The dense green walls of the Appalachian woodlands rolled by, looming large above the Blue Ridge Parkway. The midday sun gleamed off lush foliage. Cool, dark shadows peeked out from behind, inviting the adventurous. Bernard was normally that sort of adventurer, but not today. He needed to see an open field. His dreams had not been pleasant, and Loren had insisted on seeing caverns, of all things. Dark, damp, narrow caverns.
The same close walls of stone that gave Loren a sense of comfort and security were full of the same dreadful shadows Bernard had been seeing in his sleep all week.
As far as he knew, Loren had an ulterior motive for seeing the caves, and Bernard was sure it had to do with a young man he’d spent twenty minutes talking to.
“You’ve sure been quiet,” Loren noted. “Y’ain’t hardly spoke since Emerald Village.”
Bernard remained silent, offering no more than a shrug as he pondered a souvenir tumbled emerald in his hand, set in a matrix of quartz with inclusions of black tourmaline. It was a smooth, palm-sized stone with a nice weight that felt good in his hand.
“Look, I can’t promise that’ll be the last cave, but I’ll try to avoid ‘em, okay? I really just needed to wrap up a few things from an old case. It was a convenient place to meet, and I didn’t think—”
“It’s fine,” Bernard said.
“You sure, son? ‘Cause you’ve been real tense ever since.”
“I mean, that’s part of it, but it’s really not that big of a deal.”
“You want tell me what’s on your mind, then?”
“Nothing,” he said irritably, “It’s fine, Loren, really.”
He couldn’t pin the source of his moodiness—and he didn’t feel like talking about it. He was seventeen, after all. He could handle his own business without getting all touchy-feely about it like some little kid.
“Right,” Loren said, “So I guess we can expect to do this again sometime—”
“Jesus Christ, can we not just ride in silence?” Bernard snapped, “Turn on some music or something if you’re bored, man.”
“This ain’t about me,” Loren said, unmoved by his outburst, “You wanna know where I think it started? When that lady asked where you were from.”
“Been tryin’ real hard all morning to let that go,” he grumbled at the window.
“Ahh, then we’re getting’ somewhere. But do you blame her for being curious?”
“No. There were people from all over the place. Granted, they were all white, but—hell, man, it was part of the conversation. I’m not gonna be mad at her for asking. She was bein’ friendly. I just wish she hadn’t been so surprised.” His fist closed around the emerald. “I just can’t wait to get out of the Southeast.”
“There are white people in other places too, you know.”
“Yes, but at least I’ll be a real foreigner and not an alien in my own backyard.” Then he realized what he’d said and backtracked. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”
“It was honest. You wanna travel more, we can definitely manage that. Boss lady sent Danny a list for us to get started on. Sites in Ireland, Japan, Honduras, and India. After I check a site near Bishopville, east of Columbia, we can get started.”
Bernard blinked, drawn from his thoughts, “The hell’s in Bishopville?” Then it dawned on him. “Oh, no way. Really? Don’t you think those people have had enough?”
“We’re not interviewing anyone. Saara’s gonna run a pheromone scan, and then we’re gonna leave.”
“A what?”
“She’s gonna sniff out a couple of areas for suspicious activity.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “There’s no such thing as Lizard Man. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Anything but Lizard Man.
“You should see our files on Mothman, Bigfoot, and The Jersey Devil.”
“It was probably some wacko on drugs or a hoax just to scare people. Mothman was more believable than that—not that it was believable in the first place!—and besides: that was, what, nine years ago? What does she expect to find?”
“It’s not about finding anything, at this point, it’s just a routine check of Scape Ore Swamp to make sure none of our kind use the story as cover to cause trouble, especially since it was probably Zirol that I met in Beaufort.”
“So we’re roaming the world chasing cryptids?”
“Actually, we are gonna be ghost-hunting with Toby.”
Bernard stared at him. “Are you fucking with me?!”
Loren laughed and said, “What we’re doing is we’re investigating the kinds of sites that have the potential to attract meddlesome rogues. Some Ryozaem will take advantage of a few strange or scary stories like that. We keep multiple agents stationed in large urban areas for that reason. Others specialize in unique cultural sites like New Orleans. Most of Zirol’s activity is suspected to have occurred around sites high in electromagnetism, so we’re ghost hunting. Thankfully someone’s already covered New Orleans more thoroughly than we could ever hope to.”
“You’ve . . . got to be joking.”
“That’s where Toby comes in handy, because he can scan a site faster than we can, and provide more information about it than a simple hand scanner can do. And you’re a reliable interpreter for him—or you were.”
They slowed to pull up a steep driveway, almost straight uphill, and followed a rocky winding path through the trees. If Loren hadn’t taken the route, Bernard would never have known it was there.
Loren tapped on a small GPS system mounted on the dash, displaying a coordinate series in gray. “You’ll learn to depend on these things. Once you’re familiar with the coordinate grid, you’ll wonder how you ever got by without it.”
A structure came into view. At one point it might have passed for a house, but now the roof was sunken in and missing in patches, and the weathered, gray siding looked as though it might drop off the frame in the next major storm.
Loren parked the car just down the hill from the house and handed Bernard a strange, clunky device. Someone had mounted an electromagnetism detector to a PDA, and a small series of tiny colored lightbulbs flashed across the top in red, orange, yellow, green, and blue. There were two of each color, and they seemed to be lighting up in a patterned way, but there were no instructions to indicated their meaning.
To the look Bernard was giving it, Loren shrugged and said, “Leave it to the Naka to cobble something like that together.”
“I thought they were professionals?”
Loren held up a second monstrosity, made from a Game Boy. “They are, but Terran electronics are like toys to them. Even if a more elegant solution exists, sometimes they’ll mash up existing devices just for fun. They probably only needed the internal hardware.”
“What are the lights for?”
“It’s a code language. I’ve never been good at reading it. This version is truncated, sorta like your shorthand or abbreviations. They developed it for long distance communication between buildings and spaceships, and they often use a static form to label things and transmit information. It’s more beneficial to whoever interprets the data we collect, so don’t worry about it.”
“They write in colors?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that. They can do it in millions of colors, some outside the human visible spectrum. Like any other Ryozae language, it can be expanded or reduced in complexity to accommodate for those who don’t have the same finely-tuned abilities. I’m naturally dichromatic, for example. I typically see in yellows and blues, but I can also see in ultraviolet, so an abbreviated system would best suit me in patterns of blue-to-violet spectrum light instead of colors.”
It was brilliant, once Bernard thought about it, and made sense. It meant that their ancestors were more likely to recognize information in terms of color and pattern, such as knowing that another creature was dangerous, or being able to find and recognize mates. For a semi-unified visual system like this to exist was a testament to the intelligence and willpower of the early Nakaryozaem, who took the time to make sure the system could be understood by multiple species under multiple circumstances. It had no doubted evolved, as well, seeing countless modifications over time.
Bernard turned the device over, and glanced up at the dark woods around them.
Ghost-hunting, huh?
Suddenly, he could see it: the incredible age of this place. He thought he’d understood the cycles of life in the richness of his own backyard, but the web of life that depended on and supported these trees was less like an orb-weaver’s web and more like an intricate mesh, denser than his untrained mind could comprehend. And wherever walked life, walked death as well. The eons of death, decay, and rebirth which supported this ecosystem, layer upon layer. And for the briefest moment, he thought he caught a glimmer of something almost human, moving between the trees.
Then it was gone.
~Nothing to worry about,~ Toby said.
That’s ‘nothing?’
~Normal. You did not see them that morning in Charleston?~
He thought back for a moment. No. I saw people, but—
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Then he remembered something: there had been a woman standing in a window, near-faceless as she gazed at the street in a Victorian dressing gown. It was her home, and she was never planning to leave.
There was a man in a graveyard, dressed in a soldier’s uniform from the late 1700s. He was waiting. Perhaps for a lover. Perhaps something else. He was difficult to make out, but the buttons and bars on his coat stood out clearly.
There was another man, dragging himself wearily home, unkempt in casual attire from perhaps the 1920s or 30s. All he wanted was to go home. He was gone as quickly as he appeared.
And there were others. Some, like a little girl looking for pranks to pull in a public park, just wanted to be noticed. Others were either too indistinct to make out, or else Toby had simply not chosen to make a note of them, either in favor of observing the living or because it was safer not to draw the attention of every spirit that could not accept its own mortality. Much like living people, not all were benign.
Whatever Bernard had seen in the trees just now, Toby saw no relation to their purpose here.
More concerning was that the house itself had a vibrancy unlike the usual abandoned home, but without a source that Toby could trace. It wasn’t life and it wasn’t death. Something else was going on.
A hand on Bernard’s arm made him jump.
It was Loren.
“You okay, son?”
Bernard drew a deep breath, trying to bring himself back to some measure of normalcy. “Sure. Toby’s just . . . checking out the house. The place feels weird.” He forced a smile, trying to pretend nothing had happened. Then he raised the device in his hand. “Let’s go ‘ghost hunting.’ ”
Loren raised a brow. “ ‘Weird’ how?”
“We’re not sure. Do you know if ETHICS would have rigged the house for the occasion?”
“They didn’t say anything about it, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t. This is a training exercise, after all. They picked the house based on a loose rumor that the place is haunted.” Loren glanced from Bernard to the house and back. “You’re sure it’s okay?”
Bernard shrugged, a little unnerved. “This is different than anything I experienced back home. So I guess the only thing to do is find out.”
Loren glanced back at the car, and went to pull a gun from the glove compartment.
“That’s not going to save you,” Bernard said, “Also: why don’t I have one?”
“You’ve got that great big hunting knife, and I have all the permits I need to carry across state lines. It’s not going to save me from the otherworldly, but I’m no good with a knife and it makes me feel better.”
Bernard rolled his eyes. “If you say so, man. Let’s do this.”
The house slouched atop an overgrown grassy hill. Grasshoppers and various other insects scattered as they trudged through the tall stems. Loren swatted a few of them away, but his eyes lingered on the largest ones.
“We’re not here to eat,” Bernard said, having no desire to watch him do it.
Sighing, Loren refocused his gaze on the house.
Anole lizards and several five-lined skinks fled as they walked up the creaking, dry-rotted steps, bright blue tails flashing into every crevice. An enormous melanistic king snake lay semi-coiled near the door, watching the newcomers warily.
Bernard slowed and came to a stop. He crouched down so he wouldn’t be so threatening, and waited for it to make a move, half hoping the beautiful animal would come closer.
Slowly it unfurled, tongue flicking as it tasted the air, investigating the strangers to its domain. It started towards them, ventral muscles rippling, pulling its body in an undulating motion across the deck.
Loren started to back away. Bernard grabbed the leg of his jeans, doing his best not to make any sudden motions. “Don’t move.”
The snake slid closer, tasting the air again as it wavered between Bernard and the edge of the porch, studying him closely. Then it seemed to make up its mind and turned to slither off the side, thudding softly somewhere in the tall grass.
Bernard stood.
Loren patted his shoulder. “Watching you charm a Black Snake was not on my Bingo card.”
“Hearing you make a Bingo reference wasn’t on mine,” Bernard said, “I didn’t charm it. I just showed it some patience and it left. Anyway, it was a King Snake. There’s no such thing as a Black Snake. Black Racers would have darted off, and Black Rat Snakes have different markings.” He glanced up at the house. “It’s hornets I’m worried about.”
“That much has hopefully been taken care of,” Loren said, “This is a field test, so the site has already been scouted for obvious hazards like wasps and hornets, and we own the place, so no one’s going to be up here running us off with a shotgun. I was told to stay downstairs, away from the attic. I wouldn’t put that much faith in the steps, anyway. I don’t know about you, but this body of mine will go right through a rotten board.”
That just leaves spiders.
Gritting his teeth, Bernard opened the door. A few spiders scurried away, but to his relief nothing huge. The largest spiders in the Southeast were the immense female golden orb weavers in his own backyard, and they usually maintained their territory through late summer and fall. The next largest he knew of were Southern House Spiders, and also not known to travel far from their webs, and Common House Spiders, which he had bad memories of encountering in the middle of the night.
This was uncharted territory for him, and he didn’t know the species, here.
They entered a narrow kitchen full of old cobwebs. A few dusty plates sat abandoned here and there, and a row of mason jars containing long-decayed substances were lined up under the window sill.
The house creaked and groaned, but that was normal for an old home.
Toby moved ahead, drifted upstairs, and moved back out into the surrounding yard.
Their EMF readers were going wild.
Something wasn’t right. Something was in the trees, other than the earlier apparition, watching them. Toby was looking into it, but he didn’t think it was related to the readers.
~Focus on the house. I will take care of this.~
Loren frowned at his reader. “I don’t like this assignment, right now. What did they do? Hide a giant battery?”
Bernard shook his. “More like the whole house is a giant battery.”
That was the feeling he’d gotten from Toby. An immense battery with no discernable source.
They stepped through the kitchen door into the main living area. Both readers flashed wildly.
“I’m done,” Loren said, “Cute game MHQ’s come up with, but I’m not playing. This is so unrealistic.”
“Maybe these’re broken?” Bernard suggested, tapping and shaking his reader again. That didn’t explain the way the place felt, but this was a bit much. The thing was going haywire.
“Don’t insult the Naka, son. They’re slow to forgive it. This is some stupid fucking game they’re set up. You can play.” He turned and patted Bernard’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go wait in . . . in . . . .”
His fingers tightened. Bernard glanced up, and saw that he’d gone stock still, blue eyes like china saucers as he stared.
Bernard turned . . . and froze.
At first, he wasn’t even sure what it was.
Seven feet tall, it rose above them. Writhing, slithering, wormlike ropes pulled, stitched, and wove flesh and fabric together over a long, bony frame. A skeletal form took shape, bearing a distinctly dinosaurian face and form The remains of its own flesh still stuck in places, draping its frame along with a random assortment of materials wherever flesh could not be found. Thin cords of sinew loosely drew its jaw into place, winding and cutting into grooves in its rotting remains where they must have been bound it in its final hours. Ghastly, needle-like teeth stretched outward from its long, thin face. A pair of dead eyes appeared in its sockets, each moving independently, coated in an oily, iridescent film and lit from within with a ghostly white light.
This is . . . a game?
Bernard’s mind was racing. What was it? Where did it come from? Was it meant to be h—
~RUN!~
Toby’s voice broke him from his trance. He grabbed Loren’s arm, “Run! Back door!”
He could see it through Toby’s eyes.
Loren jolted from his horrified gaze, startled for a brief, precious moment, then bolted for the other side of the house.
The thing moved towards them, swaying as though barely able to support itself, but moving much too quickly just the same. The floor around them writhed with serpentine cables, seeming to come from every direction, each woven from a different assortment of materials. Fabrics, vines, metal cables, ropes, and more had been assembled together, much like the thing that now pursued them.
Toby! Do something!
~I cannot reveal my position.~
Are you fucking serious, right now?
Halfway across the living area, Loren’s heavy body hit the floor and began sliding backwards.
“GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!”
One of the ropelike tendrils had grabbed him, and was pulling him back.
Ice crystals formed over every part of the creature, and it slowed. Bernard took advantage of the moment to stab at it, driving his hunting knife into its right eye. A thin cable shot from the socket and wrapped around his hand, covered in tiny hairs that grabbed onto his skin like some kind of vine.
He pulled back, screaming involuntarily, and went to free Loren instead.
There has to be a source. Toby, we’ve got to find its source.
~Unknown. It appears to move of its own accord.~
Then it did something even worse.
A dry, rasping sound left its body: “Is that you, Springer?”
Without a source? Really?!
~It IS a source.~ Toby insisted, ~Every part.~
Bernard managed to cut Loren loose, and they started running again.
You can’t trace the flow of energy?
~Too many. Too many flows. I cannot hold it. I do not have the capacity in this weather. I am not strong enough to work against it. I cannot . . . Bernard, there is nothing to kill.~
What about the Drorgs? They’re supposed to be here.
A brief flash was all he needed: One was trapped, and the other was keeping watch for an unknown enemy.
THERE ARE TWO ENEMIES?!
~Unknown. Just run! I will find Samra.~
Then Toby was gone.
The back door, which had stood ajar, slammed shut, cables growing over it like large, hairy vines.
Loren turned and began shooting at the creature while Bernard tried to cut the cables loose. There was too much metal in them, however, and he abandoned the idea, hoping to open a window instead.
Something grabbed his leg, jerking him off his feet and halfway back across the room, back to the creature.
A bony foot landed hard on his chest, talons digging into his skin. He slashed his knife across the gap between its tibia and tarsal bones, and a tendril of the assemblage snatched the knife from his hand, deftly flipped it around and drove it into the floor, next to his face.
Before he could fully register his own brush with death, the cable around his leg jerked him back across the room.
An impact jarred his senses.
Everything went numb.
He couldn’t think.
He couldn’t move.
Somewhere far away, he heard Loren screaming. Shouting his name. Screaming again: Get off me. Get off me.
It all seemed so faint.
Then the feeling in his body began to return, as a dull, throbbing pain. Something was sliding over his skin, winding, pulling . . . constricting. He was trapped. Tendrils of cord wound around him, tighter and tighter, slowly crushing him. Much as his pet snake would do to a rat, the coils tightened with each breath that left his body, making it harder to draw the next.
He had to slow down . . . draw shorter breaths . . . or he would die.
Loren lay on the other side of the room, spread-eagle, vinelike tendrils wound around his arms and legs, slowly pulling them taut.
“How long. . . ?” the creature rasped, “How long has it been . . . since I had such a good hunt? Tiny Springer, child of Raal-Osa, what joy it gives me. I had hoped you would survive our last hunt. I had to assist, of course, or you would still be at the bottom of the sea, but there was no guarantee. . . . To see you back in this . . . curious body, however.” It set a foot on his chest, and leaned down until its rotted, sunken nasal ridge brushed Loren’s quivering nose. Then it whispered, “I wonder . . . if I split it open, will I find you inside?”
The cables pulled on his limbs, and Loren screamed, “Stop! Please! Let me go!” Over and over.
The creature’s head reared back, its posture unimpressed.
The pulling stopped.
“Humans make such ugly sounds.”
The screaming was suddenly silenced, muffled by a rope across Loren’s mouth, winding as tight as the rest, reducing him to quiet, terrified whimpering.
“Better.”
One clawed foot lifted his shirt, pulling it up to his chest and exposing his broad, pale stomach.
“You do not need your human voice to sing. Do you know how long it has been since I had a snack like you? It takes me back. The rich smell of ancient forests, and the flesh of tiny Springers between my teeth. I have missed the sound of you for so long, I barely remembered it.”
The creature lowered its bony snout, tracing a line from Loren’s belt to his chest, pausing as it pushed his shirt aside further to lower an ear against his pounding breast. Loren squeaked and squealed uncontrollably at every provocation, which only caused it to linger with each rising pitch.
Then it lifted its head, hissing softly as its jaws stretched their bindings, teeth looming above Loren’s face. Slowly, it drew its talons over Loren’s wide, soft stomach, producing a shrill, terrified squeal from its gagged prey, along with thin lines of bright red blood. Its whole body shivered in delight at the sound.
Bernard’s vision began to blur. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out like this. Even slow, shallow breaths were becoming difficult. His chest hurt. His head hurt.
Black spots were appearing in his vision. A shadow seemed to drift over one of the thicker cables.
He was starting to have delusions. That one cable. It was the one, wasn’t it? If he could sever it, this would end.
Thunder shook the air.
And again.
And again.
He couldn’t breath.
~Hold on, Bernard!~
The cable.
. . . Something about a cable.
The burning pain in his head began to fade.