by Khurt Khave
She squinted in the darkness to see if Alex was awake. He was on his back, his breathing easy, but she could tell he wasn’t fully asleep, maybe only dozing.
“Alex?” she whispered. “Are you awake?”
The slow, even breathing continued so she left him alone. She stared up at the ceiling, seeing nothing in the darkness, wondering again what had startled her awake. Maybe she was dreaming? Without bothering to look at the clock, she turned on her side and willed her mind to stop thinking so she could fall back to sleep.
Several times over the next three nights, Madeline awoke from a deep sleep and would catch the last few words from Alex. Each time, he would stop speaking the instant she was awake. It reminded her of the child’s game of red light, green light where you stopped moving when the leader saw you and hollered, “Red light!” It was as if she was at a dinner party and people stopped talking whenever she approached. She and Alex kept no secrets from one another; they were not that kind of couple and often kidded one another about what a routine life they led, no real ups or downs, just one foot in front of the other.
But was there something about Alex she didn’t know, something he was keeping from her? Why would he all at once begin this nocturnal chanting? Each night, she went to bed slightly anxious because for the first time in her married life, she wasn’t certain she really knew the man she was sleeping next to.
A week into the nighttime disruptions, and tired of discussing them, Alex suggested that maybe he wasn’t speaking at all, she was simply dreaming.
He said, “This is becoming a nightly obsession with you and you’re not sleeping well. Maybe you should see about a sleep aid or something?”
She knew she wasn’t dreaming but admitted that she wasn’t sleeping well. She felt like she was operating on half speed and wondered how many times a night she was waking up and how much sleep she was really getting. Probably just a few disturbed hours when it was all added up. And it was clearly her problem; Alex was sleeping just fine.
Madeline didn’t want to get any sleeping pills, afraid she’d get hooked on them, and so she decided to try some calming exercises before bed each night. She found some soothing meditation instructions on YouTube that she worked into her nightly sleep ritual. Alex supported her the best he could and instead of reading in bed as he usually did, he instead read in the living room and waited until his wife was asleep. Then he would ease himself into bed, careful not to disturb her.
But although she fell asleep, she continued to wake up several times each night to Alex speaking or the sense that someone else was in the room with them, someone who was conversing with Alex. Fearful, she’d wake Alex up, interrupting his sleep. Both of them were irritated and exhausted the next day.
“Either you get some sleeping pills or I will,” Alex said. “I mean it, Maddy. I am sorry you’re going through this but we have to get some sleep. It’s been weeks and you’re not getting any better.”
“But it all seems so real,” she said defensively, feeling like a child arguing about the existence of an imaginary friend. “I really can hear you talking to someone and I swear to God, it seems like there is something in the bedroom. . .”
“Do you hear yourself? I mean, Madeline, really. Come on. You can’t even remember what it is I’m saying. That’s because it’s a dream. For whatever reason, you’re having some nightmares. See a doctor, get some help.”
But Alex had given her an idea when he accused her of not remembering what he said. Without telling him what she had in mind, she agreed to make a doctor’s appointment but she wanted some evidence to take with her.
That evening while Alex was in the other room reading, Madeline placed her phone in the voice-activated mode so it would start recording if any conversation was detected. Alex kept books and magazines scattered next to his bed so she slipped her phone into a magazine with the microphone edge exposed. Since he came to bed in darkness, he’d never know the phone was there. In the morning, she’d have a recording of whatever he said so he and the doctor would know it was not all in her head, it wasn’t just a series of nightmares.
It took her longer than usual to fall asleep; she was excited by her idea and wished she’d thought of it weeks earlier.
Madeline didn’t work at the landscape nursery the next day. Alex lingered with her over breakfast to be sure she called to schedule a doctor’s appointment. The earliest she could get was one in two days.
“There,” she said after ending the call. “The first step in my recovery.” She smiled.
Alex hugged her. “It is, and soon we can get back to our boring old life as we know it. I’m going to go now; I’ve got an open house in an hour and need to get prepared. See you tonight.”
After she had waved at him through the living room window as he drove off, she poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down with her cell phone. She hit the playback for the voice activation. Since it only recorded when sound was heard, she heard snatches of Alex’s sleepy yet clear voice immediately.
“ –summon you. . . invocare. . . I call upon you. I summon you to stand before me. I summon you. . . evocatio. . .”
She stopped the playback. Her stomach had immediately become upset at what he had said. His words lingered and echoed in her mind. She bent over and cried out as she felt her intestines twist about as if they were coiled snakes. What was happening?
He had said invocare and evocatio. She’d never heard those words before but even thinking of them made her gag. She felt as if she was about to vomit all over the living room floor. She took some deep breaths. Eventually, her stomach settled down. She looked warily at her phone.
She didn’t want to hear anymore. She knew that for some reason, it would make her violently ill.
What had Alex been saying and why?
Trembling, she dumped her coffee cup out and filled it with water, drinking two cups and trying to control her breathing. She could still sense that something wasn’t right inside of her. It was as if whatever Alex had said was causing her to respond to it. What was he trying to summon and why had her body reacted so violently when she heard certain words?
He knows what he’s doing, she suddenly surmised, and recoiled at the thought. It was a betrayal of Alex, whom she loved. It was ridiculous to suspect her husband of some evil intent. But at least he couldn’t say it was all a dream, she could play it back for him and the doctor and they would know that she was telling the truth.
But why? She asked herself over and over as the morning sun drifted across the sky and soon produced afternoon shadows. By early evening, she knew that she’d have to ask Alex directly when he returned home. She had barely touched the phone all day, afraid she’d accidentally hear more of what he had been chanting. She had answered some texts but that was it.
Soon Alex would be home. She’d ask him what the words meant and they would figure it out together.
“Really?” was all Alex said after Madeline had explained what she was about to play from her phone. “But you are still seeing the doctor, right?”
Madeline nodded, “Yes, I’ll see the doctor, but I recorded this so you’ll both know that I’m not crazy or making this up or dreaming it.”
“I never said you were crazy, Maddy.”
“You really are chanting something at night that wakes me up.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Like I said, it made me feel really ill when I first heard it, so I stopped it. What I’ll play now I haven’t heard yet but I’m guessing it’s more of the same. If I start to feel ill I’m going to turn it off. But you can take it into the other room and continue to listen if you want.”
Alex nodded. He watched as she fumbled with her phone for a moment and then set it down on the coffee table between them and tapped it.
Alex heard his voice:
“In dark silence I call you forth. . . from your slumber, awaken. . . by form of nature I summon you now to this realm. . . manifest yourself, so mote it be. . . I summon you. . . invocare. . . I call up
on you. I summon you to stand before me. I summon you. . . evocatio. . .”
Alex stared at the phone, his mouth slack in shock. “Dear God, that is me, but what am I saying?”
It was his voice but there was an authority about it that he found intimidating. He was commanding something to happen. It was unnerving to hear since he had no recollection of ever saying those words or even knowing what they meant.
Most unsettling of all, it did sound like he was speaking to someone.
The voice—his voice—continued to command something to come forth, to materialize, to show itself, to enter this realm. It made no sense to him. He turned to Madeline who had remained silent.
But she wasn’t on the sofa. She had collapsed on the floor, her body partially hidden by the coffee table. While the tape continued to play, he rushed to her side. She was face down, her body withering in agony, but she made no sound. He gathered her into his arms, “Maddy! Maddy!” Still she said nothing and kept her face turned away from his while her body squirmed in his embrace.
Alex held his wife tightly. He tried to sooth whatever pain she was experiencing. He wished he could turn off the incantations that continued to spew from the phone—his voice summoning and calling forth and begging and commanding something to manifest itself—but he needed to attend to Madeline and didn’t want to fumble with her phone.
All at once his wife stopped struggling.
“Maddy?”
She turned to face him. He had only an instant to react to her appearance, and even less time to attempt a scream. She began to devour him, quickly crunching through all two hundred and six bones and then, with a final slurp! Alex Harrington’s body was gone while his voice on the phone continued its incantations.
His wife’s body was now coal-black and resembled a burn victim. Accelerated growth and transformation was occurring. She was now seven feet tall, and weighed more than four hundred pounds. Her snout was now quivering in anticipation of what she had been called forth to accomplish, and her eyes burned red.
The voice recording continued, calling out to the north, the south, the east, and the west.
When she burst out through the living room window onto the front lawn, her eight legs trembled under the weight of her oversized body, which continued to evolve as it manifested and adapted itself in this new realm. It took her limbs only a moment to stabilize and support her massive, now twelve foot tall frame. Once all eight of the muscular legs had stabilized, she scuttled across the lawn to the nearest neighbor, baying and growling elatedly in the early evening as wings began to emerge from her back.
Her powerful legs propelled her into the Johnson’s living room like a slingshot. In a few seconds, screams were heard from the kitchen, only the first that would fill that evening.
Jeff C. Stevenson works as a freelance copywriter for various New York advertising agencies.
His first book Fortney Road: The True Story of Life, Death, and Deception in a Christian Cult was published by Freethought House in June 2015 and was a #1 Amazon bestseller in its true crime and cults genres.
Jeff has been published in PRISM magazine as well as in the anthologies 9 Tales Told in the Dark, 9 Tales at the World's End, and Detectives of the Fantastic.
He is currently at work completing his first collection of short stories and a two-part supernatural horror novel. Jeff is an active member of the Horror Writers Association and lives in New York City.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/JeffCStevenson Visit Fortney Road: https://fortneyroad.com Author Profile: http://goo.gl/dWEA8N
Matriarch of Skid Row M. C. Bluhm
Christian smacked his cheek hard in a failed attempt to dispose of the increasingly irritating fly that had dogged him for much of his shift so far. Skid Row was never exactly a clean place, but it seemed like this summer the insects had increased practically a hundredfold. Mosquitoes bred in the various puddles of sewer runoff, clogged storm drains, and the detritus of the masses crammed into this decaying city. Omnipresent cockroaches skittered across stygian alleys, foraging for food, taking shelter in the darkest of shadows. Maggots writhed in the filth, both human and animal, strewn across the streets, metamorphosing into the cousins of the stinging fly that so plagued Christian on this night.
Christian shook his head; he had put a little too much force into the blow. Gathering his wits, he kept walking down the dark, dank street towards the nearest streetlight, four streets down. The sun was setting, the brilliance of the sunset only highlighting the dingy, brown/gray color scheme of the rows upon rows of run-down apartments and shuttered businesses. The coming of night meant all of the crazies would soon be out. Christian would be sure to keep them in line; it would be a damn sight easier dealing with the locals than this stupid fly.
Officer Christian Evans had been a beat cop on Skid Row for over ten years now. He had turned down promotions multiple times; not for a lack of ambition, but because Skid Row was his home. His nasty, dirty home filled with lunatics, but, by God, they were his lunatics. Bob, the down on his luck drunken Vietnam vet, Zach/Cheryl, the drag queen, the elderly Wilsons, all of them. They were like his family. He took care of them as best as he could, and they all saw him as a bizarre sort of older brother; one who wouldn't hesitate to dish out punishment when it was deserved, but who would protect them from the real predators that were out there, prowling at night. In his tenure, Christian had chased away or arrested scores of drug pushers, gangbangers and other degenerates. Skid Row might not be home to the most wholesome of residents, but they were honest folk for the most part, just trying to get by when life had dealt them the worst of hands. Every now and then a few of them just needed a knock on the head or a night in jail. Christian hoped he wouldn't have too many problems tonight.
Approaching the corner, he saw One-Eyed Jebediah with his placard, chastising the bar goers and the junkies. Spittle flecked from his mouth, which contained far too few teeth, although it looked like he had made at least an effort to comb his straggly gray hair for once. Apart from his placard, which confusingly read “Revelation 19:11,” - Christian had no idea what that had to do with anything – Jebediah's disheveled appearance and ratty clothes were no different than any of the other inhabitants of Skid Row.
“Repent, ye sinners, for your foulness is a blight upon this fair city! Turn to the light, so that God may welcome you to his kingdom. Resist the temptation of the spirits of the bottle, and embrace the Holy Spirit, lest ye bring about the Apocalypse on us all! Oh, evening officer.”
Christian nodded politely to Jebediah as he walked past, noting that he was the only conscious person on the street as Jebediah continued his tirade. The drunks hunched over in their cardboard boxes across the street snored away, clearly unimpressed by the sermon. Jebediah wasn't quite right in the head, but he was entirely harmless, his nightly religious tirades being the extent of his antagonism towards the other residents, and so Christian kept moving.
Jebediah was far from the most worrisome of the religious folk in the area. Missionaries often drifted in and out of Skid Row, mostly bright eyed young twenty-somethings who thought they would save the world. Most were gone within a month or two, the crushing despair and general malaise throughout Skid Row discouraging all but the most ardent. It's hard to sell abstinence and clean living to people whose only escape from their plights were cheap love and cheaper booze.
However, a new set of missionaries had set up shop almost directly in the center of Skid Row, on Howell Street, and had stayed put for almost a full six months. They called themselves the Temple of the Matriarch, and the group had always remained inscrutable to Christian. He wasn't even sure what their beliefs were; unlike almost every other church that had tried to set up shop in some way, the Temple consistently avoided dealing with Skid Row's resident guardian. Christian had often meant to investigate their temple but had too often been distracted breaking up fights or busting the prostitutes that never managed to successfully hide what they were doing.
It
seemed that tonight was the fated night for Christian to investigate, as his route took him directly in front of the main entrance to the temple. Christian wasn't even sure what sect of Christianity this group was; probably some tiny offshoot cult based on the name. He hadn't seen any of the locals professing to convert, nor did there seem to be much activity during the day at the temple, which made the lavish funds spent on renovating the ancient building all the more impressive. Massive cyclopean columns graced the entrance, with intricate motifs worked into the stone itself all around the edges and roof. Strange symbols wove in spirals about the outer columns and Christian felt a wave of dizziness wash over him as he tried examining the nearest of them. Maybe he really had hit himself too hard. Damn fly.
Ascending the stairs he raised the enormous latch and rapped on the stout wooden doors. Christian heard a faint, insectile droning which quickly died away as the door opened and a slight, auburn-haired woman stared up at him. She wore a crimson cloak over a fairly mundane cream colored blouse and pants, which made her look like some bored housewife playing at magic.
Which, in all likelihood, she probably was.
“Can I help you, officer?”
“Evening ma'am. My name is Officer Evans and this neighborhood is
my responsibility. I know you all have been here for some time and I never got to formally introduce myself. I'd like to poke my head in and see your temple, meet some of your parishioners, that sort of thing.”
The old lady looked a little uneasy as she replied, “Well, it is nice of you to come by but I'm afraid now is not a good time. The reverend is busy preparing for tomorrow's ceremony and we don't have any of the faithful here at the moment.” She began to close the door, clearly not desiring to prolong this conversation any further.
