The Darkness That Hunts
Chapter 4

I stand very still. My breath sounds deafening to my ears,my heartbeat uneven and lonely. The warmth of the wall presses into my shoulderbladesas I flatten myself against it, trying to become as small and insignificant aspossible. To bring attention to myself is to ask for punishment or torture, ordeath. Taking another deep breath I count to five and peek around the corner.

The room is empty. Well, unoccupied by the living. A smallspace, about the size of a broom closet. There is a single, round window. Noglass, but a film covers it, like stagnant water that has been allowed to sitin a tin bucket. On the floor, a layer of slick blood seeps into the cracks ofthe marble. A massive mastiff nibbles at the remains of someone. Someone likeme. Unfortunate enough to have been brought to this place. Even moreunfortunate to never leave it. I’ve witnessed what The Darkness-That-Hunts doesto us. His “pets” as he labels us. He harvests us like chattel. He tortures usto nourish our souls, to make us twisted, scared creatures until we are ripefor the plucking and then he allows us the pleasure of dying. Only, it is notdeath he grants us. He permits his demented subjects the honor of butcheringour bodies while he watches. He then collects our souls, placing them in abasalt gem that dangles about his neck.

In death, we are granted no peace. Our torment continues inhis crystal and he uses it to draw power. Power he uses to control, to one daymove beyond his realm and into ours. To a place where the souls are unlimitedand his power approaches that of godhood.

Even now, I hear them. The moans of the tortured. This placeis designed in some areas to magnify their cries like speakers tucked in a wallto play music. In other areas, the groans and screams and pleas of the Damnedare muted to a haunting echo. Like here.

I do not take my eyes off the mastiff. I can see hermaster’s brand on her forehead. Two colons next to a square missing its leftside, and a line drawn beneath it. Aterian. Servers of The Darkness-That-Hunts.Through the window beyond her unfurls the garden. A place of beauty--or so TheDarkness-That-Hunts has told me. Deadly plants, as black and twisted as hislegion, slither over the bodies of embalmed humans and animals, their posesartistic and almost peaceful if not for their faces that are frozen in agony.

Cobblestone walkways skirt fountains of quartz, their waterno more than wisps of vapor erupting from the mouths of hydras and manticores.The grass, though I can’t see it from here, is sickly. Gray-green in most places,it is littered with pebble-sized bones.

He goes there to relax. To think. The echoes of the torturedare like a soft wind there. When he is there, no one is to bother him and hepays attention to nothing. If I’m to escape, it is now while he visits his“Art.”

There is only one who can help me. He will pay a hefty pricefor aiding me, but if I can make it to his prison deep inside the bowels of theOnyx . . . The mastiff pays me no mind as I sneak past her and further down thecorridor. Walls, dingy and the color of bones, crowd me. They curve upwards,jutting out of the stone floor like the ribcage of a dragon. They meet at thecenter of the ceiling to form a jagged spine.

Very little light here. The things that reside in Ater don’tneed it to see--in fact, light blinds them. A useful weapon if I knew how toharvest it. I creep down a flight of shallow steps, one hand against thespongy, warm wall. My eyes have long adjusted to the faint glimmer from sconcesof muted gray fire. I slip past many tunnels, most leading nowhere, but I knowa secret way. She helped me replace it. Gjinna. She is one of the few who candisobey The Darkness-That-Hunts’ compulsion. For a time.

Time enough.

If I can get out.

I jerk awake, a scream lodged in my dry throat. Slippingthrough cracks in the barricade that seals away my other memories, randomimages race towards me with the eagerness of children. Some are snippets ofhorror not quite past, others of my life before Ater. Most remain enshrouded infog.

My head is killing me, as are my calf and neck. I still haveno true idea what’s happened to me, but now I have a name: Ater. And I now knowto look for the mark, The Darkness-That-Hunts’ brand.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Just needed to get my arm free to openthe panel.”

Startled, I tilt my head back to look at the boy carryingme. Kamiron. His name is Kamiron.

Kamiron studies me warily. “You really should think aboutseeing a nurse. You’re pale.”

My eyes roam over his body, searching for the brand of TheDarkness-That-Hunts. I check Kamiron’s forehead and then his neck. I rememberthat The Darkness-That-Hunts sometimes marks his servants on their necks.Frustration roils inside me. How is it I remember that but not other things,not important things? Like whatreally happened? Or how I ended up in a demented realm called Ater--assuming Iwas truly there and not trapped in a night terror that simply felt real.

One thing at a time, Shari. The memories will come. Safetyfirst, right? Now, does he have the brand?

I take a deep breath and beat back the burgeoning panic.Kamiron’s golden skin gleams at me in the light of a dangling iron lantern. Ireplace no brand marring him and I allow myself to relax in his arms.

“No--please.”

With a resigned sigh he slides open a Japanese-style paneldoor and slips inside a cabin marked “Firestarter.” The floor is tiled, a beigecolor with flecks of red and orange. A warm neutral color coats walls decoratedwith abstract art and a calendar of camp activities. Pushpins nail severalphotos to a bulletin board. Teens engage in various activities--sports,archery, swimming. Their smiling faces juxtapose with the grimaces of horrorthat flicker in the recesses of my mind like phantasms.

“Everyone should still be at dinner so we won’t bedisturbed,” Kamiron takes a sharp right instead of following the hallway. Weenter an orderly room. Kamiron flips the switch and the fluorescents flickeron, making me squint. A pair of twin-sized beds and two cedar chests sits belowa shelf of anime statuettes and framed pictures. Most of the photos look to beof Kamiron, though younger, maybe six years old. In one he stands between astriking Japanese woman wearing a beautiful kimono, and a white man in a U.S.military uniform.

“My parents,” he shares, following my gaze. “When we used tolive in Japan.” Tenderly, Kamiron sets me on one of the chests. He shuffles toa cedar cabinet that hovers above a compact desk.

“When I’m here, I like to keep around memories of home. Iused to have a bunkmate but he--moved,” Kamiron stumbles over the word as herifles through the cabinet for a First Aid kit. By the way he shies from thesubject I take it his bunkmate didn’t choose to leave. Whatever happened, itcouldn’t have been good, but before I can ask, Kamiron replaces the kit and dragsover a chair.

Kamiron dunks a cotton swab in antiseptic and tilts back myhead to inspect the teeth marks circling my throat. At least the bleeding’sstopped, though I am sure I look like hell. To his credit, his expressionremains open and polite though the skin around his beautiful eyes tightens. “Sowhat did this? Some kind of animal?”

The antiseptic stings and I suck in a hissing breath.Kamiron apologizes, but doesn’t stop.

“Dogs.” From Hell.“I was attacked after I left the lake.”

“Lake Andy? The one we were near?”

I try to nod, but his firm grip doesn’t let me.

“Andy’s off limits. No one’s been there in fifty years.”Kamiron straightens and reaches for another swab before he returns to cleaningmy wound. “How’d you even get there?”

My teeth dig into my bottom lip.

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

Kamiron’s sudden snort puzzles me. Like he replaces it ironicthat I’d think he of all people wouldreplace me crazy. “Go ahead. I swear not to think you’re crazy--even if you reallyare.” A brief smile touches his lips before he returns to his task.

My eyes shut. I don’t know what to do or whom to trust, butI know I need all the help I can get. And the best way for me to rememberwhat’s happened is to talk through it with someone else. Evaluate the incidentslogically, even when they sound crazy.

That’s what my psychologist taught me.

Mama, of course, would just say that I need to call on Jesusto “cast out the crazy.” Like I’ve been possessed by a demon. Maybe I have.

“I’m from Atlanta.” I picture our small brick house, thepeeling black paint of the old shutters and the large Southern wrap-aroundporch with wicker rocking chairs that creak when you sit on them. The strainedfaces of my parents hovering just beyond the screen door. “How near are we? Ifigure we must be north of downtown. Sandy Springs, maybe? We can’t be as faras Alpharetta, I know.”

Kamiron hesitates, swab in hand and studies me. He thenshakes his head. “I don’t know where those places are, but you’re in NorthCarolina, Shari.”

I lurch back. “Y-You can’t be serious!”

“We’re about twenty miles east of Perchton. This is CampGenki--we call it Camp Gen.”

My mind threatens to shatter under the shock. There is nopossible way I could have slept walked all the way to North Carolina. Battingaside Kamiron’s hands, I cover my face and my chest heaves. My dreamearlier--sneaking away from a mastiff in a terrible place with curved walls . .. Ater. It wasn’t a dream, was it? But if Ater is real then what--

“What’s Ater?” Warm fingers curl around my wrists, nearlydrowning them as Kamiron tugs my hands down. “Shari? No, don’t cry, please?We’ll get you back to Atlanta. The important thing is that you’re safe now,ok?”

I wipe at my tears with shaking hands. “There is no safetyfor me.”

“Someone’s after you? Hunter?” Kamiron’s voice goes flat andhard, like ice. One glance assures me his anger isn’t targeted at me.

“TheDarkness-That-Hunts,” I correct. “He sent those dogs after me.”

Kamiron’s takes in the teeth marks littering neck and theblood staining the collar of my filthy shirt. “Why?”

“I escaped.” The admission tastes rank.

“Were you abducted?”

A memory sparks. Yes. I was afraid to go to sleep. I wascertain a monster, one I’d later learn to call “The Darkness-That-Hunts,” wasgoing to abduct me through my dreams. An absurd notion and yet I’m here, in asummer camp in North Carolina. It must have happened.

I try not to think of the alternative. Of the fact that I amjust so crazy I can no longer parse reality from fiction.

I steady myself with a deep breath that causes my lungs totighten and burn. Where do I begin? How can I make sense of this to myself muchless to Kamiron? Talk it through, Shari.It doesn’t matter what he thinks. It’s about you dealing with the effects ofthe trauma you’ve hidden from yourself.

Right.

“Ever since I was a girl I could sense things.”

“Things?”

“Things I couldn’t explain.”

He nods as if he understands. I watch him toss a bloodiedswab into a trash bin. The blood seems too bright against the blue plasticliner. He removes a large, rectangular Band-Aid from the First Aid kit andpositions it along my neck.

“I was never to talk to anyone about it, and my parentsdidn’t want me taking ‘crazy people medication,’” I say, imitating Mama’saggravated tone. “But I could sense it in dreams that were too vivid to beordinary dreams. I kept dreaming of someone looking for me. A monster withgolden eyes, horizontal pupils like a goat, and a black crystal dangling fromhis neck. I didn’t have the dreams often at first, but as the months passed--”

“They got more intense.”

I tilt my head at him but he avoids my gaze. “How’d youknow?”

The chair screeches as he scoots back and lifts my rightleg, propping it along his knee. “I’m gonna take a look at your leg now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Despite the gentleness with which he rolls up my ruinedjeans, my eyes roll into the back of my head as pain assaults me. Wheezing, Ilook at the chunk of my calf that the dog has mauled. Lumps of ripped flesh,brown, pink, and white. The stink makes my nose curl, and the blood . . .

Kamiron golden skin turns white and again he doesn’t look atme but I know he wants to immediately drag me to the nurse. Instead he takesthe antiseptic and squirts it over my leg. Though the cold liquid burns, therelief that soon follows makes me nearly purr.

“It fits.”

It takes me a second to realize he’s answering my earlierquestion. “Fits what?”

“Nothing. So your dreams--you’ve been dealing with them along time?”

I close my eyes, trying to sort through the sordid images.“Those dreams I’d only been having for a few months, but I’ve always been ableto sense things. If something isn’t right, and especially if something bad isgoing to happen, I seem to knowbeforehand. It’s like a little voice in my head, whispering and guiding me.That’s how I knew that night that somehow The Darkness-That-Hunts would finallyget me.”

I see myself climbing into bed, my movements laden withreluctance as I pull up my blanket. My mother sucks her teeth. The yellow lightfrom the hallway tangles in her braided hair as she closes the door.

“I have night terrors. Sometimes I sleepwalk and I wake upscreaming in some strange place.” My tongue darts out over my dry, cracked lipsand I feel naked and exposed in front of a total stranger. But this is for me,not him.

I watch Kamiron unroll some gauze and start wrapping itaround my calf, looping the thin material again and again. It is almosthypnotic, watching him work.

“My parents didn’t believe me when I told them about thedreams, or the things I sensed. They said to stop acting out. My knowingthings--who’s calling, a family member who just died--were works of the Devil.I wasn’t to talk about it. If I didn’t talk about it, it would stop existing.”

Kamiron gives my knee a sympathetic pat. “That never works.”

I snort. That’s for damn sure. “When I next woke, I thoughtI was in Hell.”

I’m barely aware of my trembling or the hot tears thatsqueeze from my eyes and dribble down my dirty cheeks. All I hear are moans. Iremember waking not in my bed but dangling inside a cage ten feet from theground. A creature hanging upside down in front of me, bat-like wings foldedabout it like a cloak. Horns erupting between the fetid flesh of its elbows--

“Are you sure it wasn’t just another night terror?”

I place my head in my hands. Other memories slither acrossmy skull like asps but when I try to focus on any particular one, they burstinto cloying smoke. “Logically, it can’t be real, but it feels too . . . toohorrible to be a simple night terror. The things I remember, when I remember . . . I can’t have madeit up. It has to be real, this other dimension. Ater. There were even otherslike me trapped there, people alive, among those long dead.”

I’m babbling and I force myself to quiet. I scrutinizeKamiron’s face, but his expression is a carefully crafted mask. Silence sitsbetween us only occasionally stirred by him dropping bloody rags into thetrashcan. He’s moved on from my calf to the other assorted cuts and bruisesthat mar my arms.

“They’re not as bad as they looks, your other injuries,” hestates, voice even and neutral. “If you won’t see the nurse, then maybe . . .”he hesitates, studying me. “I have a friend, he can help you--don’t,” he saysquickly when I tense, “Worry. He won’t breathe a word, I swear.”

My head throbs. I feel like there is an essential task Imust complete but as usual, I can’t recall what it is. And I haven’t evenmentioned the note I found, but--

The front panel slides open with an audible swoosh.

Terror cuts through me like a katana. The Darkness-That-Hunts’ found me.

“Oy, Chameleon, a bunch of us are gonna head over to--oh, shit.”

Another boy skids to a halt in the doorway, his mouthdropping. Kamiron leaps to his feet and blocks the blonde’s view of me.

“Dace, listen--“

“Who’s that andwhat the hell happened to her?”

“Look, just . . . get Zakk,alright? And be quiet about it. Zakk and only Zakk. She’s a bit confused and Idon’t want too much excitement.”

I peek around Kamiron to better study Dace. He is short withthin lips and sharp, impish features swallowed by wireframe glasses. His blueeyes roam over me in naked interest.

“Now, Dace.”

Dace snorts, dragging a hand through his lanky, chin lengthhair and backs out the room. “Keep your panties on, Princess. I shall retrieveZakk now, if it pleases your ladyship.” With a click of his heels and anexaggerated bow, Dace exits.

I raise an eyebrow. “‘Chameleon?’”

Kamiron huffs, shaking his head in resigned exasperation.“Nickname Dace came up with--a play off my name. Kamiron, Chameleon. Iknow--it’s stupid and I hate it, but if I say that, it’ll just encourage himmore.” Kamiron returns the First Aid kit to the cabinet before continuing,“Don’t worry. Dace is a pretty good guy--when he isn’t being an ass.Unfortunately, that’s most the time.”

The corner of my mouth twitches at the affection andgood-natured teasing in his tone. It’s hard to be tense around Kamiron with hisdisarming smile and genuine good nature. By the time Kamiron hunts down a cupof water, painkillers, and a snack to stave off the worst of the hunger (“Saltinesare all we got at the moment, sorry”), Dace returns with two others.Frightened, I cower behind Kamiron’s shoulders as he growls at his friend.

“I told you only Zakk--”

“And that’s all I told, Buttercup,” Dace snaps. “’Case youforgot, Hamilton lives here, too.”

A tall, thin boy with impossibly long black hair andsun-kissed skin breaks from the group and starts towards me. His movements aregraceful and fluid, like the Chattahoochee River in summer. He stops in frontof me as I sit on the chest, wide-eyed, a saltine cracker dangling between myteeth. Squatting, he splays a hand across his chest.

“My name is Zakkarias. Has Kamiron told you about me?” I nodand he smiles encouragingly though the smile fails to reach his hazel eyes.“Good. Don’t be alarmed. I want you to lay on the bed and I’ll have a look atyou, okay?”

As he speaks, I search his body for the sigil of TheDarkness-That-Hunts, but replace no visible brands. Zakk guides me to the bed. I’mworried about making it dirty, but Kamiron assures me it’s alright.

“Shari, while Zakk does that, I’m going to go see if I canget you something clean to wear. I won’t be gone long, I promise.”

I want to force Kamiron not to leave me with thesestrangers, but I remind myself to be strong, and most of all, calm. No need togo into a wild panic.

“Ham, Dace, Z,” Kamiron gives them each a meaningful glance.“Don’t bombard her with questions.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dace waves a hand, shooing Kamiron off. Thedoor to the cabin slides shut as he leaves. I watch Kamiron’s friends warily.Hamilton excuses himself to shower. Dace pulls up a chair and watches as Zakkhovers beside me, palms stretched over my body. His eyes flutter closed and hisbrows furrow in concentration.

“Kinda weird, him doin’ that, huh?”

Puzzled, I glance at Dace as he reclines in his seat. “Whatis he doing?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain. Did Kam tell you about Gen atall? I mean, this”--Dace makes exaggerated air quotes--“‘Camp?’”

“N-no, not really.”

“I think,” interrupts Zakk before Dace can continue, “he didit intentionally.” Dace snorts but falls silent.

The tall boy shifts, his hands wavering just inches above mycalf and neck. I suddenly feel deliciously warm and am glad the painkillers aredulling the pain. In fact, I feel more comfortable now than I have in . . .well, forever. The pulsating heat is intoxicating and my problems don’t seem soinsurmountable anymore.

Zakk’s arms drift to his sides. “You’ll be just fine in aday or two.” The edge of the bed dips with his slight weight. “So are you fromhere?”

“Atlanta. I don’t exactly remember how I got here, but Ithink it’s a bit extreme that you guys have a policy to shoot trespassers--didyou that? What kind of a camp isthis? Your parents must be pretty rich if security’ll just off a girl forgetting lost.”

Also: why am I suddenly talking so much?

Zakk and Dace cut eyes at each other and something abouttheir secretive expressions alarms me. “What’s going on? Is there somethingwrong with this place?”

“No.” The mattress wobbles as Zakk quickly shakes his head.“There’s nothing wrong--”

“If you don’t consider being locked up with a bunch offreaks ‘wrong,’” Dace quips, thumping his fingers on the soles of his dingytennis shoes in an erratic rhythm.

“F-Freaks?”

“Ignore him.” Despite his calm tone, Zakk shoots Dace awithering look. “It’s just different here, that’s all. Perhaps we’d better waitfor Kam.”

“Is he your . . . leader?”

Dace purses his lips. “Guess you could say that. He’sresponsible for us in Firestarter.”

The panel slides open and I’m relieved to see Kamiron. Heflashes a sheepish, lopsided grin. “They weren’t too bad, were they?”

“No,” I assure him, “but they wouldn’t tell me what isdifferent about this place.”

Kamiron hesitates in the doorway and then sighs, shaking hishead. “I couldn’t replace Sandra or Mel so I haven’t got any girl clothes.Instead, you’re welcome to wear one of my shirts.” He strides over to one ofthe cedar dressers and pulls out a green shirt with the word “Unlimited”written across it in bold white font. “It’s a bit big for you but decent tosleep in.”

He hands me the shirt and shoos everyone out. “Once you’redone changing, we’ll talk. I’ll answer your questions and hopefully you’llanswer more of mine.”

The boys leave. For a fleeting moment, I glance out the windowat the darkness. The window’s big enough for me to escape through but . . .

“No,” I concede, “better to stay here, at least for thenight.”

I undress.