Phillip saw the shadows too and motioned for me to get back inside. We bolted for the front door. Phillip closed it to a crack, and we peered outside. One of the green demons had discovered the officer’s severed head in the lilac bushes. It lifted the head and uttered a gleeful howl as it sniffed the dead man’s face. It licked the mouth before rolling the head up and down its torso, slowly at first, and then with increasing feverishness. Its growing excitement was telegraphed with an extra-wide grin. It culminated its act of depravity by rolling the head between its legs, which would’ve been even more disturbing had the creature possessed genitals.
Even with the unnerving sight going on before him, Phillip couldn’t take his eyes off his truck. He wanted so badly to get to it, to get to Ginger. He opened the door just a bit more and turned sideways to slip through. “Wait!” I warned. But Phillip was resolute. He managed to get halfway onto the porch—before a horned demon’s jaws swiftly clamped on to his arm. It had been patiently waiting on the wooden bench beside the door. Phillip cried in pain while attempting to pull himself back inside. But the demon wasn’t about to let go, and its large horns jammed in the opening.
The commotion enticed more monsters to gather on the porch. Soon, dozens charged the front of the cabin, their horns stabbing into the walls. In a frenzy, I heaved open the door, allowing Phillip to bend his elbow and slip the creature inside. To secure the door, I hauled over a kitchen drawer and propped it against the handle. I then grabbed a loose floor plank and began bashing the growling thing that clung to Phillip. I bashed it until its face was flattened, until its eyes were pushed deep into their sockets. Yet even after its body went limp, its powerful jaws remained affixed to Phillip’s arm.
It was a surreal sight, Phillip standing with the lifeless creature dangling from him. He eyed the mangled thing with a look of shock as his blood flowed from its jaws. I grabbed the monster’s upper lip with one hand and its chin with the other. Phillip winced in agony as I attempted to pry its jaws apart. It wasn’t easy, but finally, its mouth opened like a spring trap, and the lifeless demon dropped to the floor.
Using their brute force, the monsters easily busted through the door. While they clambered over one another to be the first to get inside, others had discovered the opening at the back of the cabin. They stepped over the rubble, daintily holding their pointy fingers beside their horns.
“I’m dizzy,” Phillip announced. Even for his fair complexion, he looked pale.
“C’mon. You should sit down.” I guided him to the couch. I sat beside him with my hand on his shoulder. He didn’t acknowledge the monsters entering from both ends of the cabin. He didn’t say a word when they began to encircle us. Perhaps his shock was too great. His pain too much. Or perhaps he didn’t want to face the fact that there would be no escape, that death was surely upon us—and that death meant he was never going to see Ginger again.
His somber defeat permeated my mind in those moments. I looked to his blood dripping onto the cushions and to the vicious demons flooding the cabin. They bared their teeth. Licked their lips. Couldn’t believe their luck at the sight of Phillip and me offered up so perfectly for a feast. Knowing we were trapped, they closed in on us slowly so they could savor our fear. Make it last. Bask in its aroma. It wasn’t fair, especially for Phillip, that this was the way it would end.
I closed my eyes and pictured the spaceship that had often aided my and Everett’s escape from the horned monsters. If only we were in the spaceship. Inside the craft, we would’ve been safe, hovering above the terrorizing fiends.
Like Phillip, I too began to feel light-headed. I took a deep breath, and as I exhaled, I cupped my hands beneath the seam of the cushion and lifted upward. I imagined the cushion struggling to rise with me on top of it. After a few moments, I felt the sensation of slowly lifting from the couch as if I were being repelled by the opposite end of a magnet. I clutched the cushion as my feet spilled over the edge, all the while concentrating on my slow rise and the cushion’s ability to support my weight.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself with my head nearly touching the crooked ceiling. I held on tight, afraid to fall, yet astonished to see the room from the new perspective. I blinked slowly, making sure I wasn’t confusing the real world with my wishful imagination. “Am I really floating?”
“You’re really floating,” confirmed Phillip, looking up to me. His face had come alive even though he was within reach of the crowding demons. Upon seeing me levitate, the monsters’ creeping movements were replaced by quicker, more determined steps. If I was out of reach, then they surely weren’t going to miss the opportunity to devour Phillip. Yet just as they had him surrounded, their mouths opening to taste his flesh, Phillip’s cushion also began to float. As he rose to join me, I saw a bit of hope infuse in him once more.
Demons climbed upon the couch. They reached for us. Tore stuffing from the bottoms of our cushions. The cushions weren’t a proper craft. Not even close. They didn’t provide the same level of protection. No metal construction. No lasers. But as they linked together to form one unit and began to move us through the cabin, they did the trick. The monsters crowded beneath us, slashing their claws into the air as they jumped. But they couldn’t reach us.
We rode our makeshift craft through the opening at the back of the cabin. We sailed outside through the warm night air. As we rounded the front of the cabin, we were hit with the overpowering scent of overturned earth mixed with lilac blossoms. There was something comforting about that short ride above the yard with Phillip. I felt safe. Relaxed. Sure, the small devils followed close behind. And sure, the ground beneath us was littered with destroyed vehicles and dismembered corpses. But as long as we didn’t look down, there was no need to think of those things.
Upon spotting the truck, I gripped the front corners of my cushion. By adjusting my grip, twisting and folding the fabric over, I was able to steer us in its direction. Phillip, eager to get inside, anxiously stood up on his knees as we approached. I worked to lower us gracefully, but Phillip couldn’t wait. He jumped from his cushion and ran the last stretch to the truck. He climbed inside and impatiently watched the remainder of my descent through the rear window.
“The keys!” he demanded as I touched ground beside the passenger door. I climbed in and handed them to him. He had them in the ignition and the truck speeding down the driveway before I even had a chance to close my door. A few of the most zealous demons had climbed into the bed of the pickup, but they were quickly thrown off by Phillip’s wild driving.
It was time to say goodbye to the cabin. As we made our way onto the dusty road, I found a rag tucked behind the seat and tied it tightly around Phillip’s wounded arm. I rolled my window all the way down, allowing the warm night air to flow into the cab. It was a night to remember. A night filled with wonder and exhilaration. Summer had finally reached its peak.
38
Multiplied by Thirty
Phillip plowed the pickup into the first few rows of stalks. We emptied out as if gravity pulled us forward, as if our legs had no choice but to charge through the corn. The stillness of the night was oddly out of sync with the frenetic pace at which we raced. The rough texture of the wet leaves slapping against us felt like being licked by the tongues of giant cats. Phillip led the way, briskly tearing past the stalks, even though it was I who knew where we ultimately had to end. He was getting warmer.
When I came to the spot where I imagined Ian’s pit had been, I leapt. My feet left the ground, and I sailed through the air. When I landed, I didn’t topple over. I firmly reconnected with the earth. And without as much as a wobble, I was back to running again.
We were almost parallel to the woods when Phillip abruptly stopped. I planted my face into his back, nearly knocking him over. “Do you hear that?” he whispered.
We listened quietly for a moment. From the direction of the road, incomprehensible chatter invaded the corn. It soon overlapped with the sound of stalks being trampled carelessly.
I wasn’t sure what was happening until blue and red lights began pulsating over the field like a visual heartbeat. “The police!” I gasped.
Before being diced to pieces, one of the officers had obviously gotten the message out that the missing Ginger Young might’ve been in the woods we ran toward. In the time it took us to travel across the state, it had certainly been discovered that the officers sent to apprehend Phillip had been ferociously butchered. And with his truck parked recklessly beside the road, things were beginning to look much worse for Phillip. “They know we’re out here,” I warned.
“I don’t give a shit. The more people looking for Ginger, the better. All that matters is she’s found. That she’s safe. I don’t care what happens to me. Over here!” he broadcast over the stalks.
“What’d you do that for!” I scolded.
“You can lead us all to Ginger,” he insisted.
From deep within the corn, the sound of heavy footsteps headed our way. The way the long and powerful strides whipped through the wet leaves, I knew they weren’t the same as the clumsy footsteps tromping from the road. I wasn’t so sure giving up our position was a good idea. I yanked Phillip into a tight grouping of stalks and made sure he saw my finger over my lips. If what rushed toward us was what I thought it was, I knew we mustn’t move a muscle.
Phillip was clearly perturbed but thankfully kept silent—as it appeared from the darkness. Somehow, it had reached us quicker than the sound of its steps. Standing beside us, we could see its face: the stretched skin, the twisted sneer, the eyebrows carved dramatically high into its forehead. Trying to hold completely still, I prayed our impromptu hiding spot would be good enough. We barely breathed as it adjusted its full-length cloak. Lucky for us, it seemed intently focused on the incoming group stomping through its cornfield. In a flash, it charged ahead, its determined strides taking it toward the road. When the sound of its boots hammering the dirt began to fade, Phillip whispered, “Who the hell was that!”
“A cloaked monster.”
“Everett didn’t tell me about a cloaked monster. Just the ones back at the cabin. With the horns.” Another set of powerful footsteps headed our way from the back of the field. This time, Phillip was sure to crouch silently next to me. When the demon passed us, its cloak lingered a moment, the edges fluttering between the leaves of corn. “How many do you think there are?” Phillip wondered.
I thought of the paneling in my old bedroom, how the awful pattern holding the monsters' faces repeated about thirty times. Then I thought of the fully realized demon that had materialized from the darkness in my room, intent on devouring me years before—and I multiplied him by thirty. “Thirty or so,” I offered.
It was then that a stampede of the ravenous monsters suddenly began rushing past us, ripping through the corn and toward the unsuspecting police. Still hiding at the base of the stalks, I buried my head in my arms as if protecting myself from crashing waves. Yet when a gunshot blast came from near the road, followed by a scream, I jolted upright. Oddly, the gunfire didn’t carry an echo. It consisted of a quick pop, followed by the absence of sound. The scream too was silenced abruptly in midshriek. A moment later, the sequence repeated: stunted gunfire followed by extinguished scream. “What’s happening!” Phillip panicked.
I didn’t know how else to explain it except to say, “The police, they're being—absorbed.”
From the front of the field, the stalks began thrashing toward us like a tidal wave. We took off running as fast as we could. Yet with the strobe of the police lights, it felt as though we moved in slow motion. Reality sliced into unrealistic frames, and we became easily disoriented among the labyrinth of twisting rows. And when the wave caught up with us, we were infused into its pandemonium. Having witnessed their fellow officers being ingested whole, police ran alongside us with their guns drawn and with the fear of death in their eyes.
Out of nowhere, a cloaked demon stepped before us. It held open its cape, revealing a body of darkness. The cop beside us fired his gun, yet the bullet simply disappeared into its chest. The tall demon gave an angry sneer before lunging forward and grabbing the screaming officer. He struggled to free himself, but the cloaked monster quickly wrapped him beneath its cape as if it were a giant cocoon. As it ate, the demon threw back its head and tossed it side to side. Soon the outline of the officer’s body was gone. He had been devoured by the black hole the creature carried beneath its cloak, the darkness that caused its voracious hunger.
Clearly, their bullets wouldn’t save them. We spun around to see a cloaked monster take a bullet directly to the face. The impact only shifted the grooves in its skin to more intense angles. Cops were grabbed from behind without warning. Devoured by demons charging with open cloaks. Attacks came from all sides, shrinking us to a petrified huddle.
“We can’t stay here!” shouted Phillip as, one by one, those around us were sucked into never-ending blackness. Phillip was more exasperated than afraid. He was closer than ever to finding Ginger. Yet he found himself trapped in the cornfield with the relentless demons. To him, the cloaked monsters were a frustratingly inconvenient obstacle, albeit an extremely lethal one. No matter his motivation, he was right. No longer could we take our chances in the corn, waiting to be absorbed. The trouble was, with all the mayhem, neither of us knew which direction would lead us out of the corn versus deeper into it.
Another gunshot rang out. This blast, however, was different. It hadn’t been absorbed into a deep and void stomach. It reverberated fully throughout the cornfield. It bounced off the tall trees of the woods, which were somewhere nearby. I tugged Phillip in the direction of the gunfire. The energy in the field shifted as soon as we shifted our course. Several of the cloaked monsters broke from the murderous circle they had formed around the remaining police and lunged down the rows after us. It felt as though we were trapped in an endless haunted maze as we dodged cloaked demons rushing us from clusters of stalks.
Once again, the sound of gunfire erupted. Uninterrupted. Full of power. Strange we ran toward gunfire—for discovery, for safety. But that’s what we did. And soon, the last leaves of corn licked our faces.
39
Netherworld
We found ourselves in no-man’s-land, the limbo between the cornfield filled with the cloaked demons and whatever stirred in the woods. The cloaked men did not follow us. They remained hidden in the stalks, opting instead to scowl from the edge of the field. Maybe they were too timid to show their warped faces outside of the corn. Whatever the reason, it was as if they wouldn’t—or couldn’t—cross the invisible boundary.
There was something incredibly freeing about standing in the small strip where the night wind blew unimpeded. At first, I assumed we stood alone. They blended so easily against the swaying trees. Yet as our eyes adjusted to the open space, we began to make out their massive chalk-white frames looming as tall as the trees. They towered shoulder to shoulder, creating a barrier along the perimeter of the woods. As they swayed, hollow bone clanked against hollow bone. The sound was peaceful, really, like the gentle song of wooden wind chimes in a summer’s breeze.
It was then that we saw her, looking insignificant beneath the behemoths. She stood before them, immersed in a sea of tall weeds up to her hips. The evening breeze gently caressed her hair, which came to just above her shoulders. Phillip was especially eager to reach her, to spin her around. Yet when she raised her arms and pointed a pistol at the mammoth skeletons, we stopped to see exactly what she was up to.
She aimed at one in particular, a peculiar skeleton that wobbled out of sync with the others. Upon closer inspection, the skeleton’s clavicle bone was shattered, causing its uneven stature. She fired, and the bullet was a direct hit to the center of its spine. It stretched its long arms forward, attempting to maintain its balance. Yet already injured, it toppled easily, crumbling to pieces that scattered among the weeds. Immediately, the skeletons on either side of their fallen counterpart locked shoulders, resealing the gap. Down the li
ne, others followed suit, tightening the brief slack until a fresh skeleton filed in from around the bend.
Sensing our presence, she promptly spun toward us, and we found a pistol aimed at our heads. We raised our hands in surrender. Yet as soon as she recognized us as human, the officer lowered her gun. She was older than I had imagined she’d be. The lines around her eyes and mouth gave the impression she was somewhat stern, yet also wise. Naturally, Phillip was disappointed, having hoped to see another face turn his way.
“Where’d you two come from?” she asked. I answered her by nodding to the edge of the cornfield. “I’m surprised you got out of there alive. I barely did.” She looked us up and down. “You’re those men we’re looking for, aren’t you? Phillip? Ayden?” We didn’t answer. “Well, it doesn’t really matter anymore, considering . . .” She looked back to the giant monsters. “Whatever they are, they certainly don’t want us in those woods.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “That woman—she’s in there, isn’t she? Ginger Young?”
“We think she may be,” I said.
“She’s in there,” Phillip assured her—and himself. “And we could use your help getting inside.”
She shoved her pistol into its holster. “You’ve seen how well my shots have worked. I shoot one down, and another takes its place.” She was right. With their numbers seemingly infinite, they were poised to forever secure the perimeter of the woods.
Where the Cats Will Not Follow Page 24
