Gathering Storm

by R. L. King

  “What were they doing? Did they appear to notice you?”

  “Nope. They were hangin’ around the machines. Looked like maybe they were workin’. It was pretty dim so I couldn’t get a good look, but I thought I saw men, women, even a few kids.” He shuddered. “And that was when things got really weird.”

  “How so?” Stone made a few notes and forced himself not to urge Mitchell to go faster.

  He let out a long blast of air. “You are seriously not gonna believe this, Mr. Stone.”

  “Try me. I’ve heard some fairly incredible stories.”

  “Okay. Okay.” He was shaking now. He pulled the truck off the road next to a fence and switched off the ignition. “So… I was watchin’ these weird figures…ghosts are what they looked like, okay?” His tone took on a challenge that was almost confrontational, and he glared at Stone as if expecting him to comment. After a moment, he sighed again. “I was watchin’ ’em, and then suddenly there was this bright flash of light over by one of the machines. It was—I can’t even describe it, not really. It looked like the air split open and this glow came out. It was like somethin’ out of a science fiction movie. I almost felt like I could see…somethin’ on the other side, but not clear enough to make out.”

  “Bloody hell. Did the others see it too?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t say what happened to them, because suddenly the glow was gone and I was…somewhere else.”

  “What do you mean, somewhere else?”

  “I don’t know!” Mitch’s voice shook with strain. “That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell you. None of this makes a damn bit of sense. It was like I was suddenly lookin’ back at my friends from…somewhere else. Like I was seein’ ’em from the other side of the room, over by where the new people were. And then suddenly I was scared out of my mind. Like I knew I was gonna die and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. All around me, the other new people started screamin’ too, runnin’ around, flailin’ their arms. One of the women picked up one of the kids and headed for the door, but they both screamed and disappeared. All I knew was that I had to run, I had to get out, or I’d be dead too.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothin’. Because right after that, I felt this strong jerk, like somebody had a rope around me and was yankin’ me across the room, and then I was back in my own body, lookin’ at the world just like I expected to. Except I still felt this kind of overwhelming fear, like I still had to get out of there before something terrible happened.”

  “Did you run? What were the other people in your group doing?”

  “I sure as hell did run. I took off like the Devil himself was chasin’ me. All around me, everybody else was freakin’ out, runnin’ around, lookin’ like they were seein’ the same thing I was. We all took off, leavin’ the beer and stuff behind. The way people were screamin’, you’da thought the whole place was on fire or somethin’.”

  “That sounds terrifying,” Stone said. “Did you see the ghostly figures anymore after that?”

  “I looked back over my shoulder when I ran, to check if anybody was chasin’ me. Nobody was. I saw the ghosts, back there by the machines where they were before. They were runnin’ around too. They looked as scared as we did, but they weren’t chasin’ us. I didn’t look too closely, y’know? It seemed like they faded in and out—you know, like if you’re watchin’ an old movie and the projector’s screwed up? Then there was another bright flash and everything disappeared.”

  “Everything?”

  “The ghosts, the scared feeling, everything. It was like it just…switched off.”

  Stone twisted in his seat, aware he was gripping the armrest so tightly his fingers dug into it. “So you all…just stopped, outside the mill building?”

  “Yeah. One minute everybody was runnin’ around, and the next they…weren’t. Everybody just stood out there after that, lookin’ at each other like they couldn’t believe what had just happened.”

  “But they remembered it?”

  “Oh, yeah, they did then. Everybody was talkin’ about it when the cops showed up. A couple of us tried tellin’ the cops what had happened, but even by then the story started gettin’ all muddled up. People were tellin’ different versions, gettin’ confused…it was like they were all drunk off their asses. But they weren’t. The cops did sobriety tests. Everybody was a little buzzed, but definitely not enough to forget somethin’ like that.”

  “What did the police do? Did they arrest anyone?”

  “Nah, they let most of us off with a warning. A couple folks were more freaked out than the rest, though, and they took ’em in. I found out later they were actin’ like they were comin’ down off a bad trip or something, and ended up havin’ to talk to a shrink. My younger sister even got sent off to Morris Park—that’s a mental-health place in Des Moines—’cause she couldn’t calm down. But by the next day, every single person there didn’t remember what happened. Even the one who got sent off. The folks I talked to all said it felt like they passed out, and woke up later with no memory of anything except the usual drinkin’ and talkin’ out there.”

  Stone considered. “That’s… a fascinating story, Mitch.”

  Mitch shot him a glare. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “I do. I absolutely believe you.”

  The young man’s expression relaxed, but only slightly. “You aren’t messin’ with me, are you?”

  “No. I promise, I’m not.”

  “Do you…have any idea what the hell might be going on? Did we all have some kind of mass hallucination or something? The cops checked the place out after we kept tellin ’em about seein’ the…ghosts or whatever, inside, but they didn’t find anything. They even tested the beer to make sure somebody didn’t put some kinda drugs in it. Nothing.”

  “In answer to your question—no, I’ve no idea what might have happened.”

  “Do you think we really did see ghosts?”

  “I can’t say. I was doing some research on the history of the mill earlier today—I found accounts of a catastrophic fire that occurred in the Thirties. Things like that do tend to spawn ghost stories, and sometimes people can be…suggestible. See what they expect to see. I’ve heard it happen many times before.”

  “Yeah…that makes sense. But believe me, Mr. Stone—this wasn’t any suggestion. I saw those people plain as I’m seein’ you right now. At least I think I did.” Mitch’s brow furrowed and his expression grew uncertain. “There’s something else I wonder about, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why do I remember what happened, and nobody else did? I think I’d be happier if I didn’t remember anything. I’ve been havin’ nightmares ever since that night. That same feeling, like I have to get away from something before it catches me and kills me.”

  “That’s a damned good question.” Stone had his suspicions—if something supernatural was going on out at the mill, it was possible Mitchell Kirkson possessed some minimal level of latent magical potential. Not enough to get him in trouble, but enough that his increased sensitivity would make him more susceptible to arcane anomalies. Stone suspected it would wear off after a time. “I’d definitely like to get a look at that mill. Would you take me there?”

  Mitch shook his head with emphasis. “No way. I already told you before: there is no way I’m going back there. Like I said—I’m done with that place.” He was a big man and didn’t look like the sort to back down from any mundane threats, but the naked fear in his tone was impossible to miss.

  That didn’t surprise Stone. He thought it might be the case, and at any rate it was probably safer not to take a sensitive mundane out there. He had no idea if the events had occurred on their own, or if something about one or more of the group of friends had triggered them. “All right. It’s fine,” he assured him. “Will you at least tell me where it is? If you’ll take me back to my car, then, and I’ll go on my own.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Stone.
Goin’ out there on your own, I mean.”

  “Believe me, Mitch, I’ve got experience with this sort of thing. You’ve trusted me with your secret—can I trust you with one of my own?”

  “Uh…sure. I guess.”

  Stone pulled one of his business cards from his coat pocket and handed it over. “This kind of thing is what I do.”

  Mitch studied it, then glanced up at Stone. “Occult Studies? You’re a professor at Stanford?”

  “Yes. And phenomena like this are what I study. I’m hoping to add yours to a paper I’m working on.” It wasn’t even necessarily a lie—not entirely, at least.

  Surprisingly, that seemed to calm the young man down, but he still looked nervous. “Why don’t you want me to tell anybody else?”

  “Because it can make things…inconvenient if it gets around. As soon as people find out what I do, I end up having to listen to a whole load of tiresome stories about people’s haunted golf clubs and whatnot. I’d rather focus on the mill.”

  “Uh…yeah. I guess that makes sense.” He sighed. “I feel bad about not takin’ you out there myself, but like I said, there’s no way I’m gettin’ near that place again. Not ever. Once was enough to last a lifetime. I’ll tell you how to get there, but you need to be careful. The cops have sealed off the hole in the fence folks used to get through, and if they catch you out there, you’ll probably get arrested.”

  “I’ll take that chance. Thank you, Mitch.”

  Mitch pulled a battered notepad and pencil from the truck’s glove compartment and drew a crude map. “Mill’s at the end of Old Grady Road, a few miles from here. It’s out by the river. Not much else out there these days.”

  Stone took the map and studied it in the dim light as Mitch turned the truck around and headed back toward town.

  The young man said nothing else on the trip back, until he pulled into the Lamplighter’s parking lot next to Stone’s sedan. But as Stone opened the door, he said tentatively, “Mr.—uh, Dr. Stone?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will you let me know if you find anything out there? Or even better, if you don’t? Just…for my own peace of mind?” He took back the map and wrote his phone number on it.

  “Of course.” Stone swung out of the truck. “Thank you, Mitch. I appreciate what you’ve told me.”

  As soon as he closed the door, the truck rumbled out of the parking lot. Clearly, Mitch Kirkson was having second thoughts about talking to Stone. He watched it go, then got into his own car. Before he left, he paused to call Verity.

  “How’s it going, Doc? Find any ghosts and goblins?” She sounded amused.

  “Possibly. I had a very interesting conversation with one of the locals.” He told her what Mitch Kirkson had described.

  “Wow.” Now her tone was more impressed. “I kinda wish I’d come with you now. Sounds like there really is something going on out there.”

  “It does. I’m planning to go out to the mill now and do a bit of poking around. It might have been an isolated incident, but from the sound of things, nobody’s been out there since it happened.”

  “Well, I’d tell you to be careful, but this sounds like pretty garden-variety stuff for you. Just don’t get arrested or anything.”

  “I’ll do my best. I should go now, though—I want to get out there before Mr. Kirkson changes his mind and tells his friends about me. The last thing I want to deal with is a bunch of drunken farm boys playing ghost.”

  8

  One good thing about the Devil’s Creek area being so flat: it was hard to get lost. Stone followed Mitch Kirkson’s scrawled map out to the mill. By the time he made it a couple miles out of town and had left the highway, he saw no sign of other vehicles. Either people went to bed early around here, or there was nothing out here to see. Either way was fine with Stone, since the last thing he wanted to do was explain to some cop or other curious lookie-loo what he was doing out here.

  He spotted the dark bulk of the mill looming ahead well before he reached it. As Mitch had said, the whole area was surrounded by an imposing chain-link fence, with signs every twenty feet or so proclaiming things like NO TRESPASSING and DANGER – UNLAWFUL ENTRY PROHIBITED. A couple of the signs had graffiti sprayed on them, and the rusty, uneven pockmarks on another suggested more than one person had used it for target practice over the years.

  Stone pulled the car off the road and parked it near the fence, pausing to weave a disregarding spell on it. It wouldn’t fool anyone determined to spot it, but it was the best he could do without more effort than he was willing to expend.

  It was pitch dark out here once he shut off the headlights, the only illumination coming from the slivered moon. The air was chilly, with a hint of a damp bite. Stone paused a moment to shift to magical sight, glancing around to spot any obvious oddness in the area’s astral footprint. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but even the derelict mill itself showed him nothing out of the ordinary. “Guess I’m heading in, then,” he muttered.

  A quick levitation spell got him over the fence, and another disregarding spell hid him from any prying eyes, even though he was sure there weren’t any. Less than a minute later, he stood next to the mill building.

  It rose three stories above him, looking far more imposing up close than it had from a distance. He didn’t want to risk a light spell until he was inside, but even in the moonlight he could see it was very old and had at one time been substantial, but the years had not been kind to it. The glass was long gone from the massive windows far above; some of them were covered with heavy plywood, while others yawned open to let in the elements.

  Once again, Stone paused for a quick glance with magical sight, and once again he was disappointed to see nothing. He could hardly expect a whole contingent of echoes to be waiting outside to welcome him, but even the ley line—one of the pair that converged somewhere near the area—looked undisturbed and serene.

  As he levitated upward again to enter through one of the broken windows, he considered once more what might have gone on here. That was the thing about magic—its manifestations were sometimes inexplicable even to those who made it their life’s work to study it. It was one of the rules his own master had drilled into his head from the time he was an apprentice: never take magic for granted. It was a useful tool, and if you could harness its power you could use it for many things. In some ways it was like any other force: like gravity, electricity, or solar power, it had rules it followed and could be expected to behave in certain quantifiable ways—most of the time. But unlike those other forces, it also included a chaotic element, or at least one modern magical science had not yet gotten a full handle on. Because at its core it was a force connected with and shaped by living things, its manifestations likewise took as many forms as there were practitioners to manipulate them. What that meant, when it came down to it, was that magic was controllable—until it wasn’t. And that meant good mages needed to stay on their toes if they wanted to live long enough to become old good mages.

  Stone crouched on the edge of the window for a moment, peering down into the interior. It was even dimmer down here since most of the moonlight didn’t make it inside, but he had no trouble picking out the towering forms of ruined machinery. He dropped down and summoned a light spell, looking around.

  The smell of dust and dampness hung heavily in the air, combined with the faintest hints of old beer and motor oil. Clearly Mitch Kirkson hadn’t been wrong that the place had been a clandestine hangout for the local young people for many years. Aside from the rusting, derelict machinery, most of the grimy floor was clear; Stone spotted piles of trash, boxes, a broken lawn chair, and other indications that people had been here, but no smaller machines or other leftover items from when the mill had been in operations. That didn’t surprise him—as old as the place was, he was sure the scavengers had picked it clean of anything that could be sold. Even most of the interior walls were gone or crumbling, and anything that might have existed on the second or third floors had l
ong ago been destroyed.

  Keeping his light spell up, Stone paced the floor, taking care not to trip over any of the debris strewn around. It would be fairly embarrassing if he weathered any magical threats unscathed, only to brain himself on the corner of some piece of hundred-year-old machinery because he tripped over his own feet.

  His mundane explorations proved fruitless. He paid particular attention to the area near the machinery, where Mitch Kirkson had claimed to see the group of echoes clad in old-fashioned clothes, but whatever had shown itself to the group of drunken partiers two weeks ago didn’t seem inclined to make an appearance tonight. Stone began to wonder if Mitch and his friends hadn’t had some kind of shared hallucination, reinforcing each other’s memories of what had occurred.

  But most of them claim to have no memories. And that’s odd.

  Unless they’re all lying, of course. It was possible. From what he’d seen, the Devil’s Creek population seemed fairly buttoned-down and conventional. Perhaps what had started out as a joke got out of hand, and the townspeople’s disapproval had led the participants to a consensual response of “just kidding” to keep them from real-world consequences.

  Stone didn’t believe it, though. He’d been watching Mitch Kirkson’s aura while he told his story, and the man couldn’t hide his fear.

  “All right,” he murmured, unslinging the bag from his shoulder. “If it takes magic to make you show yourselves, then let’s give you some.”

  Working quickly, he drew a small circle on the floor with chalk, then arranged a few candles around it and lit them. He’d only brought a subset of his magical gear, supplementing it with a few common items he’d purchased in town earlier today, but they should be enough. All he was trying to do here was a sort of magical “jump start”—if he’d been right that Mitch or one of his friends had latent magical potential, his working theory was that it had interacted with the magic in the area to cause the manifestations. If he could re-create that with an even stronger magical kick, he hoped he could duplicate it.