by Peter Nealen
I had to open my big mouth. Since the street was pretty well blocked off by the crowd, we were moving toward the shadowy, hedge-enclosed far side of the park. As we got closer to the thicker vegetation, which looked about as inviting as the scaly, twisted hedge in the yard where the headless monster had been hiding, we started to see movement in the dark, movement that shouldn't have been there.
“Uh, guys?” Tall Bear ventured from his place in the front of the little knot of anxious Hunters we'd formed, “I think we are about to run into 'a whole other ball of wax.'”
The entire hedge seemed to have started writhing, with long, thorny tendrils unrolling to grasp at anything near them. Tall Bear was close enough that he was already starting to back away, running into Charlie in the process, but the tendrils were stretching out for him anyway.
“Back off!” Father Ignacio barked, as a grasping tendril whipped six inches from Tall Bear's face. Tall Bear threw his rifle up to block the bristling, woody tentacle, and almost had it ripped out of his hands as the thorny branch wrapped itself around the barrel and pulled. He was able to wrestle the weapon away, wrenching it over and down in a move that would have made any close combat instructor proud, and stepped back from the hedge, keeping the rifle trained on it, almost like he could shoot the hedge. It was instinctive, I knew, but it also illustrated just how rattled everybody was getting.
“Screw the chainsaws,” Charlie yelped. “I say we kill it with fire!” He was reaching for his Molotovs, but Tyrese reached out and grabbed his wrist.
“Dude, if you set one of those things off, we'll be in the middle of a forest fire in minutes!” he said. “Let's just get out of here!”
“That might be more easily said than done,” Edgar pointed out. As everybody backed away from the lashing, writhing hedge, he was standing stock-still, facing the other direction. We all turned to see what he was looking at.
The antlered figure was standing next to one of the gnarled, ghostly-looking trees, watching us. Its features were wreathed in shadow, except for its eyes, which gleamed a lambent yellow. It was easily ten feet tall, just judging by the tree, though I have to admit that any measurements in that place were pretty iffy at the time. It was stick-thin, with six fingers that were far too long on the one hand that I could see, and seemed to be wrapped in a ragged cloak that swirled around it as if stirred by a strong wind, even though there wasn't really any wind blowing through the town. I felt a bolt of fear pass through me as I looked at those luminous eyes. There was an air of confidence about it that told me that this thing was on a whole different level from anything we'd encountered so far since Coldwell. Whatever it was, it was old, it was powerful, and it was way too close for comfort. And I don't think any of us had any illusions that it bore us any goodwill.
It tilted its head as it watched us, and I got the strangest feeling that it was smiling, in a horribly malevolent sort of way, even though I still couldn't make out any facial features. Even as it did so, a new noise from behind us made me turn, almost hitting Ian with Blake's legs.
The hedge was actually starting to crawl towards us. The tendrils of thorns and branches were still lashing out, whipping at us to try and grab us, doubtless to drag us down to suffocate or be crushed, whichever came first. Our options were running out. That hedge looked pretty impenetrable, even assuming we could get past its feelers. The only other alternative was to go toward the antlered thing, and that was even less inviting.
“Chainsaws!” Miguel yelled. “It's the only way out.” He took mine from Charlie, whipped off the blade guard, and yanked the lanyard.
It sputtered and steadfastly failed to start. The others were also trying now, with similar results. This was very, very not good. The fact that I felt pretty helpless just standing there with Blake over my shoulders, waiting for the rest to get us out of this mess didn't help my state of mind.
Tyrese's chainsaw finally caught, and he swung the snarling blade desperately at the advancing hedge. It chewed through grasping tendrils and branches alike, barely slowed by its passage. Bits of scaly wood flew, and the tendrils dropped to the ground, still moving as if they were still trying to grab one of us.
One at a time, the other four chainsaws started, and Charlie, Ian, Tall Bear, and Edgar joined Tyrese in attacking the hedge. It seemed to keep growing back almost as fast as they could cut it, but they were making progress.
Not fast enough, though. The antlered figure was starting to walk toward us, in a leisurely manner that suggested it wasn't at all worried about our escape. I decided to do something about that; I might still be carrying Blake, and he might not be the most cooperative of burdens I've carried, but I can carry a body in a fireman's carry with one hand. Shifting Blake's squirming weight a little, I dropped my hand to my pistol, drew, hoping for a moment that I still had silver-jacketed rounds in the 1911, decided it didn't matter that much, brought the pistol up, took a breath, and squeezed off a quick pair of shots at the tall figure.
It actually danced out of the way. A deep, booming, downright jolly laugh echoed across the park.
Now, I've been plenty scared in my life. I've seen things stand up to round after round and keep coming. But something about the target actually dodging bullets at close range put a tremor in my knees that I don't remember ever experiencing before that. The laughter made me want to cry and piss myself at the same time.
Father Ignacio must be made of sterner stuff than I. Without a weapon aside from the six inch silver crucifix in his hand, he stepped in front of me and raised that big cross like a shield. St. Patrick's Breastplate began to roll off his tongue in Latin.
The tall, gangly thing paused, tilting its head a little, as if to say, Now that's interesting. It didn't run off, but it didn't advance any further, either. That was odd, though at the time, we were all a little too interested in getting the hell away from it to contemplate the possible implications.
“We're through!” Tyrese yelled. “Let's go!”
I don't think any of us hesitated for a second. In a disorderly mob not even remotely resembling a formation, we scrambled through the hastily hacked gap in the hedge, that was already starting to grow closed. New tendrils grabbed at us as we went, but they weren't growing fast enough to do much more than scratch arms and faces as we plunged through.
We found ourselves on a long, dimly lit lane, lined with leafless trees, dead leaves skittering across the road in front of a cold breeze. Old, black-iron streetlamps were placed between the trees, providing the only illumination aside from the vague purplish-gray light from the weird storm overhead, and their light was a pale, nauseating green.
With a loud rustle, the hedge closed behind us, blocking out the park. Strangely enough, the hedge no longer seemed intent on grabbing us and eating us, which, under the circumstances, wasn't terribly reassuring. “What now?” Charlie asked, his voice seeming to echo down the long lane. That was when I noticed that we couldn't hear the yelling and screaming anymore. Even less reassuring. Where were we?
Blake's loud mumbling kind of shocked me into moving again. There was a faint light, of a similar sickly hue to the streetlamps, at the far end of the lane, but it looked like it was at least three quarters of a mile off. Nothing I'd seen on the maps of Ophir we'd managed to quickly study before going in had even hinted at the presence of this sort of a place anywhere in it, but given what we'd seen so far, that came as little surprise. For all I knew, and the thought gave me a further chill, we were still standing in that cloud at the edge of town, imagining all of this happening. Of course, shortly after thinking that, and debating whether I should further rattle my companions by voicing the thought, one of Blake's wilder gestures hit me in the ear. That hurt. It was also definitely real. So at least we were still in the real world on some level, and not in dreamland.
Eryn caught my elbow even as I stepped forward. “Wait,” she said. “Does anyone have any idea what's going on here?” she asked. “Or am I the only one thinking we're being set up for
something?”
“This entire town is a setup,” Miguel growled. “We're being steered around until we can be properly cornered and finished off. And whatever is doing it is enjoying itself along the way.”
Father Ignacio was still brushing himself off; he'd made it through the hedge last, and just as it finished closing. “Otherworldly predators do enjoy their games of cat-and-mouse,” he said. “And I'm pretty sure that's what we're dealing with here.”
“What kind of Otherworlder can dodge bullets?” I asked.
“One that's very old, and very powerful,” he said grimly. “Which fits in with everything else we're seeing here.”
“This would fit with some kind of demonic incursion, too,” Tyrese suggested.
“Doubtful,” Father said, shaking his head. “It paused at the sight of the Holy Cross, but it wasn't repelled the same way a demon would be. No, I think we've got a very old one of the Fair Folk at work here.”
That prompted more than a few shudders. Nobody calls the Ancients “The Fair Folk” because they think they're good people. They call them that to avoid drawing their ire, because the Fair Folk don't like it when you speak ill of them. Regardless of how nasty they really are, and some of them can be pretty malevolent. Even the ones who aren't actively malicious are pretty dangerous. That Fae girl living in Ray's back forty wasn't exactly what you'd call a glowing example of virtue.
“So, I hate to break up the very interesting debate about what particular kind of monster we're facing here,” Tall Bear put in, his tone suggesting that he really wasn't sorry about breaking things up, “but the question remains as to whether we follow the lane into the pretty obvious trap, or do we try to find another way out of here?”
Everyone eyed the lane and the vague, not-terribly-inviting light at the end of it for a moment. It was a fair question, and admittedly a little more timely than a debate about what the thing we couldn't even touch might be.
“If we're really being toyed with,” Father said after a moment's pause, “then I would expect that any path other than the one we're intended to take will end up being blocked, probably by something very interested in eating our faces off.” He started toward the trees. “Which is not to say we don't try it anyway. I'm not in the habit of playing along with these things.”
The rest of us just kind of gaggled along after him. I think everybody was rattled enough by then that we weren't really pushing forward anymore; we were reacting and just trying to survive the next five minutes. We were off our turf, and everybody knew it, except for maybe Tall Bear, who hadn't had a lot of time to get used to living in the weirdness, and of course Blake, since he was out of his head.
Of course, as predicted, our unknown adversary wasn't having any of it.
As soon as we started to get close to the trees, they seemed to shuffle to cut us off, closing ranks as it were. On top of that, what looked like a hundred pairs of glowing red eyes appeared in and around the trees, watching us. I couldn't see what was behind those eyes, in large part because my head was starting to get bent forward by the load on my shoulders. Blake wasn't exactly a lightweight, and I'd already been carrying him quite a distance for a fireman's carry.
Father wasn't having it. I think he was starting to give in to his innate cantankerousness, and continued advancing on the wall of trees. But when a dozen dark, clawed hands reached down to swipe at him, he dodged back. “Well, I guess that answers that,” Ian said quietly.
“Yep,” Father said. “Apparently, the only way out is in the direction that our 'host' means for us to go. Presuming that there is any way out available at all.” That was probably the most cynical statement I'd ever heard out of him, curmudgeon that he is. That place was starting to get to all of us, even in the short time we'd been there. That was when I realized I had no idea how much time had passed, and didn't know if we could even trust time in Ophir, since everything else seemed to be pretty malleable.
There was another pause, as everyone once again looked at each other, then toward the end of the lane. Have you ever gotten that feeling that you're heading right into a train wreck, but there's no brake and no way to get off? That was about what we were facing at that moment. There didn't seem to be any way to avoid the trap the antlered thing had set for us. Assuming, of course, that it was the one causing all of this. The alternative didn't bear thinking about at the time.
I looked around as best I could, raising my voice to be heard over Blake's latest, louder gibberish screed. “Nothing seems to be coming after us,” I pointed out. “It seems to be perfectly content to let us take our time marching to our doom.”
“Typical,” Charlie grumbled. “Fair Folk are sadistic jerks.”
“That they are,” Miguel replied. “But complaining about it isn't going to get us out of this mess.”
“I might be the new guy here,” Tall Bear put in, “but shouldn't we also be thinking about how we're going to fix this? I mean, we went back into Bowesmont to deal with whatever that Frankenstein's Monster thing in there was, don't we have to deal with this, too?”
“Fair point,” Father Ignacio allowed, “but this isn't the time or the place. Dealing with the Fair Folk on their own terms is a losing proposition. They always stack the deck. They're older, smarter, and more powerful than we are, and they usually think these things all the way through faster than we can. So, we need to get clear of here first, get out of this thing's clutches, and then get some leverage of our own before we come back and kick it where it hurts.”
Blake suddenly thrashed around more violently than he had before, and I almost dropped him. “I guess we're burning daylight, then, so to speak,” I said, with a pained glance at the dark sky. “No point wasting any more time. Let's go see what it's got lined up for us.”
“Hold on a minute,” Father said quietly. “Gather 'round.” We all complied, though it was less of a football huddle and more of a tight security perimeter, with all eyes and weapons trained out at the spooky surroundings, most of us doubtless expecting everything to change again as soon as we blinked. “Remember, we are only the instruments in this war,” he said gravely. “Without the Powers of Heaven on our side, we're nothing, just prey for the spiritual and Otherworldly predators stalking the shadows. So get your minds right, get your souls right, and re-dedicate yourselves. It's tough for even the Fair Folk to make headway against faith.” He then led us in another recitation of the Breastplate before straightening his shoulders, holding the crucifix high, and starting down the lane, with the rest of us, now somewhat less rattled, on his flanks.
It was a long lane, far longer than it should have been given Ophir's size. I'm pretty sure that that single tree-lined lane with its spooky lampstands was at least as long as the town's entire Main Street. The end didn't seem to be getting any closer, and Blake just kept getting heavier.
Slowly, too slowly, the house at the end of the lane came into closer view. Surprisingly, it wasn't the classic haunted house that I'd been expecting, given the rest of the surroundings. It was a strangely attractive ranch-style house, which in and of itself was weirdly out of place given the rest of its surroundings. Either this thing had some strange tastes, or it was just trying to break our brains by any means necessary.
Of course, the neat yard, freshly-painted walls and manicured bushes didn't take away from the eeriness of the corpse-light flowing from the windows. Whatever this place was, it was still hostile.
Naturally, none of us just walked straight up to the slightly open front door. That was just asking for trouble. Instead, I risked putting Blake down off to one side, hoping that he wouldn't bolt as soon as his feet touched the ground. I was worn out and my back was starting to protest carrying around the weight. I also couldn't fight with him on my shoulders, and I had a hunch that we were going to have to, soon.
Fortunately, Blake showed no sign he was even aware that he'd been moved. He just stood where I set him, still gesticulating and babbling as if he was engaged in a bizarre argument with
someone who wasn't there. I was able to steer him to somewhere a little bit more sheltered than the pavement in front of the house, but it took some effort; the inertia that had made it so hard to work our way through the crowd still seemed to be doing its thing.
It didn't take long to see that the place was a dead end. The yard was completely enclosed on three sides by an impenetrable hedge with sharp-edged leaves and six-inch thorns. Of course, we still had the chainsaws, but by then it was pretty obvious that once we broke through, the puppet-master of this demented little play was going to somehow turn us around into a different part of the maze.
I flexed my shoulders, trying to work out a few of the kinks as I took my rifle back from Charlie. Nobody was even stepping toward the open door yet, but we were all keeping an eye on it. It would be just like our mysterious antagonist to pop something out of it while we were all looking elsewhere.
I was still looking around for a way out, when the words Remember the Shadowman popped into my head. It took me a second to figure it out, then I whispered, “Thanks, Sam.”
One of the creatures drawn to Silverton to try to facilitate the incursion of Abbadon the Destroyer from the Abyss had been a Sgilli, or Shadowman, an ancient, wicked shaman who had gradually become a part of the Otherworld for what he'd done. He'd been old, nasty, and powerful, and he'd apparently yanked me into another dimension to face him one-on-one when I was on my way to try to stop the summoning.
Except he hadn't actually taken me anywhere. Sam had warned me that he could make me see things that weren't there. Concentrating on what I knew beyond a doubt to be real had yanked me out of the horrifically realistic illusion the Shadowman had cast over me, and I was able to finish him off.
Gripping my rifle hard with one hand, I reached for Eryn and drew her close. “You all right?” I asked quietly, even as I tried to concentrate on her, blocking out the surrounding horror show.
She looked at me oddly. “As all right as I can be, under the circumstances,” she said. “What about you? You've got that look again.”
