MirrorWorld

The monstrous form of my father-in-law is locked in combat with a Dread croc, that is perhaps just defending its territory or was sent by the matriarch—I don’t know. But its interference has bought me time. I don’t indulge the hope that the croc will stop Lyons. He’s too powerful and wields fear in a way few Dread can match. I don’t bother watching the results. Instead, I turn away from the fight and the mirror world, pouring on the speed.

Now that I remember myself, I’m aware of what I can do and the training I’ve received. I’m a little soft from my time in SafeHaven, but I know how to push myself to the limit, and I don’t worry about pushing myself right on past it. So when I pace myself, it’s at a sprint, aiming for the southern end of the park, where a bevy of tourist attractions will help delay what I think could be a losing fight.

My feet slap over pavement, crunch through dirt, and squelch through soggy earth as I make my way through the park. And when an immovable object blocks my path—a tree, fence, or wall—I leap into the mirror world, pass through the obstacle, and land in the real world in time to continue running, undaunted.

A minute later, I feel the first signs of Lyons’s pursuit as a ripple of energy. He’s broadcasting fear like a radio station, pumping it into the airwaves. The park, aside from the people who nearly ran me over, appears to be empty. But they were just passing through. People are either hiding in their homes or part of a mob, but if anyone is unlucky enough to be in the park, they’re going to feel him coming, no doubt spurring future reports of park hauntings. That is, if we’re not all cooked in the meantime. The heavy weight of the backpack over my shoulders is a constant reminder of what’s at stake.

The second sign of Lyons’s closing distance is a constant whispering. It fills my mind, but unlike the incomprehensible Dread language, it’s all in English. Despite recognizing the language, I still have trouble making sense of it as words and sentences overlap. What I do know is that it’s getting louder and is hard to ignore.

I take a look back into the mirror world, but all I can see is swamp.

The path ahead is thickly wooded in both worlds, so I plow straight through the real world, dodging trees and careening through brush. I nearly plow headlong into a chain-link fence but manage to leap up and pass through it in the mirror world. Upon my return to the real world, I immediately dive forward, soaring over the supine form of Snow White, awaiting her prince. I roll back to my feet, but the concrete walkway I’ve landed on is unforgiving and reminds me of the punishment my body has endured.

Three sets of wild-looking eyes catch my attention. I spin toward them, expecting an attack, but come face-to-face with human-sized Three Little Pigs. They’re dancing gleefully next to their house of brick, the wolf clawing its way out of the chimney. Strangely, stories like this, about hungry stalking wolves, were probably inspired by the Dread. How many fairy tales of trolls, ogres, and spirits were inspired by encounters with the mirror world?

Lyons shimmers into view behind the jolly pigs, swiping two aside and biting the eldest in half. Lyons overtook me and lay in wait, playing the part of the Big Bad Wolf.

“Really?” I say, “You want to do this in Storyland?”

Lyons roars and tosses the oldest pig’s eviscerated lower half, striking an oversize Humpty Dumpty. The egg-man’s bolts snap; his hooked cane, which is embedded in the concrete walkway, breaks; and he topples off the wall. But, I’ll be damned, he doesn’t break. I take it as a good omen, and then run. I’m not ready to face Lyons yet.

The clear walkway and smooth surface allow me to hit my top speed in just a few strides. Lyons is quick to pursue but opts to barrel through the brick house, buying me a few seconds and a fifty-foot head start. Running through a stand of weeping willows, I cut through the thick curtain of Spanish moss and make a hard left.

Lyons dives after me, mole claws outstretched to impale my back, but he can’t see me through the moss. He explodes out of the trees, covered in long coils of vegetation. Momentarily blinded, he clips the short stone wall of a fountain and spills forward, sending up a wave of coin-filled water. He tumbles through the water, crushing the fountain and far wall, sending a fresh river over the dry concrete. Then he’s up again, shedding moss and lunging after me.

Lyons has the clear physical advantage, but he’s not using his human mind to its full potential. He’s acting ravenous. Uncontrolled. He’s going to catch me eventually, but he’s going to destroy all of Storyland first.