The Gate 2 Part 8

Angela dashed out of the kitchen fast as she could. The waist-deep water fought against her with nightmarish force. Tears streamed down her cheeks. In a few moments she was out of the apartment and back in the hallway. Still more clumps of shimmering light approached. She turned away and waded toward the stairs. She could feel their slimy fingers on her heels. The roof access door, still open, was only a few feet away.

Gasping and dripping water, she scurried up the stairs and never once looked back. When she got to the roof, she slammed the door shut and slid down it until her wet b.u.t.t smacked the concrete.

She sat there and cried, with her head in her hands, for hours.

September 15th It was night. Angela's stomach cramped. She lay on her back in the middle of the roof, staring up at a star-filled sky. She traced lines from one star to another, making pictures in her mind. Every one came out looking like Tommy.

Another pang wrenched her gut, and she moaned. She hadn't eaten in days. The diseased rainwater she drank tore up her insides. Her throat burned with every sip, and when she looked at her reflection in a puddle, she saw her cheeks were pallid and sunken. She looked like a corpse.

Growing bored and depressed, she rolled over and curled into a ball. She needed sleep, though it seemed sleep was all she did. She closed her eyes and hoped the next time she woke up it wouldn't be in the middle of a nightmare.

September 22nd Dry weather arrived, and when it did, the seas stopped rising. It was only two feet from the top of the apartment building. Every so often, if there was a strong wind, waves would lash over the sides, covering the roof with brown, tainted water.

Not that Angela cared much. She had no food, no water, no hope. She lingered in the same spot for hours, staring at the cracks in the concrete below her. Her lips were dry and split, her body emaciated and dying.

Her eyes started playing tricks on her. As dehydration set in, she began to see ships in the distance; giant sea-faring vessels that towed behind them nets filled with the remains of all the people she'd known. These ships always stayed just beyond the horizon, painted gray against the curve of the earth. To her mind's eyes they were as big as cities.

She should have been frightened, but she wasn't.

Another crack caught her attention, and she watched it.

September 26th "King me."

Angela placed one checker on another and grinned. "Good job, Tommy," she said. "Why can't I ever beat you?"

"I'm just good," he replied.

She looked in his eyes. They were so kind and loving. She could gaze into them forever.

"So, what're you lovebirds doing?" asked another voice. Angela turned around. It was Rachid Freeman. He sat in a beach chair, bouncing his little daughter in his lap. He smiled, and his white teeth reflected the sunlight. Roberta approached, handed him a gla.s.s of iced tea, and squeezed his hand.

"It's so beautiful out today," she said.

"Sure is. Sun's shining, sand's not too hot, water's cool... could be the best day ever."

Angela grinned. She ran her hand through the sand. They were right. It was cool. She giggled, thinking herself silly for not noticing before.

"What's so funny?" asked Tommy.

"Oh, nothing," she replied. "I can just be ridiculous, you know?"

They reclined on a towel that hadn't been there a second ago and let the sun warm their flesh. "Can I ask you a question?" asked Tommy.

"Shoot."

"What do you want to do with your life?"

Angela c.o.c.ked her head. "Do with my life? What kind of question is that?"

"Just curious."

"Oh, well, I don't know, really. Haven't thought about it much. I guess I'd like to have a good job and..." She bit her lip. "No, that's not right. I think, more than anything, I just want to be happy. I want to be in the moment and live. I've seen too many folks live like they're scared of life, and I don't want that to be me."

"So, how'll you pull that off?"

Angela flashed Tommy a mischievous grin. "Right now, by beating you into the water."

She stood up without hesitation and took off. Tommy was right behind her. She dashed across the beach as fast as her legs could carry her and then leapt from the rocks. Tucking her knees to her chest, she plunged beneath the water. As it washed over her she felt soothed by its coolness, especially on a day bright as this one. She wanted to bathe in that feeling forever.

She never came back up.

- This story originally appeared in Unnatural Disasters, edited by Daniel Pyle. To read more about Robert Duperre, who lives in Connecticut and edited this collection, please visit http://theriftonline.com.

THE CANDLE EATERS.

by K. Allen Wood.

Katie Adams cut a white swath through the dark of the woods, a ghost to all but the dead.

The crisp night air was its own special vintage, and it soothed her lungs as she weaved between the shadows. A soft breeze caressed her with the smells of October: smoldering brush piles; damp, hungry soil; the breath of cold brick chimneys just waking from their summer-long slumber.

It was her favorite time of the year. The in-between, when the bushes and trees strutted their autumn wardrobes and the wind endlessly whispered the promise of winter.

She emerged from the woods and into a field on the edge of Farmington Circle. The tall gra.s.s and weeds whipped across her thighs as she ran toward the small isolated community of Bridgetown Pines.

As she reached the sidewalk, she slowed and caught her breath. She plucked a few sticky burrs from the tattered sheets that made up her ghostly costume and cast them away. Under the canopy of oaks that lined the street, Katie let the beauty of twilight calm her. Like a cleansing rain, the night descended and washed away her loneliness, the anger she harbored toward her mother, and the fear of what lay ahead now that her father was gone.

Grief and regret were such destructive things, parasitical emotions that feasted upon sorrow and pain. Katie had learned this the hard way, having played host to the vile things for the past six months, worrying over what could have been done differently, words that could have been said more often. But she had found no answers in what could have been, only in what was. So she'd fought back, fought hard, and though her battle was yet won, though she still struggled with the pain and anger and despair, she had a stranglehold on her suffering.

And she wasn't letting go.

Her mother, on the other hand, had given up, given in to the crippling heartache that weighed down upon them both. Katie felt as though she'd shed more tears for the metaphorical loss of her mother than for the real, knife-to-the-heart pa.s.sing of her father.

Tonight, though, this final October night, she would let it all go, for however brief a moment. Tonight she would once again embrace the wonders of childhood.

For some reason, however, as she continued down the street, her empty pillowcase swinging at her side, Katie had the strange feeling that something was amiss, as if the shadows held secrets best left in the dark. The neighborhood beyond was dead calm, as always; the lawns and shrubbery immaculately groomed and swaying gently in the breeze, but somehow...wrong. The knotted fingers of the trees seemed to loom a bit closer. The symphony of night sounds-insects, birds, small animals rustling in the leaves-was hushed.

Goose b.u.mps p.r.i.c.kled her skin. She picked up her pace.

She tried to push her unease aside, ascribe it to overactive imagination, but the feeling dogged her all the way to 18 Farmington Circle, where it vanished like morning mist.

Katie skipped up the driveway-perhaps a little faster than normal-and onto the cobblestone path leading to the side door. Twin wicker chairs sat empty on the wooden patio, a deck of cards splayed on the table between them as if ghosts were enjoying an evening game of Rummy. On the door before her hung a WELCOME sign haloed by an autumnal wreath, its faux berries like cl.u.s.ters of dark beady eyes. Under their scrutinizing gaze, she rang the doorbell.

She glanced over her shoulder, saw nothing out of the ordinary, and wondered what could have made her feel as though something lurked among the shadows. Knowing the truth of things, she supposed, coming to know the reality of the world, the insidious truth that childhood innocence had kept hidden from her for seventeen years, until it was swiftly revealed in the most agonizing of ways. Loved ones didn't live forever; best friends would sometimes become enemies; and worst of all, life had razor-sharp, poison-filled fangs that could pierce the human heart-her heart. And Katie knew, looking back the way she'd come, literally and figuratively, that darkness always reigned beyond the light.

It wasn't just something that was different. Everything was different.

The door opened and the scent of spiced apples washed over her. Katie turned, closed her eyes and breathed it in. It reminded her of home, of sweet hugs and cookies in the oven. It reminded her of better times.

"Katie! Come in, come in." Mrs. Hapler opened the door wide. "Matthew will be right down."

Mrs. Hapler was made of sweetness and joy, the kind of woman you loved within minutes of meeting her, as if you'd known her your whole life. Katie smiled, but before stepping inside, she held out her pillowcase...

"Trick or treat?"

Looking dismayed and out of character, Mrs. Hapler frowned. "Matthew didn't tell you, did he? Never mind. I'm not surprised. Unfortunately, dear, we don't have any candy."

"Well, that's too bad." Katie stepped inside and Mrs. Hapler closed the door behind her. "Trick it is, then. May I borrow a roll of toilet paper?"

Mrs. Hapler laughed, warm and friendly. "Don't you even think about!" She opened the refrigerator and removed a Diet c.o.ke. "We don't usually get trick-or-treaters here-you know how it is-so Harold and I are going out to dinner at Ca.s.sandra's and then catching a late movie. If he ever gets out of the shower, that is. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you."

"We bought candy our first year here, and no one came. Can you believe that?"

Katie nodded. Bridgetown Pines hadn't been conceived as a retirement community, but for all intents and purposes it had become one. The average age of its residents was just shy of dead. Few children ventured this far north of the city in hopes of getting a handful of wintergreen mints from a few old curmudgeons. And getting a handful of mints was a best-case scenario. The Haplers were the oddity of the neighborhood, still young and sprightly in their forties. Matt was the only kid on the block.

"Not a single person," Mrs. Hapler continued. She tapped the top of the soda can twice, opened it, and took a sip. "And with that big bowl of candy sitting on the table taunting us-I swear Harold and I gained ten pounds a day until it was all gone." She laughed. "But now with his diabetes and all...well, you understand."

Katie's face must have reflected the sadness she'd not yet found a way to hide when she was reminded of her father's pa.s.sing, for Mrs. Hapler walked over, wrapped her in a loving embrace, and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry, dear. I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay," she said, fighting back tears that threatened to ruin her face paint. "I'm fine."

But she wasn't fine, and she wondered if she ever would be.

Her father had been a lifelong diabetic. Six months ago he'd gone to sleep and never woke up. He just slipped away peacefully in the night. She could still remember the morning, the sun slicing through the gaps in her pink blinds, teasing her with its warmth as her mother's wails promised nothing but cold, cold, cold.

As devastated as Katie had been, the worst part of it all was that she'd lost not only her father, but her mother as well. At least it felt that way. Her mother shut down after her father's death, shut everyone and everything out of her life, and descended into a malignant darkness.

Just as the cold hands of despair were reaching up to pull her down into its black depths, Matt bounded into the room and brought a shining smile to her face-Mrs. Hapler's, too. He howled and snarled behind a rubber wolf-mask, making a real show of it. He wore a red-and-black plaid shirt, sleeves cut at the shoulders, and a black hooded sweatshirt underneath. His jeans were ragged and torn, as if he'd been attacked by one of his toothy brethren. A strip of synthetic wolf-hair, from forehead to shoulder, had been dyed green and hair-sprayed into a spiky spine.

"Nice hair," Katie said.

"It's a wohawk," Matt replied, pausing for dramatic effect. "You see what I did there? A punk-rock werewolf."

He howled again.

"Whatever you say, goofball. Hey, I know! Maybe you should join Team Jacob."

"Maybe I should eat your face," he said, pointing a wobbly, elongated finger at her.

"Matthew," Mrs. Hapler said. "How many times have I told you, we don't eat our guests. Especially the nice ones."

"But that's what werewolves do!"

Mrs. Hapler looked at Katie, feigned a sad, contemplative face, and sighed heavily. "He has a point, you know, and since it is Halloween and all, I guess I'll make an exception. But-" she took another sip of her drink "-if you really must eat her face, please do it outside. I just mopped."

"Thanks, Mom! You're the best."

Katie laughed. They always knew how to make her laugh.

Katie and Matt gathered their things and said their good-byes.

"We'll be home sometime after midnight," said Mrs. Hapler. "You two behave, and be careful. And get me a Tootsie Roll."

Then they were out the door, racing down the street and off into the night. They pa.s.sed through the same field Katie had come through earlier in the evening, intoxicated by the nostalgic promise of excitement and adventure.

They didn't see the pale-faced children creeping along the tree line.

Two hours later, with pillowcases full of sweet, sugary booty-Tootsie Pops, Smarties, Kit Kats, Snickers, Milky Ways, and so much more-Katie and Matt entered Bridgetown Pines and turned the corner at the far end of Farmington Circle.

Thick woods flanked both sides of the road, and a scant few streetlights did their futile best to hold back the shadows within. The branches overhead clacked like wind chimes constructed of bones. All around, orange and yellow and red leaves lazily floated to their deaths, soft and peaceful.

Katie shook her head, smiling. "What the h.e.l.l are we going to do with all this candy?"

"Well, I intend to eat it," Matt said, removing his mask and gloves, the transformation back to human far less dramatic than depicted in movies. His face glistened with sweat. "I'm crazy like that."

Katie had a witty comeback lined up, something about agreeing that he was crazy, but the words were swept away in a whirlwind of chatter that exploded within her head, suddenly, painfully, as if she had become hardwired into every cellular network in the world-and everyone was shouting. Her knees buckled.

Matt dropped his pillowcase, reached out and steadied her. "Hey, you okay?"

She saw Matt, his eyes wide with concern, and then looked past him, beyond the curve of the road. What she saw both frightened and fascinated her, but reconciling those feelings amidst the bedlam in her head proved impossible. Waves of pain crashed against the inside of her skull, like the layers of her brain were being burned away.

"Katie," Matt said. "What's wrong?"

The cacophonous buzzing and chatter in Katie's head dissipated, slowly, but words continued to fail her. Instead, she pointed.

Ahead, on Samantha Walker's front lawn, stood a small cherubic figure, curiously strange but equally horrifying. It was naked and without discernable genitalia, ghost-white skin shiny, smooth, like a small mannequin. Its hands were outstretched, cradling a long red candle, a teardrop of flame flickering above it. Wax glistened and dripped like blood between the child-thing's fingers, the contrast striking even in the dark.

The thing stared at them, eyes unblinking, black and emotionless, almost alien.

Something screamed through the quiet but still present static in Katie's head-run run RUN! it seemed to say-but her legs refused to budge.

When Matt turned and saw the thing staring at them, he flinched and leaned back as if preparing to bolt. "What the c.r.a.p is that?"

Katie cleared her throat, found her voice again. "I don't know. What do you think it is?"

"No idea." Matt craned his neck forward and scrunched up his face, as though he were trying to read a road sign far off in the distance. "Was it there before?"

"I don't think so," Katie said. She glanced down the street, and gasped. "Oh my G.o.d, Matt, look! They're everywhere."