The Mallard God Complex (6)

6. Sudden Life                    

            The night air is fresh and welcoming as I stretch my legs. I look down at the hole I have just been pulled from and see that it is not quite six feet deep. At the time it had felt so much further down, like I had been at the core of the earth with miles between me and the surface. Now as I stand on the edge I feel a delayed anger rushing through me, along with the sudden urge to punch the calming stranger standing next to me.

            He doesn’t appear to have changed clothes. The fine material that was his suit is now covered in brown spots from digging up a grave, but he still manages a dapper smile. Out of curiosity I look at the grave I have just been pulled from. I shouldn’t have. A sudden shiver runs through me as I realize another body likely occupied the space just below me. Luckily I don’t have much time to think about it because my fist is catapulting toward the man’s face with great speed.

            Anger is hot in my veins. This man has taken me from my home, taken the three things I cared about, turned them to cinders, buried me alive, and hasn’t apologized for it! That’s the part that really gets me about it. “You mother . . .” is all I manage to get out before he’s stopped my fist with his hand and slapped me with the other.

            “Cut that out now! I’ve just saved your life!”

            “You kidnapped me and buried me alive!” He lets go of my hand and then waits in silence, inviting more vitriol. “And another thing!” I’m going for broke at this point. I don’t know much about him other than he makes me furious.

            “Are you quite finished Michael?” He asks, like a parent scolding a child. “Because if you’re not I could always take this shovel, brain you with it, and toss you back into that hole. No one would come looking. After all, everyone thinks you’re dead.”

            “What?!” The world around me begins to spin ever-so-slightly. I look down at the headstone and see that it is unmarked. He didn’t even have the courtesy to write my name on the headstone?!

            “If you’re looking for your name on the headstone, you won’t find it. That’s the point of an unmarked grave isn’t it?  When you’re trying to hide someone, it’s best not to tell them where they are.” I must look bewildered as he anticipates my question. “Yes, yes, we’ll get to the who in time, but the order of the hour is to get out of here. I don’t much like graveyards and I have this funny feeling that we’re being watched. Someone had to have seen us in the café. Your death won’t stay timely for long.”

            “Timely?!”

            “Oh come on, burden to society, loner, it adds up, make your peace with it.” My fist is moving again, but he ducks out of the way and gives me a sharp kick to the shin. Pain splits through my leg. “Fighting won’t do us any good.” His voice is growing in urgency. “Nefarious creatures lurk in the shadows and I’d rather not meet them.”

            I look around the graveyard, searching for sign of anyone else. For the first time I see it for what it really is. Gnarled oak trees grasp at the darkened sky, interspaced with headstones and mausoleums. A deep fog hangs over the ground, lowering visibility to only a hundred feet or so. After that there is only the white wall of the fog, hanging, omnipresent at the edge of my vision. The cloud is all around me and I get the sense that I’m in the most peculiar dream.

            Unexpectedly I wretch onto the ground.

            “Glad to see you’ve decided to be useful… What if they test that for your DNA?” He fishes around in his suit pocket and pulls out a small, plastic baggy. “Quickly, scoop it into this and we can be on our way.”

            “No!”

            “What on earth do you mean no? Your options are to trust me: the one keeping you alive, or to stay here and die in a hole. I’d rather not have to bury you again. Excavating is exhausting work.”

            “Saving me?! There wasn’t any danger until you showed up! It doesn’t count as saving if you create the predicament! You threatened to break into my apartment, and then let me watch as it got blown up.”

            “Would you rather have watched from the inside? I’ve been told that hellfire is quite hot, and based on your body composition I can surmise that you would have melted. Does that sound like a better option to you? Would you rather have been melted into oblivion? Because if you continue bitching about a little bit of premature burial then that is exactly what you’ll get.”

            “Who are you?”

            “The one saving your life. That should be enough.”

            “It’s not.”

            “Will it suffice to say that I’m a friend?” His tone has become exasperated now. I can tell that he doesn’t want to leave me, but it’s clear that he believes time is beginning to run thin.

            “No.”

            “Look, I’ll explain it to you once we get somewhere safe, but for right now we need to leave. I’ll explain myself in due time, but if we want to survive the night then movement is of the essence. Can that be enough?”

            “Fine.” I get up off the ground and wipe my mouth on my sleeve. He makes a disgusted face at the action.           

            “Ugh. Here, don’t forget to grab the evidence.” He hands me the baggy and points to the pool of vomit on the ground next to me. I find myself stooping over and picking it up, doing my best to get what I can into the bag.

            This is not where I saw today going.  I think as I fill the baggy. The man waits, tapping his foot impatiently on the freshly turned earth. When I am finished I stand and find myself a bit woozy. The fog has encroached even closer in the mere minute I spent on the ground. Visibility has now dropped to fifty feet. In the distance I can barely make out the iron spikes on a mausoleum that had moments before been clear.

            A chill permeates the air. It is colder than anything I have ever felt and it sweeps through my body like a river. The fog bank is no longer empty, it still appears that way, but just beneath the surface I can feel thousands of tiny eyes, watching my every move. “I think we should get going.” I hand the bag back to him and he gingerly slips it into his pocket.

            “Yes, that’s what I’ve been saying. The fog is moving closer. I wouldn’t consider myself an expert, but that’s got to mean something sinister.” Visibility is fading by the second. Where the mausoleum was, there is now only white. We are now surrounded only by a ring of knee-high headstones.

            Fog banks move in and out don’t they? Nothing to be concerned about. The fog at home sometimes comes rolling over the streets in minutes. I never panicked then; there is no reason to panic now. Unless. Deep within the fog I can see a little orange light. It sways in the distance as though it is being carried by someone. “Do you see that?”

            “Walk backwards. Don’t run until I tell you too.” I begin to back away from the light and nearly trip into my own grave. “Careful now. Back away slowly.” His voice has become deadly calm.

            We continue to back past the grave and the light continues to sway in the distance. It doesn’t appear to get any closer, but it feels as though it is looking for us. “What is it?”

            “Candle Man” he says, as if the sight of Candle Man is a normal, regular occurrence in an everyday world.

            “What?”

            “Hush now, get ready.” The candle stops swaying for a minute and then grows noticeably brighter. “Run.” He turns on his heels and dashes headlong into the fog. The light grows bigger in front of me and I turn tail. I am crashing through the gravestones, weaving in between granite obelisks, and hopping over uneven ground. I can barely see the end of the man’s coat, but I follow him nonetheless. Anything that scares him scares me. He is in front of me, talking to himself as we run away.

            “The Candle Man comes, The Candle Man goes, but wherever you run, his light always shows!”  His poetic outburst gets me to run faster.

            “Nothing like a creepy nursery rhyme to round out an already strange night.” I yell to him, hoping that he will tell me this has all been an elaborate joke.

            “That’s no nursery rhyme. That’s what’s keeping us ahead.” He says, deadpan. I don’t know what to think of it, but before I can process we’ve stopped, and the man is fumbling with the keys to a Ford pickup truck. He unlocks the doors and hops into the driver’s seat. Part of me thinks I should stay in the graveyard and take my chances with the Candle Man.

            Odds are it’s just some caretaker coming through to check for intruders. I’m sure it made quite a bit of noise, him breaking in and exhuming me.

            “Get in!” I look longingly back towards the light.

            Getting in this truck means my full commitment to this insanity. He’s a man I barely know, spitting nonsense that, well, doesn’t make any sense! It’s just a prank. No, for a prank someone needs friends to pull it. I haven’t got any friends that care enough to pull off something this elaborate. That’s another sad thought.

            “Michael you imbecile! Get in the truck!” I abandon all sanity and scramble into the passenger seat. I look out the window and see the light moving towards us through the fog.  Perhaps this is my only option.  The lights of the truck kick on, and for a second I think I see something in the fog, but we’re turning and rushing down a gravel road. ..