Waking Light

by Rob Horner

  Internationally there were more reports like we'd seen the previous evening, people acting strange, religious leaders proclaiming an impending Apocalypse, Catholics, speaking under condition of anonymity, saying the church had received a drastic increase in the number of exorcism requests.

  There was a pattern to it all, countries recalling their forces, people moving to congregate, wanting to band together, though whether that was for their own protection or to make a show of strength, a preparation for war, wasn't clear.

  What was clear from the reporting, especially from Michael's voice, was that we here in Virginia shouldn't worry about it.

  As the news faded into another commercial break, Crystal gave her a head a small shake, then shrugged. "I'm sorry, guys. Nobody else has a yellow glow. I know it doesn't help to bring more into the mix. Maybe it was just a trick of the light..."

  "Do you believe that?" Tanya asked.

  Crystal hesitated a moment before answering. "I'm really not sure. Let's work on something else, at least until it happens again, if it happens again. You mentioned seeing something on one of the guys, John?"

  I wasn't sure if leaving this topic of conversation was the right move. It seemed important. What if there was someone with a different glow? What might it mean?

  But I couldn't come up with any ideas that weren't more than wild speculation fueled by too many comic books and Spielberg movies, so the point was moot.

  "On the video," I said, "when they froze it at the end, one of the people seemed to have...I don't know...something attached to his head or sticking out of his ear."

  "One of those kids mentioned something similar, didn't they?" Tanya asked. "That's what you were talking about?"

  "Yeah," I said. "I don't know what it means, but it gives a little credence to the kid's story. And if one part is true, maybe more of it is."

  "So...what does that mean?" Crystal asked. "That someone running through the mall could shoot electricity out of their hands?"

  "I don't see why that couldn't be a power," I said. "I mean, once you accept telekinesis..."

  "Or people getting turned into demons by statues..." Mrs. Fields added, which brought everyone's attention to her. She shrugged, smiling. "Ask Tanya. I'm stubborn, not stupid."

  "And in local events," the voice of Tracy Snow interrupted us, "don't forget the carnival is opening at the Hampton Coliseum tomorrow night."

  I looked back at the television in time to see Michael Graves smile for the camera, "It's their biggest setup in the southeastern United States. Four traveling shows all coming together for one giant celebration before they head up north."

  "Remember, Thursday through Sunday," Tracy said, "Rides, games, shows, tons of food and fun."

  "But be safe," Michael added, his face all seriousness again, sending a wave of nausea through me. Knowing what he was, knowing that a demon lived inside of him, made his words even more sickening. "Go with friends, stay together, and stay safe."

  Chapter 26

  I'll take bad dreams for $100, Alex

  For the second night in a row my sleep was disturbed by a nightmare, and I'm pretty sure it couldn't be blamed on bad food. Last night's nightmare, maybe, since all we'd done was power down some cold cereal before running out for our midnight training session. But tonight, we'd had leftover ham, green beans, biscuits, and corn, washed down with milk. Much healthier, though I was starting to jones for something caffeinated.

  It might have been the couch's fault. No matter how well they make the things, those separated cushions find a way to let parts of your body sink through. You toss and turn all night, then wake up feeling like several ribs have shifted out of place and your hips no longer line up with your shoulders.

  Adding to my physical discomfort were several other factors, all but one of which might be responsible for my mind's nighttime imaginings.

  Tomorrow was the big day, opening day at the carnival. When the midway powered up, we were going to be there. Like a kid on Christmas Eve, or a man the night before he pops the question, nerves and excitement kept my adrenaline pumping, flooding my brain with chemicals, firing off neurons in new and imaginative ways. Instead of finding myself in front of a class full of students with no pants on or discovering that I'd forgotten the ring and held only an empty box, my dream put me back in the carnival trailer park.

  The television news played a role as well. Knowing the lead anchors were demons and suspecting the reason for that was to instill a Keep walking, nothing to see here attitude in the general public while their evil brothers took over one person at a time, might be why my trailer park dream opened with a feeling of imminent danger. Not a My Spidey-Sense is tingling kind, but the sensation that I'd taken over myself smack in the middle of an Elm Street scenario, and though my dream body knew what was happening, my sleeping brain did not. My body ached in a dozen places, some of them dull like sore muscles, others sharp like actual scrapes or cuts.

  Those kids on the news, the ones interviewed in the mall, they might have played a part, because there were strange sounds in the night: the screams of people, the guttural snarls of demons, sounds like electricity arcing across a puddle from a downed power line, running, stomping feet, the choppy voice of a man giving orders through a megaphone or police car loud speaker. The sounds were martial, in a way, evocative of a squad of police officers getting into position around a gang hideout, or a platoon of soldiers preparing to storm some warlord's jungle bunker. The only things missing were the whistles of mortar shells, the chatter of machine guns, and the deep boom/thud of high explosives detonating.

  There's a commonly held theory that if you know you are dreaming, you can make it stop by denying it, or change it to something else by wishing it would change.

  That theory is a load of crap.

  I lay down certain sleep would be a long time coming, but not because of anything bad. Tanya's kiss that morning, and the words which came with it, had settled me. I was secure in my relationship with her for the first time in months, comfortable in my head and with my feelings, and ready to let things move forward. We'd danced around for four years, developing a friendship that resisted a push to something greater, because the time wasn't right. I don't know what had to change, but the change made this new direction glorious.

  The first kiss was just a taste, a gateway, an introduction. The second round, as we looked for the address book, was sweeter, pulling on my emotions, bringing them out to stand side by side with hers. If those feelings for her weren't there, if they weren't real and ready to grow, we'd have known it. Like the first time we tried to date, the kiss would have felt forced, two kids playing at love because of things they'd seen in the movies, not because of what was real in their hearts.

  Sweetness turned to fire when we sat together on the kitchen chair, as her sobs subsided, and her mouth burned my skin. Ever since that moment, every chance we got, we were close, hips touching when we sat side by side on the couch or holding her as she leaned back against me. Every moment alone, whether for a few seconds or minutes, we stole kisses. Every time she moved, my body delighted in the feel of hers sliding through my hands or twisting around to look in my eyes.

  The kiss goodnight was magical, set up for us like a scene from one of those romance movies you take your date to in the hopes that she'll see your sensitive side. Crystal closed the door to the guest bedroom as we came upstairs, and Mrs. Fields only lingered in her doorway long enough to grace us with a smile.

  Then we were alone in the hallway, holding hands, standing face to face. Her bedroom waited behind her, and I'd be lying if I said there wasn't the temptation to press forward. But her brown eyes were somehow bigger, somehow darker, in the dim hallway, innocence spiced with seduction. They drew me in, beautiful pools of mystery, depths unknown, drowning me. That crooked smile played about her lips, one eyebrow raised in her Go 'head, I dare you look.

  My hands framed her perfect face as our lips came together. No sneak-attack this time. No t
ears. Our mouths moved as one, breath intermingling. Her hands dropped to my waist and pulled me to her. She tilted her head back, inviting me to kiss her soft throat. The fabric of the flannel shirt she'd put on after our rescue mission tickled my chin, then something happened, and it was gone. I glanced down...

  When did she open the top two buttons of her shirt?

  ...and saw the next button opening on its own, the plastic circle twisting itself and sliding out of the slot in the fabric, allowing a view of the soft skin almost down to her belly button. The shirt opened in just the right way to tease, inviting the look, tantalizing the imagination, but revealing nothing.

  I kissed the soft center of her throat, my hands dropping from her face, sliding over her shoulders. Her hands left my waist, coming up to twine in my hair. She gave my head a gentle shake, then pulled me up for another kiss, hot and quick, before stepping back. She favored me with that impish smile as she grabbed the door, closing it gently between us.

  "I know," I said huskily. "To be continued."

  "Damn right, Johnny-boy."

  She closed the door.

  Those precious moments played through my head as I prepared to sleep. If I'd known then how fleeting such happiness could be, I would have stayed awake, would have contrived a way to have her sleeping on the couch next to me, or just in the same room, all to savor a few more glances, steal a few more kisses, before it was all taken away.

  If only there could have been a dream of us. But no, there was to be no sweet frustration, no soft lips and gentle caresses.

  I was back in the trailer park, and it was true night. No streetlights, no bright moonlight, just a lessening of the darkness in one direction, where the night was pushed back by the bright lights of the carnival midway.

  That was different.

  There were no midway lights during my last trip through the trailers. There were spotlights, yes, strung on wires between poles, or free-standing and directed at specific locations, all to assist the carnies as they tore the rides apart and got ready to leave. These lights shifted and changed through the spectrum like the Aurora Borealis, first red, then green, then yellow and white.

  The night wasn't silent, either. Aside from the rapid rasping of my breath and the hammering of my heart, aside from a weird kind of snuffling sound, like a golden retriever with a stuffy nose, there was music, Top 40 pop tunes blared from a dozen loudspeakers, different songs warring with each other like a Casey Kasem countdown from hell. The music came from the same direction as the lights, blasting over the noise of the crowd, which hung there at the edge of audibility as a dull, continuous roar, like the noise of the ocean which becomes a part of the background when you sleep near the beach.

  I was aware of things, memories from the dream before I joined it, like a Breaking News Bulletin or a Presidential Speech that preempts regular programming, so you end up coming into the middle of your favorite show already in progress. There was danger, demons, hunting for me. The snuffling was them, seeking my scent. The scrabbling was the sound of their claws running over the asphalt.

  I was alone.

  This filled me with fear more than anything else could have. I wasn't supposed to be alone. Where was Tanya? Why wasn't Crystal with me?

  The three of us had come to the carnival to do...something, and we'd gotten separated. I almost called out but stopped myself. Yelling wouldn't get me to them or them to me, it would just get me caught.

  But I couldn't stand still either.

  The trailers were large lumps of a deeper darkness in the night, the power lines and water hoses invisible snakes between them, ready to snag and trip no matter how carefully I stepped. Long metal hitches propped on sturdy jack-legs protruded from the fronts of the houses-on-wheels, rarely more than a suggestion of a shadow, barking my shins more than once as I moved along the make-shift street, eyes dilating wider than they've ever been, ears straining for anything that might give a hint as to where the girls were. The midway was behind me, and the way ahead ever darker. I felt like blind Master Po, though I had no Caine, no grasshopper.

  The noises of the searching demons were closer now; every edge of a trailer a potential ambush, every dark alley between them capable of hiding an army, ready to pounce. There was something else ahead of me, unseen but felt, a magnetic source pulling at me, so for every zig I must eventually zag. It felt a part of the dream, one of those things accepted because it is, not for any specific reason. And yet, for all that it attracted and drew, it repulsed. Nausea roiled my stomach, growing stronger with every footstep in that direction, yet if I tried to turn aside, fate, the winding streets, and my own willful feet would conspire to bring me closer.

  Rounding a trailer corner, I bumped into something, eliciting a cry of fear.

  "Johnny?"

  It was Crystal's voice, flooding me with relief.

  I'd found her.

  "Yeah, it's me," I said, reaching out and taking her arm. I began towing her toward the lights, that faint nimbus of hope on the other side of this metropolis of mobile homes. Just as importantly, every step took us further from the presence, still there behind us, like a glimpse of a ghost seen in a steam-fogged bathroom mirror. My heart ached to find Tanya, but my dream self was filled with the surety that if we could get Crystal to safety, I could come back for the brunette. There was a priority in this dream-mind which didn't agree with my own. Crystal stood higher than Tanya, and that wasn't right.

  From in front of us came the sharp growl of demon voices, impossible to tell how far away, no way to know if we'd been seen. Different tones gave the impression of multiple foes, though their words were unintelligible. As if we shared one mind, Crystal and I dove for cover, sliding sideways under the nearest trailer. Wetness immediately began soaking through my shirt. It hadn't rained, but we'd chosen a trailer with a leaking hose. I refused to think about what other kinds of liquids might be under a trailer parked in a place like this, with no access to bilge trucks or plumbing hook-ups. The air was damp but not unpleasant, hopefully heavy enough to muffle the sound of my heart.

  The voices of the demons grew louder, coming closer. The slight scrape of claws on concrete sounded like it was only a few inches away. They were right outside of our hiding place!

  Then came the sound I'd dreaded most, that wet snuffling which indicated they sought our scent like a bloodhound on the trail of a fox. A quick prayer escaped my lips, a desperate wish for the musty humidity under the trailer to cover our scents, hiding us from the demons.

  The snuffling grew closer, and my mind painted a picture of a large demon, it's weird shoulder, elbow, and knee joints bent at odd angles, crawling on all fours in a grotesque parody of a dog, an elongated snout finding where our hands had touched the sides of the trailer, descending along the aluminum and wood siding, then pushing itself into our hiding place.

  But the snuffling receded, and the voices of the demons grew distant, fading away, until they disappeared completely. My heart slowed and my breathing quieted.

  "I'm so glad I found you," Crystal said, causing me to look at her in shock. She's spoken far too loudly.

  "Be quiet!" I hissed at her, feeling my heart ramp up again, preparing to dash out of our hiding place and run like hell if the demons came back.

  "Oh, don't worry about them," she said, and something in the tone of her voice raised the hackles on my neck. "They won't hurt me."

  "What are you talking about?"

  In the near-total darkness under the trailer, the sound of ripping clothing was like a gunshot in a movie theater. You know something bad is happening, but you don't know which way to run.

  "The only one who's in danger is you."

  Her voice was completely different, the husky-but-soft alto now deeper, with that gritty raspiness formerly associated only with lifetime Camel smokers, but which now made me think only of demons.

  My understanding came too late.

  An unbelievably strong hand closed around my right wrist. I looked at her
, strained to see her, speechless in my fear and sense of loss, and saw only two pinpoints of light shining in the darkness where her face should be. In the next second, she'd reached out and seized my other wrist. My best defense, the ability to banish the demons, was nullified, not that it mattered. There was no way I'd be able to use it on her, not in this form.

  With a burst of speed and strength that stole my breath, she dragged me from our hiding place and out into the open. Standing tall, she twisted, slinging me away from the side of the trailer and out into an open space, a ghetto courtyard surrounded by boxy shapes. I staggered, arms wind milling, somehow managing to keep my feet. More demons materialized, stepping out of the shadows to surround me. She faded back into their midst, mingling with her new kin.

  "Fight ussss," she urged, but in the dim light, amongst so many similar creatures, there was no way to know which one was her. "Fight us if you dare." Her voice took on a taunting quality that tore the spirit from me.

  How could I fight, not knowing which demon might be her? How could I risk losing her forever, when she was all that I valued in life?

  Again, my passenger mind sought to contradict the beliefs of the dream and was again overruled.

  Demons in every direction, dancing, sliding left and right, some lunging forward as if to strike at me, letting loose hisses full of heat, then stepping back. Turning, I tried to find her, to locate her amongst the shifting horde, but saw nothing but red eyes staring back at me from different heights.

  They closed in, breathing fast, bathing my face and neck, barely outside of my reach, though they might as well have been a mile away for all that my dream-self cared. He wouldn't strike, and I couldn't make him.

  Another spin, frustration mounting, and a new set of eyes awaited, much smaller than those of the dancing demons. It was one of the statues, and in the split second that realization set in, the battle was lost, something passing from the statue through my eyes, a presence, foul, disgusting, utterly inhuman, intruding on my thoughts.