I woke to something licking my face. I reached out in my sleep fog and feeling short, soft fur, I realized that Tricksy had somehow made it onto the bed. Opening my eyes, I saw his happy smushed face as he gave me another lick, clearly proud at having gotten up on the bed somehow.
The girl at the pet store had said he was called a Pug, and from the moment I saw him I knew he was the weirdest and cutest thing I’d ever seen. I had always been fascinated by dogs growing up, only in part because of Dad’s stories about Rex, but I had never seen a dog like this in any of the old pictures. An hour later I had him home, getting his bed and food ready while he explored the apartment with a manic, bouncy determination.
Ruffling his fur, I pondered trying to go back to sleep, but I knew it was a lost cause. In the five days since I wrote my last letter to the other Scott, I had been having more and more trouble sleeping. I had a lot of guilt for what I had done to him and Christine, and the longer I was out of that place, the more I felt it.
Living in that other world, my old world, I had come to feel like I was trapped inside myself. When I had first started noticing the change in myself a couple of years back, I was worried but also strangely intrigued. It was like I was standing at the edge of some newly formed cave, and each day I went into it a little deeper and a little more frequently. But over time, the light from outside didn’t penetrate the darkness nearly as well and I would get lost in the black. I would blindly traverse jagged rocks as unseen things crept around me, and when I finally found my way back out, I would swear it was the last time I would go near the thing. But then I would go back in.
That’s the funny thing about madness. It makes you feel like you have a choice. Like the options you pick are reasonable or justified, and then when you look back in horror at what you’ve done, you feel completely responsible for everything. And I am. I’m not trying to make excuses or pawn off all that I’ve done on whatever corruption is slowly eating that other world. I earned this guilt…this taint…honestly and through my own works, and I’ll carry it with me always.
But that’s part of why I love Tricksy so much. Aside from him being sweet and cute and generally awesome, he also doesn’t know what a despicable piece of shit I really am.
For the thousandth time in the last few days I look at the wall next to the desk. I both fear and hope to see a doorway open there most of the time. I’m terrified of going back, and if they ever made it through I’m sure the other Scott and Christine would either try to kill me or send me back through.
At first, my response to that was that I would just kill them if they came back. Now, I’m not so sure. Maybe we can all survive in this world. I can take Tricksy and move away somewhere, and in time, they can forget that I even exist. I know I’m still crazy, but at least now I can recognize it, and I do feel like I’m out of the cave and in the sunlight more every day.
And I love this world so much.
I figured out how to work Scott’s cell phone after an hour or so on the second day I was here. Most people don’t have cell phones where I come from because they’re so unreliable. One of the side effects when things started changing for the worse a few years back was that most wireless transmissions stopped working with any regularity. It’s like sunspots or a solar flare, but all of the time.
But I did have a cell phone years ago, just not one of these fancy touchscreen things. I poked around in it until I figured out where the other Scott worked, and then I called in sick. I needed time to get acclimated, but I also needed money, so the following day I gave a sad Tricksy a hug and headed in. The job was at a company that made greeting cards, oddly enough. Greetings cards weren’t much of a thing anymore where I was from, but apparently other Scott wrote them for a living.
The first couple of days were rough. I could tell by the odd looks I got from some of my co-workers that I wasn’t producing the kind of material they were expecting from Scott. So I went through all his old work to get a feel for it. Most of it was saccrine and idiotic, but there were some good ideas in there too. Some of them I felt like I could see other Scott in, and it made me know him more, see him more as a person rather than just an obstacle. Or maybe that was just my crazy starting to wear off and my guilt starting to kick in.
Either way, it didn’t stop me from loving going to work. Living in that old world, even when I was deep in the cave, it felt like everyone you met was a high-voltage powerline just humming with dark impulses and brimming with potential for violence. Not everyone was, of course, and I certainly fell into that camp myself, but none of that made the constant tension of daily life any easier to bear.
Here, people aren’t always happy or nice, but they are normal. The way I remember being when I was younger. Yesterday I just sat at my desk, trying to think up a way to say Happy Birthday that wasn’t overly off-putting or strange, and I marveled at the sounds around me.
People gossiping, eating donuts, talking about what they are doing for their vacation in two weeks or about their daughter’s wedding last month. Even the work-related stuff was done in such a mundane and civil manner that it felt surreal.
Much as I enjoy it though, by the end of the day I have to get home and be alone. Being around people too long, even normal people that probably won’t suddenly start screaming or trying to kill you, is hard for me. I’m not used to that anymore, and I may never be again. I don’t know. But I already have more in this world than I ever thought I’d have again.
New movies! I’ve been spending a lot of time when I’m at home watching movies. They made movies out of Tolkien’s “The Red Book of Westmarch” trilogy over here! They call it “The Lord of the Rings”, which is a dumb name, but the movies are great. My favorite has to be Gollum. I read they did him with computer graphics, which is amazing and more advanced than anything I’ve seen in my world. I even named Tricksy after him, albeit indirectly. He looks a little bit like a bug-eyed Gollum anyway.
He’s asleep on my lap as I write this out, and as stupid as this sounds, I think he’s part of the reason I’m having so much trouble with what I did. I love the little guy, and it’s the first time I’ve loved something since my Christine. Just thinking about her, what we did to each other as it got bad…I will always hate myself for that.
The question is, how much sin do I want to add on top? How much more do I want to hate myself?
I decided to write this all out as a way of working through all of these thoughts and feelings. Almost as though I was writing it to the other Scott, but with no intention of actually sending it. But I’m coming to realize I should send it to him. Not just this either, but instructions on how to get back or a message on setting up a time when I can open the door on this side if he’s not up to doing it on his. I had better wait to send the extra paper until I know what he wants to do, and I hope I’m not too late for either of them.
And yet…I still hear a voice calling from that deep, dark cave. That voice says I have to look out for myself. That they will kill me or force me back if I help them. I know that I can’t trust that voice, but I also can’t shake the feeling that it is part of what has kept me alive as my own world turned into some kind of hell. I need to think about this. I don’t want to lose this life, but I’m not sure it won’t be poisoned if I leave them condemned to that terrible place.
Tricksy just woke up and wants to go outside. I think I’m going to take him for a long walk and then see about sending a letter.
Abducting a child isn’t as easy as you might think, especially in this place. There are fewer people for one thing, and everyone is much more guarded, especially with their children. The first few days me and Christine went out, we only saw a couple of children at all. We had a plan of only going out for two hours at a time in different directions. We wanted to make sure that if we saw something like what happened in the park, we could get back to the apartment relatively quickly, and this way we were exploring different potential places every time we went.
We saw a number of things in those days. Much of it was relatively mild—people talking to themselves or arguing loudly, acting erratic or strangely twitchy and emotional. We saw a couple of fights, and one guy ran out into the street and started stabbing a woman who was just quietly making her way along the crosswalk. The most troubling thing was very brief, and I don’t think Christine saw it.
We were walking south that day, debating if we should push out further than normal in the hopes we could reach a school that was supposed to be a few blocks away. It was a big risk to take a child from a school, particularly when we had to go back all that way on foot with them in tow, but every day we were getting more desperate, and the more time we spent here seeing this place, the more the question of should we do it faded away as the question of how we do it became more and more pressing.
As we walked, I happened to glance into an alley we were passing. I saw a woman and a child of about ten hunched over a man who lay slumped against a dumpster. At first, I thought they were leaning down checking on him, but then the little boy turned and looked at me with deep-set green eyes that twinkled with madness. His mouth was covered in blood and bits of flesh from where they were eating the man, and as my mouth fell open he smiled at me and licked his lips.
I tried not to lose my stride so as to not alert Christine, and the last glimpse I saw was the woman’s hand on the boy’s shoulder. It may have been my fear or a trick of the shadows, but I swear I saw her hand going into him slowly, as though they were running together like pink candle wax. I told Christine we should keep going, deciding in the back of my mind we would be taking a different route back to the apartment. I kept looking over my shoulder, but to my relief I saw no sign we were being followed.
That was the day our luck changed. A mile down the road we found an elementary school. It had already let out for the day, but the next day we were back bright and early, and after watching most of the morning, we had a plan.
Most of the children came in by school bus or were dropped off by parents, but there were a handful that walked there in the morning. Assuming that was true in the afternoon as well, we would just wait for a small child who was walking alone, preferably a girl since that’s what Not Scott had used, and that would be that. It was terrible, and I still hated the idea of doing it, but it had to be done. I had to try and make all of this right, even if I had to do some wrong to do it. And I told myself that these children had no real future here other than a short life filled with pain and fear. I couldn’t quite convince myself that killing one of them was a mercy, but it did take the edge off of my guilt at least.
School let out and it soon became clear who we were following. While many of the children who were walking had left in pairs or groups, there was one little girl who had headed off on her own immediately as though she couldn’t wait to be away from all the laughing and shoving and joking around the rest of the children were doing as they got picked up or struck out on foot. She was overweight, with long, black hair that was stringy and unkempt. Her clothes were clearly old and dirty in spots, and as she walked, I could see that the sole was starting to separate on the back of one of her red sneakers. She looked sad and unloved, and I had to fight the urge to tell Christine that this was a mistake. But when I looked at her, all I saw was the grim almost manic determination I had seen since we had started this days before. She was past any mercy or equivocation at this point, and how could I blame her, given all she had been through?
So we followed the child until she started down a route different than what would lead in the apartment’s direction, at which point we approached her and told her she needed to come with us. She asked why, and we gave our preplanned generic response of “a member of your family has been hurt and we were told to get you. We don’t have all the details yet.” It was vague and lame, but we hoped it would be enough to at least get her down the road a mile or two before she started asking more questions. She seemed to weigh our words, considering, and I could tell she didn’t really believe us for any of a dozen good reasons. Still, to my surprise she just shrugged with a resigned look on her face.
“Okay. I’ll go.”
It occurred to me that children were likely going crazy in this place just like the adults. And given what I thought I had seen in the alley, my appreciation for how potentially dangerous this little girl might be was exponentially greater. But as we walked, she didn’t try to attack us or even complain. She moved along docilely, and after a couple of miles I began wondering what her life must be like that she was okay with being abducted. I pushed the thought away. The less I thought of her as a person, as a sad little girl, the better.
The trip back was taking longer than expected, not because of any problems with her, but because we had gotten lost. As twilight came on, the semi-familiar landmarks became less familiar, and somehow in my rerouting we took a wrong turn. We made it to the apartment without incident but well after nightfall, and the resolutely stoic little girl had started to murmur about being hungry and needing the bathroom.
When we got upstairs, I shared a look with Christine as I told the girl we’d fix her some dinner after we showed her something in the other room. The paper and knife were already set up in the bedroom, so it should go quickly enough. But when the girl asked again about going to the bathroom, I relented, telling her to go on, but to make it quick.
She nodded and went with dutiful haste into the hallway bathroom, closing the door behind her. Christine was giving me a hard look to which I just shrugged. “It’s five minutes, and I think it’s the least we can do. She’s just a little girl.”
Her expression softened a little, her voice mimicking my hushed tone. “I know. I just want it over with. We have to get back.”
I nodded and thought about reaching out to comfort her, but now wasn’t the time. We had to stay focused, and get past this. Then we could work on helping each other get back to normal.
After another minute, the toilet flushed. Immediately the pipes began to squeal and rattle with a level of noise that still amazed me after nearly a week of using them. Christine had warned me about them, about not using them at…
“It’s after dark!” Christine’s eyes were wide with panic. “He said never flush it after dark!
I felt fear fluttering in my chest and I tried to ignore it. “I’m sure it’ll be okay. What’re the odds some roving band is patrolling outside right now, just waiting for a sign of life to break in?” Still, I could feel my heart racing, and I was about to hammer on the bathroom door when the girl came out, looking confused at our excitement.
I grabbed her arm and pulled her across into the bedroom. She was still quiet, but she was starting to physically resist now. Fortunately, Christine was there and grabbed her from behind, wrapping her arms around the girl’s chest.
“I’ve got her. Do it, hurry.” I let go of the girl’s arm and looked into Christine’s face. She looked ten years older and like a different person than the woman I knew and loved. Her easy smile and bright, intelligent eyes had been replaced with a grim slash and dull stones that bored into me as she waited for me to grab the knife.
I picked it up and had time to think about how heavy it felt, how wrong it felt in my hand. The next moment there was a crash that sounded like it was coming from the front door of the apartment as someone tried to bash their way in.
Christine’s eyes widened as her grip on the child tightened. “Do it now, fucker! You fucking do it now before they’re on top of us!”
Being careful to avoid the child’s face, I moved my gaze down to the knife. Taking a deep breath, I shoved it into the girl’s stomach. Even then she didn’t complain other than to make a “woof” sound like she had been punched in the gut. I was starting to cry, but the splintering sound of the front door finally giving way spurred me on. I put my fingers in the blood pouring from the knife wound and turned to trace the rectangle inside the paper door. Immediately a crack appeared, and at my touch the door swung open.
I shuffled away and told Christine to go through, seeing two men and one woman coming into the living room and looking at me across the distance. I jumped and slammed the bedroom door shut, twisting the lock but knowing the door would only hold for seconds. Turning back, I saw the last of Christine disappear through the door and I dove behind her, scrabbling through and back into my world.
The first thing I noticed when I passed through was barking. I looked up to see Christine standing nearby, the knife we had used on the girl in her hand. Standing a few feet away at the doorway to the room was Not Scott, and bizarrely it looked like he was holding a small Pug puppy that was furiously barking at us.
“Get back, motherfucker.” Christine growled at him. Not Scott was about to say something in response, but then I was getting pulled back through the door. Rough hands had me, pulling at my clothes and yanking me away from my way home. I looked up and saw strange faces with small symbols tattooed between the eyebrows of all three of them. They didn’t seem angry or even upset as they began to punch and kick me. Instead, they were placidly calm, almost bored looking, as though what they were doing was just part of their daily routine. Most likely it was.
I tried to ball up, but I was hurting badly already, and protecting my stomach only exposed my back more. I closed my eyes tight. I knew I was going to die here, beaten to death by strangers in a strange world. But one of them started screaming, and when I opened my eyes, I saw Not Scott pulling the knife Christine had been holding out of one of the men’s eyes. As that man began to fall, the woman left off kicking me to jump on Not Scott’s back with a furious howl. He pushed backward, slamming her into the wall and jamming the knife back and into her side. Her howl turned into a yell of pain, and as he yanked the knife free, he twisted around to drive it home into her neck with a wet, popping sound that made me wince.
I realized that the other man had run out during this, and I was going to say so to Not Scott, but he was busy looking at the tattoo on the woman’s face.
“Fuck. Okay, you have to get out of here. Get back through the door. I’m going to destroy it as soon as you go and then try to go catch that fuck and his buddies.”
I was so confused, but I suddenly felt sure I shouldn’t be leaving Not Scott here, despite everything he had done. “Why don’t you come back with us? You can pay for your crimes there.”
He stared at me a moment and then shook his head. “I can’t. These aren’t regular criminals. They’re part of one of the big cults that has sprung up in the last few years. Call themselves the House of the Claw. If they figure out how to make a door, there’s nothing stopping them and God knows what else from pouring over into your world. They always run in packs of 4 or 5, so I have to try and get the rest of them now.” He paused. “But thank you for offering. And please take care of my puppy. His name is Tricksy and…he’s a very good boy.” I could see he was crying, but I knew we didn’t like it when people commented on us crying, so I left it alone.
“I promise, Scott. If you get them and…” I almost said survive, but I couldn’t make myself say the word, “…you want to come over, use one of these scraps and send me a note. I’ll…send you more paper to make a door.” I left out the unspoken step of him having to kill another child, but I saw in his eyes he was thinking it. He shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. We have to be willing to make sacrifices for what matters. I understand that better now. Just go. Have a good life, both of you. And I’m sorry.”
I nodded and rolled back onto my stomach, crawling as quickly as my pain would allow. As soon as my feet had cleared the other side, the door was gone. I looked up to see Christine holding the shaking puppy, who looked at me for a moment before starting back to barking frantically and squirming.
It’s been six hours since then. I found and read what the other Scott had written and have included it above. To her credit, Christine was honest after reading his letter. She told me she had lied about him abusing her, and told me what she says is the truthful account of her time there with him and with me. I plan to include portions of that in this or earlier postings as well.
She left a couple of hours ago to go home and clean up. Get some rest. We hugged when we parted at my door, but I can tell everything is different now. Something has broken between us. It was too fragile or too rigid to bear the weight of all we have seen and said and done. And the saddest part is that I’m okay with that. The last month has given me a great deal of insight into what I can survive.
Right now, I’m trying to make friends with a small puppy named Tricksy. He is a cute little guy, but he rolls his eyes at me with mistrust whenever I try to get near him. I’m not the right Scott for him. I’m starting to think I’m not the right Scott for a lot of things.
I have been checking the desk for a sign all night, but there’s been nothing. So finally, after taking a second long shower and giving Tricksy some more water, I tumble into bed and a deep slumber.
I start awake and I can tell it’s either early morning or early evening, but I have no idea which. Tricksy is what woke me up, barking at something. I roll over and see he’s jumping and barking at the desk. On it is a single scrap of blue paper.
Leaping out of bed, I wipe sleep from my eyes and read it.
Got them. Fortunately for me, the House isn’t afraid to recruit young. I’ll be over shortly. Tell Tricksy he’s my precious.
Laughing and feeling stupid, I read the note to Tricksy, who was bouncing excitedly against my leg as though he knew what was coming. Just then I saw it.
The door was opening one last time.
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Credits
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