The Monocle Man Read online

  “With him Gary. I like him.”

  “But Brent we-”

  “Can’t you see?” Brent shakes his head from side to side, setting his eyes wide and mouth slack, as if his older brother were being ridiculous. “Can’t you see Gary? The man is on fire.”

  THE FARMHOUSE

  THE FARMHOUSE…

  Reynolds rubs at his eyes. Not sure if what he’s seeing really exists. He’s heard rumors of mirages just as common in the snow as in the desert. The cold, the onset of hypothermia and other extremes attributing to the phenomena. What he thought might be a porch light, he now questions as he nears. The house is real. He stands just about ten or fifteen yards from it. It’s long since abandoned. It appeasers to be an old farmhouse. The roof is half caved in, windows missing. The wood of the structure long ago peeled and pried from the outer walls. A porch running the length of the back of the house tilts at an angle with the backyard. Most of its roof pulled from the house itself and leaning such, it threatens to capsize in the snow. A barn that used to sit to the building’s left has all but crumbled in on itself.

  But it’s neither of these things his eyes fix on. He keeps looking to the building, yes, to reacquaint himself with something real. But he’d been mistaken at first. He’s mistaken now, as his mind tries for a desperate grab at logic. What he thought to be a porch light, appears to be something else. Something much different.

  He takes weary steps, part because of the cold which consumes his every fiber, and part because the apparition ahead of him doesn’t make much sense. The old farmhouse looks worse for wear the closer he gets. Half the roof missing. One side of the house slanting toward the non-existent barn. But just inside the windows at the back, he sees a definite glow. It might have been, upon closer examination, a light on inside the house. At least this he could have dismissed as thinking it a porch light. But the way it moves unnerves him. It dances inside the windows, in prisms of various colors, but it illuminates nothing. If anything, he’d suggest the thing is cloaked in shadow. For just on the perimeter of the shimmer, sits an aura of charcoal and dense night. Pinpricks of light flicker as he nears, but even these are mere specks of dust on a black canvas.

  Reynolds might be cold. He might be hungry, lost and down-right tired. But what he isn’t, is brash. He rounds the corner of the house, leaving the prismatic apparition behind and steps into the front yard. At once his hopes are dashed. He’d thought he might find a driveway, short, if luck would have it, which would lead to an obvious road. But there’s none. No cars out front of the house. Nothing sitting in rust and white powder off to the side even. No remnants of the previous owners abilities to travel. Nor any real sign someone once lived here. Save, the house. Everything is a blanket of white. A clearing sits before the house, now overgrown with brush, powdered white, while trees surround the property on all sides. No clear drive weaves between them. Nothing but this house, the trees, and the snow.

  He needs to think. Needs to get his head right. And he can’t do it out here. Reynolds takes a deep breath, then walks across the front yard and up the dilapidated stairs to the front porch. He tests each with his weight, as he does the planks of the porch floor, finding to his surprise, everything holds. Everything’s sturdy. He pulls open the screen door. An audible pop snaps the top hinge, and he wrestles with it to keep it from falling on him. He laughs. So much for sturdy. He gives the front door handle a turn, but it seems stuck. Uses both hands with a firm grasp but still can’t seem to get the hardware to budge. What the hell? He lowers a shoulder and gives the door a good nudge. A slight crack and the door pushes open in stutters. Once inside and with some effort, he turns and struggles the door closed again.

  What he can’t comprehend is the temperature difference. Not that it’s not cold in the farmhouse. But the chill is far less than outdoors. Almost warm. He’s sure his mind is playing a trick on him; creating a sense of comfort where none exists simply because he’s now indoors. But at least he’s out of the wind for a while.

  Reynolds shakes off his coat, snow falling from his shoulders. The cold seems to have numbed his shoulder pretty good. It hardly hurts at all anymore. It lingers more as a memory than anything. The jostling from him stamping his feet hardly registers.

  With a push of a button, he clicks his flashlight back on. Looking around, he realizes he’s standing in a small foyer. To the right, a living room. Or, at least, that’s his assumption. Lack of furniture makes it difficult to be certain, but the layout of the room would suggest it as such. In front of him, stairs lead to the second level. Off to his far right sits a fireplace. He’s tempted to look. Maybe he can even start a fire. Might have to in order to stay warm. Alive. To the left of the stairs, a hallway runs to the back of the house. Instead of traversing the hall, he turns to the left and walks through a doorway. This leads into another front room. The dining room. In the center still sits a dinner table and two chairs. The rug beneath, chewed away by age, lies frayed beneath the table, coated in a thick layer of dust.

  He comes back through to the living room. His boots sound on the bare, wooden floor. Bends at the knees and peers up into the chimney. Pulls the flue. Snow and ash drift down, dancing in the beam of his flashlight. He lets out a sigh of relief. The fireplace looks like it might handle a small fire just fine. But he’ll need kindling.

  Tugging himself out of the fireplace, he moves through the living room, under a wide arched doorway. Enters the kitchen. He’s surprised to see so much of the lower half of the building intact. Though the roof looked caved in on the outside, it hasn’t come crashing through the first floor ceiling. Even the windows down here are still intact. Beyond the kitchen is another door. Another room, obviously. That’s when it hits him. This would be the room he saw the strange light emanating from when he was out back. He looks under the door, trying to see some indication. But much like earlier, it doesn’t appear the apparition within is illuminating anything beyond itself. He questions whether he should go in. Rationality however, wins the argument. One of two things will conclude by his entering the room. Either he’ll have proof he’d just been hallucinating out there in the cold, or he’ll stumble upon something no man has ever seen before.

  A reluctant hand reaches for the handle. Reynolds steels himself, takes in a huge breath, bolstering his confidence. Has to laugh a little when he exhales. Surely he’s making more of this than he has to. There can’t be anything on the other side of this door. He twists the door handle and pushes. It swings open, creaking a little on its old hinges. As the door swings wide, Reynolds catches his breath. His eyes widen and heart rate quickens. It hadn’t been a hallucination.

  LOCH NESS, SCOTLAND 2

  LOCH NESS, SCOTLAND, 1919

  Jakob leapt to action. His arm bore no sense of pain or anguish as he rushed toward his little sister. He reached out with both arms coming within inches of the little girl suspended in the air before him. A concussive force blew him back. It crashed into his chest, his face. An explosion which sent him reeling to the floor. Crowley took a step forward, yelling incantations. Jakob couldn’t understand a word of it, but he sensed the man trying to banish this thing he’d conjured.

  Lillian’s head turned then. Her face, now ashen and withdrawn, as if her skin were merely a slight piece of fabric draped over her skull, angled in Jakob’s direction. Her eyes watered and he wondered at the pain she must be in. She parted her lips and whispered a request. He didn’t hear it as much as watched the words form on her mouth. Kill me, she pleaded. When Jakob’s eyes widened at the thought, she spoke the words again. They came through her lips in a scratch. Harsh, worn. A child staring into death’s embrace. He couldn’t though. How could he? This was his little sister after all. Not even twelve yet. So much life yet to live. And if he had any sense of worth or purpose, it would be this, to keep her death from transpiring.

  Jakob stumbled to his feet, wishing once this thing inside her, controlling her, would rear its ugly head so he could take a shot at it. Once
he found his feet beneath him, he started again toward the little girl. She floated there, a few yards from him, a wisp of a thing just a few feet above ground. He took step after step, trudging across the floor, which now felt like paste. Each foot stuck to the wood as something unseen tugged at his legs, trying to hold him back. When he looked behind him he saw footprints of blood. The surface beneath his feet peeled away thin layers of flesh with every step he took. But his resolve held, and he moved forward still, ever slow, ever determined.

  Several feet away from his little sister he stopped. So too did Crowley’s words. They caught it the man’s throat as the two men witnessed Lillian ascending. Her body lifted into the air a few more feet, putting her almost out of arm’s reach. Their eyes drew to the floor beneath her. Where the wood had dissolved and blown away in ashes, a sound arose. A hand plunged from out of the dark, gripping the rim of the hole there. Its skin bore an amalgamation of oily black and crusted rust; a limb set to fire with embers still glowing in the cracks of its skin. The claws at the end of each finger dug into the wood. The wood splintered. Soon a second hand emerged and the thing pulled itself from the abyss. The creature’s immensity took both Crowley and Jakob by surprise. Shoulders twice the width of any man, a barreled chest and torso, thick arms and massive hands. As each pulled from the wood and the creature took its first steps into the room and out of the hole, Jakob thought the nails on its hands and feet looked more like talons than claws. When it rose to its full height, the thing’s head blocked Jakob’s view of his sister floating in mid-air. The creature’s entire body, covered in the same oily black, rust skin, smoldered. Or appeared so. Trails of smoke lifted from its body along with flecks of ash. Jakob wondered if the creature was burning. The ash lifted in wisps from its muscled body. Jakob watched this for a moment before lifting his chin. His eyes locked on the creature’s. The thing’s grin spread across its broad face. Teeth, thick and charcoal, set like polished cobbles in its mouth smiled back. But its menace was apparent. Jakob smelled the decay on the demon’s breath even from where he stood.

  The demon turned its bald and smoldering head toward Crowley for a moment. Shook it from side to side. It was then Jakob noticed the odd manner of movement. As if the thing might be battling time itself. Each movement the creature made seemed to blend within the next. For it, time seemed to both slow and speed at undetermined intervals, giving it a stuttered and impulsive appearance.

  “Fool,” its voice boomed at Crowley. The demon raised a hand and Jakob saw at once its hand glow. It pointed at Crowley and a flash of fire ignited from its fingertip; raced across the room. Crowley took the bolt of molten fire in the shoulder and fell to the ground in agony. But the act resolved Crowley to a degree, and the magician’s words spewed from his mouth again. This in turn resolved Jakob, and he stepped forward.

  The demon turned his head in sporadic ticks and its eyes bore into Jakob’s. It held a hand aloft as if to thwart Jakob’s advance. Jakob didn’t falter. Behind the creature he heard his little sister crying. Her cries carried the promise of near death, but it rang out clear enough to anger Jakob something fierce. Fire erupted from the demon’s hand again, and Jakob turned in time. It missed taking his head off, but he felt the pain of searing fire across his neck none-the-less. He fell to the floor and rolled to his side. Tugged at his collar. The heat became at once unbearable. A trickle of the substance rolled down the side of his neck and disappeared into his shirt. He slapped at it, only to bring his hand back to him scalded.

  His mind raced through possible scenarios. He had to get to Lillian. But then, maybe too, he needed to get to Crowley. Surely the man might have some idea how Jakob could help send this thing back into the depths whence it came. He stumbled to his feet once again. Look toward Crowley; toward his sister. He couldn’t fathom how he’d get past the thing. He watched Crowley from afar dig into his pockets and pull some talisman from them. Crowley held this aloft and tried to hammer his words into the demon. It spat more fire at the magician, and somehow Crowley dodged the oncoming torrent of flame. Not thinking, only mimicking, Jakob dug in his own pockets. He doubted he’d find anything useful, as he’d been drawn from a sound sleep. Hadn’t even the time to put on shoes and his feet were now paying for it. Beneath them, little pools of blood collected from where the floor had torn the flesh from the soles. His neck continued to burn, as did the streak it left which coursed in a fine line down into his collar and across the left side of his chest. He continued in his pockets while he stood again. His hand found purchase on something. Something round, glasslike. He pulled it out and had to stifle a laugh. His monocle. What good would that do?

  The demon pushed fire toward Crowley a time or two more. Each time Crowley ended unscathed. But at least the demon seemed occupied at the moment. Jakob moved forward. Though as if he heard the footfall, the creature turned when Jakob took a few steps closer.

  “She’s mine,” the demon teased. “You all are.”

  “No,” said Jakob. “Not her.”

  “Yesssssss,” it hissed back.

  The demon raised its hand again, spat a stream of molten fire from its finger. Reflexively, Jakob held up the hand holding the monocle. A feeble attempt. As if the tiny object held any real purpose. But the stream of fire hit the glass and an earth shattering thunder boomed within the maelstrom. The assault reflected off the rounded piece of glass and went hurling back at the demon. Jakob had a moment to see the creature’s eyes widen before the bolt barreled through its chest, spewing out the other side. It screamed and writhed in agony. The force of it sent the demon stepping backward. One foot stepped off the side of the disintegrated floor and soon it tumbled backward. The thing’s arm gripped for purchase in mid-air, finding nothing. At once, with a scream, it disappeared below.

  Surprised and astounded, Jakob admired his luck only a tick before racing toward his sister. Her body fell limp. Though he anticipated this; her falling into the abyss below. His feet slipped and slid on the wooden floor, the blood on the soles of his feet making the traverse difficult. But as he neared the hole in the floor, and she plummeted toward it, he reached out a hand and snatched the upper part of her arm. The force of her fall pulled him forward, toward the opening. He felt her arm slide in his grip, her elbow pass his hand, the narrowing of her forearm. He squeezed as tight as he could, and as he flopped onto his belly and she fell below the opening he offered a silent prayer.

  Jakob’s shoulder popped from its socket as she halted in her descent and thudded to a stop. He bit back the agony of this arm becoming as useless as the other one. She swung there a moment, unconscious as he held tight and tried regain composure. Jakob’s eyes clamped shut. His body felt trampled. As if he’d been tossed from a balcony. Twisted, broken. His grip on her wrist loosened, even as he fought for some inner strength.

  “Crowley!” He managed.

  But he needn’t have yelled. The magician came hurling to his side. He’d watched the young man grasp the girl. Watched her descend into the hole. Saw the pain wrack Jakob’s face as they came to an abrupt halt. Crowley reached over the edge, crawling as far over as he could mange without falling in himself. He managed a grasp further up on the little girl’s arm. Together they pulled Lilly to safety.

  Jakob lay on his back a time, watching the maelstrom which consumed the room fade. The dark clouds and wind abated, thinning in wisps before vanishing altogether. Soon the room took on its original form. Walls and ceiling. Glass and doors. Crowley pulled the girl away from the hole in the floor. It was the only thing that remained of the event. Jakob looked over and saw Lillian’s head upon Crowley’s lap. The two lay in a heap themselves. With trepidation, Jakob pulled himself to his knees and took in a deep breath. The searing pain in his neck had ceased. His feet throbbed. So did his shoulder and other bones which were surely broken in the battle.

  Crowley sat up. Saw Lillian lying in his lap. He smiled. Crowley couldn’t believe they’d come out this fortunate. A series of coughs from the girl st
artled them both. Crowley held a hand to the girl’s face. But even Jakob noticed her color return. The translucent skin which stretched over her bones almost appeared to thicken before his eyes. Lillian still carried a gaunt look about her, but her pallor returned to normal. Her eyes fluttered open. She looked up at the strange man next to her, but was far too tired to react. Movement from somewhere else caught her eye. She shifted and watched her brother, Jakob, pulling himself to his feet.

  “Jakob?” She questioned. His head snapped up.

  “Lillian?” He returned.

  “I want to go home,” she added.

  Jakob’s laugh echoed throughout the room. He could hardly control himself. Crowley too, laughed. Lillian, unsure what might be so funny simply smiled. Jakob couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so overjoyed. He breathed a sigh of relief. Lifted his hand to scratch his temple, but realized he held something in it. He unfurled his fingers to see the monocle there in his palm. Shook his head in disbelief that something so simple worked so well. The glass was dirtied, charred from the fire. But he lifted it to his face and placed it in his eye.

  This drew a laugh from his little sister. Crowley nodded at the young man. Jakob took a step toward the pair but stopped short. A bolt of pain shot up the left side of his chest and into his neck. His hand shot to the wound the demon had carved into his skin from the assault of fire. The wound was hot to the touch. Enflamed. Just then, a rustling caught his attention. Something behind him scratched at the mouth of the hole. Jakob turned in time to see the demon’s head crest the opening. One hand clutched at the rim of the abyss. The other flung over the side and a flash of light, a projection of fire erupted from the creature’s hand before it fell back and disappeared below.