by Aaron French
A stirring among the roses...
Them.
Watching without fear or anxiety as the beings spread out from the garden, their circle completed. Do not fear, they sang. We offer you Angela.
“How?” Adam felt the dew soaking through his pants at the knees. Honeysuckle scented the breeze.
Come. Stand among us. We will take you to Angela.
Adam stood, entered the circle, and blinked.
And saw the earth below him, as blue as Angela’s eyes. I’m inside a bubble.
Yes, a bubble.
“You ate the crickets, too.”
Like you, we are omnivores.
Omnivores? I think that means they eat anything. Like an old spider spinning a new web, fear spread through him. I don’t understand.
Adam blinked again. He saw blackness.
We are in galaxy M87, the home of the largest black hole in your known universe.
“Why?”
We are taking you to Angela.
“Why?”
Because this is what you want, no, need.
Adam experienced the reflection of the bubble in a blue star being sucked into the black hole. Other stars—red, yellow, white—moved with him, transforming into shapes of monarch butterflies and seahorses and fireflies; and other images he had no words to describe.
A tap on Adam’s shoulder surprised him. He turned.
“Hello. My name is Hieronymus Bosch.”
Adam nodded to the man, but before he could introduce himself the man was no more. What a creepy little shit. Adam blinked.
We are near.
He blinked again and was momentarily blinded.
An O-star, and why it is blue; rare indeed, but quite beautiful, don’t you think?
“Yes.” Why do I deserve such beauty? He blinked. I don’t. “Where is Angela?”
Near, very near; please be patient.
He closed his eyes, then heard Angela’s voice: Adam?
He opened them.
There! You see, Adam?
A planet: one half, the side facing the star, shimmered yellow/red, molten; the side facing away from the star white, icy, stark; and a blue ring around the middle of the planet promised innocence, purity, and a concept for which Adam couldn’t find the word he desired.
This planet does not rotate. The middle part represents where life exists. Angela is there, in the blue ring.
“When do I get to see her?” I have so much to say; especially, I’m sorry.
We are sorry. When did we say you may see her?
“Then what?” Adam, happy for Angela and her blue place, understood now it didn’t matter anymore.
Choose.
“Choose?”
Choose your home; white or lemon-crimson. Free will, Adam, is a promise. One of many.
I should have known. “I always favored her white roses.”
Adam fell. As he sunk into the planet’s atmosphere, he broke into a million pieces of eternally screaming ice.
About the author: James Ward Kirk is a writer and editor living in Indiana. You can find out more about him at: http://indyhorror.wordpress.com/james-ward-kirk-fiction/
In the Valley of the Things
L. E. Badillo
We’d been casing the tomb for weeks. It belonged to the widow of a fortune who might have been selfishly entombed with things that were meant to be shared. Jacob had wanted to keep waiting, but I was hellbent on setting out that night. He would never see it my way, and tomorrow he would just be jealous.
I navigated through tombstones with ease, in my black pants, long sleeve thermal shirt, shoes, wool cap, and leather gloves. Evelyn Roger’s tomb was fantastic. Cherry blossom trees stood to either side, and the tomb faced southwest at a strange angle between low hills. Sunlight never touched its front.
I carried everything in a duffle bag, worn with the strap across my chest. The zipper opened with a sigh as I felt around for the lock pick. In two minutes I was in.
Once inside, the door closed behind me with a clang, but luckily the lock did not re-engage. Vibrations crawled up my calves like inappropriate tickling. Never had I experienced perfect blackness like this. I clicked on my LED flashlight, and a beam of daylight cut across the tomb.
The sarcophagus resided in the center.
Along the back wall was a bas-relief as high as the room. It was a majestic, roaring lion-type thing. Its body was made up of several creatures, much like a collage of angelic beings and strange animals, and it resembled a kind of alter.
I stepped closer to the sarcophagus. Carved patterns on it looked Celtic or Mayan, but strangely different. Faces of angels smiled at the center and the corners. As my light shone upon them, their faces seemed to beam with joy; but when I moved the light away, the shadows melted the smiles into expressions of horror.
Pulling my pry bar from the bag, I searched the sarcophagus and found a place to wedge into. Growling, I forced the lid open and looked inside, then drew back in fright.
It was empty.
We watched the place all this time and there was nothing inside. I wanted to cry. My plans to jet to the Caymans drowned under a tsunami of hopelessness. Everything I fought Jacob over—Jacob.
This was Jacob’s doing. The reason he didn’t want to hit this place was because he already had. The son of a bitch didn’t want me finding out. I threw the bag against the wall, then ran to the door, attempting to shoulder it open, when a deep churning of stone from somewhere below stopped me dead. The rumble swelled, rising. Vibrations surged upward over the bas-relief, and it slid to the left. An awful grating of stone folded me to the ground. Then it stopped.
The face of the lion-thing appeared to smile: more tricks of the shadows. I moved my flashlight over it, but the beastly grin remained. Where the bas-relief used to be now yawned a rectangular hole, black as night.
I walked cautiously toward it. The beam from my flashlight passed over the hole, making the blackness look even blacker. Stairs descended into deeper darkness. Peering down, I counted seven stairs before shadow claimed the rest. I stood at the edge deciding what to do when the most horrible thing imaginable happened—the lock engaged behind me.
“Holy... hey!” I ran to the door, pounding my fists against it, and I felt the world I knew pulling away. “Open the door, you bastard!”
The pry bar.
I rushed to grab it, dropped the light, then crushed the door with the cast iron bar. Vibrations numbed my hands, and I shuddered under the force. Small chips of stone fell in patters over the marble floor. I tried to wedge the bar to open the doors; no good. The pry bar fell uselessly from my hands, and I pushed and pounded against the door. It was hopeless.
“Oh, God.” The reality of being stuck here for eternity soaked through me like an evil marinade. I listened carefully for any sound outside. Silence, pure silence. I didn’t want to die like this.
There was no way out—but down.
I turned to face the black hole, then dragged myself over there. First, I picked up the flashlight and drew a deep breath. Then, a gentle breeze brushed over my face from the hole like a delicate scarf of frost. There had to be an opening somewhere leading out.
I collected my things. With any luck I’d pop out at the old biddy’s mansion, and... jackpot. I put the flashlight in my mouth and lowered myself down the hole onto the first step.
A strong earthy smell filled my nostrils. Walls of black soil surrounded me. The stairs were made of aged marble, rounded and dirty from loose earth worn into the surface. My flashlight beam cut through the dark, but it was like swiping a stick through a bucket of tar. The descending path was six or seven feet wide. Each stair felt lower to the next, as if they were sinking over time, and the temperature dropped the deeper I went.
I thought I felt someone following me, but I knew that was impossible. Still, the odd feeling of someone stepping where my shadow should have been remained strong.
Eventually the walls became a mixture of rock and soil. The path
looked like it had been carved ages ago. I had been in long winding caves before, but never alone. My sharpened senses were on overload. I looked behind again. Nothing.
The passage narrowed and the stairs melted into sloping rock. An archway cut out of stone led into an open space. I approached both eager and reluctant, flashing the light inside to have a look-see.
Mineral deposits spiraled, accumulating over hundreds of years, dripping down walls into distorted shapes. Puddles collected between groupings of stalagmites. This space was probably the size of a hotel lobby. I saw multiple archways around the den and used the pry bar to etch a mark by the entrance in case I needed to return and start over. I entered deeper, hoping to catch another light breeze that would serve to guide me.
“Echo,” I said, and instead of hearing my echo, little drips fell from the ceiling. The faint patter sounded like muted applause. I flashed the light upward, staring into clusters of stalactites, and between them utter darkness.
Then a knocking sound emerged from one of the tunnels. A few water drops pattered around me again. The sound I heard was like a deliberate tap on the rock. I heard it again further away. It was moving. Whatever it was compelled me to follow toward the back, on the left.
My light shone through the dark tunnel opening. I looked back to identify where I had entered, but couldn’t. Since I left a mark, I felt more assured I could return and start over if need be. I entered the next tunnel.
The path bent to the right. Spirals of white pillars from long years of slow drips made what looked like strings of melted mozzarella. My shoes splashed in small, unavoidable puddles. Soon my feet became soaked. I could see my breath in thin vapors. Little nooks in the rock walls were like windows into deep space, and when I flashed my light there, the blacks became blacker, ancient, like an undiscovered cosmos, and I had to look away.
The feeling of being followed returned. I shot another look behind.
The accumulations of deposits formed strange shapes. I stooped down and took a closer look. Stuck into the rock I found a bone. I had no desire to test how fixed it was to the wall, but curiosity is a strange thing. I grabbed the bottom of what looked like a small femur and pulled. It might as well have been cemented in. As I let go, the knocking repeated, and I spun my light in the direction of the sound. The tunnel stretched into blackness.
I took a breath to speak but stopped. It felt like I was being lured here. I had half a mind to call out for Jacob but resisted. The tunnel suddenly felt much colder and the dark much darker.
I jolted as a vibration in my pants pocket stunned me like a taser. My head almost touched the ceiling from how high I jumped. I had received a text.
keep going almst ther
“What the fuck?”
I replied: Jake, where are you
A long pause followed... then: keep going
The knocking sounded again, only further.
“Son of a bitch,” I said. Anger clipped my growing anxiety like a weed.
I quickened my pace down the cool damp passage, with the desire to slam the pry bar right in Jacob’s face. I reached a place in the corridor with a second opening. Then, I received another text.
stay rt
I continued and the feeling of being followed dissipated. Another set of corridors came along, this time three. Again, I received a text.
go lft
Could this piece of shit have the decency to spell the words?
fine dckhd I replied. Whatever he’d found had to be worth it, or I’d kill him and leave him. The bones in the tunnel piled up the further I went. I counted whole skeletons in the walls. If I found an empty notch in the rock big enough, I’d stuff Jacob in and call it a night.
Farther down, the knocking came again. As the tunnel curved, I couldn’t see anything. I used the pry bar to knock against the wall, and it had a higher pitched sound from the one I was following, so I knocked my fist against it. A dull sound was the result.
I was wondering how Jacob was doing it, when I heard something unexpected—a woman’s voice. It sounded like a gasp. I paused. All sounds ceased. The knocking started again. I texted him.
where the fuck are you
I wouldn’t take another step until he responded. In the meantime I looked behind, plotting out the path in case I needed to get back, forgetting how stuck I was in the tomb.
My phone rang and shattered the silence like a scream. I was startled, and my feet shifted like a boxer’s, ready to bolt.
“All right, you bastard,” I growled. “Where the hell are you?”
Jacob answered tired, groggy, confused. “Darren, you know what time it is?”
“Yeah. Where are you?”
“In bed, where the hell are you?”
“Following your texts, dipshit.”
I heard a rustle of cloth and him straining to sit up.
“What is going on?” he said, irritated.
“The tomb,” I said. “You’ve been sending me texts about where to go.”
“You’re out of your mind,” he said, waking up fully. A chill passed over me and I heard his Labradors barking playfully in the background.
“Jacob, you need to get down here.”
“This is crazy,” he said. “It’s four in the morning. Why did you go down there in the first place? We agreed to—”
“Jacob, I need you here now. I went in the tomb and the doors locked behind me, then a sculpture on the back wall moved and—”
“Whoa, what are you talking about? You sound crazy.”
“I’m in a fucking catacombs under the cemetery,” I said. “There was a hole in the floor and stairs leading down, so I went in because I couldn’t get out. I’m in tunnels in a cave. There are bones everywhere. I started getting texts from you telling me where to go.”
“I haven’t sent shit,” he said. “I’ve been sleeping—”
“Get down here and get me the fuck out,” I said, in hostile whispers.
“If I can’t get you out, I’ll have to call the cops, understand?”
“Do you know what that means?”
“Just stay put, Darren,” he said, “or get back to the tomb—whatever.”
I heard him open his truck door, and the jingle of keys as he hung up.
Another text came. I panicked. It was from him.
kep going
I wanted to throw the thing, but it was my only link to Jacob, the real Jacob. I turned to go back. The persistent squish from my shoes made me want to take them off. How long had I been walking? 20 minutes? 40?
Another text.
not tht way
I wanted to cry. Who was it? How did they know? My body was a tremulous wreck, shaking from the mounting fear, never mind the cold.
The flow of air rushed over me again. It sounded like a collection of desperate whispers. I wanted out. Then, a thunderous crash of stone somewhere from the den froze me. Vibrations surged through the tunnel.
From the direction of the crashing stone came a shriek that sounded like twisting metal. I could only imagine what slept in the den with all of the passageways branching out like a devilish squid in the depths of the ocean.
I shuddered and hurried the other way. The dampness in the tunnel caused me to slip. I caught myself against the wall and looked up to see the tunnel making another turn. At the end were two openings: one continued straight, the other to the left.
The penetrating cold seemed to replace my bones with pieces of ice. I couldn’t feel my toes, and my fingers had long since gone numb from clutching the pry bar, cold as an icicle. My flashlight seemed weaker, the darkness stronger.
I feared the whispering despair and chose the other path, but the path wound back, and in no time I had returned to the den. Fuck.
I received another text.
come bac
I paused near the den wishing I had another option.
I wil keep you here
Unable to decide which way to run, I replied: who are you
you wil be
safe forever
A rush of wind came, followed by a woman’s distant howl.
join us
I wanted to smash the phone but needed it to contact Jacob.
Jacob. He would be here any moment.
My phone rang.
Jittery, I looked at the number. Jacob’s came up. He’s here.
“Hello,” I said in a small, fearful voice.
“Stay where you are. I’m coming, Darren.”
“Jacob, you don’t know what’s down here. Don’t come down, whatever you do. No matter what, do not come down.” I panted quickly as fear tightened my chest. I had to move.
“It’s okay. I’m coming, Darren.”
As I listened, a rubbing sound came across the stone from down in the darkness at my back. I turned my light, and as the tunnel bent to me, the sound became stronger.
“Don’t move, Darren. I’m almost there.”
“How... how did you get here?” Small vapors from my mouth dissipated into the cold air.
From around the bend came a large tapered head. The shuffle of flesh against stone was the sound of a complete mass crawling toward me. Pale, almost translucent, huge. Its eyes were pallid, almost clear. They never blinked. From the frown that made its mouth, saliva ran down like water. I thought of the puddles I’d been walking through. The body was like a hairless bat’s, with a thick mane around its head. A terrible memory returned—the bas-relief from the tomb.
The beast crawled like a person in a ventilation shaft. Its nose sensed me, twisting and relaxing, smelling my terror. In one of its claws it held the top of a skull, draped with torn skin, cartilage, and long white hair springing from a tightly braided bun. It banged the skull on the floor, replicating the sound I’d been following.
I whimpered.
Jacob’s voice came over the phone, “I told you I’d find you.”
I screamed, dropping the phone and the pry bar, which made an awful clang. The beast recoiled. Its mouth opened, and fangs sharp as hunting knives glistened from a face wrenched in discomfort. Scrambling, I returned to the den.
I stumbled, running with legs too numb to operate. In full panic I knocked into a small structure of stalagmites, which crashed in chunks to the floor. Rain came down again, this time accompanied by rustling. I shined the light up, and the stalactites moved. Then, more spear-shaped heads tilted down. It wasn’t rain, it was saliva.
