Nightmare Fuel 2019
Chapter 1: Into the Wilderness
Note: This is part of a “Nightmare Fuel” project, where a new picture is posted each day and everyone is invited to write based on that prompt. This is set in the same “multiverse / universe / world / whatever” as the story from 2017 and 2018, which begins with https://medium.com/@CaMoore/nightmare-fuel-2017-8c8f759aca20.
Sunrise was just beginning to brighten the sky as I opened the curtains. It was going to be another hot, sunny, day. I’d hoped for clouds. It’s always easier to drive on a cloudy day. I sighed and glanced around the room. The place was a real shithole, a low-end motel with weekly room rates. But it had served its purpose. Tonight, there would be a new moon. Tonight, everything would change.
For the thousandth time, I worried that I was making a huge mistake — that this would all end in disaster. For the thousandth time, I told my worries to shove it. I grabbed the sample-sized soap and shampoo from the bathroom, thought about it for a moment, and grabbed all of the towels, too. I had no idea what I’d need when this was done. I knew I was overpacking, but I wanted to be ready for anything. They’d charge my credit card for the towels, of course, but I didn’t care. The credit card company was going to have a hard time making me pay off my balance after tonight.
The towels, soap, and shampoo fit into my backpack, but barely. It was heavy and full. I probably should throw half the crap away. But I didn’t know which half I could get rid of. I was pretty sure there were no convenience stores where I was going. I looked around again, patted my pockets to make sure I had everything, then put on the backpack.
With a grunt of effort, I picked up the bundle I’d been working on for so long now. It was rolled up and tied off with shoestrings. Part of me was sure this would be the stupidest waste of time ever conceived by anyone. Part of me hoped I’d been wasting my time. But I had to try. I had to at least prove that I hadn’t given up.
One more glance around the room. Nothing was left behind, as far as I could tell. Right. Quit wasting time, you jerk. You’ve got a long way to go. I let the motel room door close quietly behind me as I stood there, breathing in the humid morning air. It stank. I was near the interstate and nearer to the motel’s dumpster. I would not miss the smell of this place at all.
I took the compass out of my pocket and checked my direction. I’d made this walk a dozen times over the last few days, but the compass, slowly spinning and then settling with north pointing towards the interstate, helped settle my nerves. I’d made this walk a dozen times and today would be the final time.
I should eat breakfast, but my nerves had tied my stomach in knots. No breakfast, then. I had put this off long enough. I started walking west, away from the rising sun. I’d gone maybe a block when my brain finally forced me to recognize that hunger and dehydration could blow this whole plan.
The attendant in the Shell convenience store eyed me with obvious distrust as I looked for snack foods. I settled on two bags of M&Ms, two bags of chips, four bags of beef jerky, a Coke, and a bottled water. The attendant was surprised when I paid with my credit card. He was even more surprised when the card actually went through. He demanded I show him an ID. With a sigh, I took out my wallet and handed him my drivers license. “Yes, that’s my card. No, I’m not homeless. Just trying to get in shape for an upcoming backpacking trip.” I’d used that lie so often that it didn’t even feel like a lie anymore.
Avoiding eye contact, I collected my food, ID, and credit card and walked out. It was only as I finished off the Coke that I realized: This is the last Coke you’ll ever drink. Hell, that was probably the last time you’ll ever use a credit card. That made me stop for a minute. Wow. I was about to be done with this shit and I was terrified. Shaking, in fact.
I forced myself to put the empty Coke bottle back in the bag and keep walking. I wasn’t going to litter, not even on my last day here. And the container might prove useful, maybe. I sighed and shifted the pack, trying to keep it from making my back hurt.
Five years. It had taken me five years to figure out a plan and another two to find the starting point. To find this crappy little nowhere on the side of the highway. It was hard to believe that I’d made it this far. Harder still to believe that it would all end tonight.
Was Dad still with them? Had they wound up together? Had he been able to protect them? No. They’d been gone for seven years. I was not going to start crying now. Dammit. Soon. I’d be back with them soon. This would work. It had to work. There was nothing else left but for this to work.
As the sun rose and the day got hotter, I walked parallel to the interstate. Even from a block away, I could hear the steady hum of traffic. By noon, I’d come to the edge of the little town and was forced to climb a fence and strike out through some woods. The trees offered shade, which was a welcome change. I ate a bag of jerky as I walked.
By early afternoon, the hum of the highway had faded. I’m not sure if the trees masked the sound or if the highway curved off, but at some point I realized I was alone with the birds and the bugs. I’d been walking this path every other day for almost two weeks now, so I knew where I was going.
Eventually, I found the big oak tree with a red ribbon tied around it. That was my first marker. Here, I turned south-west, checking my compass even though I knew the path. I walked another hour, until I found the second oak with a red strip around it.
My watch said I was ahead of schedule. Nerves had given me more energy than I’d expected. That was good, but I forced myself to take off the pack and sit down for a ten-minute rest. I needed to have enough energy to finish this when I got there.
Right, almost fell asleep. Best keep moving. This pack is tiring, and I want this to be over with. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, checked my compass, and headed off. There’s the third marker. Time to turn south. Four in the afternoon. Still on schedule. Good.
At about five thirty, I came out of the woods into a rough clearing. The undergrowth was high, here. The various insects made what would’ve been a quiet, lonely, place come alive with noise. In the center of the clearing was an old, abandoned, house. The roof was caving in and I had no idea what color the walls had originally been.
I walked around the clearing until I came to the south side of the house. There was a porch here. The wood was sagging and brittle with age. I’d only come into the house once, to confirm that it was the right spot. I left the shade of the woods and made for the house.
And then I was on a trail, heading north, away from the house. This had happened the other time I’d come, too. The house didn’t want me here. I closed my eyes and forced myself not to freak out. Then I went back to the house’s front.
This time, I locked my eyes on the front door and forced myself to take each step, one at a time, without looking away. It took a while. But I eventually hit this point where I wanted to look away. I wanted to walk away, too. There was a strange pressure here. It was hard to describe, but it was definitely a feeling that I was not welcome here.
The barrier finally gave, letting me push on and make it to the house. At the foot of the three steps leading up to the porch, I stopped and looked around. To my left was an old porch swing. I saw a wasp nest up where the chain entered the porch’s ceiling. Wasps crawled around on the paper. One buzzed off as another landed.
My heart was racing as I slowly climbed the old stairs. They creaked and groaned alarmingly. The porch floor was sagging and had collapsed in a large area between me and the swing. That’s okay, though. I hadn’t planned to go sit in the swing anyway.
Dammit, focus. I’ve got shit to do and time is running out.
The door was still open halfway, just like the last time I’d come here. I took off my backpack and slid sideways through the door. The first time I’d come out here, it had been impossible to open the door wider, so I made it work.
The living room was dark and stank of mold, mildew, and what I assumed was mouse or rat shit. Spider webs dominated the corners and ceiling. I carefully made my way through the rotting leaves and dust, deeper into the house. Through a wide arched doorway, I came into what I think had been the dining room. To my right was a kitchen, complete with an old wood stove and some empty, rotting, cabinets.
I carefully set the backpack down and rummaged through a side pocket. On top, I found the small hand broom I’d packed for this moment. It took me a few minutes and several rounds of sneezing, but I cleared a roughly five-foot circle on the floor. The wood was old and well past any hope of repair, but the floors had been beautiful, once. I guess the whole house had been, back in its day.
“Are you still out there, guys?” I missed them. I missed them so much it hurt, even now, even after so long.
I threw the hand broom to the side. I didn’t need the extra weight and I didn’t think I’d ever use it again, so no need to pack it back up. It took me a moment to untie the bundle. My hands were shaking. It was almost time.
Very carefully, I spread out the rolled-up rug in the circle I’d swept clean on the floor. The rug was plain, black, and covered in carefully drawn symbols. Twelve symbols, each drawn during a new moon, spread out over the last twelve months. Each symbol had been painstakingly practiced over and over again until I could hand paint it perfectly before I’d painted it. Each was painted in a slightly different shade of white, ranging from a high gloss to a light gray. They formed a circle on the rug. I took out my compass and set it in the center of the rug.
The compass spun for a second, then marked north. Once the needle was steady, I rotated the rug a bit. The needle shifted and stopped. I rotated the rug a bit more. Finally, it was aligned perfectly, so that the first symbol was at magnetic north.
I dug around in the pocket of my backpack and pulled out two thin paint brushes wrapped in cloth and a tiny jar of paint. I’d found it in a toy store, for painting plastic models. But it was the perfect shade of red. When it was wet, it was the exact color of fresh blood.
The paint and paint brushes, still wrapped, went to the rug, beside the symbols. Then I set the backpack beside the rug. I looked at my watch. I still had another thirty minutes until time to begin. I needed to pee. But I was afraid that if I left the house, I wouldn’t be able to get back inside before it was too late.
It was such a strong feeling. I didn’t dare fight it. So, reluctantly, I peed into a hole in the floor of the kitchen. Five minutes later, I need to pee again. It was just nerves and I ignored it. Waiting sucks. I kept pacing around the dining room, staring at the rug.
Part of me was completely convinced this was the stupidest thing I’d ever done. That, in an hour, I’d be sitting in the dark in an abandoned house, wondering why I’d wasted so much time over the last two years figuring out how to wind up here. Part of me feared that, really. I mean, if I failed or if I was wrong, I had nothing to go back to. This was it. This was my one and only chance to find my family.
Dad. Short Stuff (I could still see the angry looks that name always brought), and, yes, even Brad. Brad wasn’t technically family, but he was good kid and god, I hope they’re okay. I have to get to them. I’ve given everything I have to find them. This had to work. It had to work.
My cell phone beeped. That was my alarm. Ten minutes. I muted the alarm and forced myself to calm down. Panic circled around, just out of reach, but it wanted to take over. I wouldn’t let it. But damn, it would be easy to just give in.
Five minutes. I sighed and stepped, carefully, onto the rug. I rubbed my feet on the edge of the rug, outside the circle of symbols. Then I stepped over the symbols and settled onto my knees. My compass showed that the rug hadn’t shifted while I stepped in. Good, that was important. Deep, slow, breaths. I needed to force myself to calm down.
My cell phone alarm went off again. I silenced it, then opened the red paint jar. The oil-based paint fumes were heavy as I set the jar, carefully, down by the compass. My hands shook as I unrolled the bundle of paint brushes. Dammit, stupid nerves.
I held my breath, closed my eyes, and squeezed my fists as tight as I could. After a slow count to twenty, I let my breath out, slowly, and opened my eyes. Okay. I can do this. I will do this. I will find them. I must find them.
The brush didn’t shake in my hand this time. Good. In the same steady, measured, pace I’d used while practicing, I painted the thirteenth symbol onto the rug. Like the others, the symbol was roughly three inches high and about 2 inches wide. It took me several minutes to make each stroke of red paint. I maybe could’ve done it faster, but slow and steady wins the race.
Done. I rolled the brush up in the cloth and collected everything. I moved slowly, to make sure I didn’t accidentally smear the fresh paint. Everything left the circle, then I left, too. The rug was empty now, just a black smear covered in markings as the light faded outside.
I waited, impatiently. This was going to be the hardest part. I checked the compass, but the rug was still pointed to the north. I checked my cell phone, but there was no signal here. I set it beside the broom, wondering if anyone would ever find it. I had no need of phones anymore.
The shadows were getting long and the sounds of the woods outside were getting louder as the nocturnal bugs woke up. Doubt and worry and fear were gnawing at my stomach. I was afraid I would be sick.
The hairs on my neck stood up. I got goosebumps. I turned and stared at the rug. The symbols looked different. It took me a second to realize it, but they seemed to be three-dimensional now. I’d spent years reading every book I could find, trying to figure out how to get back to my family. This had to work. This would work. This was working!
I stared in awe as the symbols began to glow. The air changed. It felt like the moment before a heavy rainstorm begins, with the high humidity and the ozone tang of lightning in the air. It was real! This was happening! Oh, god, I’m terrified!
The glowing symbols were bright, but it seems like the rug had changed. I walked closer and YES! There! Were those really stairs? Where did they lead? Fumbling in my rush to find out, I almost dropped my backpack. I stepped onto the rug, but my foot sank down onto the top tread.
It really had become a staircase! It had worked! It really had worked! Thirteen months of effort after years of searching and researching had worked!
I slung the pack onto my shoulders and descended into the darkness. As my head passed below the level of the house’s floor, the sound of insects suddenly cut off and the light above me went out.
Panic consumed me. I reached up, and there was nothing above my head. No floor, no ceiling. The stairs just… ended… above me. I pulled a small flashlight from my pocket and turned it on. The steps hung in complete darkness. Below me, they descended beyond the end of the light’s beam.
Fearfully, I headed down, down into that awful darkness.
Chapter 2: And Through the Darkness
The dark stairs descended for what felt like days. At one point, I had to stop and sit. I was just too worn out to keep going. I turned off the flashlight to save power and just sat there, trying to rest. I’ve been in darkness before. Playing hide and seek in the back yard at my grandparents, or just waking up in the middle of the night when the power has gone out.
That staircase was a whole different kind of darkness. It wasn’t just an absence of light. It was a psychological weight, pressing in on me as I sat there. There was no sound, no distant flicker of light, no breeze, not anything at all except the feel of the stairs beneath me. After a minute or two of sitting, panic began to set in. Before it could take hold of me, I turned on the flashlight and resumed my descent.
I lost count of how many steps there were. I wanted to keep count, but somewhere around 60, I lost it. Eventually, my flashlight beam picked up a change. The stairs opened out into a passageway. Carefully, I stepped down to the last step and looked down the hall. The floor was the same old, well-worn wood as the stair treads. The walls were some kind of black material. Polished stone, maybe? It had a faint shine, unlike the nothingness of the stairwell. It curved up into an arched ceiling overhead.
Stepping out onto the landing, I touched the wall. It felt like cool stone, but had a slimy, unpleasant surface. Maybe there was mold growing on it or something? I pulled my hand back and wiped my fingers on my pants. I took a step into the passage. There was faint sensation of movement behind me.
Spinning, I expected something horrible to be coming at me. Instead, I faced a wall covered with a crudely painted outline of a door. I touched the door and it felt like the same stone as the wall. So there was no going back to my world, then. Not from here, at least.
I took a sip from my bottled water and started walking down the passage. Like the stairs, it went on for a long way. Is that what travel between worlds is like? Endless walking?
The passage widened out into an open area. Across from me, the floor seemed to drop off into darkness. The room was vast; I couldn’t see the walls to my left or right. There was a faint breeze now, coming from my left. There was a smell of ozone and metal and oil.
Somewhere in the distance, I could hear something rumbling. It was getting louder. I ducked back into the passage, hoping to hide from whatever danger was barreling towards me. There was a light, faint at first but growing brighter.
Suddenly, the room lit up. For a second, I thought it was blindingly bright, but my eyes quickly adjusted. I turned off my flashlight. The light wasn’t steady. It flickered and I could hear the faint hum from old, worn out, fluorescent lights. The room was dimly lit and shadows consumed several areas where the lights had burned out. I appeared to be in some sort of rectangular space. There was writing engraved on the walls, but not in any language I could recognize.
The rumbling turned into a high-pitched squeal as a train — no, a subway — car’s brakes screamed. I saw the car settle to a stop in the space ahead of me, where the floor dropped off.
The car’s door opened. A mechanical, pre-recorded, voice called out something, but it wasn’t in a language I knew. “Are you coming, William?” a smooth, melodious, voice called out from in the car. “Best hurry!”
What. The. Fuck?! “Who are you?” I called out, forcing back the panic that wanted to consume me.
“I know where your family is,” the voice said. It reminded me of the perfect cadence a good television preacher has. Or any great public speaker, I guess. “I can show you. But you better hurry. The train waits for no man.”
Almost against my will, I stepped forward, towards the car. An electronic bell chimed. I sensed that the train was going to leave, and started running. A voice in the back of my head was screaming that this was a horrible idea at best. But I ran anyway.
The doors slid closed just after I boarded the car. “You made it! Good!” I turned to face the voice. There, a man stood calmly watching me. He wore an expensive looking dark suit. It fit him perfectly, not like any of the off-the-rack suits I’d ever owned. But the style was odd, old, like I had seen in black and white photos but never in real life.
“Who?” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Who are you?” The train began to move and I almost fell down. Carefully, I set my pack down beside me and faced the man.
He stuck out his hand. With a smile that seemed friendly but somehow set my teeth on edge, he said, “My name isn’t important. I suppose you could call me,” there was an almost imperceptible pause, “Mr. Nullus.” He tried to make that sound like a joke, but it fell flat.
“My employer has met your family. He would love to discuss their whereabouts with you. Over dinner, perhaps?” He was eyeing me closely. He didn’t blink. My intuition was still screaming at me that this was some kind of trap.
“Where am I?” I said asked, looking around. Dark tunnel walls flashed by outside the train’s windows.
“You are below a vast, ancient, city. It’s mostly abandoned, unfortunately. But the automated trains keep running. Perhaps, someday, people will return and the trains will be needed again. Or at least, I like to hope so.”
“Where’s my family?” I asked, trying to get my brain back on track. This was why I had come. But how had this man known to find me here, now?
“All in good time. First, you must meet the boss. He’s so eager to see a new face.” Again, the soft, silky, voice of a salesman or a preacher. Again, it set off some kind of warning in my brain. “The train will take us nearly there. Just a few minutes. Sit, rest. I suspect your journey here was a long one.”
Reluctantly, I sat down. Mr. Nullus retreated to the far corner of the train car and sat as well. Even that, somehow, made me nervous. He sat too rigidly, too straight. I tried to relax, but it wasn’t working.
The train clicked and clacked down the track, guiding us to something that I feared wouldn’t be a pleasant family reunion. I realized, suddenly, that I’d spent years trying to find a way to get here. But I’d never really formulated a plan on what to do after that. Part of me hadn’t even been convinced I could get through the gate, or even that the gate had been real.
It would be okay. I could find them. Even if this guy was lying to me, I’d find them.
The train suddenly shot out into daylight. Stretched out around me, for just a brief moment, was a glorious modern city, with electronic billboards and bustling crowds and cars on the street below us.
For a brief flash, Mr. Nullus wasn’t a human. He had long, pointed, ears and a long snout. He looked like some kind of fox-man-mix, maybe, sitting there in his ridiculously old-fashioned suit. It should have been funny. It should have amused me, to see that animal-head on a human body. I suddenly remembered a documentary on Egypt. Ra? No, Anubis! That was his name. This guy looked like Anubis but in 1800s or maybe early 1900s fashion.
What the fuck? Before I could react to this sudden transformation, the train shot back into a tunnel. In the train’s lights, Mr. Nullus was human again. The image of him with an animal’s head was burned into my memory, even though it had only been visible for a couple of seconds at most.
He hadn’t moved. There was no indication that he’d even noticed that I was watching him. My heart was racing and I decided that I should be trusting my instincts more than I had been. This guy was not here to help me. Of that I was convinced.
The train came back out into sunshine again. This time, we were at street level instead of on an elevated platform. The city was empty, but all of the buildings around me were a gray stone of some kind. There were no signs or letters on doors, but the place felt alien, somehow. I couldn’t place my fingers on why exactly.
Mr. Nullus turned to face me with gleaming eyes. “It is not much further. Mr. Mur is eager to meet you. We have waited a long time for your arrival.” There was an eager gleam in his eyes. It made my stomach lurch.
“Who is Mr. Mur?”
Mr. Nullus chuckled. It sounded greasy, somehow. “Why, he is king of this world. He is king and you are subject to his authority, William Lorenz. Please, take care that you do not forget that simple fact.” He grinned in a way that made me think of growling dogs. “It would be bad if you forgot.”
He blinked and all malice was instantly gone from his expression. “But there is no reason to worry, is there?”
“No, no of course not!” I said, wondering if there was any hope in hell of escaping him alive before we got to wherever we were headed.
The train’s brakes began to squeal and the train slowed. We were underground again, and the tunnel here was so dark, like the one before.
I stood up. “This is not our station, Mr. Lorenz. Please, sit down.” His voice was quiet, but it was definitely a command, not a request. The doors slid open as a mechanical voice said something in some unknown language. Mr. Nullus was watching me and I could sense the tension rising in the otherwise empty train car. “Don’t do anything rash, Mr. Lorenz. For your own safety.”
The seconds passed like hours. I heard the soft chime the system used to alert people that the door was about to close. That’s when I grabbed my pack and ran. The doors slid shut behind me. I turned and watched an angry Anubis-face glare at me with bared teeth. As the train pulled away, Mr. Nullus turned his head to keep me in view. I could almost hear the growl of an angry dog as he vanished from sight down the subway tunnel.
I shook my head and dug out my flashlight. With its beam, I could see the remains of an old campsite down here in the platform. But the fire was long-dead and cold. I followed a set of stairs up to the city. It was unnerving to be in an empty city. The quiet was too complete to feel natural. But it was less disturbing than what I’d left behind on the train.
I settled the pack on my shoulders and began hiking towards, I hoped, the ones I’d lost.
