“Eight. Number Nine is laying at Number Eight’s feet, easy to think her to be a pile of clothes. See the hands around Eight’s ankle? That’s Nine’s. And the standing one is Number Ten. Turned just as the first officers ran up to the scene. Was able to move long enough to point where he… it… whatever the fuck it is that did this… ran in the direction of. As the arm dries out, it will fall soon. I think if it does while I’m here, that’s when I’ll have my first drink of the day. The flask is in my pocket. If you need it, ask me for some ‘patience’.”
The police chief listened to his deputy continue to describe the scene. He had received the call an hour ago. Another ten children and two adults dead or dying. He didn’t tell the deputy he had snuck a sip of his own ‘patience’ on pulling up to the scene. It wasn’t just that the victims were suddenly dead. It was how they died.
They were turned to sand.
It was weird enough that their flesh was mineralized and fractured, but their clothes were as well. Everything that a person would consider part of them, including shoes, were turned to sand. Plastic was shattered into near microscopic pieces. Only metal remained, and even that was often corroded, as if it had been in the sea for a few hundred years. Most of the victims fell down before their bodies were completely transformed in a posture that suggested being pushed down as the transformation began. The first victims were not recognized as victims until days after they were reported missing. Local kids found strange lifelike sand sculptures in their playground. It was only when the titanium brace and screws were found inside one of the “sand sculptures” was it realized these were once living, breathing, alive people.
With these ten children and two adults, the official death toll has risen to thirty-five children and five adults in eight days. The number of missing persons in those eight days turns the police chief’s stomach. Sand on the sidewalk, crunching beneath his feet. Washout from the lot, or a person’s last breath?
“The incineration crew is here, Chief. We’re ready to sterilize the area.” The deputy’s words jarred him from his introspection.
“No. No one touches anything.”
“But, Chief. We can’t hand over sand to their families, and the risk of infection…”
“I understand, but I called for a specialist to come. I was hoping she would arrive before it happened again, but I guess I should have called sooner. She is on her way and will be here any minute. I want her to see the scene as is.”
“A specialist? Chief. Something is turning flesh into sand! What the hell kind of specialist is there?”
“I’m told she has first hand knowledge of transformations.”
I have been standing behind the police chief since he walked up. I arrived with the first officers, but seeing I was helpless to save anyone, I remained cloaked in my raven feather cloak. Partially because I know how folks react when an outsider is brought in. I wanted to see everything while everyone was as normal acting as possible.
I also arrived as the last victim was turning to sand. I wanted to save him, but I knew I was too late. His physical essence had already been torn from him. Anything I could do, would only prolong his suffering. But my attention meant I saw something the officers didn’t.
When the boy first pointed, he was pointing down at a lump of sand on the edge of the playground. As his body deteriorated, it caused his arm to raise, so that it pointed into the nearby woods. The waves of responding officers were focused in the direction of the woods. The initial responders did not understand he was pointing at the lump.
Nor did they see the lump shift and settle as they arrived. But I did. I remained cloaked and ready, in case the Incineration Crew needed a few thousand extra degrees.
“Chief. We can’t hold off. The parents, they want to grab a handful of what…”
“Yea.”
“Wait, Chief.” I step into view, my cloak transforming into a long black trench coat. “Do you have a long metal rod? A cane, or something longer than a man’s arm?”
The deputy looked at me with disbelief. “Where the fuck did you come from?” He looked around while the Chief called one of the Incinerators over. The man carried a flamethrower on his back, but his wand was long and thin enough to suit my requirements.
“This the best you’re going to get, Weaver. Oh, Weaver, Deputy Briggs. Deputy, Specialist Weaver. Glad you two met. Let’s get down to business.”
“Sir, I want you to gently… VERY gently, prod that lump of sand right there. There’s something alive hiding there, but I’m not sure what to expect. Don’t fire unless you are attacked, please.”
The asbestos suited man nodded, lowered his face gear, and told everyone to stand back double their current distance. He approached the lump and began to prod at the limits of the sand.
“Nothing. Checking deeper… Nothing. Checking deeper… Nothing… Check… Hey! HEY! FLESH! AND IT PUSHED BACK!” The man started to put the wand aside but I yelled at him to back away from the lump at once. He didn’t see what I saw. He didn’t see the essence of the sand change from inorganic to organic. Petrification reversed.
He backed away as the lump suddenly shifted. A little boy’s head rose from the sand. “I’m sorry! I was afraid! I didn’t want him to hurt me! I want my Mommy!”
“Chief!” I was going to hold him back, pull him away. But his parental instincts kicked in and he lurched from my grasp running towards the small crying boy. “That’s not what you think it is! Chief! That’s not human!”
He came to a stop several feet away from the boy. Other officers ignored me and raced to the apparently six-year-old boy anyway. I screamed at them to not touch him, to get off the sand around him, to consider him infected and contagious, but they disregarded me. The boy continued crying and reached for each officer in turn as they came near, dusting each one with sand that seemed to be flaking off the boy’s hands. The Chief’s eyes widened when he realized the implications of the boy’s actions.
A woman’s scream pierced through his shock. “My son! Oh God! His arm!” Child victim number ten’s sand body has dried out to the point the extended arm could no longer hold itself together. It fell off, breaking in the middle of the forearm. The falling portion scattered against the ground on impact.
The deputy made no attempt to hide his gulp of patience. Many of the sand dusted officers left the “survivor” to engage in crowd control as many parents now wanted to grab what little they could of their fallen children. I watched as sand was kicked everywhere and dozens of people came in contact with it.
Fuck process and propriety.
Two officers remained with the boy. They were escorting him away from the killing field towards a waiting ambulance. I raced to intercept them. “Back away from him. That is not a human child.” They became suddenly protective of him, placing their hands on their weapon in an aggressive display. My coat transformed back into the raven-feather cloak. It was a warning that the boy understood well.
“Go back officers, this lady can take me to the doctors.” The officers looked at each other oddly, then smiled and nodded. Their hands dusted with sand, they turned and joined the others as if the Chief himself had given the order. The boy only smiled at me as my face betrayed the knowledge of what he has done.
He smiled so sweetly, this cherubic face. Dotted with freckles from head to toe, he looked like any ginger child should look. Except for his hair, his sandy blond hair from which rained a constant dusting. Hazel irises glinted in sea-foam eyes as a little sand dusted hand reached out for my own.
I backed away from him instead. The Chief yelled for guidance. I yelled back to assume physical contamination and get HazMat involved.
“I’m everywhere. That won’t help. You are the only one in this city I can’t turn. They all have me somewhere in their life. I’m in their clothes. I’m in their food. I’m in their skin. If I wanted, I could consume them all at once. But this is fun, a few at a time.”
“Why don’t you then? Why drag this out?” We walked slowly towards the ambulance. I was suddenly aware at the multitude of sand grains that were everywhere. What was normal dirt, and what was this creature’s seed? I couldn’t tell at that small a sample.
He suddenly frowned. “It wasn’t supposed to be you. You weren’t supposed to be summoned here! Why did you come! Why you! How did you get the call instead! You aren’t even connected to [kir]!” He stomped his little feet in sudden rage. I braced for a sudden release of flame. Even if his claim of not being able to turn me is true, there are other ways to die in sand.
“Your form is more than this boyish body. We are stalemated against each other. You can’t turn me, I can’t destroy you. I want to save the rest of the city. You want a particular playmate.” He started laughing, his six-year-old voice cracking in discordant sounds. I watched the skin fracture like overheated sand molds. A scent came from the fissures that gave me a series of flash visions. A stagnant bay, filled with rotting fish. Oil slicked ripples embracing a dying animal. The sweetness of gangrene. The bitter of diseased flesh. I kept my gorge and spoke further. “You are of the sea, but we are hundreds of miles away from the ocean. Who were you reaching out for?” His laughter stopped.
“You’re not going to bring [Target] to me, are you.”
I looked at the mass of people by the playground. I knew I was dreaming, but I also knew this was no mere dream. Many of them were real people, having real dreams. Those that were destroyed would wake up in shock and fright, only able to know they had a horrible nightmare. But I knew that nearly all of them will shake off the fear and begin their waking lives, quickly forgetting the sensations they endured.
But the one he named, is a Dreamwalker such as I. Psychological torments will not be forgotten by the time the coffee brews. Hooks in the soul will not melt on morning light. I am weighing the dreams of sixty thousand people against the fortitude of one person.
“Nope.”
I was prepared for the screaming to start. I was prepared for the intensity, the shrillness, the pleas for gods and spirits. I still flinched. I stared at the boy, even as I knew he was turning everyone at the playground. He snarled at me, clenching tiny little fists, his face breaking and reforming, the stench of unclean water threatening to make me hurl.
“I will destroy this town if you don’t swear to me you will bring [kir] to me tonight!”
“No.”
Down the street, the gawkers and shoppers started screaming in panic and pain. Bullets rang out as a cry of “Zombies!” was choked out. I heard car tires squeal, glass breaking, and many (so many) children crying out into voiceless sighs of collapsing sand. I swallowed my tears and reminded myself this was all the boy could do to them. What he could do to the Dreamwalker was worse, far worse.
“Seems you are less human than me.” I smiled and nodded. “You’re no fun. Go away.” I formally bowed, and walked away. But instead of leaving the city and the dream, I walked to the closest piles of sand. “What are you doing?” I did not answer.
The remains of the people at the playground formed a dune three feet deep and dozens of feet long. I knew I could not destroy him, but I could leave a mark. One that other Dreamwalkers would be able to read and understand. The boy supplied the silica, I will supply the heat.
“Answer me! What are you doing?” My black feathers became licks of flame as I unleashed my unquenchable heart. He abandoned the form by my arm and reformed himself a safe distance away from the glass-melting heat. “You’re going to seal me into glass? You dumb bitch! I am all over this town! You can’t seal me!”
It is not my intention to seal him. I created a fire vortex around me, pulling in air currents close to the ground to feed me sand. The sand melted together into spiraling twists of multicolored glass in which was embedded seemingly random metal objects. An occasional crackle of cooked rounds would shatter my creations, but my fire was relentless. The glass pillars rose high around me. Each one showing the metal remnants of each dreamer clearly. Each one resonating my warning about the sand elemental. Any Dreamwalker that came across it would know by instinct what the pillars were.
I saw the Chief’s badge, his engraved pocket-watch (in memory of his beloved wife), and his wedding ring in the glass. I saw gold teeth and baby charms. I saw pacemakers and diamond earrings. And each object only fueled my fire more. The grommets of shoes, chastity rings, little lockets, antique brooches, cane collars, and hip flasks. This bastard was holding sixty thousand people hostage for one person.
The supply of sand suddenly surged. The elemental had figured out what I was doing and was trying to snuff out my flames. I surrendered my body to the flames of my heart and became pure fire. My time in this dream was about to run out. Towering over glass pillars and my fire vortex was a swirling dune. It collapsed over glass and fire, burying everything under several dozen feet of sand. It was more than I was able to bear. I felt the elemental’s cry of triumph at successfully snuffing me and hiding the glass pillars. Its cry faltered when I laughed in reply. Any Dreamwalker that comes to this town, that comes within a hundred miles of this town, will know. The glass, even though buried, resonates. I cease.
I wake up with a start. The dust of sand itching my nose even though I know I am safe in my bed. I had been wanting to stay out of complications, however, I understand I have no choice now. At the very least, I have to tell the Dreamwalker kir is being actively hunted.
And I have to get some more rum. My larder is dry. If I’m going to be making more of those kind of decisions, I’m going to need some “patience” of my own on waking.
Make of that, what you may.