<\/p>\n
There. A moment of darkness. He crouched behind the tree, the night
\nrain hard on his head and shoulders and the leaves sinking beneath his
\nboots. The shadows gathered in the mist around the security light,
\nsucking it out, taking the house further away from the real world. He
\nstood, hands shaking, and held his breath.<\/p>\n
Inside, it was happening again.<\/p>\n
He wasn’t about to move from behind the safety of the tree. Out
\nof sight as the side door opened, seemingly on its own. He watched the
\nyellow light from the kitchen as it vanished behind impossible shadow.
\nTonight, there and then and again, he stood helpless.<\/p>\n
He flipped open his reporter’s notebook.<\/p>\n
The most fascinating thing, the most beautiful thing about Humanity, is He drew even lines through each sentence, then started again. His heart Back bedroom.<\/p>\n She was writing, her short hair framing her face. She was concentrating on a journal, broad, cursive strokes.<\/p>\n She sat back and read the words again. A final letter. His phantom The door opened, the hall outside dark. Heidi sucked in a breath Her journal flipped into the air and exploded into 50 pages, spinning Something grabbed her legs and, now, she did scream as she was lifted The sound of the outside world is all around me now. I hear the water She tried to move, but could only stare down at the blood on the floor. “It’s his fault!” she screamed into the shadow. “It was him<\/em>!”<\/p>\n She was sobbing now, out of control, holding up dripping red hands and He had –<\/p>\n “The world is mad!” She muttered, staring now at her hands. “This is wrong. You’re wrong. This is wrong.”<\/p>\n She looked up into the shadow and she thrust her chin out, snuffed “You want me to justify myself? You want me to speak? You like these dramatics?”<\/p>\n She paused, wondering if her heart had stopped. She felt nothing. A world beyond pain and, with that thought, she smiled.<\/p>\n “We are always punished for obeying desires. The status quo – ”<\/p>\n “But belief is simply the act of following – ”<\/p>\n The rain is picking up. I hear it but I don’t feel it. God, I hate my She blinked. The shadow did not respond. “No…” A whisper.<\/p>\n She felt something grow from her thighs, rocketing through her body She is alive in that instant. More than ever before but, as she starts The lights flicker on, the security light glares into life and he steps back into shadow.<\/p>\n He watches as something spills out of the window at the rear of the Finished.<\/p>\n The Very smelled blood. Next month, it would be time for another woman * * * *<\/p>\n In the light of day, he always felt awkward. It was how a criminal They called her mad. She lived in a house alone. 37 years old, she was She would bleed soon and, with that thought, he jerked and looked Her friends tried to set her up with men, but nothing worked out. She He’d spent the last two centuries looking for common traits. Perhaps he was the pathetic one. It was inevitable.<\/p>\n He made a note – \u2018inevitable.’ He liked the way that word looked on Something struck him, then. He shuddered and his throat dried out. He He was close enough to warn her. But what could he say? You’re a woman of power? You’re marked now. The Very kills.<\/p>\n She smelled like detergent. Tide. It was striking, in a chemical way. The Very moved on scent. Could it be fooled?<\/p>\n “What are you reading?” What was he doing? Talking to her. His eyes She turned the book in her hands. Fury<\/em>. His eyes followed She wouldn’t finish it. He wanted to make a note.<\/p>\n “I haven’t read it,” is what he said. It took a long time, but she seemed frozen, awkward.<\/p>\n “You should.” She replied sheepishly.<\/p>\n He felt her eyes moving across him and, somewhere deep within, he “Long weekend coming up,” he said automatically, his mind busy running through the situation at hand.<\/p>\n “Yes.”<\/p>\n That was it. She knew.<\/p>\n “You have the look of an Earthy woman.”<\/p>\n She smiled, glanced sideways, then turned back. Ahead of the game.<\/p>\n “Jacob.” He said. A false name.<\/p>\n He knew hers, but listened to her say it anyway. It was pretty. He “Are you a writer?” she asked.<\/p>\n “I’m an observer.” He replied.<\/p>\n She smiled. “You are. I’m trying to place the accent.”<\/p>\n “I’m an odd mix. But, for the moment, I’m from right here in DC.”<\/p>\n “For the moment?”<\/p>\n “Yes.”<\/p>\n She sat back. “Well, my stop is next.”<\/p>\n “I hope to see you again.”<\/p>\n This caught her off guard. She looked frightened, but then nodded and * * * *<\/p>\n Oh, the first signs of action. You don’t need to look up at the moon She wouldn’t finish it.<\/p>\n But I wait. I wait and watch, my breath catching in my throat and my He supposed he was a bad man.<\/p>\n Should he write that? Too late. Now they knew. The shadow paused in her He glanced up. “I’m going in.” He said to the notebook. Inside, The Very shimmered slightly.<\/p>\n He stepped onto her porch and through the open door into a sunken He stepped forward, his hand trailing along a bookshelf, gliding “I’d like you to hear something,” He said to her, keeping a respectful distance between them.<\/p>\n The Very held her transfixed. She had a look of wonder in her eyes. He “Do you like history?” he asked her.<\/p>\n Now her eyes flicked to him, she moved her head to the side and, slowly, extended the knife.<\/p>\n “You are a woman of power.” He said. He looked sideways to the tanned, She wouldn’t finish it.<\/p>\n “Run.” He said.<\/p>\n She shook her head, not comprehending.<\/p>\n He looked back at her, held her hazel eyes, unblinking, “Run.”<\/p>\n In the space of a heartbeat, he recognized the music. It was that Petty In his eyes, everything had slowed down, like it does when you face He wanted to touch her. He wanted to take her, like a man once had in a “Run!” he screamed at her, his voice full of harsh command. She leapt, The Very scattered into a thousand points of shadow, swirling around He smiled, looking up at the beast, and raised his reporter’s notebook “Now what?”<\/p>\n The Very shuddered and the notebook rose into the air, spun, and “I can lie. I can write anything. I can send you running blindly into the night just as easily as I can deliver her to you.”<\/p>\n The Very made a motion and a sound that was nothing close to human, Slowly, he took the notebook and flipped it open. The Very floated a
\nOne AM.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nthe open hand. The greeting. Hello. A thousand thousand generations
\nlifting their hands in the air and saying hello. Palms outward, the
\nessence of all that we are. We are the fist or we are the open hand.<\/p>\n
\nwasn’t in it, but he had to do it. He would make this one short and
\nsimple.<\/p>\n
\nHeidi Welch.<\/em><\/p>\n
\n25 years old.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\nhands still hot on her, even behind the haze of the pills. She hated
\nhim. She hated what she had written to him. Why even bother with a
\nletter? She went to tear out the page, hurl the book across the room,
\ntry to build a scream from a place where no more screams existed. In
\nthe hall, she heard a noise. Had her sister come home so soon? She’d
\nsee the pills, the vodka. Heidi tried to stand up, but only succeeded
\nin falling out of the chair.<\/p>\n
\nApproached from the hall. Incapacitated. Mix of pills and alcohol.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\nbetween her teeth. She was caught in that strange, tilting feeling that
\nalways came with alcohol. It gave her a sense of the unreal. A shadow
\nmoved across the room.<\/p>\n
\nIt takes the book.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\nin a chaotic, screaming wind. She covered her face with both arms and
\nspun around onto her stomach.<\/p>\n
\nThe usual approach.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\ninto the air. She slammed against the ceiling and the air left her
\nlungs, the jarring force distant in her drug haze. She felt something
\nslip in her back, then she was thrown across the room. The wall slammed
\nagainst her like his fists had when she had struggled against him,
\nthough it didn’t seem as terrible. Then, a moment of darkness.<\/p>\n
\nAnd, there.<\/em><\/p>\n
\non the trees, dripping to the ground. The rustling and murmuring of
\nlife in this little suburban forest. Sounds that should be our very
\nnature but have been denied for so long that they are now mystery, a
\nsource of fear, noises that terror and weakness make.<\/p>\n
\nHer blood. She sat cross-legged, leaning against the wall, stunned. Her
\nblood was spilling from somewhere, coating her shirt. She didn’t know
\nwhat was bleeding, so she started to cry. For the blood, for the
\njournal, for the final letter, for what she had done and what had been
\ndone to her.<\/p>\n
\nscreaming mindlessly, though she could have sworn she was talking. In
\nher head she heard the words but, when they came out, she might as well
\nhave been speaking in tongues. He had done this to her! He had –<\/p>\n
\nRape.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\nIt is listening.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\nblood up her nose and spit it into the shadow. “Penance.” She shouted.
\n“Lurk in the darkness like a criminal!”<\/p>\n
\nNo comment.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\nThere, see? You’ve just given her strength. Is this your purpose?
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\n— they have belief.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\n–another person’s convictions. <\/em><\/p>\n
\nhands. Isn’t that insane? I blame them for going against my will. Those
\nveins, the blood beneath this pale skin boiling. It’s not me. This is
\nnot my confession.<\/p>\n
\nlike an electric shock. She gasped and wrapped her arms around her
\nbreasts and her mouth fell open.<\/p>\n
\nShe knows now. Too bad. Now you’re toying with her.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\nto stand, the shadow takes the light from the room. Her scream fades
\ninto darkness.<\/p>\n
\nA moment.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\nhouse and lumbers through the woods. A rare glimpse of The Very. The
\nbeast seems darker everytime, as if it gathers more shadows with each
\nkill. When he first saw it, so long ago now he had lost track, it was
\nalmost a grey mist. But so many women gone and it had become stronger
\nthan he had ever thought. Than he had ever feared. He looked back at
\nthe house and swallowed hard.<\/p>\n
\n1:14 AM<\/em><\/p>\n
\nof power. She had been selected ahead of time, of course. Sometimes, he
\nwondered if they’d all been selected long in advance. As far as he
\nunderstood, though, it was a month to month thing. The Very scented
\nthem when they bled and zeroed in on them. Or, rather, he did the
\nzeroing in. The Very didn’t see things like normal people did. Without
\nhim, it was blind.<\/p>\n
\nfelt, he figured. The type of criminal who had a conscience, though he
\nwasn’t sure he had one. He leaned forward as the subway train plunged
\nunderground, taking little comfort as the six cars rattled down the
\ntunnel. Beneath the car’s lights, he always felt exposed. Everyone was
\nlooking.<\/p>\n
\non her own except for plants and books. He wondered why they were
\nalways so bookish. Was intellect some sort of common trait? Something
\nthat unlocked the common trait? He made a note to look into that. She
\nsat in a seat facing him, buried deep into her latest read. He had
\nmissed the title. He smiled and felt an uncontrollable urge to reach
\nout and take a fistful of her graying brown hair, maybe smash her head
\nagainst the Plexiglas window. Save her from what The Very would do to
\nher. From his violence, she could return. The Very offered no such hope.<\/p>\n
\naround as if The Very would come lumbering on at the next station and
\nswallow her whole. He took a deep breath and leaned back, staring out
\nat his reflection in the window.<\/p>\n
\nwas aloof, cold. Well, shy. That was the big problem. No social skills.
\nAt 37, it seemed strangely pathetic. He wanted to shake her and tell
\nher to surround herself with friends and lovers. Maybe The Very would
\nhesitate, then. Maybe that was a common trait, because they were always
\nalone.<\/p>\n
\npaper. When he closed his reporter’s notebook and looked up, she was
\nwatching him. Quickly, she averted her gaze first to the empty seat
\nbeside him and then back to her book, though she shifted uncomfortably.<\/p>\n
\ncould taste something vile on his tongue, and he stared blankly until
\nshe looked back up and met his gaze.<\/p>\n
\nwere wide, he felt like he was going to throw up. She looked to be in
\nabout the same state. “I mean…” He stuttered.<\/p>\n
\nthe contours of the Empire State Building on the cover. For some
\nreason, that cover always made him think of terrorism. Such petty fears
\ncompared to what The Very could do.<\/p>\n
\nrealized what he must do. She was not the first to make a connection on
\nthis level and he couldn’t put a finger on what was different, but the
\nrealization hit him. What must be done. Why now? Tired days, long
\nnights…<\/p>\n
\nfingered the reporter’s notebook, which he had set on his knee.<\/p>\n
\nsaid the same. The subway stopped and she quickly detrained. He flipped
\nopen the notebook and made several notes.<\/p>\n
\nand the stars to know when it’s going to start. The darkness of the
\nside porch was split by a sliver of yellow light, the door opening to
\nspill the inside of the house across the deck chairs and out onto the
\nlawn. She was standing there, in jeans and a shirt, silhouetted against
\nthe doorway. She smoked. He didn’t have that down in his notes. He
\nshould have smelled it.<\/p>\n
\nI feel her eyes moving across the dark line of trees, past me. This is
\nmy last chance. If I were to move, to step towards her, she would run
\nback in the house. Call the police. I could save her.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nhands clutched at my sides. I’m smiling, excited, my heart beating
\nheavy in my head. I watch the darkness gather, come between me and the
\nhouse. When the house is again in my line of sight, the doorway is
\nempty. A rectangle of light in this black night. Now for the
\ninteresting part.<\/p>\n
\nI covered my face, the train pulling into the stations and the alien
\nvoice on the PA system. More of an echo than anything else. An echo of
\na language lost to us. Her hair was chestnut once. In the lights, it
\nstill is, sometimes. From the shadows, I reached out to touch her. Then
\nI traveled past her to hold the door open. She didn’t recognize me from
\nbefore. Of course. You knew that would be the case, didn’t you? She
\nhalf-turned to acknowledge the gesture, then she was leaving the
\nstation and going into the dark parking lot. She knew I was following.
\nShe’d been followed before. She moved faster into the night, into the
\nworld gone mad, into her part of the city. I was too close this time,
\ntoo distracted. She was aware.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\nliving room, music floating out of the rectangle. He’d blown her cover.
\nWhat was the music? He strained to listen, then shrugged and continued
\nwriting.<\/p>\n
\nHer house is warm, a place of books and magazines. A place where the memory of youth burns brighter than the real world.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\nliving room, a shag carpet against his boots. The room opened into the
\nbrightly lit kitchen and she stood not 20 feet from the door.
\nImmediately, she spun. “Oh, God.” She said, clutching a bread knife to
\nher chest as a plate clattered to the floor. There was a silent moment
\nthat she wanted to fill with a scream but couldn’t. It wouldn’t be long
\nbefore she did, though. He could hear it building in her, he could
\nalways hear screams before they came. So could The Very, which now
\nstood somewhere behind him. She was stunned. If it were just he, the
\nscream would have pierced the night. In that moment, though, he could
\nsee with her eyes. With The Very behind him, he was a dark silhouette
\nagainst absolute blackness, a movie effect Hollywood only wished they
\ncould perfect. A shadow on a shadow. He stepped forward and, quickly,
\nshe recognized him. The growing scream remained stifled and, now, she
\njust said, “Oh, fuck.” The word spoken with horror and disgust, the way
\nit would sound in a society that had not become used to it. The way it
\nsounded to people who cringed when they heard it.<\/p>\n
\nthrough dust and gently touching the spines of the books. He looked at
\nthe titles, these friends of hers. Her eyes had moved to The Very. He
\ndidn’t want to look at it, because both he and it knew that a rule had
\nbroken.<\/p>\n
\nwas nothing to her, and that made him mad. He flipped open his little
\nnotebook, cleared his throat, then read.<\/p>\n
\nHorsemen in the street. Two officers, though the sounds bring back
\ndeeper, ancient memories. If they had left me alone, if they had backed
\noff, then things would have been different. I wouldn’t have to go
\nthrough every day like this, drifting and moving through a thousand
\ndifferent cultures and stalking a prey that had forgotten its power.
\nEven the name was lost to those who were involved – \u2018The Very.’ What
\nwas that? It came from something…a bastardization of some phrase of
\nincantation. The name of the beast was lost to the elders, but that
\ndidn’t stop it. That didn’t stop anything.
\n<\/em><\/p>\n
\noaken table. Her dinner was a salad, a roll, a glass of wine.<\/p>\n
\nsong. Mary Jane. He missed his youth, even though it was far different
\nfrom how children lived today. His youth was hard and empty. Everyone’s
\nwas then.<\/p>\n
\ndeath. The moment of clarity. That’s what they meant when they said
\nlife flashed before your eyes. You don’t review your existence, you
\njust get to live an entirely different life in the space of a couple of
\nseconds. Centuries playing out in slow motion.<\/p>\n
\nparking garage ten years ago. She had never recovered. Perhaps that was
\nthe common trait.<\/p>\n
\nthe knife clattering, the scream finally bursting from her as she spun
\nmadly and then dashed down the hallway.<\/p>\n
\nthe room like insects and then reforming into the larger beast. It
\npulsed and seethed and tried to move, but he was staring at the salad.
\nThe light in the kitchen flickered and died and he turned to face The
\nVery, shadow on shadow, darkness lingering.<\/p>\n
\nup to it. Gently, he put it down on the table and stepped away.<\/p>\n
\nslammed against his chest. It wasn’t forceful, but the creature held it
\npinned there. He felt another pressure against his back, keeping him
\nfrom moving.<\/p>\n
\nnothing that could be interpreted into language, though he had come to
\nthink of it as a hiss, just for the sake of description, which was
\nalways important to him.<\/p>\n
\npen towards him and he took it, as well. He opened the notebook and
\npressed the pen against the paper. He wondered if he could control
\nhimself as ink bled out through the veins of the narrow page. Then he
\nmade the first strokes in his neat cursive and The Very screamed into
\nmotion.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[352],"tags":[353,404,339,127],"class_list":["post-2493","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-gsarchive","tag-gs-archive-2004-2008","tag-nachos-lousy-novel","tag-vignettes","tag-writing"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2493","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2493"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2493\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2777,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2493\/revisions\/2777"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2493"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2493"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2493"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}