Threshold

by Sean Platt

  “Enough!” yelled Son of Mulkailot.

  Alastair’s hand was yanked from his throat as if someone had grabbed him at the wrist and pulled the blade away. But no one had touched him. It was Son of Mulkailot, seizing control of his body, and raising Alastair six inches off the ground.

  He’d prepared for the creature to infiltrate his mind, but not this.

  He watched his arms spread like wings at his side, tried to regain control, but was frozen hovering over the ground.

  Son of Mulkailot stepped forward, their eyes now level. The alien smiled, observing Alastair as if he were a captured prisoner. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. After all these years, I expected you to put up more of a fight.”

  Alastair spit at him.

  The alien ignored the spittle, letting it drip down his face without acknowledgment.

  “I thank you for telling me about the Threshold closing if you die. I know you meant it as a threat, as a way to secure your safety. But you needn’t worry about your safety. I’ll see to it that no harm shall befall you until such time that the Threshold opens.”

  “I have people waiting on the other side. They’ll stop you.”

  Son of Mulkailot laughed, circling Alastair, looking him up and down. “Stop me? Like you did?”

  Alastair’s eyes seized on his fallen sword.

  He waited until Son of Mulkailot’s back was fully to it.

  Then he acted.

  He telekinetically called his blade from the ground, turned it swiftly in the air, then drove it straight into Son of Mulkailot.

  The sword ripped through the alien’s back, then its ebony blade ripped through its chest, spraying bright blue blood as the alien let out a high-pitched shriek.

  Son of Mulkailot fell to the ground, writhing in pain. The alien’s magic disrupted, Alastair dropped to the ground.

  Several Umlai moved toward him, weapons drawn.

  He threw out his hands, sending a blast of energy at the nearest Umlai.

  They fell back, wounded, but not dead.

  He had seconds to act, to secure a win, if there was one to be had.

  He looked at Son of Mulkailot, face down on the ground, squirming, hands awkwardly trying to pull the blade from his back.

  Alastair grabbed the hilt with both hands, planted a foot on the fallen alien, and glared at the others.

  “Get me the children now, or I will finish him off!”

  They all stopped, gasping.

  They didn’t know what to do. This was their leader, and despite their advanced abilities, they were primitive in their tribal ways. Without a leader, they were confused. This was his moment to wrestle control.

  “And if anyone even attempts to try anything, I’ll take him with me, so help me God.”

  They’d seen what he did with the sword. They knew he had powers, and wouldn’t risk their leader’s life by trying anything stupid — at least that’s what he hoped.

  “You have a couple of minutes before this sword turns his insides to stone. Send the children through the portal, now!” Alastair screamed.

  He wasn’t sure how long he truly had before Son of Mulkailot was dead. He wasn’t even sure if the alien could be saved after he withdrew the sword. Either way, Alastair probably didn’t have long to live once they realized their leader wouldn’t make it. At that point, he prayed the children made it through the portal.

  Then he could close it forever.

  Several Umlai turned, frantically, as if about to get the children. But then they froze as four figures approached them: Hazel, Hudson, another Umlai, and … Savannah.

  Lie or ghost: Savannah was there, wearing a white shirt and dress, long golden hair flowing over her chest, eyes as big and beautiful as he remembered. His daughter didn’t appear to have aged a day.

  He shook his head, refusing to accept the lie.

  The Umlai woman screamed, “What have you done?”

  She raised her hands, a fiery ball gathering force.

  “No!” Savannah — or the thing pretending to be her — screamed, pushing the alien down.

  The ball of energy flew over Alastair, barely missing his head.

  The Umlai woman shot up, and turned on Savannah, growling. “He killed my brother!”

  Hazel and Hudson stood paralyzed between them.

  Alastair yelled, “He’s not dead … yet. Let us go and I’ll allow him to live.”

  Son of Mulkailot moaned beneath Alastair’s foot, “Don’t do it, Shurui.”

  Alastair shook his head, “Give up. You’re not crossing over.”

  Hazel flew back with a scream, right into Shurui’s arms. The Umlai had a blade at her throat in less than a second.

  She scowled at Alastair. “Let my brother up or I will kill her.”

  * * * *

  SCOTT

  Scott had been standing guard at the portal forever.

  Had wasn’t sure how much time had passed while standing in front of the emerald light waiting with a drawn sword.

  At least fifteen minutes, maybe a day.

  How long did it take to negotiate a deal?

  Scott tried again to see if he could spy Alastair, but a fog had settled over the area shortly after Alastair crossed over and now all Scott could see was a lot of empty nothing.

  Come on.

  He paced, wondering how long it would be before anyone in the house came down to see what was happening. Maybe they knew better. Perhaps there was nothing they could do. Scott figured it had to be the latter since Alastair was entrusting him, a man who’d never even held a sword, as the Threshold’s guardian.

  Scott’s stomach made somersaults; he dreaded seeing a shape step through the portal.

  Could he really kill an alien?

  What if they were more powerful? He might not be able to kill them even if he’d found the mental strength it required.

  What if one tried to come through as Hudson or Hazel?

  Scott tried to shake the idea away, and wished like hell that Alastair hadn’t planted that seed in his head.

  They can look like anyone.

  Suddenly, a scream from the other side of the Threshold.

  No, no, no, no.

  “Hazel?”

  Scott kept pacing, waiting for an answer.

  Damn it, I knew I should’ve gone over with the old man!

  Shit.

  “Hazel?” Scott screamed into the void. “Hudson?”

  He paced some more, sword in hand, itching to hurt whoever had made his baby girl cry.

  Still nothing.

  He looked at the door, wishing someone else would enter, someone he could tell to guard the Threshold.

  But nobody came.

  And he didn’t have time to call anyone down.

  If his kids, or the old man, were hurt, time was running out.

  Scott had to act.

  Now.

  He charged into the portal, sword held tight.

  **

  Scott spun around on the other side, searching through the thick fog for any sign of Hazel.

  Not seeing anything, he called out, “Hazel?”

  He waited, nervously, shoulders scrunched, anticipating an attack from any side in the blinding, rolling clouds.

  “Dad?” Hazel’s voice called out.

  It sounded like it was coming from behind him.

  He turned back to the portal.

  Had she somehow gotten through?

  “Hazel?”

  “Dad?”

  Her voice wasn’t coming from the Threshold. It was coming from somewhere behind. He stepped around the portal and saw what looked to be a Bizarro version of Galloway Manor, cloaked in shadows.

  She’s in there.

  He ran toward the house, reckless but not caring. If he ran into enemies, he’d slay them on the spot without stopping. That’s what you did when your children were in danger — whatever it took to get them safe.

  He reached the doorway and found it open.

  In the darkness, he saw a small
shape sitting on the ground, curled up about ten feet into the living room, back turned to him.

  “It’s okay, honey, Daddy’s here,” he called out, stepping into the house.

  The shape didn’t respond.

  His heart raced as he took another step inside. His every instinct ordered him to turn around and leave.

  It’s not her.

  It’s something else.

  This is a trap!

  But he ignored his instincts and stepped closer, sword in hand, hoping he wouldn’t have to swing it.

  “Hazel?”

  “Yes, Daddy?” she said, though she didn’t turn to greet him, or budge an inch.

  What’s wrong with her?

  “Where’s your brother?”

  Hazel began to giggle.

  The doors slammed closed behind him.

  Scott spun around to see who shut the doors, sword still ready.

  Nobody was there.

  He spun back around to Hazel.

  She wasn’t there, either.

  Run!

  Get the hell out of here.

  Now!

  “Hazel!” he called out, eyes scanning the darkness.

  He could hardly see anything in the darkness and wished he’d brought a flashlight.

  Then he remembered his phone.

  He fished it out of his pocket with his left hand, found the flashlight app, turned it on and illuminated the dusty, barren living room — some sort of weird antique doppelgänger of his own house.

  “Hazel?” he said, sweeping the light through the room, then slowly up the stairs.

  His heart nearly exploded when it found something waiting at the top.

  Scott nearly dropped the phone, the light falling to the floor before he steadied his grip and swept it back to the spot.

  There she sat on the top step, long dark hair hanging in her face, eyes on the ground, humming something Scott didn’t recognize. Maybe an old nursery rhyme.

  “Okay, Hazel, you’re creeping me out. Come downstairs.”

  She stayed put, still singing.

  It’s not her!

  Run!

  But Scott couldn’t run.

  His mind was making too many excuses, insisting it was her, and that she was spooked.

  He remembered how Hazel was when sleepwalking, how she was when he’d found her in the gazebo. She crept him out both times. God only knew what she’d seen since crossing over.

  He started toward the stairs, one hand on his phone, light on her, the other on his sword, shaking.

  “Honey, I’m coming up. It’s me, Daddy.”

  Hazel kept singing that song.

  Wooden planks creaked underfoot as Scott ascended the stairs.

  “Hazel? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, Daddy, I can hear you,” she said, still not looking at him.

  “Where’s your brother?” he asked, now ten steps away.

  No response.

  Eight steps.

  “Where’s your mother?”

  She stopped singing.

  Scott paused, waiting for a response.

  The light on his phone sputtered and died.

  Shit.

  He reached down, thumbed the app back on, then raised the light back to Hazel.

  Except it wasn’t Hazel.

  It was something from a nightmare — tall, with long arms and legs, big black eyes, and long dark hair.

  It screamed and launched itself at Scott.

  Scott fell backwards, somehow managing to raise the sword as he fell.

  The creature hissed as it landed on him, and the sword.

  His bounced down the stairs and cast them in darkness.

  The alien shrieked as its weight sent them tumbling behind hit.

  Scott screamed as they fell, thrashing and kicking at the thing as it clawed at his body.

  They hit the landing, hard.

  Despite the bruises to his back, elbows, and head, Scott managed to jump up before the alien could.

  He was prepared to run, but then, in the dim edges of the phone’s glow, he saw that the creature was still. The sword had sliced right through its gut and was sticking out its back.

  Bright blue blood was dripping onto the floor.

  Suddenly, a cry from upstairs.

  “Help!”

  Scott felt his heart stop.

  No.

  It can’t be.

  “Holly?” he yelled up the stairs.

  “Scott?”

  * * * *

  ALASTAIR

  Alastair was paralyzed by the alien’s threat, holding a blade to Hazel’s throat.

  Shurui spoke again, her voice practically a hiss, “Get off of my brother or she’s dead.”

  Alastair shook his head. “Let the children go and you can save your brother.”

  “Don’t,” moaned Son of Mulkailot.

  Alastair pressed his foot down harder on the man’s back. “Shut up.”

  Hazel screamed, looking down at her arm. Shurui was squeezing it tight, in response to Alastair pressing on her brother’s back.

  “Stop it!” Savannah yelled, “This has to end! Dad, pull the sword out and let him up.”

  He shook his head, struggling not to heed the shapeshifter pretending to be his daughter.

  “You’re not her. Stop using her voice.”

  “It is me, Father,” she said, stepping toward him, opening her arms, wanting him to hug her. “Please, let’s end this.”

  He caught her sweet scent on the breeze as she stood there, smelling just as he remembered.

  Can it really be my Savannah?

  Can they fake scent?

  He looked at her outstretched hands, tears welling in his eyes.

  No, please, stop it.

  You’re not real.

  You’re an abomination they’re using to hurt me.

  Go away!

  “Father,” she said. “It’s me.”

  He tentatively stepped away from Son of Mulkailot, then reached out to touch her.

  His were shaking as her soft hands fell into his old and weathered ones.

  His mind flashed back on the many times she’d held his hand as a little girl, how small her tiny fingers felt braided with his.

  She felt and looked exactly as he remembered, her large eyes twinkling blue from a porcelain face.

  “It’s me, Daddy.”

  “No.” He dropped her hands. “It can’t be. You’re dead. I buried you.”

  “The dead have different rules here in The Hold. I’m as alive as I ever was.”

  She reclaimed his hands and flooded him with memories.

  Alastair saw himself finding her at age seven in the garden, hiding with a book. He’d stood behind Savannah for fifteen minutes, watching her slowly turn the pages, not knowing he was there. “Daddy!” she giggled after finally finding him.

  He saw them in the kitchen with Savannah, Angelica, and Jacquelyn — barely older than Savannah. Alastair was pretending to make lilac butter, stirring petals in a tin cup, using slight distraction and sleight-of-hand to magically transform the petals to butter. Jacquelyn’s mom pretended to have no idea what he was doing, nor any ability to duplicate his recipe. The girls’ laughter rolled up from their stomachs. Savannah stared up at Alastair as if her father had fashioned the world.

  He saw himself setting an egg into his daughter’s palm. “Throw it.” Savannah looked up with her giant eyes: Are you sure? He nodded, and she hurled the egg against the wall. They watched it explode in an eruption of Rice Krispies.

  “Savannah?” he cried as he took her into his arms and hugged her, hard, unable to take any more.

  If this was a lie, so be it.

  Shurui rushed past them, falling to her knees beside Son of Mulkailot, pulling the sword from his body.

  Alastair thought, for a moment, to try and stop her, but with his daughter in his arms, nothing else mattered.

  Crying, he asked, "Why did you do it? Why did you kill yourself?”

&nbs
p; “They told me to.”

  Fresh rage boiled Alastair’s blood. He was about to turn around and stab Shurui as well.

  “Don’t, Daddy! They did it to help.”

  “To help?”

  “Yes, Daddy, to help. I’m part Umlai, like you.”

  “What do you mean like me?”

  “Son of Mulkailot is your brother.”

  He wanted to stop her right there. Brother? That didn’t make any sense. But she kept talking.

  “We can live here forever, or go to their home world once the other portal is open.”

  “What other portal?”

  “There’s a portal from Earth to their world, hidden on our property. If we let them through the Threshold, they can finally go home, and reunite with those that they lost, just like you’re reuniting with me.”

  “But why did you kill yourself? Why didn’t you just come and tell me.”

  Alastair felt desperate and angry. Too hurt to make any words.

  “Because you didn’t listen. I tried to tell you when I first started seeing them, but you thought they’d gotten to me, made me ‘evil.’ You were afraid of a lie. You’ve been living under the one your father inflicted on you. But they showed me the truth, and I needed you to see it.”

  “What truth?” Alastair barely managed.

  “The truth your father hid from you. Or at least the man who called himself your father.” Her tone changed, sharper. “Open the Threshold, Daddy. Or the Umlai will kill you.”

  He was right.

  This is a trick.

  The aliens were trying what they always had, fooling him into opening the portal.

  “No!” Alastair growled, pulling away from the monstrosity pretending to be his daughter.

  “They’ll kill you,” she cried.

  Shurui was standing next to Son of Mulkailot, who was already healing.

  Shurui held Alastair’s sword, eager to exact revenge. Behind her, several other Umlai were readying their weapons for bloodshed as well.

  This was about to get ugly.

  Alastair turned to the children and yelled, “Run to the Threshold!”

  He started to raise his hands, preparing a blast to propel them forward, and at least give them a head start.

  “No!” Shurui threw up her left hand, lifting the children off the ground, suspending them in the air as her brother had done to Alastair.