Layla jolted upright as soon as her eyes opened. Mike, who still remained by her bedside, placed his hands upon her. One on her forearm and the other on her back.
“Hey, hey. It's alright I’m here,” Mike spoke softly, cautiously counting his words, “What happened last night?”
Layla looked around the room, peering into every shadow of the garage as if something would pounce from them at any moment. Only a few moments passed in silence before her words croaked from her lips, still groggy and muddled with the phlegm of rest.
“I… I saw her. The girl.” Layla ripped away the blanket, and pushed herself from the cot.
“That's not what I meant, and you know it.” Mike followed behind her as Layla led the way out.
“I know Mike, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but Will is in danger.” Layla braced herself from the sunlight that sought to blind as soon as she met the fresh air.
“Mark found his car this morning, about a mile down the road. I’m asking you what you meant by that.” Layla adapted to the light of the afternoon sun only to see the SUV that brought them here.
“Battery is dead, but the keys were inside the wheel well. It's just what he would do, but he is gone. Mark talked to the neighbors, but nobody had seen him last night.”
Layla’s heart dropped as she heard this, powerless and hopeless. He was already gone, but she needed a brave face for Mike. She knew of their troubles, and what their father did to scar them both. In her mind this would be futile to fight, although Mike was stronger than he was many years ago, she feared he may burst.
“I don’t know what I meant, I guess I was just scared, maybe he caught a ride with someone and stayed in town like he said. I mean if he was in danger do you think he would have time to hide the keys?” Layla felt the acid of her lie already eating away at her heart, but she could take it. Will was in danger, but now she feared that he was dead, suffering the same fate as Anne.
Mike saw the look in her eyes and brought himself to hug her still despite the logic she presented.
“About time you woke up, sleeping beauty.” Mark shouted from the far corner of the house, snuffing out the ash from his cigarette on the tread of his boot.
“Looking at the damage you caused last night, I can see why you were so scared. Chairs tipped over and the carpet in the hallway nearly ripped from staples,” He chuckled as he got closer, Layla smelling the alcohol dried to his shirt, presumably from last night, “must have scared shitless by the place. It doesn’t matter though. Come on, I made lunch, well breakfast for you both, but I didn’t expect you to wake up at the asscrack of dawn. It's in the kitchen, come and eat while it's fresh.” Mark waved them both to follow as he readjusted his loose fitting trousers. Layla saw the crack of a smile on his face, although it seemed unlikely, but maybe he just needed a bit of company. Mike walked ahead of Layla, catching up to Mark in no time. They chattered away as Layla stopped to stare at the hedge garden, wondering which part was a dream or if they were both real.
Bacon, tomatoes and Lettuce sat neatly prepared on the granite topped counter; the smell of fresh bread was more than welcome as it greeted Layla.
“Just a few minutes and the bread will be done.” Mark sat at the table, as Mike filled his plate, meticulously each ingredient on top of the other, just waiting for the bread sitting on the stove to cool. Layla, although practically starving, felt like she wanted some answers, thus breaking the ice once more.
“I was scared. I saw something last night, but I’m lost in what it means.” Layla sat opposite Mark, who stared briefly before returning his eyes to the table where a thin book sat.
“I don’t suppose you were dreaming. Now sleep-walking I can understand, but even though its meaning is lost on me.” Mike stuffed his face with a couple bacon strips, there was enough for everybody and then some, but Mike was one to sample everything.
“It's a… new place… she always does this.” Mike tried to say between chewing the thick bacon.
“Atlas used to do that all the time when he was a kid, but even then it stopped when he came to this place. It's like he knew this was his home.” Mark flicked the book close, the corner of the page dog-eared to hold his place.
“No, it's not that. It’s like I was me, then me, but seeing through someone else's eyes. I felt Anne, and I saw her too.” Mark rose from his seat and pulled a serrated knife from a drawer. He cut thin slices of the otherwise thick, and round bread loaf. He avoided eye contact with both Layla and Mike as he placed the pieces on an empty plate.
“Where did you see her?” Mark refused to raise his head, cutting more and more slices from the shrinking loaf.
“In the hedge garden, by the fountain.” Layla rose, slowly placing her hand on top of the hand which wielded the knife. Mike piled the stack he made onto the steaming bread.
“So it is true then… you are one of them.” Layla watched his eyes well with tears threatening to burst, his breath becoming heavy and the stench of booze emanated from his lips.
“We know, we were sent here. Like what you said, there were others. Seeking evidence of the disappearance of Atlas.” Layla was putting it together, finally the pieces she taught to keep now made sense, even if she had to force them to their limits to fit.
“No, that was never the goal. My boy is lost, in a grave somewhere or worse. You are a dream walker, Come with me.” Mark dropped the knife to the counter, walking through the house, through the same path that Layla had taken the night before. Finally the door, which marked her descent of madness as Anne saw fit to indulge.
“The study?” Layla questioned as Mark pulled a ring of keys from his pocket.
“Yes… if you are here for the truth, then the answers are here. Records of every disappearance, every murder and all the family records of all who called this place home. This place is far from clean and even farther from a home.” Mark turned the key slowly as if metal was brittle and threatened to break from the slightest touch. The doors squeaked, then howled as the opening became wider. On the curtains and books lay a heavy layer of dust, worse than the rest of the house. The walls were covered in books, many with the classic hardcover that Layla knew back in school and some with handmade leather stitched with twine and thin straps of leather.
“Browse all you like, but keep me out of it. I haven’t had to drink like this in months, but you want to hit every nerve I have left. I won’t be so nice next time, you want me to be a bleeding heart.”
Layla watched as Mark retreated down the hallway towards the entrance, although slow, it was clear that she was on this ice. Layla flipped the light switch, illuminating the room in a weak orange glow. She hesitated for a moment, but Mike decided to squeeze past her with a plate in hand. She hadn’t heard him come up behind her, but was nonetheless grateful that she wasn’t alone.
Hours felt like minutes as the time passed like the pages she scoured. Mike offered a B.L.T. to her multiple times over the hour, but ultimately ate the sandwich after she declined it so many times. Hunger was the bottom of priorities and she flipped through every mention of dreams within the books. Ralph kept an extensive dream journal for years, after the mantle was passed on to him from his father, Aleksander. It seemed that this was the awakening of himself, categorically marking the importance of each dream. Mike started to go through the books, but became bored after a few pages. He pulled apart the cabinets, recovering jewelry as well as artifacts along with incomplete works of art, if you could call it that. Many were mechanical in nature, stripped for parts or flatout broken. Layla finally found something, a mention she had not seen before in any of the handmade books.
‘The Moriband’
She poured deeper, but slowly deciphering the book’s titles and their meaning. He wrote about the death of a granddaughter who was killed, which she assumed was Anne, but could have been postdated to seem like an eerie vision. Finally Layla found a single passage after skipping to the final book, one that sent a chill across her skin.
‘My death is close, I feel it tick by unannounced in the air. True it is my son who will be my end, conquered by grief for his lost progeny. I felt the same for a time, but it is the least of my concerns. Atlas… our last descendant will be taken as I cannot hold the tide, and even in death he will be more vulnerable than ever as I must keep Anne from fading. She was the key once, and so was my last daughter; now that Valorie has taken the name of another and distanced herself from us. The wake of the world is nigh, and the edges of both worlds have become clouded in my final days. I see his smile and the laugh he gained from his mother every day, but I can’t tell him yet for he is too young, but maybe you can Layla…’ Layla stared at the book, horror in her eyes as she continued to read. ‘I know you are there, so weak, yet the last chance I have to save him from oblivion. Anne has seen fit to share a taste of the Umbra, but I fear it will not be enough for you to speak with him. Years ago, I created a machine, though I could never see the time in which I would need it. The Umbra is a mess of worlds, yet it is a gift for us to use it, in fact we were the only ones who could. Our bloodline was strong, but not invincible when it came to the consternation of wonders this place could produce. We die like any other, but this place holds us in the veil between. This device would allow you to communicate with Atlas inside the prison. The prison created by The Ragged man, as I chose to call him. It is a place of memories, stolen from the house and the minds of those who visit. He will not be able to dispatch Atlas so quickly, as the boy is the strongest of all bloodlines. It will take years for him to break, but I apologize at the time you read this, I believe The Ragged man will begin to take more than he should; waking Atlas from the dream within a dream. Your time is short, so we must be underway.’ Layla read the instructions twice before calling Mike from his adventure of scavenging.
“Go by that bookcase,” Layla pointed to the opposite side of the room, “Three rows from the bottom. Pull the book.” Mike slowly stepped over to the shelf, his energy sapped from the hours of boredom. He pulls a book, but to no avail.
“Nothing happened.” Mike replied, studying the book now in his hand. Layla reread the instructions once more, searching for the title she passed over.
“There should be one called umm… ‘The Soul of the Midnight Sun’, it has to be there.” Layla jumped to her feet and rushed towards Mike. The book shelf was filled with obscure titles and covers, and finally Layla found it, tucked further back from the other books, Its cover was stained black, spine cracked and weathered from its many times being read. She pulled it and heard a faint click as the shelf creaked open.
“What the fuck?” Mike asked rhetorically. Layla pulled the bookcase back from the wall, swinging away like a door on hinges. Behind which sat a large safe, along with neatly piled papers in manilla envelopes. Each one addressed to Ralph Sinnhoffer, Layla kicked them out of her way as she laid a hand on the dial of the solid safe. The tumblers thrummed and ticked loudly from the years of hiding. She spun the dial a few times before putting in the combination she was given.
“6… 14… 32” Layla spoke softly to herself as she precisely and slowly turned the dial, then stopped.
“Well? Open it.” Mike excitedly said as he shook in place. Layla drew in a breath and twisted the handle. To their collective surprise, that door popped and opened, although the metal squealed in protest. Inside sat a radio, or at least something akin to one. Old, yet modified with components from machines that neither had seen before. Layla carefully picked asymmetrical hardware and brought it to the desk.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“What do you need next?” Mike was ecstatic as he studied the device with awe.
“I need the key, all I have is a sketch in the book. I don't know where to even look.” Layla buried her head in thought. Mike took a moment and stared at the open book before snatching it up and running from the study; within a few minutes He returned with Mark behind him.
“What is this I hear of a key? You would be better off leaving well enough alone.”
Layla glared at him, noticing the unease in his stance.
“You hid yourself away, and refuse to move on. Now I didn’t know any better, you would be drowning yourself in a bottle before we got here. Give me a chance to prove why we are here.”
Mark looked uncomfortable at this accusation and was nearing his limit of hospitality, but Mike saw his moment and shoved the book in his hands. The passage that he read on the way.
Mark’s eyes danced across the page, and his blood ran cold.
“He knew… how did he know?” He said dumbfoundedly.
“You have to know what key that is. You told me about it this morning, now we need it whether you like it or not.” Mike spoke with authority tucked deep into his voice and stature. Layla was confused as to what he was talking about, but saw the results he would retrieve as recognition flashed in Mark’s face as he turned, dropping the book, and ran from the study.
“What did he say this morning?” Layla asked, Mike let out a smile as he relayed the story Mark told him as they awaited his return. They heard clattering in the hall a few minutes later just as he came bound in with a folded piece of cloth wrapped tightly in his grip.
“Here.” Mark unwound the cloth to reveal a tarnished silver key, the bow of the key resembling a simple open eye, while the other teeth were complex. It was almost unrecognizable as a key, the lock would have needed to be incredibly intricate for it to work properly. Layla seized the key and shoved it inside the keyhole on the radio.
“Turn it already.” Mark anxiously awaited this, but was clueless as to why they needed to stop.
“Close the door and lock it.” Layla ordered Mike, which he followed with a previously unknown haste.
“It’s done, but why did I need to?” It was clear to her that Mike hadn’t finished reading the passage and its instructions.
“They are going to come, this machine is going to weaken the barrier.” Layla felt silly saying it aloud, but if the passage was truly in its entirety they were in danger.
“What time is it?” She looked to Mark, who was the only one wearing a watch.
“It's just before 8, and in about an hour it will be dark.” Layla glanced over to the book still sitting on the floor.
“Midnight. That's the time it said, we need to wait. Mark, we need to defend ourselves. I don’t know what is going to come through that door, but we need something.” Layla was curious what this new feeling in her chest was, her heart beat with anxious thumping, but her head remained clear if not sharper.
“I’ve got just the thing. Come on Mike, I’m going to need your help.” Mark pulled Mike from the study as the chiming of the grandfather clock sounded somewhere in the house. Layla hadn’t noticed it before, but these precious minutes of daylight left would prove to be ones that she cherished.
Just as the last of the dusk passed over the horizon, Mike stumbled in the room with a large case in his arms with Mark right on his heels with another case that no doubt had a chainsaw entombed inside.
“Right, open it up Mike and let Layla have first pick.” Mark relocked the door and opened the case, revealing what Layla already expected. A beast of chainsaw, whose blade was surrounded by the most jagged metal teeth she had seen and from underneath his coat came a long extension cord.
“Is that thing Electric?” Mike asked as he panted.
“Gas-powered is unreliable and unsafe indoors. Thinking ahead, I don't want to go out because of carbon monoxide poisoning.” Mark grinned through his teeth as he pulled it in, only to show off with a little revving.
Mike grunted in agreement and opened the case. Inside sat two rifles and a simple pistol, along with a few cardboard boxes of what Layla presumed to be ammunition. It has been years since she handled a gun, the last time being in the wilderness with her father; who decided hunting was a better sport for two young girls rather than gymnastics. At this moment she was grateful, though she only picked the pistol, it would be enough. Mark walked Mike though loading the rifle and how to use it, but said to only use it when he was out of the way. Layla watched as the stars shined in Mike’s eyes. It was not ideal circumstances, but she knew this had meaning to him; meaning that was lost when Will and his grandfather finally passed the first year they had met.
Mark barred the door securely with the furniture and a freshly emptied bookcase as the time passed. Layla stood up from her sitting position and approached the machine.
“Are we ready?” Layla counted the seconds and minutes out of habit, though it was hours, she knew it was nearly time to start. Mark looked at his watch.
“It's only eleven o’clock. Didn’t you say it was midnight?”
“Yes, but according to the book, it needs an hour to power up. I don’t know what he meant, but I’m sticking to the instructions even if it kills me.” Layla felt the irony of that statement, knowing full well that she might die anyway. Whatever was coming would no doubt be monstrous and ruthless.
“Turn it on.” Mike said, never taking his eyes off the door.
Layla turned the key twice as per the instructions, but neglected something vitally important.
“Well you have to plug it in,” Mark scoffed, hiding the exhale of a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, “not everything runs on batteries.”
Layla, embarrassed by the statement, rushed behind the desk and located the socket. The moment that the metal prongs touched the opening, a spark connected with her bare skin causing her to let out a shocked gasp. The machine whirred to life, spitting out various frequencies of static as if it was searching the radio waves. Suddenly a loud shutter emanated throughout the house as if the very foundation quaked as a response to the ignition of the old radio’s circuits.
“Alright, whatever comes… be ready.” Mike said as he pointed the barrel of the rifle towards the door. He sounded scared, but courage grew in his chest as the seconds passed by. Layla watched out the window towards the front door only to be met with darkness veiling whatever was preparing to lay down a siege.
There was a knock at the door to the study. Three taps followed by silence.
Mark approached the door, chainsaw in hand, and placed an ear to the finely lacquered wood.
“Layla.” a voice rang from the other side, loud enough to be heard by all three of them.
“Will?” Layla set the pistol on the desk and rushed to the door. Pulling Mark away as she placed an ear to the wood.
“It’s me Layla, what’s going on?” The voice did indeed belong to Will; his baritone notes, cadence, and even the soft way he said her name.
“Will! Where did you go? What happened?” Layla threw one question after another, hoping he would at least answer one.
“I stayed in a hotel in town, I couldn't get back until now. I needed a new battery.” He responded. Layla couldn’t believe it, but accepted it nonetheless.
“One second, let me open the door, I missed you so much.” Mike watched as Layla pulled the furniture from the doorway, bile and uneasiness rising in his throat as he lifted the rifle once more, this time pointing it at Layla.
“Don’t open that door.” Mike said, although he accepted Layla’s explanation earlier, this seemed too far to believe.
“Why would he show up now?” She stared at Mike, as he tried in vain to ask for logic.
“It doesn’t matter, we need to let him in. Whatever is coming, we need to keep each other safe.”
Against his better judgment, Mike allowed her to continue, but never moved his rifle from the door.
“It will be ok Will, something is coming. I can’t explain, but the moment I open the door, I need you to get behind us.” Layla choked back a sob, one born from both fear and happiness.
“I understand.” Layla pulled the last of the blockage and her hand shot towards the handle, twisting it in one fluid motion.
Something kept the door closed, even as she pulled with all of her might.
“Let me try.” Mark had remained quiet up until this moment as he took the handle from Layla.
As he tugged at the door handle, it wouldn’t budge even an inch.
A black hand punched a hole straight through the wood, casting splinters across the study, and snatched Mark’s arm up to his shoulder. As his arm was pulled through the black abyss of a hole, Mark began to scream. Increasing in volume and intensity as Mike and Layla remained paralyzed in place. The sound screeching from his throat became inhuman as his clothes began soaking in the deep black stains of blood.
Mark dropped the chainsaw and drew in a breath as his eyes floated to the back of his skull. Whatever had held on to him so tightly finally released him and as his body dropped to the floor, Layla’s face turned as white as a ghost as the deep red blood soaked into the carpet and streamed down the wooden surface of the door only to see that Mark’s burly arm was ripped clean off. Through the gaping hole of the door stood a figure of pure black in the flickering light of the hallway. Mike’s heart pumped a fiery dose of adrenaline through his veins as his eyes rested on the figure, but still remained paralyzed until its first step.
“MOVE!” Mike shouted at Layla, his voice passed right through until the crash of glass shocked Layla out of her trance. Her mind raced causing her hands to quake and the room to fall silent once again. Her wandering eyes guided her towards the window, a faint glow reflected on its panes. As she edged closer and closer, below the window on the stoned path stood a group of people. All staring at her, all an endless black, and at the very center stood Will in the same clothes with a devilishly large grin, unnatural in every way.
BOOM. Will pulled the rifle’s faded and stiff trigger. The sound bounced off of every wall piercing her eardrums, worse than Charlotte's incident.
The rifle let out another thunderclap, one after another as Mike panicked. The figure was closer, now a hand reached towards the door. Mike watched the pulsing black of its flesh and its taloned fingers when suddenly a vibrant resonance of static pulsed through the machine. Layla had nearly forgotten about the thing as she stared at Will’s empty eyes.
The large figure stopped as if unable to move through the invisible barrier.
“H-hello?” Layla choked out, prying her gaze away for just a moment
“Hello.” a voice filled with static crackled out from the radio. The figures outside opened their mouths unnaturally wide, all of the windows on the study shattered instantaneously. Layla instinctively threw her arms above her head, There was no sound, their screams stuck inside their throat, only emanating pure silence.
“Oh god… I’m losing it.” The radio spoke again, the static slowly dissipated, as if the interference was becoming the conductor. The handle of the study began to turn once more. Mike let loose a final round at the creature’s chest. A deafening howl shook the house and the foundation, books shook from their place, lights flicked so rapidly that many burnt out or shattered in their sockets. A headache flared deeply in Layla’s head, as the glass resting on the floor began to shift and pull itself together. Its shape is so undefined, but its complexness seems to defy logic, and the laws of nature. Mike watched the performance unfold, impossible angles and colors refracted from the light. Its power burnt holes impossible to repair yet so easily ignored. An idea floated from the back of Layla’s mind, from Anne’s watch and tongue.
“This is the only way.” Layla spoke, as she gazed longingly at Mike, who was entranced by the incomprehensible object forming before them.
“What! What is the only way?” The voice became clear, it was a male’s voice. Similar in age and maturity.
“Destruction is creation’s first tool.” Mike said, his voice nearly inaudible as his features began to pale and calm.
The everchanging sculpture began to pull. The very anchors of the room, anchors of reality. It pulled every inch of light and as the shadows grew around them Layla saw the radio inched toward the epicenter of the gathering.
“You aren’t making sense! Who is this?” The male voice screamed pointlessly through the speakers. Mark weakly pulled himself from the pool of blood, the pale shock on his face said it all, but he managed a few words, amassing every ounce of strength before falling back into unconsciousness.
“Please come back… My boy.” his voice was fading fast, his eyes rolling back into his head.
“DAD!” The voice called one last time as the pull of the mass became too strong, the radio collided with the object. Layla felt the pull herself, but as she gave in to the bright object standing in between them all, she held onto a fragment of Anne's voice, speaking to her in the last moments of consciousness.
“We have begun, he is awake.”