MirrorWorld

Then it whispers in my head.

Waves of fear wash through my body. My insides twist. I scream, but my voice is raspy and raw. The sound that escapes my mouth is a crackling, ragged thing. My mind slides toward oblivion, shouting, Run! Hide! Escape!

And then some instinctual part of my mind that has been unneeded since the day of my birth asserts itself.

In a flash, I’m free of the tentacles’ grasp.

Pain worms its way through my body, but the fear destroying my mind is gone. That’s the good news.

The bad news is that I can’t breathe.

Where am I?

I’m held still. Perfectly still. Unable to move. Unable to expand my chest to even attempt to breathe. Absolute darkness surrounds me. Grit stings my eyes, so I close them. I manage to exhale and pull a short breath. If there is oxygen in the breath, I don’t feel it. Instead, I get light-headed and detect a trace scent of something familiar.

Dirt.

The reality of my situation snaps to the forefront of my mind, and fear grips me once more. I’ve slipped back into my home dimension—fifty feet below the surface. I’m buried beneath the Old Pine Cemetery, deeper than anyone would ever think to dig.

And if I stay here much longer, I’m going to suffocate.

Think! I will myself. People overcome fear all the time.

But not against the Dread.

They’re ugly as sin, but I can look at them if they’re not trying to inject fear into me. If I take them by surprise, I might be able to escape. They feel fear, too. I’ve seen it. And they seem just as uncomfortable with the emotion as I am.

My lungs burn for a breath, hungry for air.

Not yet, I tell myself. Focus.

Am I armed? I have no memory of the Dread taking my sidearm, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t. Nor do I have a memory of them removing the knives from my hands. I was bound in place, the blades useless.

I try to wiggle my hands, but can’t. The earth hugs me tight. When I slipped out of the mirror dimension, my body replaced the matter that was here and carved out a perfect me-sized space in the soil. But I still should be able to shift my body subtly—unless … It’s not dirt I’m encased in, it’s solid stone. Most of New Hampshire sits atop a bed of granite, and now I’m inside it, trapped like a fossil.

Focus!

I turn my attention to my hands. While cold is seeping into my body from all directions, my fingers feel colder. But is that a circulation issue or are the oscillium knuckles wrapped around them conducting the cold into my fingers? It’s the blades, I decide.

My body quivers and then contracts, unable to even wiggle.

Ignore it.

I visualize my return to the Dread world. There will be a moment of surprise. Just a moment. And if I let fear paralyze me then, I’m done. They’ll probably kill me before I can slip back into my perfectly formed tomb.

Attack, I tell myself. And then run. Run and don’t stop.

My pulse quickens in anticipation.

My lungs scream for air.

Now, I think, now!

Part of me resists the idea of facing those monsters again, but this fate is far worse. I’d rather die fighting and horrified than suffocating as a coward. And only one course of action offers a chance for survival.

I slip back into the mirror dimension and fall atop a bed of flesh.

The tendrils surrounding me snap back in surprise, as do the collection of Medusa-hands who have come close to inspect the location of my disappearance.

Act! I think. Before they do!

I get my feet under me and spin. I haven’t seen the trench knives yet, but I feel the resistance of flesh on their blades as I turn and swing.

Tentacles fall to the floor, spraying purple.

Several Medusa-hands flail back, shrieking, missing tendrils of their own.

I’m close to puking in fright as the tendrils come for me again. I swing twice more, carving a path. I dive free, roll to my feet, and run. Halfway to the exit, I spot my machete on the floor. I scoop it up and return it to the scabbard on my back. As I reach the arched exit to the long circular path, I make a mistake and glance back.

Two of the Medusa-hands, eight eyes locked on me, send a wave of fear in my direction. I scream when it hits me and stumble to the floor. But they’re not the only thing frightening me. At the center of the chamber, the tendrils, some of them hacked in half, bleeding bright purple, rise out of the ground, pushed up from beneath by something larger.

I crush my eyes shut, pushing tears free, and fight the Dread’s fear-inducing effect. My feet slip over the dry floor as I peel out like some kind of Warner Bros. cartoon. Then I’m off, running up the slope. I open my eyes and find the path ahead clear.

The ground shakes. It’s subtle at first, but then powerful enough to stumble me. Fear and adrenaline drive me onward. With every staggering vibration, I gasp in fright and run faster. I’m not sure I’ve ever run so quickly, but the fear also makes me clumsy and more apt to flounder.

Whispers fill my head.