Through Glass(42)

Creak.

The door continued to swing. The tiny light was not bright enough to be of any use.

“No.” My voice was barely audible above the screech of the Ulama that echoed around me. I closed my eyes away from the burn as I lowered the white heat to the pile of tinder. The pile of paper and shards of wood erupted in a bright flash of light that shot through the darkened space.

I screamed as the light pulsed through me and the bright light burned into my skull. The screech of the Ulama intensified as mine did, its own call loud and painful before it began to fade, before the clicks of its talons moved frantically in the other direction.

I curled my hands around my head as I listened to them leave. My body folded in on itself as I waited. I didn’t dare move as I anticipated the tension in my heart to slow, for my brain to at least try to accept my safety. It couldn’t. I couldn’t. My ears perked, waiting for the clicks to return, for the scream to sound again.

I knew they wouldn’t come back with the fire still blazing by my feet. I held onto that thought, letting the fear ebb away as I focused on the fire. I could feel its warmth wash over me, prickling the air that ran against my skin, the heat strange and foreign as it caressed me.

My eyes opened slowly, the heavy lids blinking furiously as they adjusted to the light that danced over the wall of the room. The light continued to burn into me, the pain of the brightness lessening somewhat, but not enough to look at the fire directly.

Not yet.

The papers smoldered and burned, sending glowing embers into the air around me. They floated through the darkness around me like dancing fairy lights, tiny red flames that twinkled and flashed in the dark. I watched the golden burn of the papers as they rose and fell, the light shimmering through the darkness.

In the back of my mind I knew that letting the embers fly was dangerous, that the house would burn down in a matter of minutes if I didn’t contain the fire, but I didn’t care. I was mesmerized by the glimmering lights that were slowly filling the air around me.

There was something magical about the way they moved, the way the lights flashed before disappearing into nothing. I wanted to reach out and touch them, I wanted to feel their warmth move into me. It was a stupid idea, foolish and dangerous. I vaguely remembered my brothers chasing the embers when we went camping years ago. They had reached out to them while my mother scolded them not to. My father had laughed, almost hoping they would get burned in order to learn the lesson. My brothers had wanted to touch them then as I did now, but it wasn’t simply that memory that kept my hands by my sides.

I could still see Cohen’s grandfather stretching out his arm to touch the streamers of black that fell from the sky. The flash of a monster, the wide arch of blood the only thing left of him. Just like with Cohen… no, not with Cohen. They had taken him. I still didn’t understand why he hadn’t turned to ash; why they had taken him. Whatever the reason was, it didn’t matter anyway. He was still gone. They all were.

My chest constricted painfully at the thought and I brought my hands back into my lap. The magic of the lights left instantly. I was suddenly more than interested in anything except the floating embers that continued to dance through the dark air. I looked away, letting my eyes focus beyond the dancing fire. My heart thumped at the terrifying room the darkness had hidden, what the brightness of the light had now allowed me to see.

Piles of trash covered the floor, some stacked as high as my waist. The room had once been a bedroom; pieces of dresser and mattress were scattered around like it had been in my parents’ room.

It wasn’t the contents of the room that had terrified me and sent my heart into an unsteady rhythm. It was what someone had covered the walls with. Letters as tall as my arm were carved into the walls, painted in jagged shapes with dripping paints. They were everywhere. Right in front of me, in what looked like blue paint, six words shone brightly, their warning loud and frightening.

There is no escaping the Tar

I looked at it as my hands clenched, everything inside of me tensing. The lines were jagged and desperate. Large blots of ink distorted the letters where whoever had written it had pushed too hard in their panic.

“The tar…” I spoke the words aloud, my voice a whisper to the nothing that I was surrounded by. I couldn’t understand what these messages where doing here or even how they had gotten here, hidden in the depths of one of a million forgotten houses.

A shiver moved up my spine as I stared at the words in front of me, the coincidence that I had picked this house haunted me.

I could only think of one thing that could be referred to as the “tar”. Skin as black as ink, obsidian colored, razor sharp feathers that glistened in the dark. The deep ribbons of black that fell from the sky, the glittering black of the wings of the Ulama. The Ulama.

The Tar.

I stared at the words, not wanting to let my mind piece it together completely, not wanting to think of the desperation that had caused this person to write these words. Panicked, terrified words that they thought were true. They couldn’t be true. There had to be a way to escape. There had to be.

I looked away, not wanting to think about the truth behind them—the fear—only to freeze at the mad concoction of letters and words that I was now surrounded by.



The light from the small fire flickered against the walls, casting shadows on the words as they moved and danced in the firelight.