Burrows of Blood and Shadow

Rebekah Webb

Burrows of Blood and Shadow

Copyright © 2022 by Rebekah Webb

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

First edition

Cover art by Neverland Art

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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This book is dedicated to my mother

Contents

Acknowledgement

1. The Dream Surfer

2. Nighty Night

3. The Werewolf

4. Yes, Master

5. Dreams Do Come True

6. Mercy of a Monster - A Mermaid’s Tale

7. The Hunter

8. Jack

9. Fantasy

10. Family Affair

11. The Council

12. Revelations

13. Raising Gina

14. Pleasure and Pain

15. Playing With Jack

16. Hidden

17. Homecoming

18. Instinct

19. Chase

20. Life Sucks

21. Sunshine

22. Bonds and Blood

23. Bound

24. Searching

25. Haunted

26. Image of Perfection

27. Redemption

28. Bundle of Joy

29. Playing with Dolls

30. The Perfect Wife

31. The White Knight

32. The House on the Corner

33. Fairy Tale

34. A Cold Day in Hell

35. Demon Justice

36. Forgotten Melodies

37. Full Circle

About the Author

Acknowledgement

I’d like to acknowledge my editors Jessica Landry and Sean Leonard. I’d also like the thank WriteHive, whose generous grant helped get this book out to the public.

1

The Dream Surfer

The dreamers dreamt all the time, free to go anywhere, to be anything, to see worlds outside themselves, inside themselves, and beyond themselves. The Dream Surfer joined them on their journeys. While he visited people during their sleep, he didn’t care for surface dreams and their fragmented images of inner turmoil or outer annoyances, silly tales that held their own logic, or nightmares and their temporary fear.

He liked delving deeper, to share the memories of dreamers while they busied themselves with slumbering thoughts, to see their innermost joys and all the special truths they kept stored away in private corners of their hearts.

He was just a dark green silhouette with no life of his own, so he lived through these people, sharing the happiness he could never have himself: new love, old love, the birth of a child, the simple pleasure of a flower, the triumph of a job well done. He saw it all through their eyes and it almost filled the unending void in what he assumed to be his soul. Almost.

The Dream Surfer wasn’t even sure if all the people he visited were sleeping. Maybe none of them were sleeping. How could he even know? It wasn’t like he floated up to bedrooms like some unseen specter. The Dream Surfer never left his world. It was a large expanse of blackness with doorways crafted of items that hinted at what sort of experience he might have.

He wasn’t sure what his world or even he was comprised of, or why he seemed to float endlessly in a realm where his only escape was the temporary exit into the minds of others. After millennia, he really didn’t care. But while he didn’t care about the mechanics of his situation, he still cared about finding out who he had been and how to finally move beyond the confines of this realm.

He hadn’t even fully explored it. There was one area he didn’t dare touch, a place filled with things more bitter than the darkest nightmare. The dreams dreams and memories reeked with the scent of dangerous rot, and even a glimpse in its direction told him he really didn’t want to know what went through the heads housed within.

Still, the Dream Surfer was growing more and more tempted to plunge their depths, to see if maybe the parts of his world and beyond that he feared were what would finally give him what he had been searching for his whole time of being — the wholeness everyone else took for granted.

He wanted to be real, to feel his own feelings and share his own joys, not just taste the dreams and memories of others. Maybe, just maybe, the only reason he could never break free from this prison of nothingness was because he only ever experienced the pleasure of the world and not the pain. Sure, he experienced the occasional frustration of a bad day at work, or even the grief of a lost loved one, but he shied away from anything he found too unpleasant, too dark. But if those untried paths of depravity truly were the final piece of the puzzle, the final lock on his cage, he wanted them — no matter what the cost.

So he traveled past the laughter, the tears, and the wishes, and went straight for black pathways of crawling things, whispering insanity into crevices of filth. There were no doors here to go through, or gates or archways, only holes, burrows that varied in appearance but all had a deep sense of gelatinous dark.

Black smoke hovered over one burrow like dense fog made of shadow. He sat on the edge and slowly slipped inside. The darkness enveloped everything as he slid down into the mind of someone else. It was a familiar sensation, but…harsher, more viscous. His own thoughts stripped the further he went, peeling like layers of an onion, until perspectives merged and he no longer knew himself.

2

Nighty Night

The shadows crept along the floor, casting shapes that only children ever feared. The young girl edged farther under her covers. The shadows laughed ‑ a wispy sound like ice that drew in the surrounding heat. The child’s eyes widened and she gripped the sheets. The laugh repeated. She dove for safety under a pile of stone-eyed stuffed toys sitting in the middle of the bed.

Sleep well, little babe. And dream of faraway. Where covers cannot save you, and night eats all the day.

The girl’s whimpers filled the air, and the shadows took a taste — much too bland. They slithered closer and drew in memories, random and shattered —

A doll.

A face.

A monster.

A doll with black coal eyes and a sparkling pink dress. It was dragged along the ground by the girl as she raced off to a new adventure.

The face, a woman’s face — a mother — always had a smile and brought warmth and comfort with a gentle embrace. The girl sat at a table as the smiling woman set down a tray of chocolate chip cookies.

The monster was a cartoonish wolf with large, too-blunt teeth. It was nothing more than a mild fairy tale, hardly worth half a mouthful of fear.

That would change.

With just a little twist, a bit of a turn, anything could become a meal. The shadows twisted into one another, forming a cruel parody of the girl’s mother. It stood tall in the room, sharp jagged teeth spilling from its mouth. Wolfish eyes peered down at where the girl hid, holding a writhing, living duplicate of the girl’s doll in a sparkly pink dress. The doll reached its cloth hands out, calling the child’s name in a soft, sweet voice.

Don’t hide away, my precious child. No harm will come to thee. Your little dolly’s calling you. Open your eyes and see.

The girl slowly pulled the animals away from her face. She opened her eyes, crying out at the twisted vision of her mother. The living doll screamed in the child’s voice, while the shadow mother brought it to her mouth and devoured it whole. The girl opened her mouth to scream, but the sound turned to icy mist and floated silently away.

There’s no one here to save you, or take you to their breast. The time of love is over, now comes eternal rest.

The child scrambled up, but shadows twisted again into a shapeless blob, blacker than night. Multiple arms formed and pushed her into the mattress, smothering her with a chill.

Tears ran down her immobile face and one drop rose into the air until it landed on a forefinger of the twisting shadow form. It placed the tear on its swirling lips and smiled. Delicious.

The shadows untangled themselves and seeped into her pores, bringing fresh new fears. These weren’t the nightmares of children, or even the matured terrors of those that called themselves adults. These were real — solid — the fears that fears were made of.

They gave her the awareness of what hid behind the edges of her dreams, behind the faces of her family, behind the faces of the world, and beyond. She saw the lurking, sucking, dying things that inspired hatred and fed off fear. She saw the string of lies they spun, choking the love that kept her warm, killing the light her parents showered her with. She saw the battle that was all but lost, how the hungry beasts of the world beyond had nearly broken through, and only a thin layer of wavering light kept them at bay.

The shadows showed her themselves and fed on the shattering of her innocence.

* * *

The Dream Surfer emerged from the burrow, coughing up foreign thoughts until he regained himself. The Dream Surfer wasn’t sure what to think of the tale. It was too strange, too new. It was as if he had stepped into darkness and come out the other end unharmed. It was a fun-house mirror casting the memories he’d seen before in a crooked fresh light.

Childhood. He didn’t remember if he had one of his own, but he’d experienced many childhoods of others. Happy children running to their parents, crying over skinned knees and lost balloons. The slow-building grief of encroaching adulthood, mixed with the exciting promise of freedom. There were innocent memories in this tale as well, but the shadows had twisted them into something misshapen and threatening. How much more twisted could the world get? How much more could it bend?

The shadows themselves were something new. He’d never encountered anything beyond humans. The Dream Surfer always thought he was the only non-human entity that existed. Were there other beings out there? Creatures far more strange and interesting than a couple of shades? Maybe he’d find things out here that he thought were only fiction. Or…things far beyond even that.

This journey was already starting to show potential. There was so much to learn, so many chances to find a way to finally gain his freedom. The Dream Surfer couldn’t wait to see just how much the burrows had to show.

He scanned the other burrows. One burrow had moss and grass spilling from the top. Dotted along the earth were sharp metal teeth, as if it was a mouth waiting to slam shut. The Dream Surfer dove headfirst inside.

3

The Werewolf

The freedom of running, the smell of the hunt, the adrenal rush of raw strength and speed. He was no longer a man but a beast, free from the shackles of life and time, free to live in the moment with instincts long forgotten by mortals. The night stretched on, beckoning him with its scents of dirt and prey.

Oh, the taste of meat, the tang of blood, the thrill of the kill.

He spotted a rabbit — docile and sweet, something he would normally stand back and watch.

Not tonight.

Tonight, he was the hunter. Tonight, he would eat.

He crept closer, hiding downwind and in the shadows, waiting for the perfect time to strike. Muscles tensed, body coiled, nearly time…

Now!

The wolf sprang forward and landed on the rabbit, teeth clamping at its soft neck. Bones crunched; pain ripped through his body.

Why was there pain?

He opened his eyes and saw the rabbit bounding out of sight, unharmed. He tried to fight the searing ache in order to run after it, but he stayed put, locked to the spot by crushing agony.

He turned his head and saw his back leg clamped in the steel teeth of a metal ring. Blood seeped around the smooth edges, like a leaking bag of garbage. Whimpering, he tugged his leg upward, only making the pain explode again and the blood flow more freely.

He lifted his muzzle to the object and bit at the metal. No matter how he tried, his teeth couldn’t get a grip. They just slid off, knocking into his leg and sending jolts of pain up his nerves and across his back.

All thoughts of hunting and the smell of the forest were driven from his mind. Jumping around the forest after rabbits didn’t make him some sort of survival expert. Taking on the form of a wolf didn’t mean he was one. He was just Thomas Harwood, an accountant with a wife and child.

His animal form no longer meant freedom, but prison. With no thumbs to pry himself free and no mouth to call for help, he could do nothing but wait.

Death in the wild was always harsh. He had seen it before, whether as a wolf or human. Dead deer left to rot after real wolves had their fill; family pets torn apart. Even people, unaware of the hidden paths of the forest; their bodies found weeks later, starved and wasted away to nothing.

That wouldn’t happen to him. He would not die like some animal or, God forbid, some tourist. He would fight to stay alive, fight to get back home, fight like the wolf whose form he borrowed. He just had to wait. In the morning he would revert and then all he had to do was pry the trap apart.

Thomas forced his thoughts away from the pain and toward his family. His wife, Angela, would be home by now, tired from her late night, but not too tired to sneak into little Amber’s room for a covers check, and maybe a bedtime story if Amber had managed to fool the babysitter and stay awake.

They’d planned to take tomorrow off and go blackberry picking at the field an hour’s drive from their home. As long as they stayed within the confines of the field’s magic, forms could be changed and unchanged at the drop of a hat. Maybe Amber would even manage to change for the first time.

Thomas wished he was in that field now. His thoughts drifted to the annual potluck, when the field was filled with family and laughter. Amber would be able to change by then. She was too young to hunt, but there were plenty of butterflies to practice on and other pups to romp around with while the adults discussed the issues of the pack. News would be shared, rabbits would be caught and shared alongside homemade dishes. It was their time to be without fear of mortals with silver bullets, or scientists with scalpels, or the forces of darkness that sometimes aided both.

He’d bring his famous cheese dip, while Angela would bring her special marinade for the raw rabbits. After lunch, they’d attempt to win the scavenger hunt and be the first to find the hidden deer leg. Thomas never won, not even when his nose was young, but he would keep trying until his dying day.

His dying day. How many more days did he have left? Did he even have the night? The air around him was already cold, and his body felt as if someone was slowly letting the air out of a birthday balloon. All he wanted to do was sleep, to give in to the night and wait for the day to rescue him.

No. The day would never come, not if he went to sleep, not if he waited. He would have to do something, to make his own day, his own escape.

Thomas twisted his body until his head reached his back leg. Ignoring the fresh bit of pain that washed over him, he pulled his muzzle forward as far as he could and clamped down on his leg. The tang of his own blood filled his mouth, but he forced himself to imagine that it was the taste of a rabbit after the kill.

The rabbit crunched in his teeth as he tore it from its hiding place. Fresh blood splattered his face, but that was just the juice of a good hunt. Yes, he would feed well tonight…

His mind came back with a snap, and with it came agony. He pulled his mouth away from the trap and hobbled, his half-leg dangling in the air and gushing blood. Thomas smelled his way to well-worn paths and made his way home, toward the smell of Angela and Amber.

I’m coming, I’m coming.

The mantra fueled his remaining legs and doused out the pain, cooling him with a numbing sense of purpose. He would not let them down. Daddy was coming home. The forest finally started to thin, but he barely noticed. It was his nose that told him home was near. The smell grew stronger, until it fired up every bit of his being and drew him forward like a puppet on a string.

The air grew warm when he crossed into his house, the carpet cradling his aching body. He let out a howl, hopefully loud, and slumped to the floor like a spent shotgun shell. Angela’s far-off cry warmed up his heart and he fought back the cold once again.

I’m home.

* * *

The Dream Surfer saw his home for what it was: a prison. A place to keep him from either realizing or remembering what he was. Or maybe it was a place of hatching, an egg that would only crack if he gathered enough nutrients. Maybe it was a test, though if it was, the Dream Surfer didn’t know if he was passing or failing. All he knew was that the deeper he dove into the darkness, the more he felt like himself.

He was like Thomas, trapped and dreaming of being free. But gnawing his limbs off would give the Dream Surfer no aid. He’d already tried it thousands of years ago. His limbs weren’t real and no amount of gouging at his ethereal purple form ever shed any flesh. It only wasted his time.

Once he tried to soar to the top of his realm to see if he could find the top. He soared for what felt like an eternity and for all he knew, was. It was like trying to find the center of a black hole. Time slowed down, crawling until he barely moved, up and up into an unending expanse of gray nothing.

This unexplored patch of minds was the only place left to turn. The Dream Surfer looked around. One burrow had deep sides paved with flesh and bones that continued until the burrow disappeared into darkness. The Dream Surfer took a deep breath, or what passed for breath (he wasn’t sure, he thought he might breathe dreams), and dove inside. The bones creaked as he bounced his way down, like a stone sinking to the bottom of a well.

4

Yes, Master

Julie crept into the room, trying to be as silent as possible. The light gray-skinned demon slept on a bed of bones, clutching the remnant of an ear from last night’s dinner. He mumbled and pulled the ear toward his mouth, to feed in his sleep. Julie looked the other way and continued on to the pile of rotted flesh sitting in the corner.

She knelt next to the pile. This had been her routine for…she could no longer remember. The days blended into years, and now her life before seemed like a dream. Not a daydream she could escape into, but one that faded away into fragments that meant little while her hands thrust into rotten meat.

Julie sorted through the mess, removing the meat from the bones and tossing out anything too rotten for even demons to enjoy. Any horror she had felt had long since settled into a calm routine. After a while, she relaxed into a rhythm and could no longer even tell she was elbow-deep in the blood of her friends.

She didn’t know their names; no one was allowed names. The demon just called each one of them you, with a slight change in voice to tell which one he was referring to. At least she could still say her name in her head. The demon could read minds when it suited him, but his powers didn’t extend to control. Her mind was the only part of Julie that was still hers. And the demon never punished any of them for saying their names in their heads. She didn’t know why, just like she didn’t know why he chose her for this life of horror.

Why was she even here? She wasn’t dead. Was Hell even a place of the dead? Or was it just a realm to house nightmares? Her hands worked as her mind drifted. A long time ago, she had a life, people who cared about her. Now they stood in the back of her mind, shattered bits of porcelain that sprawled across her memories.

One day changed everything. She’d been out…shopping? It was sunny, she remembered the warmth. Julie had turned down a pathway between two buildings and everything stopped. The birds hung silent in the air, which no longer cast a breeze across her face.

I see you woke up early, a voice deep with undertones like the silk of coffin-lining cut into her musing as meat-tinted breath blew hot on the back of her neck. Julie tensed up and continued with her work, but the demon grabbed her hands and pulled them down to her sides.

I didn’t ask you to help prepare the meal today, he said. And you know why.

She stayed where she was, fingers itching to continue her work. This couldn’t be