John Everson - NightWhere

“Holy shit,” she breathed. Where was everything? She stepped away from the door, holding a hand out in front of her to find the wall she knew had to be there just a few feet away. She stepped carefully, incredibly slowly.

Inches grew to feet and then to yards. She knew that she should have reached the other side of the hallway by now. She looked over her shoulder, and the outline of the door to her room was already beginning to look small. Far away.

“Kharon?!” she called out. Her voice seemed to disappear in the void. No echo. She hardly could hear it herself. The air in this black no-place chilled her skin; she could feel the goose bumps rising all across her thighs and arms. It slipped up the gaps in her robe to the bare skin beneath. The temperature seemed colder somehow than it had just minutes ago when she’d stepped out from her room.

Rae called again and again. And still her voice sounded tiny and faint in the endless black. There was no answer.

The idea that she could become lost here, separated forever from the comfort (if creepiness) of her room, occurred to her, and that made the cold feel even worse. Rae began to retrace her steps. She’d rather be stared at by ghosts than stand out here blind. Lost in nowhere.

Her heart beat faster and she quickened her steps towards the door. What if her doorway disappeared into the black just before she reached it?

What if she never saw anyone or anything again? What if the last light snapped shut and she was trapped here in the total black, with nothing in every direction?

Rae reached out to grab the doorframe as soon as she was close enough. She imagined that it would disappear just as her fingers touched it.

Instead, they slapped against the hard surface and she clutched the doorframe for dear life, at the same time forcing herself to breathe slower. She had begun to hyperventilate.

“Why are you out here?” a voice asked.

Rae jumped. She turned to see the faint outline of a man a few feet away. His eyes seemed to glow in the faint light that escaped her room.

“Kharon,” Rae said. Her voice was filled with relief. “I was looking for you; I was afraid…”

“It’s daytime outside,” he said. “When the sun comes up, the carpets of NightWhere all roll up too. This place only exists at night.”

He took her by the arm and pushed her ahead of him, back into her small apartment. “You’re one of us now,” he said. “You need to sleep now, so that you’re ready for the night. You need to heal all of your hurts and be new again for the dark to flay.”

“My head is killing me,” Rae admitted. “And I’m not sure a few hours’ sleep are going to totally cure it. If I could sleep at all.”

Kharon shook his head. “You’ll wake renewed. We all do. It’s what NightWhere does.”

He led her into the bedroom and untied the sash of her robe. But Rae held his hand from releasing it.

“Wait,” she begged. Then she pointed at the ceiling. “What about them? I can’t sleep with them staring.”

Kharon looked at the faces that were faintly visible across the black of the ceiling. They all clearly were staring at Rae.

“They’re harmless,” Kharon said. “They’re from the Field of Flesh. The faces of those who have gone before.”

“Where did they come from?” Rae asked. “I woke up and they were there…they creeped me out.”

He smiled. “They’ve always been here, you just couldn’t see them before. Now that you’re sleeping in NightWhere, and you’ve been blooded…you’re becoming one of us. Your eyes are opening. You’ll see more and more in the coming days. Your inner eyes are awakening. They won’t hurt you. They’re voyeurs. They only live to see. And there’s just one thing they want to see.”

He pulled her hand from his and drew the robe down past her shoulders, exposing her skin.

“Lie down on your back,” he commanded.

Rae licked her lips. The idea of lying naked below a sea of ghostly faces…

“Lie down,” he said again. His voice left no room for argument.

Rae did as he commanded.

“Pinch the nipples of your breasts,” he said.

She complied, hesitantly. But the thrill that shot through her chest and down her spine quickly alleviated her nervousness. She had never been shy, in fact she got off on being watched. She just wasn’t comfortable with ghosts as her voyeurs.

But the voyeurs clearly were pleased. Their faces all turned to focus on her, beneath them on the bed, and scowls turned to anxious smiles.

“Now show them what they want to see. What they want to do.”

Kharon took one of her arms and guided it towards her thighs. With whitened fingers, he pulled her legs apart, exposing her labia to the crowd above.

Rae slipped one finger inside herself and began to masturbate for the faces of the Field. Heads nodded and eyes brightened.

She had always loved being watched. As she saw the excitement grow in her audience, she began to writhe and moan on the bed for them. She loved being a performer. The faces above answered her with open mouths. From somewhere she began to hear the faint sounds of sexual moans and cries. The fear she’d had at the start faded as Rae realized what they wanted.

They wanted what she yearned to give. She bucked beneath them, wishing in her heart that they could manifest and join her.

Her wish only made the faces above grow more solid and the groans of ecstasy louder. The room was soon glowing with ghostly desire.

Kharon smiled as he watched her work her hips faster. He began to back away from the bed. He nodded to himself. He’d been right about Rae from the start. She was his best student in years.

“Sleep soon,” he whispered, as he stepped out of the bedroom, leaving Rae to perform for the ghosts of those who were rooted here, never able to leave The Red behind. They would gladly spend an eternity, watching.

Afterburn

Mark picked his way through the tunnel, struggling to put his hands and knees down on ground that didn’t hold razor edges. The more he focused on keeping his hands safe, the more his back and shoulders and thighs ended up getting nicked and bit by the blades that also pierced the walls and ceiling.

He knew now that he was going to make it. He could see the opening of the tunnel just a few feet away.

Mark wanted to sprint there, but he held himself back, carefully picking his way past the knives that jutted out of the stone on all sides of him. And finally, he arrived-bloody, shaking-at the exit.

He hesitated before putting his hand over the threshold.

Was there some last trap, some guillotine blade that would swing down to punish the foolhardy who leapt over the gap?

Mark felt his body tremble. He couldn’t remain on his hands and knees for much longer. Willpower alone had kept him from collapsing before now. But willpower was running out.

He took a deep breath and extended his hand through the opening, gritting his teeth as he anticipated…something.

Nothing happened.

“Fuck it,” he whispered. “If it kills me, I’ll be better off.” Mark pushed himself out of the tunnel and onto the flat, cool grey stone of an open, empty room.

Nothing happened.

He lay his entire body down on the cold stone and cried. Actually, he did more screaming and swearing than actual crying. His body was an open nerve. His legs and arms sent nonstop, white-hot pain to his brain. The skin felt as if someone held a flame to it, without pause. It hurt like hell to move and hurt even worse to just lie there and feel the throbbing, blistering complaints of his dying flesh. Add to that the flaying he’d received on the way to the fire pit, and the dozens of nicks and deeper cuts that covered his back and legs and arms where the tunnel’s obstacle course of blades had beat him, and there wasn’t any place on his body that didn’t scream from abuse.