The Verse of Sibilant Shadows: A set of tales from the Irrational Worlds

by JM Guillen

  “I’m not kidding! I can’t believe you’d even say that, Liz. It hurts my feelings!” Rehl touched his hand to his breastbone.

  “The one feeling he has left,” sniggered Baxter, and we giggled together.

  “Dark Thunder is edgy! It sounds mysterious.” Rehl argued.

  Pft. Hardly.

  It had been a good parkour session at any rate. The entire group had nearly mastered wallruns. That was what I loved about our little crew—we practiced together, so we advanced together.

  We were like family.

  When we were done, I started back toward my apartment, but I didn’t remember getting there. Then I remembered the huge vat of gel. I’d been naked, submerged in it, strands of black streaked in front of my face. I could still feel its warmth, could smell its stink of low tide.

  I took a breath, calming myself, as I pushed my black hair behind my ears and focused on the skeletal man in front of me. He cocked his head, looking inhuman, almost like some automaton at a kid’s pizza place.

  I decided I didn’t like him. As he peered at me with those warm brown eyes, the song continued.

  Oh, once I had a sister and a brother,

  Wonder if they ever think of me.

  Oh, once I had a father and a mother,

  She lived in a cottage near the sea.

  Sitting alone, sad, all alone,

  Sitting in my cell all alone;

  A-thinking of those good times gone by me,

  Knowing that I once had a home.

  “If—” I cleared my throat, noticing an odd taste in my mouth. “If this isn’t a dream, then where am I?” I demanded, my voice thready.

  The thin man sighed, exaggerating his exasperation.

  “I’ll show you, Ms. Shepherd. It seems as if you are the kind of young lady who must see a thing to believe it.”

  “I am from Missouri.” I gave him a flat look.

  “Well enough then.” His emerald eyes twinkled.

  I gasped. The sensation of falling made me jerk, and my mind roiled with disorientation.

  Everything changed.

  “Hey.” I croaked the word, but it meant nothing.

  Sprawled on a hard, tiled floor, thick liquid puddled underneath me, beaded on my skin, and saturated my senses. It smelled rancid, like rotten fish guts left to cook in the summer sun.

  A bead of it slid down to the pool underneath me, fetid and greasy on my skin.

  Panic boiled in my heart. Where was I?

  I floundered, my limbs unwilling to move. No matter how much I willed them to get me to my feet, I barely got a twitch out of them, but my eyes still worked even in the dim lighting.

  Several sinister shapes loomed about the room, shadows that moved. One paused above me, and I blinked up at it.

  A man, cold of eye and demeanor—

  Then, that tsunami of disorientation again, and the world whirled about me.

  In the garden again, I gasped. My arms and legs reflexively pulled close. I nearly fell out of my chair.

  “What—?” I frantically peered about. “What the fuck was THAT?” I shouted and clutched my bare knees tighter to my chest.

  His jungle colored eyes narrowed a touch.

  “Your body, Ms. Shepherd. Your body is there, and your time is running out.” The old man in the gray suit sat in his garden sipping a cup of tea, casually fondling his antique, golden watch.

  “You need to answer some questions.” My quiet voice dripped with poison and sharpness. Who was this guy, anyway? What did he want?

  “Elizabeth—” he started.

  “It’s LIZ!” I roared, loud and full of fury.

  “Very well.” His tone turned frosty. “Ms. Liz.”

  The world melted around me, and I spun through space. In less than a second, I was back on the wet tile floor. I gasped for breath, choking on the putrid smell of the gel that coated my naked body. My hand twitched and bumped into something smooth and cold.

  Again? No!

  A slick, curved surface, jagged and broken on one edge, trembled on the floor beside my hand. A sharp crunch of glass underfoot sounded, and then another…

  The cold man stumbled toward me and unholstered a gun.

  Frozen in place, I rolled widened eyes up to his face. Something inhuman flashed in his eyes, some mechanical otherness that I couldn’t quite place.

  Then, I felt something wet and thick ooze from one of my nostrils. The sensation stretched up into my sinuses, a wet, serpentine feeling.

  I wanted to wipe it away, but my arms hung limp, as heavy as solid lead.

  The man with the gun paused, watching me with narrowed eyes. Others appeared behind him, but I couldn’t make out much about them.

  The thing from my nose felt cold and slippery as it slid down my lip. It wriggled down to drop to the floor with an almost inaudible plop.

  Worm! Oh God, it’s some kind of—!

  My eyes could barely focus in the dark room, but I was close enough to see a black, slug-like creature writhing through the goo on the floor. Horror, like the taste of copper and iron, surged through me.

  I felt the urge to gag but still couldn’t move.

  The man looming over me stepped on it, squishing it violently as he twisted his expensive-looking wingtips, grinding the worm into the tile. His gaze was girded with loathing.

  I turned my eyes up, struggling to see the man’s face through the black strands of my hair. He kept slipping in and out of focus. I caught only his hard eyes, his dark hair, and his pale skin peeking from his nice suit.

  Most of my attention may have been caught up by his big-ass gun.

  I strained to speak, lips quivering, but even they rebelled against me.

  He turned and walked away without a word.

  Wait! I screamed in my head. Not even a squeak emerged from my lips. Help!

  The man strode toward a doorway, and I furiously struggled to move, to speak, to do anything besides lie there in that puddle of filth.

  Then the spinning disorientation tore through me again, and I gasped. Sunlight washed over me and danced on the curves of the bone white tea pot.

  I gaped, wordless, at the gaunt man as he toyed with his watch.

  “You’ll have to pardon the abruptness, sweet girl,” he drawled. “We are short on time. As it happens, you only have the one minute to live.”

  “O—one?” It was all I could manage.

  “Correct.” He nodded. “I see I’ve impressed you with the urgent nature of your situation at last.” He smiled again, that too-broad grin that could swallow the moon. “Perhaps now we can get down to business.”

  “Business?” My voice was faint but steady.

  All I could think about was that darkened room and that horrifying scent.

  Had the cold man left me for dead? The more I thought about it, the more I realized that he probably had. That was reality. I lay dying on the floor of that room with worms, apparently, awaiting my demise.

  I was dying, so what was this? A hallucination? I knew that upon death the brain released—

  “You need my assistance, young lady,” he admonished. “Unless you wish to perish?”

  I shook my head.

  “Good,” he purred. “Now, you must realize—”

  “Who are you?” I whispered as I stared.

  “What?”

  I must have caught him by surprise for he seemed truly thrown off by the question.

  “You. Who are you? You’re obviously in charge here, and I’m on death’s door.” I shuddered, as the music warbled behind us. “Where are we?”

  “You don’t have time.” He checked his watch. “Fifty-five seconds remain.”

  “You’re going to make me some kind of business offer. Is that what you’re saying?” That last came out a bit more helpless than I’d intended.

  The man tilted his head and regarded me with bright golden-hazel eyes full of curiosity… and avarice. “Is that what you want, Ms. Liz?”

  “I don’t want to
die, if that’s what you mean.” I gripped my knees tightly and nodded. “It’s happening to quickly. I need more time.”

  “Fair enough.” He flashed that manic grin again. He pulled the stem of the gold watch, and its hands stopped moving.

  “Are—?” I met his glinting eyes. “Are you saying that by stopping your watch—?”

  “Please, call me Mr. Lorne.” He reached into his ancient suit, withdrew something small, and held out his cupped hand. “My card.”

  I reached out to take it, despite my nakedness. He didn’t seem to note my body one way or the other. I frowned as my fingers brushed something small and hard. What was that?

  I withdrew my hand a moment.

  A pearly tooth with a long root lay in Mr. Lorne’s worn palm.

  My tooth. My eyes widened in a horrific realization. That looks just like my wisdom tooth!

  I’d had it removed a few months ago. For some unknown quirk of genetics, I’d only had the one, but it had demanded removal with the insistence of a screaming toddler. I’d been half-drunk on painkillers when the orthodontist showed it to me.

  Impossible as it was, I could have sworn it was that very tooth. I understood it through some gut instinct, something with no explanation.

  Why Mr. Lorne would possibly have my wisdom tooth remained beyond me.

  “Wh—?” My lips curled around the syllables just as Mr. Lorne lunged forward, pressing the tooth into my hand. My fingers curled around it automatically, but I opened them immediately and jerked my arm back.

  A business card fluttered to the grass.

  I stared at it for a long moment.

  Nothing changed.

  I checked my palm. Though I knew my hand was empty, I just couldn’t help but check to see if the wisdom tooth had stuck to my skin.

  No tooth.

  After another long moment, I picked up the card, noting how its ivory color matched my tooth. Baroque filigree in a deep sepia graced the corners. It read:

  Mr. Lorne

  Fallen Leaves

  Curiosities, relics, books and collectables

  404 E. 124th St.

  New York, NY

  (212)555-1212

  “Uh, thanks. I’ll just slip this into my pocket. Oh, wait.” I glanced briefly at my nakedness. “I don’t have any.” I held onto the card, not knowing what else to do with it.

  “You are in a lot of danger, young lady.” His tone held a warning I thought I understood: Be polite, or I may not help you. “You are quite close to death, in fact. However, you are a rare and wonderous creature, Ms. Liz.” He leaned forward, grinning widely. “I think I can work with you.”

  That’s not creepy at all.

  “So you can help me?” I asked instead. “Not die?”

  “Would you like me to?” His grin stretched bigger than I’d ever seen it.

  I nearly snorted. “Um, yes. At this point I’d accept help from my fourth grade bully if she could actually do something to help me.” I glanced to the side at the flower-lined path. “You could let me stay here, couldn’t you?”

  “Here?” He tilted his head to the side, his teal eyes puzzled, though his grin never faltered. “You want to stay?”

  “Rather than go back to that stinking room? Hell yeah!”

  “No.” He shook his head mournfully. “You must go back. That’s not the type of help I can offer you. Your body is there, Ms. Liz. You must return to it.”

  My body was there. But I wasn’t. That would take some not-thinking about.

  “Then how can you help me, Mr. Lorne?”

  “First I need you to give me something.”

  I glanced down at the nothing covering my body. “Like what? Whatever you want, I seem to be all out of it. Do you want your card back?” I held it out.

  He ignored it.

  “You do want my help, don’t you?” he inquired.

  I nodded again. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He reached out and pinched the air at my temple. “Then let’s take this.”

  Ice picks lanced into my skull and began to knit a spiderweb of pain. My eyes bugged wide, and I screamed. The needles acted as chopsticks, pinching something hard and full of sharp edges between their slender spikes.

  “Fuck!” I flinched, unable to pull away from the pain.

  “There we are.” Mr. Lorne withdrew his hand, fingers pinched tightly together. With it, the invisible, icy tweezers retracted from my skull.

  I heard a slight noise, as if my ears had popped, and the pain abruptly ceased, though a chill ran through me. What was that?

  Mr. Lorne held out his other hand, thin palm up to the glassed-out sky. He brought his tightly pinched fingers over to hover above his palm and released them abruptly. Nothing fell into his palm and he brought it close to his face for examination.

  Yet I heard a tinny sound, like a small, squealing animal.

  “Ah.” He sighed in satisfaction, his sapphire eyes sparkling as he turned his palm one way then another. “You won’t need that any longer. I’ll just tuck it out of the way where it will be of some use later on.” He dumped the air into his breast pocket.

  It bulged and wriggled.

  “Now then, isn’t that better?” He asked in the most genteel manner.

  “I—” I rubbed my eyes. “My head feels—” How was this possible? “—bigger,” I confessed.

  “Yes.” That smile again.

  “Are you going to help me now, Mr. Lorne?” I lay dying on that floor, after all. Dream or no, I was getting tired. Maybe it was the thickened air.

  “I have helped you, Ms. Liz. Now, I am aware that you still have no idea of what I’ve done.” He chuckled. “But you will.” Butter wouldn’t have melted in the old man’s mouth.

  Not that I thought he’d ever had butter. He was far too lean to have even looked at anything fattening.

  “Sure doesn’t feel like it: I’m still here. I’m still naked. And now I’m cold!” My tone bordered on belligerence, which was dangerous, I knew. I felt his temper hovering in his sky-blue eyes.

  Sky blue? I gave them a second look. I would have sworn—

  “You won’t be cold for long, Ms. Liz.”

  I gave him a puzzled frown.

  “Our time is at an end. I have enjoyed our little soiree, dear. It’s a pity we won’t have another private discussion again.” He took his watch in hand.

  “We won’t?”

  “No. Now, remember, Ms. Liz, courage is grace under pressure. And I do promise to reflect on the best way to help you further.” Mr. Lorne’s grin gleamed oddly as he emphasized the word ‘reflect.’

  “What do you mean?” I asked, brow wrinkling.

  “Friends, Ms. Liz. I will send friends.” He pushed the stem in on his watch.

  “Who?” The word scarcely left my lips when I felt the sickening sensation again. The warbling music and the sunlight through the glass both faded.

  Too late. Disorientation roiled in my stomach, and I fell again. I smelled the saltwater rot of the room again. Dammit! No!

  But yes. The strange, slender gentleman was gone, and I was back in the broken glass, with the cold-eyed men and the organic reek of low tide and death.

  If he had been truthful, I had less than one minute to live.

  2

  The man in the dark suit holstered his big ass gun as he walked away without a single word. I noticed two long, thin things strapped to his back as he strode through the darkness. One had a handle protruding from it. A sheath? For… swords?

  I opened my mouth to call to him, but he had already joined two vague silhouettes in the distance, and in an instant they had left the room entirely.

  Well, that’s just plain rude! I floundered in the goo, intending to go after them despite the gun. I ignored the slippery mess on my body and finally managed to get my arms underneath me. I pushed hard, expecting my muscles to fail as before.

  I shot into a pushup position.

  Caught off guard, my joints trembled, and I collapsed bac
k to the sludge, spattering it everywhere.

  “So graceful.” I grunted. At least the ooze was cool. It was so hot in here!

  “You won’t be cold for long, Ms. Liz.”

  I blinked. Hot? It hadn’t been hot only moments before. A frown wrinkled my brow. It was getting warmer by the second. Did that have anything to do with my one minute to live? I’d thought that Mr. Lorne had meant my body was injured or something, but I felt fine.

  Better than fine, actually.

  I pushed up to my hands and knees.

  No pain.

  I was still naked, still covered in oily, rotten gel, but my body was sound. Cautiously I got to my feet.

  Success! I smirked at myself as I looked around.

  It’s the little victories.

  I stood, sweaty and naked, in the dark room. Broken glass surrounded me in a small sea of thick, gelatinous sludge. That wasn’t all that I found on the floor, though. Not ten feet away, the sludge turned darker where it seeped under the body of a man. On the other side of him, a silvery dome the size of a two-man tent sat in front of an elevator door bordered by two metal spikes, each the length of my forearm. The dome gleamed in the half-light and showed me more than I wanted to see.

  “Oh! Oh, fuck me!” The man’s stomach had been ripped open, guts and blood spilling out, coating the floor as well as spattering the unreasonably long gun lying near him. Long strands of dark, rubbery flesh littered the floor around him. They didn’t look like the pink, bumpy ropes of intestines, but I couldn’t think of what else they might have been.

  I scrambled back a few steps, retching. Halfway to the door, I realized the man with the big-ass handgun must be responsible for this. I jerked to a stop.

  “Following murderers might be a bad idea.” I glanced over my shoulder, back at the way I’d come.

  Green light shone dimly on the body on the floor, and for the first time, I noticed its source.

  It came from the metallic, column-shaped canisters lining one wall. The middle canister had tipped over, but the two on either side emitted that soft, green light from within their thick glass doors. Odd dials and switches encrusted the base of each, but nothing had labels.