Date: Wed, 2 Oct 1996 08:34:23 MDT From: Robyn Meta Herrington Subject: SUB: CONTEST: Redshift Ah goody. Another one for the halloweenie alter. . . Remember: Critiques go to ME, and I will pass them along to the authors. Robyn -------------------------------------------------------------- REDSHIFT "You go and look - you heard it." Anne mumbled sleepily before rolling over to turn her back on him. Max sighed, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and walked across the bedroom to the door. Carefully he pulled down on the handle. It started a squeaking noise. Damn - I should have oiled this thing, he thought, pulling gently down on the handle a little more, opening the door and easing himself out onto the landing. There it was again. Frozen on the landing he listened to the night. It was unmistakable this time - someone was humming softly, not from outside, but it sounded as though it was in the living room. Trying to avoid the steps that he knew by heart creaked, Max made his way downstairs. Almost afraid at what might be behind the door, he gingerly pushed it open. In the dim light coming through the windows from the moon he could just make out a black shape, hunched up in the chair that stood next to the stone fireplace. Trembling, Max found that he couldn't stop himself from walking over to the chair. It was like a patch of shadow that was blacker than the surrounding shadows, no more than that. The humming stopped and he could swear that the shadow-shape turned towards him. Almost closing his eyes in fear, he walked towards the chair, unable to stop himself. He felt something solid against his knee, looking down in panic he saw that he had walked into the chair. The blackness was gone. "Max ! Max ! Wake up - we've overslept - it's eight !" Anne was shaking him awake. When he came to and had opened his eyes enough to let the daylight wake him, he half-fell, half stumbled out of bed. Funny, his knee ached - must have slept awkwardly. Looking down he saw a faint outline of a bruise starting to form. Something came into his mind from last night. "Anne?" "What?!" she shouted, impatiently from the bathroom. "Did I wake you in the night?" "No. Why - what are you going on about?" "I remember hearing a noise and going to look -" he stopped, the memory of last night was incomplete, yet a coldness had come over him at some vague recollection of fear. "- nothing! It's all right - just a bad dream I was remembering!" Anne was dressed for work within fifteen minutes flat - raven-black hair brushed and pulled back into a loose bunch at the back of her head, smart navy blue skirt and matching jacket with white blouse. She looked a million dollars to Max. His wife, the sales director. Looking at his reflection in the polished silver toaster, unshaven, going slightly bald, perhaps a bit stooped? He felt rough. Since losing his job at the university he had let himself go. These days sleeping was all he felt up to - and that now was getting unpleasant. For several weeks he had been having some weird dreams. Each time he woke the next morning to a memory of trying to find some - 'thing'. He wasn't sure if it was a person, animal or an object. Probably just his mind being bored with life at home. When Anne had left for work, he took the morning paper and his coffee into the living room and settled down in the chair by the stone fireplace to read through the job adverts. Within five minutes the paper had fallen from his lap and he was fast asleep. He awoke with a jump. There was a creaking noise coming from the kitchen, like one of the cupboard doors being opened and closed. He jumped up and crept out to the kitchen door, peering through the crack. One of the cupboard doors was open, but he hadn't left it open? Deciding to surprise the intruder he burst into the room. Just as the kitchen door closed behind him, he caught sight of something, out of the corner of his eye, going along the hall and disappearing through the living room door. An icy chill came over him - now his dreams were becoming real. These were empty threats, he knew. But right now he needed to hear his own voice to chase off the demons and shadows in his own mind. For the rest of the day he paced around the house, even stealing himself to creep upstairs on several occasions in search of the shadow. But nothing else happened that day. Anne returned from work just before seven. "Hi honey - good day?" he called from the kitchen where he was making some dinner for them both. "OK I guess - did you do anything?" she called on her way upstairs to change out of her work clothes. "No - just read through the paper, did some housework." He lied. "Arrrrggghhhheeeeekkkkk!!!!! What the ---!! Max ! Come up here - quickly !!" He dropped the wooden spoon he had been stirring the sauce with and ran upstairs as fast as he could. Two steps at a time. When he got to their bedroom his mouthdropped open in amazement and disbelief. There on the wall above their bed, painted in black, were the words : "Max Ritinger, R.I.P." "What - who - who the hell did this?" he demanded of no one in particular. "We'd better call the police - maybe some psycho's got a grudge against you. Didn't you hear anything though? You must have heard someone come in and do this - surely?" "No - perhaps when I dozed off for a while." Max tried to dismiss it, despite the cold shivers at the memory of the shadowy figure he had caught sight of out of the corner of his eye earlier on that day when he investigated the noise from the kitchen. "Well, I'll call the police - you get some paint and get rid of it! You'd better make sure all of the doors and windows are locked tonight as well, we don't want this madman coming in here again!" Max went off to the garage to find some paint. But obliterating the words was difficult, even after several coats he swore that he could still see them despite Anne not being able to. That night, before going to bed, Max made the rounds of the house, checking each door and window to see that it was securely shut and locked. He dared not peer through the windows. Something felt to be out there. Watching. Waiting. Anne went to sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, but Max couldn't get to sleep at all. He kept thinking about the message above his head on the wall, about the nightmare last night and the events of the day. Each thought caused chills to run up his back, making him feel uneasy. "Hhmmmm, da-de-da, hmmmummm....." There it was again - this time he was definitely not asleep! It sounded like a woman's voice, humming a haunting song. This was crazy - all of the doors and windows were shut tight. It must be in his head. But the painted words weren't in his head. He sighed and climbed out of bed. As he again approached the chair by the fireplace in the lounge he saw the black shape. This time it seemed to have more form, was more solid. Yet he couldn't quite make out any features. "Max Ritinger." the voice seemed to boom inside his head rather than around the room, "It is time to die." Trembling he moved nearer to the chair, yet still the dark shadow didn't have any form. "Who, what are you?" "My name is legion - for I am many." With that the shadow simply dispersed from the chair, leaving Max alone and scared. In the morning he was still downstairs, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the window, staring out at the dawn. Anne found him when she came downstairs looking for him. "What have you been doing? Really Max, you shouldn't let this bit of graffiti get to you - it's just some prankster or something. The police said they'd keep a look out on the place. Perhaps you should see someone?" "What do you mean by that - do you think I'm cracking up then? We don't all have the Miller family coldness." "No - just that you may be a bit stressed out at the moment and need some help to unwind, relax a bit. That's all. Why don't you let me book you an appointment?" "Maybe - if you think it will help?" "I'll get you an appointment for this week then. Why don't you go out somewhere today? Perhaps getting out of the house for a bit will help you?" "OK - maybe I'll go for a walk, get some fresh air." When Anne had gone to work, Max quickly got ready and left the house, not wanting to spend any time in it by himself. He drove out to South Mountain and parked in the small dirt parking lot from which several tracks led up the mountain. This was their favorite spot, they had spent many hours walking along the various tracks together. Here he had some peace at last. He spent longer walking than he had intended, enjoying it so much - the fresh air, sunshine and quiet. When he got back to the parking lot, his was the only car left. Checking his watch, he saw that it was six-thirty, just time to get back for when Anne got home. He jumped into the car and drove off towards home. "You cannot escape me, Max." He gasped, swerving over the road. Looking in the mirror he saw the dark shadow again. This time it was sitting on the back seat - a definite figure shape. As it reached out - a hand - to touch his shoulder he saw a woman's face? No - that wasn't it. It was many faces, constantly changing. It was the face of every woman he had ever known. The hand touched his shoulder and he felt a searing pain strike through him. Like freezing cold, burning right into his very soul. "It is time for you to redshift." Max slammed on the brakes and swerved the car over to the side of the road. When the car had come to a standstill he jumped out and yanked open the rear door, determined to face the shadow. It must be a prank. Door open, the car was empty. Shaken, he regained enough control to get back into the driver's seat and continue his journey back home. Anne was already there when he got in. She had started the dinner, cooking smells of normality wafted from the steaming pans on the stove. "Good day Max?" "Oh. Fine - went out to South Mountain to get some air and peace. Did me the world of good." "That's great - perhaps we can forget things and get back to normal then? Dinner will be ready in just a few moments." "Sounds good to me." They ate dinner in near silence, Max couldn't help thinking about the sinister shadow - was it really just in his mind? But then what about the graffiti on the bedroom wall - surely that was proof of something going on? Unless it was him that did it - perhaps he was cracking up? That night, after Anne was asleep, Max lay awake listening to all of the night sounds. But none of the sounds turned into humming. Whilst his eyes were open. Max woke with a start. There it was again. A humming like before, only louder this time and very definitely coming from downstairs in the living room. He tried to wake Anne, but she wouldn't wake no matter how hard he shook her. "Anne! Anne! Get up! There it is again! Tell me you can hear it too?" But Anne refused to wake. He had to confront this thing himself then. He got out of bed and again made his way downstairs, opening the door to the living room carefully for fear of what he might confront. There in the center of the room towered the black shadow, this time twice as large as life. The face was not just a woman's now, but many faces. Some he recognized, others he didn't. The voice was more sinister now and again, it was like a mixture of voices, some of which he recognized. "Max. Prepare to redshift! The time is now!" "W-What do you mean?" "Come with us and see!" Irresistibly he was drawn into the shadow that was everything. Once totally enveloped in darkness he felt the strong presence of many, many others. Some had been there for a long time, others only a little while. Then in the center of the darkness he saw a faint red light that he felt compelled to reach out to. As he neared the source of the light he heard the humming once more. It was a woman's voice, humming a haunting lullaby or maybe a hymn, he wasn't sure. At the moment of reaching the red light there was a blinding flash and Max was aware suddenly that he was floating. Floating down to earth, down to a quiet country churchyard. He was standing in front of a grave, looking at a woman dressed all in black, a little boy standing at her side. The woman was speaking. "Such a shame, she was so pretty as well. She would have made someone a wonderful wife. So tragic to die at such a young age." The woman in black turned away from the grave and walked away from him. The boy was holding her hand and walked closely beside her. "Come on Max, don't want to be late for dinner." This is too weird Max thought, then looked at the gravestone : 'Anne Miller, Our Thoughts Are With You Always'. The last thing he felt was the coldness of the hands of the woman in black. THE END -- -------+++++++-------+++++++ +++++++-------+++++++------- Robyn Herrington Operations Manager, Microforms Services University of Calgary, MacKimmie Library Ph: (403)220-6903 http://www.ucalgary.ca/~rmherrin rmherrin@acs.ucalgary.ca -------+++++++-------+++++++--------------+++++++-------+++++++-------