Chapter Six

The Storm

Michael unlocked the front door of his house and let his bag drop to the floor. He turned to find his mother rushing around the kitchen. She was hastily lifting up mugs and searching dark corners.

“Hey, hun, how was school?” she asked, though obviously out of politeness.

Michael chuckled and picked up the key to the communal barn. “Mum?”

Connie glanced up and a relieved smile graced her face. She kissed him on the head, grabbed the key and was halfway out the door when she registered the look in Michael’s eye.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asked, though clearly in a rush.

“If you don’t hurry that Ariaton tradesman will beat you to your favourite spot,” Michael said, taking a wooden mug out from under the kitchen bench.

His mother glanced out the door but gritted her teeth and stepped back inside, closing it behind her. “Tell me.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. Everyone’s been lookin' at me like that today...”

“Maybe because you don’t look fine.” Connie crossed her arms. “You look pale.”

Michael looked at her for a long moment and then thought of his headache. “Okay, I’ve been feeling a little off. Maybe I’m getting sick. I’ll shake it. Go to work, please,” he said, smiling softly.

Her expression didn’t match his gentleness and Michael stepped out from behind the bench and took her hand. “It’s not the Blush. Relax.”

“I’m not worried about a plague, hun,” she said so softly it was as though speaking to herself. “‘A little off’, you say. What kind? Just sickly feelin’?”

Michael frowned at her and blinked. “I mean I suppose, what else would it be?”

Connie didn’t offer anything up but the way she looked at Michael shook him to his core. It was a tender look but it was too sad to be just that.

“You’re freaking me out, mum!” Michael chuckled to break the tension.

Connie nodded in amongst her own thoughts and twirled the barn-key in her fingers. “Sorry, dear.” Her voice was soft. She stepped over to the door and opened it to find the rain was coming down again. She put one foot outside but couldn’t seem to bring herself to leave.

Michael watched her standing there, wondering if she’d forgotten something when she turned once more.

“I’m not going to work tonight, love. I’ve- I’ve got somewhere I need to go. Be safe, okay?” she said, with a hard look in her eye. “I love you.”

Michael opened his mouth to reply when she slammed the door behind her and lightning flashed in the sky through the windows. It was only when the thunder snapped that Michael was able to loosen the grip of the shock on him. Michael blew through the door and ran into the streets and saw his mother climbing onto the horse. “Mum, talk to me!”

Connie urged the tired beast out onto the cobbles and stopped it aside Michael, nuzzling his hands. Connie reached down and grabbed the boy’s hands, pressing her lips to them.

“What’s got you so spooked?” Michael yelled against the rain.

Connie gripped the reins tight but didn’t move the horse. She turned to Michael sharply and urgently shouted, “Nightmares? Have you been having nightmares?”

Michael threw his hands up in confusion. “I’ve been having nightmares since I was five! You know that!”

She pulled her hood sharply off her head and looked him dead in the face. “Nightmares you’ve never remembered. And now, Carter tells me you’re having them in daylight. And then Jane Heath tells me you’re having them halfway through conversations!”

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Michael stepped back a pace in confusion. “Why is everyone keeping tabs on me? Just slow down and tell me what you’re thinking because I don’t understand!” Tears were beginning to form in his eyes.

Connie looked over him and shook her head. “I don’t think we have time.” She spurred her horse and it shot off down the street toward the main road and vanished in the curtain of shadow ahead.

Michael stood watching the darkness for a long time. When the shock had faded a touch his heart began to tick faster at the encompassing shadow. He was soaked through to his skin before he walked back inside. He stood there for some time too, staring at the back of the door. Eventually the only thing he could think to do was fill his mug up with wine once more.

He drained it and filled it high again.

Michael wished beyond anything that Carter and James were still in town. He’d walk through Bright-side just to talk to either of them.

He sunk the mug again and set it aside to find a larger tankard.

Michael lay both his hands flat against the bench and stared at the spot where his mother had kissed him. His head began to race and two tears trickled out, landing on wet hands. His breaths tightened and Michael started pacing back and forth.

His mother wasn’t easily startled. Something had happened and somehow it was Michael’s fault. She’d been robbed at knife-point, she’d been hit with a bottle in a bar fight, she’d cornered by three Iron Suits on suspicion of aiding rebels and not spoken a word. But never in his life had he seen that terror in her eye. A stark, cold fear. Unadulterated, simple dread, like the kind one has when they find themselves alone in a field during a lightning storm. Just waiting for the vicious hand of god.

Michael finished the tankard and didn’t bother filling it again, instead simply taking the bottle. He latched the front door and went quietly up to his room.

Michael shut the bedroom door behind him with a click and he raked back his wet hair.

He didn’t find sleep until he hit the bottom of the bottle. The dreams which followed were strange and detached unlike the nightmares he was used to. They were short and focused and filled with memory, as though his soul was flittering through the dark pages of his mind.

First, he saw the school hall ceiling collapse but this time James and Carter didn’t notice in time. Their bodies were mangled and the blood was everywhere. Screams filled the hall and the light of the stained glass was red. Only red.

Second, he saw the pair of lights- the eyes in the alleyway. But this time they were brighter and the light they bore was illuminating their shape. Far too many legs were lined in the shadow and pale, long teeth stretching out of a dark maw. Michael squinted to see it clearer when the creature immerged from the shadow and leapt upon him, blinding him with shadow, drowning him in it.

Third, he saw the dark portal. The one from his near-forgotten dream. The black, swirling shape hanging in the open desert air. The shadow-lightning cast against the dusty plains and the monsters pouring out. The sea thrashing against the cliff as his friends slowly disappeared over the edge, leaving him all alone.

Michael lurched up with sweat glistening on his face. His breaths were hard and his chest was so tight that he couldn’t keep from clutching it, worried his own heart might give. It wasn’t until he’d slowed it down that he looked around the room to find it the very same. His clothes were heaped in the corner. The window was dirty and smudged by rain. His door was...

Michael felt the blood drain out of his face.

Open.

No. It was opening.

Michael watched, numb as a lamb, as the handle twisted in the dull moonlight.

He was frozen. He wanted to move but his hands were pinned to his bed and his mind screamed. He simply sat under the covers, barely able to control the speed of his breathing.

The door swung back and tapped the wall with a soft kit!

In the space of the stairwell a figure stood, cloaked in shade. It was so tall that its head touched the ceiling and its breath steamed as it moved in the darkness.

It stepped toward his bed and entered a pale slice of moonlight, and its visage was pulled into harrowing view.

Covering its flesh was dark bull’s fur. From its face hung a long muzzle filled with pale, pointed teeth that sliced its steamy breath into separate jets. From its head sprouted two twisting horns so sharp they verged on piercing the shadow itself.

Michael had been reduced to a body, with no ounce of control. Even his breath was gone. Trapped inside.

A low, clicking growl sounded from the monster’s throat as it cast its red gaze over him. In one easy move it stepped onto the edge of his bed and Michael felt the mattress sink. As the dark creature loomed over his frozen body, he felt something tickle in the corner of his mind. It was a voice, speaking a single word.

Wake.

The boy’s heart jolted and Michael woke again, torn up from the dream like he’d been pulled out of ice water.

Michael leapt out of bed and tore his hair as he struggled to breathe, unable to stand still for fear he might fall asleep again. He checked his bedroom door to find it closed just as he left it, and finally his heart began to slow. He flexed his fingers trying to focus on their movement.

A soft, wooden thunk echoed from downstairs like a plank being lifted out of place, only to slip back in.

I’m still dreaming, he thought to himself, trying to keep calm, pinching every inch of flesh on his arm.

The same noise sounded again, but this time it began and didn’t finish. The plank was picked up and pulled away, not dropped.

I’m still dreaming.

That was the door latch.

I’m still dreaming.

You are going to die if you stay here.

I’m still dreaming!

The bedroom door handle twisted, glimmering coldly in the pale moonlight.

“No, you’re not...” Michael breathed in the dark.