Beneath the warmth of quilted covers, Benjamin Burtwhistle opened his eyes. He slid his head from the soft cocoon and squinted at light shimmering through frosted windows. Snow had fallen overnight, slow and steady, so that a lovely white blanket now draped the family’s farmland. It was his favorite kind of morning to wake to—especially on this particular day—so he smiled and turned to his sister asleep in her bed across the room.
“Anna,” he loudly whispered.
“Go back to sleep,” his sister groaned beneath her own set of faded quilts.
“Do you think Mother and Father are awake yet?” Benny asked.
“No one should be awake yet,” Anna replied.
Benny sighed and stared at the wooden beams of his bedroom ceiling. The family farmhouse was only a few years old, so whiffs of cedar still danced through the air on chilly mornings. The aroma only heightened his excitement, so he turned to his sister again.
“I’m going down to look,” he said.
“Do whatever you want,” his sister replied. “Just let me sleep.”
Suddenly, muffled whimpering and scratching sounded at their door.
“Moose is awake,” Benny said.
“Please stop talking,” his sister replied.
Benny huffed and slowly slid himself from the warm comfort of his bed. The frigid floor stung his warm bare feet. He danced in place, creaking the floorboards, as he threw on a robe far too large for him. He wrapped it around himself tight then pitter-pattered to the door and opened it.
The family dog, an enormous boxer with black fur and a white patch around one eye, leapt into Benny’s arms. The beast’s tongue lapped across the boy’s face, splashing him with slobber like a wet rag. Benny giggled. His sister shushed at him.
“Come on,” Benny whispered before setting the dog down and tiptoeing out of the bedroom. “We have to be quiet,” he said, patting Moose on his head. The dog followed Benny closely with his tongue lolling, leaving drool droplets on the floor to inevitably freeze.
The path to the family den brought him by his parent’s bedroom door. He sauntered up to the doorknob, turning it slowly before gently opening the door just a crack. Along the bedroom walls were old swords from his father’s war days. Wicker baskets lined one side of the room, full of soiled linens ready for wash. Then his eyes widened as he realized their bed was flat where there should have been two distinct mounds still huddled for warmth.
“They’re awake!” he cried, at which Moose leapt excitedly and barked.
The two raced through the remaining hallway, then descended rickety stairs to the family den. Dust shook loose beneath the wooden boards. Walls rattled. It was like a stampede, the might of this joyous boy and his dog.
At the bottom of the stairs Benny slid to a halt, but Moose kept going. The hound slammed head first into a wall, shaking candle sconces and sending loose wax sticks hurdling to the floor in splats and cracks. Benny’s parents chuckled at the family table in the center of the large room. Steam danced from mugs resting in their hands. Behind them an enormous cedar tree towered up to the tall ceiling. Popcorn kernels strung into garland encircled it. Pinecones, dried fruit and walnuts scattered across its branches. The monolithic wonder filled the home with a sweet, minty kind of aroma, yet no matter how majestic the tree was, its importance paled in comparison to the mound of gifts which lay beneath it.
“We beat you this year,” Benny’s father said with a smile.
“Anna won’t get out of bed!” Benny blurted, loud enough so that she would surely hear.
“Well, we can’t open presents until everyone’s downstairs,” Benny’s mother replied.
Benny groaned as Moose took his place beside him, shaking off flecks of candle wax and spraying slobber. The two trudged past a crackling hearth adorned with five stockings draped over its mantle and stuffed with fruits and candies.
“Can’t I just open one?” Benny said, defeated. “It’s not my fault she’s lazy.”
His mother and father eyed one another, then shrugged.
“There is one you could open,” his father said with a coy smile. “But you’ll have to dig through the pile a bit.”
Benny’s eyes lit up. His shoulders straightened. Moose jumped up and down excitedly, feeling the boy’s energy.
“Can I?” Benny said. “Really?”
His mother nodded. “You’ve got to really dig though.”
“Come on, Moose!” Benny exclaimed.
The boy raced to the tree and slid onto his knees. Tucked beneath all that sappy green was a mound of wrapped gifts unlike anything he’d ever seen. There were big presents, little presents, presents shaped like candies, and other gifts shaped like big toy soldiers. He wondered if his uncle’s Paladin cloak was in there, the one he’d worn in that war so long ago and given to his father once he left the order. Now that he was nine he knew he was old enough to wear it now. Surely it would fit him.
“Now, remember,” his father said, “You’ve got to dig, but you’ll know it’s the right present when you feel it.”
Benny grinned from ear to ear. Adrenaline flooded his veins. He thrust his hands deep into the package mound, clawing at the things, pulling on them and yanking. He turned to his father.
“Can you give me a hint?” Benny said, rifling through the mound. “What am I looking for?”
“You’ll know it when you feel it,” Benny’s father replied, “Keep digging.”
Determined, Benny dug deeper. His hands clasped paper, tugged at ribbons. He knew it must be his uncle’s cloak. Ever since he could remember he’d wanted to wear it with its brilliant royal red and golden streaks which shimmered in sunlight. He imagined clasping it around his neck before running through the home, battling imaginary nightlings just like Uncle Samuel. So, he kept clawing, ripping, thrashing at the gifts. After a minute he figured he’d have found it by now, but the mound just seemed to grow the more he tore at it.
Suddenly, he jumped as his father began to yell, “Wake up! Wake up!”
It was an unnerving cry, deep and powerful. Benny figured he must be calling for Anna so that she could see the moment Benny retrieves the cloak. He began to throw gifts to the side, but the more he removed, more seemed to appear. His fingers ached. His breathing hastened.
“Where is it?!” he cried, all the while tossing gifts to the side while his father’s shouts grew louder: WAKE UP, WAKE UP. WAKE UP.
Benny gripped something which felt like a rectangular box. Something with firm edges that a cloak could easily be nestled inside.
“I think I have it!” he said.
WAKE UP, his father shouted in response. WAKE UP.
He pulled hard from the bottom of the package pile, yanking and tugging. He groaned, extended his leg so that his foot had a firm brace as he heaved, growled and yelled.
Finally, the item gave way. He stumbled backward, crashing to the floor. But all of the joy inside him instantly dissolved as he saw in his hands not a box containing a brilliant cloak, but a book—a hefty, weighty thing bound in leather with hundreds of crimson-edged pages. It was hot to the touch, nearly scalding. He tried to throw it because he sensed a darkness in it, as if at any moment it would bite, but he found the book stuck in his grip.
Suddenly, the world outside turned a dark red, enshrouding the room in a crimson darkness. The wind howled. Windows rattled violently.
“What’s happening?” Benny shouted.
He turned to his family and found his mother and father staring at him with horrified expressions. Their mouths were wide open as if stuck in a scream, yet no sound was produced.
“Help!” Benny cried. “Help!”
Moose leapt at the book, biting it, but the moment his teeth touched the tome’s leather the dog burst into a pile of ash and bones, covering Benny in a cloud of white.
The Christmas tree burst into flames. Walls erupted into fire. Benny watched his parents melt like candle wax—skin dripping and muscles bubbling—they fell to the floor in a pile of slop. Benny screamed and thrashed at the book as fire grew around him. He kicked at the thing as the ceiling buckled, split, then exploded upward, revealing a crimson sky filled with people falling from puffy black clouds. He continued kicking at the tome, but his hands wouldn’t let it go.
He rose into the air. His family home swirled beneath him in a fiery tornado. He climbed toward the falling souls, toward the thick black clouds, toward a blood moon that suddenly appeared in the sky amidst a sea of red. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a cathedral high up on a mountain, miles away and imposing in its gothic grandeur. He felt his skin burn as fire lapped across his body. The book in his hands laughed and howled.
Benny screamed and screamed as he rose higher and higher until—
His eyes snapped open.
He was lying in a pile of pillowy ash in the center of his ruined home. Above him, that same crimson sky sparkled with human figures still tumbling through thick, black clouds—their wails of terror a soft, low drone. He quickly rubbed his arms, spreading soot over the same pajamas he’d awoken in earlier. He found that he wasn’t burned, not even scratched. He felt around him through the surrounding ash mound for the book, but it was gone.
“There’s hardly any blood,” a woman suddenly said, startling him.
Benny lifted his head and found an old woman with long white hair and a soot-covered dress bent down beside a boy and a golden retriever. She wiped the side of the boy’s mouth with a white, ash-smeared cloth. The dog tried to lick at the kid’s face. She shooed it away.
“It hurts,” the boy said.
“I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” the woman replied. “We all kick in our sleep.”
Benny lifted himself so that he sat amidst the ashmound.
“What happened?” he asked—at which the boy, the old woman, and dog all whipped their heads around in unison to meet his gaze.
“You kicked me!” the boy cried, pointing at him. “I was trying to wake you up and you kicked me!” He pointed at his mouth. “My tooth’s loose!”
The woman stood and slipped her handkerchief into a patched pocket on her dress. She approached Benny with warm, inviting eyes surrounded by a thousand creases. She limped with every other step.
“Can you walk, dear?” the woman asked Benny.
Benny nodded absentmindedly while peering into the sky again, a part of him unable to remove his attention from the screaming, twisting bodies falling so slowly, so elegantly against that curtain of red.
“We’re the lucky ones,” the woman said, also looking up. “Do you remember anything from before? How you got here?”
Benny kept his eyes on the twisting bodies, trying to remember anything aside from that horrifying dream, or vision, or whatever just happened. He suddenly realized he had no idea how he got to this place, what happened to his family, anything. He knew his name was Benny, knew that he was fourteen—not a child like in that dream, which was what he decided to call it—but that was it. It felt as if there was some locked door in his mind that he needed to open, but he didn’t have the key. So, he simply shook his head.
“No,” he said.
The woman sighed and lowered her head to meet his gaze.
“Neither do we,” she said.
“Where are we?” Benny asked.
“Hell, I suspect.”
“But why would a dog be in Heck?” the boy blurted out. “What did Ginger Snap do?”
The old woman shrugged and extended a soot-covered hand to help Benny up.
“I’m Ethel,” she said as Benny rose to his feet, spreading whisps of ash into the hot, dry wind.
“Benny,” he said.
“I’m Recorn,” the boy said, then pointed at the dog. “That’s Ginger Snap. She’s not mine. At least I don’t think.”
The dog barked.
Benny wiped soot from his pajamas that were far too small and tight for his teenage body. He was covered in dust, black flecks, soil and splinters. He rubbed his hair vigorously, enshrouding his head in a cloud of ash.
“How do we remember our names,” he said as he finally let his hands down, “If we don’t remember who we are? Or how we got here?”
“I’ve wondered that too,” the woman said, backing away as the dust cloud around Benny shivered into the wind and disappeared. “Which leads me to question if this is actually Hell, because there we would at least know what had led us to such a place.”
Suddenly, Recorn jumped backward, nearly stumbling over burnt timber.
“They’re back!” he cried as the dog began to bark. “Ethel, they’re back!”
Ethel quickly turned to the front of the home and peered through what was left of a door frame. In the distance, across a field scorched black by flame, were a few dozen shadowy creatures trudging toward the house. Taller than cornstalks and nearly as thin, their heads were bulbous and devoid of features. Puffs of smoke wisped from their bodies as they silently shambled forward.
What was more odd than the mere fact of their shadow bodies, was that they seemed to be marching together in rows—like a military brigade marching through a battlefield. They were far away, so Benny couldn’t see them perfectly, but it seemed as if a few of them were playing instruments—smokey flutes and battle drums.
“They’ve been following us for days,” Ethel said.
“What are they?” Benny asked.
“We don’t know,” she replied, “But if they touch you, you become them.”
“One of them’s Barneby,” the boy said, his arms now wrapped around the dog trying to calm it.
“There were more of us,” Ethel said, “When I woke up. That’s what’s left of them now.”
“How long have you been here?” Benny asked.
“A while,” Ethel said. “The boy only a day maybe, but I’ve been here for weeks, maybe months. It’s hard to tell when the sky is only red.”
Suddenly, puffs of black smoke slowly rose from the surrounding ash mounds. A dozen bulbous heads silently lifted from the ground as if crawling from graves. One tooted on a shadowy flute as another tapped on a drum. Ethel turned to Benny as everyone began shuffling over rubble and soot, away from the creatures and their battle hymns.
“There’s a forest just over that hill,” Ethel said, pointing out of the back of the house. “That’s where we were headed before we found you. They don’t go into the woods.”
Benny nodded, hopping over his half-burnt family table and remembering his parents dissolving into a pile of slop. He shook the vision away and leapt over a fallen beam, then stumbled, nearly tripping over, as a shadow’s spindly arms slowly rose from the floor. He shrieked and fell beside it. Ethel turned and pulled him up.
“They’re everywhere!” Recorn shouted, further ahead in the flame scorched field with the dog.
“Just keep running!” Ethel cried, already out of breath and struggling to keep up with her limp.
Benny and Ethel stumbled out of the ruined house as more shadow creatures silently rose from the ground. The burnt grass beneath Benny’s bare feet crunched and pricked his skin. Each step felt as if he were walking on a bed of tiny needles.
“Benny!” Ethel said from behind. “Wait!”
Benny turned, realizing he was well ahead of her now. Shadows approached her from behind as her limp slowed her considerably. He turned to Recorn and the dog who were well up the hill.
“Ethel needs help!” he shouted.
The boy turned, considered helping for a moment, then began to make his way back down toward them.
Benny raced to Ethel. With shadows mere feet away he lifted Ethel’s arm and slung it over his shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said, “My damn bum leg—”
But then she screamed and stumbled. Benny turned and found a shadow halfway out of the ground latched onto her leg. Smoke puffed from its arms and immediately her skin began to turn translucent.
“Beyond the forest is a cathedral!” Ethel screamed as Benny reflexively dropped her arm and jumped away. “Go to it and find a way out! Find a way to save us!”
He stumbled backward as she fell to the ground, her feet now puffing into the wind. Another shadow slowly rose from the black earth beside her, then another. She held out her hand to Benny.
“Run!” she screamed
He watched as her legs, torso and arms turned smokey and puffed into the hot wind. The shadows holding her down seemed to caress her as she dissolved into mist. They hummed softly, cooing even, as if trying to ease her pain as she became them. Her eyes turned black. Smoke rose from her open mouth. Her screams fell silent as little smoke billowed from her nostrils. Then she was quiet like the rest, turned to shadow. Benny ran up the hill as more creatures continued crawling from the earth.
“Run!” Benny shouted to Recorn who was standing in horror, facing the sight of Ethel’s demise.
Benny caught up with the kid and pulled on his tattered frock coat so that they all sprinted in unison, panting and huffing. The dog galloped beside them as they all three raced up the hill, dodging wisps of smoke slowly lifting from the ground around them.
At the crest of the hill they found a dark line of trees with gray canopies and gray bark.
“Are you sure the forest is safe?” Benny shouted at Recorn mid-sprint.
“That’s what Ethel said!” Recorn replied. “But I’ve never been in one!”
As they got closer it seemed more and more shadow beings crawled from the soil—hundreds now. The battle hymns grew louder. Benny glanced behind them and found a long line of shadows emerging over the hill.
Finally, they fell into the treeline, spraying gray leaves. Panting, they watched as the shadows stopped at the forest’s edge. The things simply stood there, curious and watching.
“She was right,” Benny said, catching his breath.
Recorn nodded. “Do you think she’s out there, among them?”
They stared at the line of shadows in the distance. All of them motionless and silent, watching the woods.
“We should keep going,” Benny said. “In case they get brave and come after us again.”
The three turned and walked further into the woods, leaving the shadows behind.
