Layla peered around the final corner of the hedge garden, Moonlight streaked through the leaves of a mighty oak that towered over a fountain and in those beams figures faded in and out of the glow. A elderly man, a boy, and a small girl sat diligently as if they were conversing before she arrived, but to her surprise the old man and boy were still talking, although no sound escaped from them. Their clothes and skin carried an intangible ethereal blue glow; Layla watched the three closely when she finally spotted it. Her phone sat in front of the girl who was coloring away on nothing with nothing; as the song continued, the girl was the one that was singing. Her voice was beautiful if not trained, but as Layla became enthralled by the sight the music stopped abruptly. The man and the boy disappeared, leaving the girl behind, who turned to stare at Layla intently.
“Who are you?” Layla thought to run, but after the weirdness she had already seen damaged any instinct of danger.
“I’m Layla.” softly she spoke after swallowing the lump in her throat, which was surprisingly dry.
“Hmm.” The girl stopped her scribbling strokes and patted the concrete slab of a bench. A stillness resting in the air that even the insects who were chattering away held a reverence for such an invite.
“My name is Anne after my mom.” she held out a hand to shake, but quickly retracted it with a look of pained embarrassment.
“Hey it's alright, I’m not going to hurt you.” Layla watched as the look receded from her face, but she took the offered seat as Anne pulled away slightly.
“I’m not worried about that,” a slight frown formed on her lips, “I can’t touch anything.”
Layla was no less confused by this statement, but slowly started to look closely at the features of the girl and noticed that even though she seemed solid enough, the faint details of grass and leaves seemed to show through her. Layla held out her hand in curiosity, Anne was slow to take a chance and opted to decline.
“Sorry I took your phone, Uncle Mark gets mad at me when I take his, but I haven’t heard that song in so long.” Layla offered a small smile despite the uneasiness rising in her stomach.
“What is this place?” she asked, noting that it was obviously a garden, but the tension sitting heavily in the air begged her to reconsider.
“Grampa had a word for it… It was always just the garden for me. A place for us to be safe. Others came before you, but didn’t stop because they weren’t strong enough to step inside.”
The inner child present within Layla prompted questions, but all seemed complex yet pointless in their intention for the young girl.
“Why weren’t they strong enough?” Layla pushed through her mind to ask. Anne bit her lip and stifled a breath. She seemed deep in thought for a few moments until the slam of a door emanated in the distance.
“This is the Umbra, a place between places. Only a dream walker can reside in this place, grandpa was the strongest one of our um.” Anne struggled with this word, it was unknown in her vocabulary, it was something that hardly received a mention.
“Bloodline.” Layla interjected, the idea was implied for years amongst the books and shows that she loved so much.
“Yeah!” Anne’s excitement spread to her features. “Then Atlas came, but then everything began to go wrong. The thing that took him is still here. He was a secret for so long, but then Grampa got sick and… and.” Anne wiped invisible tears from her face and snuffled before continuing. “You have to find his journal, I can't come back for a while.”
“Wait! You can’t go yet. Where is Atlas? What is the thing?” Layla regretted wasting so much time, just fumbling over herself, but before Anne could have had a chance to answer a colossal and furious cloud blocked the light of the receding moon. The morning was fast approaching. Layla watched as the image of Anne faded as if she was nothing more than mist and imagination. She ripped the phone from its resting place on the concrete bench and sprinted towards the house as the first drops of rain patted to the ground.
Not a single thought other than finding the journal and getting the hell out was on her mind. Layla barged into the massive mansion through the back door as the thunder rose into the distance. Not a single lock was present on the heavy wooden door besides the one encased inside the handle. The air had a staleness resting in the kitchen, it left a bitter inkling of taste in her mouth and nostrils as she pushed the unclean furniture aside and the dust now in full assault. Each speck seemed to recognize her as an intruder, but not a single one proved themselves to stop her advance.
“It's gotta be in one of the rooms.” Layla swung every door in her way, watching every corner as if the shadows hid it away or were ready to grab her. The thought of actually entering the house was a dread ever since she read the papers in the briefcase, and only distilled into a fear when she first laid eyes on the foreboding shell of the house. The hallways twisted and turned as if it was leading her into a trap, although that was not on her mind, it was no doubt evidently becoming a reality. Finally it struck her square in the chest, the light of the corridor gave off nothing more than a gloomy glow waiting for her to turn the corner. She sprinted around every obstacle, down every hallway, and every doorway until she saw the yellowed gloom of an exposed bulb flickering vibrantly. The door sat before her, the breath she finally exhaled lay stiff in the stale air. Cautiously she approached the looming apprehension of that door standing between her and answers, but as soon as her fingers felt the chilled feel of brass, Layla collapsed before claiming the grip of the handle.
Layla’s head rocked forward with terror as she felt the eyes resting on her as she began to stir in the borrowed cot. Mike shook her arm vigorously while Mark watched the door of the garage with a stifled fury. Her head rattled as if a wild animal thrashed around as a means of escape.
“Wake up Layla, you have to get up.” Mike whispered into her ear, a subtle note of fear lingered on his lips when she heard it. Voices muffled only by the building's walls and tinted glass around the interior. No, not tinted. It was as if it was night still, but at the peak of midnight without so much as a glint of starlight.
“What the hell is going on?” Layla said aloud, Mike rapidly covered her mouth with the palm of his hand. It reeked of sweat and stale dust.
“Not so loud,” Mike spoke as softly as a mouse, as he waved Mark over. Mark lifted his jacket and stuffed his previously unseen revolver into the waistband of grimy sweatpants. The dark stains of something shimmered slightly as he warily approached the bedside. He placed a single finger of his lips before he whispered his response.
“The moonlight has gone, they are back. We must get to the road, they won’t be able to follow.”
Layla shuffled from the cot as she searched for her phone only to find it missing. Layla rushed to slip on her shoes as she listened to the voices outside. Where she expected anger or something off putting to deter her, all she managed to hear was conversations, ordinary conversation. Some spoke as if to a loved one or seemed to be laughing at a joke, maybe even a snippet of applause further from the edge of her hearing.
Mike grasped her once more and spun her away from the window.
“Don’t listen, that's what they want you to do. You can’t listen to them.” He cupped her ears and kissed her forehead. A small warmth filled her chest, but was short lived when the scent of a rusty aroma invaded her senses, though she didn’t react it was clear something was wrong. Just as soon as Layla's hearing was released, the noises outside were replaced by a chant so deep in layers. Voices once too kind had turned to a guttural mocking chorus, begging them to come join. Layla’s face paled with the horrible realization of their ‘siren’ song that when Mark opened a hatch hidden away at the back of the shop, she bolted without hesitation behind Mike with Mark trailing behind them. The cold dew resting on the leaves of bushes slapped viscously against her skin while they blindly charged through the surrounding forest, every drop collected on her clothes weighed her down until Layla tripped on an exposed root. The fog swirling in her head subsided for a moment as she gazed ahead towards Mike, who didn’t even turn toward the thump of earth as she collapsed. A vibrant masquerade of blackness rested in the path before them, but only Layla could see it as it swallowed both Mike and Mark before a humanoid figure too tall to be anything else, but a living nightmare walked from it carrying something. She shrieked silently as the breath returned to her lungs. She rose from a crawl to a run as her body took over, but as she turned to run away. Her body stopped as she felt the convulsion of muscle and skin in her side. She gasped as she felt blindly at something protruding from her stomach. The stinging heat of blood gushed from her wound, just as her eyes became blurry with the overwhelming pain, the black mass that had erupted from the wound now pulled out. Left with nothing she turned to see the figure that overshadowed her, although it didn’t speak. Layla knew what he wanted to say as she held her side before once again meeting the dirt.
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‘I’ve been elsewhere lately, strange dreams becoming realer by the day.
Could you blame me Anne? The Umbra has so much to share beyond these chains.
We both search for the mantle, but only one can hold the Moribond.
I’ll see to it, a place for you to rest. Held fast in the gaze of her.
Bring you not worry, an end is only a boundless crossroad between us and our hallowed rest amongst the dark between the stars.’
Layla leapt away from the door and fell to the floor clenching her side, the remnants of pain now fleeing her flesh as if it were a passing breeze.
“My torment is now a memory I am forced to relive every moment I show a path laid into us from birth. Fate has always been left to chance, but here even the gods that came before dare not to tread amongst these grounds of rite. You must free him and reclaim a nameless birthright.” Layla’s lips moved, but it was not her voice. Anne spoke from the unseen shadows of her consciousness. Feeling the air press from her chest, Layla sobbed quietly as the voice and her passenger receded from her body. The violation felt more than just the touch of invasion, but as if she was a puppet of her own will under the guise of fear and unknown answers. Layla pulled herself from the crashing waves of anxiety and lumbered to the kitchen she barged into with the only thoughts in her head being one of escaping. The endless hallways before her forced to reconsider. ‘If they have shown me so much and the secrets they hold against me, what is waiting for me outside this place? If I try to leave, what is stopping me from being killed like Anne.’ Surely this was fear taking a firm stand, but truly it was only instinct protecting her. That vision was real and the pain she felt was only the beginning for her and Mike. The gears finally fell in place.
“WILL!” Layla screamed into the night as she brushed her terror to the side and sprinted through the mansion. When the open door of the kitchen came into view, Mike glanced curiously into the mansion with a small flashlight not daring to cross the threshold.
“Layla, what are you doing? It's 4 am. It’s too early to start exploring.” Although he stated the obvious, his face lit with concern when the light rested on her face covered in tears and sweat. Layla embraced him wholly and through sobs spoke.
“We have to find Will. He is in danger. I can’t explain it right now, but we can’t leave.” Layla struggled to catch her breath, but managed only a few words before stepping around Mike. Layla pressed onwards around the perimeter of the stone and at last towards the front gate.
Mark yawned loudly as he pulled a large flashlight from his belt. He shone the bright light at Layla and cried out to her.
“You can’t leave, It’s not safe!” Layla pretended not to hear him, but just as soon as she laid her foot on the stone of the driveway, she fell unconscious. Sleep is now a demand of her body after many restless nights, her body was all the more exhausted than ever. Her eyelids became heavier by the second, on the edge of her vision she glanced upon a figure beyond the gate staring towards her with a menacing intensity.
“Let’s get her inside. There will be daylight soon enough, this always happens on the first night.” Mark tucked his light back into its holster and gestured to Mike to grab her.
Layla was fast asleep, although Mike was still just as tired as her, he managed to drag her back to the cot. Mark pulled a space heater from one of the many cabinets and powered it on in their direction.
“So why aren’t the roads safe at night? I never asked before, but this seems a little too far if you are trying to scare us into staying.” Mike threw off his jacket and pulled up a chair to Layla’s cot.
“Too many questions, not enough answers. So just take me on my word boy. That last place you would want to be is in that house at night, but the road is far less simple.” Mark mirrored Mike and perched himself on the hood of one of his projects.
“Lost too many good people to the woods and the road even before I came to stay here with my boy, but the last straw was an older woman that came here roughly 2 or 3 years ago.”
Mark reached for his flask, but groaned as he patted his side; mumbling curses under his breath as he walked to the nearest cabinet and fished a dusty bottle from the cluttered mess.
“The lady was looking for me, although she had nothing, but insults for the man who found her husband. Torn to shreds in the pond not too far from here.” He poured the amber liquid straight down his throat and offered the bottle to Mike. Shaking his head at the offering, Mark continued, “She stayed a few nights, I assumed to process the grief. So I let her be, while I was working late on the last night she stayed. Something odd happened. A vibrant light flashed in the woods behind the garden. Of course I grab my gun and trot over there to investigate. I find her with nothing more than a book. Standing stock still in mid-step.”
“A book?”
“Not important, but as soon I walked into the brush, I heard this hum. Well… not a hum, but like a fine ringing in my ears, then this lady began screaming. I stood there baffled as her body just started shaking as if she was having a umm… a seizure. So I go and comfort her. Keep her from choking on her tongue then suddenly at the edge of the pond further away. I see this thing marching through the brush and trees as if it wasn’t there. This unforgiving blackness, too deep than to be anything, but a complete void. It watched me, no like it was looking through me. My veins turned to ice, but before it could get any closer. It stops right at the property line as if it was a fence. It's a warning now, but as soon as she woke the next day, she was wrong. Like her brain got all mixed up. Of course I called her a cab to the hospital, but she never made it there as far as I know, but I found her journal.”
“Can I see it?” Mike chimed in, Mark pulled it from his back pocket and tossed it over to him.
“I can’t make heads or tails of it, but you can be sure the answer to something is in there. Like i said I knew one of you would come by again. Trying to piece together the deaths and my missing son, but it ain’t that simple.”
“Why don’t you honestly just leave?” Mike flicked through the pages, noting the drawings and personal notes written in haste and madness.
“I can’t, I just can’t bring myself to do it. I know it was the faith of the family, but it soon became my own. When one is lost here, they become part of the house. Some are more notable than others, but they are here just the same.” Mark stared intensely at the bottle for a moment before placing it back into its home. “After Atlas was taken, he was still here, just not to be seen by me, but if I left he would be tossed into the weave of the others. I didn’t believe it at first, but then Ralph began to lose himself in his old age and would ask to hear the singing, but the vast record collection in his study was never enough. Christmas eve is when I finally gave in and asked him what he meant. He wanted to be taken into the Parlor. I pushed his wheelchair inside and took a seat beside him. It was nothing for hours, but he was in bliss as if it was just a pleasant memory, but when I went to take him out he said something I would never forget. ‘Can you not hear them?’ I told him no, then he took my hand and suddenly the house was filled to the brim with people. Old dress and fancy new suits all together singing carols. I ripped my arm away and it stopped. Ralph gave me this look, knowingly feeling the disturbance in myself. ‘I’m not long for this life, and those two in there won’t be up to the task.’ Ralph slipped his hand into his pocket and retrieved a key unlike anything I have ever seen. Ancient and weathered with scratches both old and new. He pushed it into my hands and the people returned, this time watching me. Waiting for something. I turned back toward him and he wasn’t an old man any more. The scars were the same and that ugly button up was unmistakable. Ralph was a young kid again, not much younger than Atlas. He took the key back from me.” Mark’s breath quivered as he let out his breath, and merely stared at Layla’s resting form, wondering how she could sleep and be lucky enough to avoid the nightmares that conquered his mind long ago.
“Then what?” Mike was sitting on the edge of his seat, eating up every word of his story.
“All he said next was this will be yours one day, keep up our home and Atlas will return in one form or another.” Mike baffled at such an incredible anecdote, but unconcerned if it was real or not.
“Where is the key now?” Mark glared at him, covering his vulnerable self with an instant and returning to his gruff state.
“Stay with your girlfriend, I have work to do.” Without even a second notice, Mark slammed the door behind himself just as the sun peeked over the horizon. Will mumbled to himself as he opened the journal up once again. Mark was right when he said that he couldn’t figure it out, but the longer Mike studied the images it seemed to click, but was immediately lost again as soon as he turned a page. Layla stirred in her sleeping bag.
“You are right, it's been a long night. I’m tired too. He pecked her forehead gently, thanking her exhaustion that she wouldn’t remember it. Mike laid back in his cot, wondering if Will was alright like he thought, second guessing was becoming a habit. One he knew he would regret.