Stranger Realms

by Jarred Martin

  Things grew stranger still as, once ashore, the ghastly creatures gathered the hooded figures together on the beach. From the fervent crowd there begin to emerge mournful, cautious citizens of the town, who came to the gathering of robed ones, and as a group, a family perhaps, they would lay claim to one of the figures and throw their arms around them and rejoice. And if any of the hooded figures reciprocated this joy, it was hard for Grier to tell, who was by now so horribly fascinated by what he was seeing, he was, without realizing it, leaning far forward over the peak of the hill to take in as much as he could.

  And finally there was a single figure, small and robed, left from the group, and a woman, dressed in the black of a mourner approached it. Like the others, she threw he arms around the hooded thing, and like the others, received no gesture of affection In return. This seemed to horrify the woman, and she threw back the hood from the figure's robe, and what she revealed was so disturbing that her ensuing shrieks could be heard over the caustically celebrating crowd. And Grier, from his vantage, was filled with a similar sense of horror upon seeing the face, which had clearly once been a child, but was now so utterly deprived of humanity it resembled something alien, withered and demoralizing. Both the figure and the shrieking woman were forced back into the throng, which had now begun singing some dark hymn whose lyrics Grier was not able to discern.

  The children, wailing and weeping in the surf, were set upon by the creatures. They seemed to slither in their movements as they went to the pillars and began to collect the children. Their chains were let loose and each child in turn screamed in revulsion and writhed at the touch of those rotten, wet hands, the obscene stares from those yellow eyes, the slavering mouths. All the while the congregation continued to drone on in a despicable harmony up shore. The children were taken, those daughters of Sangville, and hoisted up on the shoulders of the creatures, kicking and beating at their sodden backs, carried back to the boats.

  Grier watched this take place in a trance of horror, drawn closer to the edge by his own fascination. He had never witnessed something so terrible. To see unnatural creatures from a glowing ship standing on the same ground that he could stand on, interacting with real flesh and blood, it was beyond his understanding. He felt that if he looked away it all might disappear when he looked back again. He had never been so horrified, but little did he know, the night would provide many opportunities to surpass that feeling.

  Suddenly the outermost point of the hilltop dissolved to fine grain beneath Grier's weight, and the next thing he knew he was tumbling down to the beach. He landed face-down in the sand with the breath knocked out of him. He tried to pick himself up, shaking coarse grains from his hair. The silence from the previously riotous crowd crept over him like a shadow. He slowly raised his head and froze when he saw the uniformly-stunned villagers gaping back at him. The silence endured until one of the creatures raised a rotting, barnacle-covered limb and pointed a single skeletal finger at him. The thing let loose a hideous shriek and the village, at his signal, erupted into commotion.

  Grier turned quickly and began scrambling up the hill. Sand crumbled like stale cornbread beneath his panicked steps. He found that it was much harder to climb a hill than to fall down one. He struggled against the terrain, and against gravity, and his own broken hand, and he reached the top of the hill. Just as he pulled himself up into the brittle grass and weeds above, he felt a hand close around his ankle and start to tug him down. He kicked without looking, and dug his heel in when he felt soft, slick flesh. He heard one of the creatures scream in pain behind him and his ankle was free. He pulled himself up and began to run. He headed for the clusters of provincial homes behind the main street. He chanced to look back, and was surprised to see that his pursuers were only now cresting the hill. He had secured a small lead, and if he was lucky, he might find a place to hide before they caught up. He didn't know how long he could stay hidden with the entire town searching for him, but he like the odds better than trying to outrun one. He passed a church building with a low iron gate outside, but decided not to go in. It might be a secure spot, but he was afraid to see what awful deity these people worshiped.

  He dashed between houses, and ducked under windows, crawled under hedgerows, and jumped fences until he came to an old barn, looking exhausted and drooping from the weight of untold years. It would have to do. They were coming, and he could not stay out in the open.

  It was dark inside and he found a kerosene lantern. He managed to light it and turn the flame down very low, but even that might be too much, he decided, and he took a piece of cloth and covered the light some more. Seeing the inside of the barn, he was quickly satisfied. It was dry, and cozy, and there was abundant hay in bales and in piles on the floor. He might make himself comfortable here.

  He could hear the deranged townspeople and those horrible creatures screaming and searching. There were not that many places to hide in this small town. They would look here. Soon they would find him.

  He hung the lantern on a nail overhead, and made sure the cloth was still over it, so that he could see the light above him, but so it did not shine outward. And then he covered himself with straw and waited. He lay in silence and breathed in the strong scent of dust, so thick he felt as if he were choking on it, but he dared not stir..

  He could hear the townspeople outside, battering hedges and shaking trees looking for him. What would they do, he wondered? Kill him immediately? Give him to those … things? He shuddered. It was only a matter of time. He could see his seven coming up. Every roll brings you closer to it, and anyone who's ever stood at that long, felt-lined table knows that luck only holds out for so long. Everybody's sevens come up eventually.

  He could hear them coming closer now. Closer. They were almost here. He wanted to jump up and shout “Here I am. Here I am! Take me. Just let it be over now. Just end it now!”

  Instead he lay shivering under the pile of straw, praying somehow they would overlook him.

  Suddenly the door was flung open. Grier held his breath as three figures entered the barn, a man, a woman, and something else.

  “He's here somewhere. We'll find him, don't you worry,” said the man.

  “We're so sorry,” said the woman. “We never thought some sneak would sneak into town and spy on us. Well, he might can sneak in, but he won't sneak out. He won't be spying on nothing else, sir. We'll have his eyes out.”

  “Have his tongue out, too,” said the man. “He won't tell nobody nothing.”

  The creature hissed.

  They each took a pitchfork down from the wall, and began thrusting the rusted tines into the straw.

  “Come on out, you sneak,” said the man. “We've got something for you.” He stabbed at the straw with the pitchfork.

  “Yes, that's right. Come on out now, dear,” said the woman, sweetly, as she thrust the tines in and back out again. “It were all a game. Why don't you come out now. We'll all sit down and have a nice supper.” Another thrust of the pitchfork.

  The creature hissed again.

  Each time they jabbed those long, rusted tines into the straw, Grier though he could feel his heart miss a beat. They stabbed and stabbed again, drawing closer to him. Stab. Thrust. “Come one out now, deary. Come get your supper.” He couldn't take it anymore, and he jumped up in a haze of dust and straw.

  He appeared so suddenly, and the three were so surprised, that they did not know what to do, and only stood staring at him dumbly for the moment. But Grier acted quickly, and yanked the piece of cloth down from the lamp, and twisted the knob to turn the flame up as high as it could go. He flung the lantern at their feet and it erupted into a torrent of flame and shrapnel. Burning kerosene flew like napalm and Grier could immediately smell the revolting scent of burning flesh as his assailants flailed and spun like Dervishes.

  All three collapsed screaming on the barn floor, and seconds later the straw began to catch and the place was filled with smoke. Grier burst through the threshold and hit the grou
nd. He picked himself up and saw that the sun was just cresting the horizon to the East. Dawn was breaking and it would soon be harder to hide in the full light of day. The smoke from the barn threatened to summon every man woman and monster in the town in a few minutes.

  The urge to run overtook him, and without knowing where he was heading, he chose a direction and took off. He realized he was headed back toward the main street. He ran, and in the pre-dawn blackness, nearly barreled over a local man wandering around with an ax. Grier came to a halt. Had he been spotted? No, not yet. He quickly ducked behind a tree. The man with the ax was standing stock still with his nose high in the air. The smoke, Grier thought. He's smelling the barn burning. It did appear that was exactly what the man was doing. He turned around and headed in the direction of the barn. Grier crouched down behind the tree until the man was out of sight and then continued on.

  He bolted and dashed behind trees and houses until at last he came to the rear of a row of businesses on the main street near where he had entered Sangville. He slowly rose up to peek in the back window of one of the shops, which turned out to not be a shop at all, but from what he could gather, a sort of small Dr.'s office. He was fortunate to find such a place, and for it to be empty. But the real test of his luck was to see if it was also unlocked. He tried the knob and was somewhat surprised to see it turn. He crept in and shut the door behind him.

  Inside there were cabinets and pills in jars and tinctures and cotton balls and other things. His hand throbbed looking at it all. He longed to lose the tattered bandage around it in favor of a proper splint and to take something for the pain and swelling, even if it was only an aspirin. The office was small, though, and there was nowhere to hide. He shouldn't stay there long, he reckoned. And since he was so close to the road out of town, it might be a good idea to make a run for it. Surely there would be fewer villagers looking for him outside of Sangville. Perhaps now it was better to run than to hide.

  He could think better if his hand weren't throbbing. He opened the cabinet and sorted through the jars of pills. Suddenly he heard voices from outside.

  “ . . . patrolling the road in groups, so even if he does try to leave town, he'll still be found.”

  A woman's voice. She and the man she was talking to were headed toward the office. Grier scrambled to the closet and stood holding it closed by the handle, just as they entered. He could hear their conversation continue from inside. A man's voice.

  “I'm not that worried if we don't get him anyway. It's not like anyone's going to believe him. They'll lock him up if he tries to tell anyone.”

  “I'm not willing to take that chance, Mathew.” Grier heard the sound of a drawer being opened. It sounded like the woman was shuffling through it, and then it closed. “Someone might come. And if they do, they'll have to do precious little investigating to find out something is going on, whether they totally believe him or not. It's best he's found and dealt with.”

  “I suppose you're right,” the male voice concluded. “Really nasty business for someone just passing through.”

  “Just a bit of bad luck, Matt. He's not in here at least. Maybe we should double back to the pier after this.”

  “Fine,” said the male voice.

  “Oh, before we leave, be a dear and get my coat out of the closet, won't you.”

  In the closet, Grier stiffened with panic. His grip tightened on the handle. This was it. They'd find for sure. Find him, then they'd 'deal with him' as the woman put it. Just a bit of bad luck.

  His heart pounded in the darkness. He was vaguely aware that sweat was forming in beads on his brow as he heard the heavy footsteps of the man coming closer.

  Floorboards creaked under each step.

  In his mind, Grier could see him. He was at the door now, reaching out for the handle. He could almost feel him on the other side. Almost hear him breathing. Feel his fingers on the knob.

  And then he heard another voice from farther away. Outside. Excited. Shouting. “It's old Taylor's barn. He set it on fire. The whole thing's gone up in blazes We got to get over there before it spreads!”

  Grier held his breath, listening to the two sets of footsteps hurrying across the floor and exiting, and even then he didn't exhale for what felt like a full five minutes after they were gone. He opened the closet door a millimeter and peered out, feeling as though he were being tricked.

  Empty. He was the only one in the office now. He stepped out of the closet. He paced in the little room, thinking He wasn't sure what his next move should be. He'd overheard something about them patrolling the road, so it was out of the question to try and leave town that way. A boat, was his next thought. He might be able to steal one and sail away. It might work, but he didn't trust his nautical skills enough to rely on them too much. Maybe he could stow away on one, but that would just increase his chances of being caught and lesson his options for running away. Besides, he wasn't sure where the boats were in this town anyway. A car maybe might be the thing. If he drove away, he'd have a good chance. After all, it would only be his car against anyone else's, and that wasn't bad odds. And he'd only have to go as far as the next town. They wouldn't dare try and apprehend him if he got to public, would they? Probably not, he concluded

  There was a door to the side that didn't lead out, and as far as Grier could tell, opened into the adjoining business. He put his ear to the door and listened, hearing nothing. He decided to open it. The office was confining, and he was begging to feel anxious staying in the spot too long.

  The business attached to the doctor's office was much larger. He must have entered in the rear of the place, a sort of carpenter's workshop. It smelled of ceder and pine, and there were wood chips all over the floor and tables with saws and chisels and hammers and pegs and the like. In the center of the room lay the latest project settled between two sawhorses. At first Grier took it for a narrow, and oddly-shaped bookcase. But, no. It wasn't that, exactly. He started when he realized that it was a coffin. He noticed an old sign, damaged, and brought in to be repaired. Seachnall Burials and Funerary Services, it said.

  Grier's superstitious nature got the better of him and he felt his blood run cold. This was bad. This was very bad. He must leave this place at once! This was an omen! A death sentence! A-

  “Calm yourself, sir. Nobody here means you any harm.”

  Grier twisted around to see the source of this sudden voice. There was an old, wizened man sitting in the corner by the wood-burning stove in the corner, wrapped in a faded gray blanket.

  “Who are you?” Grier demanded.

  “Read the sign,” said the old man Seachnall.

  “ Seachnall, huh? Are you here alone, Seachnall?”

  Hmmph,” said the old man. “Suppose I am. Suppose you'd like to take a piece of cordwood or a hammer and bash my head in with it?”

  “No,” said Grier, “I don't want to hurt you or anyone else. I'm just looking for a way out of this place.”

  “Suppose you are,” said Seachnall. “You picked a bad day to visit. Seen some strange things, I'd guess.”

  “That was you last night. In the store,” said Grier. “You watched me come into town from the front of the shop. I saw your candle burning. You could have warned me. Why didn't you say anything?”

  “Bah!” said the old man, and waved him off. “It's not my say who comes or goes. Hmmm,” the old man sat and thought it over. “Maybe it's true I should have warned you but didn't. Might be I could help you to leave, though If you'll trust me.”

  “I'm listening,” said Grier.

  “Not over there. Come sit by me. You sit with me by this stove here. It gets chilly before the sun comes up. Before you do, bring that jug down from the shelf.”

  Grier brought the jug over, which was heavy with water.

  “From the well out back,” said the old man. He made Grier fill a tin percolator with water and set it on the stove. A minute later the workshop filled with the aroma of brewing coffee.

  They sat by
the stove without talking. The old man poured the coffee out into ancient, cracked cups. Grier tasted the stuff and found it bitter and burned, and full of grit. Grounds settled at the bottom like silt. He put the cup down after one sip. The old man didn't seem to care. He finished and poured another cup. When he was done, the old man pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

  “Don't nod off on me, old man,” said Grier. “You were talking about getting me out of here.”

  “That's right,” said the old man, as if he was remembering it all again. “Do a bit of business in the next town over. Some in another town. Sophead, it's called. If anyone sees me going there, they won't think nothing of it.”

  “That's fantastic,” said Grier. “You've got a car, then? Something you can sneak me away in?”

  “Bah,” said the old man, making an unseen gesture beneath the blanket. “I got a hearse wagon and a old bay horse that pulls it.”

  Despite the traces of coffee searing his esophagus, Grief felt a sudden chill. “You want me to ride in a hearse?”

  “Well,” the old man gnawed at something in his mouth. Coffee grounds. “It's made of clear glass round the sides. You can see right through it, so I couldn't just have you ride along, do you see?”

  Grier was starting to see what he meant. “No.” he shook his head. Aren't there curtains, or something you insert for privacy? There's got to be some other way than what you're thinking.”

  The old man shrugged. “Might look suspicious. I don't want to take more risk than I have to. And I'm already taking a lot,” he added.

  “I can appreciate that. I really can,” said Grier. He took a long, unpleasant look at the finished coffin on the table behind him. “But you can't blame me for being disturbed to be in that thing while I'm still alive.”

  “Alive's the best way to be in it,” grinned the old man. “Least while its above ground.”