Saturday, November 10, 2012

CoSQ, Chapter Five: Either That or Aliens

Hey, here we are at chapter - wait, what am I up to now? Oh yes, chapter five. Awesome. You're probably not reading these, and that's fine, but if you were then you'd get to meet the Committee members of 1979.


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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