The Somnibus: Book I - Finding the Mark (A Paranormal Thriller) Page 3

  He took a deep breath when the seizure finally released its grip. Mort’s pupils remained dilated while his empty eyes held me.

  His bony fingers uncurled and a small, round pebble spilled from his grip, a blue pebble like my mother’s stone. Mort sat motionless, chained to the wall. Life filled into his eyes as his lips separated, revealing aged teeth.

  “Hello.” He cleared his throat and wet his lips. “Well, this is a bit awkward.” Inhaling deeply his fingers fumbled for the padlock, hands trembling as he dialed the lock free.

  The harness rattled when he released himself. It piled onto itself while he pushed his way to his feet. My gaze held his as he made his way across the room and stood in front of me with his right hand extended. “Let me help you up. We need to talk.”

  “No shit.”

  I made sure to follow him downstairs to the kitchen where he made a pot of coffee. My mind swam with questions, flooded with the image of chains and his seizure.

  “Have a seat, Michael.”

  I pulled a chair out but remained on the other side of the table in order to keep a little distance between us. Mort took the seat across from me and sat in silence, stirring his coffee.

  I couldn’t take the silence. “Okay. I’ll start. What the hell was that?”

  Mort sipped from his cup and let it settle before answering me.

  “You might want to do the same from now on.” He sipped from the steaming cup. “Your little field trip to the middle of the interstate the other night, what do you think happened?”

  My mind’s eye flashed the vision of that semi, sliding ass end toward me while my feet remained glued to the pavement. I had no idea how I’d ended up there, but I had a sense that Mort did. I also had a hunch that it wasn’t as simple as sleepwalking.

  -Chapter 7-

  “You miss your parents a great deal, don’t you?”

  His words sent a tear racing down my cheek before I wiped it with the back of my hand.

  “Of course I do. I don’t feel whole anymore.” I took a few more swipes with my hand before I finished.

  I wanted to change the direction of the conversation.

  “In their pictures, how did you know my parents and why… I mean, how do you look the same in every picture as you do right now, sitting in front of me, sipping coffee?”

  Mort took a long drink from the cup and paused before finally surrendering an answer.

  “I knew your mother most of her life. Your grandfather introduced me to her when she was just a girl. I took it upon myself to watch over her for him.” He took another sip before continuing. “I helped with her gift. When she came of age to understand her bridging powers, I felt it my duty to guide her. I gave her the stone, the trace she used. It was chosen for your family.”

  My mind struggled to wrap around what he’d said. My forehead wrinkled more with each sentence he spoke.

  “Bridging powers? Trace?” My confusion must have been obvious because Mort’s head tilted to one side as he studied my reaction.

  “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

  I must have had a curious puppy expression because he stood and motioned for me to follow him to the living room. He continued talking while we sat sipping coffee and exchanging glances.

  Before I realized it, my mouth opened and interrupted him.

  “Why were you chained to the wall upstairs?”

  “Because that’s what should be done; it’s how we protect ourselves. There are dark forces that also possess the power, and they can be dangerous.” He tipped the cup once again. “When you fell asleep holding your mother’s trace, what happened? Do you remember?”

  “Of course I do.” I paused after his words settled. I’d never discussed that with him or anyone else. “How did you know about that?”

  He disregarded my question and asked his own.

  “What do you remember? Tell me what happened.”

  My skin tingled as I remembered the dark shadows, the white light, and the stench from that night.

  “I fell asleep and I had some kind of a nightmare. I felt a painful surge, as if it had sent me out of my body and into some other place, a dark and horrible place. A green haze settled around the periphery of my vision, and I had a few moments where I felt like I became someone else.” I shifted in my seat before the next sentence left my lips.

  “I looked down and saw a woman’s hands. I wore women’s clothes, my mother’s favorite dress. I reached my hands up and touched a soft face, felt an inner happiness.” My mouth quivered before I finished my sentence. “I felt like I had become my mother.” My voice cracked and trailed off.

  “Then what happened?” He leaned forward.

  “The green haze faded, and darkness engulfed me. My mood switched to sadness. Not a normal sadness but a visceral type of misery. These wraithlike things surrounded me like a school of sharks.” I folded my arms in front of me. “What are those things? You know, don’t you?”

  He sat studying my face for a moment before answering.

  “Somnibus. They can be pure evil. The place you entered, it’s a world that is passed through in dreams, and it’s where we pass through when bridging.”

  “Why did it happen? I’ve dreamed a million times in the past and never seen them. Why was this time different?”

  “You fell asleep holding the stone. The stone adds a different dimension to dreaming. An alternate world, you might say. You held her trace when you fell asleep, and the thoughts of your parents weighed heavy on your mind. Give me your hands.”

  He stood in front of me and grabbed my hands, flipping them over to expose the fresh pink skin on my palm. His finger traced the edge of the mark.

  “You have the mark so you possess the power too. That ‘nightmare,’ as you called it, wasn’t a nightmare.”

  He sat up and locked his squinting eyes on me. “You don’t know any of this, do you?”

  “No. How would I?” I stood up and went back to the kitchen. I couldn’t take his treating me like an idiot. “How would I know about all this stuff? Why are you here? What do you want from me?”

  I dumped my coffee down the sink in frustration. When I turned to catch his response, I found him standing right behind me.

  “I’m not here for me. I’m here to protect you.”

  I tried to take a step back, but the counter top caught my lower back.

  “What do you mean? Protect me from what?”

  “From yourself; from the Somnibus. They will come for you now. You broke the rules, and they’re not a lenient bunch. I saved you once, and I almost got stuck there myself. Now that you’ve used the trace, you must keep it with you at all times.” He lowered his head and took a step back.

  “You knocked that thing off me?”

  My head spun with all the information. My lips finally asked the question my mind had been screaming.

  “What’s bridging? What do you mean I have the power, too?”

  Mort sipped from his cup and took a deep breath as if preparing for a long speech.

  “Well, there’s a lot to it, but here it is in a nutshell. When you have the bridging ability, you are able to merge your mind with the minds and bodies of others. You see what they see and feel what they feel. You are able to manipulate what they do.”

  “What happens to the person? I mean, does it hurt?”

  “The person being bridged is in a trancelike state. They know something is not quite right, but they are powerless to stop it. When they are released from the bridge, they have only a foggy recollection of scattered memories and go about their everyday lives.”

  “What does my mother’s stone have to do with anything?”

  “It’s called a trace. You might as well use the proper terms. You must have a trace in order to bridge others. In the hands of a normal person, the trace is just a stone. In the hand of someone with the ability, it is much more.”

  He raised his hand and flashed his palm, tracing the mark he wore on his palm
with his left index finger.

  “This mark has even more power. The trace becomes a powerful thing capable of much more than just bridging.”

  Mort reached into his pocket and pulled out his blue trace.

  “Let me show you something. Your mind is vulnerable right now. You’re struggling to make sense of all this, and your mind has no real focus. Your thoughts are scattered, to say the least.”

  Mort returned to the living room and sat back on the couch. I watched his eyes closely, not sure what he had planned, but my pulse sped up in preparation.

  My eyes closed and when I opened them I stood over the stove. Confusion wrinkled my forehead as the circle on the glass top stove turned red before I lifted my left hand and held it over the heat. My hand burned, but I couldn’t move it. Willing my hand to move away, my muscles ignored the command. It became more painful and my hand flew back. Stepping away, I regained control of my body and rubbed my hand, turning from the stove. Mort sat on the couch, glaring at me, rolling the small blue rock between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Get the idea?”

  “Yeah. I get it.” I made my way back into the living room and sat across from him, still rubbing the palm of my left hand.

  “Why did this happen all of a sudden? Why didn’t I know about this sooner, and what caused it to happen now?”

  “I guess your mother didn’t want you to know about it, and your father knew nothing about the power.”

  “What happened that made it click?”

  “When you dream, there is an energy that creates a signal. A normal dream sends off a benign signal, like a ripple. During a bridge, the signal sent off is much stronger, more like an ocean swell. The Somnibus sense this and investigate the trace holder. At first, you as the trace holder will bridge as normal. For the first few moments, you will be in your host and all is good,” he lifted his cup again.

  “Like when I bridged my mother, right?” I interjected.

  “The Somnibus are there to keep a balance. They have a role, though a not-so-polite one. There is one major rule that when broken, they have no tolerance for. We can never bridge to the dead, it’s forbidden, and should be the first thing explained to those who have the gift. You said it yourself, you felt as though you had become your mother. That is why the Somnibus want you.”

  The base of my skull pounded, as if my brain was being pulled down by the stem.

  “What would they have done to me?”

  Mort stared at me, more like through me, for a minute before giving a response.

  “They would have kept you there. Your host body here would pass away, and your soul would be stuck in their dark world forever, as a Somnibus. Their recruiting methods are a bit harsh, but it is their duty to hold on to as many as they can and keep them in their world. The one that you got away from, he’s a particularly miserable prick. He doesn’t give up, and he will try to get to you.”

  “Is there any way they can come here, to our world?”

  “Yes, they can and they do. They have the ability to bridge to those here in our world. Have you ever watched the news and wondered ‘How could anyone do that?’ The answer is usually simple: Somnibus. They invade the minds of the fragile. He will bridge to a host, usually when the mind is vulnerable or otherwise weak. The host sees what the Somnibus is doing, and they experience the emotions, but they have no self-control. Their mind is bridged with that of the Somnibus, and they must sit powerless while the Somnibus does what he has come to do.”

  Mort sipped from the cup while his eyes narrowed, and he too became a bit uneasy.

  “Why do they bridge to our world? What’s the point?”

  Mort squirmed in his chair a bit before answering.

  “They cause pain and heartache in order to ensure a steady stream of weak minds to invade. The depressed and those that have given up on themselves are vulnerable.” Mort tilted his mug once again. “They also need to feed. They feed on small animals here in our world. They need the iron from the blood. You will never forget the metallic stench from your encounter, will you? That is the smell of a well-fed Somnibus. There is no food source in their world. That is part of their motivation to bridge here, into our world. To feed.”

  “How are you able to go back and forth? You were there and saved me, but you came back.”

  Mort stood, and before he went upstairs, he turned his chin over his shoulder. “I’m different, that’s how,” holding his right hand up in the air, exposing his mark, while he climbed the stairs.

  -Chapter 8-

  After Mort left me to ponder his parting words, I realized what he’d meant about protecting himself. If I had chained myself up the other night, I might not have ended up in the middle of the interstate in my underwear.

  Someone had bridged me that night. I thought I’d been sleepwalking, but for whatever reason, they released me at the last second. That semi almost killed me. Why let me go? Why go through the trouble of bridging me, taking me on a little field trip, and scaring the shit out of me just to let me go?

  My mind had had enough over the last couple of hours. I headed upstairs to check on Mort and go to bed. When I passed by his room I stopped, and pressed my ear to the door.

  “You need anything?”

  “No thanks, Michael. I’ll talk to you in the morning,” his muffled voice broke through the silence.

  The rattling of his security chains clinked and clanked as he settled in for the night, and I walked down the hall to my room.

  I stood in front of the mirror brushing my teeth. I hadn’t been scared of the dark since I was a kid, not until that night. My stomach turned on itself when I thought about what Mort told me. What if he came for me?

  Climbing into bed my eyes immediately grew heavy. I decided to just give in to my lids and take my chances. After all, I’d have to sleep at some point.

  My eyes opened to the ceiling fan spinning overhead. I remained motionless until my body involuntarily sat up and slid from my bed. My feet paused when they hit the floor. Opening the bedroom door, I realized I’d been bridged again, and I had no control. I turned the knob, and walked into the hallway. I stood there, as if confused, for what seemed like an eternity. Before padding my way down the hall, I knew I was going to Mort’s room.

  The knob to Mort’s door wouldn’t open but my grip strengthened and I shook the handle.

  “Michael? Is that you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Can I come in for a second?”

  The rattling of his bindings preceded his voice from the other side of the door. “Are you okay, Michael? It’s three in the morning.”

  My head had no clear direction. I wanted to yell out that it was me, yet it wasn’t me, but my brain held my mouth hostage, and nothing escaped my lips.

  “Everything’s fine. I just want to talk. I can’t sleep.” The words came out distorted as I struggled to keep my lips from allowing them to escape. The base of my skull ached as I tried to regain control of my body. The intensity increased like a vise cranking shut.

  “Give me a second. I’ll be right there.” The sound of the chains piling up broke through the door.

  My skin bristled with rage. Blood pumped through my veins in eager anticipation of what I wanted to do to Mort. Oh how I wanted my hands wrapped around his throat.

  The grip tightened on my skull as I tried to force my way back into the driver’s seat of my brain. I’d almost gained control as the bolts on Mort’s door unlatched one by one, and took my hand off the handle. Taking a step back, the vise tightened further and forced my hand back to the door handle. Stepping in front of the door, I squeezed the knob. I battled myself for control of my actions, fighting whoever or whatever had taken over my mind.

  Click.

  Pushing back against the vise, the door unlocked.

  Slide. Click.

  The grip loosened.

  The final lock clicked open, and Mort opened the door. My head hung when I walked into the room, brushing past him.

  “
What’s up? Is everything okay?”

  I wanted to scream that everything was definitely not all right but couldn’t. Standing with my back to him as the door closed, I turned around and cleared my throat. “Yeah, I just wanted to know something.”

  “Sure, what is it?”

  I raised my head to answer and his eyes swelled with fear. I rushed at him but he sidestepped out of the way. I crashed into the door, my nose crunching against the doorframe. I almost charged him again when Mort yelled, “Fight it. You can stop this!”

  The pain clamped the back of my skull, but I continued to try to push my way back into control of my brain. My attack stopped, and my body froze in place. I was winning the struggle. I concentrated on forcing the invader from my mind and body while Mort stood in the corner, waiting for my next move.

  “You are strong. Shut. Him. Down!”

  His words gave me the strength I needed to force myself back into control. Hatred dissipated from my skin, replaced by a coolness settling onto my body. The room spun as my legs liquefied beneath me.

  I melted to the floor and watched from the carpet through fuzzy eyes as Mort made his way to me. The warm, tinny taste filling my throat confirmed that I’d broken my nose when I’d smashed into the door. I lay half-conscious on the floor, bleeding. Mort’s knees cracked as he squatted down to me.

  “You want me to help you set up a harness in your room tomorrow?”

  Mort helped me up and into the bathroom. I stood in front of the mirror with my chin pointed up, pinching my nose with a washcloth. Mort sat on the edge of the tub and remained silent while I tried to process what had happened. Well, I knew what had happened, but I didn’t know how or why.

  Eventually, he broke the silence.