Into the Aether_Part One by T.C. Pearce
Prologue
Cybil stood at the doorway to the abandoned house. She stared inside, unable to discern any of the contents. Squinting, she peered into the abyss and slowly, forms started to take shape. The foyer of the house had wooden floors that were splintered and broken in places, and well-worn in others. A round table sat in the middle of the room, and atop it sat a thick layer of dust. Toward the rear of the room, a weathered set of stairs ran past a blacked-out window and up to the second floor.
Cybil looked behind her and out at a brilliant red sky. Red sky in the morning... she thought, looking back into the darkened foyer. A compulsion to step inside tugged at her. She moved one foot forward, crossing the threshold of the front entrance, and was completely enveloped by the darkness.
C'mon deary, nobody here but the things that go bump in the night. Cybil's mind flew through childhood memories—hiding under the covers in her room, afraid of the dark and of the ghost stories her father told when they were camping.
She shuddered slightly. Oh, get a hold of yourself. You're a grown woman. Clenching her fists, she took a second step into the inky blackness. The smell of mold and dust filled her nostrils. Her eyes continued to adapt to the darkness and darted about the room. She made another slow, deliberate step, her breath quickening. Calm down, Cybil. There is nothing in here that's going to get you. Her heart hammered, echoing in her ears.
Toward her left, in her periphery, was a very old mirror. There were hairline cracks running up and down it, and parts of it flaked away, offering her a reflection that was murky at best. Her eyes shifted from her own face to another reflection behind her. She turned quickly, gasping, to find two figures sitting at the table. They sat unmoving, both staring at a chessboard before them. The man closest to her (if he was, in fact, a man) was composed entirely of what Cybil perceived to be shifting white beads of light. His entire body was in a state of flux. She stared, uncomprehending, then examined his companion: a void in the shape of a man. The nightmarish blackness that comprised his body was completely impenetrable. In fact, it seemed to be absorbing all the light in the room. Both figures sat in the exact same position, their right elbows leaning on the table in front of them and their heads resting on their hands. Clutching her chest, Cybil took a small step toward them, her gaze now fixed on the chessboard. The nightmarish man had all of his black pieces, while the shifting-light man only had one of his white ones.
A cracking sound came from behind her and she turned to look back upon her own reflection. The image grew even murkier and then fluid-like. She walked up to it, and her image contorted and disappeared, revealing another woman. This new woman was younger, with dark chestnut hair that hung messily along her rounded face. Her eyes were red and puffy, and long black channels of mascara ran down her cheeks. What could be troubling her?
The young woman cast her eyes downward, then slowly raised a hand, which was holding a small serrated kitchen knife. Oh God, no... Fresh tears now streamed down the woman’s face as she placed the knife against her wrist. Her hand visibly shook and she removed the blade, leaving a red indentation on her delicate skin.
“Go down the road, not across it,” the young woman said in a cracked voice. She brought up the knife again. No! Cybil thought, trying to speak, but finding the words caught in her throat. The young woman took several deep breaths and with a determined look, she pressed the knife against her skin.
“NO!” Cybil screamed, and the woman looked up, surprise and recognition filling her face.
The woman mouthed the words How did you..., and then the mirror exploded in a cloud of dust and glass. Instinctively, Cybil raised her arms to her face and looked away, taking several steps backward. The shattering sound echoed throughout the room for an unnaturally long time before she heard muffled cries of pain. Cybil felt her heart gripped by a cold hand and slowly, she turned around, her hands still covering her face.
Reluctantly, she parted her fingers enough to see a person suspended upside down from the ceiling. He was completely bound with ropes and chains, his body swaying violently as he tried to break free. The bound man continued to make muffled sounds when the nightmarish, dark man appeared behind him. He produced a long silver staff that he swung around the neck of the bound man, choking him. A sickening sound came from the bound man as he struggled with greater ferocity. Two red eyes now stared at Cybil from the nightmarish figure.
“Stop it!” she yelled at the thing. He grinned at her. “Stop it!” she yelled again. The sickening smile grew wider; the bound man continued fighting.
“Shh,” whispered a voice. Cybil looked up to see an old woman sitting on top of the stairs, a large leather book open in her lap.
“Help him!” she called to the old woman. The woman’s eyes did not leave Cybil’s.
“Who?” replied the old woman.
“Him!” she yelled back, pointing at the bound man. Cybil looked back at the horrible scene to find the men were gone. In their place was a small dark box.
Cybil stared down at it. At first, she thought it was a jewelry box by its shape, but she had never seen one quite like it before. She walked over and bent down, lightly running her fingers along its cold exterior, and felt compelled to pick it up. It was deceivingly heavy. As Cybil stood, grasping the thing in both hands, the light from the doorway fell upon it, giving the box an odd purple sheen.
She believed it was very old, although its appearance gave no indication of its age. Cybil gazed fixedly at the box’s fine, intricate patterns of lines that wove back and forth, intersecting each other, creating a complex maze of designs.
Entranced, Cybil turned it over in her hands, looking for an opening or seam, but there was none.
“Open it,” said a woman’s voice from behind her. Cybil turned around to find the old woman standing there again. “Open it, or she will die.”
“Who will die? How do I open it?” Cybil asked.
The old woman looked toward the place where the mirror had been. “She will die.”
Cybil understood. She began to turn the box over and over in her hands, tracing its cold exterior. Again, she found no seams and no obvious way to open it.
“Damn it, open!” she cried in exasperation.
The box warmed in her hands as a blue light shone from the top. Then the light moved in a circular pattern, leaving a trail behind it as it lifted away from the box and separated into two equal parts, revealing the box’s contents: a swirling, silver liquid mass. Cybil looked down at it. Was it liquid mercury?
A hand pressed hard on her shoulder and she spun around in terror. She dropped the box at the sight of the old man in front of her. He was dressed in a black suit and black tie, with his dark grey hair slicked back. Deep trenches were etched into his face, and his eyes were faded and sullen. As he looked into Cybil’s eyes, melancholy poured out of him, replacing the fear she felt.
“Help them,” he said simply. Cybil shook her head.
“Help who?” she asked.
The older man placed both hands on her shoulders and gently squeezed them. “Open your eyes.”
Cybil awoke with a start, darting upright into a sitting position. She sat there for a few moments, her chest heaving, her body covered in sweat, and her clothes clinging tightly to her hot skin.
Why was she so terrified? Obviously it was something she had dreamed, but what?
Closing her eyes, she stared into the dark haze of her mind and shadows swam in front of her. But they never swam close enough for her to get a good look. One long, skinny shadow of a memory slowly slithered in front of her. It came closer and she reached for it. What are you? she thought and stretched further. As she reached, it seemed to pull back. A memory popped up and whispered, C'mon, deary, nobody here but the things that go bump in the night. She remembered the two red eyes, and the image of a sad-looking man. She tried to focus on the man. She could see his lips moving, but the dream was fading fast. Help them, his voice said in her mind.
“Who?” she said out loud. There was, of course, no answer.
Cybil shook her head, the images now fading from her mind entirely. Brushing off her foolish feelings, she looked about the room. She was lying on her couch, with an afghan partially draped over her. The TV was turned to a local community channel, which was currently showing an ad for Linda’s Lingerie. She stood up and slowly stretched her arms to the ceiling, letting out a satisfied grunt in the process. Instinctively, she pulled down her top, which had ridden upward. She was still wearing her scrubs.
She folded the afghan and placed it over the back of the couch, and then reached for the remote. The TV turned off with a gentle click. Light streamed into the room from the window behind her, cast by the same full moon that illuminated the street. A large oak tree swayed in front of her rental, causing beautiful, unsettling shadows to dance around her. The shadow of a man walked along the sidewalk. Blinking, she craned her neck to look harder, but the shadow was gone.
Cybil walked down the hallway, sidestepping a box marked ‘Fragile’, and into her washroom. Depositing her clothes in the ever-overflowing hamper, she brushed her teeth and inserted a mouth guard. Her bed now beckoned to her. She slipped in, enjoying the coolness of the sheets, and slowly she drifted off to a dreamless sleep.
Outside Cybil’s house stood a solitary figure. He was an older man dressed in a black suit, with slicked-back hair. Shadows danced across his face as his sullen eyes watched the flickering light of the TV turn off. He turned and silently walked along the sidewalk, his form disappearing into the familiar darkness.