Transmission: A Supernatural Thriller (22 page)

Whenever his thoughts returned to that night, at the roadside where they'd waited for the cops to arrive, Kenji almost felt as though he were there all over again.

Waiting for about twenty minutes beside the ruined LeSabre, Kenji and Dylan had fallen into a catatonic state. Even as the fleet of cruisers and ambulances arrived, they barely reacted. The two were hauled away from the wreck, and watched blankly as Reggie's body was pulled from the driver's side door of the toppled car.

The questions had been the worst. The scene had been utterly baffling to the first responders. They didn't know what to make of this wreck. Why did the driver have his throat slashed? What were two UW-Madison students doing out in the-middle-of-nowhere, Minnesota at such an hour?

It was all the two of them could do to spill their guts. They told all, explained the unbelievable circumstances that'd led them to the shack, and even directed the cops to the site.

 
Not that the authorities believed a word of it. They searched the property extensively, but no sign of the reported body was ever found, and subsequent searches into the persona of “Agnes Pasztor” yielded nothing. The esoteric book, too; the
Carte de Umbra Lungi
, or
Book of Long Shadows
, had disappeared from the shack by the time Kenji and Dylan arrived with the police. This former detail wasn't especially surprising; being a Hungarian immigrant, it was entirely possible that documentation on Agnes was lacking.

Their confessions landed them in a rural Minnesota jail for more than twenty-four hours. Though the responding officers did not believe the pair to have anything to do with the murder of native Minnesotan Reggie Cash, they had admitted to breaking and entering on private property. The shack belonged to a man living in St. Paul, and there was talk that he might sue the two of them for damages.

Thankfully, the owner of the shack and the land surrounding it was an understanding man. Middle-aged, he'd inherited the spot from his father and had never used it for anything; in fact, he'd more or less forgotten about it until the cops informed him of the damages. His father, just before his death eight years ago, had constructed the shack as a placeholder for what was to one day become a proper home in the country. The man had died before he could construct the house however, and with him had gone all the plans for anything more substantial on the property. The current owner, a Mr. Franklin, decided not to press charges and both Dylan and Kenji were released late the next afternoon.

And so the two of them made the solemn drive back to campus. Neither of them spoke the whole way home. Kenji ignored calls from his parents; he had no plans whatsoever to discuss what had happened in Akeley. Making the return journey in a single day, they'd gotten back to the dormitory late at night and had retired at once.

Things hadn't been the same since. They barely spoke to one another, barely left their rooms or ate. The place was still empty; they had about two weeks left before students would begin to return in anticipation of the new semester, and were consequently steeped in isolation.

Neither of them had had a desire to talk about all they'd gone through. In many ways, it felt to them like a terrible dream they hadn't been able to wake up from. The trauma was still too fresh. Kenji wondered if they'd ever be able to speak about it, if their friendship hadn't been ruined by the hideous things they'd uncovered in Akeley. Where usually traumatic experiences can bring friends together in the long-run, the strange case of Agnes Pasztor was a very different matter. The two of them had come down with a potent hopelessness in the days since those horrors had unfolded, and would never again look at life the same way. When classes resumed and they were forced, by circumstance, to participate in the activities that their status as students demanded of them, it was possible they would become acquainted once again with normalcy.

But Kenji doubted it.

After the things they'd unearthed, the strangeness they'd weathered, there could be no returning to the innocent baseline they'd once known. Kenji felt the change in himself; the events in Akeley had affected him on a cellular level, had completely changed his outlook on life. In many ways, he felt his capacity for joy utterly demolished. Here he was, a young man in his prime. He and Dylan should have been entering the best years of their lives. Instead, they lived a nightmare every time they closed their eyes.

Worse, perhaps, than the disorienting despair that plagued them was the distinct impression that they were being monitored at all times by something they couldn't see. This was a feeling that the two of them had gotten to know very well at the shack, but to experience it in their unpeopled dormitory at all hours of the day was particularly distressing. They didn't talk about it, but now and then the pair would exchange worried glances when the unseen presence waxed dominant, communicating in their gazes an acknowledgement of the oppressive, omnipresent thing they could not put a name to.

Wherever he went, especially during those times when the feeling of being watched was at is most intense, Kenji feared he might encounter Agnes. Though she never actually materialized, she seemed to lurk around every corner, to stand behind every door, so that Kenji's imagination was always on full tilt. He could never relax unless he sat with his back to a wall and closed his eyes. But then the memories would begin darting through his mind once again like a horror film that he simply couldn't switch off and he'd be administered a fresh dose of hopelessness.

 
There could be no escaping the truth of what had happened. He, Dylan and Reggie had been utilized as pawns in Agnes' game. The woman had been buried in the hopes of fulfilling a strange and dangerous ritual, and had reached out to the world so that she might be unearthed should her helper fail to locate her resting place. But what had happened once she'd been released from her tomb and entered once again the world of men? Had she truly brought something back with her from the other side? Now and then Kenji's thoughts would revisit that terrifying book filled with macabre illustrations. He remembered all too well the hideous visage of that which was dubbed repeatedly the “Dark One” in the pages of the
Carte de Umbra Lungi
, and tried to imagine what it might be like if such a thing were to truly emerge into the world.

Perhaps if he'd had a while longer to study the ancient tome he'd have learnt more. Perhaps that ancient book had even included instructions on how to reverse the hideous events that'd unfolded. Unfortunately, the book had vanished before he could take another look at it. And even if it hadn't disappeared, he probably wouldn't have been able to find the courage to lay eyes on it again.

What would Agnes do, now that she was among the living again? Kenji grappled with the thought again and again but never drew closer to an answer.

In the end, it never was his role to know the greater gist of Agnes' mission. He and the others had just been pawns after all. They'd done their part. Now all that remained was to sit and wait for they knew not what.

THIRTY-FOUR

Dylan tapped the remote against his thigh impatiently. “Doubt there will be anything good to watch, but it's worth a shot, I guess.” Retreating back into his nest of covers, he sat cross-legged on his bed and waited for the Netflix menu to load up on the TV.

Kenji stuck a Twizzler into his mouth and killed the lights, hoping that they'd find a movie worth streaming. It didn't have to be a work of art. Any old distraction would do. There was less than a week left before classes started, and already the dorm was showing sluggish signs of a return to normalcy. The day before had brought a few carloads of students back, and tomorrow morning Kenji felt sure there would be many more.

Things were still awfully quiet in the building, but the thought of things going back to normal there, of the halls and bathrooms becoming crowded again, was strangely comforting. Even if his own life never managed to get back to baseline, the hustle and bustle of a new semester would serve to keep his mind from wandering back to less pleasant things.

Kenji and Dylan had put some distance between themselves and the events in Akeley, but like a deep wound, the horror would not scab over. They were still haunted by nightmares, still felt paranoid whenever they wandered the halls. As students came back to campus, the two of them held out hope that their minds might eventually heal over those frightful memories.

Kenji had to constantly remind himself of how fortunate he and his roommate really were, in the grand scheme of things. They carried the dreadful memories of Agnes' apparent resurrection, of the remote shack and more, but at least they were still alive. Reggie hadn't been so lucky. He had to concede, even in those moments when his fear and paranoia swelled to incredible heights, that he and Dylan had been spared the worst of those unsightly terrors in Akeley.

This night, they'd rediscovered their appetites, and after going for days with minimal food and activity, they'd set out on a long walk in the cool evening, visiting a convenience store and hauling back all the junk food they could carry. Upon demolishing a few more pieces of licorice, Kenji cracked open a soda and a bag of potato chips. The food tasted glorious to him. The Mountain Dew he drank was like ambrosia, the snacks a virtual feast. Dylan, too, began to eat with gusto, and they played around on Netflix for some time, munching contentedly.

“A comedy. Definitely a comedy,” said Dylan from around a mouthful of cheap pastry. “I need something funny.” He straightened his glasses and shrugged off the blankets he wore just a bit, scanning the rows of comedy films on offer. “I think I saw a new Will Ferrell movie on here last time I checked...”

Dylan often spent more time trying to find something worth watching on TV than on the actual feature itself. Their ritual involved perusing every last movie in any given category, disagreeing on them all, and then finally settling on something random. “Dude, just pick whatever. I don't care. I'm getting tired.”

Dylan fooled around for another twenty minutes, debating the merits of this movie and that, before finally turning on an old John Candy film. The opening credits began and Dylan watched pensively, one hand buried in a bag of Funyuns.

By this time, Kenji was bushed. Struggling to remain upright, he began nodding off. He laid out across his bed, facing the TV, but this only made it more difficult for him to keep his eyes open. He sipped lazily at his can of soda, but the caffeine didn't touch him. He was down for the count. Laughter and commotion on the screen came to his ears, but he didn't pay them any mind. Kenji drifted off into a light sleep as Dylan snickered at the film.

 
Kenji's mind grasped at the frayed edges of vague dreams. He dreamt of a swirling darkness, of long, cold country roads. The smell of soil entered the sensory equation. The
taste
of earth, too, overcame the aftertastes of candy and soda while he slept. Twitching, Kenji felt himself teetering on the very border between sleep and wakefulness. He was vaguely distressed by this; unable to move, unable to speak, he felt like he was frozen in place. Paralyzed. He could open his eyes, and in doing so he saw the television, saw his roommate looking towards him with wide, worried eyes.

Closing his eyes, there was only pitch black darkness. He felt the crushing weight all around him, smelled the cold, hard earth as it pressed in from every side.

He was having a nightmare, dreaming that he'd been buried in the ground.

Like Agnes.

Kenji thrashed as he awoke, falling out of bed and almost knocking Dylan over. Dylan hovered over him, his eyes still wide, his face pale. Wiping the sleep from his face, Kenji sat up on the floor and sucked in a deep breath. “Bad dream,” he muttered. “Just a bad dream.”

The look of panic on Dylan's face didn't waver, however. His blankets had been strewn on the floor, and he stood still as a statue, seemingly incapable of drawing a full breath. He looked intensely worried, like he'd just seen something traumatizing. To Kenji's eyes, Dylan looked just like a wounded animal, tail between his legs.

 
“I'm fine, man,” said Kenji, sitting on the edge of the bed. Cracking a smile, he mimicked Dylan's frightened expression. “Are
you
OK?”

 
Dylan pointed to the television and gave him a yank. “
Look
,” he said under his breath, his fist trembling as it locked around Kenji's shirt.

 
Kenji turned to the TV. In his frightened awakening, he hadn't hardly glanced at it, but now that he'd had a few seconds to regain his cognizance he could tell that something was wrong. When he'd drifted off they'd been watching
Planes, Trains and Automobiles
, but that wasn't what filled the screen now.

The screen was frozen, the image on it flickering unsteadily. The movie hadn't been paused by the looks of it; more likely the playback had locked up of its own accord. Maybe the campus internet was lagging. Looking at the image on the screen, Kenji narrowed his gaze and tried to make sense of it. Then, it hit him.

Kenji sat bolt upright.

He knew the face that looked back at him.

Agnes Pasztor was staring at them through the television screen.

Her visage was roughly-cast, pixellated somewhat, but that it was her there was no doubt. The background was an off-white color, and behind her there loomed something amorphous and dark. It might have been her shadow, except that it moved, shifted, in a strange way even as Agnes remained stationary at the screen's center.

“I shut off the TV,” explained Dylan, shaking. “I turned it off. And then it turned back on.”

 
The image of Agnes on the screen flickered, her pixellated face changing ever so slightly. The television speakers crackled as her voice began to come through. She spoke in hushed whispers, the words too muddled and low to understand. If he listened closely, Kenji thought he could make out not one, but
two
voices speaking in unison. One of them a low growl, the other breathy and feminine. The combination reminded him of the terrible voice that'd come through on the radio so many nights ago during their makeshift séance in the shack.