The Samhanach

by Lisa Morton

  She scanned the yard, looking for a path to clear the pumpkins; all around, she could hear the sound of their thick, fleshy mouths closing, and a strange groaning, as if their shells were trying to expand, stretching beyond what they were designed for. She thought she saw a way to reach the relative safety of the porch, but it would involve jumping over some of the jack-o’-lanterns…and she certainly didn’t want to go near the cobwebs she’d strung earlier in the night, once fake but now alive with skittering shadows…

  She ran for it.

  Some of the pumpkins were large enough that leaping over them was difficult, and Merran tried not to think of them beneath her airborne feet, turning to try a mid-air bite, their carven eyes shifting to follow her, candle-heated air erupting from triangular noses –

  With a final, long leap, she reached the porch. She paused to catch her breath, turned to look back, half expecting to see the damned things now growing legs or sprouting wings – but instead they were again inanimate, almost serene.

  She resettled the bag straps on her shoulder, then considered her situation. She had no idea which way to go, no way of knowing where the monster had taken Jeannie. As long as she’d reached the porch, she turned and looked at the front of her house…

  And saw that the door was ajar.

  That was impossible – she’d clearly remembered locking it, just minutes before, wondering if it was the last time she’d see her house. But now it was open, and even creaked slightly in the evening breeze.

  Did that mean the Samhanach had gone into her house?

  Merran reached into the bag and withdrew the knife. She clenched it tightly in her right hand, then reached out with her left to push the door slowly open. Even before she’d pushed the door more than an inch or two she saw something was wrong – the light coming from within the house was different somehow, softer and with a hint of green.

  She suddenly kicked the door all the way back on its hinges, and froze in astonishment at what she saw. Any expectations of a sudden attacker like some costumed ghoul from a cheap Halloween haunted house were dashed instantly:

  The doorway opened onto not her comfortable living room, but the stony interior of a cavern. Stalactites and milky water dripped from overhead, and the light was provided by the walls themselves; Merran couldn’t tell if some mineral in the stone was phosphorescent, or if some sort of fungus or moss covering the walls provided the greenish glimmer.

  The cavern plainly narrowed ahead to a single tunnel, just big enough for a man (or woman) to pass through. Merran wondered briefly if the Samhanach could really have come this way – it would have had to bend nearly double to pass through the tunnel – but then she remembered that she was dealing with an immortal shapeshifter.

  Yes, the demon had almost certainly come this way.

  Holding the knife out before her, Merran walked through the open cavern, then ducked several long stalactites and stepped into the tunnel. After just a few feet it twisted sharply left; then, another yard or two on, a hard right. The path turned out to be serpentine, bending and curving constantly, keeping Merran on edge. She led into every turn with the knife blade held before her, expecting an attack to come from around every new turn; but the only footsteps she heard echoing in the tunnel were hers, the only other sound the susurration of water dripping. The glow from the walls occasionally changed hue, moving through the cool end of the spectrum: Green, blue, violet.

  After a few minutes of making her way through this underground labyrinth, Merran had the sensation of being lulled into a kind of hypnagogic state; it was almost as if she were journeying into the center of a vast dream. Or – given how this cave felt strangely familiar – a collective subconscience.

  Just when she was wondering if this cave had any real destination (if she turned back, would the way out still be there, behind her?), it startled her by abruptly ending. She turned a final corner and stepped out of the cave…

  She stopped, surveying her new surroundings. She was outside, in a small clearing at the edge of a great forest. Overhead, a full quarter of the night sky was filled with a cyclopean harvest moon, its pumpkin-orange surface bathing the landscape in an amber light. It would have been lovely, romantic even, had it not been for the forest.

  The trees, which grew up to the edge of the clearing, barely ten yards away, were dark even under the strong golden glow, and Merran thought the wood would be black even by daylight. They stretched out long twigs and branches like skinless fingers, and the bark on the trunks waved in strange directions, forming shapes and, almost, faces. The trees grew close together, and Merran shivered at the thought of venturing into that forest, trying to find her way in the dense growth, where little light penetrated…

  And there were the sounds. The forest was alive with them: Howls, cries, barks, snarls. Merran could barely guess what sort of animal any of the noises belonged to – bird, mammal, reptile, human, or inhuman. She instinctively recoiled, not relishing coming up against anything that could make that ululating wail, or that guttural growl.

  She had no idea which way to go. Behind her was a rocky cliff so tall she couldn’t make out the top; the cave had spilled out from the base of the cliff, and she could just make out a few other such openings in the granite wall. To her right was a small path that bordered the cliff; she thought she saw several paths leading off into the forest.

  She turned back to the cave, wondering if it was possible she’d missed a turn somewhere. She glanced at her watch – it was now after ten – and knew she couldn’t afford to make a wrong decision.

  “Oh my God – Merran?”

  She jumped, startled by the voice, and whirled to spot a figure emerging from the trees. The voice…she knew the voice… but it couldn’t be…and yet, as he stepped into the moonlight, she saw it was –

  Will.

  “Will...?”

  “Yeah. It is you.”

  He stepped forward, stopping a few feet from her. He looked pale, anxious, and was dressed simply, in a white shirt and black slacks. Merran lowered the knife, and tried to find words:

  “How can you be here?”

  Will looked around, perplexed and afraid. “I don’t know how I got here. What is this place?”

  Merran shook her head. “I don’t know.” She did know, in a way, but she couldn’t answer him because of his mere presence. Why was he here? To help? Had some force for good brought Jeannie’s other parent here to take her back, to keep Merran from having to face this nightmare alone? She hated to admit that she was glad to see Will again, but under the circumstances…

  He suddenly fixed her with his eyes. “Is Jeannie with you?”

  “No. God, Will, something took her – she was out trick-or-treating, and –”

  “What do you mean, ‘something took her’?!”

  There was a hint of anger in his voice, and Merran felt her own body tense for a coming fight, a reaction she’d come to know all too well in the last year of their marriage. “Some kind of – I don’t know exactly what it was, but I followed it here –”

  “Wait, hold on.” Will took a step closer to her, and she saw now that his eyes were hard, his jaw set. “Are you telling me that you let something take our daughter?”

  Merran tried to answer – she wanted to shout at him to help, to not start an argument now, not when their daughter was in the arms of a monster – but her jaw only hung open in disbelief…and guilt. She felt anger burning, and frustration; she was ashamed by tears welling. “Goddamnit, Will, no – I didn’t ‘let something take our daughter’. She was kidnapped –”

  “Were you with her when it happened?”

  “No, I…” As the first drop slid down her cheek, she hurriedly brushed it away. “She was with Keesha –”

  He cut her off, no longer trying to contain his own rage. “I don’t fucking believe this – you’re telling me you left a six-year-old with someone else on fucking Halloween?!”

  The tears came freely now, and Merran sagged back a
gainst the rock behind her, unable to look at him any longer. “Will, we have to go get her…”

  “And I suppose you know exactly where she is in this – well, whatever the fuck this place is…”

  “No, I don’t. I don’t have a clue…”

  “Great. That’s just fucking great, Merran.” And then he was standing only inches away, shouting down at her. “HOW FUCKING STUPID COULD YOU BE TO LET THIS HAPPEN?!”

  She’d failed. She’d failed as a wife, as a mother, as her daughter’s protector, and now she’d fail as her daughter’s rescuer. Will had managed to target her greatest fear with a single perfectly-aimed bullet, and now she collapsed, sinking to her knees, rendered helpless by her own overwhelming sense of inadequacy.

  Will bent over her, looming, and opened his mouth for another salvo. “YOU’RE A FUCKING DISASTER OF A MOTHER –”

  THUD. A rock flew out of nowhere and hit Will on the side of the head.

  He staggered, his eyes glassing over briefly, then he spun, searching for his attacker. In that instant, another missile connected with his face. Merran blinked, then hurriedly wiped away tears as she saw Will start to change. He stumbled back, thrown off balance, and even as he did he was shrinking, his limbs shortening, head and chest collapsing inward like deflating balloons. His clothing melted away, and his skin changed color, from cream to pale blue. His mouth grew outsized fangs, curling over his purple lips, and a snakelike tail sprouted from his back.

  When he was no more than two feet tall, he hissed at something off to Merran’s right, then scuttled into the sanctuary of the great forest. He was lost from sight within seconds.

  Still gaping in astonishment, Merran struggled to stand, then turned toward the sound of a male voice that was asking, “Are ye unharmed, lassie?”

  A man stood at the head of the path to her right. He had long brown hair, waving down to his shoulders, and an equally long beard; he still clutched another stone in his right hand, and his eyes darted from Merran to the edge of the forest.

  “I…yes…”

  The voice was gruff, as if seldom used, and thick with Scottish brogue. “Ye’d best follow me. ‘Tis nae safe out here, wi’ the bogies ‘round.”

  “Is that…that was a…”

  He nodded. “Aye. I could see its real form, even if ye could nae. But ye’d been magicked.”

  This was too much to take in. Merran walked towards him, dumbly.

  His eyes moved from her face down to her right hand, and suddenly went wide. Merran looked down, and realized she still held the knife, forgotten during her confrontation with the thing that had mimicked her husband.

  “Oh…I…sorry…” She started to return the knife to her bag.

  “Ye’ve got a knife.” The statement was made with astonishment, and a hint of sheer joy.

  “Yes…”

  “May I see it?”

  Merran started to extend it toward him, then caught herself: What if he’s another monster in disguise? Do I just hand over my only weapon? “Why do you want it?”

  He glanced from the blade to Merran. “Good. That’s the attitude ye’ll need in this place. And t’ answer yer question: My interest in yer knife is that it’s the first decent weapon I’ve seen in a year.” He narrowed his eyes and bent closer. “And it looks like ane I once owned…”

  She raised the knife so he could see the hilt. “This has been in my family for a long time.”

  He leaned forward, trying to examine the knife by moon-glow. “Aye…very like, it is…wha’ might yer name be?”

  “Merran. Merran Alstead.”

  He looked briefly disappointed, until she added, “My maiden name was McCafferty.”

  He froze in astonishment, then grinned and jabbed a finger in her direction. “Aye. I thought I could ken tha’ chin. We’re kin, lassie – I’d be Connell McCafferty.”

  Now it was Merran’s turn to stare, incredulous. “Connell… you’re Connell?!”

  “At yer service.” He thrust a hand at her, and Merran took it, feeling a strong, calloused grip. Just then something large cried out from dangerously nearby, and Connell changed the friendly grip to a firm tug. “We’d best nae talk here. I’ve a safe place nae far. Come.”

  He released her to move quickly down the narrow path between cliff and forest, and Merran followed, caught between wonder and apprehension. Could this really be the great-great-grandfather she’d first met via his journal? He had ended by saying he’d crossed over to this world, but that had been a hundred years ago, and this man was still young and vital…

  A few minutes later, Connell was lifting a camouflage of branches and leaves away from the cliff, revealing another cave mouth, artfully hidden. He motioned her in, and she complied; she saw a cave that widened and went back perhaps forty feet, with a small fire flickering at the far end. Various homemade weapons and tools lined the floor, and herbs and dried meat hung from the soot-blackened ceiling.

  She stepped aside as Connell followed her in, then moved the camouflage back in place, followed by a heavy wooden barrier. He strode down the tunnel to the fire, gesturing about him.

  “Nae quite a’ the comforts o’ home, but it’s been my home for ane year now.” He gestured at the ground near the fire. “Now, s’pose ye rest and tell me about how ye came here, Merran McCafferty.”

  Merran didn’t take the floor, but instead held up her wrist and watch. “I need you to answer me a question first: Will the gate or door or whatever back to my world close at midnight?”

  “Aye…” then Connell squinted at her digital watch. “I’ve nae seen a timepiece quite like tha’ one…” His gaze moved suspiciously up to her face. “What year have ye come from?”

  “2010.”

  Connell looked as if he’d just been sucker-punched in the gut. He let out a long breath, then sank to a sitting position by the fire. “2010…a hundred year…dear Lord, a century passed, as I feared …”

  She crouched beside him, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Connell, you know about the Samhanach, right?”

  When he looked at her, his eyes were hooded with a deep-seated loathing. “Aye. Tha’ demon is why I’m here…”

  “And me, too. It’s got my daughter. Do you know where it is?”

  Connell ground his jaws together for a few seconds, then looked at her. “Aye. It lives nae far from here. I’ve watched it every day for a year…”

  “But you’ve been here….”

  He gestured at a rock wall nearby, and Merran saw hundreds of tiny slash marks etched into the stone. “A year by my reckoning. But, as I’d feared – time flows weirdly between the two worlds. A century at home is only a year here.”

  Something clicked in Merran’s head. “Then – that’s why the Samhanach only shows up once every hundred years…”

  He nodded. “Aye. Because but a year has passed here. An’ it can only cross over on Hallow’s Eve. Once a year.”

  Merran couldn’t help but glance at her watch again. “So if I don’t get out of here in just over an hour…”

  Connell’s gaze darkened again. “Ye’ll be trapped here, as I’ve been.”

  Remembering, Merran reached into her bag and produced the small book. “But you managed to get your journal to me…”

  He peered at the book and blinked in dismay. “My what…?”

  “Your journal.”

  Shaking his head, Connell said, “Nae mine. I’ve never larned t’ read or write. I’m naught but a poor workin’ man without schoolin’. I fear ye’ve been tricked.”

  Merran stared at the journal, stunned. “But…why?”

  “Our adversary is a great trickster, he is. An’ a nasty one. Just takin’ yer child was nae enow; this way the bogie’s trapped ye here as well. I ken he’s got more fun planned for ye.”

  Merran dropped the book back in her bag, and hefted the knife. “No. I’m getting my daughter back and leaving here, before twelve.”

  Connell squinted at the knife. “Well, tha’ does ha
ve a steel blade, as I recall…and steel’s mainly iron, which a’ the stories say the faerie kind dinnae like. Ye came better prepared than I did, lassie, and we might ha’e a chance…” He moved with sudden resolution, picking up a long home-made spear in one hand and a torch in the other. “We’d best move quickly.”

  Merran grinned, and followed him out of the cave.

  The McCaffertys and the Samhanach

  They talked, in soft tones, as Connell led her on a well-defined path through the forest. He asked about her life, what America and her world were like. She asked how he’d survived here for a year, and he told her that it was different in the daytime – almost idyllic, with plentiful game and good water.

  But mostly they talked of their children. Merran had to sadly admit that she knew little of Ewan, who had passed on by the time she was born; Connell told her he was sure little Aileen was still alive, because he’d heard her cries at times, although he’d been unable to reach her.

  It turned out that most of the journal had been reasonably accurate; Connell confirmed the stories of Michael and Brian McCafferty, and how the family’s fortune had fallen. Merran realized she liked Connell a great deal, and was proud to call this man great-great-grandfather.

  At one point something reached out for them from the darkness, and Merran caught only a glance of a misshapen paw before Connell swung the torch. There was a squeal of pain, and after a second to make sure their would-be attacker had retreated, they continued on, undisturbed.

  Finally the path emptied out of the trees onto the edge of a large, flat clearing – which Merran realized was a swamp only when she stepped out, and felt something sucking her foot down. Connell was there to pull her back; once he’d steadied her on solid ground, he spoke in a desperate whisper.

  “This is the demon’s bog.”

  Merran saw only black liquid and low-lying vapors. “How do we get through this?”

  “We don’t. It’ll find us.” After a few seconds, Connell nodded at the knife. “Merran, d’ye not think I should have tha’? I’ve had more experience here, I can handle a knife –”