slapping into Adrian’s. “Go!” the guitar player yelled. He didn’t see Jim.
Adrian didn’t want to leave Jim, but he didn’t know how to save him, either. It didn’t matter—at this point, his body and mind marched down the path he had already set for them, and it was too late to make them turn.
He felt like he was watching his own lips mumble from the outside, and he heard his own voice as if from far away. “ Per Wepwawet Mercuriumque semitam sequitor, ” the far-away-Adrian said, just as Adrian had planned.
And then far-away-Adrian disappeared, and so did everything else.
***
Chapter Seven
Wet flesh rasped his face, like the tongue of a dog. Like the tongue of a dog so big that Adrian could fit inside its mouth. Adrian tasted bile in the back of his throat.
He opened his eyes. They hurt like needles had been shoved into both of them, but he saw just fine. He was in the long upstairs hallway of the house. Not the real one, the horrible dream-shadow house made of body parts. He saw Mike’s and Eddie’s backs as they rammed the wardrobe up against the hallway’s lone window. The wardrobe snarled and snapped at them, but they kept out of reach of its grinding jaws.
They were wearing jammies.
“Son of a bitch,” he groaned. “It didn’t work.”
“Oh, it worked just fine,” he heard Twitch say. Swiveling his head, he found the fairy, standing at the top of the stairs and looking down them with a sturdy meat club in her hands. It might be the shower curtain rod, he thought idly. “You got to miss the nasty part. Again. Well done, Adrian.”
Wham!
Eddie and Mike slammed the wardrobe against the wall again. White light shone around the edges, and Adrian thought he saw white fingers slammed under the woody flesh.
Wararargh! chomped the wardrobe, throwing a rain of warm spittle on all of them.
“Adrian!” Eddie barked. He dug his heels into the moist red floor and threw his shoulder into the wardrobe. “A fireball’d be nice about now!”
Adrian patted around on the floor and found the tawny eye. He picked it up and hesitated.
“That’s going to smart,” Twitch warned him.
“I look that good, huh?” He tried a devil-may-care grin.
“Even better,” the fairy said. “You’re bleeding out both eyes.”
“Nothing ventured,” Adrian bluffed. “You know.”
He touched his own face. He felt like tenderized steak all over so he hadn’t noticed, but Twitch was right. He had blood under both eyes, as well as on his upper lip and trickling down his neck. “Ugh,” he groaned.
Wham!
Eddie tumbled to the ground as the Fallen on the other side of the wardrobe hammered against it. Mike jammed his fists into the red rubbery walls of the window well and leaned back hard. Elaine Canning, again looking like Mouser in rose-spotted pajamas, jumped forward to throw herself against the wardrobe with the bass player.
“Mierda!”
Adrian pushed the tawny eye into his eye socket. The searing pain was so intense and so immediate that his whole body contracted in a spasm, and the eye promptly plopped back out again. It stared at him from a puddle of wet fluid on the floor, smeared in guilty, inadequate blood.
Adrian shuddered, almost crying. “I can’t do it!”
He grabbed the eye and stood, and his lungs filled instantly with smoke. From the floor he hadn’t noticed it, but colored fumes billowed up the stairwell. They stank of sulfur, tobacco smoke, and rotting flesh. The sudden influx burned his lungs and he staggered against the sagging wall, knocking his head against the hanging uvula-light in the process. It swung back and forth, sending all the room’s shadows dancing in circles.
“Uh oh,” Twitch warned them all. “Stairs.”
“Adrian!” Eddie yelled again, and jumped to the top of the staircase. “ Now would be good!”
Adrian nodded. Eddie was right; now would be very good indeed. He leaned both shoulder blades against the spongy, resilient wall, ignoring the trickles of
Adrian didn’t want to leave Jim, but he didn’t know how to save him, either. It didn’t matter—at this point, his body and mind marched down the path he had already set for them, and it was too late to make them turn.
He felt like he was watching his own lips mumble from the outside, and he heard his own voice as if from far away. “ Per Wepwawet Mercuriumque semitam sequitor, ” the far-away-Adrian said, just as Adrian had planned.
And then far-away-Adrian disappeared, and so did everything else.
***
Chapter Seven
Wet flesh rasped his face, like the tongue of a dog. Like the tongue of a dog so big that Adrian could fit inside its mouth. Adrian tasted bile in the back of his throat.
He opened his eyes. They hurt like needles had been shoved into both of them, but he saw just fine. He was in the long upstairs hallway of the house. Not the real one, the horrible dream-shadow house made of body parts. He saw Mike’s and Eddie’s backs as they rammed the wardrobe up against the hallway’s lone window. The wardrobe snarled and snapped at them, but they kept out of reach of its grinding jaws.
They were wearing jammies.
“Son of a bitch,” he groaned. “It didn’t work.”
“Oh, it worked just fine,” he heard Twitch say. Swiveling his head, he found the fairy, standing at the top of the stairs and looking down them with a sturdy meat club in her hands. It might be the shower curtain rod, he thought idly. “You got to miss the nasty part. Again. Well done, Adrian.”
Wham!
Eddie and Mike slammed the wardrobe against the wall again. White light shone around the edges, and Adrian thought he saw white fingers slammed under the woody flesh.
Wararargh! chomped the wardrobe, throwing a rain of warm spittle on all of them.
“Adrian!” Eddie barked. He dug his heels into the moist red floor and threw his shoulder into the wardrobe. “A fireball’d be nice about now!”
Adrian patted around on the floor and found the tawny eye. He picked it up and hesitated.
“That’s going to smart,” Twitch warned him.
“I look that good, huh?” He tried a devil-may-care grin.
“Even better,” the fairy said. “You’re bleeding out both eyes.”
“Nothing ventured,” Adrian bluffed. “You know.”
He touched his own face. He felt like tenderized steak all over so he hadn’t noticed, but Twitch was right. He had blood under both eyes, as well as on his upper lip and trickling down his neck. “Ugh,” he groaned.
Wham!
Eddie tumbled to the ground as the Fallen on the other side of the wardrobe hammered against it. Mike jammed his fists into the red rubbery walls of the window well and leaned back hard. Elaine Canning, again looking like Mouser in rose-spotted pajamas, jumped forward to throw herself against the wardrobe with the bass player.
“Mierda!”
Adrian pushed the tawny eye into his eye socket. The searing pain was so intense and so immediate that his whole body contracted in a spasm, and the eye promptly plopped back out again. It stared at him from a puddle of wet fluid on the floor, smeared in guilty, inadequate blood.
Adrian shuddered, almost crying. “I can’t do it!”
He grabbed the eye and stood, and his lungs filled instantly with smoke. From the floor he hadn’t noticed it, but colored fumes billowed up the stairwell. They stank of sulfur, tobacco smoke, and rotting flesh. The sudden influx burned his lungs and he staggered against the sagging wall, knocking his head against the hanging uvula-light in the process. It swung back and forth, sending all the room’s shadows dancing in circles.
“Uh oh,” Twitch warned them all. “Stairs.”
“Adrian!” Eddie yelled again, and jumped to the top of the staircase. “ Now would be good!”
Adrian nodded. Eddie was right; now would be very good indeed. He leaned both shoulder blades against the spongy, resilient wall, ignoring the trickles of
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