Part 12

The sun shines down from directly above, but the light seems to come from everywhere. I put my hand up to shield my eyes as I squint across the landscape: completely flat, barren, featureless… desolate. It seems that I can see forever -- maybe miles -- to the horizon, unbroken by mountains, hills or vegetation. The ground is dry, bone white, splintered into a million interconnecting lines. I feel as if I have been searching for something and just now forgotten what it was. I turn in a circle; the view is the same in every direction. I feel very small and very alone here. Peering into the distance, I can see a speck far away. Perhaps it’s a person? Maybe they can tell me what I’m looking for or point me in the right direction. I take a step toward the speck, the cracking ground collapses briefly into powdery sand under my foot. It makes no sound. The sun is very bright, but the light isn’t warm. I shiver in the cold radiance that surrounds me. I move steadily toward the dark speck, my footprints left behind like a mark on the surface of the moon. After what seems a very long time -- maybe hours -- it begins to resolve itself into a human shape.

A tall man stands upright, dressed all in black. In his right hand, he holds a black umbrella directly above his head, shading himself from the incessant sunlight. His face is obscured, all in shadow. From his left hand falls something red and long, like a fountain of blood frozen midstream. As I move closer I realize that a long scarf drapes from his hand. I am curious until I see that he casts no shadow on the ground. I stop short. He is motionless, doesn’t move to greet me; makes no sign that he even notices my approach. The figure seems more ominous now that I can see it clearly. Indeed, a sense of foreboding begins to crawl along the back of my neck, along my arms, sliding down my spine. I don’t want to get closer now. In fact, I would rather do all I can to move in the opposite direction. And suddenly, despite my misgivings, I feel myself beginning to drift toward the figure.

I stumble backward and while he remains motionless --his scarf a splash of crimson across the achromatic landscape, umbrella casting black across his face -- he comes increasingly closer. I turn and begin to walk quickly away, in the only direction that matters, away from the figure. I look back over my shoulder, and find he is closer still, only twenty feet away. At any moment, he will be close enough that I may see the features on the darkened face. I begin to run headlong. The face of the landscape does not change, and I feel I am making no progress at all. In a moment, I will be overtaken and I cannot say what will happen then.

A shadow drops across my shoulder and I stumble, falling. I am breathless, fear stealing every mouthful of air. The shadow continues to grow past me, across the ground. I look up and watch as a bank of black clouds rolls across the sky, instantly changing the bitter light into portentous dusk. I turn to gauge the figure’s progress. A scream lodges in my throat as I look directly up and into the dark space where a face should be. There is nothing. I can feel the faceless nothing steal into my bones, immobilizing me, binding me to the ground. A deafening crack of thunder and I watch as the clouds dissolve downward into a rain of insects. I am pelted by the thick brown bodies of grasshoppers. I can feel their legs like twigs where they tangle in my hair. The ground writhes with their scrabbling movement. Soon I will be engulfed. Locusts roll off the end of his umbrella and fall onto my face as the figure stands over me….

It was cold. Stinging drops burned like needles of ice against her skin. Eleanor opened her eyes, expecting darkness, expecting some vision of horror to greet them.

She was in her own bathroom, on the shower floor, in the corner where two tiled walls met. Frigid water jetted from the showerhead above her. Naked and shuddering with cold, she tried to move. She was stiff, like something frozen from the inside out. She pulled herself to her feet and the world reeled. Against the wall, her entire body shook. With convulsing fingers, she turned the knob to switch off the water and pulled a large towel from where it hung over the shower door. As she pulled it across her shoulders and wrapped it around herself, she opened the door and stepped onto the concrete floor. Eleanor stood, waiting for the tremors to pass, wondering how long she had been sitting under the fall of cold water. Harvest lounged in the empty garden tub, scrutinizing her.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” he said ambiguously.

“What do you mean?” Her teeth chattered.

“I didn’t know when you’d be back,” he answered.

Eleanor pulled the towel more tightly around her. Gradually, the shaking subsided. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror and felt she looked out through someone else’s eyes. She wondered if her reflection would ever look familiar to her. When she moved to the doorway, Harvest cleared his throat. She turned to ask him what he wanted and saw he was looking down at the floor. Eleanor followed his eyes. There were several dark spots marking the sealed concrete. Each was red and glistening, in the shape of a slender foot. She looked at Harvest and then down at her own feet. One foot lifted, still holding the towel about her shoulders, she looked over her shoulder. The sole of her foot was sliced in even lines and oozing blood. She raised the other foot and saw the same thing. Ten slashes, placed equidistant and exactly the same length, on each sole.

Harvest chuckled when he saw her eyes widen. She rested against the bathroom counter, leaning back on her heels.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

Eleanor nodded.

“Silly girl,” he said. “Why do you assume I’m talking about your feet?”