by Baen Books
Why was he so torn? It seemed fairly clear in the woods. The forest was a place of changing nature, shifting shadows and whispers of old magic. Fairytales recognized the mysticism of the place. In the woods, anything could happen.
His high school was a place of fact. One plus one always equaled two. Earth was a planet circling the sun. Reality was what one saw and no more.
Up to this point, he could see his possible insanity as an uncertain quirk. He may or may not be imaging monsters. It was possible that he was actually seeing creatures that slipped away, leaving no track, like a quick snake or elusive mouse. There and gone before anyone else saw it.
When they walked into school, he’d know for sure. He was afraid that the answer was that he was as insane as everyone said. That all this time, he had fooled himself into believing that there was some rational answer and that he was sane as he felt.
If he was crazy, then he had little hope for the future. Photography might hold hope for him, but that was questionable if he was so delusional that he was taking pictures of things that weren’t there.
He lengthened his stride as nervousness jangled through his system like pure electricity. He reached the glass doors that faced the parking lot. The first two doors he tried were locked. The hallways beyond the glass were strangely dark; he couldn’t see into the black to pick out any details. He glanced back at the parking lot. Had the teachers all gone home? No, the tight huddle of cars sat in the reserved parking spaces. Mrs. Costa’s ancient wood-trimmed station wagon sat beside Principal Adkins’ red Ford Mustang. Two dozen cars in all indicating that the teachers and the administrative staff were all at work.
The third door he tried opened to a rocky, dark tunnel.
He stood there a moment staring at the jagged cavelike opening.
So much for his sanity check.
The bear peered over his shoulder and grunted. “Not good.”
Dugan glanced back at the cars in the parking lot. “Where are the teachers? Are they in there?”
The bear sniffed deeply. “Yes, they’re in there—wherever there is. Most likely it still looked like a school to them when they went through the door.”
“It is a school. My school.”
“Nah, something twisted this doorway. It doesn’t lead to the school anymore. It leads to someplace dark and wet and cold. I might have rattled your Doctor Creepy a little too hard. He’s taking this fight to somewhere he’s more comfortable.”
The truth that Dugan could feel in the statement jarred horribly with the everyday logic that he normally operated on. People didn’t just transform buildings into caves overnight. Bears didn’t talk.
The bear turned and headed back to its car.
“You’re just leaving?” Dugan called after it, unable to tear his eyes away from cave.
“Letting your enemy chose the battlefield is a loser’s gambit.”
“What about the teachers?”
“Unfortunate collateral damage.”
“No! We can’t just leave them there.” Dugan started back to the car. “I’m getting my gun and going in.”
“That’s not a very sane thing to do.”
“Nothing here is sane. I’m just winging this! Just like I always do.”
He got his muzzleloader and ammo bag out of the Smart car.
“That thing works?” the bear asked with surprise.
“Yes. I hunt with it. Mostly small game. Squirrels. Rabbits. Possum. Anything to put meat on the table.”
“I thought you were carrying around because . . . Well. I wasn’t sure why you were carrying around a Civil War weapon. I just thought it was one of your quirks.”
“I don’t really have money for a new gun and it works fine.” Placing the butt on the ground, Dugan took a cartridge from his ammo bag.
The bear blocked his hand holding the cartridge. “What is that?”
“It’s a bullet and black power wrapped in a spell charm.”
“Spell charm?” It roared into Dugan’s face, blasting back his bangs with the force of its shout. “Why do you have bullets wrapped in spells?”
“They fly truer that way.” Dugan pulled his arm free. “I need the advantage to take head shots. I’ve tried hunting using just normal paper but I miss every time.”
“Where the hell did you learn spells without knowing monsters are real?”
“My grandpa always says that my mom was just a kid herself when she had me and filled with nonsense from her mother who had been bat shit crazy. When everyone tells you the same thing, you start to believe it, even when you know it’s wrong. I started to think that it was all in my head that I needed the spells to hit a target. That’s why I tried hunting with normal paper.”
Dugan ripped the top off of the cartridge with his teeth and poured the black powder down the barrel.
“Does this thing have enough stopping power?” The bear eyed the gun closer. “I mean—you’re killing squirrels with it. Dr. Creepy is bigger than a chipmunk.”
“I do headshots for a reason. Its bullet is bigger than what people usually use for deer. If I hit a squirrel in the body, I’d ruin half the meat.”
“What the hell? This gun is covered with spell runes! Where the hell did you get it?”
“It was my mom’s gun and her mother’s before her and her grandmother’s before that.” He cut the excess paper off, careful not to damage the spell written on the bottom edge of the paper. He slid the ramrod free and tamped the bullet down until it was seated firmly against the base.
“Are you coming with me?”
The bear looked away.
For a minute, Dugan was sure that the bear was going to say no. Then it gave a loud sigh, and said “Oh, bother. Fine. I’ll come with you.”
Dugan started for the school, gripping his muzzleloader tightly. There’d better be monsters at the school or he was about to get into a hell of lot of trouble.
His class had gone down into a coal mine in fifth grade. It was an old shaft, long played out, the remaining equipment repurposed for educational field trips. They’d been given helmets—as if this would save them if the ceiling collapsed—loaded onto a squat train car, and taken down into the darkness. It seemed at first like a very slow roller coaster ride as they rolled away from the loading zone. The tracks led into a shed made of corrugated tin and then into the arched mine opening. The horror started once they plunged into the darkness.
He suffered déjà vu as he walked down the hill to open the door into his high school. The “hallways” were lined with the same rough-hewn, light-devouring black rock. Dust hazed the cold, damp air. The absolute darkness was held back by bare light bulbs strung a dozen feet apart. The lamps created small islands of dim light surround by shifting shadows. To finish the illusion, intermittent posts and support beams held up a low ceiling.
Was it an illusion or did the doorway into the school now lead to the heart of a mountain?
He’d forgotten to take his camera off. He lifted it up to focus the lens on the hallway. It showed the minelike passage. He hit the button. It flashed in the dark of the hallway. The saved photo indicated that he was really standing in a shadowy rocky corridor.
“You’re still not sure of yourself?” the bear asked.
“I thought that the school would prove things to me. Green Bank elementary was full of creepy stuff. Here? Weird shit never happened at my high school before. It always made me feel more crazy since everywhere else is ‘anything goes.’ If the world is full of scary monsters, then all the world should have them. That my school was excluded made me question myself.”
“I’m not sure if I should say congratulations or condolences.”
“This is not a good thing.” Dugan stalked forward into the dimly lit tunnel.
“No, it isn’t. It would be helpful to even know what kind of monster your Dr. Creepy is. I thought I was somewhat knowledgeable about such things, but I have no idea.”
“This all reminds me of stories my mother told me. M
y grandmother had taught her a shitload of crazy tales on top of the ones everyone else knows. You know: the fairytales that Disney have animated. Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, Snow White, Little Red Riding Hood, Hansel and Gretel, and that girl that spun gold out of straw. What the hell is with that shit? Why do people tell kids stuff like that and then expect them to know reality from fiction?”
“There’s a story about monsters in caves kidnapping school teachers?”
“Sort of. If I didn’t eat my liver and onions, my mom would say that a dvergr would carry me off to its lair under the mountains. She’d sing this song about it asking if I should be boiled in broth and gravy, roasted on a spit or browned in stewpan. It scared me silly.”
“No wonder your grandpa thinks she was off her rocker.”
“She said that dvergr were white maggots that fed on the body of this giant by the name of Ymir. He was so massive that when the gods killed him, they created the world out of his bones and flesh. The dvergr were maggots that burrowed into Ymir’s flesh, feeding on his body. They grew intelligent but remained maggots in thoughts and deeds.”
“Hm, yeah, there’s a bit of a carrion smell to your Doctor Creepy. Did she tell you anything useful about killing these dvergr?”
“Not really. They’re fearful things. They won’t attack the strong. They like the dark. They’re clever but you can never figure out what they’re after. My mom says that the girl spinning the straw to gold was dealing with a dvergr. Why did Rumpelstiltskin want the king’s firstborn son? To eat him? To overthrow the king? The stories never say. In all the fairytales, the heroes used the dvergr’s pride against them. They like to think they’re smarter than anyone; the problem being is that they usually are.”
“That’s not promising.”
“Yeah. The reason my mom’s stories frightened me so bad was they weren’t like fairytales. In her stories people didn’t live to be happy ever after. The monsters usually won.”
“A childhood like that and you didn’t know monsters were real?”
“She told me lots of things that weren’t true. Santa Claus. Easter Bunny. The tooth fairy. That my father was a good man when he’d killed three men in Virginia. He was executed shortly after I was born. Everyone else told me that monsters were just make believe. Old stories to scare kids into behaving. It wasn’t until she’d—died that the monsters started to show up.”
They picked their way down the rough-hewn tunnel. The naked bulbs barely held back the dense black of the mine.
The narrow tunnel branched. The passage to the right opened up to large dark chamber. At least, Dugan sensed it was large. He couldn’t see into the darkness beyond the feeble light in the hallway.
“Which way do you think we should go?”
The bear sniffed. “Oh, bother, the teachers are in this big room. They’re not moving. They might be dead, but they don’t smell like it.”
“Dead?” Dugan plunged into the dark.
“Wait!” the bear shouted behind him. “There’s a big drop off right in front of you!”
Dugan froze in place. “What?”
“Don’t go running blindly in the dark!” the bear grumbled. “I can see a hundred times better than you. There’s a huge hole in the ground straight in front of you. The teachers are on the ground in front of it. It feels like a trap.”
Dugan wavered in place. He couldn’t see anything. He should have brought a flashlight. He needed to see in order to shoot anything. Any coon hunter knew that. The muzzleloader, though, needed both hands to fire. He couldn’t hold the long barrel steady enough to hit anything.
Did he have anything that made light? His camera had a flash but that would only destroy his night vision. He thought over the contents of his ammo bag. He had matches. What else?
“What are you doing?” the bear asked as Dugan picked his way carefully back to the last lamp.
“I need light.” He fumbled blindly through his ammo bag, finding things mostly by feel. He found the length of cotton clothesline first. He measured off a couple of inches and cut it with his hunting knife. “I’m going to make a lamp.”
Dugan took out his glass flask. It was only thing he had that belonged to his father. He kept it in his ammo bag to keep it away from his grandpa, who would drink the contents and sell the antique flask. It should be full of his family’s dangerous black pot moonshine. He couldn’t tell by weight. The leather cover made it impossible to check. He stripped off the cover and held it up to the light bulb. Yes, it was still full.
He unscrewed the lid and dipped one end of the clothesline, and then the other, into the moonshine. He threaded the damp line through a grommet and then stuffed the loose end into the flask.
He found his matches and lit the wick. The light it put off was feeble in the oppressive darkness. He picked his way into the large room, holding the flask out in front of him.
The teachers lay in untidy heaps in the darkness. It seemed as if they were all carried to the room and dumped on the floor dangerously close to the edge of a huge hole in the ground. Principal Adkins had his right arm dangling over the lip.
Dugan wedged the flask lamp upright so his hands were free to move Principal Adkins to relative safety in the hallway. He was heavier than Dugan expected; he couldn’t actually lift the man up and carry him. The bear helped drag the man over the rough ground.
“He’s breathing.” The bear sniffed Principal Adkins. “He’s drugged or poisoned or something. The others are probably in the same condition.”
“How am we going to get them all out?” Dugan paused, thinking he heard something. “Did you hear that?”
“Something is coming,” the bear said. “It sounds weird, like a wasp or something flying.”
Dugan listened intently. There was the dry rustling like the thrashing of leaves. It grew louder, like a storm front moving through a forest. He gripped his rifle tightly.
“Look out!” The bear sent Dugan tumbling.
Something flashed over Dugan as he rolled. A large pale shape flickered in and out of the light given off by the flask lamp. He caught the fleeting impression of a large pale wasplike creature with translucent wings. It tugged at the shoulder of his coat, slicing through the thick wool and the flannel of his shirt beneath it, and then was gone.
“What was that?” Dugan scrambled to his feet, bringing up his rifle.
“Dr. Creepy!” The bear shouted the name like an insult.
“You should have stayed out of this, bear!” Dr. Creagh’s voice came from someplace up high. “This is none of your business!”
The bear roared in reply. It reared up on its hind legs, swiping at something diving out of the darkness.
Dugan caught the flash of white as the creature flashed overhead. He pulled the trigger out of sheer instinct. In the muzzle flare, he saw the pale giant wasp dodge the bullet. It flitted away, vanishing into the darkness.
He swore. He needed to reload the muzzleloader in the near dark before it attacked again. He popped the percussion cap out of the lock.
“Shit,” the bear swore lowly. “It stung me.”
“What?” Dugan pulled a second cartridge out of his ammo bag.
“I thought if I could get a paw onto it, I could take it.” The bear stumbled back from the lip of the gaping hole in the floor. “Most things are a pushover for me. I didn’t think that the thing could sting me.”
Dugan tore the top off the paper cartridge. He fought not to panic. If he did, he could screw up reloading. He couldn’t help but curse under his breath. He should have listened to the bear and run. He could have called 911 and hoped that the police could rescue the teachers. He should have tried to find the angel.
Beside him, the bear collapsed onto the ground with a groan.
Dugan poured the black powder into the barrel. He placed the paper-wrapped ball into the barrel, listening for the rustle of wings. If the creature managed to poison him, it would be all over. Everyone would die. The teachers. The bear. Him.
He heard the rustle of the wings. He wasn’t reloaded yet. He couldn’t get a shot off. He needed more time!
He closed his eyes and hit the shutter release on his camera. He saw the brilliant flash through his eyelids. Dr. Creagh cried out in surprise and pain.
Dugan opened his eyes. The wasp winged past him, the stinger nearly grazing him. It circled wide to attack again.
He kicked the flask lamp at the monster.
The glass broke on impact, dousing the wasp in burning moonshine. Dr. Creagh went up in flames.
Dugan pulled the ramrod free. He tamped the lead ball down the barrel until it hit the seat. He pulled out the ramrod, slipped the percussion cap into place. The burning wasp was crawling toward him, the flames reflecting in its multifaceted eyes.
He took aim and fired. Without thinking, he took a headshot.
The monster bore little resemblance to Dr. Creagh. It looked even less like the man with the massive hole in the forehead. It collapsed, still burning.
Dugan stood panting as the flames died away, leaving him in darkness. After a moment, his eyes adjusted and he realized that he was standing in the combined gym and stage. The lights were off and the big, cavernous room was lit only by the small windows high above the bleachers. The teachers and the bear lay scattered around him, unconscious. The dvergr smoldered, looking less and less like a living creature as the exoskeleton turned to ash and collapsed.
What did he do now? If he called the police, how was going to explain this? There was no cave. No monster. Just him, a bear, and lots of mysteriously wounded teachers.
The fire alarm went off.
It was loud blaring noise. The light beside the exit strobed bright white.
“Shit!” The sound made Dugan jump. He raised his muzzleloader to block attacks out of sheer reflex. He stared wide eyed at the rifle. Gun. School. “Shit!”
