Fading Light: An Anthology of the Monstrous: Tim Marquitz (3 page)

She wanted to speak, to tell Paul to leave her alone,
but she couldn’t. Instead, her mouth opened and closed like a
goldfish; silent gasps only she could hear.

“Amanda! Please!” Now he was sobbing,
slamming the door with open hands. “It’s crazy out here.
I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I—”

Amanda listened, but no further words came. Everything
was deathly silent. Maybe her prayers had been answered and Paul had
simply given up.

She tiptoed around the sofa, not taking her eyes off the
front door. Her heart pounded so fast that her arms and legs trembled
with each beat. The threatening migraine was no longer there. It had
been replaced with something much worse, a pain that no amount of
aspirin could ease. Again she panicked, putting two and two together
to get five. Was the agony inside her head caused by the fact that
she had come into contact with the cloud? Was she now a host to
thousands of insectile creatures?

She reached the stairs and put a foot on the bottom
step. Her sudden fatigue might not allow her to climb to the top,
though she would fucking
try
.

She managed to get to the third step when the door
crashed in behind her. She turned just in time to see Paul rushing
towards her, his eyes wide and bloodshot, his mouth contorted into a
pained grimace. She tried to scream, but it was too late. Paul
thumped into her, crushing her back against the stairs. Her head
smashed against a baluster, splitting her temple. As white stars
danced between her eyes and eyelids, she could feel Paul grabbing at
her, trying to tear her apart.

“I said let me fucking
in
!”
he screamed, though not in any voice she recognized. His hands
slipped around her throat. She opened her eyes to find his face only
an inch away from hers.

Then his mouth opened.

She could see legs, hundreds of tiny, spindly legs,
creeping their way out of his throat, maneuvering their way around
his teeth, and then they were spilling out of his mouth and into
hers.

She closed her eyes, gasping and choking as the things
slipped down her throat. Paul was too strong for her; preternaturally
strong. She couldn’t push him off, couldn’t even move his
hand away from her neck.

All she could do was
accept
.

Paul kissed her once on the lips and rolled off so they
lay side by side on the stairs.

That is where they remained as the ash cloud danced in
whorls through the shattered door, the smell of sulphur more
discernible than ever. Amanda reached down and held Paul’s
hand.

Then they waited.

I am above you. I am below you. I surround you. I
keep you safe. I’m your cover. I answer to no one, and I do as
I see fit. I show mercy to those who believe, and grow tired of those
who take me for granted.

I am above you.

It took most of his life for twenty-six year old Steve
Burke to come to terms with his unwanted hereditarian enigma; at
least it wasn’t cancer. At least, he was discovering he could
deal with his fear of open spaces on his own thanks to his customized
concoction of natural herbs and over-the-counter muscle relaxers.
What idiots these physicians were! Xanax? Prozac? The stuff was evil
as far as he was concerned.

The excitement of the coming weekend caused joy to erupt
in his mind, temporarily killing the thoughts of his mental
disability. At 6:00 p.m., he clocked out with the rest of the dogs at
Johanssen’s Imports, then prepared himself for the torturous
walk to his car.

In the darkening night.

In the center of the parking lot.

Steve quickly ducked into the men’s room, popped
two large valerian-root pills and two Motrin’s into his dry
mouth, then stuck his head under the faucet. The daily dose washed
down uncomfortably but quickly. He stepped up to the rear exit of the
former shipping warehouse and mentally prepared himself for the dash
to his 2005 Taurus.

OK, dude. The rope is attached to your waist and is
tied tightly to a metal pole that’s cemented forty-five feet
below the ground.

Steve walked across the main driveway, darting to the
first set of freshly planted trees. Thank God for trees and poles ...
his gravitational aids. His car was twenty-two spaces away from them.
No trees or poles anywhere near it. He tugged on the rope to make
sure it was tight and eventually let go of the nearest tree.

All right,
he thought while fishing the keys from
his jacket’s inside pocket.
The gravity seems strong. It
doesn’t look like anyone’s going to fall off the planet
today.

Steve Burke dashed to the black vehicle, his head tilted
low and spazzing from side to side. He knew a few of his co-workers
watched from their parked cars and probably wondered what he was on,
but this was necessary. This was the knowledge everyone else lacked.

“Steve? You okay?” asked Wilma Betson, the
company’s secretary for the past fifteen years.

Without looking at her, he yelled “Yes. Enjoy your
weekend, Wilm.”
Go ahead. Look at me. Laugh at me. Mock me.
I’ll be the one laughing when the celestial attraction gives
out. You’ll see. If you only had an idea of what you’ve
misplaced your faith in.

He made it to the car. Within four seconds he was seated
behind the wheel and slamming the key into the ignition. He had to
make it back to the trees before the vehicle became weightless.
Before it hurled him into the abyss. His heart rate elevated.

Ahhhhh, yes. Thank you, dear God.
He made it.
Stopping alongside the island of a dozen or so trees, he threw the
gear into park and regained his composure. His back was now a river
of perspiration. After a minute of breathing deeply and exhaling
slowly, he was ready to follow his usual route home. It had taken
Steve a ridiculous amount of time to chart out a path that kept him
next to telephone poles, trees, and signs. There were a few seconds
where he’d be in one totally open space, but he was growing
used to it; the gravitational force at the intersection of Mulby and
Dexter Avenues always seemed friendly.

It is my nature to consume. It is my nature to
conquer. I am responsible for most of the nine hundred thousand who
go missing each year. My hunger requires twenty-five hundred per day,
but I’m usually a couple hundred short—intentionally
—as to not cause too much notice until my pit demands the final
feeding; until my guide has opened the door to the next world.

Home at last. Steve was surprised at the small amount of
traffic for a Friday evening. He pulled between two large trees,
which guarded his driveway, and untied the rope that was created in
his brain when he left work thirty minutes earlier. He could taste
the large pie with mushrooms and onions he was about to order. Now
completely drained, he needed some quick refueling.

After ordering his pizza, Steve clicked the answering
machine.

“Hate to ruin your Saturday, but the boss needs
everyone in for four hours tomorrow. Thursday’s load is finally
coming in around seven, or so, and it has to get stocked. Any
problems leave a message on the machine. Take care.”

Crap.
His Friday night plans were over. He knew
he had to go in, being the lowest man on the totem pole.
I can’t
get a break,
he thought, realizing he’d have to go through
another day of stressful, panic-easing rituals just to get to and
from work. Thoughts of starting an Internet business from home made
their way into Steve’s mind. He had to do something. Soon.

By the end of Letterman’s monologue, Steve Burke
was out cold, still dressed except for his black work boots. A small
hole in the left one allowed water and other storeroom liquids to
creep in and stain his thick sock. Two slices of pizza remained on
the kitchen table, creating a feast for the flies that weaseled in
the back door with him five hours earlier.

The time is at hand. I wonder if the inhabitants of
the next world will be as suspicious of each other as these are. They
blame my feeding on kidnappers. On running away. On stress. Even on
abductions by beings from other planets.

Only a few see that I’m above them, that I keep
them safe.

And they fear me.

The black Taurus sped down the congestion free street in
all its pride. It wasn’t much but was what Steve could afford,
and he was proud of it.

I wish it was like this every day.
His anxiety of
falling off the planet was greatly eased when he worked the weekends,
having the whole road to himself, with the exception of a few
annoying delivery trucks. In less than half the time as a routine
workday, Steve pulled into Johannsen’s Imports parking lot,
lucky enough to get a spot next to the tree-island.

Inside, the place was as busy as any other day. Mr.
Johanssen must have been extremely pleased that most of his crew
showed up without complaint. He looked over the vast work area with
his feet up on the large bay window, probably surprised to see no one
fooling around.

“Steve. Give us a hand over here.”

“No problem, John.”

Although only employed at Johannsen’s for under a
year, Steve rapidly learned the ropes of Brooklyn’s largest
sea-front warehouse. Men forklifted the new merchandise onto
ten-level racks, Steve one of the few who stood by to guide them in
on the more difficult angles.

Before anyone became too tired, the latest shipment was
put away, and it wasn’t even noon. Close to thirty employees
went to grab a cup of coffee from the small break room before heading
over to the punch clock.

Steve was already preparing himself for the trip to his
car. Sure, the walk in was great, but now he’d be leaving with
everyone, and the pressure was on. The pressure to carry himself like
a normal, gravity trusting human being was no easy task when
surrounded by them; and for what reason he (and his countless
physicians) had no clue.

Bathroom. Pills. Vitamins. Head under faucet.
Dash-to-the-rear-exit. He stood by the door, the sound of the early
70’s punch clock hammering away. The warehouse exodus had
begun. He attached the rope to his waist, tugging it to make sure it
was secured.

Perfect.

I settled here before man was formed. They have
sustained me well. But the time has come. My guide has spoken.

I answer to no one, and I do as I see fit. I show
mercy to those who believe and grow tired of those who take me for
granted.

I am above you.

The first batch of men left, laughing and making plans
to meet up at a local sports bar.

Ungrateful bastards.

The next group punched out and departed, also laughing
and discussing their evening’s plans and afternoon’s
little league games.

Go ahead. Laugh about it. Laugh about everything.

It was time. Steve stuck his left foot out, noticing the
ground felt unusually soft. He kept his left one in, noticing his
co-workers looking around, trying to keep their footing.

Oh, dear God ... please, help me.

They began to drift upwards. At least that’s how
it looked to Steve from the safety of the large doorway, which he
held onto for stability. It was as if they were falling off a
colossal ceiling. Their screams must’ve been heard by the boss,
who came running outside, his own feet slowly leaving the ground.

“What’s going on? Heyyyyyy … ”

Steve started to float out of the doorway, then began
falling fast. His co-workers were finally experiencing what some of
them had made fun of him for.

He saw his obese employer falling rapidly, passing up
the rest of the crew. Within seconds, Steve figured, they would all
be eaten up by the ozone layer or whatever waited for them beyond the
blue sky.

The time had finally come, but Steve, who had prepared
most of his life for this moment in anxiety and continual stress,
remained surprisingly calm. His heart raced upon the initial
realization of what was happening, but something began to ease his
fear. He could no longer see his boss or co-workers, and knew his
rope was holding him to the earth, or at least keeping him from
falling at their speed. He reveled in the beauty and irony of it all.
He was supposed to be the one whom gravity would no longer accept. He
was supposed to be the panic-infested agoraphobic. But now, like an
astronaut outside a space shuttle, Steve Burke dangled from a long
rope, still relaxed, not wondering what would happen next. Not
caring. His world, as always feared, had turned upside down.

The Silence was beyond serene. It was beautiful. And for
some reason, the fading screams of his co-workers brought him
comfort.

Steve relaxed as the earth shrank underneath him.

The blue sky turned dark. Breathing became more labored.
The sky turned darker still. Darker than midnight.

When Steve reached down to give a reassuring tug on his
rope, he realized there was none. His stomach dropped as he
frantically felt around, a life line nowhere to be found.

The atmosphere became increasingly dark, as did the
unheard of speed that distanced him from the planet.

I’ve shown mercy to those who believed until
the last possible moment, and grew tired of those who took me for
granted.

I am above you. I am sated. I leave with your light.

I bring the darkness along.