The Oneiro Rangers: First Night (8 page)

Reeling his arm all the way back and lifting a leg, he gave it his
best punch. The metal-skinned drone didn’t budge, letting Roland’s fist hit it
square in the nose. There was a pause. What followed was a cry of pain, loud enough
to spook the birds out of the nearby trees. Hopping around, Roland held his
aching hand, his knuckles pulsing.

“There goes our fighting chance,” Angelica said flatly.

“Please put your hands behind your backs and get on your knees,”
the main drone ordered. “Or else we will be obligated to use lethal force.”

“Better do as they say, gang,” Roland said, rubbing his sore hand
as he got onto his knees. “These talking tin cans mean business.”

“Summoning faculty personal.” The top of the dog’s head flipped up
and an antenna inched its way up. Morris code beeped out of the antenna’s bulb,
traveling to an adult’s receiver. “Awaiting faculty personal. Targets shall be
seized and secured until then.”

Once the teens hit the dirt and held their hands back, a dog approached
each one and bit down on their wrists. From the bite came a pair of handcuffs,
the dogs snapping them on with their teeth. None of the teens tried to get up
off the ground under the watch of the robotic dogs, although Roland did
struggle with his cuffs a bit. They just kept their eye to the ground, watching
bugs and ants crawl in and out of the dirt. It didn’t take long until a
morpheus appeared, his bright flashlight filling the whole rocky clearing with
light and his red hair still damp.

“So, this is where you went,” Clint stated. “I hope there’s a good
reason for all of you to be running around here at this time of night.”

Everyone stood up defeatedly; Errol speaking for them. “No, no
good reason.”

“Mmm-hmm. That’s what I thought.” He clapped his hands twice,
getting the dog drones’ attention. “Setz!”

The dogs’ eyes all darked to a faint green and they ran back to
the academy, leaping off of branches and rocks. “Returning to the fueling
docks.”

Snapping his fingers, Clint motioned them to line up in front of
him. “All of you are coming with me to detention. My guess is if you were so
intended on staying up all night in here, you won’t mind staying up all night
in there.”

“Even me?” Malory asked pathetically.

Clint’s tone changed when he looked at her, sounding more kind
than angry. “I hate do this to a visitor, but as long as you’re here under our
roof, you will have to abide to our rules. Count it as a good idea of what
happens to trouble-makers for when you begin your courses in the academy.” He
waved them away like they were a bunch of sheep. “Onward now, march!”

The teens obeyed, heading back to the academy they tried to escape
from. They were getting off easy for what they did–not nearly as bad as being
sent to The Hole–and only because nobody was hurt and no property was
destroyed. Still, the walk felt like forever and their handcuffs wouldn’t be
taken off until they got back. The sight of the academy was nothing but a dark
silhouette, outlined within the moon. They had no idea what was happening
inside and it would all be over by the time they returned.

Chapter 9

The steel slab of a door squeaked open, clicking closed right
after. Small boots tapped with haste against the tile floor; the chance of
being caught expected at such a late hour. Glenda’s black messenger bag slapped
against her narrow hip, its strap across the middle of her chest holding down
her silver necklaces to stifle their jingling. She set the bag upon the long
sink and rummaged through it. The random trinkets dangling off the bag’s side
chimed softly as she felt around inside.

Finding what she needed, Glenda pulled out the black-light lantern
and twisted the knob at its base. The girl’s bathroom was pitch black with the
door closed; the purple glow of the lantern being just enough for her to see
the outline of the counter and the shine of the mirror’s glass. Her reflection
was nothing but a floating face, her black clothes and hair hidden in the dark.
Leaving her bag behind, she lined herself up with the middle sink and laid the
lantern down beside it. Holding herself on the counter and simply looking at
the mirror, her breathing shuttered.

She closed her eyes and dipped her head down, keeping her voice
low and steady. “Bloody Mary.”

A face appeared in the mirror, shrouded within a cloud of smoke.
Its pure white eyes were encased in brittle bony sockets. Mummified skin was
broken off at the nose, only a triangular hole remaining. There was no sign of
a mouth of any kind, the entire jaw missing from the decayed skull. It floated
there, entranced in an endless stare.

Glenda didn’t want to open her eyes, knowing what was on the other
side of the glass. “Bloody Mary.”

The fog inside the mirror began to swim, revealing more of the
face. Its grey hair blew from an unknown wind, woolly and dead. Cobwebs were
tangled in the untamed knots between its long strands of hair, reaching down
past able sight. A long gown hid the figure's body, only thin skeletal hands
peeking from under the loose sleeves. Ribs protruded from the gowns collar, a
deep beating sound behind them.

Glenda hesitated, needing a moment to calm herself. “... Bloody
Mary.”

Two red dots formed on the mirror beside each other, slowly
growing in size. A thick red liquid bubbled out of the spots, making long
trails that collected down into the sink. More dots appeared, coming out two at
a time–just as the first did–all in a single line. After eight appeared, the
last two started in the very center, side by side. Blackened fingertips inched
their way out from the dots, gradually stretching through.

Hands started to form, thin bones creeping out of the mirror. The
figure changed from white to dark red; as dark and red as the fluid trickling
down all over its body. Dripping beads of red spread off and crawled up the
mirror, making their way to the ceiling. Slowly, the room was enveloped in the
strange substance, filling the room in a dim red light, like a darkroom. Glenda
was the only thing untouched by the pouring liquid that had enveloped the world
around her.

She didn’t move. Her lungs fought for air, her chest constricted.
A dry bitter fume engulfed the room, like what one would smell after prying
opening a long buried coffin. Glenda’s stomach turned, still not used to its
noxious odor. She kept her mouth closed, rather smelling it than tasting.

The entire spirit was out of the mirror, hovering above the
soapstone counter, arms spread low. Glenda could feel cloth brush against her
skin, cold and damp; a sensation toying with her spine. The ground under her
started to go away, an unknown force allowing her to float up slowly. Whatever
pulled her up reclined her back, having her become level with the floor below.
Her twin pony tails shook gently from the unseen force, strands of hair
slipping off her shoulders as she tilted.

The spirit made little noise, only a small feminine moan escaping
its hollowed-out throat every few seconds. The sound was pleasant, yet
uncomforting, like a beautiful melody played on a melted record. Glenda winced
with each moan, her stomach growing ill each time, tears squeezing their way
through her tightly shut eyelids. She kept her body limp, allowing the
invisible force do its bidding. Lifting Glenda higher, the spirit rose with
her; droplets of red fluid suddenly frozen in midair.

They floated inches from the ceiling’s limit, Glenda flinching
when they stopped abruptly. The long fabric of the spirit dripped heavily,
sending long strands of stringy red fluid down to the floor, like webbing that
grew with a mind of its own. The spirit's long wet sleeves surrounded Glenda in
a weak hold, bony arms cradling her. Her head rested against a cold and pointed
shoulder, the soft fabric almost hiding the discomfort. The thick fluid it was
covered in sent a strong chill through Glenda’s body, her hair and clothes soaking
it up instantly.

The spirits white eyes stared down at her, its head tilted in
sadness. So much to say and with no mouth to speak with. So much to do and with
no way to do it in. So much to want and with no way to obtain it. So much time
with Glenda, lost and with no way to reverse it.

She knew... and so did Glenda.

Finding the strength in her arms, Glenda stretched them out
towards the spirit. It bent forward, accepting her; Glenda’s arms wrapping
around its crumbling neck. She pressed her face against what little remained of
the spirit’s face — its decomposed skin squishy and moist. The putrid texture
of its opened flesh forced Glenda to cringe in disgust, but she didn’t dare to
push away in the slightest.

Instead, she embraced it.

“I miss you so much…” Glenda whispered.

The side of the spirit’s face was rigid from the broken-off jaw,
Glenda rubbing her forehead into its bare bone. Gloomy grunts echoed over the
sound of constant dripping. A skinless hand brushed at Glenda’s hair, stroking
her soft cheek right after. It bumped over her deep acne scars — visibly hidden
by covering creams and makeup. The spirit made a sudden loud wail, spurting
liquid out of the hole in its throat; startling Glenda.

Glenda hated this part every time prior, but the happiness she
gained still lingered. “Goodbye then. Until next time.”

The spirit faded away, back into the mirror, the fluid that
covered the room leaving with it. Glenda slowly descended back to the floor,
her dress slightly opening like an umbrella. The red world around her turned
back to the dull darkness she’s always lived in, the mysterious light fading
away. Silence returned — no more dripping or moaning. Once her feet touched the
ground, she opened her eyes.

It was just her in the bathroom now, her reflection dimly lit by
the lantern. Her face was clean, untouched, and dry; like nothing happened. She
tried to fight it back, but the urge to gag overwhelmed her. Nothing came out
of her mouth over the sink, but the ill state of her stomach remained. Picking
up her black-light lantern, Glenda gulped down what failed to come out as she
went to stash it back in her bag.

It was too good to be true.

She was only half way past the stalls when she could feel
something traveling up her throat. She quickly covered her mouth, her cheeks
blowing up like balloons. Rushing over to the nearest stall, she shoved the
door open, not caring about making noise anymore. Kneeling over the toilet
bowl, she took her hand away, and let it all out. The smell, the taste, and the
sight of her own vomit were all awful. But they were all worth it.

She didn’t eat too much for dinner; mostly sour bile coming out.
Flushing it down for good, she followed up by rinsing her mouth and washing her
hands in the sink, like clockwork by now. No matter how much water she used,
the taste would always linger — reminding her. Enough has been done tonight and
Glenda couldn’t wait to crawl into bed. Plopping the bag’s strip over her left
shoulder, she pushed the door open, getting a peek of the hallway.

Glenda gasped, quickly covering her mouth to stifle it. Dozens of
little creatures hobbled around in the halls, creeping into the rooms. Long
floppy ears bobbed above their silhouettes with each silent cackle, the hissing
between their fangs audible only to those who were aware of their presence. She
could make out three long claws on each hand, their clear hooked tips like
prisms — sending arrays of colors into the floor as they crossed the moonlight.
One started walking in her direction, Glenda closing the door immediately.

She ran back into the stall, closing the toilet lid to perch on
top of it. Holding herself tightly, she kept her bag tucked between her legs.
The pounding in her chest was enough to make her fear that whatever was out
there would hear it, making her heart pound even more. She waited, trying
effortlessly to sense something in the darkness — any kind of sign. Trying to
calm her shuddering breaths to no avail, all she could do was fight back the
ever-apparent urge to cry.

It was silent, not a single noise. Nothing stirred, not even a
door opening. She felt a little better, but was far from settled. Dropping her
legs down, she allowed herself to ease up a bit, her wrist already sore from
gripping them so tightly. It will be a while before she was willing to get out
of the stall, and even longer for her to enter the halls.

.  .  .

The switch clicked, but the flashlight stayed as the only source
of illumination. “Hmm, that’s funny,” Clint grumbled.

“
Welp,
” Roland said, stretching his arms up, “lights don’t
work. Looks like it’s time for us to hit the hay and do this detention thing
some other time.”

Right when Roland took a step to escape, Clint snatched him by the
ear, nearly tugging it clean off as he reeled him back inside the detention
room. “Not a chance.”

Roland panted in pain. “
Owowowow
, okay, okay. I’m staying,
I’m staying!” He rubbed his lobe once Clint let go. “Jeez, no need to pull out
the big guns for such a small goof.”

“Looks like the power’s out or something,” Clint told them, going
over to an emergency chest by the teacher’s desk. “We’ll just have to make due
until it comes back; this place has always had bad wiring. That’s what we get
for being away from the main power grid.” Pulling out a few small
battery-powered lanterns, he handed them to the delinquents as he continued.
“Just keep these by your desks and sit away from each other.”

One by one, they took a lantern and turned them on, spreading out
among the aisles. Clint went over to the desk and opened up a drawer, grabbing
some detention slips to fill them out. The room wasn’t too dark–the moon almost
being enough to keep an actual class in order–but the teens still made a
racket, bumping into chairs and desks on their way to sit down. Dispersing to
the different corners of the room, the teens all took a desk and got ready for
a boring night of sitting down and doing nothing. Seeing that Clint was
occupied with the slips, Angelica changed chairs to sit behind Errol.

“This is all your fault,” Angelica hissed behind his ear. “Now my
record is tarnished thanks to you.”

Errol twisted around, holding onto the backrest casually. “Why are
you blaming me? I didn’t force you to go into the woods.”

“I can hear you guys talking,” Clint warned, refilling his
fountain pen in the ink well.

“If it wasn’t for you getting the idea to run away,” Angelica
continued, “we wouldn’t have wanted to go with you!”

Roland waddled over to intervene, still in the desk and carrying
it down the aisle. “Don’t blame Errol for that, muffincake. Now see here: he
wouldn’t have wanted to leave if the Oneiro Rangers didn’t make people go
bonkers. Now, would he?”

Clint raised his head in interest, stopping in the middle of a
letter. “Can you repeat that last part Mr. Lugosi?”

“It was you that told us, Morphy,” Roland started, “The Nightmares
made all of those loonies in there. I saw them, they were practically foaming
from the mouth, they were.”

Clint walked over to a desk to sit on top of it, crossing his arms
and chuckling, “And… did you hear the second part of what I said
after
we saw the first hall?”

“Of course I did. We—” Roland paused, turning to Errol, “—what was
that about a second part?”

Errol shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head.

“Well,” Clint explained, “if you were listening to what I was
saying instead of talking in the back of the line–as you two were–you would
have known how those people were infected by the nightmare virus in the first
place. I went on to say how your class is lucky that the vaccine for the virus
was just created a few years back and is given to everyone on the first day.
You know, back when you were in grade school. Those people in the asylum are
the last batch.” He stood up to lean back. “It’s a bitter tragedy that the
vaccine doesn’t work once you’re infected, but we can only do what we can make
do with.”

“Sooooo...” Roland winced at his own slowly churning realization.
“... what you’re saying is that we don’t have anything to worry about, right?”

Clint laughed, getting up to return to his paperwork. “Just
getting injured on the job of course. But, that’s what the trainings for. So,
yes, there is no reason any of you will end up in the asylum. In fact, the main
reason we show it to you guys is for you to cherish how well you have it now,
unlike the ones before you. Even though only some of the Nightmares have the
virus for pantophobia, it was still a big problem back in the day.”