A Town Called Evening

Finale Part I: As Though in Death

Luke watched his gloved hand wrap around the iron gate. The castle remained as it was when he’d left two days ago. Its frowning walls cast the same shadows on the mountainside in the grey, fledgling light. Luke could scarcely believe it. He’d been worried it would somehow disappear. Seeing it now, he felt grim mixture of apprehension and vindication.

“I’ll be damned,” said Sulley. “It’s really huge.”

Luke’s heart fluttered in his chest. “Yeah,” he softly replied.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Isaac whispered. The question curled into the air.

Luke could feel Sulley’s eyes on him. The horses snorted. Slowly, Luke said, “I don’t think I have a choice.” After a brief pause, he added, “You do, of course. If you want to stay with the horses—”

His words were interrupted by Sulley cocking his gun.

Hearing the slide click into place drew Luke’s attention. This was happening. He was acutely aware of everything. His axe was sheathed and tucked tightly against his body. It was in the here and now. He ground his boots into the snow, waiting to feel the gritty Rackham pavement or the glare of their orange street lamps.

He wanted to smile, but swallowed it. The dawn was upon them.

Luke adjusted the grip on his rifle. “Let’s go.”

The gate released a rusty cry. Just like that, Luke’s hyper-awareness faded. He watched it open. The hand on his gun wasn’t his and the chill that reached its hand into the openings of his jacket fell upon deadened flesh. Sulley and Isaac felt distant from him. They were shadows upon the ground; without dimension.

The oppressive sensation heightened as he crossed the threshold. No one spoke. Luke wondered if Sulley and Isaac felt it too. He allowed his head to turn and note their posture. It was to be expected: stiff, ready.

They entered the square.

A lone breeze crossed the yard, stirring freshly fallen snow like glittering desert sands. Luke followed the snow’s path to see the open front door. It flapped in the wind, knocking gently against the stone wall. The corridor before them moaned and gasped like some growking beast. Only darkness existed beyond the door.

Unsure, Luke neared. He supposed Grace would still be up in the weatherworn tower. The grand door beckoned upon its hinges, waving them ever closer. Sulley, seemingly borne upon a wave of dauntless energy, surged forward without warning. He placed a booted foot beyond the doorway. A shadow fell upon his left shoulder, the hall ready to swallow him up in a single gulp—

“Stop.” Luke’s tone was sharp. A vague feeling of uneasiness seized him.

Sulley turned. “What?”

“Come away from the door. Don’t go into the dark.”

“Why?”

“If compelled to confront and dispatch this creature, pray you do it by the light of day. Inexplicably, the valravyn's potency surges in correlation with the profundity of darkness, particularly during the winter season.”

Luke’s eyes strained against the darkness of the castle’s entranceway. He imagined shapes taking on some terrible form.

“Just…” Luke couldn’t find the words to express his dread in a way that was sound.

“It’s too obvious,” Isaac finished. He met Luke’s gaze before quickly looking away, up to the castle’s turrets.

Sulley shrugged and returned to the light. “Fine, then, if you’re scared,” he said, “let’s go around back, pu—”

There was a loud clicking sound as the hand of the clock tower moved. Everyone jumped, Sulley included. He rushed—hastier than he’d ever admit—to their sides. He grabbed his chest and grinned. “Holy shit.”

Isaac chuckled and rolled his eyes.

Luke also started to laugh. He felt the tension deflate as he did. “Moron,” he whispered.

“Don’t act like you didn’t jump too—!”

“Shh!” Isaac interrupted. “Stop talking so loud.”

“Screw you,” Sulley retorted without much bite. He craned his neck to look at the clock tower. “I don’t understand,” he said.

Luke sniffed, feeling the cold burn the inside of his nose. “We’ll work on understanding later.” He turned his head to the spires and looked over the dead-eyed windows.

Sulley suddenly spoke. “Look.” He gestured to the ground with his firearm. The white snow was disturbed by a single spot of blood.

Then there was another, then another. With the others at his back, Luke followed the train until the spots became puddles. He felt his stomach lurch. It wasn’t too late, was it? It was today. Yes, it should be tonight—or would it be afternoon? If there was an eclipse or that ‘day of night’…

They continued around the perimeter of the building until they entered a courtyard. Perhaps long ago it had been grand. Now, fountains sat parched. Marble statues, blackened by time, bore mounds of snow upon hunched shoulders. Briar patches and shrub roses grew wild. In the center was an open casket.

Luke darted forward.

“Wait!” hissed Isaac.

But Luke didn’t listen. He trampled through the overgrown garden, ignoring their thorny grasp. The two others followed close behind him.

Luke stood over her, chest rising and falling.

Grace lay incredibly still. Her brows were relaxed. Frost glittered upon her thick, dark lashes. She lay cradled amongst pale silk and furs. Heavy jewellery clasped her throat and wrists. Her lily-white hands were crossed at the chest and adorned with more strange ornaments. Two pinpricks stood out at the base of her neck.

“Oh, God,” gasped Sulley.

Luke’s breath caught. With trembling hands, he laid his fingers upon the side of her neck. Luke waited.

And he waited.

No pulse.

“Starting CPR,” Luke declared. He grasped the heavy metal bangles and tore them from her body. “Someone needs to call for help.”

Sulley volunteered. A few moments later, he was slapping at his phone and cursing. “There’s no service,” he muttered.

“Smacking it won’t do anything,” snapped Isaac, “try to move around and get a connection.” He moved to Luke’s side. “Start compressions, I’ve got breaths.”

Luke didn’t answer. He couldn’t move, his jaw slackened.

Isaac waved his hand in Luke’s face. “Luke? Hey, Luke?”

But Luke felt numb. The prickle began at the back of his neck and crept forward, sweeping over his skull and travelling down to the tips of his fingers. Grace’s face swam before him. Luke squeezed his eyes shut.

The wood bowed and split between his teeth, no.2 graphite. Sweat cooled on his body. He’d just come in from gym class. It was dark. The shades were closed. A high-pitched ringing filled his ears.

Luke could hear the whirring of a VHS and a woman’s voice: “Sometimes a scene may be unsafe. Examples include: spilled chemicals, escaping poisonous gas, steam, smoke, or fire; downed electrical lines, confined spaces, traffic. If these or other dangers exist, do not go near the victim. Stay at a safe distance and call 911 or the workplace emergency number for help. Leave dangerous situations to professionals.

Click, whirrrrrrrr

Leave dangerous situations to professionals.

Leave dangerous situations to professionals.

Leave dangerous situations to professionals.

Leave dangerous situations.

Leave dangerous situations.

Leave,

leave,

leave—”

“LEAVE! LEAVE!”

A raven’s swing flapped as the great black bird came to rest atop the courtyard’s wall. “Leave! Leave!” it cried.

Luke and Isaac both startled.

“What the…” Isaac trailed off.

The raven turned its black head one way then the other. Feathers around its throat puffed as it gloated. “Haw! Haw!”

Luke’s eyes narrowed, teeth gritted. “It’s just a bird,” he whispered.

“Right?” answered Isaac.

“Yeah, yeah…” breathed Luke. He watched the words curl into the air. “Birds don’t talk.” Then he pursed his lips. “We need to focus.”

How much time had passed? The mirage was filed away. He’d deal with it later.

“One and two and three and four…”

Isaac leaned down and delivered two rescue breaths.

Her body jerked, head lolling listlessly. Luke recalled the black and white photograph: blue eyes and a winning smile.

“Let me know when you need to switch,” said Isaac.

Luke ignored him. Sweat dripped down the bridge of his nose. His arms ached. Time continued to tick by. He checked for a pulse and was met by the same stillness. “This isn’t how the story goes.”

“Switch out, Luke,” ordered Isaac.

Luke blinked rapidly. “I can do this.”

It was dry, why was it so dry? The air burned his nose. Blood thundered in his ears. It rattled his skull like shrapnel on a brick roof. Suddenly his mouth filled with the taste of sulphur. Lights popped in his eyes.

He couldn’t freeze again. Luke violently shook his head.

“Twenty minutes,” said Sulley, returning. “We’ve gotta call it. I can’t get any signal. The mist’s getting bad.”

Once more, Luke positioned himself above Grace. He interlaced his fingers on her chest and locked his elbows. “One and two—”

Isaac sat back, shaking his head. “She’s dead.”

“I can do this.”

“She’s gone.”

Luke’s voice shook. “This is part of the story, I can do this.”

Isaac grabbed Luke by the sleeve. “C’mon, Luke. We need to go.”

“I’m not crazy, this is proof—she’s proof I’m not fucking crazy!”

Isaac took Luke by the collar and with all his strength dragged him to eye level. “Brother, look at me. Hey. Listen.”

“I’m not fucking crazy,” Luke repeated.

“You’re not crazy. We know, we can see it. She’s gone, but this isn’t over. Right?”

Luke managed to nod.

“We’re in the dark here, you need to keep it together.”

Once again, Luke bobbed his head. Isaac was right. What was he doing? He wasn’t in control of himself. Everything was in a fog, somehow externally directed. This place, whatever was wrong with it, wanted him to react like this.

Luke took one deep breath, then another. His heart rate lessened and his limbs relaxed.

Slowly, Isaac released him. “Okay, so what’s next?”

“We need to take pictures and bring it back to the station.”

“Good. Okay, let’s do it.” Yet as he conceded, Luke felt anxiety prick at his gut. Nothing was right.

“The light is changing,” observed Isaac.

Indeed, shadows began to bend and warp. The sun, which had briefly shown its timid face, was weakening. Mist poured in from the forest and cloaked their surroundings in a thick white.

“Should we take her with us?” asked Sulley.

“No,” sighed Luke. His eyes avoided Grace’s body, choosing to watch the raven on the wall. “We should leave as quick as we can.”

Haw! Haw! The raven took to the air and disappeared.

The wind stopped. The sounds stopped. It was dead quiet.

Luke held his breath.

Then, a cacophony of hyena-like laughter erupted.

“What the hell was that?” Sulley demanded.

“It’s them,” hissed Luke. “Forget this. Let’s go—”

“To our delight, the flies come to the honey!”

The voice arrived before she did. Eityre stepped out of the mist and onto the white stone of the castle wall. A black feathered cloak was fastened to her shoulders. It billowed with a life of its own. “You’ve returned!” Eityre smiled with her tiny teeth. “And you brought friends. Isn’t that lovely. Not so fun as you, Mr. Gatelin, but who am I to deny guests. They might not dream as you do, may not think as you. It is difficult for us to play like this. After all, there are bad dreams—terrible ones—for those who so unwisely choose where they rest their heads. Yes, this is not as fun a game, but we shall play together all the same. They’ve come against better judgement. That is enough.”

Her bare foot, pale, hovered over the edge. For a moment, Luke expected her to take that step. Perhaps she’d hover. She didn’t. Instead, she tossed her proud head and spoke once more:

“Youth and beauty are all good things,” the woman continued, “but you know it is simple. When you are starving, do you crave cake? No. You want meat. Our Grace is sweet, but we find the blood of heroes ever so toothsome.”

Luke recalled the pages from Grace’s letter: Their youth is retained by the lifeblood of a maiden fair. Their vigour and might are augmented through the consumption of the hearts belonging to valiant men fallen in battle.

Pine branches trembled in anticipation.

“Ever Westward we marched, processing to the end of the world like a flame.” She slowed her words, savouring each syllable. “This… this is our wild hunt and you are our prey.”

Sulley neared, guarding their backs. “I think there’s someone else here,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” grimly confirmed Luke. His eyes searched the visible corners of the courtyard. Slowly, he reached around his back for his rifle. “There’s a whole family of ‘em.”

“What do we do?” asked Isaac.

They were a long way from Rackham county; a long way from the coffee pot, his desk, badge, and half-read novels. The stars were asleep, their unblinking eyes closed. The ground was soft beneath his boots. It was all very, very real.

Luke racked his gun. “Aim for the head.”

to be continued…