Falling Skyward

Chapter Nine: Echoes in the Dark

Lana allowed the old woman to crumple to her knees as she backed away from that sinister voice. But the woman did not collapse. She remained twisted and hunched at an unnatural angle. Then the voice came again, this time a wail.

"They are here."

Simultaneously, a scream reverberated through the air. Lana recoiled from the old woman and stumbled nearer to the clearing where the scream was spreading among the sleeping, scattered bodies camped there. Lana froze, mesmerized by the scene before her. On the furthest edge of the meadow, a shadow dangled from the trees. It was nearly as thick and long as the trunk from which it hung, but the shape rolled limply with the wind. Lana strained to make out the edges, watching as a black liquid streamed down its sides and dripped on the leaves. Then, a gust of wind sent the head lulling forward, and Lana understood as she watched the hanging, bloody body sway.

Lana nearly joined the screams, but something drew her eyes to the deeper shadows beyond the corpse—to the blackened forest. Though Lana could not make out distinct shapes, she felt the presence. Like the subtle disturbance an unheard whisper creates in the air, Lana could feel the deepening darkness seep along her skin.

And then, she saw them—hooded creatures gliding beneath the trees.

Though they stood upright, Lana could tell they were not men by the way they moved—a seamless darting altogether inhuman. They wavered and flickered between the trees like ghosts, remaining on the verge of the meadow but never stepping into the stars' velvety light. The creatures were all converging on the same point, moving toward Lana.

Raw terror filled Lana's throat, constricting her lungs. She turned back toward the willow tree. A hooded creature hovered over the gypsy's sagging body, holding her grey face to its lips. But as the creature pulled away, Lana saw a ragged, uneven gash where the mouth should be. The hooded figure let the woman fall to the ground with a sickening crack, the gypsy's eyes turning heavenward.

As the old woman breathed her last, shuddering breath, the spell surrounding Lana fractured. She ran, her courage and fear now fully awakened. Both seeking and fearing the cover of darkness, Lana sprinted into the trees. She could hear nothing save her ragged breathing and the wind rustling the jittery leaves above.

Yet she could feel the creatures near. Brambles snagged Lana's hair; thorns clawed her arms. The undergrowth appeared like a jigsaw puzzle beneath her feet, every piece uneven. After an upended root sent Lana toppling into a bush, she ripped her stiff boots from her feet, glancing behind.

A swarm of billowing cloaks threaded through the trees not twenty yards from Lana. She could see their mute faces, but she could not hear their footfalls or the rustle of their cloaks—they fell upon her as silently and subtly as night.

Lana ran on, the cold air festering like slivers in her lungs. Soon, tarry mud swallowed Lana's feet, and the trickling chatter ahead oriented her. Once Lana reached the stream bed, the swampy reeds underfoot gave way to smooth, chilled stones and the canopy overhead gave way to stars interlaced with luminescent clouds. Lana forged her way into the center of the stream, following the water's glittering path. The narrow embankment surrounding the stream steepened and elongated until rock, black earth, and coils of roots engulfed her.

Lana waded further downstream, the current intensifying as the stream narrowed and curved, the pitch of the river deepening as it swept toward a lower and more thunderous clatter up ahead. Lana recognized the sound and waded to the far bank, using a root to pull herself free from the frigid current. Her feet were already numb. A few more minutes and her toes would have suffered frostbite. She edged along the river using a thin ledge of rock, watching as the water fell and cascaded to a waterfall. Lana crept along, clutching at the stone, feeling its divots and fissures as though she could read its face with her fingers. When her hand came to a deeper crack in the stone, Lana used the familiar footholds within the rock to hoist herself up the cliff.

Water and sweat trickled from Lana's nose and traced the curves along her back. She crouched, trying to catch her breath, trying to hold together the seams she felt pulling her ribs apart. Across the gulf, Lana thought she saw a flicker of shadow. She strained her eyes against the muted colors of night, seeing nothing. She straightened shakily, turning toward her uncle's farm.

Lana moved deftly through the forest, hurrying along familiar paths. Untamed trees flowed into shivering cornstalks that shifted into meadows of bitter-wheat until her home came into view. Sickening dread crumbled away as she titled her face toward the sky and laughed—mirthlessly, wildly.

Then, a shadow fell across the corner of her eye. Murky shapes rustled in the trees around the cottage clearing. Lana shrank back, ducking behind the towering woodpile. She saw two obsidian figures appear in the clearing, their heads bobbing, searching.

A low, whispering sound came from the trees behind Lana. She turned to see another creature with his head bent, his body quivering ethereally in the wind. The quiet whispering noise came again, and Lana realized the creature was smelling the air, sniffing its way toward her.

More shadows flickered into the meadow. Mute and mouthless, they could still taste her terror.

And Lana had led them to her home, back to her family. As three creatures slithered onto the front porch steps, Lana sprinted into the clearing, pouring all her fear, pain, and bitterness into one raw scream. Dozens of unseen eyes turned to her, setting her skin prickling with fear.

Lana screamed again—warning her family and distracting the creatures—as she raced down the lane, heading away from town, away from her uncle's farm, and toward the only sanctuary she had left.

Her uncle's church sat exposed on windswept cliffs that overlooked the ocean. The white building clung to the ground as the merciless surf clawed away at the rock at its base, deafening Lana to the eerie silence stalking her. Reaching a window on the far side, nearly undetectable beneath the steeple's shadow, Lana pushed against the warped glass, knowing the pane would give way. She crept along the floor, slipping into the main chapel.

Fragmented colors dripped from the stain glass windows, turning the room into a patchwork of crimson, sapphire, and gold. The storm shutters had only been removed from the doors and windows a few weeks ago, but Lana now wished they were back in place, sealing her inside this cavern-like building. Lana huddled near the pulpit, feeling her pulse crash and die away with the sound of the surf.

Then, nothing.

Thick mist and sea spray hung outside, obscuring Lana's vision and muffling any sound except the rhythmic tolling of the surf. The waiting was worse than the chase—the anticipation worse than the fear. Lana could feel her injuries awaken and burn even as her mind clouded with the loss of adrenaline. But nothing changed. Nothing came. Nothing moved.

Then, the light in the chapel gradually dimmed and darkened. Blood-red silhouettes appeared outside the windows, growing larger and deeper until they filled the entire frame.

The stained starlight in the room wavered. The air and noise warped into an unsettling moan. Somehow the shapes outside the window seeped into the colors of the glass then fall onto the chapel's dust-scattered floor. Lana shut her eyes, afraid to believe the illusion. But the chill that made her breath appear like curling smoke couldn't be blocked out. The words of the gypsy echoed again in her mind: They are here.

Lana stifled a sob as she crawled across the floor, reaching for the door directly behind the pulpit. She closed herself within the damp blackness and felt her way to the spiral staircase. She began climbing the steeple, circling toward the bell tower. She heard a forlorn creak as the lower door opened beneath her. The wooden stairs wheezed and adjusted beneath her feet as she climbed faster and faster.

Starlight spilled into the steeple's upper chamber, outlining the bells' gentle curves with liquid silver. Lana could taste the metallic tang of salt and feel the wind whip through the gaping arches of the bell tower. She turned to face the stairs. Within the shadows of the spiral staircase, the deeper darkness drew nearer. Lana flinched as her shoulders brushed the smooth stone of the furthest wall. There was nowhere left to run.

Lana turned toward the nearest open archway—toward the merging oceans of waves and sky—and threw herself from the tower toward the jagged cliff rocks. She fell downward, spiraling toward the luminous sea foam.