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Authors: Michaelbrent Collings
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heard a chilling sound: the sound of a door shutting and a lock being thrown. In all her time in Rising, she could not remember ever hearing those sounds together before. Locks were something that out-of-towners used, not the people of this hamlet in the mountains. It was a measure of the fear that had fallen over the town, though, that people were actually trying to keep the monsters at bay with such basic methods as turning locks.
The wind blew for a moment, and Lenore could see stray wisps of fog curling down from the mountains, beginning the long crawl toward Rising. Soon, if they continued unabated, the fog would roll over the town, and all would be lost in the white darkness. Fog in Rising could reach otherworldly levels, making it all but impossible to move about, so thick that you could literally lose sight of your house - lights ablaze and all - within ten feet of exiting. It was never a death-sentence, as the fog usually came when the temperatures were fairly warm, so it wasn't as though getting lost would mean anything other than getting wet and uncomfortable until you could find your way to a friendly haven, but the fog was tremendously isolating and even frightening.
Not today, she found herself saying to herself in a kind of mystical mantra just short of prayer. Not today, not after the funeral. We don't need the fog.
But the low-hanging clouds that clung like nightmares to the mountains paid her no heed. They reached out tendrils of moisture and gradually started to writhe and roll into the town.
The wind whipped up again.
A storm was coming.
***
EIGHT
***
Jason strode back into his office, feeling an unusual mix of emotions. Fear, certainly, but also confusion and even an unsettling sense of the unreal, as though he had stepped out of Rising and into some mirror image of the town; one where nothing made sense and where the laws of nature no longer applied.
Where did all those damn roaches come from?
Hatty was typing at her desk in the reception area, and the old woman looked over her reading glasses at him as he entered. "Find anything we didn't expect?" she said as she handed him a stack of handwritten phone messages.
Jason looked at her. How was he supposed to answer that question?
Unable to come to a satisfactory way of responding, he chose not to, instead sidestepping the query by saying, "Hatty, could you dial me up the local FBI branch and connect me in the office?"
He went into his office without waiting for a reply. One thing was certain: whatever was happening in Rising, it was beyond him. He needed help, and the fact that there was a missing - though presumed dead - child would be enough cause for him to get it fairly quickly.
He sat down, glancing at the picture of Elizabeth and Aaron that sat in its customary spot, the only thing to detract from the Spartan, almost sterile, neatness of his desk. He looked at his phone. The extension light was not lit up, so Hatty clearly hadn't gotten through to the FBI field office yet.
Jason pulled two papers from his pockets. The first was the sheet that he had taken from Sean's classroom that morning. That thought brought thoughts of Lenore to mind, and he immediately blushed and glanced at the photo of his wife, fully expecting to see her frowning at him in the celluloid. But she still smiled.
He looked back at the paper. The page with no picture, but only four simple words on it:
I wiL be FiRSt.
Then he pulled out the other paper, the one that he had taken from where it had appeared out of thin air on Sean's desk in the little boy's room. Other than the fact that one had been carefully folded and the other was wrinkled and creased from being hurriedly shoved in Jason's pocket, the two were identical.
He felt something skitter over his hand then.
A roach.
Jason threw it from him with a shout, pushing away from his desk reflexively as the grotesque insect drew from him a visceral reaction of disgust and loathing. The
The wind blew for a moment, and Lenore could see stray wisps of fog curling down from the mountains, beginning the long crawl toward Rising. Soon, if they continued unabated, the fog would roll over the town, and all would be lost in the white darkness. Fog in Rising could reach otherworldly levels, making it all but impossible to move about, so thick that you could literally lose sight of your house - lights ablaze and all - within ten feet of exiting. It was never a death-sentence, as the fog usually came when the temperatures were fairly warm, so it wasn't as though getting lost would mean anything other than getting wet and uncomfortable until you could find your way to a friendly haven, but the fog was tremendously isolating and even frightening.
Not today, she found herself saying to herself in a kind of mystical mantra just short of prayer. Not today, not after the funeral. We don't need the fog.
But the low-hanging clouds that clung like nightmares to the mountains paid her no heed. They reached out tendrils of moisture and gradually started to writhe and roll into the town.
The wind whipped up again.
A storm was coming.
***
EIGHT
***
Jason strode back into his office, feeling an unusual mix of emotions. Fear, certainly, but also confusion and even an unsettling sense of the unreal, as though he had stepped out of Rising and into some mirror image of the town; one where nothing made sense and where the laws of nature no longer applied.
Where did all those damn roaches come from?
Hatty was typing at her desk in the reception area, and the old woman looked over her reading glasses at him as he entered. "Find anything we didn't expect?" she said as she handed him a stack of handwritten phone messages.
Jason looked at her. How was he supposed to answer that question?
Unable to come to a satisfactory way of responding, he chose not to, instead sidestepping the query by saying, "Hatty, could you dial me up the local FBI branch and connect me in the office?"
He went into his office without waiting for a reply. One thing was certain: whatever was happening in Rising, it was beyond him. He needed help, and the fact that there was a missing - though presumed dead - child would be enough cause for him to get it fairly quickly.
He sat down, glancing at the picture of Elizabeth and Aaron that sat in its customary spot, the only thing to detract from the Spartan, almost sterile, neatness of his desk. He looked at his phone. The extension light was not lit up, so Hatty clearly hadn't gotten through to the FBI field office yet.
Jason pulled two papers from his pockets. The first was the sheet that he had taken from Sean's classroom that morning. That thought brought thoughts of Lenore to mind, and he immediately blushed and glanced at the photo of his wife, fully expecting to see her frowning at him in the celluloid. But she still smiled.
He looked back at the paper. The page with no picture, but only four simple words on it:
I wiL be FiRSt.
Then he pulled out the other paper, the one that he had taken from where it had appeared out of thin air on Sean's desk in the little boy's room. Other than the fact that one had been carefully folded and the other was wrinkled and creased from being hurriedly shoved in Jason's pocket, the two were identical.
He felt something skitter over his hand then.
A roach.
Jason threw it from him with a shout, pushing away from his desk reflexively as the grotesque insect drew from him a visceral reaction of disgust and loathing. The
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