Urban Gothic by Stephen Coghlan

Author:Stephen Coghlan [Coghlan, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781949645156
Publisher: Kyanite Publishing LLC
Published: 2019-03-12T22:00:00+00:00

* * *

“Hey, Fred?” Alec whispered into the darkened room. “Are you okay?”

“I’m well enough. What is it?” he asked.

“Can you teach me how to summon?”

Sighing, Frederick sat up from the couch he had been resting on. “I can try, but I won’t make any promises. Close your eyes and try and make something. Convince your mind that you need it rather than just want it.”

Alec tried to think of something, but his mind drew a blank. He focused on his breathing and tried to convince himself he needed something, but nothing became even remotely clear to him.

Fred’s demeanor evolved from mildly annoyed to frustrated as Alec progressed from quiet thought to loud grunting, trying to force himself to conjure something. When his patience had finally waned, the commander stood and put one hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Face it, Alec.” Frederick sighed. “You’re still too attached to Banality.”

Gasping as if he had run a marathon, Alec pleaded with his friend. “How do I become detached? How do I break free?”

“You have to believe that this reality is the truth.” Frederick said. “I have an idea. Why don’t you take a walk and try to notice the fantastic about you? Let’s see if that helps your brain at all.”

Nodding, Alec turned to leave, but a whistle from Fred stopped him. “Do yourself a favor and wear a disguise. You come off a little too obviously a Creator.”

Ripping a blanket from the couch, Alec covered his face as he stepped into the main hall. Ignoring the sights, he jogged up stairs, across hallways, and down ramps. He kept moving faster and faster. Wanting to wear out his body and exorcise himself of his failures, he picked up his pace to a sprint; but no matter how fast or how far he ran; he still felt them chasing him.

He felt Kiso dying under his hands. He remembered Sylvain saying he was fine before his eyes glassed over and his voice fell flat. He smelled Frederick’s charred flesh, a scent that lingered even after the treatments. He saw Frederick in the hospital, just after he had been sent home to live in a permanent stupor.

Only once he could barely stand did he bother to survey his surroundings.

It was fantastic, mystical, and would have caused anyone else to stare in wonder. He wished his brain would simply accept that a Tasmanian devil dressed in old-timey preachers’ garb, a top hat, and a pair of six shooters was standing next to him in the hallway. An oil painting of two lovers staring hand-in-hand into an eternal sunset and aging from young women to old ladies before becoming youths again was simply there. A chimera of wolf and child groaning happily while a skeleton scratched its belly was perfectly normal.

It was a fact, simple as that.

It was a fact that he was in a strange land.

It was a fact that the shadows of the other world danced about before him, heading towards the exit and symbolizing closing time.

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