Ike Hamill - Migrators

The screaming stopped soon enough. Rick’s ribs were visible where his shirt used to be and a shadow slipped over his face. For a second, Rick looked somewhat like the faceless creature that Alan had seen in the marsh. His head was a smooth, dark shape. Seconds later, a pile of bones and organs collapsed in the threshold of the door. With the echoes of Rick’s screams fading away, a new sound filled the air. It was the sound of whipping wind and low murmurs.

The shadows passing through the window parted around the woman. She stood up and walked towards the fire. Alan looked down and saw the shadows swirling around her feet.

“I’ve never seen them like this,” the woman said. She was nearly shouting to be heard over the sound of gusting air. Despite the sound, the air inside the cabin looked still. She pushed a dirty tangle of hair away from her eyes.

Alan glanced to the other man who had been sitting against the back wall. All that was left was another pile of bones and organs. The man hadn’t made a single sound as the phantoms consumed him.

“I don’t want any part of this,” Alan said. His eyes darted around, looking for an escape route. “And I don’t want you using any of my son’s things either.”

“He’s been promised to my daughter,” the woman said.

“No,” Alan said. “By whom?”

She raised her arms in an exasperated shrug. The little girl—Pauline—raised her arms and dropped them, mimicking her mom’s gesture. When her jacket lifted, Alan saw a folded piece of paper sticking from her back pocket. He was still close enough that he might reach that paper, but then what? Where could he go with these flesh-eating shadows spilling in through the windows and door?

“I thought Pauline’s mother was dead,” Alan said.

The wind sound rose to a crescendo and the murmurs sounded like shouts. The woman rubbed her tired eyes. The sound was still there, but it faded enough that Alan could hear what the woman said next.

“That’s just what they tell people. It’s a good enough explanation for why I don’t have time to take care of my kids anymore,” she said. She sighed. “Look—you’re still pretty young. Just put down the clothes and move along. We don’t need your cooperation, and there’s nothing you can do to stop what’s about to happen.”

Alan dove forward and plucked the piece of paper from Pauline’s back pocket. It unfolded as he pulled it back to the bundle of clothes—it was Joe’s apology letter. The shock on the face of Pauline’s haggard mother brought Alan a tiny smile.

Alan inched towards the window. The shadows were still spilling over the sill, but he thought maybe he could dive over them. He glanced back at the woman. She just stood there, looking shocked and tired and increasingly angry. Pauline stared up at her mother’s face. Alan looked back to the window and prepared himself for the leap.

“Alan,” she said. Alan glanced up. Her eyes were white with blinding light. She held her arms out, away from her body. Her fingertips were dissolving into white light. He couldn’t tell if she was rising up, or if it was just an illusion created by the light erupting from her toes. Her shoulder-length hair lifted from her head and stood out to the sides.

The shadows were driven up the walls. Alan looked back to the window—his escape route—and saw that a veil of shadow covered the opening.

“Drop the clothes, Alan,” the woman’s voice said. Her face was lost in the glare of the white light. Her dirty dress looked like it was lit from within. She grew brighter by the second. The light of the fire was dwarfed by her glow.

Pauline was entranced by the sight of her mother as she walked right through the edge of the fire to stand at her mother’s feet. She stared right into the bright light. Alan raised his arm to shield his eyes. He looked to the door. Above the pile of bones in the doorway, another dim screen of shadow blocked the exit. Overhead, even the top of chimney swirled with the odd shadows.

Alan took a step towards the glowing woman so he could move closer to the fire.

If I can’t escape, at least I can burn Joe’s clothes, he thought.

Movement caught Alan’s eye at the window behind the woman. A white object slid through the opening—it was the porcelain box from his own attic. The murmurs and sound of wind returned to their earlier strength.

“Go get help!” Alan screamed, hoping Bob could hear him.

The box bounced to the floor behind the woman. She didn’t seem to notice. She rose higher.

“Prepare yourself, Polly,” she screamed.

The little girl wasn’t paying attention. She saw the box and was moving towards it. Alan watched as Pauline crouched next to the box and touched the lid. She glanced up at her mother, but the woman was focused on Alan. Pauline fingered the latch and began to lift the lid. Her mother finally looked down.

“Prepare yourself,” the woman said as she looked. When she saw what her daughter was doing, her tone changed. Fear and anger flew from her mouth—“No, Polly! NO!”

It was too late. Pauline had opened the lid and was looking at the old bones nestled in their purple velvet. She fell back on her butt as a new shape rose from the bones. It was the woman in the pink hoop dress. As soon as she took shape, hovering over the old bones, she erupted in a white light a thousand times more dazzling than that of the other woman. Alan backed towards the wall, forgetting the hungry shadows that lurked there. The woman in the hoop dress burned so bright that it took the light from the other woman. She lowered to the dirt floor as her glow faded. Pauline’s mother fell to her knees and reached for her daughter.

The shadows gathered. They flooded into the white porcelain case on the floor and rattled the bones. The murmuring fell away. It sounded like all the wind was being sucked out of the room through a small hole. The sound whistled and swirled. The shadows rose to meet the bottom of the apparition. Alan saw their shapes, outlined in white light. Their faceless heads turned up towards the light and their stubby arms reached towards it. They seemed to consume the light, pulling it down with their greedy, fingerless hands.

The light began to wane, absorbed from underneath by the creatures. On the floor, the woman gripped Pauline to her breast. Her light had gone out—the two looked up and watched the apparition.

Alan’s back found the wall. His eyes were burned from the light. As it faded, he was left looking at purple images of the woman in the hoop dress. He slid along the wall and tripped. He felt air rushing into the little cabin and he pulled himself into the wind, hoping to find the door. He still clutched Joe’s clothes and the letter with one hand. The other hand felt the way. It found wet bones and soft organs.

Alan heard a laughing behind him. He looked back and behind the purple blobs burned into his eyes, he saw the fire swell. He felt the heat on his back. Alan crawled farther. His hand found the book. He pulled that to his chest and gathered it in with the clothes. The wet ribs of Rick Prescott crunched under his knee and Alan spilled out onto the porch. He found his feet and ran. Behind him, he heard an explosion of fire.

A dark shape loomed in front of Alan. He tried to turn, but he crashed directly into the trunk of a maple tree. Alan fell backwards and the world spiraled to black.

Alan woke. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed. The world was a purple blob. Both of his arms were wrapped around Joe’s clothes and the book. His toe throbbed. He was being dragged.

Alan twisted and fought his way out of the grip of whatever was dragging him through the forest.

“Are you okay? Get up,” Bob said.