The Dark Yule Read online

  Dot paused, considered. “A twentieth part of the night?” she ventured, calculating time in the old feline fashion. “Did it work?”

  “I think so,” I said. “I was in a graveyard. There was—” I shuddered. “There was a ghoul.”

  “Which graveyard?” Dot wanted to know.

  “One of the ones in Kingsport, I hope. It looked quite old. But I can’t be sure until I get there. I’ve never been to any graveyards in this lifetime. Have you?”

  “Not in one,” said Dot. “Not in Kingsport. Too many ghouls.” She paused her grooming abruptly. “Was it in town?”

  “By the edge. Next to a wood, or at least a patch of trees.”

  “That’d be Burying Hill. You know where that is?”

  “Of course.” Actually I had only a vague idea, but I couldn’t tell that to Dot. Dot hunted a larger territory than any molly I knew, and possessed an almost disconcerting ability to navigate it. I’d look a right fool to her if I couldn’t find such a long-established location as Burying Hill.

  Giving her tail a last lick, Dot sprang from the ledge to the broken tiles below. “We’d better go, then,” she called over her shoulder, as she stalked toward the entrance. “Because clearly you have a hair up your ass about this whole thing, and aren’t going to give any of us any peace until you figure it out.”

  “Bite me,” I suggested. I stretched myself in a bow before the spirits of the pool. “Should your visions lead me right,” I muttered, “I promise rewards both rapid and rich. Go in peace.”

  With a final flick of my tail I dismissed the unseen beings, and followed Dot into the semi-sunshine of the swamp outside.

  “Let’s go find Cinnamon and tell her to meet us outside the graveyard,” Dot suggested.

  My tail lashed, betraying my feelings. “Why her? Let’s get Libby.”

  “Both would be better,” said Dot. “And what’s your problem with Cinnamon, anyway? She’s huge—she doesn’t even look like a housecat. I bet she’d give a ghoul pause.”

  I’m just as big! I could give a ghoul pause! I wanted to retort. Then it occurred to me that if the de-clawed Cinnamon tried to defend us from a ghoul, there was a good chance she’d get eaten. That consoled me a little. “Fine,” I agreed. “Why don’t you find them in the dreamlands, and tell them to wake up and meet us just outside the graveyard. I’ll go scope it out first, and see if it’s the same one as in my vision. No point in us risking our lives for the wrong graveyard.”

  “You shouldn’t go alone,” said Dot. “That’s the point of getting Libby and Cinnamon. The more bodies the better.” She paused. “I shouldn’t have used the word ‘bodies.’”

  “It was unfortunate,” I agreed. “Don’t worry, I’m just going to climb a good tree and look it over. I’ll wait for you before I do anything.”

  Before Dot could protest further or, worse, rethink the whole crazy idea, I woke up.

  * * *

  Despite the shelter of the fir, there was a fine layer of snow upon our fur. I laid a friendly lick across Dot’s ear before easing out of the nest we’d made. My muscles were stiff, and my very bones creaked as I stretched. Dot slept on, snuffling through her squashed nose.

  Cautiously, I peered out from under the tree. A cold, dry snow continued to fall, coating the grass with a thin white blanket that glittered beneath the lustrous sky. There was nothing to see, even when I looked for That Which Cannot Be Seen, so I bounded forward in search of Burying Hill. If I remembered its location correctly, it was also on the west side of Kingsport, but towards the northern edge of the town.

  At this time of night, and in this season, the streets were deserted. The windows of every house were dark. In front of them, the old wrought-iron street lamps shed golden cones of light, illuminating wide expanses of sparkling, untouched snow, and the occasional parked car. The lazily drifting snow promised to fill in the footprints I left in gardens, across yards, and on the tops of fences as I worked my way across town.

  Some graveyards are devoured by the living, surrounded by new construction as the population relentlessly swells. Not so this one. Kingsport had expanded in another direction, and left this city of the dead alone. Burying Hill’s presiding church had burned a decade ago; its black timbers still cluttered its stone foundation, for no one had bothered to rebuild it. The graveyard felt unguarded, abandoned, without the civilizing influence of the church and its bells. It was bordered by forest, and dotted with ancient, massive oaks, which despite their great size swayed even in this gentle wind. I knew why, because I knew who had riddled this place with their tunnels, and gnawed hungrily at the trees’ roots until they could barely stand upright.

  With all this in mind, I chose a young, slender tree that grew where the churchyard ended and the graveyard began. It was not a very good place to hide, without any concealing leaves, but I clawed my way to a sufficient height to avoid being attacked, and settled along what was—I hoped—a sufficiently thick branch for my weight. While getting comfortable, I spotted a tiny headstone directly below me: an infant’s long-forgotten grave.

  Relaxing a little, I unfocused my eyes, and opened my internal vision to That Which Cannot Be Seen. Immediately the graveyard took on a…different appearance. It was filled with half-seen blurs of movement, sometimes drifting between the tilted headstones, sometimes concentrated upon the graves. Each was a mere light-dispelling fog until I focused upon it, and every time I did, I shuddered.

  A few local spirits, in shapes neither human nor animal, hovered at the edge of the forest; they might linger halfway between this world and the dreamlands, but their sharp white teeth seemed material enough.

  A vampire—not the Dracula sort, the real kind—was rising from her grave, drifting like mist to assemble herself above the ground. She stretched white, bare arms to the moonlight and sniffed the air with vigor; when she looked over her shoulder, it was at me. She smiled, and it wasn’t friendly. Then she vanished, and was not even a shadow amongst the many.

  The hair stood all along my spine, and I fought the urge to hiss or, at least, to look over my shoulder, and see if she was there…

  A sob from below distracted me. The moonlight wavered just beneath the tree; when I Saw That Which Cannot Be Seen, a phantom lingered there, weeping bitterly upon the infant’s grave. The hair eased along my back, even as my guts churned to hear the raw grief in her sobs. How long ago had her baby died? How long ago had she? Yet still, some fragment of her soul—wherever the rest was now—lingered in this graveyard, trapped by its pattern of sorrow. The ghost looked up in my direction, but I could see no recognition in her filmy eyes. Whatever dimension she inhabited, it was just adjacent to mine; our worlds could only slide blindly past each other, like unlit ships on a moonless night.

  It’s a feline gift, to glimpse so many realms from where we perch within our own. Humans once could do the same—how else could they have learned so much, in such a short time?—but the ability appeared to be waning. So too were the rituals and propitiations and secret teachings that held our dimension together at the seams. I had seen for myself how the spirit world grew bolder and bolder, operating without fear in a population turned increasingly blind and deaf…

  My depressing ruminations were brought to an end by a sudden, soundless flurrying. Spirits drifted back into the shadows of the trees; ghosts faded away into nothingness. Even the grieving mother glanced back over her shoulder with sudden, perceptive fear, and blinked away as swiftly as she’d appeared. I narrowed my eyes in the direction she’d stared, awaiting the approach of whatever being could clear the graveyard by its mere presence.

  An unholy beast loped between the gravestones. It looked rather like a hairless dog, with four long limbs and rubbery gray skin, which bounced disgustingly as it ran. Its nose was black, and its teeth were long, white, and sharp. But as much as I hate dogs, that wasn’t the terrible part.

  What made it hideous was that, as much as the beast resembled a dog, even more did it resemble a man. It
s powerful jaw was thrust forward in terrible parody of a muzzle, the tip of its nose was black, and its pointed ears turned in all directions—dog-like enough, you might say. Yet the face was unmistakably the blue-eyed, flat-nosed remnants of something once human.

  The creature slowed and then stood, rearing up on its hind legs with uncanny ease. Now the front paws were revealed to be hands, albeit horribly clawed, with black nails like the talons of some wicked bird. Other bits were revealed too—ghouls, despite their semi-human origins, didn’t believe in clothes. The ghoul sniffed the air, and I kept utterly still, praying to the many saints of cats that he would not notice me. I was downwind, which was a distinct advantage, but a Maine Coon isn’t easy to hide.

  A powerful blow struck the tree from behind, knocking me loose. My claws sank deep into the wood of the branch, but my weight had already shifted too far. I watched, almost in slow motion, as my claws slid across the bark, leaving long, white, futile marks in their wake. Then I fell.

  That, too, seemed to take a long time—but I landed on my feet. And not just on my feet, but with my fangs bared and claws swiping, yowling a war-cry designed to deafen any opponent.

  All for nought. I was instantly swept sideways by a single, devastating blow. I landed badly on my side, and had no time to recover my breath, for the creature was upon me, his unnatural muzzle almost touching my own.

  It was a ghoul, of course, but this one was some sort of albino. The eyes that glared into mine were a hazy pink, and the bristling brows above them were white. So pale was his skin that it was nearly fish-belly green, particularly in the moonlight. Even the crooked teeth that thrust past his lower lip gleamed like ivory. To my shock, I recognized him: the white, distant, loping figure I’d glimpsed in my dreamlands vision. I had found the object of my quest. It was definitely the right graveyard, after all.

  But there was no time to ask questions, for it was clear that he intended to ask none. Already his open jaws were descending. He was going to pull my head right off my shoulders, and crunch my skull between his teeth. I had done the same to mice.

  Now there was no more thought. At the last moment, my claws lashed out and broke the monotony of his albino face with two long, dark streaks of blood. He reared back and licked his nose with an almost indignant air, never breaking eye contact with me. His paw wasn’t holding me down—he merely stood above me—but I did not twist to regain my feet and flee. Should I turn my back for even a moment, I knew he would bite with crushing force upon my exposed spine. Instead, I abruptly curled forward, to bite him sharply upon his unprotected neck.

  He yelped with surprise, then snarled, a hideous sound that made my teeth meet each other in a paroxysm of terror. Another yelp as my jaws pierced those rubbery folds, and I felt him clawing frantically at my shoulder, tearing into my flesh with those awful talons, trying to pull me from his neck. My face was buried in the pale flesh but I swiped blindly, frantically, with my left paw, aiming for his eyes. Another howl told me I’d hit something good, but at that moment he’d seized my neck with his stubby fingers, and I could neither think nor breathe. Blood pounded in my head, and all was red behind my eyes.

  He jolted sideways, and I was released. I twisted and rolled, landing on my feet. Everything was spots for long, long seconds, but then they began to clear, and I could peer dizzily through the haze.

  My savior was Cinnamon, currently squaring off against the ghoul who, though he still dwarfed the young Savannah cat, seemed reluctant to engage with something that appeared so wild.

  “Spice! This way!” Dot called from my right. I ran half-blind in the direction of her voice, my head and my shoulder pounding. At last my vision fully returned, and I saw her and Libby crouched in the grass at the edge of the graveyard. They sprinted away as soon as I neared, and I followed them as fast as I could. I could smell the blood oozing from my shoulder, but the limb still worked, and that was all that mattered.

  Sounds in the grass behind me. I half-turned, ready to face the ghoul again. Instead I saw Cinnamon on my tail in a flat-out run and, some distance behind us both, the albino ghoul, racing along on all fours. An eerie sound split the night, something that might have been a laugh or a howl; it echoed around the gravestones, coming from here, there, everywhere. A loathsome grey face popped up from one of the many hidden tunnels, and watched the albino chase us with a tongue-lolling grin. The ghouls evidently found the rout of their friend amusing.

  But the albino ghoul wasn’t laughing, and neither were we. It was the size of a man, with legs like a greyhound, and we were but four housecats. I didn’t need to look behind me to know that it was gaining.

  We were now in the town proper, racing across the snow-slick pavement of a new housing development. A man stepping out of his car paused to stare at the rapid procession of cats. In the brief glimpse I caught of his puzzled face, I never saw his eyes track toward the ghoul. Why would he see it? Ghouls were but one of the many Things Which Cannot Be Seen. It was a real, physical being whose hot breath I fancied I could feel on my tail, but to this inexperienced human he simply didn’t exist—and if there were any footprints left, they would be dismissed as those of some oversized dog, romping in the snowfall.

  An open storm drain yawned ahead, a black rectangle in the snow-covered sidewalk. Libby passed it—so did Dot—Cinnamon crowded me on my right. I risked a glance over my shoulder, and stared almost directly into the mad, red eyes of the slavering ghoul. With no conscious thought I steered away from my friends and dove down the dark, reeking hole.

  Splash. I was in frigid water up to my belly. The pain of my sudden, icy immersion almost outdid the growing throbbing in my shoulder—but I thought he wouldn’t follow.

  I’d miscalculated. A much more massive form than mine momentarily blocked the opening, shutting out all light and landing me in darkness. I was already moving by the time he splashed down beside me…but to where? Down the watery tunnels would be suicide—the ghoul was sure to catch me!

  There! A long pole, possibly once belonging to a rake or snow shovel, leaned against the sewer wall. How had it gotten there? Perhaps some curious kids had been poking into the storm drain with it. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. I was halfway up it before its presence had even registered in my conscious mind. The ghoul snapped at my heels, and I launched myself—I believed I actually levitated—toward that distant rectangle of light.

  I was clawing at the pavement. Two front paws only, then a hind paw, then I was squirming away from the opening, with barely a memory of how I’d gotten there. I looked back, and my heart sank to see a white, coarse-skinned hand emerge, feeling its way outward for a better grip on the pavement. The tall ghoul could reach the opening, and was going to haul himself up. I staggered away, looking for some tree, fence, or human—anything, really—that I could clamber up to save my soaking-wet skin.

  But I had forgotten my friends. Cinnamon leapt to my defense, in a lovely motion like an angry cheetah, and growled down the grate. Dot followed and scratched violently at the ghoul’s groping hand, which withdrew with a muffled curse and a snarl.

  “Just try it,” Cinnamon hissed, and aimed a blow at the darkness, evidently as a sample. A pity she was declawed—hopefully, the threat wouldn’t be tested.

  Libby circled cautiously around the storm drain, and came to check on me. “You’re bleeding a lot,” he told me. “And you’re all wet.”

  “I-I-I-I k-k-k-know, you idiot.”

  “Don’t you ‘idiot’ me,” he admonished, sniffing at my injured shoulder. “I’m not the one who went wandering alone in a ghoul-infested graveyard.”

  Too tired to argue, I settled for purring feebly as Libby licked the wound, and tried not to wince at his rough tongue.

  “You feline morons,” the ghoul snarled. His speech was in a language common to the dreamlands, but thick-lipped and oddly cadenced. “You think I don’t know these tunnels like the back of my hand? I’ll follow them all over the town, and sniff you and your humans out.
”

  “Please. You ghouls only eat the dead. A proper hunt is beyond you,” Dot said with a growl.

  “I’ll make an exception! I’ll…” The ghoul’s voice trailed off abruptly.

  After a long moment, Cinnamon coughed. “You’ll do…what?” she prompted helpfully.

  There was no answer. Dot sniffed, sneezed, and abruptly straightened up.

  “Spice!” she called to me. “It’s that fish smell again.”

  A sharp whine cut across her words; I almost couldn’t catch what she said.

  “It’s a Deep One!” the ghoul yelped. “Let me up, let me up! Pax, I call pax!”

  Libby was still assiduously licking my shoulder, but I limped forward, shivering so violently I could hardly speak.

  “Wh-what i-is a-a D-d-deep O-one?” I stammered. Dot took one look at my condition and pressed bravely against me, despite my wet, stinky fur; Cinnamon too snuggled close. Warmth spread slowly but surely across my sides, and I took my first deep breath in a long time.

  “Never mind! Let me out, now!”

  “W-we’ll let you up,” I said slowly, “but you have to tell us something.”

  “Up! Up!” the ghoul demanded. His hands emerged once again from the dark, the black claws scraping across the pavement, but Dot struck swiftly, and with another yelp they withdrew. “Quickly! Please!”

  “Wh-why did the ghouls bring the night-gaunts?” I managed to get out with hardly a tremor.

  “The night-gaunts? What—oh!”

  “Tell us,” I demanded.

  “Let me up first!”

  The fishy reek grew stronger. Was it my imagination, or did I hear sloshing footsteps below? The ghoul whined again, a long, drawn-out sound.

  “Tell us,” was all I said.

  “It was the monster,” the ghoul gibbered. “The white thing on the island in the pond. Black’s Pond! It wanted us to bring the night-gaunts! We made a deal, we did our part, take it up with that thing, the one in the pond! Please!”