A Seance from The Sleep Of Reason (Part 2)

Writing this sort of creeped me out, I hope the chills translate to others, as well:

Like a wisp of smoke that turned solid, the bluish presence within the circle slowly took form. Two eyes seemed to exude sadness and knowledge as they stared towards Russell. The figure was tall and thin, his narrow jaw and long nose blossoming into a prominent forehead. Wild waves of hair gathered around the sides of a receding hairline. The figure in the center radiated its blue light so that each of the members holding hands were bathed in the light.

“What secrets are you hoping to discover?” asked the blue apparition, peering down at them. He appeared unnaturally tall, as if he levitated in order to show his rank.

“We are looking for our missing friends,” said Russell. “Have you seen them?”

“You want answers, but answers are worth nothing until they are earned. If you wish to see what we see, then you must walk the path that we have walked.”

“We only wish to find our friends. Will you not help us?”

“Our secrets are our own. If you want answers, you must join us. Trust for trust.”

“We don’t want to join you,” said Doug, “we just want what’s ours. You have no right to keep our friends from us.”

“They came here of their own volition. Like you, they came seeking answers, which we provided them. But answers come with a price, which they have paid. Will you?”

Mindy was tempted to ask what price they would have to pay, what price Dave and Johnny had paid, but Doug spoke again.

“We have not come to bargain with you,” said Doug. His voice projected authority, but Mindy had no idea where it came from, what he could back it up with.

The figure inside the circle did not seem to recognize any authority other than his own. Mindy again became aware of the hands she clung to, felt the security they provided. Maintain the circle and contain the spirit. Although everyone in the circle reflected the blue glow from the presence in the middle. The blue glow seemed to lie now even beyond their circle. She felt the beads that Russell’s grasp pushed into the flesh of her hands, realized they belonged to the man in front of them, that he must be Gregor Soeldner. She feared that he might recognize them as his own, demand them back.

“I do not bargain, I speak truth. The Association has endured because we have not betrayed our secrets. If we let you in, we will not let you out.”

“We have summoned you to tell us what we need to know,” Mindy was pretty sure Doug was bluffing that he had nothing to back up his bluster. “You are contained within the circle we have created. You have no power, you cannot set conditions.”

“Yes, I am contained within your circle,” said Gregor. “But your circle is a small thing. And I am the only one within it.”

Mindy had been staring at Gregor, at the bluish glow of his presence. Now she shifted her gaze to beyond the circle the four members of The Beyond Show formed with their hands. Looking to her right, then left, she noticed beyond the circle the same glow existed outside of the four members. There were many figures outside of the circle, surrounding them, each of them holding hands in the same manner that Mindy and the others were. Each of them shared a gaze of intent that lacked any human element.

She looked at Doug and found him lacking any response. In that moment she knew she’d better gather her courage, that she was the one who had the most to lose. Whatever strength and experience the others had, she was among them and therefore had a part to play. She gazed at Gregor, who as yet had not looked at her, and said, “Perhaps they have us, but we have you. You have been summoned by us, and you will answer to us. You no longer speak from the authority that you did as a man of God, you are but a remnant of a man, a memory that has lingered. You exist to share your message. Speak!”

He looked at her as one who had been discovered, and said, “The answers and the people you seek are below us. If you dare to follow, it is there that you will find your answers.”

The figure of Gregor flickered, as if to say that it was not the thing they should be looking at. The group, still holding hands, turned their gaze outside of the circle, looked at the figures beyond. There were enough to form a full circle around them, even at a distance. But the circle soon dissipated as the figures began to walk single file towards a building to their west. Mindy looked to Doug and the others. Without the need for discussion, the decision was made. It was Russell who spoke for the group, “You are released, Gregor Soeldner.” The light that reflected from each of their faces vanished into blackness as the figure in front of them disappeared.

“Let’s follow them,” said Mindy, her words braver than the feeling in her heart. They trailed after the figures who moved slowly, like a chain gang returning from work. They disappeared through a door that Russell was forced to open for the others. Izzy would have been more than happy to be the last one through the door, but Doug stood behind, as if to guard against a reappearance from Gregor.

They walked upon tiled floors littered with glass, their way well-lit by the glow of the apparitions. There were perhaps fifty of them, most but not all of them dressed similar to Gregor. Some appeared to have been from newer eras, as if even in death The Association was adding to its ranks. There was one who seemed to be a teenager, perhaps one who had come to this place not many years back to drink a few beers and give a scare to his girlfriend. The whole of them shuffled along like zombies, as if their will had abandoned them, or as if they had surrendered themselves to the judgment of The Association, of Gregor Soeldner.

They led them down a flight of stairs, led them through hallways that shone blue in their presence. Great pipes hugged cement walls, vanishing into the darkness where the blue glow did not extend. Mindy walked behind Russell, content to have someone at her back in the darkness.

As Mindy walked she became aware of the terrible silence around her. The glowing apparitions were noiseless as they plodded along cement floors like zombies called by their master. Before she knew it, the smooth cement gave way to a hasher stone flooring, causing her to become more aware of her footsteps that padded softly like ripples on a still pond. The darkness gave opportunity for her mind to imagine hidden dangers, but she found herself preferring it to the blue glow.

There was a tunnel that led off to their right, cloaked in darkness. But at the edge of light emitted by the group, Mindy couldn’t help thinking that for an instant she caught a glimpse of a skeleton.

They were well lost by this point, having taken a large amounts of twists and turns, too many choices of which tunnel to take. As they passed by on offshoot, Mindy heard the sound of movement which she knew was not caused by any of them.

“Did you hear that?” Mindy asked, turning back towards Izzy and Doug.

“Yes,” said Doug. “Try not to think about it. Hopefully, The Association will keep us safe for their own purposes, whatever they may be.”

“It might be Dave!” said Mindy. Russell said he was somewhere in the dark, alone. We’ve got to find out if it’s him.”

“If we get lost in here, we’ll never find our way out. We have to stick with them.”

“I’ll go with her,” said Izzy. “I’ve got a flashlight. We’ll investigate and see what we can find.”

“You’ll get lost,” said Doug.

“We’ll only get lost if they allow us to get lost. I don’t think that will happen. You and Russell go ahead, we’ll catch up.”

Izzy appeared truly brave at that moment, making Mindy wonder if the times he appeared less so to be merely a guise. How could somebody so unknowable become so trustworthy, she thought.

Izzy turned on his flashlight and they headed down the dark tunnel, Russell and Doug still following the blue procession. Mindy found herself relieved when they had distanced themselves enough that she could no longer detect the blue that had so consumed her sight.

The tunnel they entered was rough, crudely dug, and Izzy gazed about with the aid of his flashlight to determine if it was even safe to enter. It looked to be dug into earth or clay rather than rock. They did not have to travel far before reaching the end. The noise was louder now, like the scratching of a rat. Izzy seemed reluctant to lower the beam of his flashlight, preferring ignorance to knowledge. When at last he found the courage to lower it, Mindy saw a figure hunched in the darkness, clawing at the wall in front of him as if he were looking to expand the tunnel he was lost in. It wasn’t Dave, thought Mindy, it couldn’t be him. He had been wearing the blue jacket she had bought for him when he left. This man wore a flannel shirt. And boots, Dave didn’t own boots. This couldn’t be Dave.

Mindy would have been content to let it go at that, allow whoever it was to go about his business. But Izzy realized him for what he was, a fellow human being in need of aid. He called to him, and when that did not work, grabbed him by the shoulder. The man twisted around with speed caused by fear. He stared into the light that Izzy shown at him, and Mindy couldn’t help thinking he flashed them a huge smile. But the edges of that smile were ragged, and in a flash of realization, Mindy realized that his lips were for the better part missing. Even as she looked at him in terror, the man in front of them was busily moving his jaw, attempting to bite at whatever flesh remained in chewing distance. His eyes were wide open despite the pain unexpected light must have caused him. He was alert in the way only great fear can achieve. Unable to look at the massacred mouth, she focused on his eyes, which radiated terror. She could see the pupils shrinking in reaction to the light, at the jaw nervously looking for something to chew.

Mindy screamed. She felt her body shrink towards Izzy, trying instinctually to find shelter in another’s strength. Together, they retreated slowly from the tunnel, Izzy’s flashlight still shining in the face of the man whose fear had caused him to chew his own lips off. Mindy could still the jaw working as the vision faded from her sight.

They had not been separated for long. When they returned to the tunnel they had come from, the glow had disappeared, but they knew which direction they were going. They ran quickly, as much to distance themselves from what they witnessed as to find the others.

A Séance From "The Sleep of Reason"

What's better than a séance in the middle of an abandoned church cemetery on a cold November evening? Here's from my upcoming novel, The Sleep of Reason:

Mindy and Russell parked their car at a designated spot a short distance from the entrance to the JFK Prep grounds as per Doug’s instructions. Doug and Izzy awaited them there, wearing serious expressions that conveyed their concern. Together they walked a short way to the gates of the site that had been the start of the town of St. Nazianz. Over a hundred and fifty years of growth and change had made it something utterly different from what it had started as, but some aspect of the vision remained. From its start as a religious sect seeking a new way of life, it had been taken over by a Catholic order that had used the place as a seminary. And when this had shut down, it became a prep school. But it was decades since it had been used for much of anything at all. Such places lend themselves to the creation of stories and legends.

“We will attempt a séance,” said Doug. More for Mindy’s sake than the others, he explained, “One cannot call a ghost into being. Either it already exists or it does not. The dead have passed on to the undiscovered country, or simply ceased to be. We’ll set aside any theological arguments regarding where we go when we die because, frankly, they have no bearing. As Johnny should have explained to Dave, a ghost is not the spirit of a dead person. It is merely a creation of a psychic trauma, a ball of emotional energy formed in the intensity of a person’s dying moments. Memories may be burned into what we call a ghost. Typically they are rather simplistic creatures, acting out a scene that is significant to someone who was once alive. Occasionally, they can be a rather sophisticated facsimile of the person they were formed from. Obviously, most people do not create ghosts at all when they die. Ghosts are quite rare, the intensity of the event would need to be quite profound.

“Johnny reported to me the events in Manitowoc. He informed me that they had encountered two separate entities resulting from the death of a single person. One was formed of grief at the betrayal of his wife and friend, the other a desire for justice due to the same event. I’m afraid what we have here is a similar dual or even multiple entities formed by an extreme emotional occurrence.

“I’ve been aware of this site, heard rumors and unsubstantiated stories. I knew the potential for trouble existed here, but I had no real cause to pursue the matter. I knew enough about it to warn Johnny to stay away, but perhaps I didn’t know enough about Johnny to appreciate the temptation it would present. But in the end, I will not hold myself accountable for the choices that others have made. We will however deal with this situation as best we can. We have need of the abilities Johnny and Dave possess, and we will not abandon them if there is something we can do. But be warned that there are obvious risks.”

Doug looked around at the others. When Mindy had shown in her gaze her obvious commitment, he turned to look at Izzy, and so did Mindy. She was fairly convinced Izzy had a good heart. If there was anything he might be lacking, it might be courage.In the event in the Apostle Islands, he didn’t appear overly eager to confront such things. But perhaps that too might be an act he put on for her benefit.

“I thought we were here for Bingo,” said Izzy. “Yeah, I’m in. But I’m going to need a vacation after this.”

“Did you get something acceptable?” asked Russell.

Izzy reached into the pocket of his thick flannel jacket to pull out what appeared to be a necklace. He placed it in Russell’s waiting hand.

“A rosary. Where did you find it?”

“Where do you think we found it?” asked Izzy.

“We took them from the hands of Gregor Soeldner,” said Doug.

“You dug up a grave?” said Russell, looking horrified at the idea of holding an item that had been in the clutch of a dead man for over a century.

“It’s not as if we had much choice,” said Doug, “or much time. You said you needed an item that was cherished by one of those in question. Gregor Soeldner was in charge of The Association after the death of Anton Oxner. There’s no guarantee he’s in any way a part of this, but I figured he was our best chance of discovering something. And as far as finding an article or relic from someone, I imagine that something that someone wanted to be buried with must be pretty important to them.”

“What about Oxner? Couldn’t you find anything of his?”

“We thought about it. It turns out he was buried under the altar in the chapel. Izzy couldn’t bring himself to go digging up an alter for such purposes, and I have to say I was uneasy about it myself. Let’s give it a go with this and if it doesn’t work, we’ll go from there.”

“Alright,” said Russell. “Let’s find a proper spot and we’ll do this. Any ideas?”

They eyed the grounds from their spot in the empty space surrounded by buildings.

“I wouldn’t mind doing it indoors, if we could,” said Mindy, feeling the chill of the evening.

“Where?” asked Izzy. “Somehow a church doesn’t seem to be a proper place for a séance. And the other buildings seem a little too new to be related to whatever it is that haunts this place.”

“The cemetery,” said Russell, a degree of authority in his voice. This was an area where his knowledge exceeded the others’ and he needed to assert the fact.

They walked towards the gravestones that cast shadows from a full moon that shown behind them. The chill in the air seemed to cut past Mindy’s clothes, penetrate her skin and take residence in her bones, making her feel older than she was. It felt as if her innermost self was not protected the way she was used to feeling, the soft hidden aspects of her were being exposed to a chilling and unfriendly outside force.

They followed Russell until he reached the center of the graveyard of perhaps two hundred graves. He stood before them and turned, his body blocking the rays of the moon that was sinking towards the horizon. It made him appear like a radiant saint, but the rays were all behind him, his form a blackness within the light. Whatever discomfort he normally showed was missing now: he now appeared as the scientist making sure the elements of his experiment were accounted for.

“Form a circle,” he said. They did, with Russell to Mindy’s left, Doug to her right, Izzy in front of her. I occurred to Mindy at that moment that she really didn’t know these people. Izzy was no longer the joking person he was, Russell had lost his discomfort, even Doug had abandoned his always-on stage persona.

“We’re going to have to hold hands for the duration of the séance. We must maintain the circle throughout the séance, this is most important. For that reason, we might as well sit down, make ourselves comfortable. If one of us were to slip and break the connection, we would be unleashing God knows what on the world.”

There was not much space between graves, so that when they sat down, Mindy realized she must be sitting on top of some long-dead soul. Several graves down she noticed the freshly dug grave from which Izzy and Doug had claimed their relic. When she joined hands with Doug, she could still feel bits of dirt on his hands. She had hoped in vain that the hand that Russell offered her was not the one that gripped the rosary beads. The feeling of the beads that Russell gripped hard against her hand felt to her like teeth ripped from a corpse.

“Now what?” asked Mindy.

“Now we wait for Russell to make a connection to the object in his hand,” said Doug. “And if there is a living entity, or reasonable facsimile of same, perhaps it will provide a link to said entity.”

“You all must be receptive to whatever thoughts my pop into your head,” said Russell, “because perhaps those thoughts will not be your own. If all goes well, we will soon be experiencing a blending of selves, so that we will be very much aware at the same time of things that we are not perceiving with our ordinary senses. We must all be both open to such perceptions and yet retain our personal integrity. This is not a matter of life or death, but a matter of success or failure, as well as just plain good manners. You’ll understand as we go.”

Mindy tried to silence her thoughts, tired to block out the outside world. She was acutely aware of the hands that held hers, that she held. She was both holder and holdee, she though, a link in a chain that was more than the accumulated links.

Gahhh! I’m thinking. I should be emptying my mind of thoughts, allow myself to be receptive. Now I’m thinking of thinking. And the cold ground, I can’t sit like this for long.

She tried to shift herself slightly, all the while being acutely aware of the hands she was holding, realizing that as she held on to them that they held on to her. She was holding hands of people who were probably busy trying to silence their thoughts in order to be open to something outside or inside of them. Four individuals joined together, and she couldn’t help thinking their minds should be no more distant or unreachable than their hands were. And all at once she had the feeling that her consciousness was not in her body but somewhere in the middle of the four of them. No, it wasn’t her consciousness! It was theirs. It was hers, but they were all sharing the same thoughts in the same way that people sitting around a fire were all sharing the same warmth and light. Except that she was the fire. Sort of. It wasn’t really so important to try to explain it as it was to just experience it.

She was aware of her body a few feet away, felt that she could return to it anytime she wished. It wasn’t effort that kept her where she was now, just a state of mind. She only hoped that she would continue holding the others’ hands, detached as she now felt from that body.

And as she looked upon her own body, she now looked upon the others in the same fashion. She felt that she was able to return to any of those as easily as she could her own, that they were just houses that could be entered as easily as opening a door. And it seemed that each house was as empty as her was.

Curious, she attempted to peer into the person that was Doug Slattery, magician, collector, man of wealth. She wondered what lay beneath the artifice and façade he showed to the world.

It shouldn’t have been surprising that she witnessed in him the same trepidation and concern that she felt, being in the same position as she was. But she realized that was only the concerns of the moment. There were great depths of experience and memory there to be delved into. Not thinking of the consequences, she delved in a little deeper.

And there she felt lust. Not merely physical urges but the frustration at withholding from acting upon such urges. And behind the lust and the frustration were deeper emotions, fear of being dislike by someone he had loved, fear of rejection and betrayal. And even beyond that was a deeper fear, a fear of being wrong, of believing he knew who he was and what the world was and the crushing pain it caused him to realize that he had been living in a fantasy world. All these emotions and sensations existed in him at once and were stacked upon each other, showing to her the complexity of a person and the myriad influences working upon even the simplest decisions. And anger welled up in him, akin to the sense of betrayal she had seen. She quickly retreated from the house that Doug’s life force had built about him, sneaking out through a side exit, careful not to slam the door.

She was again in the middle of the circle, again aware of the openness, even vulnerability, of the others. She was not sure what she should be focusing her awareness on, but knew it was Russell who was the driving force behind whatever it was that was going on. She suddenly became quite attuned to him, felt the concentration towards another awareness that allowed him no time to be aware of the others. She tried to align her awareness with his, to see what it was that he saw, aid him in his search. Again she found herself entering the house of another, so to speak, permitted herself to step past set boundaries.

She felt herself quickly swept up as a leaf in a breeze. It was thrilling until the realization of her helplessness set in Her psyche was in the grip of forces more powerful than she’d ever experienced, lifting her to tremendous heights, separating her from the rootedness she was familiar with. But the fear of falling quickly accompanied the thrill, until she dared to look down. She felt herself falling, prepared herself for a drop that would crush her against a rocky bottom.

But there was no bottom. Whatever ground she had been standing on had been swept away, leaving a deep dark pit into which she was speedily descending.

Again, her presence had been detected by the residence of the domain. Russell understood what she was doing, pulled himself back from his search. Within his mind he constructed for her a floor for her to land safely on. But even as her feet reached the ground, she felt herself opening up. Russell was probing into her as she had done to him. She experienced moments of her childhood popping open from long closed boxes. The unwelcome attention of her older brother’s friend, the humiliation of a boyfriend’s betrayal. She felt helpless before Rusell’s probing, couldn’t understand the cruelty of it. And then in an instant he retreated, leaving her psyche to herself.

It was then that she realized what to her felt like an assault was no different than the innocent probing she had been engaging in. She understood now what Russsell had meant when he talked about good manners. Learning proper boundaries was a matter of social etiquette whether or not one was talking about physical space.

She was back in the cold, dark cemetery again, but she still felt as if she were in the middle of the group rather than her own body. Until she looked in between the ring of hands and saw a bluish glow arising from the ground between them. She was then aware that she was back in her body, still holding hands with Russell and Doug. She noticed Doug Squeezing her hand hard and didn’t know why until she realized she was trying to tear away from the circle, trying to get away from whatever it was that was rising in their midst. She forced herself to stillness as best she could, tried to look at the others to gain strength from them. Each of them reflected the bluish light that came from the center of the circle.

The Sleep of Reason Chapter 5

Chapter 5 of my work in progress. I might have a rework or two to do on this yet, but I'm getting close to what I want:

Chapter 5

 

The door opened to reveal a dusty wooden floor that led into darkness. An objective eye would not have seen anything out of the ordinary with the picture, but fear twisted angles out of their ordinary proportions, shredding perspective. Dave tried to remain objective, and realized what an absurd notion that seemed to be. For all the glory of science, it failed to account for the observer or the participant of an event. Science was the act of looking in from the outside and he was very up close and personal with what he was encountering. Perhaps it was not something supernatural but only fear he experienced. But fear was enough. Fear was more than enough. Still, Dave knew it wasn’t the only thing he was experiencing. The cold that whispered from the darkness of the room was more than a result of the season. It wasn’t caused by his fear but rather the reason for it. He wasn’t sure which sense it played upon, whether it were light drafts of air upon his skin or subtle whispers that found their way into his ears.

Johnny took a few steps inside and Dave followed, his hands involuntarily groping in the cold darkness. The light bulb had been blown out by the Wilsing’s last encounter with whatever it was that inhabited the attic and had not been replaced. Johnny’s flashlight illuminated their path but it only showed what was in front of them and it was the shadows that frightened Dave. Fear always waited in the shadows. Dave’s foot touched the wooden flooring, found it less sturdy than he would have liked. Perhaps it was only his fear, but the mere act of walking seemed treacherous to him.

What a moment ago felt cold now gave way to a warm dampness, the moisture in the air hinting at coolness while the warmth seemed to make the air feel heavy. Dave wanted to keep Johnny in his sight, know that his protector was there for him. But his eyes followed the beam of the flashlight instead, searching for whatever danger may await them. The light did not travel as far as he would have wanted, did not touch the wall on the further ends, though it illuminated the beams of the roof above. “It’s just an attic, damn it,” thought Dave. “Pull yourself together.” But it seemed to stretch further than the size of the house should permit, the way something from one’s childhood can seem bigger in memory than it is in reality. Fear and reality were tugging at his perception, distorting and stretching it in waves that confused his vision.

He felt like a child again, confronting the fear that walled off his safe little world like an electric fence. And while he was fighting against his inner weaknesses, he felt a smooth presence brush up against him like a sentient waft of air. It felt like a large crawling thing gently feeling out its prey before coiling about it. He looked at Johnny, who appeared to be readying himself for contact. Dave didn’t know if Johnny felt what he was feeling. Fear spiked in him. The thought of running leapt in his mind and he couldn’t find a rational reason to oppose it. But his body was not responding, as though he was frightened of calling attention to himself. For good or ill, he was rooted to the spot.

“I can feel it,” said Dave in a whisper.

“Shh,” said Johnny. “Allow it to make contact.”

Dave willed himself to be quiet despite the desire to scream. He still felt what seemed to be a sentient draft brushing up against him, as though it were insisting on intimacy. There was a certain smell that seemed to accompany it that Dave found familiar but could not quite place. The whispering that Dave had earlier witnessed seemed like snakes writhing on the floor around him.

Dave felt a sudden jolt, as if time itself were being wrenched and he were alternating between two moments that should have been separated by decades. Light flashed like a strobe, providing glimpses of an occurrence from long ago interlaced with the present darkness. He saw a thin man in a white shirt and tie with his head cast downward. Each glimpse the light provided was accompanied by a feeling that built flash by flash within Dave, a despair the likes of which he had never felt. The whispers became more insidious, and the occasional word could be distinguished from the general murmur. Love. Betrayal. Death.

The bulb in Johnny’s flashlight burst, making the contrast between visions of the past and present more extreme. Behind him, he heard the door they had left open slam shut. Fear and despair alternated within Dave as he seemed to switch back in forth in time, each of them equally debilitating to his emotional state. The smell became more noticeable, but he was still could not remember what it reminded him of. Burnt rubber perhaps, but there was more to it than that. If he could just place where he had smelled that smell before, he might be able to deal with the fear a little better, if not the despair.

The man Dave had seen in the relative light of the flickering image raised its head now, and suddenly the look of despair merged with a hatred that seemed to burn its gaze right through Dave. The image was visible now in both the light and the darkness. Despair and fear still alternated within Dave, threatening to tear him apart from either side. Edwin Gauthier opened his mouth to speak, and it was a voice of hatred not despair that sounded.

“You shall die,” came a voice that sounded like a thousand whispers woven into a single scream. The thousand whispers that had writhed around them were summoned by that voice and came together to speak Edwin Gauthier’s message. The voice did not seem to be aimed at them, but Dave knew the hatred would not refuse any target it chanced upon.

And suddenly Dave recognized the smell around him, the smell of burnt rubber and blood, the smell he would always associate with a moment of his childhood when Gordon could not run fast enough to save his life. And it felt to Dave that death and hatred and fear were all the same thing, aspects of the darkness that always surrounded life even on the brightest of days. The look of hatred upon Edwin’s face seemed the same look Dave saw on the grille of that car that took his friends life. He remembered staring at it after the accident, stared at it because he could not bring himself to look at his friend’s body lying on the ground. He didn’t know if his friend was still alive, did not want to know. As much as he feared that he was dead, the thought of him being alive and experiencing the horror seemed to Dave to be worse. So he just stared at the car that was now stopped on the busy street, the grille of it like a grinning entity of malice and hatred. Like the embodiment of all that was evil, it did not care who or what it killed, the killing was all. It would eat its fill of children and mothers and puppies and anything that chanced in its path. It was this look he now saw upon the face in front of him, and the flashing of the light did nothing to deaden its intensity.

“Well hello to you, too.” The voice was Johnny’s, and the tone was a jarring contrast to everything that was going on inside Dave.

“You have betrayed me. I trusted you and you betrayed me!”

“I’m afraid you have us confused with someone else,” said Johnny, as though he were impervious to the hate and despair. Johnny’s voice expressed concern, but he maintained a certain authority, as though making sure that the world in which they both existed was Johnny’s world, subject to the laws of the living.

“Those who betrayed me will die. Those who stand between me and my revenge will also die.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not standing in the way of your revenge,” there was sympathy in Johnny’s voice, replacing for a moment the authority he felt the need to convey. “That was a horrible thing they did to you, there’s no excuse for it. But they’re dead.”

The presence that had earlier seemed to rub up against them now seemed to smash into them from in front, as though confronting the source of its frustration. Long stagnant dust shook free from the overhead beams, falling upon them as the house itself seemed to shake. It seemed to be a physical projection of the image they saw. But Johnny and Dave were able to withstand the shock of the onslaught as one might stand against a bitter cold wave.

“In fact, everyone you know is dead,” Johnny continued, his tone of voice at absolute odds with everything Dave was experiencing. Johnny was talking as a mother explaining something to her child. “You’ve been hanging on quite a long time. Not to say I blame you. You must have been awfully hurt. But you see, the reason for all of your hatred is gone. You’re just a bit of emotion that has outlived its usefulness. The only people you can still affect are the current inhabitants of the house, and from what I know of them they seem like pretty decent people. They’ve never done you any harm and—to be honest—you’re creeping them out.”

The presence that a moment ago was in front of them now swirled around them. The cold seemed to intensify as the emotion grew. It was no longer a brooding hatred but an active malevolence, searching for a target. Why it did not strike them where they stood, Dave did not know.

“I live for vengeance!” The voice had lost none of its ability to strike fear in Dave’s heart.

“Uh, no you don’t,” said Johnny. His voice was compassionate but firm. “You’re not actually alive, I hate to say. And since there’s nobody living to exact your vengeance on, there’s really no reason for you to be here anymore.”

The rage in the voice woven from malignant whispers intensified, but it seemed to be coming from a greater distance. It felt to Dave like a hurricane that had passed by in its ferocity but did not touch down.

“I will kill those who have betrayed me.” The voice was desperate now, each utterance scraping Dave’s nerves like razor blades on violin strings.

“They’re already dead,” said Johnny, using a calm but firm voice to dissipate the violence. “Whatever judgment they receive is in God’s hands now.”

The presence before them had been flickering like a candle in the wind. At last, in a wavering motion upwards, it faded before them as if caught by a gust of air that blew it away. Dave and even Johnny let loose with sighs of relief as they felt the thing that was Edwin Gauthier’s grief-fed rage fade away.

“And so the life that Edwin tried to take from himself is finally ended,” said Johnny.

But even as they let down their guards, the presence seemed to blast from the floor, radiating a heat that made Dave close his eyes. But closed eyes did not prevent Dave from receiving a clear vision of the ghost in front of him. Gone was whatever despair had emanated from it, replaced with an intensity that demanded response. This was not a spirit that would abide Johnny’s paternal attitude.

The spirit spoke, its voice one of authority rather than fear and hatred. No longer did Dave see the vision of a man with hunched shoulders and broken spirit. “Mine was no act of suicide,” he said, and as he spoke, his image became part of a scene that acted out once again the events of nearly a century ago. In a bluish light, Edwin Gauthier could be seen with eyes staring at a figure that slowly entered the limited stage upon which the drama was being played for Dave and Johnny. “It was not me but my wife’s lover who took my life. They murdered me in order to live together in unholy union.”

Dave was silent and still, watching the scene of murder play out in front of him, Edwin confronting the other man, the other man striking Edwin, knocking him unconscious. Like an old film poorly shot, Dave witnessed as one man dragged the other up the stairs to the attic, threw a rope across a supporting joist and tied it to Edwin’s neck. As the man drew the other up, he saw the betrayed husband regain his consciousness as the noose tightened about his neck. Panic raised in his features as his eyes began to bulge. His gaze was unfocused as he struggled for breath. But as he came to accept the reality of his situation, his gazed fixed upon the man who was the cause of all his pain. There was calm in his stare, a cold calm that promised revenge despite his inability to achieve it. Edwin’s desire for vengeance would outlast his earthly existence, regardless of whatever physical laws he would have to break to attain it.

The scene in front of Dave and Johnny slowly faded, leaving at last only the bluish stare of those intense eyes, burning their conviction into the fabric of the material world. Turning away from the glare, Dave turned to look at Johnny, who seemed to get a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

“I see,” he said. “You want not only vengeance but the truth to be told.”

“The truth will be my vengeance,” said the voice, no longer the slithery voice of fear and hatred but an ardent appeal for justice.

“I will let your story be known,” said Johnny solemnly. “The world will know that Edwin Gauthier did not die by his own hand. They will know the truth of your betrayal and death.”

The intensity in the air seemed to slowly dissipate as the eyes that were all that remained of the vision of Edwin Gauthier faded. So too did the presence that had seemed to crave physical contact with them vanish like dust in a breeze. This time, Dave felt as though it were really over, felt a normalcy beginning to creep back into his jangled nerves.

“What the hell was that?” asked Dave. “Were there two ghosts, or what?”

“An intense experience such as Mr. Gauthier evidently felt can bring about some strong emotions. I would guess that in this case, there were two separate strong emotions that survived Edwin’s existence: grief and a desire for vengeance.”

“You guess? You seem to trust a lot to guesses.”

“You could say I’m learning on the job. What a rush though, eh?”

“I don’t think it’s my thing.”

“But you saw it thought, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I saw it. I saw it and heard it. And I felt it. With every nerve in my body.”

“That’s pretty good. Come to think of it, I don’t think I saw anything on my first encounter. The first time, it was just all purple, and then the second time, it was like the purple separated and it was red and blue.” There seemed to be excitement in his voice, as though he were a surfer talking about a wave he had ridden.

“That’s all very good, but can we get out of this attic now?”

“Yeah, I think our work here’s done.”

Dave stared into the darkness. “Any idea where the door is?”

Groping around, they eventually found the door that led them back downstairs.

The Sleep of Reason Chapter 4

Wherein our hero meets the owner of a house she insists is haunted:

Chapter 4

 

Dave and Johnny got out of the van to introduce themselves to Lynn Wilsing, a woman who appeared to be approaching middle age without much care. She was in the process of exiting her car when she was momentarily startled by Johnny’s well-inked face staring into her window. She allowed herself to relax a little when Johnny explained that they had been sent by Doug to deal with her “situation”, but not entirely.

“We’ve been living at my mother-in-law’s house lately,” she said when they were inside and she took their coats. Considering it was her own house, she seemed less than comfortable being there. As they seated themselves in the living room, Mrs. Wilsing, who was a moment ago frightened by Johnny’s appearance, was now talking tattoos with him. Dave was left alone temporarily with his thoughts and the anxiety he was feeling at what he was about to encounter. Johnny had explained that the majority of such cases turned out to be nothing more than the over-active imaginations on the part of those who reported the incidents, but he also expressed his belief that this was likely to be the real thing. It was apparent to Mrs. Wilsing which of the two scenarios was the correct one.

“If you could explain what unusual events you’ve experienced, starting at the beginning, please.”

“Well,” she began hesitantly, apparently uncomfortable sharing the information even with people who took her situation seriously, “I don’t know if it was actually an event, but the first time I felt something was wrong was while I was lying in bed one night. I awoke from a sound sleep with just a really unsettling feeling, an unnamed dread. The more I tried to think about what it was that could be frightening me, the more the fear increased.” Dave noticed the anxiety level rising in her as she recalled the experience. Her skin seemed loose, as though she had recently lost weight through worry. “I wanted to call out to my husband, to reach over just to touch him and know he was there, but I was frozen. I was all alone, staring into some nameless fear. Or…or some nameless fear was staring into me.” She was caught in an imaginary shudder.

“Anyway, that’s all it was…the first time. But it happened again a few nights later, and again. Like the first time, it was just an unameable fear, but it was a fear of something, like something too horrible for my eyes to even perceive, as though they wouldn’t permit me to see what was there. After the third time, I began researching the matter online. I learned about night terrors, did you ever hear of those?”

 “Pavor nocturnus,” said Dave, recalling the research he had done when his own nightmares had first started. At the time, he had felt as if he were going crazy. He had no idea he was developing an ability to see things in his dreams. “Feelings of intense fear while being in non-REM sleep. That doesn’t sound like what you described. If you weren’t able to move, it sounds more like sleep paralysis, a condition where one awakens from REM sleep while still subjected to the paralysis that keeps us from acting out physically in our dreams.”

Both Mrs. Wilsing and Johnny looked at Dave with an appreciation he was not used to.

“But there’s more to the story, isn’t there, Mrs. Wilsing?” Dave asked, wanting to remove the attention from himself.

“Yes. At first I tried to look for the most obvious solutions, bad dreams or some kind of sleep disorder. But then I began to hear noises even when I knew I wasn’t sleeping. And…and my husband wouldn’t hear it. We’d be in the living room together, reading quietly, and I would hear a voice whispering, and I’d look at my husband and he wouldn’t notice anything. And he has better hearing than me, he makes fun of me because I always mishear what he tells me.”

“That’s not unusual, Mrs. Wilsing,” said Johnny. “Some people are just more receptive to such things than others.”

“I didn’t know that. For a while, I thought I was losing my mind. I mean, I couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t pretend I wasn’t hearing things, experiencing things. I even began to suspect that it might somehow be my husband’s doing, that he was trying to drive me crazy. Then, one night, I heard something up in the attic, like a buzzing or many different voices whispering. I looked at my husband, challenged him to deny that he heard anything. He tried to soothe my concerns. He wanted to go up there, but I wouldn’t let him. Finally, he pushed past me, walked up the stairs. I was too afraid to follow. It was like he was walking into a meat locker, it felt that cold. And it was summer! I could sense the courage drain out of him, thought he wouldn’t admit anything was wrong.”

She ceased speaking, waited for some kind of feedback from her listeners, as though she were looking for confirmation that what she was saying didn’t make her seem crazy.

“An experience like that can make you thing you’re losing your mind,” said Dave, picking up on her anxiety. He too had a similar experience. When he had first begun to have his revelatory dreams, he had never felt so frightened, never felt so isolated. He prayed he would never feel that way again. And yet here he was, perhaps about to plunge himself into someone else’s experiences. He looked over at Johnny, was amazed that his friend did not appear concerned, seemed almost anxious for such an encounter.

“Your husband’s reaction isn’t unusual,” said Johnny. “People do not believe in such things, do not wish to believe in such things, and so they prefer to pretend they did not feel what they felt, did not see what they saw. Please, continue.”

“Well, as he walked up the stairs, I could hear the buzzing getting louder, more intense. They, it, whatever was up there, was aware of us. I’d done some reading by this point, I knew some ghosts just go about their business without paying any attention to those who live in the house they share. But this one knew we were there, seemed angry at our intrusion. I tried to call to my husband, make him come back downstairs. But I couldn’t. It was like fear gripped me by the throat, and it was stronger than any will that I had.”

“And then…? Prompted Johnny. It seemed like she needed constant encouragement in order to continue her story. Even though she was convinced they would believe her, she was still not comfortable sharing the information, perhaps not comfortable remembering it.

“And then…when my husband reached the top of the stairs, I could tell that all of his courage went out of him. I could see it in his posture. He knew there was something up there. But he wasn’t about to let me know it. He walked to the right, out of my sight. And then, the light bulbs just exploded. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to run and get a flashlight, I wanted to shout to him, make sure he was okay. But I couldn’t do any of that. I could only stare into the darkness, too frightened to do anything.” There something in her voice that made Dave feel as though a cold breeze had suddenly swept through the house. “I could still hear the whispering, no louder, but busier, more menacing. I just stood and waited for my husband to walk out of the darkness. And after a time that seemed forever, after I had time to imagine a thousand horrible things occurring to him, he walked back down the stairs and out of the darkness. But part of the darkness stayed with him. He had seen something in the attic, but he still won’t tell me what it was. Not that I’ve pushed him too hard to tell me. I’m not sure I want to know. But he believed me after that He knew there was something living in the house.”

“We left the house soon after that,” she continued. “When things started getting broken, we knew we were putting our lives in danger if we stayed another night. Of course, we couldn’t tell anyone why we left. Who would have believed us if we told them the truth? We…we told them we had to bug-bomb the house,” The embarrassment was evident in her mannerism.

“It’s true,” said Dave to Johnny. “This sort of thing really alienates you from others just when you need them the most.”

“At any rate,” she went on, “that’s when I started talking to others online. I was amazed at how many groups are out there that discuss such matters.”

“And that’s when Doug found you,” said Johnny.

“Yes.”

“We’ll take a look, Mrs. Wilsing, and see what we can do. I’d like it if you and your husband were gone while we deal with this. The only real danger is in your own reactions, but I’d hate to have it said that anyone was injured while I was doing my job.”

What about me? thought Dave. If Johnny was worried about the Wilsings getting hurt, might Dave and Johnny not be in danger as well?

“My husband’s already at his mom’s. To tell you the truth, I don’t like being here right now. I’ll join him and make sure we stay away until you give us the all clear.”

“We’ll let you know what we find out,” said Johnny. “A ghost is a riddle to be unraveled. They’re not unlike a psychiatric patient that needs to reconcile their strong emotions with reality. First I have to understand what their story is, then I need to help them make peace with whatever is bothering them. Oh, and just to warn you, things may get broken. A ghost is really not much more than a ball of frustrated emotional energy and they do tend to act out, especially as they approach the truth of their existence. If you have anything of great value you might want to take it with you.”

“We’ve already had things broken. Windows, dishes, that sort of thing. The neighbors are beginning to talk. After the front window blew out, my next door neighbor asked me if Ken was becoming violent. I covered, said he was playing around with the nail gun he got for his birthday.”

“So you haven’t told anyone you have a ghost in your house?” Dave questioned her.

“Why would I tell anybody that? Who would believe me? I hardly believe it myself. It’s bad enough having odd sounds in the house, things falling off shelves for no reason. I want to at least try to have a normal life outside of my house. If I started talking about ghosts, who knows what people would think of me?”

“But it’s really happening,” said Dave. At least, there was a good possibility that something was happening.”

“Yes, it’s really happening,” Mrs. Wilsing said, “but I don’t like to think about it. I just want it to go away. I just want my life to be like it was before. Can you help?”

“I hope so, Mrs. Wilsing,” said Johnny. “I can’t make any promises with something like this, but I’ll see what I can do. I have had my successes in matters of this sort before. But tell me, is there a certain time of day when the visitations seem to occur? Any certain event that tends to trigger them?”

She paused for a moment to consider, then said, “It seems to be sometime around eleven in the evening. Now that I think about it, that seems to be when most if not all of them occurred. We’re usually in bed by that time, and the one time I told you about in the attic, it was a Saturday night. We had just finished watching a movie and were about ready to go to bed.”

“That should give us a little time, then.”

Before they left, Lynn, as Mrs. Wilsing insisted they call her, gave them a brief tour of the house. It was the kind of place Dave would have considered a dream home, an older building meticulously updated and restored. Everywhere, the walls were coated with fresh, bright paint, augmenting the original design. High ceilings gave an airiness to the rooms without forsaking quaintness. A bright blue paint covered the living room, a cheerful but elegant flower patterned wallpaper in the dining room. Lynn and her husband must have spent long hours bringing the place up to the condition it was now. Dave couldn’t help thinking how unfair life was, for people to work so hard to make something beautiful only to find some darkness at its core.

From the dining room, Lynn led them to the kitchen. It was a bright white, even with the rays of the setting sun the only illumination. From the kitchen, a second set of stairs ran upward towards the bedrooms above, stairs that had originally been for the use of servants. They led to a bedroom that was once the servants’ quarters, which was also connected to the main upstairs hallway. But the stairs continued upwards beyond the servants’ quarters, as well. Lynn had no need to say anything, Dave knew that those stairs led to the attic. Without saying anything, Lynn led them through the servants’ quarters and out into the main upstairs hall, back down the other set of stairs that led back into the living room. Without further mention of the stairs that led to attic, Lynn grabbed a few items from around the house and left to join her husband. But before leaving, she turned back towards Johnny, apparently feeling the need to share one more piece of the puzzle.

“I wasn’t going to mention this, since I’m not sure it’s related. You must already think me…unusual. But in the interest of being honest, when we first moved into the house, I began to experience a rather intense bout of depression, despite the joy we had at finding this house. I’d had experienced depression before, but nothing like this. I don’t know if it’s related or not, but I thought I should mention it. Maybe it might help convince you it’s not the house but me that has the problem.” She laughed a nervous laugh, and then exited.

Dave and Johnny were left alone in the house, Johnny with a relaxed air, Dave not so much.

“Do you think we’ll encounter anything, Johnny?”

“Quite likely, quite likely. Mrs. Wilsing seemed honest enough. Her story sounds like a few I’ve heard before. The man I was telling you about, Edwin Gauthier, the one that committed suicide. I reckon it’s his ghost that’s causing the trouble. Although it seems odd. If he’s a suicide, he died in despair. That might account for the depression Mrs. Wilsing spoke about, but that doesn’t account for the rest of what they experienced. There seems to be a lot of anger. Angry ghosts instill that kind of fear, not suicides. Well, whatever it is, we’ll likely find out soon enough.”

Dave watched his companion as he talked, amazed at the calmness with which he discussed the impending appointment with a ghost. Johnny must know something Dave didn’t because Dave couldn’t imagine not being afraid. It seemed the Wilsings knew the right way to react a ghost, at least.

Seated on a couch, Johnny was content to stare absent-mindedly out the window. Dave was unsure if he were preparing himself for what was to come, or if he was trying to pick up on subtle emanations of the otherworldly nature. Either way, Dave didn’t want to distract him, so he tried to empty his thoughts, make himself receptive. But it was no good: he could not silence the disquiet that seemed to bubble up from the pit of his stomach. He wondered if this might be a result of some kind of supernatural contact, but decided it was just plain old-fashioned fear. Why was he here at all, and what did Doug think he or anyone else could accomplish against such phenomena? They were not things that humans were meant to deal with, they were all of them out of their depths. And yet they were each of them aware of things that others weren’t. Whether or not they were equipped to deal with such things, they seemed destined to encounter them nevertheless. At least it was better to deal with them as a group, not alone as Dave once had to do.

Alone, thought Dave. I wonder what Mindy’s up to now?

“So how come a ghost tends to show up at a certain time of night?” the question occurred to Dave suddenly.

“It’s probably the moment he died. Or some significant instant.”

“Yeah, but what does time mean to a ghost?”

“Well, it’s kinda…”

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Well, no. But I’ve found it to be true. And I’ve had luck with ghosts, so far.”

“But you’re more or less groping in the dark. That’s just the way Doug described the whole problem. Something works for a while whether or not we really understand the situation. So we just get comfortable with it and trust it’s always going to work. It works until it doesn’t. It works until you encounter something that doesn’t fit your paradigm.”

“That’s life, inn’t? There aint no real answers, just some clues, some inclinations and a bit of faith. Leastways, I guess I know about as much as anyone about ghosts. Anyone living, anyway,” he said, and a smile slid across his face.

“So tell me something about them.”

“Well, for starters, there aint no such thing as an old ghost, at least not what I’ve seen. As far as I know—and like you said, I only see what little I’ve seen—a ghost is a thing formed by the intense passions of a particular event. Like this case here, a man’s wife cheats on him with his best friend. There’s rage for you. Like a child, a ghost is conceived of passion. Like anything that outlives the person who created it, it is conceived of passion.”

Dave was tempted to ask questions, but decided he wasn’t in any hurry to receive the answers. The conversation having come to an end, Johnny pulled an old paperback from his coat pocket that was hanging in the hallway, made himself at home on the couch, and began to read. Dave curled up on the chair he was on and watched the November sun make its early exit. The cold and dark outside should have made him appreciate the comfort of the house, but the thought that they were not alone sucked all comfort from him. Instead, having a few hours to wait until the anticipated encounter, Dave sought some sort of quiet and peaceful place within himself.

Sleep eventually overcame him. In time, dreams emerged from the darkness, though he didn’t recognize them as such. He was lying on a bed, felt himself being brought back from darkness towards the light. Coming back to life, he found himself looking at a man in clerical garb making the sign of the cross over him. The man’s face was filled with compassion, a slight smile on his face somehow connecting with something he himself felt deep within him. Some miracle had just ocurred, whatever had put him in this bed had been driven out by a miraculous power. And it was the man above him who had done the healing, or at least been the conduit for it. There was a bond between the two of them, healer and healed. Becoming more aware of his surroundings, he noticed himself to be in a rudimentary sort of hospital, something closer to a log cabin. There were other occupied beds around him, with other attending men and women dressed in religious garb. There was a warmth that radiated from a wood stove in the middle of a room large enough for perhaps twenty beds, but there seemed to be a different sort of warmth that radiated in the room as well. Without knowing why, he found himself saying, “Thank you Father Oxner.” The man who sat on his bed, a bald man of average build, said nothing but permitted his smile to increase somewhat. It was then that he noticed where the other sense of warmth was coming from. It seemed to radiate from Father Oxner’s smile.

 

“Did you hear that?”

The words brought Dave’s consciousness out of his dream, but it was not yet fully dragged back to the waking world. So deep had he been in his alternate state of consciousness that he did not immediately know where he was or who had spoken. Opening his eyes to see Johnny’s alert face staring at him mad Dave want to retreat back into himself, back into the comfort of his dreams. The contentment he had felt there was not something he wanted to leave. He felt quite at home there, despite the primitiveness of his surroundings. In the end, it was not the creature comforts but the warmth of a smile and caring community that seemed to bring true contentedness. But Johnny spoke again, wrenching Dave from the comfort he longed for. Instead, he stared at the faces tattooed on Johnny’s faces and arms that appeared to him like spirits trapped on flesh. Each of them seemed to share Johnny’s urgency. But the memory of where they were and why sparked a jolt of adrenaline that soon had him fully alert. Caught off guard as he was, he was unable to combat the fear that was growing within him. Between dream and wakefulness lay a darkness that seemed to cling to him. He did not yet have enough pieces of the puzzle of his current predicament to provide him any context. Fear, for the moment, was his surest protector.

“What?” asked Dave.

“There’s a noise upstairs. Not a noise, really, more like a stirring. I’m not sure if I heard something, but I sensed something.”

“So now what?”

“Now we get chummy with it.” Johnny must have noticed Dave’s state, because he said, ”You okay? Don’t worry, stick by me, you’ll be fine. Just listen to me, not it. Never do anything a ghost tells you to, for any reason!”

Dave and Johnny again ascended the stairs that led to the old servants’ bedroom. But this time, they did not stop there but continued towards the attic. There were perhaps fifteen steps, but each of them made an impression on Dave. Each step ramped up the fear within him. What he was about to encounter was a being the likes of which was once capable of causing sleepless nights for him as a child after merely hearing a story told around a campfire. It felt as he were about to cross a threshold, one that had been very well marked in him deep in his DNA. Every instinct he had, every story he had heard, every movie he had ever watched, was telling him to stay away from the door that by now was only a few more steps away. The image of the door was already etched upon his memory forever. This quite ordinary looking old door, painted white, assumed all of the fearful qualities that his imagination could summon. It was scrawled deep into the neural pathways of his mind, like some childhood trauma. His mind rushed back to such memories, his deepest fears realized. He felt himself again locked inside of a trunk, his brother’s cruel laughter drowning out any appeals to a saner world.

He remembered running with other boys through the crosswalk that led from his grade school towards home, remembered one boy who was a few steps behind the rest. He remembered the car they somehow did not see in the bright daylight of a late spring day. He remembered the daring and the feeling of immortality of youth wash away forever as the car pushed the little body of his friend Gordon, who always seemed to be a step slower than he was, into the air. With the sound of shrieking brakes in their ears, they saw Gordon’s body move in a way that did not appear real. But it was real, realer than many of the things he once believed to be real, and there was nothing—ever—that was going to make it not real. It was a stain in his memory, a black spot on the sun that would forever mar the brightness that had been his youthful life.

Feelings he had hoped never to feel again were rising from the dark places where he had stored them, places he had thought gone forever. And being an adult did not make him any more able to cope with such feelings. The fear he experienced now was the same he had felt as a child; nothing he had learned in all those years had given him any defenses against it.

Dave simply stared at the door, wondering how opening it could possibly make him more frightened, having no intentions of finding out. The price of freedom is high, he couldn’t help thinking, the idea of stepping away from the safety of the collective mind approaching insanity, an utter lack of security. Again he was asking himself to take the plunge into an utterly unknown universe, hoping that he could find something to grab onto before he fell into the awaiting abyss.

He noticed Johnny reach out his hand, grab the knob. He wished more than anything that Johnny would not open the door, but felt powerless to prevent it. And yet, while the better part of him wished for a small place to hide—even a jail cell of steel and cement, as long as it kept him safe from the outside world—a small voice inside him seemed to be whispering, even as the door was opening to reveal unnamed and unnatural fears: cool.