Fading Light: An Anthology of the Monstrous: Tim Marquitz Read online

  Fading Light – An Anthology of the Monstrous

  Copyright 2012 Tim Marquitz and Angelic Knight Press

  Cover art by Jessy Lucero

  www.angelicknightpress.com

  Created in the United States of America

  Worldwide Electronic and Digital Rights

  ISBN: 9781476152899

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form, including digital, electronic, or mechanical, to include photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the author(s), except for brief quotes used in reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, and incidents are products of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Parasitic Embrace

  By Adam Millard

  The Equivalence Principle

  By Nick Cato

  A Withering of Sorts

  By Stephen McQuiggan

  Goldilocks Zone

  By Gary W. Olson

  They Wait Below

  By Tom Olbert

  Blessed Be the Shadowchildren

  By Malon Edwards

  The Beastly Ninth

  By Carl Barker

  Late Night Customer

  By David Dalglish

  Rurik’s Frozen Bones

  By Jake Elliot

  Wrath

  By Lee Mather

  Friends of a Forgotten Man

  by Gord Rollo

  Altus

  by Georgina Kamsika

  Angela’s Garden

  by Dorian Dawes

  The Long Death of Day

  by Timothy Baker

  Out of the Black

  by William Meikle

  Degenerates

  by DL Seymour

  Dust

  by Wayne Ligon

  Der Teufel Sie Wissen

  by TSP Sweeney

  Born of Darkness

  by Stacey Turner

  Lottery

  by Gene O’Neill

  Where Coyotes Fear to Tread

  by Gef Fox

  The Theophany of Nyx

  by Edward M. Erdelac

  Double Walker

  by Henry P. Gravelle

  Light Save Us

  by Ryan Lawler

  Dark Tide

  by Mark Lawrence

  About the Authors

  Introduction

  When I first started processing the idea of Fading Light, it was very much a testosterone-laden attempt at following in the footsteps of my friend/mentor/motivational Chihuahua, Lincoln Crisler. He put together the amazing Corrupts Absolutely? and showed me what could be done by an underdog when he puts his mind to it.

  As Fading Light came together it evolved, but my vision was firmly rooted in the imagery of Lovecraft and the stark atmosphere of Stephen King’s The Mist. I really wanted to dig into the idea that something lurked in the darkness, just waiting for the right moment to reveal itself. I wanted to experience the horrors of the unknown, terror looming.

  Thanks to the wonderful authors involved in Fading Light, I believe I did just that. Jessy Lucero set the tone with her amazing cover art, and the cast of Fading Light pounded the feeling home.

  So, it is with humble pride that I unleash Fading Light: An Anthology of the Monstrous upon the world. I can only hope you find the same pleasure in reading these pieces as I did collecting them.

  Tim Marquitz

  El Paso, Texas

  May 1, 2012

  Parasitic Embrace

  Adam Millard

  Amanda glared at the television screen, her breaths coming in short, sharp intakes. She was unsure if she had heard correctly. Was it even possible?

  As the newsreader moved on to the next story—though it was clear she, too, was shaken—Amanda had a thousand thoughts all at once. She knew she had to call somebody. Anybody. Her mother was out on the farm by herself; she probably hadn’t heard the warnings. It was a rarity for her mother to even switch on the television set during the day.

  Maybe she had heard it on the radio.

  That was likelier, but not enough to settle Amanda’s nerves. She picked up the telephone and dialed. For a few moments, she didn’t think anybody was going to answer. Her heart raced. Inside, her stomach was doing somersaults, almost enough to bring up the breakfast, which she had not long consumed. When her mother finally picked up, she heaved a massive sigh.

  “Hello?”

  “Mom, thank God,” she said. “I just needed to call you.”

  There was a nervous laugh before the elderly voice on the opposite end of the line said, “What is it, dear?”

  “Mom, haven’t you seen the TV ... or ... or heard anything on the radio?”

  “You know me, Amanda,” her mother replied, chuckling to herself. “I can’t bear to watch that rubbish. I’ve got my books, and that’s all I need.”

  Amanda allowed herself to lean against the wall. She hadn’t realized but she was pulling the phone-cord so hard that it was only an inch from being yanked completely out of the receiver. “Mom, there’s been a volcano eruption in Spain. A big one. They think it’s going to—”

  The sound of her mother laughing on the other end of the line interrupted her. “You’ve called me to tell me about a volcano going off miles away? There’s an ocean between us and Spain.”

  “It’s not the fucking lava I’m ringing you about,” she spat, trying not to get too worked up, though it was difficult. “They said on the news there’s a massive ash-cloud that’s going to reach the UK in the next six hours.”

  Her mother was silent, obviously trying to digest the information. “We had one last year, didn’t we?” she asked, and then without waiting for a reply, she said, “I remember it. They had to ground all the planes. It was a nightmare.”

  Amanda sighed. “This one’s much worse than that,” she said, and it was. Mayhem at the airports was the least of their worries. According to the newsreader, the cloud was black, darker than anything they had ever recorded. The volcano, Teide, had erupted with such force the surrounding villages were destroyed within moments. There had been no warning, no rumblings from the belly of the beast prior to the eruption; not even seismic tremors, which would have, at least, offered the villagers below the chance to evacuate.

  And it was only the beginning. The cloud would be over the UK in six hours, and according to the report Amanda had just watched, the best thing to do was to stay inside and remain calm.

  When Amanda finished the call to her mother, calm was the last thing she felt.

  ~

  It was 2:27 p.m. when Paul turned up at the house drunk. She hadn’t been expecting him, nor did she want him anywhere near while he smelt like a brewery, but he seemed to be genuinely concerned about the cloud, so Amanda made them both coffee and listened to what he had to say. It was only fair. They had been together for four years before finally separating six months ago.

  He sat across from her, his coffee mug trembling in his nervous hand. “I just needed to talk to someone,” he said as he glared towards her with watery eyes. “This whole thing, this cloud fucking thing, it’s made me realize how insignificant everything is.”

  She knew where he was going, and tried to preempt him. “We broke up months ago,” she said, trying desperately hard not to add to his palpable woe. “You know things were never going to work between us.”

  His head droppe
d forward; yes, he knew, but that didn’t mean he had accepted it yet. He sipped morosely from the mug and sighed. “Are you just going to stay here?” he asked. “When the cloud reaches us?”

  She nodded. “That’s what they said on the news.” She gave her watch a cursory glance and hissed as she noted the time. There was less than two hours to go if the scientists and God knows whoever had worked it out right. The last thing she wanted was to be trapped in the house with Paul for the next day or two. It was rude to just ask him to leave, but there was no harm in hinting.

  They drank their coffee in relative silence; Paul didn’t mention their relationship, though he brought up the cloud a couple more times, which only further convinced Amanda that he was genuinely scared. It wasn’t like him, but his emotions had changed, and she couldn’t be sure of how much alcohol he had consumed.

  He finally left at 3:15, less than an hour before a terrifying shadow enveloped the sky above.

  It was times like this that Amanda wished she still drank.

  ~

  She was standing at the kitchen window when the sky turned yellow. In the background, the sound of a rolling report continued to blare from the TV. The neighbors—fools that they were—had wandered out into the garden for a better view. Amanda watched as Douglas West pointed towards the sky. His wife, Maggie, nodded as she listened to what must have been her husband’s take on the cloud. Amanda wanted to yell, to tell them to go back indoors where they would be safe, but it was none of her business. There were idiots everywhere, even if they weren’t aware of it. She poured herself another cup of coffee—her ninth for the day—and stood at the window as the orange miasma began to tint the atmosphere.

  It said on the news that the yellow would come before the gray and black, which wasn’t comforting in the slightest. Amanda wanted to climb the stairs, fall into bed and pull the sheets up over her head until it was all over and done.

  She lit a cigarette and exhaled a plume of blue smoke into the kitchen. The irony was not lost on her, and she nervously laughed as she realized it was probably safer out in the garden with the Wests. She walked across to where the phone hung on the wall and picked up the receiver. Only after punching in the first six numbers did she realize how silly she was being; her mother would have told her exactly the same if she had continued to dial. She replaced the phone in its cradle and turned back to the window.

  It was getting darker. The kitchen was gloomy, ominous, and shadows that had been visible only a moment before were now nowhere to be found.

  Amanda took two aspirin and moved into the living room, where she could no longer see the nightmare unfolding through the kitchen window. She returned her attention to the TV, unsurprised to find the news still covering the volcano and subsequent ash cloud.

  A reporter stood on the roof of the BBC center. Wearing a dust-mask—the kind which could usually be found on someone inspecting asbestos—it was difficult to understand what he was trying to say, but he was certainly frightened by the strange phenomenon and kept fluffing the report. The camera panned around, skyward, and it was almost impossible to pinpoint just what the cameraman was looking at, such was the darkness.

  The sky was the color of strong coffee. Around the clouds there were highlights of orange, but they did little to create any sort of visible light. The sun was up there somewhere, through all of that mire and ash, according to the reporter, who was shifting from one foot to the other as the temperature suddenly dropped.

  “We have no idea how long this is going to last, or how much worse it is likely to get.” The camera moved back around to his masked face. “If you don’t have to go out, then please remain indoors. The cloud is toxic and dangerous. If you, or anybody you know, are asthmatic, make sure they are kept in a room where there are no openings and no way for the noxious dust to get in. Daniel Brown for BBC News.”

  The reporter was replaced by a concerned-looking anchor who shuffled papers and did everything she could not to look into the camera. Amanda watched as the woman rambled on, trying to explain the cloud in scientific terms that were beyond her.

  A chill ran through Amanda as the room seemed to drop several degrees. She stood and made her way across to the living room window. The curtains were drawn, and had been since the cloud appeared. There was no point staring out at it, Amanda thought. It was terrifying enough to know it was there, without having a constant, visual reminder, though she knew she had to look. She tugged the curtain slowly to the side.

  The street was darker than night. The lights framing the road were all on, tricked by the sudden phenomenon. Amanda looked towards the deathly cloud, which was moving with unnatural liquidity across the sky. She had seen things during her life that had scared her, terrified her even, but the way in which that endless obsidian sea trickled by overhead intimidated her. She could hardly breathe as she gazed up into the sheer vastness. Then, she could smell sulphur, and she rushed across to the front door and slapped a trembling hand over the keyhole. Beneath her, a slow, murky mist began to appear at the bottom of the door. She ran to the kitchen and grabbed a towel. She rushed back and wedged it in place.

  How could she have been so stupid? The news had warned about the sulphur smell, and she had completely forgotten what to do. She had been too busy standing at the window in awe of the spreading monstrosity outside.

  The smell dissipated, and Amanda slowly made her way back to the sofa. The truth of it was: she was exhausted. She could have slept for days, if only that fucking thing wasn’t out there. She knew there would be no sleep that night. How could anybody sleep?

  The newsreader was now sticking a finger in her ear, listening to some faceless producer. Her expression changed once again, from mild anxiety to downright panic. When she finally managed to speak, she did so into the wrong camera, such was her disorientation.

  “Erm ... I’ve just been informed that we have some breaking news,” she said, finally realizing camera two wasn’t switched on. She hurriedly repositioned herself before continuing. “There have been reports that something, we don’t know what, is in the cloud.” She looked off camera, for support, before apparently realizing the people in the studio knew even less than she did. The producer in her ear said something else, which she repeated aloud. “The cloud seems to be making people crazy,” she said. “We have reports of mass confusion in the middle of the city, where people ... ” she shook her head as the news was repeated to her via the tiny earphone. “People are killing each other. The police are at the scene, but we can’t show you any pictures right now. You are all advised to remain indoors, keep everything locked and await further instructions.”

  This was getting worse by the minute. Amanda didn’t know what was worse: the fact that a toxic cloud the size of Ireland was hovering over them, or that people were so confused by the whole thing that they were killing each other.

  Amanda perched on the edge of the sofa, trying to slow her increasing heart-rate, when the female anchor threw back to the reporter on the roof.

  “Daniel, what can you see up there?”

  Daniel stood on the edge of the roof, staring out at the city. He either hadn’t heard the woman’s question, or there was something there that had him intrigued. The cameraman whispered his name, which got his attention. Daniel spun and made his way back to the center of the roof.

  “I don’t know what’s going on down there,” he said, trying to remain calm. “People are fighting. There has been several beheadings. It’s hard to say at this moment whether the ash-cloud is in any way to blame for these acts of random violence, though it would seem to be the case.” He paused, wiped gray dust from his forehead, and sighed. “There seems to be ... something ... I feel strange.” He doubled over, panting, desperately trying to regain some composure. This was going out live to thousands of concerned citizens, and here he was having a funny turn on air. He gasped, grabbed at the air with taut hands. It looked like he was dying.

  The cameraman appeared in shot, making his way
across the roof to where Daniel Brown struggled for air. He reached him, placed a hand on his back, and said something inaudible. The camera was still rolling, although the gathering miasma up on the roof made it difficult to see clearly.

  Suddenly, Daniel grabbed the cameraman’s arm and sank his teeth into it. The cameraman screamed as his flesh came away from the bone. With a mouthful of sinewy tendon, Daniel grabbed the man around the throat and dragged him to the ground, pounding his skull with such force that the cameraman’s head caved with just the second blow.

  Amanda was on her feet, her hand covering her mouth to prevent the inevitable scream. She couldn’t take her eyes off the screen, though. What had she just seen? What had half of the city just fucking seen?

  Daniel Brown punched and elbowed the bloody mess, which had once been a head, for almost a minute. Eventually, he rolled across and lay on his back, still gasping for air. His belly rose and fell, rose and fell, and then suddenly erupted. The reporter gagged and choked as his mouth filled with blood. He looked down with wide eyes as something poured out of him. It wasn’t blood, or any form of fluid. An army of strange creatures clambered out, scuttling across the roof.