lips, once full and apple red like her mother's, now two dried earthworms coated in petroleum jelly. Her eyes--warm, brown eyes that Nolan Gage could barely remember--shut from the waking world, sealed with medical adhesive against the desiccant air. His little Nika, her mind trapped in a dead body. Her mind remembering the carefree whimsy of her childhood. A time before Gage forced her away.

  He had brought her to the museum basement a month ago. When she was still at the hospital, Maury had insisted that he was making progress, that he was constantly locating and transmuting increasingly complex dreams from her mind. It had grown more difficult to hide his work from the doctors and staff. They had started to question Gage about Maury and what exactly his specialty was. They didn't understand why a woman in her condition would need a psychiatrist. But Gage still had his faith. If he couldn't believe in Maury and his enticing promises to bring him happiness, what else was there to live for? Soon enough, he would transmute a full-scale dream-Nika.

  He reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a small pink teddy bear. It was holding a smaller version of itself in its stubby stuffed-bear paws. He placed the bear in the bony crook of Nika's arm and pushed a wisp of lank, straw hair from her forehead. His poor Nika; today, her nineteenth birthday. She didn't look nineteen. She didn't even look human anymore. Nika had always had an adorable kewpie doll face, but now her skin looked like a wet napkin draped over a toy plastic skull.

  Whenever he closed his eyes, imagining his daughter, she was the enchanting girl captured in Sophie's mural on the wall of the Serenity Wing. Eight years old. Pigtails and scabbed knees. Sun-dappled freckles and a grin showing off her missing front teeth. Not so long ago, really, but a lifetime ago in actuality. A short lifetime, a lifetime that Gage felt responsible for bringing to such an abrupt close.

  He had met her mother at a black-tie fundraiser for urban renewal. He hated those things. Men with enough money to bring about guilt gathering to congratulate one another, and women without any shame for seeking such men circling like vultures. The banquet hall was set up with enormous circular tables spread out like an archipelago of millionaires. Michelle's golden hair fell to shoulder length, but her smile is what captured Gage's heart. She sat at a long oak table near the doors, seeming so small and fragile, a stranger set adrift in the upper crust menagerie of her surroundings. She didn't look up from the pile of papers spread before her when he inquired about making a bid on a tilting slab of red clay that they were trying to pass off as art. The clay was not kilned, and a name brand shoeprint was visible on the side of the solid slab. A shoe kicking over a structure somewhat building-like. How symbolic.

  She hadn't lifted her head to look at him. Just her eyes. Gage, looking down the slope of her face--the gentle bridge of her nose, and the delicate curve of her lips--had quite suddenly fallen in love. Her smile and upturned gaze set him off balance. He stammered. She explained how to fill out the form for the silent auction. She smiled, and he made an outrageously high bid for the piece of junk art without realizing it. He stammered and asked for her name. She told him, Michelle.

  He had never expected to meet someone at a stuffy fundraiser. He was only in attendance to maintain his profile in the city's highest social circles. But Michelle was different from the usual gold-digging women in attendance. She had received her degree in sociology the year before, and had been working at a women's shelter in the south side of Chicago since graduating. As they talked, his stammering lessened and the abrasive fundraising hobnobbing became increasingly distant.

  They had talked most of the night, and by the time the event was wrapping up, the subject matter of their conversation had continued to get deeper and more personal. They had already parted company when Gage realized he hadn't asked for her phone number. As politely as possible, he wedged back through the exiting black-tied old men with
their Versace-draped younger companions. When she greeted him at the table, her papers gathered and her purse slung on her shoulder, she gave him that same perfect smile. She wrote her phone number on a cocktail napkin, and he knew his life was about to change dramatically.

  Their age difference had never been an issue. So what if he was eighteen years her senior? Michelle didn't care, and as long as she was happy, so was he. She took him places he had never been and would have never imaged visiting. They walked the crumbling sidewalks of seedy public housing neighborhoods, walking two blocks away to where expensive high rises rose like some new life form set to dominate. She pointed out the gentrified layers of the city. Layers of money pushing away layers of decay, like grasping tree branches stealing the richest sunlight from the underlying ground brush. She pointed out the walls separating the classes and races. The expressways cutting off the projects and their populations of the poor, the disaffected, the drug-addled. Michelle opened Gage's eyes. He'd rarely felt compassion or empathy for others. She proved day after day just how wrong he was for his first impression of her. She was a fighter with a stubborn streak, yet somehow, she was able to care for people she had never met. Her personality was intoxicating.

  Their marriage was a civil ceremony a year later. Nicole was born a year after that, a bundle of energy so similar to her mother that they could have been carbon copies.

  Sixteen years on, sixteen years in which Gage thought he lived a happy life with his wife and daughter. Sharing moments, making memories. All fallen apart as quickly as he had fallen for Michelle all those years before. It was a trivial morning and Michelle was running trivial errands. Dry cleaning exchanged, a library book returned, tasks that Gage had always told Michelle were simply too trivial to waste her time doing. They had people to do those things for them. But his wife enjoyed her early morning walks, the fresh air, and the quiet streets. Maybe he should have gone with her. Maybe things would have turned out differently.