The Monocle Man Read online

  Finally, she stops. Her moans and sobs have become commonplace. She dangles stories above the ground, swaying slightly in an imagined breeze. Her head hangs limp on her neck. Her eyes threaten to close from the pain in her shoulders, her wrists, her broken limb. Below she sees the man. Sees his eyes and their pooling swirls of crimson. The trickle of blood increases from her arm. It runs the length of her hip and legs, curving around the knee to her foot. Droplets shimmer in the air as each fall from her toes. He smiles.

  “Now… scream,” he tells her.

  She screams.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  LOCH NESS, SCOTLAND, 1919

  LOCH NESS, SCOTLAND, 1919

  The scream pierced the night. A razor’s edge, it tore through the walls of both the house on Loch Ness and his dreams. Jakob turned on his side and tried to scramble from the blankets he woke tangled in. He sat up, his face dripping with sweat, back and chest clammy with it. His nightshirt stuck to him with the odor of having not bathed the last few days. That unclean smell endured in the room where he slept.

  His head felt heavy; groggy and thick with the dream he just woke from still lingering. Had the scream been from the nightmare? It wouldn’t be the first time he woke from one thinking such things. Nor would it be the first time tonight even. Often, he found himself jolted from sleep with some imagined horror which seemed so real. He thought he was seeing things, even when awake. Which also begged the question: when had he come up here to bed? He didn’t sleep nights. Not any more. Not since Crowley began his rituals. No, they were expected to sleep during the daylight hours, so they might work at night. Though he often questioned the validity of Crowley’s ambitions, the man continually assured he was getting closer to a solution. Closer to when the demon would release his sister Lillian.

  But the days bled into one another. Months seemed years. So much so, he couldn’t remember having come upstairs to his chambers to sleep. What time was it now? Often he’d pull himself awake just before dusk, as if the setting sun bore an audible warning of the coming night. It had been hard at first, rearranging his customary sleeping patterns. But like most things, he’d grown used to it. Or so he thought. He wondered now if he’d slept through. Through dusk and through Crowley’s insistent requests. That seemed the only explanation for why he’d still be in bed. If this were the case, he knew Crowley would be irate with him. Often Crowley needed a hand in this or that. Aid in keeping his rituals proceeding. And it fell to Jakob to fulfill those requests.

  He pulled the covers off him and stretched his arms toward the ceiling. What had he been dreaming? It lingered there, just on the edge of his consciousness, awaiting reveal. But it was hard to bring back. A strange dream at that. One filled with darkness…

  It surrounded him. He was looking down at a boy. The boy up at him. A man stood off in the shadows. He glimpsed him only a moment, but in that time the boy disappeared. Frantic, he looked for the lad. Feared for his safety. But that wasn’t all. He had a deep sense of responsibility. Not to the boy but… to something else. Something surrounding the boy. A connection. He slammed his cane down on the hard ground beneath his feet and sparks flew. Gritted his teeth. He pulled his free hand up to his face and covered one eye. When he did this, the nighttime glowed in an eerie, reddish hue. The outlines of buildings and other structures took on a more dense coloration while the people who walked by remained faded and wispy. Turning his head he spied what he was looking for. Inside one of the buildings. As if he could see through the walls. A larger form, that of a man, his aura soaked in a deep crimson stood over another. This one, the boy. So small compared to the older. His aura a fading blue. Almost electric.

  Swiftly Jakob in the dream took to his feet, his cane clomping the ground each time his left leg took a step. He kept his hand to his face, keeping the one eye covered. He strode straight to the building and burst through the door. And what he witnessed! At once the colorful hues of auras drifted away, replaced by true colors, even if they were invaded by an overwhelming murk. The inside of the building dripped with shadows, but just beyond them he noticed the man. He had the boy atop a table, one hand on the child’s throat, pinned on his back. The other hand wrapped around the boy’s face, covering his nose and eyes, while his fingers intruded the boy’s mouth. The man’s fingers wrapped under the front teeth, pulling at the jaw, prying it wide. The boy’s legs kicked and squirmed, but the man held him fast to the table. Jakob thought the boy’s jaw might snap any time. The man had his mouth open as well, hovering over the boy. A burst of electricity shot from the boy’s mouth into the man. And the man closed his mouth a moment to smile.

  He then pulled harder on the child’s mouth, and pushed his own, open again, closer. More jolts of electricity arced toward the man as he closed his eyes. Jakob could take no more. He hustled across the room and lifted his cane. The man turned, releasing his grip on the child. Saw Jakob coming, his eyes wide with anger at the intrusion. Jakob brought down the cane in a wide arc with all his might. The boy screamed!

  The boy screamed. But had the boy screamed? Jakob wasn’t so sure now, sitting up on the blankets he’d strewn about the floor. It seemed different, the scream. Not that of a boy. But rather… of…

  When his sister’s scream pierced the night again, there was no mistaking it. Jakob bolted from bed, his bare feet padding against the wood floors and ran down the hall. The thudding of his feet on the stairs echoed throughout the house. He heard Crowley yelling something. Though he didn’t understand the language. He hit the first floor landing at a steady run and grabbing the baluster spun himself along the downstairs hall toward the room where Crowley conducted his Abremelin Operation. He didn’t pause at the door. Only pushed through it, bursting into the chaos which ensued within.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  BEYOND THE VEIL PART 2

  BEYOND THE VEIL…

  Annalise holds close to Garrison as he navigates a way to his brother. It takes time, now with the flashlight gone. But their eyes adjust to the absence of light, little by little. Also, the dust-light keeps growing more dense the higher they climb, bursting little pockets of illumination on the endless staircases surrounding them.

  It takes the better part of what seems an hour, before they weave their way up to Brent. The first set of stairs is quite ordinary. Garrison leans over and touches a step. Wooden. The case is wide; wide enough for both to walk side by side. After thirty or so stairs they come to a small landing. The landing is hardly big enough for the two to occupy. Another set of stairs branch off both to their right and left. Garrison tries to figure out the maze set by set. It’s hard to tell in the near dark, even with the dust-light. But the one to the left seems adequate. He grabs Annalise’s hand and leads her that way. This case is more narrow, made of stone. The risers and steps are uneven, chunks of rock and stone laid together in a mediocre attempt at creating a way up. Often they have to stop and check their footing. The awkward steps lead up at an odd angle, sometimes curving, sometimes increasing in incline, each stair either higher or lower than the last. The next landing is a massive thing. From this, Garrison can count seven flights heading in all directions. They choose the one in front. There’s hardly enough room for even one on this next case. The wrought iron structure shoots at what seems an impossible angle upward, with a thin, rusted railing on one side. The other side is open with no support. It’s hard to suppress the sensation that one might fall over the edge into the nothing below. But as the two continue their ascent, the dust-light grows brighter; more dense. And seeing becomes much easier.

  Finally, after a handful more flights of stairs, they crest the one they’ve been searching for this entire time. The one on which Brent sits, waiting. Annalise exclaims aloud when she sees him. Garrison smiles, but hunches over to catch his breath a moment.

  Brent stays seated, looking up at the two. He offers a slight smile, but returns his attention to the little bits of illumination falling all around him. Occasionally he leans forward, his eye
s tracing one’s descent into the darkness below, until the light fades and disappears from view. Then, his head snaps back up and he finds another to look at.

  “Hey buddy,” Garrison says. “You ok?”

  “Ok Gary,” the childish voice answers, not paying his older brother any mind.

  “How’d you get here?”

  “Dunno.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Dunno Gary.”

  “Do you remember walking from the house? Into the woods?” Brent scrunches up his nose, searching his memories for an answer to the question. His eyes blink and they dart off toward a rather large dust-light.

  “Dunno.”

  “Ok,” Garrison concedes, trying to remain patient. “Well, we need to get back home.”

  “Not home.”

  “No B, we’re not home.”

  “No, not home. Up.”

  Garrison understands at once his little brother’s meaning. He looks above where the sky illuminates with the pinpricks of light. It’s an odd sight. It’s not that there’s much light, not in the customary sense. Only a… glow. It’s the only word he can find to describe it. As if each fragment of light were cocooned in its own casing of shadow. To him, it looks a night sky overrun with countless stars. Except the stars are moving. Flashing in and out and falling downward, all around them. Each held in their own hand of darkness. Their light only bright enough to penetrate millimeters of space around each of them. It’s not each dust-light that creates the glow, but rather, the collection of them all. Garrison wonders, what the hell are they?

  “What does he mean, up?” Annalise interjects.

  “Not sure. But I think it means we can’t go back the way we came. Or at least that’s what Brent thinks. He wants us to go up.”

  “That’s all fine and well, but is there a way out up there?”

  “I don’t know,” Garrison offers with a shrug. He takes a few steps to the edge of the landing they’re on; looks over. He searches a time, trying to spy the landing they’d arrived on. The one way back into the wood. “I’m not sure we could find our way back even if we tried.”

  “So what? We’re stuck here?” Annalise voice shrieks. It’s the first time Garrison senses real fear in her. Her eyes water. He can see her shaking. He takes a few steps toward her and wraps her in his arms, trying to calm her.

  “Not to worry Annie,” Brent speaks. The child-like cadence in his voice dissipates, taken over by one more mature. “I know the way.”

  “Wha- What?”

  “I know the way Annie. We’re not lost.”

  “What do you mean you know the way?” Garrison asks, looking wearily at his little brother with the adult voice.

  “I’ve been here some time. It’s just a few flights up and to the right. There’s a door there. Actually, there’s a door on each of these landings. But most only work one way. A way in. We need a way out. And that,” Brent says as he stands, craning his neck in the direction above. “Lies above.”

  Without another word, Brent turns on heel and starts up a staircase just to his left. Garrison reaches out to stop him, but he’s half way up the stairs before he gets the chance. Brent bounds up the flight like a little kid excited to get somewhere special. He turns to Annalise. Her eyes are wet, confused. Through a sniffling nose she nods. What other choice do they have?

  2

  2.

  Soon Garrison and Annalise catch up with Brent. Both follow a few stairs behind the boy as he navigates the staircases with an almost familial expertise. As if the boy spent years here, instead of hours. Brent hardly looks up, his eyes planted at his toes, skipping from one step to the next, ascending as if from habit. Brent hums a tune as he climbs. Garrison can’t quite make it out, but he’s sure it’s something from one of the many cartoons the boy watches. He clutches tight Annalise’s hand as she follows behind, occasionally giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. She’s stopped crying at least. But god only knew what her reaction will be when they reach their destination. Not that he can blame her. And what is their destination? The temptation to ask his little brother persists, but frankly, the voice that exits Brent from time to time downright scares the hell out of him.

  “Brent,” Garrison calls out. “Slow up a bit.” Brent stops on the next stair and turns to his brother. “Hang up B. We can hardly breathe,” he adds through a staggered breath. All three have been climbing for a little while now. Brent insisted it was only a few flights up, but those flights had been long and arduous.

  “All right,” Brent in his mature voice says. “But only a moment. Timing is everything.”

  “Timing?”

  “Did I stutter,” Brent bites back. “Yes, timing. We miss our chance, and we won’t be getting in. We don’t get in, you don’t get home.”

  “Garrison!” Annalise exclaims, frightened by the last statement.

  “But… but how do you know?” Garrison asks.

  “I know. And that should be good enough,” Brent answers, taking to the next stair, continuing upward.

  Garrison stands shocked a time, Annalise tucked close behind, trying to decipher the way his little brother spoke. He doesn’t understand what’s going on. Not in the least. No sooner does Garrison think he grasps some of it, his brother speaks and blows his ideas completely out of the water. He’s confounded further, as the childish humming drifts down toward them from above again.

  “Garrison,” Annalise whispers, holding tight his arm when he tries to start forward. “Something’s not right.”

  “Annie,” he tells her, turning his face to look in her eyes. “This time, I agree.”

  Brent takes the last stair, settling himself on the landing above Garrison and Annalise. He turns and looks at both. Garrison swears there’s a physical change in the boy’s demeanor. One moment, Brent’s eyes and stature hold so much maturity, so much experience, and in a blink that look cascades away, as if washing from his brother. Brent’s gaze softens, and he smiles at his big brother as he points to the right. With only a handful of stairs left to climb Garrison sees where. The landing he’s on is narrow, but long. At the end, a soft, amber glow. The glow is defined by hard lines in the form of a rectangle; a door at its center. While the light spills from these lines a few inches all around before being consumed by the dark, the door itself is black. Garrison would never be able to make it out if it weren’t for the glow. It’s hard to tell if a door even stands there.

  His hand holds Annalise’s as they trod the last few stairs. Garrison pauses once more to catch his breath, looking toward the entrance, or exit, or whatever it is. Before he can say anything, Brent’s feet move again, and his little brother, at a skip, disappears through the opening.

  “Brent!” Garrison cries out, reaching with a hand to stop him. But it’s too late. “Come on,” he says to Annalise without turning, tugging her hand and leading her through.

  Annalise nearly stumbles as she’s pulled forward. She holds tight though, not wanting to let go of Garrison’s hand for anything. Watches as he passes through the door; looks up as she too enters. She’s tugged into complete darkness; struggles to see anything above or below. Not her feet nor the hand she holds out in front of her. Garrison has disappeared. If it weren’t for his iron clad grip on hers, she’d have thought he was no longer there.

  The passage is disorientating. There’s an odd echo within the area. As if some sound were bouncing off walls made of water. Annalise thinks it might be their footsteps. And a voice. Is Garrison beckoning to her? Saying something? She can’t tell. And she doesn’t let her mind dwell on it too long as it’s taking most of her concentration to stay on her feet. The muffled noises combined with the absence of a floor or walls or ceiling are burrowing their way into her. Her breathing hastens as her nerves ratchet. Where the hell are they?

  Annalise bites back the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, a consequence of fear and sullies forth. But there’s a sudden sense of weight. It pushes from above. Her knees take the impact.
With every step, she’s being squeezed into a tunnel far too small for her. Her back hunches and she stumbles again. Holds tighter Garrison’s hand. Wonders if he’s going through the same thing right now. It’s as if someone is pushing down on her shoulders, her neck and back. An unseen force or pressurized air making it near impossible to breathe. She chokes. Breathes in and gasps. The air lingers just outside her lips while her lungs pull in nothing. Her chest contracts while the muscles in her neck tighten. Her throat screams while her eyes slowly close. She’s suffocating. Can’t breathe. Can hardly walk. Garrison is still pulling. But he’s not pulling fast enough; hard enough. And she’s running out of time. Annalise’s eyelids flicker as she fades to black.

  “Breathe Annalise… breathe.”

  Garrison’s voice is muffled at first, as if he were speaking under water. But it clears with each passing moment. She feels his hands on her shoulders while he tells her to breathe. Annalise looks up at him, eyes barely open, head bobbing from side to side, consciousness waning. Garrison stands in front of her. His eyes are stern, full of worry. He says to breathe. She knows she should. But she’s forgotten how. And she can’t breathe even if she wanted to. She’s stuck in this tunnel. Suffocating.