Messenger of Fear (Messenger of Fear 1)

Liam struggled with the two meaty chunks that would together form his love’s upper torso.

Two!

Liam grabbed Emma’s head and pushed it down against the severed neck.

A gong sounded.

No one breathed. I was sure even Messenger did not.

The Game Master said, “The player has won.” He was, without any doubt, disappointed. But he maintained his monstrous dignity as the bower, that tangle of imprisoning branches, withdrew into his maze of a body.

Emma sucked suddenly at the air. She coughed. Liam bent over her on hands and knees and raised her up until she was sitting. He put his arms around her, and the two of them sobbed into the other’s shoulder.

“Am I needed further?” the Game Master asked.

“No,” Messenger said. “Not at this time.”

“Have I performed my office?”

“Yes. You may withdraw.”

The Game Master nodded. It was an almost amiable gesture. He stepped back and the mist wrapped around him, and he was soon gone from view. The sound of his captive creatures skittering and crying lasted for another few seconds and then faded beyond hearing, though not beyond memory.

“Stand,” Messenger said to Liam and Emma.

I was amazed that they could manage it, and indeed it took some time. They seemed as stiff and weak as if they were very old people. But finally, helping each other, they stood erect, still holding hands, their faces masks of apprehension.

“You did wrong,” Messenger said. “But you played the game and prevailed. You are free to go on with your lives.”

“Are you kidding me?” Emma demanded. Her voice was shaky with the aftereffects of terror but powered by outrage. “You do that to us? You do that? And then—”

Liam cut her off. “He said we can go. Let’s go.”

Emma was not so easily silenced and lashed us with a furious onslaught of curses in both Spanish and English. But Liam managed to get her into the car, closed the door, and with a baleful look back at Messenger and, I suppose me as well, started the engine and drove off into the night.

I am never without words, but not then, not at that moment when I felt so utterly drained, so helpless and hopeless that I feared I would simply slip into unconsciousness.

“You are tired,” Messenger said.

I was shaking too much to even nod my head.

“Yes, you need sleep. And food. We will go.”

He watched me, saw my incapacity, the shock that reduced me to a near-paralytic state, and nodded.

“It is very shocking, the first time. You will grow more accustomed to it.”

I wanted to tell him that the very idea of becoming accustomed to such foulness made me want to vomit. I wanted to tell him that I would have no part of this, not now, not ever. I wanted to rage and beat my fists against his impassive face.

But he was no longer there.

I was in a bed.

The covers were pulled up to my neck.

My head rested on a soft pillow.

And sleep took me.