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TICK TOCK
By C.D. Marshall
A cold chill ran down his spine…
Jon Cross pressed his body hard against the cracked drywall. Sweat covered the handle of his Glock, shakily held near his hip. He squeezed his eyes shut and snuck one deep breath.
This seemed so much easier at the academy. He rebuked his own adolescence. The manual stated in intense situations think of something that calmed you: California Twins, Jon felt lighter with just the thought, California Twins with those crystal blue eyes. Now that is a happy thought. Ever since they began announcing sports football has never been so popular.
Nerves calmed. He lifted up his Glock and flipped around the corner. The first thing he saw was the corpse of an elderly woman in a rocking chair. She sat in the middle of an old Victorian style living room. Puffs of luminescent green vapors rolled out of her parched mouth. The vapors whirled up into the ceiling fan to cluster like tiny green storm clouds: Ethereal Dust, the binary leftovers as two worlds became one. Something supernatural had a late night snack.
The elderly woman held a partially crocheted sweater still in her lap, needles clutched tight in fingers stiff with rigor mortis. He walked cautiously over to the corpse. The only light in the house compliments of Bob’s Bar & Grill across the street. The giant neon sign flickered through the curtain-less picture window.
To die like this.
The front door flew open. Jon fell to one knee, both hands on his pistol.
“What’s wrong with you, kid?” Holmes spluttered. Holmes was senior officer, a big guy in a big suit. His thick hands held a Smith & Wesson revolver that he waved at Jon, impersonal. “I hate rookies, look at the time.” He pounded over to a light switch and flipped it on.
Jon looked at the surroundings in full view of the light: A cherry wood grandfather clock stood in a corner. The second hand on the clock moved forward in normal sequence. Holmes is right, the killer is long gone.
Jon placed a hand on the mantle of an old cast iron fireplace that smelled of wet ash. He looked around. The room had worn floral cream carpet and a torn Victorian couch that revealed yellowed padding. “What did this?”
Holmes blew air out of lips, “How should I know? Best guess, a Deader.”
“I figured that, you know, with the dust and all.” Jon lowered his Glock. “The binary residue denotes ethereal, not corporeal.”
“No duh, wow we are training Einsteins at the academy these days, aren’t we?” Holmes bellowed as spittle shot over his chin. He wheezed. A diet of cupcakes and doughnuts would kill him long before a Deader ever could.
Jon looked at the corpse again. A quilt with a swirl design sat over her lap. The crocheted fabric in her hands showed the same odd pattern as the quilt. The Victorian chair she sat in matched the couch.
“Keep your distance, kid. Don’t get too near that cloud until we know exactly what it is. You don’t got a thing for old ladies, do you?” He rumbled with laughter.
“Whatever, I’m calling it in.” Jon rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen, the door still open where he had broken into the house. He flipped out his phone and hit speed dial.
“HQ cause or affect?” A bored female voice yawned through pops of gum chewing.
“Affect.” Jon stammered. “We have a stiff.”
“As long as things go bump in the night we always will, dear.” Jon’s ear filled with the sound of a loud pop. “Who is the cause?”
“Ethereal.”
“I have your location. Snoops will be there in about forty-five.”
“Forty-five?” Jon looked at his watch: A quarter ‘till midnight. “What am I supposed to do for that long?”
“Make yourself comfortable. Relax. You’ll get use to it.” Another loud pop filled his ear. “You got to be the new kid.”
Jon clenched his jaw. The constant rookie bantering got old. “Yeah, I am the new kid.”
“Welcome aboard. Your lucky day, it’s a busy night.” Bleep. He looked down at his phone: Transmission ended.
Jon shook his head and stepped back into the other room.
Holmes put a finger to his lips and tapped his wrist. He eased towards the rocking chair, his revolver leveled towards the stairs.
Jon swallowed a lump in his throat and followed suit. He glanced at his watch: The second hand moved backwards. He felt his heart skip a beat. A Deader had arrived. Slowly he pulled out his other Glock. Standard protocol to use ethereal and corporeal shot when in direct contact with an unidentified Deader.
A wind blew from somewhere. In a dark corner near the stairs, a figure popped up, shrouded in shadow. He heard a sound like a rocking chair and then the apparition disappeared.
Jon spun around slowly, his Glock leveled at every shadow in every corner.
“Easy, Deader play’n tricks.” Holmes flipped out his second gun.
“Tick tock, tick tock.” The voice sounded like a raspy old woman.
Jon could not figure out where the sound came from. It felt as if she spoke inside his head.
“What’s wrong with the clock?” Cackling laughter followed.
“Easy kid,” Holmes whispered.
Jon squeezed his guns.
“Follow my lead.” Holmes pressed his back to Jon, standard procedure.
A puff of green vapor formed into the silhouette of a person. Jon fired. The shot went through the form and took out a mirror with a loud crash.
“What are doing idiot, not yet.” Holmes spat. “You want to wake up the whole neighborhood?”
“Sorry.” Jon’s heart thumped. The academy didn’t prepare him for this.
“I want you to go into the kitchen.” Holmes motioned with his big head.
“What?” Jon dared a glance at the big man.
“You have to leave the way you came in. I’ll go through the front door.”
“Wake up, wake up, if you can. For death will grab you by the hand.” The apparition appeared again.
Jon fired both shots at it. The thing disappeared.
Jon breathed hard. Silence enveloped the old house.
“Are you going to go into the kitchen or not?” Holmes growled.
“No, I am staying right here.”
“The only way out is the way you came in. Get out while you still can.” Holmes walked to the front door and opened it. “She will feed soon.”
“Who will feed? What are you talking about? Holmes, you can’t leave.”
“Her, you idiot, the old crone, she isn’t the victim, she’s the cause. I never lost a rookie yet. I don’t want you to be the first.” He walked out the door.
“Holmes!” Jon ran towards the door. He tried the knob--wouldn’t budge. He spun on his heels and rushed for the kitchen when he heard a loud creak from the floor upstairs. He stopped, the lump returned in his throat. He fired a shot from each gun.
A clock struck with a loud ding-dong.
His heart felt like it would burst. Silence filled the old house once again.
He heard a creak like a rocking chair. He spun both guns on the corpse of the elderly woman. The rocking chair was empty, swinging back and forth.
He turned. Something struck him hard in the face.
*****
Jon woke up in the rocking chair bound by tendrils of green vapors. He struggled but could not break free.
“The only way out is the way you came in. You should have left when you had the chance.” Before him stood the old crone, hunched, eyes bulging and blood red, a cloud of green swarmed around her. It billowed from out her nose and she inhaled it into her mouth. “Now stay still while I feed.” The old crone clutched him, her hands cold as death.
Jon looked around in terror. He could not feel his body. The green flowed from her fingers and clung to his face, seeped into his nose, mouth, and ears. The cloud felt cold, his body began to numb.
He fell into a swirl of dark gray. “Holmes!”
“Tick tock, tick tock; time is up on the clock. Wake up; wake up, if you can, for death has grabbed you by the hand.” She whispered in his head.
*****
Jon opened his eyes. A low, steady beep greeted his ears. He sat in a hospital bed, an IV in his arm. The place smelled of rubbing alcohol and potato chips.
The door burst open. A nurse rushed over to him. “Mister Cross you are awake, oh thank goodness. We need to get you out of bed immediately.” The nurse lowered the sidebars of his bed and helped him up.
Holmes came in the door, a bag of chips in his thick hand. “You’re awake, kid.” He crunched down on a few chips.
“What happened?” Jon asked.
“You don’t remember anything? You’ve been out for a week.”
The nurse got him on his feet. He wobbled. Certainly feels like I haven’t walked in a week.
“A week, but how?” Jon’s head swam.
“Rule nineteen.” Holmes tossed the empty chip bag into the trash. It hit the rim and fell to the floor. He grunted and pulled out a candy bar.
“Rule nineteen.” Jon said. “Never touch a Deader before the Snoops declare the area secure.”
Holmes tossed him a candy bar. He opened it and took a sniff: Pretzels, peanuts, caramel and peanut butter. His stomach growled. He felt as if he had not eaten in a week.
“Eat kid, you need to stay awake.” Holmes gestured to the nurse who steadied him. Jon took a bite. He did not stop until he finished.
“That a boy, you’ll be eating like me soon enough. Do you remember anything?”
The nurse let go and Jon waited for his head to stop spinning and took a step. He felt the blood flow back into his legs. “I remember an old lady, a Deader of some kind. “ He looked at Holmes for a second. “And really bad nursery rhymes.”
Holmes whistled through his teeth. “She really did a number on you, kid. Well you touched the corpse… that is when it all hit the fan like a bad bologna sandwich.” He winked. “Now about that old crone.”
“In the rocking chair?” Jon remembered her and the green binary cloud. The rest of his memories seemed weird after that.
“Yep, the old crone is a Voro Somnium.” Holmes grinned. “Come’n let’s go to the cafeteria, you are going to need coffee and lots of it.”
“Voro Somnium?” Jon searched his memories. He never did well on the creature definitions.
“Eater of Dreams, they lure their victims by appearing dead, as soon as you get near her toxins—Bam!” He slammed his fist into palm. “It’s all over from there. I walked in and found you on the floor.”
They walked through the dimly lit halls of the hospital. Jon nodded to several passer-byes, mostly nurses with huge over-friendly smiles on their faces. They even looked similar. The windows to the outside showed dark gray clouds that swirled into deeper shades of darker grayer clouds.
“What time is it?” Jon asked.
“A quarter ‘till Midnight.”
“Why did the nurse get me up so fast?” He felt as if reality had not fully sunk in.
“You have to stay up for twenty-four hours to get the Voro Somnium’s toxin out of your system.” He patted him on the back. “Don’t worry with coffee and my social diet we’ll keep you up.”
“The only way out is the way you came in,” Jon whispered.
“What was that?” Holmes looked over at him.
“That’s what you said to me in my dream or nightmare or whatever it was.”
Holmes nodded. “Must have been your subconscious reminding you of your academy lessons.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The only way to escape once a Voro Somnium has you is to leave the way you entered her dream world.”
An elevator ride and four floors later they hit the cafeteria. The smell of salted pretzels, butter, popcorn, and the aroma of vinegar lingered in the place. Holmes went over to the instant coffee machine and soon Jon had a steaming cup of black coffee. It smelled foul.
“Not drinking it for your health, kid.” Holmes grinned. “Stand here, I am going to get a few snacks.” Holmes went over to a line of vending machines. In moments coins rattled and buttons clicked.
Jon sipped the coffee. It tasted bitter, very bitter. A little cream and sugar could have gone a long way. Hard to believe he had been out for a week. So what had been real and what had been just part of this Voro Somnium’s digestion period? Holmes walking out, obviously never happened. The old crone looked real enough—real scary! Hard to believe she was the Voro Somnium. Those stupid rhymes, what was that about?
He looked at Holmes. The plump teddy bear had saved his life. He smiled. I’ll never make fun of his diet again. Two nurses walked by, blondes with long legs. They turned and gave him a huge smile with pristine white teeth and large, crystal blue eyes. “Hi Jon,” they spoke in unison and walked down the hall with a steady click of their shoes. They whispered to each other and glanced back at him. The flow of their giggles faded down the hallway.
California Twins. He grinned. He took a swig of the coffee. He thought about what Holmes had said. The only way out is the way you came in. What had been his way in? The back door of the kitchen…If he hadn’t made it to that door he would still be inside that old crone’s nightmare. Holmes had entered by the front door. That must have been why he had seen him leave that way. The kitchen door…
Holmes swaggered back with his hands full.
“Got enough here to keep you stoked for a week.” Holmes rumbled and dumped his contents on the nearest table. Jon sat down and fumbled through snack cakes, mini-doughnuts, cream-filled cookies, candy bars, chips, pretzels, and even a bag of dry roasted peanuts.
“Dig in kid, caffeine, salt, and sugar ‘till tomorrow.” He looked over at the hallway. “What did you think?”
“Of what?” Jon yanked open a bag of Mesquite Grill Barbecue potato chips. He kept thinking about that kitchen door.
“Those nurses man, they like you.” Holmes grinned. “Rebecca and Bridget.”
“I don’t know, not like I know anything about them. Which one likes me?” Jon sighed.
“Both.” Holmes grinned. “You love the California Twins.”
Jon looked at Holmes.
“What’s wrong now?” Holmes asked as he stuffed a raspberry snack cake in his mouth.
“How did those nurses know my name? How do you know them?” Jon felt like he had just hit quicksand. “How do you know I like the California Twins?”
“You have been here for week.” He sat back. “I put in a good word for you. Women love what we do. Yeah, a Paranormal Police Officer has its perks.” He patted the huge girth of his belly and belched. “You always talk about the California Twins. I am your partner, you know?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Jon crunched another chip. They were spicy and sweet at the same time.
“One thing is bothering me though,” Jon said at last.
“What’s that?”
“The house of the old crone, I distinctly remember the door to the kitchen. That is how I got in the house. I broke in through the kitchen door.”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“I never left the way I came in.” Jon’s tongue went numb.
A clock struck with a loud ding-dong.
The voice of the old crone filled Jon’s head: “Tick tock, tick tock; time is up on the clock. Wake up, wake up, if you can; for death has grabbed you by the hand.”
…A cold chill ran down his spine.
____
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