Henry Halfmoon

by Huck Warwicks

  “You mentioned the half-moon… with your father’s visit. It was a half-moon?”

  “I’m sure, yeah. Why?”

  “We’re running out of time. That was only three days ago, and the moon will be full again in only four days.” Shipley grunts then sets his pipe on the end table.

  “You’re going to cross over when the moon is full, Henry. And you’re going to see things that will shake you to the bone. That’s when you fight. When the moon is full. When you cross over… And you are NOT ready!”

  “You’re right about that, Professor. I only know where they come from, and the word Malfik.” I’m extra careful to whisper that word. “And like you said, I don’t know what I don’t know.”

  Shipley looks at me and chugs away at his pipe silently. I ask about the fifth book, Seal of Perseus.

  “No! You’re not ready for that. You’re supposed to read the books. And read them in order, Henry. In order!”

  Tired of the constant barrage about the books, and my woeful delay in reading them, I blurt out, “How about you just tell me what it is that I don’t know that I need to know next!”

  The professor grunts at me. He taps the charred tobacco out of his pipe and sits on the edge of his chair. He grabs a fire poker and shuffles the flaming logs around, stoking the fire.

  “You’ve heard about the battle between the gods in ages past. So you understand the origins of the Algolim. That’s what Titanomachy is all about. The origins. Then you learned where they come from.”

  “Chaldean Astrology.”

  “Correct. Now you must learn who they are.”

  “They’re the Algolim. I got that.”

  “You have nothing, Halfmoon. Shut your mouth and listen to me, boy!”

  “Right. Sorry. Continue.”

  “The Book of Enoch will tell you who you are to fight…” The professor pauses to see if I’ll interrupt him with my ignorance again. But I surprise him and keep my lips pressed together. “Their names, Henry. You must learn the names of the Nine.”

  Names have power. That’s what Shipley told me that last time we were in his apartment. That’s why Malfik is such a powerful word. It’s a name.

  “Masonic Commentaries on John’s Revelation… hmmph! That’s a long one. You don’t have time to read it all. So only review my notes. That will tell you why you’re fighting and why the Algolim are on the rise.”

  “And Seal of Perseus?” I’m now sitting on the edge of my chair, mirroring Shipley in both anxiety and intensity.

  “That will explain how you will fight them.”

  I’d rather start with that one for the obvious reasons. But I’ve decided to commit to this calling, and my dad would insist that I’d do it right. No shortcuts.

  “You’ve already seen the actual Seal, Henry. It was in my first note on a scrap of paper with the name you’ve used to expel your first Algolim.”

  “So if I can use it to expel one Algolim, can’t I just do it again? You know, rinse and repeat?”

  “That’s ridiculous. It’s not some magic word that scares the boogiemen away. You spoke that demon’s name. Malfik!” The professor practically shouts the word, but nothing happens, thank goodness. “That’s why it didn’t work when you had your little visit with the pastor.”

  “The demon who attacked him wasn’t named Malfik?” It’s starting to crystallize now.

  Shipley whips his sarcasm at me. “Very good, Mr. Halfwit. Now you’re getting it. The fifth book is all about how to use the names of the Nine against them, to send them back before they can summon… it.”

  “It? What is it? Send them back where?”

  “Read, Henry. Read the books.” The professor rises from his chair and rubs his fingertips through the tufts of white hair along the sides of his head. The hairs string straight out over his ears in a disheveled spray. He turns and walks into his bedroom but before the door shuts, he mumbles.

  “I’m tired. You read. I’m going to sleep. Tomorrow, we can continue. Now go home… and read.”

  Chapter 11

  I step off the N-Line train onto the grimy crowded platform. A mass of people push and shove their way off as well and head to the steps leading up to the levels above. Most of them, tourists no doubt, will ascend two more times before reaching Grand Central Station’s main lobby. I shoulder up to an iron support beam, the gritty bulwark supporting the thousands of tons of steel and concrete above my head. I wait for the crowds to rush off the train and up the steps, while another crowd boards and zips away. When the throng has passed, I’m left alone with the crazies, plying their pitiful states, and stammering around looking for any eye contact that might welcome their solicitation.

  No eye contact here. I ignore them as best I can, but I scan the platform closely in both directions. Shipley said it would be here somewhere, and that I would be wise to avoid it until I cross over.

  That should happen soon. The moon is full, and it should be rising soon. As the sunset brings hundreds of thousands of commuters to the tunnels and railways of Grand Central Station, so the full moon will bring me into the realm of the Algolim, a dimensional plane parallel to our own.

  I’ve been duly warned. Do not face the Algolim until crossing over.

  The dark and filthy platform fills again with the transients of the day. The crowd thickens, and the homeless crazies disappear behind the well-dressed businesspeople and tourists, all of whom have mastered the no eye contact rule. Pretending like they’re not there, not real, is the ineffective formula all New Yorkers embrace to make the problem children of society go away. But they don’t go away. They multiply. And the problem will grow and grow until one day, at the appointed time, they will step into the light and overrun the house of cards we’ve created.

  Just like the Algolim.

  I reach into my right pant pocket and rub the piece of white chalk that Shipley gave me. It’s almost time. The moon is full and is now most likely well above the horizon, though you never know for sure in New York.

  But I can feel it. My stomach is turning flips, and my arms quiver. The palms of my hands itch terribly, and my head feels as though it’s being pumped full of hot-compressed gases. And while my ears ring, there’s a deep rumbling. It’s not the tremors of the coming train, nor the busy rail lines overhead. This is deeper. My bowels tremble, and the base of my skull vibrates, giving me a dizzying sensation.

  “Hey Pal, are you okay? Do I need to call for an ambulance?” It’s the business guy I bumped into a few weeks ago. Or maybe it’s a carbon copy of him. His hand is on my left elbow, and he sounds concerned. I’m surprised he talked to me; I guess I don’t look like one of the crazies today.

  “No. I’m all right. Just a little bug I caught last week.”

  The guy steps back quickly, not wanting to contract whatever made-up virus I may have.

  “Okay, well, get yourself some help. Take care.” He quickly boards the N-Line and disappears into the dark tunnel. He’s going uptown.

  The sensation continues, and it’s becoming quite unbearable. It’s time. The entire world seems to be screaming at me. Cross over now!

  I pull the chalk from my pocket, crouch down, and draw on the grimy concrete. The Seal of Perseus isn’t a protection charm. Nor is it a weapon.

  I scrawl a white circle, three feet in diameter, then an upside down triangle within. Each point touches the edge of the circle. Within the triangle, another smaller circle is drawn, and within the smaller circle are the bending parallel lines that form the eye.

  My work done, I stand to my feet and look around. People stare at me. Even the homeless crazies are perplexed.

  But they’re all staring. There’s a silence and anticipation among the onlookers.

  Horrified screams. Gasps. Profanities. People running for help, running for the police. People scramble in all directions, bumping into each other in a panic as they retreat up the steps. One man is knocked off the platform onto the subway rails.

  It’s total chaos
when the crowd of unbelievers watch me vanish in a quick flash as I step into the Seal of Perseus.

  Chapter 12

  I step out of the circle, and everything looks as if it’s moving in slow motion. I move past people quickly with little to no effort. Their heads are turned back to the circle, and they’re running. But I walk at a normal pace and easily pass them, unseen. The world looks like it has been turned inside out, an inversion of color. Also, distinct lines of face and form are blurred. Everything looks as if it’s a photo negative made of smoke and mist.

  A thick fog a foot deep rolls across the floor and covers the platform, rolling off the sides onto the white tracks. The only thing that looks exactly the same are the rats. And the roaches. They’re still filthy black devils scurrying about at full speed. It’s as if they crossed over with me. I wonder if they live with an equal consciousness in both dimensions.

  People’s screams are muffled, and distant. I see people shouting. I stand directly in front of them, but invisible to them. Their gaping mouths emit cries that echo from far off, though I stand only inches from their faces. Everything is an echo, distant and faint.

  Now that I’m crossed over, I must begin my search. It’s here now. One of the Nine. Shipley had told me the Algolim I’m looking for will seek to possess someone at Grand Central Station tonight.

  It’s on me to stop them.

  I glance back at the circle. It shines with a brilliant, almost neon, glow in the roll of fog on the platform, emitting a cylinder of luminescent light up from the ground. I have until moon-set to do my work and return to the Seal. It’s important that I step inside the circle before then. Stepping into the circle will take me back. But the Seal will fade as the moon sets, unable to open until the next full moon.

  Time moves slowly here however, half the speed of the physical dimension I just left.

  I move up the first set of stairs, taking me up one level. There are more crossways and platform entrances all round. The hallways are crammed with the white, hazy figures of men and women going about their day with absolutely no awareness of this spiritual plane from which I watch.

  In this thick crowd of slow-moving entities, I have no trouble avoiding contact. But my curiosity is piqued. Can they feel if I touch them? Can they hear me?

  I reach my hand towards the shoulder of a woman passing by, as if to stop her and swing her around to face me. But my hand disappears into her shoulder as if I had reached into a puff of Shipley’s pipe smoke. I try again, this time swiping at an arm. My hand feels the slightest resistance, yet passes clean through. The woman makes no sign that she is affected in any way and continues her slow-motion march to her next train.

  A noise startles me. It’s a raspy clicking that reminds me of a cicada’s call, and it’s coming from one of the down-leading staircases at the end of the hall. A moment later, another identical sound comes from the other side of the hallway in response. It’s buzzing a repeat of the angry signal, indicating its irritation at my presence.

  I head in a new direction, down the corridor and towards the staircase that sweeps up to the floor entrance to the grand lobby. But only a few steps in that direction triggers the insectile clicking of another thing in my path ahead.

  I’m trapped between the three disturbances, growing louder, getting closer. There’s no cover, nothing to hide behind. I’m out in the open, and a feeling of dread rolls up my legs, as if from the fog itself. The area around me briefly clears, as white ghostly forms hurry down their respective stairwells to boarding train cars, leaving me alone and out in the open. I have a clear view of all three entrances and the things coming towards me.

  Behind me, one of the clicking noises stops and is replaced by a gurgling moan. It’s the sound of someone being choked to death, at least that’s what it sounds like in movies. The source of the horrid sound emerges from the stairwell. It’s monstrous size startles me, standing at least nine feet tall, and that, stooped with its head just under the ceiling. Its body a skeleton with a patchwork of ashen rotting flesh covering most, but not all its frame.

  Its face is something from hell, inhuman and full of its own misery, but starving and crazy for blood. Its skull is elongated, and covered here and there with pale blue skin, from which red shoots of bristly red hair. But most of the skull is exposed. It still has ears, ghastly long pointed things, dripping with black goo. Its nose was rotted away, as has its lips, revealing hideous, long teeth, many of which look as if they’ve been artificially filed to a point. The eyes are serpentine and glow with a hellish gold hue, the slits focused on me, unblinking and hungry for my fear. It’s feeding on my fear.

  Oh God! What have I gotten myself into?! It’s feeding on my fear and shortly, it will be feeding on more of me.

  My legs are trembling, and my neck aches with a cold tension. Palpable fear radiates from me, scenting the creature and drawing it near. Its heavy feet slowly drag across the floor with a scraping sound, hidden by the fog. All the while, it moans and gurgles, as if choking on the flesh it has not yet consumed.

  My thoughts abandon my purpose, and my only desire is to return to the Seal.

  But the demon blocks my path.

  I turn to the second clicking sound to my right. From a smaller, danker stairwell ascends a second demon. This one is smaller than the first, about the size of a chimpanzee. It’s clinging to the back of a white human figure. A hulking mass of leathery grey skin, its face is that of a gargoyle. While the long clawed arms are wrapped around the hazy chest of its victim, the demon’s mouth is buried in the poor soul’s shoulder. It’s feeding. When it sees me, it lifts its face briefly and reveals a blood-soaked chin, teeth rending and tearing at the fresh bite in its mouth. The yellow serpentine eyes bulge and glare at me, grinning with satisfaction when it smells my terror. It whispers into the ear of the human spirit that carries it, and the form turns slowly towards me. I can tell by the figure’s walk, the slumped shuffle, the stiffness, that it’s a homeless man, a ‘crazy.’

  I turn, not wanting to look away for fear, and not wanting to look directly at my assailants for the same reason, and head towards the Grand Lobby. The third clicking sound is up ahead, but the entrance to the lobby is a set of steps that I will hopefully reach first. I can see the steps up to my left, the clicking coming from the fog just beyond.

  I’m almost there, but the clicking, buzzing call is piercing. Earsplitting. The thing ahead rises from the foot of fog rolling along the floor. Slowly, it rises, gathering fog to make its tall, lean shape. It stands before me at least eight feet tall. Clearly, it’s canine but stands on two legs. But it’s not a wolf. It’s not like any breed I’ve ever seen. God only knows what hideous demonic entities could breed such a thing. It’s made of dark fog, and the eyes are like the others. And while the thing ahead of me isn’t as ghastly as the creatures creeping up behind me, its eyes burn deeper. It’s superior in both savagery and cunning.

  The fog wolf closes its eyes briefly and raises its snout in a long, melancholy howl, shaking the foundations of Grand Central, bouncing the rolling fog and displacing it about the room, so that visibility of the staircase is eliminated.

  Another howl from the beast, and my head feels like it's splitting. I feel a trickle from my right ear, and I’m sure it's blood. I wipe it away in a panic, worried that the beast may get the scent. The clicking, moaning, and howling are everywhere, coming from all around me. I’m completely disoriented. I’ve lost my bearings in the fog and cannot find the stairs to the main lobby.

  I fall to my hands and knees and crawl, hopelessly reaching into the mist for any signs of the steps. I can hear the creatures all around me, above me, only feet away.

  Make it stop. Please! I cry out in my mind, almost a prayer, a plea to… whoever.

  A figure walks past me. It’s a white human form slowly rolling along, unaware of the demonic terrors all around me. But oddly, the fog pulses away from the figure, and a path in the mist continues to clear away in any direction it walk
s. As it moves across the hallway, the clearing of the mist exposes the fog wolf.

  When the beast turns its eyes and snout towards the figure, it lets out a yelping sound and slinks back into the mist like a dog that just got bit.

  I don’t know where you’re going, but I’m coming with you. At first, I scurry behind the figure on my hands and knees, but I can’t keep up. So I scramble to my feet and follow close behind, looking over my shoulder for the demonic giant and gargoyle that click and moan somewhere back in the misty hallway. They are following me. But they’re keeping their distance as well. This figure somehow repulses them.

  I ascend the steps to the Grand Lobby behind my host, and I notice on the back of the figure’s neck is emblazoned a familiar symbol. The Seal. Like a glowing blue tattoo, the symbol stretches across three inches of neck just below the base of the figure’s head.

  When we enter the wide-open lobby, we pass through a sea of white figures, moving in all directions. But I notice the presence of the Algolim as well. They’re everywhere. Some stalk and crouch behind kiosks, others hang from chandeliers, glaring at me with bulging unblinking eyes while others ride the backs of human figures, gnawing and grinding at necks and shoulders.

  I’ve been to Grand Central dozens of times. The lobby is ornately preserved, with murals of the zodiac and night sky on its walls and great curved ceiling. It’s the one place in New York that gives me the feeling of being ‘out in the open.’ It’s a place I go to breathe and snuff off the claustrophobia that comes with being new to the city. I never realized how thick the evil concentrated here, and will most likely never return by choice, after I cross back over.

  I wander through a sea of white, smoky figures. They glow slightly against the backdrop of dark fog and Algolim entities. I didn’t notice it until now. And all the figures are mostly identical in every way.