The year was 1979, three years before Taryn would join the Committee of Special Questions. A mere two months before Declan would join. Lauren Barr was still a professor, there was nothing abnormal in the natural sense of his life just yet. Adam Clenshaw still had two eyes. He was one of only three auditors for the Committee, taking orders from the still living adjudicator Lewis Malhaun, a true curmudgeon if ever there was one.
Back in the infancy of the Special Committee of Questions, as it was
known at the time, things were much simpler. Impossibly simple when
compared to the things to come. The Committee would meet but once
every two or so months. The last meeting had been held in August of
the previous year, hosted by widow Jennings' in at her kindly little
home. Though the committee had fallen out of regular meetings, he was
not out of touch. Ms. Marie Maul would ring nearly every weekend. Mr.
Tacklin would ring every fifteenth, always offering to take Clenshaw
on his boat for a fishing trip. Clenshaw always politely turned down
the offer, but that never stopped Tacklin.
The Committee was more of a club, a group of mostly local
individuals who happened to share a particular theme. Be it a strong
interest, or a uniquely unusual experience. There were no
identification cards back then. There was barely any chain of
command. It was Tobias Hennis who had decided on the ranks.
Adjudicator, the equivalent of the group's president. Malhaun was
elected almost unanimously, despite his dour attitude. Auditors were
the second highest rank, leaders in the field. Appointed, rather than
voted in, by the adjudicator. Analyzers followed in the chain, the
specialty group of agents who acted as the groups intelligence
division of sorts; answering the questions asked, finding the
questions unanswered. And finally the lowest rung, that of the agent.
The lowest rung in the ladder, where any who did not fit amongst the
other ranks. Hennis had thought up the alliterated names after haven
had too much brandy, and the vote for adjudicator was done to pass
time and create a false feel of authority, similar to the inclusion
of identification cards a decade later. Just to feel important.
This was how it was then. Quiet, and still possessing it's playful
youthful spirit. Granted, things did happen, but by and large they
were treated as a game. An intellectual challenge to be overcome. The
feeling of danger had not yet been realized. It was more than
unexpected then, when the phone did finally ring for Clenshaw on this
chilly winter day, over two and a half decades ago .
“Clenshaw?” Malhaun's voice was urgent, and as always boorish.
He give no pause for adjudicator Clenshaw to answer, “Good. Very
good. Something's come up. Hennis' place, be there.”
There was a slight pause, before Clenshaw thought to ask “What
time?”
“Now would be good.” the adjudicator answered, and then came the
sound of Malhaun's phone being clumsily hung up. So abrupt. So out of
the ordinary.
That's never happened before. Even those three times that Clenshaw
was in the field, projecting himself into the near conflicts of
reality and what lied outside, there was never a phone call like
that. No, be here now, and that was that. There had always been
preparations. A game plan. Information given over the phone, and of
course there was always the option. A asking of help. We need you,
will you help us with whatever it is we're facing. Clenshaw felt
uneasy, but what could he do? Toby Hennis' place wasn't too long of a
drive, even if it was late.
The Hennis estate, Clenshaw thought, always looked like it should be
on the cover of one of those horror anthology comic books. The kind
Clenshaw would read as a child, before a group of moral guardians had
the comic industry take out all the good stuff. The horror, the gore,
all of it gone in an moment. Clenshaw always imagined the next movie
involving Frankenstein's monster could be filmed here. It didn't look
like a European castle, or great manor. It was just plain creepy. It
wasn't even really what you would think of, when you thought of the
word estate. A larger than normal house, with a larger than normal
yard, but nothing truly impressive. Still, it was always creepy.
The inside couldn't be more different. Toby Hennis had lived alone,
but you wouldn't know it. The place was always clean, and warmly
inviting. Everything was bright and well kept. Photos in frames hung
on the walls, although they didn't depict Hennis or any of his
relatives. They were of strangers. Hennis was a photographer by
trade, and being alone always felt alone. One day he started putting
up duplicates of the work he did for others, and it made him feel at
ease.
Hennis was met by the smiling face of his fellow auditor, Toby,
although it looked slightly forced. In his eyes was the signs that
something was wrong. A fearfulness. Maggie Wilhourne was there as
well, looking downright dreadful in her Sunday best. She always
dressed for the occasion. Tacklin too, looking like he had stepped
out of a sporting good store commercial, he must have arrived just
before Clenshaw. He still had his old college football jacket on, as
well as the worn and weathered fishing cap he always seemed to wear,
even when not fishing. Lures and hooks boobed as he nodded hello to
Clenshaw. The man's face stood out from the bright and cheerful
colors of the lures and jacket. A sickly white, tinged a tad blue and
purple almost. Marie Maul was there too, her graying blonde hair lay
in curls set around an equally dread filled face.
“Alright, what is it?” Clenshaw said, confronting his fellow
Committee members upon seeing their faces. “Something's got to be
wrong,” his voice belied his attempted bravery, cracking a bit
despite his ignorance of the situation “So just spit it out.”
They wouldn't. The entire Committee had to be there. Soon the others
came, Alex Corson, Dylan Taimes, and the last to arrive would be the
one who called the meeting together; Lewis Malhaun. Rather unusual
for him to be so tardy, but when he did appear the usually scowling
old man who looked to be suffering from permanent cramp. His
movements were stiff, his hand had a slight shake, and his jaw had
spots of white hair. The usually clean shaven and proper looking
adjudicator looked a complete and utter mess. He hadn't even finished
shaving, it seems.
With a deep and careful breath the adjudicator stood before the
congregation, as they took their seats to understand what had
happened. All of them looking particularly spooked, save for
Clenshaw, Dr. James Everette and his wife Dr. Bhagya Everette.
“The night before last,” the adjudicator had started at last to
explain, “I was visited by a dream. It wasn't just any dream, as I
would discover. Speaking to Mr. Tacklin, and than later to Mr.
Hennis, I realized it wasn't just I who had been visited. They two,
along with most of you, have suffered a similar nightmare.”
Clenshaw had looked around, a tad skeptic, as did the Everettes. It
seemed true, as the body language of others clearly showed he spoke
truth.
“Onions.” the adjudicator continued, “The smell of onions, and
then something far worse. The dead spoke to us. Hated us, didn't
they? Hated each and every one of you?”
All would murmur agreements except for Mrs. Maul. “Actually,”
she interrupted in a soft voice, inching her body forward in her
chair a tad, “Mine wasn't like that.” She gave pause but was
signaled to continue by the adjudicator nodding and motioning for her
to do so with his hand.
“Well, I did smell onions, strangest thing. I never do that. Just
smell something I mean. I might have a dream where when I awoke, I
thought I smelled something in the dream. But not like this. I
smelled onions, even after I woke up. For a moment I mean.” she had
started to say, starting off on a slight tangent as she was prone to
do. A tangent that was broke by the adjudicator clearing his throat
while giving a look one might declare a glare, forcing her to
continue with her point.
“Oh, right, sorry.” Her eyes darted to the other Committee
members, lingering for a moment before moving on to the next as she
spoke, “I wasn't visited by the angry dead, I was just dreaming a
memory. It was when that blizzard happened, I was a child then. I'm
not sure what year it was. But anyway, there was a fire in my
neighbor's house, and my father ran over to help. He tried to put the
fire out, along with other neighbors. The firemen did come, but by
then my father and Mr. Bell, my other neighbor at the time, had
dragged out the children. I don't recall their last name. I was still
very young you see. But they were dead, I imagine smoke inhalation as
they weren't really burnt as I recall. That was just as I remember
it, but-”
She was cut off by the adjudicator taking a swift step forward,
“But,” his voice sharp, a growing impatience was heard in it,
though his voice did soften as he continued “Then it was different,
correct? There was someone there who wasn't before?”
The woman nodded, as the others murmured, but were quickly silenced
by the adjudicator, who raised his hands. “Go on, please, Mrs.
Maul.”
“There was a firefighter, I remember him. He was kind. Looked a
bit heavy, but I imagine with the cold that probably helped. He
turned to me, and this wasn't in the dream, this was how it was meant
to happen. I mean how it did happen. I was very young, and very
scared. I can't remember the name of those boys, but I do remember I
used to play with them in the snow. They had just moved in before the
blizzard, I think a candle must have fallen over.”
Again the adjudicator cleared his throat, “No offense Mrs. Maul,
but we really should be getting to the point.”
“Oh, right.” she replied with an apologetic tone, “So the
firefighter must have felt bad for me, I was crying. So he asked me
and my mom to go inside, he said we must be catching our deaths in
the cold. I was wearing my heaviest jacket, and had a blanket around
my shoulders, I wasn't cold. I think he really just wanted us not to
see the bodies. But in the dream, in the dream the firefighter wasn't
there. Some woman was, in a firefighter's uniform, if you can believe
that! And she put her hand on my shoulder, and asked my mother to go
inside. And she did. Leaving me, I was so scared with this woman. She
looked so cold. Her eyes I mean, her demeanor. Not temperature,
everyone was cold, except me. I had my jacket and the blanket. She
just, just looked so uncaring.”
“Did she, did she have blonde hair?” Tacklin interrupted as he
rose from his chair, bringing his hand up to his chin and pointing
just between the left corner of his mouth and his chin.
“She did. Didn't she?” Toby said, answering instead, “That
same woman was in my dream. I know it!”
Mrs. Maul nodded, “Yes. She did have blonde hair. And blue eyes I
think.”
“So,” adjudicator Malhaun said, his voice grim, “We're all
dreaming of the same woman?”
“It would appear so.” Toby answered.
“Excuse me,” the male Dr. Everette cut in, “But I don't recall
having any dreams like that.”
“Neither do I.” added Clenshaw.
“There must be something then,” Malhaun said with an annoyed but
somehow curious tone, “To link the rest of us together. A string of
some sort, that ties us all together.”
The inquisitive and curious nature of the the Committee seemed to
perk up. A game had been set again.
“Perhaps it was that séance?” Mrs. Maul inquried.
“No, couldn't be.” Dylan said dismissively.
“He's right.” the female Everette added in, “My husband and I
were present for that, and we weren't affected.”
“True,” her husband added, “Besides, Tacklin wasn't there.”
“Perhaps it was a hallucinatory drug?” Maggie Wilhourne thought
aloud, “But then why would it all affect us the same?”
Mr. Hennis saw something to that, and looked over snapping his
fingers. “Aha! I've got it! Mind manipulation.”
“You mean mass hypnosis?” Clenshaw asked with skepticism.
“Of course. It answers everything.” Toby said with a smile,
“It's not as if we would remember it after all. You three might not
have been present. Perhaps the rest of us were kidnapped for some
sort of psychoanalytical testing.”
“Psychoanalytical testing?” Wilhourne replied with skepticism in
her voice now as well.
“That or aliens? Oh who are we kidding, it's probably just a dumb
series of dreams. We didn't dream the same woman, and we're getting
anxious for nothing.” Hennis said with a sigh, seeing the
ridiculousness of the ideas so far.
“Actually,” Mr. Corson said, sitting back in his chair while
folding his arms over his chest, his face smug as he spoke, “There
might be something to all that. It really is just a sad trick of the
mind.”
“How so?” Dylan said, “We dreamt it, that's not a trick of the
mind. Blonde woman, blue eyes, cold expressionless face. Same hair
cut. About the same height. Not to mention we all have a feeling of
strong familiarity with this apparition. And the smell of onions.”
“True,” Mr. Corson said, “But are you sure you truly dreamt of
the woman?”
“Yes,” Hennis said sounding a tad annoyed, “Maul said it, I
said it -”
“Actually,” Mr. Corson interrupted, “You said it, then Mrs.
Maul.”
“No,” Toby Hennis said leaning forward a bit to look Corson
evenly in the eyes, “Our dear adjudicator asked her if she saw a
particular woman-”
“Yes,” Mr. Corson interrupted, “He did, but you answered
first, causing her to agree only afterwards.”
“That is true. You did answer before she did.” Clenshaw pitched
in.
“Even so,” Toby said feeling, as well as sounding a tad
defensive, “It was asked, so what if I was the one who answered
Malhaun. It was Malhaun who-”
“Whom,” Mr. Corson interrupted as he raised his voice and spoke
more sternly, “I might add, initially described the woman. And it
was Mrs. Wilhourne who first mentioned the style of her hair, after
the fever of familiarity had already been set.”
“So,” Toby said in full defiance now, “You're saying we're
fools? Dumb enough to trick ourselves? Liars even?”
“No, of course not.” Mr. Corson said raising a hand to calm Mr.
Hennis, “Not a word of that. But it hallucination was mentioned.
Memories are easily planted in such a way as hallucination.”
“I didn't see anyone waving a clock in our eyes! Or did we get
hypnotized to forget that?!” Toby said, his voice rising.
“Absolutely not, don't be ridiculous.” Mr. Corson said.
“Okay, that's enough.” Malhaune cut in, “Not another word
until you can speak to each other politely and properly!”
The two argueing men forced themselves to calm. Toby was the first
to speak, “I'm sorry to have raised my voice in anger, but the idea
of us becoming duped in such a simple minded manner does strike me as
particularly ludicrous.”
“Perhaps,” the masculine Everette added, “We should take a
small break. All this debate is entertaining, but I would enjoy a
smoke. And I know how much our host dislikes the smell.”
“I hope you don't mind smoking outside too mu-oh, excuse me.”
Toby was saying when the phone rang. Excused, he left the room, his
footsteps echoing in the halls as the members remained silent.
“Well, I suppose we should use the time for a break.” Malhaun
said, casting a look towards Dr. James Everette, “And a smoke.”
The two Everettes stood and walked with Malhaun, followed by Mr.
Corson, the four members of the Committee who partook in tobacco. The
remaining members went to make small talk, but before they had the
chance Toby Hennis ran back down the hall and into the room, his face
white and his eyes wide.
“It's Dolores! She- She's dead! Some kind of animal, her husband
fou-” he paused for a moment too long, the others still indoors
grew impatient and attempted to gleam more information from the
auditor, but he waved them off shaking his head. “How could it
be!?” he said falling back into the wall, “It was Dolores…”
“Yes,” Clenshaw said, putting a hand on the man's shoulder in an
attempt to rouse his senses from the shock, “But what about her?
How did she die?”
“No, don't you see?” Toby said, his eyes blinked many times as
he looked dumbfounded. “She was Dolores. In the dream, it was
Dolores!”
The shock and surprise raced across the room. He was right. They had
all dreamed of her. In their dreams of death, she was the blonde
woman. Cold and distant. Dolores Raybourne, a former member of the
Committee, the only one who had ever quit. Killed by some unknown
beast after. Survived by her husband and two children. Not for long
though. It, the darkness in the light, would not allow surviving for
very long. It sat there, only a few miles away, under a bed.
Waiting.
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