The Dark and Shadowy Places

I’m from Labyrinth. That’s the name of my town. Weird, isn’t it. Apparently the guy who founded it, a couple hundred years ago, was obsessed with Crete and the legend of the minotaur in that huge labyrinth. So that’s your history lesson for the day. Why anyone would name a town Labyrinth, I have no idea. Except that, because of the founder, the town, well, is really a labyrinth. The streets are like one giant maze, and even living here all my life, growing up here, I still get lost and turned around. Streets branch off in strange directions, and sometimes just abruptly stop and go nowhere. I guess a bit like a cul-de-sac. It’s frustrating when you’re trying to get to the grocery store, but make a wrong turn, and then you come to a dead end. And you really have to pay attention if you want to get to work on time. At least I do. Sometimes it feels like the roads change, and move. That they end up in different places. I’ve not heard of a maze doing that ever, but I’ve seen some really strange things here. Mind you, I’ve never been anywhere but here. Maybe things like this happen in other places too – big cities like Chicago or Los Angeles or in England, I don’t know.

The lighthouse, just outside of town, is where most of the strange stuff happens. First of all, Labyrinth isn’t anywhere near water. So why there’s a lighthouse in the first place is weird in itself. It just sits up on this raised bit of land. So wherever you are in town, you can’t miss it. It’s like some strange sentinel, on the lookout for…something. Guarding the town from…well, not from any boats, that’s for sure. The ocean is a couple thousand miles away. Labyrinth is landlocked. There’s not even any rivers nearby that the lighthouse could warn boats on it not to…I don’t know, not to stop in Labyrinth, maybe.

The weird thing about the lighthouse is, it’s working. That might not sound strange to you. But it never has before. Ever. Not since I was born, not since my parents moved here. Not since it was built. I’m not sure why it was built anyway. Maybe whoever did it liked lighthouses, and thought Labyrinth should have one. Whatever the reason, it has never worked. I didn’t even think there was even a lightbulb in it. I know, I’ve been up there. Lots. It’s something you do when you’re bored. Go along the windy, rocky, pitted road up the hillside, and climb the lighthouse. It gives you a really cool three-sixty degree view of the town, the mountains on one side of it, and the forest on the other. I used to go up there when I wanted to be alone. Sometimes I’d go there to be alone, and there would already be people up there, hanging out, making out, the usual teenager stuff.

But that was when the lighthouse was just an old, empty, tall building with winding stairs up to a viewing deck. Now, it’s an actual lighthouse. Without anything to be a lighthouse for. What’s the purpose of a lighthouse? To warn people. And since there are no boats to warn, what, or who, was it warning? The town?

I just noticed the lighthouse was on yesterday. Only because I ran into Mrs Harris. Literally, I bumped into her because she was standing still in the middle of the sidewalk, looking at the lighthouse on the hill. I was about to mumble something ungracious and continue on past when she grabbed my shoulder tightly. Ella, look! she said, gripping me painfully as she pointed at the lighthouse. I didn’t see it at first, the light hadn’t made it around to us yet. But then there it was. A flash from a giant bulb that hurt my eyes, and then was gone again, only to reappear a few seconds later.

So? I asked, in a tone that made it sound like I thought Mrs. Harris was crazy.

So? So? Don’t you know what this means? The woman almost screeched and I winced, raising my hands to my ears.

I shook my head. No, I didn’t know.

It’s the circus, she whispered in a hiss as her nails bit into my arm.

What? I asked, totally confused. The circus? There had never been a circus come through town. Nothing much really happened in Labyrinth. Except the annual Cranberry festival. I hadn’t seen any posters up about any circus. I looked around, as if I was expecting to see carts full of elephants and tigers rolling down main street any second. I don’t see any animals, I said, still puzzled by Mrs. Harris’ reaction.

No, no, she said, shaking her head angrily, her perfectly coiffed hair bouncing. Not that kind of circus! Not with animals. With them, she lowered her voice and turned me to face her, grabbing me by both shoulders. I tried to tug myself free of her grip, but she just held tighter, staring intensely into my eyes with her storm grey ones. The gypsies. The land pirates. They come in the night, on the third day, and in the morning, people are gone. They steal them. You don’t know who they are coming for, or how many. Sometimes it’s just one person. Usually it’s more. Sometimes a child, sometimes someone who is elderly, frail. Sometimes someone else. Someone like you, or me. There’s no rhyme, no reason.

I could feel my eyes grow wide. I had never heard of this. Never heard of land pirates, and people being stolen.

Mrs. Harris continued, as if I wasn’t even there, still trying to release myself from her. That’s why the Labyrinthine Lighthouse was built. As a warning system. To warn us about the pirates. They only come around once every hundred years or so. She looked at her watch as if that would tell her that a hundred years has passed since the last arrival of the circus.

So what do we do? I asked.

Mrs. Harris looked at me again, as if just remembering I was there. Do? We leave! If you don’t want to be taken, you have to run. And with that , she took her own advice and sprinted off down the street, eyes darting nervously around her.

Today is the third day, and the sun is going down. I’m writing this from the lighthouse. You might be asking yourself why I haven’t left. Why I haven’t run, like Mrs. Harris. I can’t answer that. Maybe it’s just morbid curiosity. Like I said, nothing much happens here in Labyrinth. I want to see the circus.

Hopefully I’ll be one of the lucky ones.

The Unknown

It smelled red.

It’s the first thing that popped into my head when I opened my eyes. That acrid, tangy scent, like burning metal. I didn’t know what time it was, but I knew something was…off. I lay in bed, not wanting to get up and, just like I did every other morning, look out my window at the trees, sky, buildings and mountains before getting dressed with the clothes I laid out the night before.

I glanced at the blinds, and through the little holes that the drawstrings ran though, I could see the sky. It was red. An awful, not right, red. My legs felt like lead as I swung them off the bed and, gripping the windowsill, I lifted a slat and peered out. My stomach and body must have already anticipated the dread outside, because I didn’t feel any different staring out at the landscape before me. Or rather, lack of one.

My body seemed to go numb. My thoughts slowed almost to a stop, but the first thing I remember thinking (after the red) was, how could I have slept through this? That was quickly followed by, and how am I still here?

I let the blind snap back into place. I moved as if I was walking in quicksand. My body didn’t want to function. The mundane-ness of my small apartment hit me, then. It was like someone slammed into me. The small bathroom, just outside my bedroom. The painting in the hallway of killer whales in the water. The stairs, leading down to the living room and kitchen on the bottom floor. Everything seemed so normal. It was that that made the hot tears prick at the corners of my eyes, not the everything else outside. The normality of my house. Everything was the same, everything was there. Not even a single picture had fallen from the wall, or a mug out of the cupboard.

I found myself in the bathroom. I don’t remember heading there but suddenly I was looking at myself in the mirror. I held my hands up and touched my face, ran them through my long, bed-messy brown hair. I leaned over the counter, peering at my chestnut eyes. My pale skin seemed paler than normal, but, I reasoned, that’s understandable today, of all days.

Get a hold of yourself, Anise, I scolded my mirror-self. You’re still here. That’s the important thing. And to emphasize that point, I pinched the skin on my left forearm. Ouch. Yes, I was most definitely still here. If this was a dream, I wouldn’t be able to feel any pain. Right? Oh how I wish this was a dream! I would be the happiest girl in the world if this was all just a nightmare. I pinched myself again, just to be sure. Nope.

I threw on a pair of jeans, a coral t-shirt, and my favourite purple hoodie. I didn’t care that it clashed. It was the least of my concern. The least of anyone’s concern now.

I ran downstairs, my legs moving more freely now, and headed for the TV.

My hand froze on the remote. Did I really want to turn it on? I knew what would happen if I did. My nightmare would be confirmed as reality. But I needed to. I needed to know what had happened. I needed an explanation for what I had seen out my bedroom window.

I pressed the red button and the TV blared to life with exactly what I was expecting – chaos.

Ribbons scrolled across the bottom of the screen like a ticker tape of doom, words like DEVASTATION and STATE OF EMERGENCY shouting at me. The news-reporter woman with her usually perfect news-reporter hair seemed flustered and close to tears. I could see that she was speaking, but I couldn’t register what she was saying. The ribbon of doom at the bottom of the screen with its large white letters got through to me. Mainly just 6 words: Massive earthquake splits planet.

What? I waited until the words scrolled past a second time – knowing, yet still unbelieving, in their truth.

More words followed, and the news reporters voice suddenly broke through the wall my body seemed to have built up around me. Scientists believe that the Earth’s core has overheated, causing a sort of implosion. Massive sinkholes, sections of land have just… the woman suddenly seemed at a loss for words. Probably the first time in her career, I guessed. I watched as the reporter tried unsuccessfully to choke back tears. Huge areas of land all over North America, all over the world, have just disappeared.

Well that would explain it, I said out loud to my small, empty apartment. That would explain why there was only water, a vast ocean, outside my bedroom window, when yesterday there were houses, apartment buildings…oh yeah, and a whole fucking mountain range. How can the Rockies be there one day and replaced by an endless sea the next? How? I repeated out loud, again for the benefit of no-one, in a failing effort to rationalize what was happening. I glanced at the TV screen again where the news was showing a map of the world. Or what was left of it.

Where I was, the Pacific North West, was intact. But it was now only a long narrow strip of land – from Alaska to Mexico. There was nothing east. Nothing. My brain couldn’t seem to register that concept. Half of Russia and most of Asia was still on the screen, along with the east coast of Africa. The middle of Australia too. The coast, where most people lived, was underwater. The west coast of South America was still there too. Good, I thought. I’ve always wanted to go to Peru.

I laugh at that now. I don’t know what made me think that, then, but I guess I wasn’t really thinking straight. There was a large ugly scar, a vast chasm cutting across the world.

I went into auto-pilot, then. Survivor mode. I think we all have it. I grabbed a duffle bag from the closet and filled it with food and clothes. I chucked in some Band-Aids. I slung the bag over my shoulder.

My hand reached for the doorknob. As I was about to turn it, there was a knock. I almost screamed. My heart started pounding in my chest and ears.

I opened the door. Standing in front of me was a man dressed all in black, a heavy plastic visor shielding his face. Behind him stood a few others, just the same.

Are you Anise Buttersby?

I winced. I hated my name. I went by Abe. Yes. It was all I could think to say. I didn’t even think to ask why.

Good, the man replied as he roughly spun me around. I heard more than felt the handcuffs go around my wrist. And then I was in a car, its windows so tinted it looked like night. I banged on the glass partition in front with my boot. Where are you taking me? The only answer was silence.

THE CONSORTIUM

Once or twice he thought he caught a glimpse of Lyric's intentionally messy bright blue hair in the streams of people crowding the busy streets, despite the bone chilling cold of autumn on the cusp of winter.

Gabriel squeezed past people, and began jogging through the human congestion, dodging umbrellas, elbows and murderous glares from other pedestrians. After two blocks he gives up on his quest. Turning the collar of his jacket up against the wind, he huddled down and made his way to the tall, glass-fronted home of his grandfather’s investment empire.

Putting on his best ‘don’t talk to me’ face, he managed to get to his office, on the 26th floor, without too much hassle. He sat down heavily, grudgingly thankful for the soft thickness of the leather chair.

He realized he was shaking as he drew the envelope from his pocket. He took a deep breath. Get a hold of yourself, Gabriel! he chided himself.

The envelope was brown. His name was written on the front in a handwriting he didn’t recognize, simply as G. Ash. He turned it over and was about to open it when he noticed something on the flap. A dot sat in the middle of a larger circle. He shrugged and tore the paper. He drew out a single piece of paper, folded over double, and lifted the flap.

Four words stared back at him in neat typed letters. You have been chosen. At the bottom of the page was the same dot and circle.

What? He stared at the paper dumbly, and turned it over, expecting something else. It was blank.

He was about to throw the paper and envelope in the trash and put it down to some weird Monday morning prank, when something fell from the envelope – a business card. He picked it up gingerly, as if it would hurt him. On the front was the now familiar circle and dot design. He flipped it over. The Consortium. It was typed in the same neat font as the letter. In a strange cursive, that he recognized as being the same as his name on the envelope, was written, your presence has been requested. This was followed by an address.

Gabriel knew it instantly. It was as far away from this part of the city as you could get. The not so nice part, down by the docks. He had always tried to avoid that part of the city, if he could help it. The part that you didn’t want to get caught walking down a dark alley at night, or any other time of day, in. Well it looks like my life isn’t so boring after all, he said with a glance at his boring, yet expensive, desk and computer and phone. He looked at the card again. It didn’t mention a time, or date. He risked a glace out the window. It was still cold and grey and miserable. He hadn’t even taken off his scarf or coat yet. Better now than never, he said as he levered himself out of his chair. His leaving the office moments after arriving raised a few eyebrows as he pushed through the revolving door and back out onto the street.

Gabriel felt like he had been walking through a maze of run-down and abandoned warehouses for an eternity. He was just about to give up ever locating the address that was neatly typed up on the card he held him his hand with a death grip, the sharp edges of the paper cutting into the baby soft skin of his palm. He felt like the only person alive right now. He didn’t think another living soul was around for miles. Gusts of wind caused old, rusted metal walls and roof to creak and groan like trapped monsters.

At last he had arrived. He looked at the faded number above the door, barely lit by the dim lamp above, and down at the card. Yes, this was the place. It was a small, narrow box squeezed in between two large warehouses. It seemed like it was being held together just by the other buildings on either side.

He hesitated. The envelope offered nothing as to what was behind the rusted door in front of him, that was barely hanging on its hinges. Maybe Lyric would be there… The thought of the girl with the riot of colour, and the aura…the something about her that made him tingle gave him a jolt of courage.

He took a deep breath and pushed open the door. He stepped forward slowly, in the darkness, his patent leather shoes ringing hollowly on the concrete floor. It was almost pitch black. Gabriel realized he was holding his breath.

He almost screamed when a brilliant white light flared to life all around him. Instinctively, he squeezed his eyes shut. He could see his eyelids, glowing red, with the brightness of the light. He slowly opened his eyes, wincing.

He realized he was standing in the middle of a circle. A circle of people. And he was the centre. I’m the dot, he thought numbly. Spotlights shone down on him from all around. He couldn’t make out the figures standing around him. They were cloaked in shadow, standing just outside the pool of light.

A voice spoke. It sounded like many voices, melded as one. Welcome to the Consortium.

Gabriel didn’t know what to say. Thank you? It was more question than answer. Why was he invited? What did they want him for? Who were these people? These questions and many more swirled inside him. He wanted to ask them all, but he couldn’t find his voice. His throat was dry with fear.

We have invited you here today to ask you only one question. You can accept, or you can decline. The choice is yours, and yours alone. If you decline, you can go back to your life, just as it was, and you will never hear from us again. If you accept, we can guarantee your life will change forever. Drastically.

Gabriel found his voice. For good? Or bad?

That is not for us to decide. There was a long pause. You only have five minutes. Another stretch of silence. The clock is ticking.

THE RORSCHACH TEST

I sat in a small grey room, wearing a matching grey jumpsuit. They weren’t very creative here. Why should they be? I thought with a shake of my head. It’s not as if they try to make you comfortable. It’s not like home. There’s no place like home, I thought, and I tried to suppress the smile that tugged at the corner of my lips and the laugh that threatened to burst out of me, thinking of the girl that sat on my left. My roommate. This is not the time, nor the place. It would just lead to questions. I stared straight ahead, trying to avoid the gazes of the three other women who sat around me in a circle. We all wore the same matching