Into the Aether_Part One(2)

Entranced, Cybil turned it over in her hands, looking for an opening or seam, but there was none.

“Open it,” said a woman’s voice from behind her. Cybil turned around to find the old woman standing there again. “Open it, or she will die.”

“Who will die? How do I open it?” Cybil asked.

The old woman looked toward the place where the mirror had been. “She will die.”

Cybil understood. She began to turn the box over and over in her hands, tracing its cold exterior. Again, she found no seams and no obvious way to open it.

“Damn it, open!” she cried in exasperation.

The box warmed in her hands as a blue light shone from the top. Then the light moved in a circular pattern, leaving a trail behind it as it lifted away from the box and separated into two equal parts, revealing the box’s contents: a swirling, silver liquid mass. Cybil looked down at it. Was it liquid mercury?

A hand pressed hard on her shoulder and she spun around in terror. She dropped the box at the sight of the old man in front of her. He was dressed in a black suit and black tie, with his dark grey hair slicked back. Deep trenches were etched into his face, and his eyes were faded and sullen. As he looked into Cybil’s eyes, melancholy poured out of him, replacing the fear she felt.

“Help them,” he said simply. Cybil shook her head.

“Help who?” she asked.

The older man placed both hands on her shoulders and gently squeezed them. “Open your eyes.”

Cybil awoke with a start, darting upright into a sitting position. She sat there for a few moments, her chest heaving, her body covered in sweat, and her clothes clinging tightly to her hot skin.

Why was she so terrified? Obviously it was something she had dreamed, but what?

Closing her eyes, she stared into the dark haze of her mind and shadows swam in front of her. But they never swam close enough for her to get a good look. One long, skinny shadow of a memory slowly slithered in front of her. It came closer and she reached for it. What are you? she thought and stretched further. As she reached, it seemed to pull back. A memory popped up and whispered, C'mon, deary, nobody here but the things that go bump in the night. She remembered the two red eyes, and the image of a sad-looking man. She tried to focus on the man. She could see his lips moving, but the dream was fading fast. Help them, his voice said in her mind.

“Who?” she said out loud. There was, of course, no answer.

Cybil shook her head, the images now fading from her mind entirely. Brushing off her foolish feelings, she looked about the room. She was lying on her couch, with an afghan partially draped over her. The TV was turned to a local community channel, which was currently showing an ad for Linda’s Lingerie. She stood up and slowly stretched her arms to the ceiling, letting out a satisfied grunt in the process. Instinctively, she pulled down her top, which had ridden upward. She was still wearing her scrubs.

She folded the afghan and placed it over the back of the couch, and then reached for the remote. The TV turned off with a gentle click. Light streamed into the room from the window behind her, cast by the same full moon that illuminated the street. A large oak tree swayed in front of her rental, causing beautiful, unsettling shadows to dance around her. The shadow of a man walked along the sidewalk. Blinking, she craned her neck to look harder, but the shadow was gone.

Cybil walked down the hallway, sidestepping a box marked ‘Fragile’, and into her washroom. Depositing her clothes in the ever-overflowing hamper, she brushed her teeth and inserted a mouth guard. Her bed now beckoned to her. She slipped in, enjoying the coolness of the sheets, and slowly she drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

Outside Cybil’s house stood a solitary figure. He was an older man dressed in a black suit, with slicked-back hair. Shadows danced across his face as his sullen eyes watched the flickering light of the TV turn off. He turned and silently walked along the sidewalk, his form disappearing into the familiar darkness.





One


A Bombardier passenger airplane flew steadily through the night air, ice clinging to its hull like a second skin. It was owned and operated by Express Airlines, based out of Indiana. The plane was small compared to the rest of Express’s fleet, with a crew consisting only of the captain, co-pilot, navigator, and three flight attendants. The total passenger capacity tallied seventy-five, with every seat currently occupied.

A thirty-one-year-old man sat in the front row, running a hand along the back of his head and ruffling his formerly tidy brown hair. Staring down on the city below with hazel eyes, he absently stroked at his five o’clock shadow. He was dressed in pressed khaki pants, a white button-down shirt, and carried a black winter jacket in his lap.

To his left sat a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. She wore black slacks with a matching black top and blazer, the dark colors contrasting with her smooth red hair and fair complexion. She wore a trim set of sunglasses, her head was nestled against the headrest, and she appeared to be asleep.

A deep voice with a pleasant Midwestern accent came over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. We will be landing shortly and I ask that you please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.” The fasten seatbelt indicator obligingly lit up. “If you could, please also return your seatbacks and tray tables to their upright and locked positions. The crew and I would like to thank you for flying Express Airlines and wish you a pleasant evening.”