#thread matthewcaveatzealot commission

[micahrodney]

Thread; Chapter 8 - The Strings Which Make Us Dance

This is a commission piece for Matthew Caveat Zealot.

---

Neil was, once again, lying in his bed in his dorm room. He was rather tired of being dumped off here whenever the universe was done with him. Immediate disorientation set in. Where was established, but when was the big question.

Fortunately, his alarm clock offered him a glimpse of the time, 9 AM. Scrambling off the side of his bed he noticed his wall calendar, assuming it was up-to-date, read Sunday.

The concerning thing was that a week seemed to have passed since his misadventure at the Levant Residence.

"Rem, if you're there, we need to talk," Neil said.

Rem was silent.

The knocking resumed and once again came the once melodic and now mildly alarming voice of Erica.

The old flame had burnt out a few weeks prior. But to Neil – who was presently a hostage to the whim of time – it felt as though it had only been a handful of days. The wounds were still fresh, and he could not imagine what she wanted.

He took a quick look at himself. A tiny bit of peach fuzz on his face, and he was only wearing plaid boxers. A fine state he was in. Reaching towards the nearest clean-ish t-shirt, Neil made a mental note to keep up with his laundry. He slipped the neon blue gym shirt over himself, saw that there was a very noticeable pasta stain on it, and shrugged.

Well, it's not like I'm trying to impress her anymore.

He opened the door and saw her. At once he wished he had taken a moment to find a clean shirt. She was as beautiful as the day she shattered his heart.

Perfect blonde hair, trimmed fashionably to her neck. She wore what could only be described as high society attire, a white blouse and black skirt that went down to her knees, with a pearl necklace and matching alexandrite earrings.

"Oh, sorry, I thought you were already awake," Erica said, scanning him with the tiniest hint of disapproval. "Would you like to take a moment to get dressed?"

"Depends on how long the conversation will be," Neil answered flatly.

There were a number of things he wanted to say right now. All of them felt childish and petty compared to the fate of the universe and considering he had just made a very powerful enemy of at least one person, he wasn't feeling terribly charitable. He hated her and he loved her. He wanted to invite her into his apartment and make love to her until the next time Rem dragged him out of reality, and he wanted to instruct her on where precisely she could stick her goddamn pearls.

This wasn't his Erica. This was some… socialite who happened to share her face and name.

This was the kind of girl his father wanted him to fall for. That was the thought that hurt the most. The realization that this phantom of his old flame was… not better, but definitely more socially acceptable.

Erica pressed herself against the door frame as if attempting to prevent Neil from slamming the door on her. A smart move as he was fighting the urge even as they spoke.

"I just… I don't know, I've been rethinking some things in my life and I think I might have been a bit," Erica made a rhythmic hand-waving gesture as though she were fumbling to cast a spell. "Hasty?"

"Ending our relationship was you being 'hasty'?" Neil clarified, putting his hand on the door and moving closer to block the entrance to his room.

"I understand that's not a great answer," Erica replied, backing away slightly. "Look, I've been having a tough time adjusting to college and my mom's new friends. You know how overbearing she can be. She has me canvasing for some church thing she's involved with."

"Your mom always seemed to like me," Neil noted, softening slightly.

"Uh-huh. What were her words exactly?" Erica tilted her head upwards in mock straining. "Ah yes, she told me that you were fine, and I quote, 'for a high school boyfriend'."

"And that's why you dumped me?" Neil asked.

Erica bristled slightly and folded her arms. "Not just that. There were other reasons. We don't need to rehash them, I hope."

"You did a pretty damn thorough job listing all of my failings at our last meeting," Neil scoffed.

"I don't have time for this."

Erica put her hand on the door as Neil made to close it. The two were now inches apart in the negative space between his dormitory and the hallway.

"I messed up, okay?" Erica spat out. "I was letting all of the stress get to me and I didn't give you a fair chance. Is that what you want?"

"What I wanted was to know why. Now I do.

I'm not good enough for you," Neil retorted.

"Oh, Neil, come on," Erica sighed in frustration. "That's exceptionally childish, even for you."

"It's been, what, three weeks since we broke up and you've decided now, out of the blue, that I'm worth sticking around as long as I fix myself for you?" Neil asked.

"Yes, there are things I think you need to work on," Erica replied, bluntly. He couldn't even fault her; she was technically right about that.

"But I also have things I need to work on too. I don't want to lose you over a fight."

Neil let go of the door and dropped his arms to his sides. "Do you love me?"

Erica seemed lost in thought for a moment. This was a sentiment she had difficulty expressing lately. He had noticed a turn in her. She was right, he had some faults he needed to work on. But the confirmation that his failure had led to their relationship ending was torture. Almost as bad as knowing his stubbornness might ruin his chance at reconciliation.

"I don't know," Erica expressed, settling on honesty. "I'm not sure I really know what that is. What I do know is that I care about you, and I want to be with you and maybe we can figure that out together."

Neil wasn't sure how to answer that. It was so damned reasonable. He had been entertaining the possibility that this was some nightmarish extension of the Crossroads. Something Levant had cooked up to distract him. Or that perhaps he had been deposited in some alternate timeline. Levant had made the suggestion that Neil could visit another world where Erica "worshipped" him. But this was not that.

She was different.

She had grown up. The more he thought on it, the more he realized that Erica's tastes had been changing ever since they left high school. The sudden change had been Neil no longer fitting into her life. Erica was right, he had things he needed to work on. But was changing who he was healthy? Was it fair to him? Or her for that matter?

"I need time to think, Erica," Neil replied.

Erica sighed. "I guess that's fair. I took a few weeks myself."

She chuckled softly, an awkward attempt at levity that made her seem more like the old Erica than any of her words. It was patient, understanding, and deeply human; reasonability in the face of one's childish and impatient desires for a speedy resolution.

"I have your number," Neil nodded, moving the door slightly.

Erica took the hint and backed into the hallway. "I'll be waiting."

--- When Neil finally decided he was ready to face the day, he had half-expected Erica to be still waiting right outside his door, hoping for an answer. This foolishness was not rewarded with her presence, and he felt silly even thinking about it. A shower and clean clothes definitely made him feel better, but a proper meal would go a long way. His usual haunt seemed the best choice. Besides, he was hoping Angie could help him recover some of his lost time.

He had tried to call Damien several times, but the usually attentive friend was not picking up the phone. He tried the house phone as well, but the answering machine was full; his father was a very popular man.

And a megalomaniac bent on universal destruction.

Ah, there it was. How was he supposed to have that conversation? He supposed he would have to try and bring it up at some point. But would Levant let him get that close? Was that the reason Damien was not answering the phone? There were too many questions, few answers, and the only reliable source of information that he had access to was Angie.

He arrived at half-past noon, a bit late in the day for breakfast food even if your sleep schedule was that of a lay-about college student. The blond boy behind the counter was unfamiliar to him and the "Trainee" name badge he wore was not encouraging.

"Uh, is Angie in?"

Neil asked.

"Sorry, no I think she had to leave early. Wasn't feeling so good. Can I get you something?" The boy replied.

He couldn't have been more than seventeen, and probably younger by the look of him. Perhaps a high school kid looking to save up for college.

Neil greatly missed when those were the height of his pressing concerns.

"Uh, just coffee I guess, room for cream. And uh, do you have any muffins left?"

"Apple walnut is all I have left. We're on lunch right now."

Neil sighed, glanced at the lunch menu – he'd never had an opportunity to thoroughly inspect it before – and decided stale familiarity was better than fresh and unproven.

"Yeah, I'll take it," he grunted, perhaps a bit more rudely than he meant. The kid would live.

"Coming right up, sir."

Sir. Yeah, that's great. I'm a "sir" now. A sir who has nobody. Not even the damned voice in my head, Neil fumed silently, taking a seat in an open booth and staring out the window.

The muffin was stale but palatable. The coffee was flat but stimulating. The physical effects of the food were noted and then set aside, without so much as a drop of dopamine to reward him. He was hardly a loner, but he generally enjoyed his solitude. He enjoyed having time to himself; moments to clear his head. Especially after mom…

Neil rubbed his forehead and considered his options. He was lonely, miserable, and watching what were meant to be the best years of his life slipping away a few days at a time.

Powerless.

That was the primary source of his ennui. Nothing he had wanted that day had come to pass. None of his friends were available, he had no answers, he wasn't entirely certain he was even in his own timeline, and the nagging question of what to do with Erica lingered.

Levant had said that he was powerful. That he had potential he had barely begun to tap.

"Well doctor," Neil mumbled to himself, draining the last few dregs out of his coffee cup before crumpling the styrofoam in his hand. "There. That's all the power I have. I'm not fucking special. Hell, I don't even know what I am anymore, but it's not powerful."

"Oh! Neil," came an all-too-familiar voice.

Neil turned to see her standing in the doorway to The Junction. She had changed in the past few hours and was now in far more familiar attire. Light jeans, her Vans, and a t-shirt with the album art for Pink Floyd's "The Wall". She still had on her pearl earrings, but this was far more familiar to the girl he knew. Maybe she had been out for a job interview or something.

"Erica," Neil nodded curtly.

"Come on, pull up a booth."

What the hell, Neil thought, embracing the chaotic wind that had swept through his life. I'll ride the current for a while.

"Oh, are you su-"

"You want to get back together," Neil stated. "I say we start with lunch and see where the day takes us."

"That's… incredibly forward of you," Erica noted, but taking a seat nonetheless. "I take it you had a good think back at your dorm?"

"No," Neil answered honestly. "I stopped thinking." ---

Before he knew what was happening, Erica was dragging Neil by his shirt collar through the door of her dormitory. It was considerably cleaner, and she had the privilege of having a room all to herself.

There was a second bed, but it was unoccupied. Neil vaguely remembered her mentioning that her roommate had transferred earlier in the semester when she moved. This was somewhere during his afternoon that had since been blotted out by an overpowering fog of lust.

He could vaguely make out the surroundings, stereo, TV, mid-range personal computer, and walls absolutely covered floor to ceiling in posters that would make his sister seem utterly out-of-touch with the music scene. Pink Floyd, Nirvana, Led Zeppelin, Aerosmith, KISS, she had a taste for classic rock. But interspersed, almost as gap-fillers, were alternative choices such as Green Day, Ace of Base, and some new band called Goldfinger.

That poster featured a woman with ebony hair and bright red lipstick wearing a cheesy retro-style astronaut suit, and the band's name in electric yellow font with red outline. "Here In Your Bedroom", the name of their single, was both present on the lime green album art as well as playing on the stereo when Erica pinned Neil down on her queen-sized mattress and started removing his shirt. By the time John Feldmann belted out his last refrain, they were both bare, limbs entangled and, as the song suggested, minds turned off. ---

Neil must have passed out. Because he woke in Hell.

There was a loud claxon sound piercing his skull and echoing through the vast chamber he found himself in.

Specifically, he and around fifty other people were tightly packed in a cage designed to hold maybe ten, writhing together as a mass of flesh as they tried to attain their freedom. The steel of the bars was rusted and blackened from heat.

They were underground, wherever they were, with a great chasm right beside their cage that sunk down several hundred feet into a void, from which a hideous green glow emanated.

Above them was a looming and fathomless high ceiling of the void, encased by the rock walls that surrounded it. The walls were oddly slick, with fresh-running streams of fluid which Neil recognized from their stench alone to be blood and offal.

There was an explosion of sound to his left as a great burly jailer wearing a black hood and nothing else cracked a leather whip against the cage bars. Neil was pressed against this frame with no protection and the next strike hit its mark, stinging his cheek and causing blood to pool just under his right eye.

The din was unbearable, with screaming, crying, and howling rising in chorus with the sound of that terrible alarm.

Home, Neil thought.

It was all he could think as his body protested the horrid conditions. The heat, the pain, the crushing sensation of his organs being pulverized. Home.

I want to go home.

Another crack hit the person beside him, an elderly woman who, rather than reacting to the pain, simply let out a sigh. The pain was familiar to her. It probably didn't even sting at this point. And he knew looking into her eyes, that would be his fate. He would be in this cage for the rest of eternity until his body was as broken and useless as hers. His torment would be unending, his life meaningless and his worthless carcass good for nothing more than target practice for the monster on the other side of these bars.

Oh yes. Levant had seen a Hell alright. And Neil was here.

The whip came towards Neil's face once more, and in desperation, he reached his hands through the narrow gap in the bars and caught the head of the whip. Neil felt a strange pulling sensation from within, one that coursed through him like a sudden rush of blood to an open wound.

As he held the striking end, the leather softened to insular black rubber, and the toughness a millimeter beneath it revealed the innards to be made of wound metal. His tormenter seemed unable to move; unable to let go.

Neil had no idea how he was doing it, but it washim enacting the change. He had just wanted to get out somehow. He wanted to go home. He wanted to see his friends again, to be in bed with Erica, to just be a regular college student once more. But above all else, as the whip came close to his face, one thought rose to the front of his anguished, panicked and exhausted mind.

I want to kill that son of a bitch.

And now what was once the handle of the whip morphed into bare exposed wire, whose end frayed, with each separate spindly coil wrapping themselves around the jailer like snakes.

They bound his whole body leaving harsh red marks in his skin, tightly lashing about him, cutting off blood flow, and around his neck cutting off his airway. The black hood fell off of his tormentor, and Neil saw the face.

He was a man, bald with deep gash wounds in every exposed bit of skin. Burn marks and gashes revealed the true nature of the formerly irredeemable torturer. He was just another prisoner here. Neil felt pity and in the last moment, he tried to amend his desire.

Not dead. Not dead, don't kill him.

And, as though he had uttered a word of command, the wires around his neck loosened, and he remained bound, but alive, on the rocky floor of the prison. The way was clear, at least for now. Bolstered by his unexpected success, Neil decided to push his luck. With the same free hand that once held the end of the whip, he now managed to wrap a few fingers around the rusty bars of the cage.

Disappear.

Nothing happened. The bars were as they had ever been. He almost gave up hope, until he took a desperate moment to consider what had happened. The whip hadn't vanished, it had been transmogrified.

Okay… melt.

At once the metal became scalding to the touch, and there was a cry from the people gathered within the cage. Just a quick startled gasp, however, as in the very next second, the cage cooled and solidified as a puddle beneath them and in some cases, draped over them in thin, parallel lines. They fell out, all over the ground before them. A few had taken a tumble over the edge of the cliff but were clinging to it, upper bodies holding on for dear life.

Some fled at once, without bothering to stay with the group. Some helped the others regain their footing, others still tended to injuries.

As for Neil, he took a moment to thoroughly inspect the nightmare he had fallen into. The path before the cage split off into two directions and down opposite corridors into unknown chambers. The platform he was on stood at the top of a great stone pillar. With the cage removed, the chamber he was in was about thirty feet in diameter at its widest point. He figured he had better pick a direction and start running when his plans were interrupted.

"Neil Ryder Brown," came a voice echoing through the blackness, temporarily replacing the claxon. It spoke in a bland but booming officious monotone. "Age twenty. Occupation:

Disappointment. Crime: Meddling with the multiverse, and now a prison break. Sentence: Eternal Damnation."

There was a sound of marching footsteps, and down each of his two options came a squad of hooded men wearing blackened steel armor over grey weave that looked almost like Kevlar. There were twelve in total, each of them carrying a forked pikestaff made from the same material as the cage. Suddenly, in front of Neil, there was a dramatic but oddly fake-looking puff of smoke that rose in a grandiose plume, before dissipating to reveal Anders Levant.

"Is this more to your liking?" He grinned.

He was wearing tacky red pajamas, and a dollar store set of plushy red devil horns. The crimson cape and plastic tail really completed the effect he was going for. Once again, the man was toying with Neil.

"You spared this one.

How kind of you," Levant grunted, pointing down at the bound torturer. "Ever the hero."

With a wave of his hand, the bound man slid along the floor just past Neil and over the edge of the cliff.

The bound soul didn't even scream on his way down.

"What the hell is this?!" Neil demanded.

"Call it basic training," Levant replied, playing with his tail and spinning it like a whip.

"Desperation yields quick results.

You've done this a time or two before without realizing it, but I think you're starting to understand what you're capable of."

"Thanks for the lesson," Neil replied, feeling his insides quiver and his heart sink. He shook repressed fear. If they were about to battle, he was going to lose.

"Clearly it was insufficient. If you don't nut up and start defending yourself, you're going to die out here," Levant explained. "Go ahead, be a hero. Save all of them, if you can."

The guards, in unison, raised their tridents, pointed them straight at Neil, and began to slowly advance. He backed up the few feet he had, but eventually, his left heel found nothing beneath him. If anything, Neil was even more frantic and disoriented than he was in the cage.

There was nothing here. Was touch a mandatory component of his powers or not?

Was there anything he could get hold of?

What if this was all just an illusion?

Should he just dive over the cliffs and be done with it?

Give me something, damn it.

The puddle of cooled metal rose between him and the guards, resolidifying and then expanding to create a wall slightly higher than Neil's head.

"Not a bad start," Levant whispered in his ear.

With a start, Neil turned to his right. Levant had ditched the fake-looking costume and was now in a blood-red three-piece suit with a black tie and patent-leather shoes.

"The fuck," Neil gasped in exasperation.

"Do you think they know we're in here?" Levant asked, mockingly.

In a moment the business end of a trident pierced through the wall, stopping inches from Neil's eyes.

The rusty black metal was now positively oozing with fresh blood.

"What's the matter, don't wanna kill me yourself?" Neil asked.

"I am," Levant replied, matter-of-factly. "You don't think those guards out there are real people, do you?"

"Oh," Neil nodded, with sudden realization.

Okay, let's see if this works.

The trident retracted from the wall, leaving three evenly spaced holes to peek through. Soon more came, chipping away at Neil's dubious protection in a rapid but rhythmic flurry of strikes. The Binder took his chance, placing a free hand on the wall in front of him. He had meant to try pushing the wall back to knock them off the other side of the cliff, but at the last moment, one of the great spiked tips gouged straight through his palm. He lost control and, in his anger, his energy and thoughts were redirected.

Burn them all.

Once more the metal was white-hot, even scalding Neil again. He pushed forward and it became a raging field of fire that swept across the entire platform. When the bright flame cleared, all that was left was thirteen charred skeletons, six to a side, and a smaller one right in front of him.

Neil dropped to his knees, the spike of the trident still embedded in his palm. He tugged the pike out and the wound began to bleed for just a moment before his palm began to mend itself.

"You can do without the stigmata, kid," Levant smirked. "You already think you're some grand savior. But one who clearly understands so little about the power you possess."

"Next time I'll burn you," Neil growled furiously. He was enraged, still in agony from the pain despite the wound being healed, and ready to end it all here.

"Yeah, I suspect you will," Levant chuckled. "And you'll probably get me in the end. But then as chaotic and unrefined as your power is, you'll do an awful lot of collateral damage."

He walked over to the small skeleton in the middle, pointing a solemn finger down to a spot just beyond its outstretched hand. With a small pop, a blackened plush figure rematerialized; a small teddy bear.

"Poor thing. She came back to get her toy. Such loyalty children have to their imaginary friends. Like you and Rem, I suppose," Levant noted.

"What are you…"

But Neil knew what Levant was getting at. This was one of his fellow prisoners. A girl, maybe seven years old. And Neil had killed her.

"I have a daughter about that age. Little Talia, you met her," Levant went on, as casually as if he was discussing the weather. "Has this little toy Dino, you know that purple dinosaur from the Flintstones?

She carries him everywhere. I've had to replace him a few times, but to her, it's the same one she got when she was… four or five, I can't remember exactly."

"You're making that up.

She's not real," Neil said, though his mind was filled with doubt.

"I assure you my daughter is real. I wasn't there when she was born, mind you, but I-" Levant paused in mock revelation.

"Oh, you mean this little one."

He started as if seeing her for the first time. "Poor thing is all bones!"

With malice glee, he kicked her skull off the edge of the cliff.

"Stop it, you bastard!" Neil shouted taking a few steps forward. The remaining bones suddenly grew ten-fold into great spikes, surrounding Levant in a cage of marrow.

Levant looked at him through the gap in the rib bones and gave him an extended, melodramatic eye roll.

He snapped and in an instant was outside the cage, standing directly in front of Neil.

"You might have killed me if you thought about it hard enough. But you don't have the stomach for it. This is one little girl you killed by accident. Think about all of the Threads that depend on you and the timelines that your mistakes will end. If you can't handle one accidental death, then you are grossly underprepared for the task that the Somni have for you."

"I didn't mean to kill her," Neil shouted, defensively.

"So what, Neil?!" Levant shouted, dropping his air of superiority so suddenly that Neil fell back. His hands found no purchase but fortunately, most of his lower body was still on the rock.

"Do you think that will matter to the kid's parents?" Levant went on. "Do you think you can just magic away your mistakes with good intentions?

Do you think you get to look at the universe and go 'I'm sorry I ruined everything, don't blame me, I'm just a kid!'"

"Then what about you?!" Neil shouted, incensed. He felt the urge to strike out at Levant. Maybe he could kill him. Maybe.

But what would happen if he did?

Who would he hurt next time?

"I told you," Levant said, calming down. If ever he spoke true to Neil, it was clearly in this moment. "I'm not interested in destroying this universe. I rather like it. I want to save it. But I'll be damned if I let the madness continue."

"So what? You set yourself up as some kind of God?" Neil asked.

"Hey, better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven, am I right?" Levant smirked. "Sure, some self-righteous types like you will call me an oppressor, but in reality, I'm liberating the universe from the mad whims of both extremes. But there will be people like you, and like your grandfather, who think it's better to kill the 'bad guy' no matter how many kids they sacrifice to do it."

"My grandfather?" Neil asked.

"Ask your old man," Levant smiled. "Now, let me leave you with a little something to remember me by."

Intense, searing pain pierced through Neil's neck and upwards towards his brain. His face was on fire and the veins on his face turned from bright blue to pitch black. He couldn't think. He couldn't form words. Neil Brown was going to die then and there, and there was nothing he could do to save himself.

"You need to get with the picture, Neil," Levant said darkly. "I promise you, if you keep fucking with me, you will wish you were still in my Hell."

Neil screamed and screamed.

And when he opened his eyes, he saw Erica once more.

#writing #commissionwriting #cosmichorror #thread matthewcaveatzealot commission

[micahrodney]

Thread; Chapter 1 - Lost Boy

The following was a commissioned piece for MatthewCaveatZealot. Awakening with a start, Neil managed to bash his head on the ceiling of his dorm room. He collapsed back into his loft bed, running his hands across his temple.  He had always known this was a distinct possibility with his sleeping arrangement; there was barely three feet of clearance between his mattress and the unsettling popcorn-style stucco which always left flakes in his bedding. The only damage appeared to be a mild contusion, and a slightly hurt ego. The boy glanced at the alarm clock, which was inelegantly tucked into a corner of the frame, cord precariously taut.

8:35 AM

“Shit!” Neil cursed.

In his panic, he practically hurled himself over the rail of his loft. Fortunately, his faded blue bean bag chair – presently covered by a week's worth of dirty laundry – broke his fall. Fishing in the bureau just beneath his bed, he managed to dig out a clean pair of jeans and a grey tee.

As he reached for his bookbag, he noticed he'd left his computer on. The dull white of a Lotus document was burning into the monitor. Upon reading the salutation of “Dear Erica” the previous night's phone call came rushing back to him; three years discarded in two minutes.  He had trouble saying what he needed to say in that call. Truthfully, the shock of it had rendered him phased out of reality. There was a hollowness that consumed him upon hearing those words, an emptiness that had to be embraced lest it consume him.  

He couldn't even bring himself to cry.  Tears would only validate the nightmare.  That had to be it:  a nightmare.  One that he would wake up from in a day or two when she called him back and apologized.  When she remembered how happy they had been together and realized what she was giving up. After a few hours, he had passed from denial to bargaining. Every possible scenario played through in his head simultaneously, from magnanimous acceptance of her apology to him banging at her door and pleading to take him back.  That was when the rational approach of writing her a letter presented itself.  

Without bothering to save the document, he flipped the switch. The dull fizzling sound was always a strange comfort.  To Neil, it represented the end of a day.  Maybe that's how he should view Erica: just another chapter in his life that he would move past.  And maybe, like the document itself, there really was nothing worth saving there anyway.  

--- 

Voxton was once a whistle-stop town just outside of the state capitol.  It was the home of an active farm community, and the state's number one exporter of unemployed drunks looking for better opportunity in “the big city”.  Then somebody decided to build a college there in the wake of the 1973 stock market crash, presumably with hopes of turning the state's fortune around.  

McCain University – presumably named for its founder, though Neil had never bothered to find out – had grown to become something of a Mecca for the technically inclined. If you wanted to break into engineering or computer science, you went to McCain, assuming your parents weren't wealthy or connected enough to ship you off to MIT.  

Thanks to a grant from the Governor, the school had an entire campus building dedicated to the most powerful machines on the market. Perhaps this was why Neil insisted upon using a personal computer from the 80s, despite the fact that his father had offered many times to buy him something newer.  

The IBM 386 was more than a little dated, but the chunky machine could do the important things in his life.  Sure his classes had him learning on top-of-the-line Power Macintosh hardware, but it had been the computer he grew up with.  Its impressive 32 MB memory was stuffed with the text-adventure games of INFOCOM.  While his first love would always be Zork, it was the murder-mystery Moonmist that made him want to become a writer.

These dual interests had conflicted before, and while Neil's father was supportive he was also wary.  Writing, after all, was a hard market to break into.  But computer technology was in high demand and only rising.  When he had embarrassingly tried to connect with his son by saying maybe he could learn to make “some of those Nintendo games”, Neil had politely laughed and agreed to consider it.  The boy's consideration didn't take long.  As a lawyer, his dad always was the better negotiator.  Perhaps it was overkill to mention that it is what his mother would have wanted.

Neil opened the door to his usual morning haunt, a student-run coffee shop called “The Junction”.  The place was barely bigger than his dorm, but they also had the best muffins in Voxton.  He stumbled up to the register and barely sputtered out his order before his bookbag slipped off of his shoulder, sending his notebooks scattering.  

“Damn,” Neil cursed.  “Sorry, Angie.  A blueberry muffin and a coffee to go please!”

“Running late again, Neil?” The senior asked, tying her long ebony hair back with a scrunchy.

“I know, they're lucky to have me as a student,” Neil mumbled bitterly, shoving the papers haphazardly back into his bag.  

“Four bucks. Your dad's Amex, I trust?”  Angie replied, extending her hand.  

“Cash today.  I forgot to grab my wallet, but luckily there was a five in my jeans,” Neil chuckled benignly, handing her the bill.  

“Moving up in the world.”

“Tell me about it.”  

“Lemme grab your breakfast, champ,” Angie smirked.  

Neil took his change and leaned back against the bar.  The place wasn't really all that bad.  Sure two people couldn't walk side-by-side behind the bar, but the little brick shack was alright. He had particularly liked the ironic name.  Before the University reclaimed land for a parking lot the place had been a rail depot. The result were tracks that didn't lead anywhere just behind the restaurant and for few miles north and south respectively.  

“And in offbeat news today,” droned a local news anchor on the 16 inch TV in the corner of the bar. “IBM supercomputer 'Deep Blue' went six games against chess grandmaster Garry Kasparov yesterday. Although Kasparov won the match with four games to Deep Blue's two, this is the first time a computer has ever defeated a world champion under tournament regulations. Truly this is a sign of things to come. Just how more advanced can these computers get?”  

“Neil!” Angie called, snapping her fingers in front of his face.  “Muffin, coffee, late for Computer Theory 221, remember?”  

“Right, sorry!” Neil sputtered, grabbing his food and bolting out the door.  

---

“Mr. Brown. How nice of you to grace us with your presence.”

Professor Barker was generally a nice guy, but Neil had tried his patience one too many times.  Tardiness was just one of Neil's offenses against the would-be silicon valley elite.  In short, Barker didn't like his attitude.  He didn't like that Neil would sit through his classes, mind clearly on other things. But what he hated worse was the fact that Neil continued to ace every assignment in spite of his lackluster classroom performance.  It wasn't Neil's fault that he felt he got very little out of the lecture hall experience, preferring instead to study on his own time.  

“Sorry, sir,” Neil apologized half-heartedly.  “Rough night.”  

“Wait until you become an adult, then you'll learn what a real rough night is,” Barker scolded.  

The aging technician looked like a slightly sunkissed Steve Wozniak.  He had the beard and the plaid collar shirts, but his face was a bit more rugged.  Barker had learned computers while serving in the Army during the 70s.  The synthesis was a computer nerd who looked like he used to beat kids up for their lunch money.  

“Now that Mr. Brown has found his seat,” Barker sighed.  “Let's resume. Where were we now?  Ah, yes! The potential of virtual reality.  Now, this ain't your 'Virtual Boy', we're talking about actual virtual reality.”

Barker was nothing if not fond of the sound of his own voice.  The lecture was more or less him pontificating about the achievements that had been accomplished with the budding technology and his wild-eyed fantasies of future use.  Of particular note, Barker's assertion that we could one day use virtual reality to explore the entire planet's history in first-person seemed especially romantic.  

“Imagine, if you would, you put on a visor and are instantly transported to the wild west.  With a few mouse clicks, you are in the Roman Empire, or watching the building of the Great Pyramid of Giza.”

A loud digitized beep came from the clock just over the door. It was already 11 AM.

“Ah, well, I seem to have rambled on right to the end of class,” Barker chuckled. “Alright, that's a good stopping point anyway.  I'll let you head out.  Mr. Brown, a word.”

The students began to pack up and make their way towards the door, as Neil marched down the steps of the lecture hall, prepared for his weekly chew-out session.  The beard of the middle-aged educator seemed to twitch in anticipation and annoyance.  

“Neil, do you want to be in this class?” Barker asked bluntly.  

“Yes sir,” Neil stoically replied.

“You know the class starts at 8:30 AM every Monday and Wednesday, right?”

“Yep.”

“The winter semester has only just started and in the six classes we've had together you have been on time to one of them.”

“That's correct, sir.”

Barker sighed and waved his hands about in front of him as if he was grasping for something to strike him with.  

“I don't know what you expect from me,” Barker steadied his hands and pointed a finger in Neil's face. “But I know I expect from you. I can't have you barging in after the class starts.  If I have to lock that door, I'll do it.  Your work is good, but if you want to stay in my class I expect you to show up on time.”  

“I understand sir.”

“Well, I hope so,” Barker grumbled. “I'm not kidding about that lock either.”

---

Monday was, by design, Neil's easiest day.  He only had the one class, and he used the remainder of the day to run errands.  So as soon as Barker let him out, his first stop was to the Store24 to pick up some groceries.  Considering his food storage options in his dorm was a mini-fridge and the top shelf of his closet, he only wound up with two bags and a twelve-pack of the store-brand cola.  

He dropped off the bare essentials of sustenance and took a brief moment to tidy his room.  There wasn't much cause to impress anyone, but he felt compelled to use the time. It felt better to accomplish something – anything – rather than waiting around for the day to end.  

The next two hours were spent overseeing a load of laundry in the dormitory laundromat. It was pretty depressing, featuring bare stone walls and illuminated by a single dirt-specked window. with a line of six washers and four driers on opposite sides of the room from each other.  There was a table in the middle, slightly off-set from the window in a way that mildly infuriated Neil. There were technically chairs, but two metal folding chairs took a certain wear-and-tear over the decades and had never been replaced.

Neil found himself sitting on the edge of the table, staring out that window and reflecting on the bizarre dream that had woken him with such a start.  The events of the day had driven out most of the fantastic experience from his mind, but bits and pieces still lingered.  Those omnipresent voices, speaking in grand detail about him.  An idyllic planet that was repeatedly destroyed. The beast from within the pit, as Neil was bound and helpless on a web of light.  

He considered whether or not he wanted to try and duplicate the effects of his lucid dreaming again tonight. Was it a story worth picking up? Or did he want to find himself once again at the genuine mercy of some phantasm?

A low blare came from the drier, in what was more than once mistaken for a fire alarm.

Discarding the shards of his recollection, he set about folding his clothes for about five minutes, before hastily shoving the rest of his clothes into his basket and resolving to just “do it later”.  This was perhaps his favorite lie.  

So it was, at 3:00 PM, Neil found himself back in his room with nothing else on the docket.  The young scholar now had to decide between drowning his mounting sorrows in video games, television, or – if he were feeling particularly adventurous – both at the same time.  

Looking to a torn up photo of Erica on his desk, he considered what he would be doing if last night's conversation had not happened. The weekends were theirs and sometimes she would visit him Monday night as well, to hit up a movie when it wasn't crowded with people.  She wasn't a terribly social girl, and Neil had always done his best to accommodate that.  

They both used to joke about how she was a “cheap date”.  She was the kind of person who genuinely enjoyed an experience-driven rendezvous.  Erica would much rather walk through the Voxton arboretum or take in one of the free community light-shows at the planetarium rather than actually go out and spend money.  

On their first date, Neil had nearly blown his chance with her by trying to flaunt his dad's wealth.  He had been given $100 to “impress the girl” with.  Erica, in that way she always did, knocked him flat on his ass.

“I'm not here to get to know your money, I'm here to get to know you,” she said, before insisting on having dinner at the cheapest restaurant in Voxton, where she paid for her own meal.  

The wake-up call had worked, and he loosened up considerably; enough so that she was agreeable to a second date.  In spite of the rough start, they had gotten along famously.  But apparently not as well as he had thought.

A knock on his door disrupted Neil from his day-dreaming.  

“Hey man, open up.  You're decent, right?”

Neil chuckled as he opened up the door.  His friend Damian could only be described as “dashing”.  The heart-throb of choice for all the girls when they were in high school together, his looks had only improved with age.  

“Did they finally let you in?” Neil teased.  

“Dude, they let you in,” Damian retorted.  “If I wanted in, I'd be in.  But money is good in the sales game.”  

“You work in retail.”

“Retail sales.  If I sell ten computers, they give me $50 of store credit,” Damian replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “Anyway, we doing dinner?  My treat.  Gotta cheer up my sad-sack friend, don't I?”

“Damian, you don't have to-”

“Nah, brother, I insist,” Damian smiled, patting Neil on the back.  “Breakups hurt. I've been here, and you're gonna be fine.  We will eat, drink, be merry and this weekend we will go out dancing and find a girl to make you forget all about her.”  

It was this benevolent nature that led to the two becoming friends in the first place.  In middle-school, they were both slightly awkward, but Damian had the further disadvantage of being an immigrant.  His mother Tabitha had fled Egypt shortly after that assassination of Anwar Sadat, carrying along a four-year-old Damian with her.  

The pubescent Damian was dealing with bullying and trying to adapt to both a new country and a stepfather who Neil had never met.  The two had met while Damian was hiding out in the library during one fateful lunch and they managed to hit it off over Lloyd Alexander's Prydain Chronicles. Neil had just started reading The Black Cauldron, but Damian was already on Taran Wanderer. A young boy's excitement to talk about his favorite fantasy series led to the longest-lasting friendship either of them had enjoyed. 

“Damian, I'm not sure if I really want to 'forget' about her, you know?” Neil sighed. “But I don't really need to get into that now.”

“Why not now?” Damian asked. “Take the time, friend.  Dinner can wait.”  

“It just seems kinda,” Neil struggled to find the words.  “Pointless.  I mean she's made her decision.  I have no idea why, but she made it clear she was done with me.”  

“Your feelings aren't pointless,” Damian replied, tapping his chest for emphasis.  “It's all we really have in this world.  Of course, if you don't want to talk, I won't make you.  But, uh, make a decision quick.  I skipped lunch.”

Neil laughed and opted to continue keeping his thoughts concealed. At least for now.  

“Alright.  Dealer's choice,” Neil said.  

“What a dangerous power you've given me,” Damian chuckled.  “Thai food it is.”  

---

This one is hard to position.  The thread is destabilizing.  

Neil was not dreaming.  The voice was not in his head. It was just on the opposite side of his dormitory door.  The room around him was shrouded in darkness, and only the door was illuminated.  If he could just reach out and grab the handle...  

A terrible weight was dragging him down, and his limbs felt as though they were made of concrete.  A biting cold was gnawing at him, and there was a presence just behind him. Somewhere in that darkness, a great unseen thing wanted to devour him.  Panic seized him as he flailed his useless forelimbs at the impossible contraption.  A doorknob; he had seen thousands of these.  But his brain could not process how to manipulate one.  

With looming annihilation mere inches from him, he resorted to throwing all of his weight at the wooden barrier, hoping it would yield under the force of what, to Neil, felt like two tons of his own mass.

If the thread is lost, we lose the Binder.  This is unacceptable.

“Nox?” Neil called out, vaguely remembering the kindly voice from the other night.  

We are here, Binder.  Patience.  We will pull you into our realm.  You will not be sundered.  

At this pronouncement, a hideous shriek invaded Neil's mind. The darkness wrapped around the young man and began to flay him, leaving crimson marks on his arm.  By the time the third sinewy tendril had lashed him across the face, he felt an uncomfortably familiar tug around his midsection as he was dragged out of the darkness and through the door, beyond which lay the sea of stars from his prior visit.  

As the distant sparks sailed past him, the memory of that Eden weight heavily upon his mind.  He wanted to see it again, and yet he could not bear to watch it be destroyed once more.  The thought of having to relive the same disaster over and over again throughout eternity was unbearable. How many times would he have to suffer the same loss?  How many people would abandon him to the darkness of his own mind?  

Hey Neil, it's Dad.  Hope you've had a good Monday.  You're probably out with Erica, but I just wanted to get in touch with you about... well, your mother's remembrance.  It won't be a big social gathering like last year's.  Basically just gonna be your siblings and me, but we wanted to coordinate with you. Just give me a call back when you can.  I love you.  

His father didn't know yet.  Of course, why would he?  That was only last night?

Focus on the moment, Binder!

Rem's voice was as stern and monotone as ever, but with a renewed sense of urgency. There was a planet on the horizon, but it was no paradise.  The world was molten rock and scattered space-dust, perhaps one in the process of still being formed.  Or was this was had remained of the other world after the disaster?  

See past the reality of your eyes, Binder. They are not a reliable path to truth, Nox urged.  

He is weighed down by his emotional attachment to his own thread.  We are losing him, Rem added.  

The planet was quite hot, and Neil felt his flesh beginning to sear as he drew ever closer to it.  He closed his eyes as he fell through the atmosphere of a dying world, the weight of his grief dragging him into oblivion.

#thread matthewcaveatzealot commission #scifi #short story #90s

[micahrodney]

Thread; Chapter 5 - Fantasyland

This was a commission for MatthewCaveatZealot. There was a terribly familiar thump as Neil's head hit the ceiling above his bed. The same precariously rigged alarm clock on his loft bed was blaring, and the disorientation that came with it. Neil wanted to believe that what he had experienced was a dream, but he knew better by now. He was awake, for certain, but he had not truly been asleep.

The question now was how he made it back to his dorm room, though he feared the answer was obvious. Another day or so of him running on “autopilot”. Let alone what that must have been like for his family.

His family. God, he missed them so much right now. In the past week, his universe had expanded a thousand-fold, entirely against his will. All Neil wanted was the safe surroundings of his old family home. He wanted Travis's insufferable theatre music blasting at all hours of the night. He missed Dawn spending every hour of the night playing on the NES they had. Just as comforting were the random pop-ins from Kim, and the sight of his father hard at work, with papers sprawled all over the coffee table.

He wanted his mother. Just his mother being there. Her presence.

The hole in his heart was warmed by a bit of metal. It was then that Neil noticed that he was wearing an amulet of sorts. It was on a chain of silver and ended in a pendant made of some otherworldly metal. It shone as brightly as freshly pressed steel but had faint transparency to it. Etched into it with crystalline blue lines were several stars, connected by points: the Crossroads, of course. Roughly, they formed a constellation similar in appearance to the Southern Cross.

“Can you hear me?” Rem asked, directly into his mind. 

As the Somni spoke, the blue lines glowed faintly.

“Yeah,” Neil replied, dazedly. “Are you going to explain this?” 

“We simply moved this one to a more convenient position along this thread. But fear not, you are in your original world, as Nox promised,” Rem explained. “To this one's family, the transition was natural. That is to say, this one did not do anything untoward or unexpected in its absence.” 

“If we're going to be communicating regularly,” Neil said, exasperated. “You could try being a little easier to understand.”

“What does this one mean?” Rem asked, as patiently as Neil had ever heard him. 

“For starters, you could stop calling me 'this one.' You know, use 'you' and 'your',” Neil replied. 

Rem waited for a moment to respond as if he were trying to wrap his head around the new mode of communication. “Very well. Neil. I will attempt to speak more plainly to... you.”

“I appreciate the effort,” Neil praised faintly. 

“It is difficult for me,” Rem added. “Somni are not accustomed to dealing with other races. Your presence is honestly slightly confusing to me. It upsets our natural order.”

“Well, I can't exactly stop existing to make things convenient for you,” Neil retorted, thinking back to their first exchange where he had nearly been reduced to atoms by his soon-to-be mentor. 

“Indeed not,” Rem agreed. “Now are we going to spend the rest of the day discussing our feelings on the matter, or shall we get down to business?”

Rem was consistent, Neil had to give him that.

“Alright, boss,” Neil said, leaning his head back against his pillow. “What's the game plan?”

“The Crossroad we are concerned with is a crucial event that will take place this evening at your friend Damian's house. Something will happen, we know not what, but you must be there to witness it occur,” Rem explained. 

“Wait, that's it?” Neil asked. “You don't have any more information than that?” 

“We observe only the surface level information about these changes. I may as well ask you about the inner workings of an ant colony. It is up to you to be at the right place at the right time. The event should be significant enough that you will not mistake it if that is any consolation,” Rem said, without any sign of sympathy. 

“Cool,” Neil sighed. “And then what am I supposed to do?” 

“Binders can read the movement of the Crossroads and correct their course. When you finally do enter the critical moment your perception of events will be rather metaphysical,” Rem began. Here, for the first time ever, his tone softened somewhat, though it retained every ounce of its original rigidity. “The experience can be quite frightening. Just know that I will be watching over you and you will not be in any personal danger. However, if you fail-”

“I get it,” Neil cut him off firmly. He didn't need to be told. Thousands of timelines erased in an instant. Trillions of lives cut short. 

“Good,” Rem uttered. “Now what is your plan?” 

“I just have to get to Damian's house, and I know the perfect way to get there.”

---

Angie stirred her coffee idly as she listened to Neil's proposal. The tiny booth at The Junction was not an ideal location for the chat, but it was her lunch break and the poor boy seemed so desperate. It was quiet enough for two in the afternoon, with a drizzle keeping most people off the streets.

“So you finally want to join my game?” Angie summarized. 

“Yeah, I mean,” Neil rubbed the back of his neck. His own coffee was barely touched, but the aroma was satisfying and kept him alert. “Damian always talks about how great it is.”

“Normally I wouldn't let you just pop in last second. I mean our session starts in like four hours,” Angie began. “But honestly Jack and Violet can't make it tonight so it will probably be a good one for you to test out the waters a bit.” 

Neil knew about Jack and Violet but was not familiar with them personally. Honestly the fewer unfamiliar faces the better for his purposes.

“Is this just about the game?” Angie asked, leaning into Neil slightly across the table. There was a peculiar expression on her face which Neil couldn't read. 

“What do you mean?” Neil asked, somewhat defensively. He had made the decision to wear a blue sweater today and he felt like he was drowning in it under her gaze. 

“I mean... a little birdie told me about Erica,” Angie replied, tilting her head slightly. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

In all that had happened over the past week, Neil had completely forgotten about Erica. The girl he loved for years, and who broke his heart completely out of nowhere. He guessed he should still be feeling sad about that, and yet when the fate of the multiverse was at stake, a young romance seemed pretty insignificant.

“Oh, well yeah,” Neil shrugged. “I mean, I'm okay and all. It was just so sudden.” 

“Take it from me, breakups suck, but they also just kind of... happen, you know?” Angie said, leaning back in her seat. “It'll hit you every once in a while. You'll get reminded of them and what you had, and then, boom, you're crying into your pillow again for no good reason. But it gets easier, bud.” 

Neil coughed uncomfortably. He wasn't sure how to process this new and unsolicited advice. Naturally, his brain defaulted to asking the worst possible question.

“You've had a breakup recently too, huh?” 

Angie rolled her eyes at him. “Tactful.”

“Sorry, I'm just really bad at this,” Neil laughed. 

“Utterly hopeless. Too bad I can't teach you how to talk to women since that requires a brain,” Angie teased. 

The two chuckled nervously and there was a brief silence, during which a thousand possible conversations could have happened if either party knew what to say. Neil wondered for a moment how many different threads had just been created at this moment involving either of them being just a little bolder.

“So who all will be at Damian's place tonight?” Neil asked, as casually as he could manage. 

“Trying to meet somebody?” Angie teased. 

Neil blushed slightly. “I mean, I just wanna get a sense of the crowd, you know. Usually, when I'm at Damian's house it's just his folks and kid sister. And they have a pretty quiet household usually. It's-”

“Settle down, champ,” Angie said, knocking her fist on the table to get Neil's attention. “It's gonna be Damian, Ash, and Victoria. And now you, I guess. Which reminds me, do you already have a character created?” 

“Oh, uh,” Neil's blush intensified. Perhaps this was a bad idea after all. 

“Hang on, I always carry the Rules Cyclopedia with me in my backpack. Hope you don't have any plans for the next hour and a half,” Angie chuckled. 

---

Damian's house, or more accurately his father's house, was practically a castle. The post-modern nightmare was rigid white walls with wide bay windows and a wrap-around patio. It looked more like the office space of some high-tech startup than it did a residential home. To complete the effect, the home was surrounded by twelve acres of dense woodlands with neatly lined cobblestone paths. If Damian's dad had the power, he would have evicted the animals too. 

The main ground-floor living space was technically called the “sunroom” but all the shades had been drawn and track-lighting illuminated a rectangular mahogany table. Six comfortable leather desk chairs were arranged around the promising assortment of battle maps, books, bowls full of various flavors of chips, soda bottles, and even a tray of deviled eggs, courtesy of Damian's mother.

Angie sat at the head of the table, a beautifully illustrated dungeon master's screen creating a sense of distance between her and the players. She had dressed up for the occasion, with a grey wizard's robe draped over her shoulders and clip-on elf ears.

The players were more casual, the only one who really got into the spirit of the event was Damian himself, who was wearing a maroon vest and bracers to mirror his half-elf rogue character: Quem. He was sitting just to Angie's left and fidgeting with his dice.

Opposite Damian was Neil himself, who had, after considerable effort of grasping the rules of this strange new game, had settled on a gnomish wizard named Frobozz the Magnificent. This was definitely not his usual scene, and he much preferred games on a computer screen to those played with pen and paper.

But duty called.

At the end of the table were Angie's friends Ash and Victoria. Ash sat beside Damian, his chiseled features and slight stubble capturing the image of the rugged Marcus, the human fighter he played. He wore a black t-shirt bearing the album artwork from Metallica's “Master of Puppets”.

Victoria was dressed somewhat plainly in a grey v-neck and jeans but wore a black pick around her neck as a sort of talisman. Damian had mentioned that she was the guitarist of a local garage band, and the connection between these two and Angie started to make more sense. She was controlling Elwin, the halfling bard.

“Alright guys,” Angie said waving her arms in a grandiose bordering on the satiric gesture of welcome. “As you all know we are joined by a new face tonight. This is Neil.”

“Hey, man,” Ash nodded respectfully. 

“Welcome, welcome,” Victoria greeted. 

“Uh, hi everyone,” Neil replied nervously. “So yeah. First time.” 

“It'll get under your skin,” Ash said. 

“He's not wrong,” Damian chuckled. “I was just gonna play a session or two to see what I thought. Now I host the game.” 

“Yeah, Damian, I gotta say, this doesn't seem like your scene,” Neil said, feeling slightly bolstered by the presence of his friend. 

“Hey, I get to spend five hours a week pretending to be the world's greatest thief. What's not to like?” Damian shrugged. 

“He only started playing because he was trying to sleep with my friend Liana,” Angie corrected. 

“Lies and slander!” Damian chuckled a little too brazenly. 

“I mean, fair enough, you stuck around after she moved, but you were not subtle about it,” Angie added, fiddling with a sheave of notes behind her screen. 

“Get used to this,” Victoria said conspiratorially to Neil. “D&D is about 80% game to 20% trash talking.”

“Don't forget the snacks and beer,” Ash added. 

---

When the game finally began properly, Neil had to admit the appeal. Gone were the five random strangers sitting around a table. In their place were a team of four heroes being led through a fantasy realm through Angie's skillful story-telling.

The heroes had been tasked with the recovery of an ancient artifact from the ruins of a long-abandoned castle. Elwin, Quem, and Marcus began the session already at the gates of the castle, where they had left off the previous week. Angie used this as an opportunity to introduce Neil's character. Frobozz was a former wizard of the fallen kingdom who had been magically sealed away in the castle dungeon for many years. Now Frobozz was helping the heroes while he decided what to do with the rest of his life. It was a simple story that allowed Neil an out in case this wasn't for him.

But it was hardly necessary. Within the first hour, he already knew he loved the world that Angie had created. The castle was filled with deadly traps and terribly clever puzzles to solve. And when they reached their first combat encounter and Angie broke out the battle map and clay miniatures it went to the next level.

“I don't have a gnome wizard mini yet, so you'll have to be a goblin for now,” Angie said apologetically as she placed the figurine on the map. 

The battle was fierce, with the four of them facing off against four undead warriors, each one mirroring the players themselves. A hulking zombie still in plate mail led them, followed closely by two skeletons, one wielding a dagger and the other a bow. In the rear was a spell-slinging shade. And considering Neil did not know what he was doing, the battle was especially hectic.

It was about halfway into the melee when there was a knock on the sunroom door. Ash was explaining the finer points of the Magic Missile spell to Neil, while Victoria was desperately searching through her character sheet to see if she had any Potions of Healing left.

“Come on in!” Damian called. 

The door slid open and his little sister Talia entered the room. She was wearing a set of lime green pajamas and holding a stuffed Babar the Elephant.

“Talia, what's up?” Damian asked, walking over to the young girl.

“Mama needs your help,” Talia said. “In the kitchen.” 

The plan was for their family to have a traditional dinner around this time, but Damian would be excused to bring his plate back to the sunroom. As for the others, Mr. Levant had ordered them a couple of pizzas out of consideration for their palate.

“Hi, Talia,” Neil greeted politely. 

Talia froze in place and gave the unmasked expression of shock that only kids can truly manage. She then covered both of her eyes with her hands, and meekly muttered, “Don't talk to strangers.”

“Stranger? That's Neil,” Damian laughed. “You're being silly, kiddo.”

“Sorry, I'm not trying to frighten you, little miss,” Neil apologized, scooting his chair back in. 

Stranger... maybe I am a stranger. What if this isn't my thread after all? 

“It's about dinner time, isn't it?” Ash asked. 

“One-track mind,” Victoria teased. 

Damian ignored both of them and took his little sister's hand. “Alright kiddo, take me to her. Angie, I'll just be a few minutes.”

Neil leaned back in his chair a bit as he tried to consider what he would do as soon as Damian got back. He was in a tough fight and had no idea how to get out of the mess they were in. As his brain whirred with the possibilities Ash and Victoria were debating, he felt a pulse from the amulet.

“You are near the Crossroad now,” Rem informed him. It was clear that nobody else in the room, except him, had heard the voice. “It's not in that room. Somewhere else in the house. We still don't have a clear picture.”

Neil was taken aback. For a moment he had almost forgotten why he was there. Now that he was reminded, he needed a way to excuse himself from the group.

“Uh, I'm gonna go see if Damian needs any help,” Neil explained. 

“You can just say you're using the can, dude, we're grownups here,” Ash said. 

“Allegedly,” Victoria smirked. 

“I'm not the one who tried to seduce a dinosaur, okay?” Ash shot back, referencing some prior adventure of theirs. 

“It's a valid strategy, I'm a bard. I'm sorry you don't understand our love,” Victoria laughed. 

--- Neil slunk down the narrow T-shaped hallway from the sunroom in the southeast corner of the house into the open-layout public space. The western side of the house was an open space, with carpet for the living room half and tile for the dining room. Around the corner from this, facing the front door, was the stairwell leading up to the bedrooms. On the opposite side of this were the stairs leading down into the basement. The kitchen was off to the side of the dining room, on the opposite side of the house from the sunroom.

“So any bright ideas?” Neil whispered. 

“It seems likely that it is in the floor below you,” Rem offered. 

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Neil sighed, moving towards the basement door and placing a hand on the basement door. 

“Talia!” shouted Damian's mother from the kitchen. “Don't touch the pan, it's still hot!” 

Neil jumped at the sudden shout, and his fingers rattled the doorknob. Footsteps approached from the stairs above him and he quickly let go, attempting to act casual. He was temporarily frozen as Anders Levant rounded the corner.

Damian's step-father was an impressive-looking man; bald but with a neatly trimmed beard that lined features nicely. He was wearing a black collar shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and draped in grey suspenders that connected to his matching pants. The man looked constantly ready for action, and this was no exception.

“Evening, Neil,” he said with a smile, but with the grain of unflinching seriousness that coated everything the man said. “Break time from the grand adventures, eh?”

“Mr. Levant,” Neil nodded. In truth, Neil had only met him once or twice before. He was something of an enigma and wasn't one for large social gatherings. “Sorry, I was just going to see if I could help your wife set out dinner.”

“Were you?” Mr. Levant said, his voice raised slightly.“ I'm certain she would welcome that. You're going to make some woman very happy someday. My generation never got taught 'woman's work', you know.” 

Mr. Levant let out a deep bellowing laugh and patted Neil on the shoulder. There was a slight, reflexive grip as he reached Neil's neck. A tight pinch, and then he let go. His touch felt like lightning at the moment, but it was over as soon as it began.

“Right,” Neil nodded. “I mean, I figured. I guess I'd better go into the kitchen then, right?”

“You know where it is, oh grand explorer,” Mr. Levant nodded. It was a statement, not a question, and it carried the subtext of dismissal. 

“Yes sir,” Neil said, sliding past Mr. Levant and walking down the hallway towards the kitchen. He glanced briefly over his shoulder to see Mr. Levant sliding a key into the basement door and locking it shut. 

“It's him.” 

Rem's message was unnecessary, as he felt a powerful burning in his chest at the sight. The pieces were falling into place right before him, and now he just had to do something about it. He had to get into that basement. Something horrible was going to happen down there. But what? And how? And how did it relate to Mr. Levant?

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

“Pizza!” Talia cried. 

“Tiny one, that is for your brother's friends!” Mrs. Levant said. “You can have one slice after you finish your dinner.” 

“I'll get it!” Neil said, opening the front door. 

There was another way into the basement. A window on the lower level. It was narrow, but Neil was slim and he could probably squeeze his way through it. He just had to get outside and work his way around to it. This was going to require a distraction and the pizza man was perfectly timed. He opened the door to a haggard-looking college kid holding two large boxes and a couple of 2-liters.

“Hey sir, it's $18.78.” 

“I'll grab the food from you,” Neil said, taking the pizza. 

“You gonna pay for it too, Neil?” Damian asked, appearing from the kitchen and patting him on the shoulder. 

“I'll get you back for it, I promise,” Neil laughed, trying to hide his nerves. As he turned around, Mr. Levant was still standing by the basement door. 

Damian handed the guy $25. The window was closing, and he was being watched closely. He couldn't exactly bolt out the front door after the pizza guy. Holding the food and balancing the two-liters anxiously he moved towards the sunroom. Neil felt a knot forming in his stomach. His time was running out.

Then he considered another strategy. One born from desperation and recklessness.

“Rem,” Neil whispered, his lips hidden behind the two-liters. “It's Mr. Levant himself, right?” 

“Correct. What does that have to do with-”

Before Rem could finish his thoughts, Neil acted. Feigning himself slipping on his shoelaces, he barreled into Mr. Levant, food first. Pizza and soda went everywhere and Mr. Levant was knocked back against the rear wall, his head making contact with the molding of the dining room door-frame.

“Son of a bitch!” Mr. Levant cursed, as he reached back to his head. His hand came back bloody. 

Neil didn't look much better as he had hit the opposite frame, except his forehead took the brunt of it, leaving a nasty gash between his eyes.

“Oh! Daddy's bleeding!” Talia cried. 

“Dad!” Damian cried out, rushing past Neil to help his father up. 

“I'm sorry!” Neil blurted, doing his part to keep up the illusion. “I slipped, I'm so sorry!”

“Hey, is everyone alive?” Angie asked, poking her head out of the sunroom. 

“We've got to get you both to a hospital,” Mrs. Levant said, emerging from the kitchen. She had been through far worse and was doing a wonderful job of maintaining her composure. “Talia grab some towels. Damian, you start the car. Are you alright, husband?” 

“Looks like you got me,” Mr. Levant chuckled, calming down slightly as he sat up to stare Neil directly in the face. “Boy, you certainly do know how to throw a party, don't you?”

There was an understanding between the two of them at that moment. They were both going to play their part, certainly. But Neil felt it as sure as he felt the burning in his breast from the amulet, and the uncomfortable way the light glinted off of that phony smile of his. Anders Levant knew exactly what he had done, and – somehow – why he had done it. There was far more to this man than Neil could have ever possibly imagined. 

It's him, alright.

#writing #writingcommission #commissionsopen #cosmichorror #shortfic #scifi

[micahrodney]

Thread; Prologue

The following was a commissioned piece for MatthewCaveatZealot.

Prologue “We are like butterflies who flutter for a day and think it is forever.” - Carl Sagan, Cosmos

Neil was racing down a corridor made up of alien stonework.  The stone was silvery with glowing veins of a strange azure plasma.  There had been no beginning, and as far as the young man could tell, no end.  The streaks of blue became a blur which slowly faded, first into indigo and then a deep impenetrable violet.

“Is anybody there?!” Neil cried, feeling the walls closing in around him.  “I need help!  Please help me!”  

This one rejects realignment.  

The words were coming from inside Neil's own mind, and yet they seemed to echo through the halls; loud as an explosion but soft as a whisper.

“Who is that?  Where am I?”  

Another entity spoke next, in a deep monotone.  It was as rigid as the rock around him; stern, unyielding, judgmental.  The voice of a god who cared nothing for his subjects.

It cannot be altered.  Its thread is broken.  

The original speaker now cried out defiantly, over the first.  They sounded almost feminine but it was impossible to tell.  He had never heard anything like it before.  With each word she spoke, her meaning seemed to manifest through the fabric of reality itself. Every sentence was a pronouncement, each phrase gospel.    

Not broken!  The threads cannot be broken!  This is his doing.  

“Who are you talking about?  Where are you?”

Neil whipped his body around desperate to find the source of the conversation.  As he spun the hallway began to fade, consumed by blackness.  Yet Neil did not lose consciousness.  He rode on invisible torrents of energy which swept him this way and that.  

No crossroad will accept this one.  No thread binds this one.  It is an anomaly. An error.  

Not an error! His is a spark.  A Binder, no doubt.  

Nonsense. Mortal.  Temporal.  Finite.  It is unheard of.

The threads twist and tangle.  It was inevitable.  

A bright explosion of vermilion nearly ruptured Neil's corneas. There was an intense weight from his stomach that pulled him towards the calamity.  Within moments thin white pinpricks of light dotted the blackness around him.  The twinkling was so faint at first that it took Neil several moments to process what they were.  

“Stars?”

A massive rock barely missed him as he sailed towards the sea of infinity stretched out before him.  The boulder seemed to grow as it sailed further from Neil, expanding to the size of an asteroid and then a small moon.  By the time it was planet-sized, there was a lurch that sent the waylaid dreamer rocketing in another direction. Relative to how Neil was facing, it was “down”, but floating in this  distant pocket of space the actual trajectory was anyone's guess.  

Rippling pockets of energy surrounded him as he fell through the wormhole.  Neil could only scream as the sensation of rocketing towards certain doom overrode any other thought.  When the hellish ride was over, he was floating freely around a cluster of stars. Though they were far too bright to look directly at, the visual symphony of their reflected hues on the varied celestial bodies around him was one of the most beautiful sights he'd ever beheld. Blue, yellow, red, orange, and purest white, cascading in beams across a field of asteroids and moons, at the center of which lay a majestic planet.  

The waters covered nearly all of its surface and the few large landmasses were vibrant green, untouched by anything other than nature.  Life radiated from the planet, welcoming and warm.  This was it; Neil had died, and this was surely the paradise that awaited him in the endless beyond.  

Suddenly, a great red tear formed in the middle of the largest continent; an eruption.  This was larger than any volcano, it was as if the very planet itself was being rent asunder.  

This one defiles the thread.  It must be purged! 

It is not his doing, he doesn't understand his power.

No power. Finite.  Error.  We will purge it.  

All existence ruptured as the planet was destroyed in an apocalyptic fireball, which sent cascading waves of liquid flame towards the young man.  He tried to cover his face, in hopes of limiting the unbearable pain which awaited him.  

It never came.  

Lowering his arms, he found himself on firm ground, in the middle of a verdant field. A lone mountain towered over him but otherwise, the plains were surrounded by water.  Seagulls cried overhead, barely audible over the crashing waves.  

You have realigned this one?  

No.  I have saved it from your purge.  It can transition.  It remembers both the old and the new thread, and neither is its point of origin.  

Impossible. Temporal.  Finite.  Mortal.  

Possible, if you would only open your eyes and see what I've been saying.  This one is not temporal.  Not finite.  Mortal, yes, but only temporarily.  He will transcend, and join the other Somni.  

“Who are you people?” Neil shouted, getting rather sick of these disembodied voices speaking about him as if he were not there. “What's happening to me?”

Curious.  

Indeed curious. But nonetheless, inevitable, as I said before.  He is a Binder.  

Neil felt a hand on his shoulder, smooth but steadying. He started and turned around to face something utterly incomprehensible.  The entity seemed to be made up of the stars themselves, roughly humanoid in shape, outlined by a thin purple line of translucence that contained the shimmering beacons.  A particularly large white sun was in roughly the spot of the creature's face, and it pulsed gently as it spoke.  

“You are human.  Finite.  Temporal.  Mortal,” said the being in the same deep rigid voice that had moments ago had declared its intent to destroy him.  

Neil found himself stunned into silence for a moment, unable to respond.  

It had been over a year since he took an interest in perfecting lucid dreaming.  At first, he could only direct the general course of his dreams, and within a few months, he had gotten to the point where he could make conscious decisions about what to do, fully aware of the fact that he was still asleep.  He almost felt as though he was truly awake, but he had never crossed that threshold into genuinely tricking his senses into believing he was within another world.  

Not until tonight.  

But he didn't feel in control of this dream.  And the longer the fantasy went on, the more genuine it felt.  He tried to grasp at what could possibly be happening and even allowed himself the briefest glimmer of a possibility that this wasn't a dream.  

“My name is Neil,” he finally stammered out, holding up a hand in a flimsy attempt at a greeting.  “Who are you?”  

“We are Somni. Infinite. Boundless. Immortal,” the entity replied. “You may call us Rem. We speak for the Dreamer.”  

“The Dreamer?  You mean me?” Neil asked.  “So I am asleep after all.”

“Tiny dream.  Immaterial.  Phantasmic.  Yours is not the Great Dream,” Rem replied solemnly.  “Yet you seem to play a part within it.”

“The Great Dream?” Neil scratched his head.  “I'm confused.”

Another Somni appeared just beside Rem, taller and more slender. This was clearly the other speaker Neil had heard.  

“All will be explained in time,” she declared, her tone soothing and motherly.  “I am Nox. And you are a very special mortal.”

Before Neil could resume asking the slew of questions that continued to flow through his mind, the eruption started again.  

“This thread is also collapsing.  Kosmaro follows this one with great interest,” Rem noted. “Hopeless.  Endless.  Chaos.”  

“We will talk again, Binder of the Great Dream,” Nox said, placing her hand on his chest.  “Do not be afraid.”  

The collapse of the planet happened within seconds, but once again Neil was hurtled through space, seemingly into an endless abyss of blackness.  There were no more stars or celestial bodies, and for a time there was still disquieting peace.  

Then Neil realized he was no longer floating. He struggled against bonds made of silvery light, fastened tightly around his wrists and ankles, securing him to a translucent web. Beneath him was a black pit, fathomless deep. Neil's stomach quaked at the realization that being bound was all that kept him from the maw. His brown hair tangled in the springy thread, and the ever-present void below him made any attempt at escape futile.

A low guttural growl echoed up from the bottom of the pit, and a thin pinprick of green light wormed its way up from the depths.  In response, a chorus of wails and shrieks rang out just above him.  The agony of a million voices seemed to reverberate throughout every strand of the trap. The threads started to shake as the green light grew, now consuming the pit entirely. Neil forced himself to look away from the subtle, hypnotic light.  His gaze fell skyward, and he screamed.

The spider – if it could even be called that – clicked its pincers menacingly as it lowered its teeth towards Neil.  Oblivion was approaching, and Neil could do nothing to stop it.  The green light now filled the entire chamber, and he saw that it was full of webs just like his, each with hundreds of thousands of people held captive in sinewy strands.  

His bonds broke, the screaming now filled his very soul and Neil Brown fell down, down, down...

#writing commission scifi fantasy shortstory serial cosmichorror dream