The Narrows, page 15
“That’s why he became such good friends with Eric,” Davontae said. “The two of them loved getting stoned together.”
“And then not to mention his fucking phone situation,” Sophia went on. “He broke his phone and never got another one. And then when he finally got another one, he paid for, like, six months of service then stopped. What were we supposed to do?” As Oliver opened his mouth, she said, “Don’t say ‘mail a letter.’ No one mails letters. Not without a specific purpose, anyway. No one just ‘stays in touch’ with letters.”
“Well, in any case, we had fun the other night,” Oliver said. “Maybe it would’ve been fun to invite him here. We might as well hang out when we’re all in the same town, right?”
Sophia and Davontae both shrugged, so he dropped the subject.
But Sophia jumped right back into it. “We’re nothing like Noah. Don’t give me that shit. He made the conscious decision to cut us out of his life.”
Unless the knave was controlling him, Oliver thought. Who knew how long the thing might’ve had its grip on him.
“Did he, though?” Oliver suggested, his voice soft.
This caused both of his companions to look up at him. No one had complained about Noah more than Oliver (though Sophia had come close). To offer any amount of sympathy in regards to the situation was hugely uncharacteristic of him.
“The fuck are you talking about?” Sophia asked him. “Of course he did. None of us broke our phones like a bunch of idiots. He didn’t either, from what I can tell. And that motherfucker was on a computer every day at work, I saw him logged on.”
She was getting heated, as she often did when the topic was brought up. Oliver usually joined her in her admonishment, but today he was too exhausted. And unsure, now, after seeing the knave’s agenda.
Sophia said, “Look at us. Sitting here in this weirdly-placed Waffle House together. I’ve been living in New York for almost five years. None of us ever fell out of touch once. Noah was already losing touch with everyone before he even left last year, not to mention when he finally did! When was the last time you spoke to him? Actually spoke to him?”
She crossed her arms, awaiting an answer.
Oliver said, “His farewell dinner.”
“When was that?” she asked.
“August,” Davontae said. “Last year. Right before he moved.”
“Sixteen months ago,” Sophia said, glaring at Oliver, her eyes piercing him for the mere suggestion that Noah was innocent.
Oliver nodded, confirming her simple math.
“He never let you know he had made it to Omaha. He never mentioned how the new job was going. He never asked what you thought of any of the hundreds of movies that came out in that time, which is, like, the simplest of conversation topics. Instead, he just left Texas and was gone without a fuckin’ trace. Like we’d never known him.”
“He didn’t act that way when he lived in Oregon,” Oliver interjected. “Maybe something was wrong this time.” He envisioned the knave consuming Noah.
“Nothing was wrong,” Sophia said, exasperated. “He just didn’t give a shit anymore. And let me tell you, having lived apart from my closest friends for so long—giving a shit is very easy. All I ever wanna do is tell you two what’s going on in my life. The weird shit I see on the subway, the guys I meet, what dumb nonsense is going on at work. I want to share my life with you because you aren’t up there experiencing it with me every day.”
By then, their waitress had brought the drinks over and everyone took a break to sip their coffee. Davontae had nothing further to contribute. Oliver couldn’t come up with a rebuttal.
“Don’t make excuses for him,” Sophia finally said, closing the argument. “He left. He forgot about us. That’s it.”
With those words, Oliver couldn’t help but think about the knave again. About how it had twisted itself around Christopher Pedraza until the man couldn’t face himself any longer, and how he suspected it had done the same to Noah, following him across the country and back.
As Sophia and Davontae moved on to another subject, it seemed even less likely that he could ever convince them of what he’d seen. Of his theory about the knave.
He needed to get to the bottom of it all, and he was going to have to do it by himself.
Tomorrow, he would go see the knave. He would learn how to enter the Narrows, and he would seek out Noah’s gem there. He did not know yet how he would restore it in order to save his friend, but that was a problem for later.
For now, his problem was simply deciding what to eat for dinner.
FRIDAY 01/04/19
The Howl
It had been one week since the first day Oliver encountered the Narrows, and he desperately hoped that today would be the last.
As per usual, he parked on the street by the entrance of Shumard Springs and then made his way to the back of the neighborhood, passing by the spot where Noah died with a sideways glance.
A little farther down the street, he could see Ash’s house. Realizing this, he ducked down and swiftly scuttled back behind the row of houses in an effort to not be noticed by her, though he was concealed by the veil of night.
It was nearing ten o’clock in the evening. Most of Oliver’s day was spent psyching himself up to confront the knave, in between meals and television with his mother. They had bundled up and gone out to grab some fried chicken to bring back home and eat while watching a marathon of a reality house-buying show she had recorded. Oliver zoned out through much of the programming, which was fine by him; he needed to focus on the night’s task. An uneventful day was a welcome reprieve.
There was a risk that the knave would not be present this late at night, but it hadn’t specified a timeframe at all when it told Oliver to meet it—not even a day of the week—so he figured it would probably show up no matter when he arrived. He couldn’t imagine the creature going to sleep, though the image of it tucking itself underneath some sheets was amusing, in a creepy sort of way.
Oliver stood at the precipice of the ditch behind Shumard Springs with the grassy field and row of two-story houses at his back. He shuddered at the image of the beast (Orrum, the knave had called it) lumbering around, unseen to the naked eye, clawing at the ground and climbing atop buildings, lying in wait.
The neighborhood was quiet, as were all Shumard suburban neighborhoods at night. No one ever went on walks, no one was ever throwing loud parties. The entire town was quiet, reserved. A perfect cover for the Narrows, when he thought about it.
Crickets played their shrill songs, punctuated by the sporadic croak of a nearby toad, likely situated at the nadir of the gulch in the trickle of water, soaking up what moisture it could. Oliver briefly listened to the lonesome toad’s warbles, sitting out there alone in the dark of a January night.
As he stood there by himself, his thoughts wandered to those of his friends. He felt foolish for comparing himself to a lonely toad, but he had to admit he would’ve liked the company of Davontae, or Sophia, or Ash, or all of them. Even Jez’s presence would put him at ease.
Just as he began to consider it might have been a mistake coming alone, the knave appeared at the bottom of the gulch.
“Hello, Oliver,” it said in its unnatural whip-crack voice. It looked up at him, its squat body tilted on the slope. The black skin bubbled and popped, the fizzing intermingling with crickets’ chirrups. The toad had fallen silent.
“Hi,” he said, hoping it hadn’t detected the tremor in his voice.
“I missed you yesterday,” the knave said. “I was waiting for you all day. I expected you to make an appearance.”
“Sorry,” Oliver apologized idiotically, though he didn’t know why. He regretted his words and chastised himself.
The knave smiled its horrible, razor-sharp smile. “It is quite alright. You are here now. I take it you would like to see the Narrows?”
You’ve already come this far.
The thought did not help. In fact, it did exactly the opposite, shaking the foundation of Oliver’s confidence. It was crumbling.
You need to help Noah.
He said, “Yes.”
“Excellent,” said the knave, slithering forward. It glided up the gentle incline. The constantly-shifting blank face bore into Oliver’s eyes, sending unease rippling through him. He wanted to look away from the creature, but he couldn’t.
The knave detected his discomfort. “Are you okay, Oliver?” it asked, coming to a stop only a few feet in front of him. “We can do this another time, if you would prefer. Though, I must say…I am grateful for your assistance the other day, but my generosity is not quite limitless.”
In other words, it’s now or never.
“I’m fine,” Oliver lied, trying to maintain steadiness. “How does this work, then?” He gulped down a nervous cough.
There was an edge to his voice. He wanted this over as quickly and smoothly as possible. He would get in, find Noah’s gem, and get out.
Granted, he had no earthly idea where to even begin searching. But given how strongly he had felt Christopher Pedraza’s presence within that blue gem, a man he’d never once met, Oliver was confident that with his years of history with Noah, he would be drawn to it like a fish hooked on a line.
“It is very simple, believe it or not,” the knave said, sliding around Oliver’s backside. He was being forced to put a lot of trust into this creature that he did not actually trust at all.
Oliver listened for the toad, didn’t hear it, and hoped it was still okay.
~
Eyes closed. A deep sigh. Steady breathing. Oliver pressed his fingers against his leg, cracking his knuckles.
Meager attempts to soothe himself, to calm down. He opened his eyes and saw the knave turned around, facing the drainage ditch.
“Anybody can enter the Narrows,” it said, still facing away. “As long as they are aware of how to do so.”
Oliver asked, after some hesitation, “If anyone can do it, why couldn’t you take Christopher’s gem yourself?”
The knave sounded irritable in its reply. “As I have told you before, simply crossing over is starkly different from being fully in that world. Being able to carry things over from one to the other.”
It rotated, its movements perfectly smooth. Unearthly. They were buffeted by the night air, which bit and clawed at Oliver’s face. He waited for the creature to continue.
“May I go on?” it asked. “Or do you have more questions that I have already answered?”
Oliver shook his head.
“One can be transported there simply by touch,” it continued, stretching a tentacle-like arm toward him. Oliver jerked away, and the knave slowly retracted its limb. “But I can also teach you how to enter it yourself. I take it that is preferred?”
Oliver nodded. The thought of the knave’s touch was unsettling. He had absolutely no desire to learn how the surface of its bubbling skin felt.
“Very well,” it nodded. “As I was saying, it is quite simple. All you must do is visualize the Narrows—its landscape, its sounds, its smells—and feel yourself melt into it. Become a part of it, and you will find it. Can you recall it?”
How the hell would I forget?
Then Oliver said, “That sounds…” He searched for the correct word. “…stupid,” is what he landed on.
The knave shot him a devious grin. “Even so,” it said, “that changes nothing. If you wish to travel to the Narrows, then that is how it is done.”
“That’s how you go back and forth between the worlds too?” Oliver asked it.
“Yes,” the knave nodded. “I am no different. I possess no special power. I am but a humble servant of Orrum, the Limbless. I lack the strength and powers of an Eidolon.”
Oliver couldn’t piece together why an “Eidolon” would choose not to flit between worlds if it was so powerful. Based on the little he’d seen, those things could destroy Shumard if they wanted to. Orrum looked like an aberrant god.
Regardless, he shut his eyes and tried to visualize the otherworld.
“How will I know it’s working?” he asked.
“Do not fret. It will be clear.”
He didn’t like being unable to see the knave, but he kept his eyes clasped shut and imagined the Narrows.
The dead grass. The dilapidated buildings. The acrid aroma. The smoky haze that enveloped everything. Orrum overlooking his kingdom.
In his mind, he visualized Noah sitting on the ground beside him, his knees pulled up to his chest. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt sporting a band logo, some local band they had seen in Shumard years and years ago that had never made it big.
Noah said, “You don’t have to do this. Not for me.”
“I do if it’s going to save you.”
“I’m not going to come back. It doesn’t matter.”
“You don’t know that.”
He suddenly felt a shift in his body. It was as if his legs had fallen asleep, with a slight tingle resonating through them, and yet at the same time they were weightless. The weightlessness seemed to lift him up; the prickly sensation covered every inch of his body, moving upward toward his head, like insects skittering beneath his flesh. As it reached his head, it morphed into the familiar buzzing of the Narrows.
With a jolt, his body felt like it was being flattened by an enormous, invisible hand. The droning in his ears was overpowering, and he could physically feel his body changing, becoming formless, shrinking down and waning.
Until it wasn’t.
The buzzing remained, but aside from that, in an instant he felt normal. With apprehension, he opened his eyes. First one, then the other.
He was in the Narrows.
It looked the same as it had the other day. It didn’t seem to be nighttime, but he couldn’t tell what time of day it truly was. Oliver wondered whether time actually passed in this world or if it was perpetually stuck. Stuck in whatever was the opposite of “the golden hour.”
Standing there in the Narrows, actually there and not only seeing a flicker, the buzzing in his ears was unbearable. He clapped his hands to the sides of his head, cupping his ears, trying in vain to drown out the noise.
Holy shit. Shit. I can’t—
He wasn’t going to be able to stay. He had to get back to the real Shumard Springs. When he had only been given flickers of the Narrows, he had thought the sound was bad enough, but now that he was in the thick of it, it threatened to kill him.
His head was exploding, buzzing like a beehive.
Noticing his extreme distress, the knave slithered toward him and reached its arms upward. It grabbed his hands, moved them away, and then placed its own on his ears. Oliver recoiled from its touch, which was hot and damp.
Its limbs extended and oozed, filling his ear canals, and he was powerless to stop it. The knave’s liquid shadow snaked through and filled every crevice of the canals, rubbing up against the membrane of his eardrums. It was initially uncomfortable, but the more it massaged, the softer the buzzing grew, until finally the droning ceased entirely.
The knave withdrew its arms and backed away. Oliver breathed deep, relief soaking into him.
“Thank you,” he said to the knave, though he hated being helped by it. Being in its debt.
The knave stood before him, but the first thing Oliver did now that he had regained his faculties was cast a glance over his shoulder. He breathed a comforted sigh, thankful that Orrum was not there, clinging to that same house. Though that left the question of where Orrum was now.
He shook away the dreadful thought. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t looking for Orrum. He was looking for—
“I think I can help you further,” the knave said. Its body shimmered in this world, and its skin was no longer boiling over. It looked weirdly normal, an oxymoron that Oliver failed to comprehend as he stared at it.
“How?” he asked, dubious.
“Follow me, if you please…” It slipped past him and headed in the direction of the neighborhood. The Not-Shumard Springs.
In the Narrows, its voice did not ripple through the air. No aspect of the knave was distorted. Everything about it was under control in its natural habitat. Oliver shuddered at the idea of Orrum crossing over, how his body might lash out against the environment. He hypothesized it might be a tad more intense than bubbling skin.
“Where are we going?” Oliver asked. He didn’t fully trust the knave, but he figured he had no other option. He didn’t find himself being tugged along an invisible line toward Noah’s gem like he’d hoped.
Not bothering to check if Oliver was following, the knave called back, “Where we must go.”
Oliver sighed and pressed onward in the knave’s wake.
~
The Narrows were like a dream.
With its perpetual haze, there was a certain drowsiness to the world. Like waking up and needing to rub the sleep out of your eyes.
The air had a rotten sweetness to it, reminding Oliver of the time he and Davontae had trekked downtown to the museum to see a corpse flower blooming. Standing in that long, winding line for over an hour, the stench grew fouler and fouler as they moved forward, only to spend mere seconds by the plant. And neither of them had remembered to whip out their phones to photograph it like everyone else.
Whatever the foul odor was that he smelled now, it got stronger as he and the knave soldiered onward. Moving up in line. Approaching the corpse flower.
The streets of Not-Shumard Springs were identical to those in the “real” world, except devoid of any vehicles. As they made their way onto the sidewalk, Oliver also noticed cracks in the pavement that he was sure were not mirrored in the other neighborhood. The Narrows were just like Shumard, but worse. Decaying.
“Are the Narrows only here?” he asked the knave, which slinked along a few feet ahead on the uneven sidewalk. The question felt awkward tumbling out of his mouth, so he rephrased. “I mean, does it only cover Shumard, or is it…everywhere?”
