Beyond by Ambrose Ibsen

Author:Ambrose Ibsen [Ibsen, Ambrose]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-02-26T16:00:00+00:00

Twelve

He dreamt he was back at Erich's party.

The music droned on, somewhat muffled. He drew in a deep breath and tried to remember the beat, but found it slightly changed. The reason fast became clear; the music was now playing backwards.

Julian was alone in the kitchen; neither Lee, nor Erich, nor anyone else was in sight. What's more, no one could be heard against the repetitious drum and bass. Peering through the doorway, into the living room, there was only velvety darkness to be seen. He was alone in an empty house.

No. His heart rate quickened for a moment. You're not alone...

The light above his head burned dully. A dark, citrusy orange glow brought everything on the table before him into murky focus. There were glass bottles there, an impossible amount of them, filled with liquor. He reached out and touched one, wrapped his fist around its neck.

As he held onto that bottle, he became cognizant of another presence stemming from the living room. He neither saw nor heard this presence; it pinged his radar through instinct alone. Though he could not see it, he could sense it moving closer. Soon, it would join him in the kitchen.

He clutched the bottle to his chest.

Who's there?

No, it wasn't a “who” he needed to concern himself with.

What's coming?

Without having employed his five senses, he'd become aware of an impending threat. What process, what internal apparatus had picked up on this presence? Some hitherto neglected sense organ was being fed environmental data; was this what they called intuition?

He felt the presence creeping closer still from somewhere in that impenetrable darkness outside the kitchen. In its unseen advance, it inspired in him a terrible fear—a fear so great, so incredible in scope, that it threatened to eclipse his being in toto. It was the emotional equivalent of having one's body slowly crushed within a hydraulic press. This fear did not emanate from a thing which could be conquered; no, there was nothing to be done in response to it, except to succumb or run.

But where could he run to? The kitchen seemed to shrink around him. There was no back door to flee through, nor any windows. He was effectively trapped, unless he dared burst through the doorway and challenge that outer darkness. But he didn't dare; something was lumbering through that blackness, and if he came face-to-face with it...

His heart staged a mutiny, thrashing in his chest as though it might break free to save itself. His mouth was flooded with saliva, and bile stung his throat. Every pore loosed a fat bead of sweat and the air became appallingly hot and stale. With every passing second, the thing was coming closer. Fear of death all but evaporated as he was crushed by its impending weight.

He was not afraid to die; he was only afraid to truly know this thing.

He simply could not bear to know it.

And so he took the bottle in his hand and did what reason commanded; lifting it above his head, he plunged the neck of the thing directly into one of his eyes.

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