I leaned through the doorway and glanced around the moon-tinted shadows of my little girl's room in astonishment. Glassy orbs glinted in hordes from the shelf above the bed. More dolls as large as cats lined up along the dresser, and one as tall as a child lounged in the rocking chair beneath the window, the occasional flash of lightning gleaming off its nylon hair.
Honestly, I'd have woken with a start myself with all those glittering eyes watching me. Especially in a power outage.
"Well, I regret not bringing a flashlight," I admitted with a shrug.
Beatrice was busy studying the wood grain beneath her feet when I turned around, and I knelt to squint at her face. "You don't have anything to be afraid of, sweetie. Your dolls aren't going to hurt you. They're just shapes in the dark."
She finally turned and trudged back into her room after a couple words of encouragement, and I smiled at her one more time as I pulled the door shut. Bea's paranoia had spilled over onto me, and I felt foolish power-walking as quietly as I could down the hallway, terrified something might hear.
The glow of an LED lantern greeted me in the kitchen. My wife sat at the table, slumped over the tall bottle she'd polished off while I was gone. She growled around her arm as I reached for the coffee maker. "How many?"
I glanced over my shoulder at her. "Six or seven. Maybe... Maybe eight?"
Samantha lifted her head and glared at me. "You can't count them?"
"I didn't buy them, how can I keep track of them?"
"Jesus, you haven't been listening to me." She leered up at me from her pile of misery. "Nobody bought them. She didn't have any. Did you see the one in the rocking chair? That look on its face..."
I glanced at my watch. "Four more hours. We all had to do this once. They won't hurt her as long as she ignores them."
"Four more hours? What are you talking about?"
"Until dawn." I cocked an eyebrow at her. "We can sleep when its daylight. She can sleep."
Samantha opened her mouth and paused a moment. Then she rose from the table so quickly she knocked the lantern to the floor. She gripped my shoulders, shaking me furiously. "Michael, she isn't here. Did you forget? I dropped Bea off at mom's house before the storm hit."
The lantern rolled into the hallway, coming to a stop at a small pair of plastic feet.
Friday, February 24, 2017
Friday, February 17, 2017
[#070] Destinations Unknown
She
watched as the seventh turbine started to spin, and all the light in
the world began to collect inside its blue corona along the rim.
Doctors Ven and Hadley had tried to explain the new propulsion engine to her several times, but the idea was just beyond her reach. "The Identity Drive can move entire planets," Hadley had said. "Right," continued Ven, "By reaching back through the aeons and re-framing our entire concept of localized space to another point in the universe, we can wear reality down enough to force it to comply."
"But it requires such an extravagance of energy we can only do it once," Hadley added.
A confusing proposition, but the only hope they had. Nobody had any idea the slow buildup of nuclear energy over the past century would attract such a force from the stars; not a sentient power but one of thermonuclear physics, unknown and still unlabeled by scientists who had no time to ponder it once it began to cool the sun at such a rapid pace.
The Drive was the Earth's last chance at survival.
She shivered at the awesome glow of the seventh turbine, the size of a skyscraper hung flat from suspension cables over the valley before her. Six others like it rested at equidistant points around the planet, each gathering the very forces of creation to reach out and touch the minds of humanity and fudge a zero into a one. A monitor on her console showed the forest outside thinning quickly, the bark turning gray as leaves scattered in droves across the dying grass. Color drained from the sky and coiled around her little piece of the Identity Drive, and the stars above pierced through the thinning light. Something arched across the dome of the artificial night like a thunderbolt, cracking space in two above and slowly, agonizingly, pulling apart.
A light flashed red on the console.
She glanced at the readout.
The destination coordinates had been set to somewhere near Alpha Centauri, where they would evacuate to the closest planet on which they could find a way to live. Now those numbers were changing, flashing through an unfamiliar sequence so quickly she couldn't read them. A voice called out from her radio, but the Drive's vampiric properties had affected that too, reducing Dr. Hadley's voice to a mash of grunting syllables.
She placed her hand over the engine brake. The turbine would shut down if she pulled the lever, but none of the energy would return to the planet. Too much of it was gone by now, shot out into the borders of the universe as she understood it. The world would crumble into ash beneath the dying rays of the sun. The Drive had not already stopped, which meant the other six turbines still spun. She had no way of knowing where the Drive would take them, but...
Could she pull the lever and live with the knowledge she had doomed humanity to a certain, freezing death?
Her hand fell into her lap. She watched the corona around the turbine shift into a bruised purple. A booming voice sang out from somewhere high above her.
The crack in the sky widened, and a single eye peered down through it.
Doctors Ven and Hadley had tried to explain the new propulsion engine to her several times, but the idea was just beyond her reach. "The Identity Drive can move entire planets," Hadley had said. "Right," continued Ven, "By reaching back through the aeons and re-framing our entire concept of localized space to another point in the universe, we can wear reality down enough to force it to comply."
"But it requires such an extravagance of energy we can only do it once," Hadley added.
A confusing proposition, but the only hope they had. Nobody had any idea the slow buildup of nuclear energy over the past century would attract such a force from the stars; not a sentient power but one of thermonuclear physics, unknown and still unlabeled by scientists who had no time to ponder it once it began to cool the sun at such a rapid pace.
The Drive was the Earth's last chance at survival.
She shivered at the awesome glow of the seventh turbine, the size of a skyscraper hung flat from suspension cables over the valley before her. Six others like it rested at equidistant points around the planet, each gathering the very forces of creation to reach out and touch the minds of humanity and fudge a zero into a one. A monitor on her console showed the forest outside thinning quickly, the bark turning gray as leaves scattered in droves across the dying grass. Color drained from the sky and coiled around her little piece of the Identity Drive, and the stars above pierced through the thinning light. Something arched across the dome of the artificial night like a thunderbolt, cracking space in two above and slowly, agonizingly, pulling apart.
A light flashed red on the console.
She glanced at the readout.
The destination coordinates had been set to somewhere near Alpha Centauri, where they would evacuate to the closest planet on which they could find a way to live. Now those numbers were changing, flashing through an unfamiliar sequence so quickly she couldn't read them. A voice called out from her radio, but the Drive's vampiric properties had affected that too, reducing Dr. Hadley's voice to a mash of grunting syllables.
She placed her hand over the engine brake. The turbine would shut down if she pulled the lever, but none of the energy would return to the planet. Too much of it was gone by now, shot out into the borders of the universe as she understood it. The world would crumble into ash beneath the dying rays of the sun. The Drive had not already stopped, which meant the other six turbines still spun. She had no way of knowing where the Drive would take them, but...
Could she pull the lever and live with the knowledge she had doomed humanity to a certain, freezing death?
Her hand fell into her lap. She watched the corona around the turbine shift into a bruised purple. A booming voice sang out from somewhere high above her.
The crack in the sky widened, and a single eye peered down through it.
Friday, February 10, 2017
[#069] The Hook
The long, black flag of a curtain whipped in the window at the top of the house.
"I'm not crazy, right?," Cal said as he unfolded himself from the squad car and sank his boots into the muddy earth.
Jen climbed out and rubbed her arms, shivering in the half-hail rain. Chunks of ice thumped across the roof of the car and beat down on the brow of her hat, but neither of the country deputies paid mind to the November storm as they stared up at the simple cloth flailing from the turret of the ruined Victorian.
"I was right, wasn't I?" Cal added.
His partner blinked at the fabric billowing in the wind, as dark as the still room beyond. "You're right."
"It was definitely closed."
"Been closed for years."
"Since MacReady died."
Jen's eyes trailed down the falling rain to meet her partner's gaze, but he wasn't looking at her. He studied the curtain with an intensity she couldn't will herself to match after the night she'd had. "You don't really think he's in there, do you?"
Cal turned to her. She swore she saw a glint trailing down his cheek.
"It's been thirteen years, Cal."
"And I guess his body will wash up in the creek any day now?"
She sighed and breathed in the cold, wet air of early winter. "The guys told me all about it. Billows and Temper, they've been on the force long enough to know what they're talking about. You don't survive a fall like that."
Cal shut his eyes and listened to the sounds of the storm. Thunder carried from above, and with it came a cavalcade of scratches and thumps as the hail wore away at the structure. And something else flowed down from the curtained room, though Cal prayed it existed only in his mind, a distant whisper beckoning him to the top of the turret: "Come on up, Calvin..."
"What'd you say?"
He shook himself out of his head and glanced back to meet the mixture of pity and suspicion in Jen's eyes. He waved a hand at the house. "Do you know why the windows aren't boarded? Even on the first floor?"
"I hadn't really thought of it."
"It's because nobody who grew up in Summerdown Grove is taking one step into that house. Ain't nobody in the county who can forget what MacReady did. Now someone's poking around in his house and leaving the attic window open in the middle of a thunderstorm. You don't do that if you want to stay hidden.
"You do that if you want someone to see it. You do that to make dumb cops like us walk into a trap."
Jen watched the curtain ripple. She imagined the corner bending up into a little finger, calling her into the attic. Her hand found its way to the radio inside the car before she knew what it was doing, but the waves rolling from the speakers returned only static. She dropped it in the seat and pulled up her belt.
"Just some kids," she grumbled. "People want to forget that stuff. They aren't gonna pass that story down. To the kids on this street, it's just a big, empty house."
Cal bent over and spat his dinner into the weeds beside the road. Jen grimaced and looked away before making her way around the hood and picking up her partner's hat, shielding his head from the falling hail. When he finished, Jen loaded her partner into the squad car and gazed up at the flapping curtain.
"Stay here," she said.
He watched her outline melt into the growing darkness between the car and the house, words failing as he sat alone beneath the rain and ice and thumping metal. The steady patter of the storm proved soothing, and his stomach came around before a quarter-hour passed. A shame grew inside him with the realization his partner had to carry on without him. The clouds withdrew a moment later, the better part of their burden shed on the muddy slopes up to the porch, and Calvin knew the time had come to step out of his cage and do his job.
Wooden planks twice his age creaked beneath his weight as he climbed the front steps. A single bench swing rocked back and forth on its chains from the far end of the covered porch, beams swollen and cracked from the rain seeping in sideways over thirteen years. The door swung open beneath the slightest touch, as if the latch had long since buckled under some heavy weight. Calvin pulled a flashlight from his belt and clicked it on, igniting the beam over a thin smoke curling from the wick of a recently extinguished candle.
Every ounce of will in his body strained against his instinct to run. He thought of Jen, and he closed the door behind him as he glanced up the hall.
Shadows oozed from the cobwebbed corners all along the corridor. The air grew thicker as he climbed the stairwell into the upper floors, hot and suffocating like the breath of a giant hovering inches from his face. A familiar shape gleamed in the darkness of the third floor landing, and Cal's heart froze up as he knelt to pick up Jen's revolver.
"Come on up, Calvin."
He leaped upright, pistol shaking in the air before him. Nobody else stood on the landing. The only door hung open halfway down, a blue glow shining on the bottom of the attic steps. A shadow spread across the moonlight, and Calvin lost it. Down the stairs he fled, shooting down the hillside and leaping into his car.
One last look at the attic window revealed the face of a distant figure grinning down at him as he fled into the night.
--------
Jen smiled as she watched the squad car tear off down the street. She knew her partner would tell the others, and the others would come on up. That was fine.
They thought she was a victim. They wouldn't be looking for Jen.
They would be looking for her father.
"I'm not crazy, right?," Cal said as he unfolded himself from the squad car and sank his boots into the muddy earth.
Jen climbed out and rubbed her arms, shivering in the half-hail rain. Chunks of ice thumped across the roof of the car and beat down on the brow of her hat, but neither of the country deputies paid mind to the November storm as they stared up at the simple cloth flailing from the turret of the ruined Victorian.
"I was right, wasn't I?" Cal added.
His partner blinked at the fabric billowing in the wind, as dark as the still room beyond. "You're right."
"It was definitely closed."
"Been closed for years."
"Since MacReady died."
Jen's eyes trailed down the falling rain to meet her partner's gaze, but he wasn't looking at her. He studied the curtain with an intensity she couldn't will herself to match after the night she'd had. "You don't really think he's in there, do you?"
Cal turned to her. She swore she saw a glint trailing down his cheek.
"It's been thirteen years, Cal."
"And I guess his body will wash up in the creek any day now?"
She sighed and breathed in the cold, wet air of early winter. "The guys told me all about it. Billows and Temper, they've been on the force long enough to know what they're talking about. You don't survive a fall like that."
Cal shut his eyes and listened to the sounds of the storm. Thunder carried from above, and with it came a cavalcade of scratches and thumps as the hail wore away at the structure. And something else flowed down from the curtained room, though Cal prayed it existed only in his mind, a distant whisper beckoning him to the top of the turret: "Come on up, Calvin..."
"What'd you say?"
He shook himself out of his head and glanced back to meet the mixture of pity and suspicion in Jen's eyes. He waved a hand at the house. "Do you know why the windows aren't boarded? Even on the first floor?"
"I hadn't really thought of it."
"It's because nobody who grew up in Summerdown Grove is taking one step into that house. Ain't nobody in the county who can forget what MacReady did. Now someone's poking around in his house and leaving the attic window open in the middle of a thunderstorm. You don't do that if you want to stay hidden.
"You do that if you want someone to see it. You do that to make dumb cops like us walk into a trap."
Jen watched the curtain ripple. She imagined the corner bending up into a little finger, calling her into the attic. Her hand found its way to the radio inside the car before she knew what it was doing, but the waves rolling from the speakers returned only static. She dropped it in the seat and pulled up her belt.
"Just some kids," she grumbled. "People want to forget that stuff. They aren't gonna pass that story down. To the kids on this street, it's just a big, empty house."
Cal bent over and spat his dinner into the weeds beside the road. Jen grimaced and looked away before making her way around the hood and picking up her partner's hat, shielding his head from the falling hail. When he finished, Jen loaded her partner into the squad car and gazed up at the flapping curtain.
"Stay here," she said.
He watched her outline melt into the growing darkness between the car and the house, words failing as he sat alone beneath the rain and ice and thumping metal. The steady patter of the storm proved soothing, and his stomach came around before a quarter-hour passed. A shame grew inside him with the realization his partner had to carry on without him. The clouds withdrew a moment later, the better part of their burden shed on the muddy slopes up to the porch, and Calvin knew the time had come to step out of his cage and do his job.
Wooden planks twice his age creaked beneath his weight as he climbed the front steps. A single bench swing rocked back and forth on its chains from the far end of the covered porch, beams swollen and cracked from the rain seeping in sideways over thirteen years. The door swung open beneath the slightest touch, as if the latch had long since buckled under some heavy weight. Calvin pulled a flashlight from his belt and clicked it on, igniting the beam over a thin smoke curling from the wick of a recently extinguished candle.
Every ounce of will in his body strained against his instinct to run. He thought of Jen, and he closed the door behind him as he glanced up the hall.
Shadows oozed from the cobwebbed corners all along the corridor. The air grew thicker as he climbed the stairwell into the upper floors, hot and suffocating like the breath of a giant hovering inches from his face. A familiar shape gleamed in the darkness of the third floor landing, and Cal's heart froze up as he knelt to pick up Jen's revolver.
"Come on up, Calvin."
He leaped upright, pistol shaking in the air before him. Nobody else stood on the landing. The only door hung open halfway down, a blue glow shining on the bottom of the attic steps. A shadow spread across the moonlight, and Calvin lost it. Down the stairs he fled, shooting down the hillside and leaping into his car.
One last look at the attic window revealed the face of a distant figure grinning down at him as he fled into the night.
--------
Jen smiled as she watched the squad car tear off down the street. She knew her partner would tell the others, and the others would come on up. That was fine.
They thought she was a victim. They wouldn't be looking for Jen.
They would be looking for her father.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)