Dark Muse (6 page)

Instead of crumbling and walking away like at
a baseball game, he swallowed it whole.

His gaze locked onto the old man's and dug
harder into the rhythm. His fingers scurried up the neck in fiery
cascade that ended in a screaming bend before falling back into the
groove. The others followed suit and upped the tempo, and
intensity.

After about a minute passed, it happened.

One moment, his gaze was pasted onto Silver
Eye, matching him lick for lick in the song. The next, the landfill
began to quiver behind the old guy. Muddy’s legs buckled as he
attempted to focus his vision.

What happened to Zack was now happening to
them
.

The tingling intensified, as if a million
tiny bugs dug into his skin and danced to some hyper speed song. It
didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel great, either.

Muddy glanced at each of his band mates to
make sure it was actually happening and that no one was simply
hallucinating. Then his gaze skittered back to the world around the
crossroads.

As if some designer of the universe had
wrapped them in a clear shower curtain, everything they saw
shimmered. With each passing beat, the curtain wavered faster.
Muddy nearly had to close his eyes as his stomach felt woozy. The
tickling didn’t help, either. He wondered what would happen if he
puked during the process.

Still, they played.

Then the curtain shook so fast that
everything beyond it lost clarity. One moment, the landfill and the
paths leading to where they were seemed normal. The next, he
couldn’t see a thing, even though the moon still illuminated the
scene.

It shook, shook some more and the tingling
forced Muddy’s eyes to shut. He shook so hard that he dropped his
pick. Afraid to see what it fell into, his fingers plucked the
strings in its place. Even before he forced himself to look, he
knew what they wouldn’t see.

“We’re here,” announced Silver Eye
Watkins.

And their lives changed in a heartbeat.

* * * *

Muddy opened his eyes when he heard someone
gasp. The curtain had parted. Act two of their lives, destinies,
fates, etc. had just begun.

The band still stood on the crisscrossing
paths, but that was the only similarity to where they were just
moments ago.

Gone was the landfill. Lush greenery exploded
everywhere in a forest that bordered on jungle status. The wind
whistled in an odd key. Trails ran off into the dark north, south,
east and west. Other than that, it seemed like nobody had been here
in ages.

“We’re not in Jersey anymore,” Otis muttered,
unable to keep the fright out of his voice.

Poe lifted her head. “Definitely doesn’t
smell
like New Jersey.”

“All of you—shut your traps!” Silver Eye
looked scared enough for all of them. Whether he was scared for
himself or for the band, Muddy didn’t know, but the expression on
his face quieted them in a heartbeat.

“You don’t want to let
anything
know
we’re here.”

The guitar nearly shook from Muddy's hands.
“Who’s here?”

“We don’t need to worry about
whom
just yet,” he said. “Right now, the
what
around this place
can kill you before you tune that thing.”

The what? We’re in Jersey, aren’t we? This
area didn’t have any wildlife that could harm us, at least not
without guns.

“And yes,” he continued. “The trip does screw
up your guitar. Now tune that thing before you get us killed.”

Just as Muddy twisted the first tuning peg,
thunder roared all around them. This time, the ground did shake. He
turned his gaze skyward and saw nothing but stars in the coming
night.

“Hurry!” Silver Eye’s fright burst out of his
voice. Then he did a strange thing. He played a melody on the harp
that sounded out of the norm. Blues, yes, but more methodical, more
complicated in pattern.

“Why?” Muddy wondered aloud. “It’s just a
thunderstorm. Don’t worry, I’ll cover the guitar.”

Silver Eye shook his hands while his neck
craned left and right. “That
ain’t
no storm. Lightning is
not
what you need to worry about tonight.”

“But, what is it?”

“Just tune the dang guitar,” he said, placing
a vise-like grip on the boy’s arms. “Drummer, sax boy, get ready
for my cue.” As their mumblings began, he cut them short. “Quiet!
When I yell, blow out the best low C you've got. Pound that skin as
if your life depended on it.”

Poe sidled up to the guitarist, obviously
scared out of her mind. “Eddie,” she said, using a name she only
called him when she was upset, “what’s going on? What do
I
do? What’s out there? I can’t see anything—or sense it.”

The bluesman answered for both of them.
“Little girl, you just sit tight for this one. I’ll be needing your
golden voice soon, but it won’t help much here. Just stay out of
the way and don’t mess with me.”

Wrong thing to say, part two. Yet instead of
flipping out and tearing out the guy’s other eyeball, she bit her
lip and turned to Muddy. “You’re still a little flat.”

Muddy knew that, but looked up at her and
forced a smile. “Thanks, Poe.” Using her ears, they tuned the
guitar to perfection within a minute. Trembling just a bit, he
turned to the group. He went to move in closer, with Poe in
tow.

Silver Eye’s hands shot up like an armed
rifle. “Don’t move! Stay on the path. Do
NOT
step off the
trail, definitely not at night.”

Poe stared into the waving green blades. “The
grass is alive!”

Before anyone could register her comment, the
thunder roared again. And again. Then once more. What kind of storm
was coming? Why did he say it wasn’t one?

As if reading the teen’s mind, the old man’s
voice filled in the space between the booms. “Son, this is much
worse than any storm, hurricane, tsunami or what-have-you.” He
motioned for all of them to pull tight and face outwards, away from
each other and toward the forest.

Otis’ hand turned white with a fearful grip
on his sticks. Corey’s fingers tapped out a jittery rhythm on the
sax’s pearly keys. Poe sunk into Muddy’s side, whether to be
comforted or to comfort, he had no idea. It was just nice, even if
this scared them.

Above the thick carpet of grass, swaying in
the wake of the thunder, walls of trees stood, surrounding the
group in a claustrophobic embrace. Nearly black against the night,
they rustled and shook arm-like boughs, tossing creepy shadows
across the trails. If the teens wished to run, which direction
would it be? Rumbling around them shook everything by whatever
caused the thunder.

Another sonic boom shook the air, ground and
their bones. The trees trembled at the edges of the pathways. The
sound pained Muddy’s ears as he strained to keep his eyes open and
focused on the rumbling walls of green. Thunder never lasted this
long, nor did it actually hurt.

A moment later, that thunder walked right
through the trees.

At first, he thought the trees themselves
came to life and decided to attack. Then he noticed the fur. The
long arms. Trunk-like legs. And then, the face.

With a mouth as wide and oval as a dinner
plate, but blacker than the soul of a math teacher, the
thing
ambled toward the band, in
rhythm
! When the
thing’s feet hit the ground, it sounded like a rock song two and
four beat. Loud. Boom – cha. Boom – cha. Just like the beat of a
good song. Bass drum, snare drum, then a cymbal crashed with the
vibration of a gong, shaking them off of their feet. Muddy and the
others dropped to their knees in agony. The sound pummeled them
with high and low pitches, rattling teeth and vibrated bones.

“Holy cow…” Corey whispered, although even if
he had screamed, they wouldn’t have heard it. “Look,” he said and
pointed, obviously guessing the rest couldn’t hear him.

The cymbal didn’t exude from a rock drum kit,
Buddhist monastery or marching band. When the lumbering, thundering
thing
slammed its mouth shut and then sprung it wide open
again, Muddy imagined himself in the front row at the heaviest of
metal concerts. It blew a gale force wind at them, knocking leaves
and twigs from the trees. Yet, the creature stood firm, those
massive legs holding its stance steady, arms swung back for better
projection, Muddy guessed. Then, it lifted one of those limbs up
and out, ready to beat on an imaginary drum. At the end of the arm
grew not a hand, but a stubby lump, rounded with the girth of a
volleyball.

Silver Eye raised his head and yelled for
Otis to do something.

What did he expect Otis to do to that thing?
Bite its ankles? Did it have ankles?

Otis waved at the man, signaling that he
didn’t understand.

The branches in the thick curtains of green
parted again in a rolling wave of sonic pain. Two, three, four more
behemoths of fur and massive mouths burst forth and lock-stepped
their way to form a semi-circle. Just like a
bigger
mouth.
Opened in their direction.

Silver Eye yelled again. Otis waved once
more, but Muddy stopped in his tracks. The lead creature wore a
guitar string around his neck with a shiny, silver triangle
dangling from it. Could it be...?

He almost charged toward them to get a better
look, but suddenly all five ogre-like creatures raised their arms,
as if waiting for a drum major to commence a marching cadence.

The little drummer’s eyes danced in fear and
confusion. Muddy could see him mouthing “What? What do I do?” along
with some other choice words.

The old man raised his hand and began
thumping the ground. Slowly at first, then both of his withered
palms sped up into a full-fledged drum roll on the path. Otis
nodded like a bobble head on speed and readied his sticks.

The first creature swung his mallet hand down
in a powerful arc, straight into the middle of a chest that
resembled a swollen kettle drum. Muddy felt the beat before it hit
his eardrums. A fist of sound punched him, sending his body flying
across the grass. He landed in a lump of pain about twenty feet
away.

Immediately, he looked for Poe. The deep
grass split to his right. Seconds later, a hand rose through the
shaking blades. It was Corey.

“Get out of there, man!” Corey’s hand
swallowed his and yanked him back toward the path. The grass
shivered and swayed. Something had been waiting for one of them to
stray. Muddy booked it back to safety almost before Corey did. He
kneeled on the trail shaking with deep breaths and scanned the
scene for the others. Still on the path, but much farther back lay
Otis and Silver Eye.

Where was she?

He couldn’t stand to think of the
possibilities of what might happen to her if one of those goons got
a hold of her. Did one step on her? Could one swallow her in that
cymbal-sized mouth?

As the echoes of that boom faded, whispers
assaulted him from every direction. Muddy turned and found the
others, not whispering, but screaming to each other. The old man
furiously signed at the band to grab their instruments and
stand.

Still, where was she?

The other four things readied their arms,
waiting to knock them into the dark of the forest.

Then they froze. At first, Muddy swore he
heard an eagle’s cry. Piercing, yet beautiful, it rose with the
parting of the razor-like grass. From it sprouted Poe.

What the?

She sang like they'd never heard her sing
before. Toward the creatures she strode, eyes wide open, as if she
could see them—clearly. Her voice rose in pitch, intensity and
volume. She sounded like a cross between an angel and a ticked off
eagle. The creatures remained still as the band took up their
instruments and ran behind her.

“Watch it,” Muddy yelled to her as she came
within a yard of the beasts, arms frozen in midair. “They’re
right—”

“I can
see
them.”

“What?”

She stared straight ahead then turned to each
one of the band members individually. “I can see them.” The
excitement in her voice shook her skinny frame. “Look at their
faces. Look at them. There’s nothing past their mouths. Only
blackness.” When she stopped singing, the ice in their movements
began to melt. “I can see here.” She had lost her sight so long
ago, when that monster back home had hurt her.

Chapter Six

“Then dang it, girl,” Silver Eye hollered,
“don’t stop singing!” He pulled his harmonica to his lips and
motioned for the rest of them to start playing.

Start playing? Start playing what? Muddy's
mind was still stuck on what he saw hanging from the lead
creature’s neck.

Yet Corey, after a few fearful squeaks, began
echoing the old man’s staccato bursts of blues. His tone grew more
confident with each deepening breath.

Otis beat a simple blues rock pattern,
locking up easily with the others. Muddy knew his friend felt just
as scared as he was, but when someone faced dying early every day
like Otis did, fear was a bit easier to swallow.

Knowing his behavior to be cowardly if he
remained frozen, Muddy picked a few notes in the pentatonic scale,
the easiest scale there was for a rock guitarist. Silver Eye turned
to him and winked, a signal that things would be fine. How, he had
no idea. Yet it infused the guitarist with fire as he hit a few
chord stabs here and there, weaving in and out of the beat,
creating a weird syncopation.

An
off
the beat rhythm.

The creatures stood their ground, staying
still until the biggest one slowly raised both of his hands.
Despite the spell of the music, he’d broken free and set himself
for a strike.

If the coming explosion knocked them hard
enough, their instruments might break—or worse, their bodies
themselves. Without the music that the band played, only a fool
would believe they would survive their attack.