Tales from the Dark Parallel
* * *
I walked for a long time and eventually the bleak suburban street wasn’t suburban anymore. I was in a city, a grimy New York City from a past that wouldn’t have been kind to me because of the color of my skin. It could have been the 1920s, but I’ve never been good at dating things. Everything still smelled of rot, not the smoky urine that you might expect. It smelled as if the waters surrounding the island were filled with rotting debris. I was close to the pier at the tip of the island and I could see it, huge barges of trash slow floated in the water and they all left trails of garbage in their wake.
I moved with my head down between the buildings. I followed the sidewalk and people moved past me in clothes that reminded me I was not in the year 2017. No one seemed to see me, and they moved through me, or me through them. No one had a face, but I could tell that everyone was discontented. I could feel it.
I stumbled around the streets until I saw what appeared to be an oasis in the concrete chaos. An entire block was covered in lawns and there was a garden, all enclosed by a metal fence. In the middle was a white building that almost gleamed with sterility. The roof was supported by six columns and there were three statues that seemed Greek to me in front of the door. I felt drawn to it, pushed there by the cacophony of an old city. I made it to the lawn and approached the columns. There were stairs leading up and I noticed a young man approach. As he entered the gate and headed to the stairs, a small crowd gathered at the fence to watch. He passed right through me and I watched him ascend the stairs and enter the door. I followed close behind him.
Inside, the walls were as white as the outside and something about it felt other worldly, like I was in a hallowed place and I wondered if the man had entered to say a prayer for someone that he had lost. But there were no alters, no religious mementos inside. The room was bare except for a lever on a wall and the white floor had a complex pattern of black squares that I assumed was some sort of grate that had been painted white. The man stood in the middle of the complex pattern on the floor and in front of the lever on the wall. He stood there and gently sobbed. I wanted to reach out to comfort him, but my hand went right through his shoulder. And then he reached up to pull the lever. A thick gas issued up from the grate and I stepped back as the man was consumed. I wanted to leave, but the man had been completely consumed in the gas and I wanted to see if he was ok. When the gas started to disperse, I saw the man on the floor, dead. I was in a suicide chamber. I stumbled out in horror and made my way down the stairs. The crowd that had gathered as the man entered had dispersed and people on the street passed by flippantly.
I walked away confused and rattled. The blurred faces of the city’s masses were becoming more unnerving. And just when it was becoming too much, I saw a face that was not blurred. The man was on the other side of the street and he was staring at everyone with the same suspicion and fear that I felt. He was squirrelly, a dingy white guy from the late 1800s, with straws of orange hair on his head. His eyes were sharp, they cut into me even from the distance, and it seemed that he had on make up that blackened his eyes full around each. He was making his way through in a hurry and I followed him, eventually crossed the street, and when I was close to him I could hear him muttering. He stopped at a store front underneath a sign that said HAWBERK, ARMOURER. I watched the man watch the metal worker inside. They talked and the man with the orange hair seemed to normalize, his frantic eyes slowed. But then the blurred face of the metal worker called the man’s friend a lunatic and I saw the flash of madness in his eyes again. As the man tore himself away from the conversation, he ran right into me and we both straightened our backs in surprise. I noticed scars on his neck that seemed to extend from the back of his head.
“Didn’t see you there,” he said and when his eyes met mine I saw a flash of something that made me think he recognized me.
“Hello,” I said slowly, “can you help me…”
He cut me off before I finished, “You look like him.” His face was screwed like he had just seen a ghost.
“But I should be the next king.”
He was becoming frantic. His crazed eyes put the fear of God in me and I had to get away.
I ran past the suicide chamber and all the while the man screamed that he was the rightful ruler of Carcosa, the kingdom under the stars.
I looked back as him when I was a couple blocks away and he was still staring in my direction, but his eyes were fixed on something behind me. I turned slowly and there was a tall man in a pallid mask and a yellow rob covered his body down to the ground. He had a yellow hood on his head. I was scared and then he extended a hand. I saw a spiral on the back of his hand, a sign that I did not recognize, and his pale thin fingers that could have been bone came toward me. Paralyzed with fear, I closed my eyes tightly and waited for the mysterious punishment.
But all I felt was his hand grip my shoulder, almost lovingly. And then I heard his voice that sounded like he had to draw air into his lungs to speak, like he was gasping for breath.
“My son. You have returned.”
Son? My father never wore a pallid mask and I have never seen him in yellow robes.
“Have you forgiven us then?”
I didn’t know how to respond.
“We’ve all missed you dearly. I had heard you were here and I brought you to me. Do you forgive us?”
“Why do you need my forgiveness? I think you may have me confused with someone else.”
The man in yellow laughed and his shoulders rose and fell underneath his robes. The creepy, blank affectation of his mask never changed, but he seemed delighted.
“You can change your face, but we will always recognize you. It’s not our fault, you know? We only exist, we cannot move men to the horrible things…” he stopped abruptly and turned his face like he heard something that I could not hear.
“She is waiting for you.” The man was still looking away. “I won’t hold you any longer. Please do say goodbye before you leave.”
I watched him slowly disappear before my eyes and just as soon as he was gone, I heard a yell like a battle cry.
“For the black stars of Carcosa!”
The crazed man from before was running after me. I had to leave.
* * *
Tonight:
– – –
Poor Silas. You can’t pinch yourself out of this one. It’s as real as you are right now.
Silas in Hell: “And then he saw Silas in hell and it all made sense to him. He did not know Silas, but he saw the man appear out of nowhere and he walk with the horned demon for a while until he just disappeared. This hell is not a punishment for the lives and actions of the souls that suffered there. And it is not necessarily a permanent situation if the man had appeared and disappeared. There had to be some explanation, whether scientific or otherwise, that explained why all of humanity was being drawn to this realm. The whole thing was unnatural.”
– – –
You’ve heard this one before. Only this time, things get weird. Or, weirder.
Remarkable: “‘You’re bleeding.’ his sister said. She watched as Kevin slowly stood, brushing himself off and he looked down to see where he had hit his head. He couldn’t figure it out, but he saw a small device that looked almost like a small key chain flashlight, as wide as his nostril. Kevin bent to pick it up. He slid it into his nose while his back was still to his sister. It was the best way to avoid her ridicule for the fall; he had to give her something else to laugh about. But before he could turn to show her, he felt the small flashlight device slip further up his nose, and it was not a gentle process.”
– – –
If hell is real, then so is demonic possession. Or so it would seem.
The Lightning God: “Anabel stood in the doorway of her son’s bedroom. She had rosary beads in her hand and she felt each one with her fingers one at a time as she prayed in a quickfire whisper. Her eyes were closed tight. She knew that she should have her eyes open. Her son needed her then more than ever, when it seemed that God had abandoned him completely and left him open to the horrible possession that gripped his body.”
* * *
PRL Serials 