Midsummer Dream House

 

When Darkness Comes

 
1: There’s No Place Like Home

 

Some Friday afternoon game show was a low murmur on the telly, but Tom was only giving it half an ear while he browsed a two-day old copy of the Yorkshire Evening Post.

Waiting was never his thing, really, especially on days like this; as ever, he was impatient to play granddad. The chores were done, the cabin prepared; there was nothing else now to occupy his mind.

When Tom finally heard the low rumble of an engine he cast aside the newspaper and grinned at the photo of Miriam on the mantelpiece: “Here they are,” he growled, “let the mayhem begin!”

A few strides – he wasn’t in too bad a shape for an old feller – and he was out on the patio. Down near the cabins, on the widened patch of driveway that served for guest parking, Meg’s hybrid Clio was already parked up.

Raj clambered out of the passenger side and stretched, but – typical of the lad – it was Tariq who seized centre stage. Exuberant as ever, the boy’s face beamed out of the near-side rear window. Tom just about heard the exited greeting: “Granddad!”

Tom chuckled and waved. The boy cracked open the door and was out of the car in a shot. An exasperated cry from his mother trailed in his wake.

Crunching gravel underfoot, Tariq raced up the path. “Granddad!”

The boy slammed into Tom and hugged his legs with all the enthusiasm only an eight-year-old could muster.

“Woah there, Taz, lad. Careful of an old man.”

“Granddad, we saw a shadowspire!”

Taz’s eyes shone with excitement. Tom felt the goosebumps prickle. He rallied for the boy’s sake. “Oh aye, that’s what they’re calling ‘em now, is it? Well, I suppose it fits.”

“Look, Granddad!”

The boy raised his tablet so that Tom could see the screen. There it was, a narrow stripe of utter black vanishing into the sky: an uncanny streak of wrongness.

“Well, look at that. You passed it on the way up?”

“Yes, Granddad. It was in a field. The cows didn’t like it.”

“I’ll bet,” he muttered.

“No conspiring, you two.” Meg approached, wheeling a suitcase in her wake. “Showing off his prize, is he?”

“Aye. Hello, Meg.” He gave his daughter a hug. Down by the car, Raj was pulling out more luggage; he paused to wave. “Sure you brought enough?”

“Oh, Dad, give over; you’re as bad as Raj. We haven’t brought that much.”

“So what was this shadowspire of Taz’s doing?”

“Same as all the others. Nothing. Just sat there like a fault-line in reality.”

Tom felt the nape of his neck prickle again. Before he found the words to respond, his granddaughter, Amy strolled over; he welcomed the distraction. Busy thumbs worked her phone, but she glanced up and brightened the mood with a dazzling smile.

“Hi, Granddad,” she said, then her glance caught Taz and her features darkened to disapproval, probably on principle.

Give the lad his due; Taz wasn’t one for being sidelined so easily. “I saw the shadowspire first, Granddad,” he said, glaring back at his sister. “I could have claimed it, but I had to take a picture instead.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “You’re the first after all the others.”

“I did see it first, but Mummy won’t let me tag it…”

“Some joker’s made an app so people can track these things,” Meg added. “Taz is pestering me to let him install it. They’re not Pokemon, you know.”

“Mummy, I know that!” The boy pouted. Tom chuckled, relishing the humour as an antidote to his unease.

Amy piped up: “What are they, Granddad?”

“Don’t know, lass.” Tom shrugged. “Nobody does.”

Catching Meg’s eye, he didn’t add: That’s the trouble.

# # #

 

Later that evening, they gathered around the telly; to Tom’s mind an echo of the hearths of yesteryear.

One entertainment blended into the another, chugging out electric carbon unheeded while they caught up with small talk and goings on; background ambience, that’s all it was.

Tom supped his Saltaire Blonde out of the bottle; soaked up the contended mood. Meg was on the red wine, cosied up with Raj on the couch. Earl Grey was his tipple.

“How’s the cabin?” Tom asked. “Got the kids settled okay?”

Meg stifled a yawn. “Yeah, Tariq’s okay on the sofa bed. I think he quite likes the adventure of slumming it. Amy’s glad of a room of her own.”

“So are we,” Raj said, giving Meg a playful hug.

“Get off,” she said, giggling. “You’ll make me spill my wine!”

Raj grinned, letting go to pick up the remote; he began to flick through the channels.

“You got lucky,” Tom said. “Had a last minute cancellation before you arrived. Same on the other cabin too. The folks in the cottage headed off early a day or two ago. It’s these shadowspires, got people spooked, otherwise you’d all be squeezed into the spare room.”

“Well, we’ve got Taz settled. He’d better be asleep soon, if he’s not already, or Amy’ll throw a fit. She’s keeping an eye on him.”

Tom laughed. “Oh, aye, I bet she’s loving that.”

“She’s not quite as moody as she likes to make out.”

“But don’t let on her secret’s out… hey!” Raj leaned forward, jarring Meg’s elbow. She let out an exasperated cry; switching her glass from one hand to the other, she sucked spilled wine from her fingers.

Raj ignored her, intent on the screen. He pointed with the remote and turned up the volume. “Isn’t that Taz’s shadowspire?”

“Looks like a bunch of bloody cows to me,” she replied, frowning.

“Yeah. Look.”

Tom leaned forward. “Something’s got ‘em spooked, that’s for sure.”

# # #

 

Somehow, the cows had broken out of their field and strayed onto the road. On any other day, the scene would have been almost comical, but not today, Tom thought; not with that bloody shadowspire lurking on the edge of shot.

They’d missed most of the pre-recorded report, but from the woman’s vantage point, the cows could be seen milling around in the lanes, oblivious to the traffic backed up behind them. A couple of police cars had formed a rough and ready cordon. Several men and women were trying to herd the animals into the back of a lorry parked in the lay-by. It looked to be an awkward process.

“It appears these animals really don’t like sharing their field,” the reporter said, her tone seeming to make light of the situation.

Tom grunted at the screen. “Animals always did have more sense than folk.”

“According to the police, these stragglers will be rounded up within the hour. But with more of this strange phenomenon appearing by the day, it’s likely we can expect to see further disruptions like this.”

The broadcast cut to the studio, where the presenter smiled calmly at his audience; just another day’s routine local news, you’d think.

“It’s not just these cows that are finding The Phenomenon unsettling,” he said. “There’s been a spike in reports of missing pets – cats and dogs, even feral rats – going astray. And experts are reporting an exodus of local wildlife from the vicinity of sightings, so what are they trying to tell us?”

The camera zoomed out, revealing a woman sat across from the presenter; on a screen behind him, a dark-skinned man waited patiently.

“To find out, Professor Sally Marsden from the University of Leeds has joined us in the studio, and on screen we have Doctor Anton Slattery, from Leicester University Space Centre.”

“Oh, turn it off, Raj; more talking heads,” Meg said.

“No, wait, let’s hear what they’ve got to say.”

Tom rolled his eyes and supped his beer. “Summat and nowt, I’ll bet.”

“Professor Marsden, if I could turn to you first, what do we know so far about The Phenomenon. Animals really don’t like these things, do they?”

“No, it would appear not.”

“So what are they trying to tell us? The Phenomenon appears pretty harmless. These things just stand there doing nothing, don’t they?”

“They appear harmless, yes, but we would urge people not to approach these things; we can’t be sure what they are doing.”

“I understand that temperatures around instances of The Phenomenon are a degree or so cooler than the local average, so presumably they are doing something.”

“That’s right. They appear to be soaking up energy from the immediate environment. No light is reflected, no light emerges, and that’s why they appear so utterly black.”

“No shit,” Raj muttered.

“Dr Slattery, if we can bring you in here: some scientists have suggested that The Phenomenon represents some kind of ‘energy dead zones’, fractures in the fabric of space and time itself, but I understand you’re not convinced?”

“That’s certainly what some in the scientific community are speculating,” Slattery said. “But it is only that – speculation. The trouble is, if these filaments are ‘dead zones’ in local spacetime and we’re just passing through them, why does each one maintain its position?”

“Perhaps you could explain for our viewers, Dr Slattery?”

“Well, the Earth is rotating and moving through space as it orbits the sun, but our parent star is also on the move – orbiting the centre of the Milky Way. Our galaxy is itself flying through the cosmos. If this Phenomenon represents some kind of fault in local spacetime, you would expect them to be fleeting apparitions, ghosting through the planet as we pass through them.”

“I see.” The presenter’s tone suggested he didn’t; Tom sympathised. “So what do we know about their growth?”

“We know absolutely nothing,” Slattery said. “What feeds the cycle, how it’s triggered, it’s a mystery, and that’s without even considering the mechanism. One thing we do know, when each one replicates it increases in girth and height, which seems counter-intuitive, but we’ve plenty of data to confirm this, at least. We’re trying to identify whether these things could eventually pose some kind risk to satellites.”

“Oh, how so?”

“We don’t know,” he said. A pause. “Maybe disrupt communications. Maybe nothing at all. We’re a long way from understanding the nature of these things.”

“We’re not sure how deep they go, either,” Marsden added. “We know from ground penetrating radar that they have a sub-surface presence in the Earth’s crust.”

The presenter turned in his seat. “So, why is that a concern, Professor?”

“Well, if these things are absorbing energy from the local environment, enough of them together could provoke tectonic stresses by interfering with magma flows; who knows what else? Sadly, all we can do is speculate at the moment. There are too many unknowns.”

“Somebody call Doctor… no, Professor Quatermass,” Tom said.

“Doctor who?”

“Quatermass. Before your time. He…” Tom stopped when he caught Raj’s grin. “Yeah, okay.”

“Blue Tardis to the rescue,” Raj said, chuckling.

Meg nudged him with her elbow. “It’s what they’re not telling us, that’s how I know these things aren’t right.”

“What do you mean, lass? Sounds dire enough to me: earthquakes and radio silence.”

“Yeah, I guess, but what have they actually done to study these things? What’s wrong with their instruments? There’s something they’re not telling us. Why doesn’t someone pop their head in with a torch and see what’s there?”

Raj laughed. “Give over, who’d want to stick their head in one of them things?”

Despite himself, Tom shivered. “Bloke down the pub told me they’re portals to distant worlds. Didn’t seem in a hurry to visit foreign parts himself, mind. It’s just talk. Nobody knows anything; it’s all make-believe to fill in the blanks.”

“Maybe they are gates to our world; when they’re ready, something’s going to pop out and demand to be taken to our leader…”

Tom grunted. “God help us, then, with the clowns we’ve got in charge.”

“Yeah, well, whatever it is,” Raj added, “what can we do about it?”

“Aye.” Tom nodded. “The whole world’s playing Gogglebox to some eldritch cosmic occ–”

“We’re on holiday is what we are,” Meg said. “A family get together, and that’s what we’re going to do. Shadowspires, or not, we’re here to relax. So enough of this morbid talk.”

Tom raised his bottle. “I’ll drink to that.”

# # #

 

2: When Saturday Comes

 

To Tom’s mind, this was a proper Saturday morning; blessed family time.

The kids were playing football on the lawn, leaving the ‘oldsters’ to take it easy on the patio.

Amy was running rings around Taz, poor lad, but she did have some nifty footwork. She also had a good five years on her brother and a habit of overplaying her advantage. Siblings. She took possession, nimbly dribbled the ball, kicked – and scored.

“GOAL!” Amy beamed at the adults, arms held triumphant.

“Good shot, lass!” Tom declared. Taz’s mouth opened ready to howl. “Never mind, lad, you’ll get one over on your sister yet.”

“Two-nil. Two-nil!” Amy danced victory.

“Mummy, it’s not fair! Football’s a boy’s game!”

“No such thing, Taz,” Raj said, without glancing up from his phone.

Tom chuckled at the absurdities of young boys.

“Amy, go easy on Taz, okay? Give him a chance.”

“Oh, Mum!” She put her hands on her hips. “It’s not my fault if Tariq can’t play…”

“Amy!”

“You’ve got to let me win,” Taz said, smug.

“In your dreams.” She did ease off; not by much, though.

“So,” Tom asked, “what’s the plan for today, then?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe we could go over to Haworth, get a taste of Bronteland, or else we could go up Ilkley-way and take a walk around the Cow and Calf Rocks. Reckon you’re up to that, Dad?”

“Aye, I’ll manage. I’m not that far gone. What about you, Raj?”

He was engrossed in his phone. Meg gave him a nudge. “Raj!”

“Give over,” Raj said, sparking back to life. “Check this out – Chernobyl’s gone.”

Meg paused. “What?”

“Chernobyl.” He waggled his phone. “Telegraph says the whole plant has been swallowed by a shadowspire.”

“Bloody big place, that,” Tom said, frowning. “Gone has it? Well, I don’t suppose anybody’s going to miss it.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Raj looked at his phone again. “Anyway, how can Chernobyl be actually gone? How can you say it’s not there any more?”

“Well… I don’t know.” Tom shrugged. “What else can it be? As good as gone, then. Those shadowspires…”

“What is ‘Chernobyl’?”

“Oh, come on Meg, you must know.”

“Know what?”

“It was a bloody great nuclear reactor. Caught fire and spewed radiation over half of Europe back in ‘86.”

“I was only four!”

“Even so,” Tom said. “A whole town was evacuated, Pripyat. It’s a ghost town now.”

“No, it isn’t. The shadowspire took the town too, apparently.”

“The same one? Christ! It must be huge!”

“I guess. I don’t know. Probably a cluster of the things. It’s not clear from the report. It just says the town’s gone too.”

“Oh,” Meg added. “Yeah, I remember now. I read about Pripyat. Didn’t people still live there? Unofficially.”

“Not any more,” Raj said.

A thoughtful silence took hold, but it didn’t last long before the kids interrupted. They were shouting; agitated about something.

“What is it?” Meg half turned in her chair, gasped ohshit…

“There’s a shadowspire…”

Taz piped in: “It’s in the field over there!”

Tom saw it and felt his heart sink. Beyond the grounds, across the road, two fields into the scenery, about half a mile, maybe, there it was; a thick black marker line ruled straight into the sky.

“Can we go take a look?”

Tom was surprised at the girl; less so when Tariq added: “Me too! I want to go see the shadowspire. Can we, Granddad, can we, Dad?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Meg said.

Tom shivered. “Maybe we ought to take a look, just to be sure.”

“Of what?” Raj sounded incredulous.

A shrug, Tom mumbled: “Won’t know ‘til we go see.”

# # #

 

Up close, rising out of the middle of the field, the shadowspire was an even more unsettling presence; so black it wrenched at the soul.

Tom paused to catch his breath after clambering over the stile and he let the others go ahead; prickling hackles spurred a worried hand through his hair.

The scale was something else; no longer rendered a thin line by perspective, the shadowspire was as wide as a mature oak. A shadow – a real shadow – stretched across the grass; a pale imitation.

“Well now, will you look at that,” he mumbled. Louder, he added: “So one of these things swallowed Chernobyl. Not much to look at, really, is it?”

Raj glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, or else a whole lot of these things all bunched together… These things are eating the world.”

“Don’t say things like that.” Meg nodded towards the kids.

“They’re not daft; we can’t hide them from this.” Raj approached the shadowspire and peered at it, as if he might be able to see whatever was inside. “What are they waiting for, do you think? What are they hiding?”

“What do you mean, Raj?” Amy asked.

“It’s an invasion!” Taz sounded far too excited at the prospect for Tom’s liking.

“Don’t be daft, Taz. We’re not in a sci-fi movie, you know.”

“Dad! I know that! But we are being invaded!”

Out of the mouths of babes, thought Tom, craning his neck to see the shadowspire’s dizzying ascent become lost to perception. How high did this one reach?

“Let’s go back,” Meg said. “I don’t like it.”

“I know what you mean,” Tom said. “Even the hairs on my bum are prickling.”

Taz giggled; no one else.

“Yeah, there’s nothing we can do here, I guess.” Raj warily held his hand close to the Stygian surface. “Woah, feel that!”

“Raj! Don’t!”

“It’s okay, Amy. It’s cold close up. I can really feel the difference.” He shivered, as if someone had walked over his grave. Tom felt his chest chill in sympathy, as if this random stranger had hopped over his too.

The shadowspire blurred, flickered; for all the world like it was a gigantic guitar string just plucked. Tom blinked. In that instant of disconnection, the world changed with a harsh cry.

“My hand! I can’t feel my hand!”

Raj staggered away from the shadowspire, right arm clutched to his chest, face scrunched up in anguish. Taz began to howl. Amy clutched at her brother; a gesture of comfort she probably needed as much as did the boy.

Meg rushed over to Raj. She took his hand in hers, gently rubbing it. “You’re freezing,” she said.

“Yeah.” Gritted teeth. “Damn thing expanded. Swallowed my hand. Flash of cold. I mean really cold, it felt like my skin was burning. Now it’s just numb.”

The shadowspire was even thicker now. Another one had appeared towards the end of the field, just by the drystone wall, unnervingly close to the stile.

Tom tried to ignore the jitter in his knees. “We’d better get back while we still can.”

# # #

 

Back at the house, the mood was dismal. Hardly surprising, Tom knew.

He tried to make himself useful by making some tea; he plonked a mug down on the kitchen table in front of Raj.

“There you go, lad. That’ll make you feel better.”

“Thanks, Tom.” Slurred words. Raj stared at the mug, listless, while everybody else just watched and waited.

“You all right, Raj?” Tom winced at the words that almost escaped his lips. Need a hand?

Raj smiled weakly, as if he’d mind-read the unspoken phrase. “Yeah. Finger-licking good.”

Raj reached automatically for the mug with his limp hand. The fingers didn’t so much as even twitch, let alone grip the handle. “Fuckssake.”

“You’ll be right, Raj. When the feeling comes back, you’ll see.”

“Yeah. It’s just numb, that’s all.” He stared slack-faced at the cup, massaging his immobile hand in his lap.

“Let me have a look at it,” Meg said. “Dad, can you get your first aid kit?”

Tom went over and opened the cupboard. Standing on tip-toes he rummaged the top shelf, carefully removing the kit from the detritus piled on top of it.

“Here you go,” he said, placing the box on the table and opening it. “Not sure what we’ve got for hands that have had a grip of alien nethers, though.”

“Very funny,” Raj said, but he managed a weak chuckle.

Meg reached for Raj’s injured hand, but he pulled it away. “It’ll be okay in a while.”

“Raj, you’re not getting out of it that easy.” She took his hand; rubbed it in her own. She frowned. “It’s still cold, can you feel that?”

Raj shook his head and gave Tom an imploring look.

“Don’t look at me, lad. Meg’s the boss in this sort of thing; she’s the first aider in the family.”

“Yeah, enough for the office, not for dealing with unexplained cosmic phenomena. I’m going to bandage your hand lightly, Raj. Just to keep it warm, really. Don’t know what else to do. Then I’ll put it in a sling until you get your feeling back.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Tom felt like a spare wheel watching. “I’d better do my rounds of the cabins,” he said, but his heart wasn’t really in it. “I’ll let you get on.”

“Okay, Dad. This won’t take long. Do you want a cup of tea?”

“Aye. That’ll do nicely.”

# # #

 

Meg had done him one better than a cup of tea. The bottle of Speckled Hen was going to be a much-needed treat; as soon as he found the motivation to crack it open and take a swig, that is.

In truth, Tom wasn’t really all that sure he was in the mood for a tipple. There was little of that earlier holiday cheer left now. Raj’s lethargy was infectious. The daily routine was somehow just that much harder.

The kids had found their second wind, at least. They were out in the grounds, kicking a ball about. Tom took some comfort in the resilience of youth, but he couldn’t rid himself of the sage worries of age.

Raj sat on the couch, arm trussed up, staring blankly at the telly. Reception wasn’t great. The image kept breaking up, the sound warping with squawks of interference. Tom glared at the blocky screen, cursing as he flicked through the channels, looking for something more stable.

“It’s the shadowspires,” Raj said. “They’re interfering with the signal or something.”

“How do you now that, son?”

He waved his phone. “Internet was built to survive a nuclear war, didn’t you know? Pity we can’t take off, nuke these things from orbit. Then we could be sure.”

Tom grinned. For once he got the reference; well, it was an old movie.

“Phone’s patchy, though,” Raj added. “Can’t get hold of my folks in Leicester, but I managed to WhatsApp my brother. London’s nuts, he says; lot of people leaving.”

“Don’t blame ‘em,” Tom murmured, thumbing the remote again. The next channel froze the thought. “Blow me! Didn’t get this from the internet, did you?”

“Haven’t checked it for a bit. What’s happened now?”

“Not sure,” he said, staring at the bewildering image. “Nothing good.”

Tom shuffled to the couch and slumped down beside Raj. The flickering collage of images was beginning to make some kind of unreal sense; barely assisted by the reporter’s attempt at calm explanation.

“What are we going to do?”

“Nowt we can do.”

“All those people…” Raj broke off; little wonder. This was beyond any meaningful human sentiment. They watched together in dumbfounded silence.

Manhattan was gone; the iconic skyline erased.

The BBC reporter was struggling to convey the situation, mindlessly filling the void with words; that professional façade unmistakeably wafer thin.

They watched from the camera’s vantage point, somewhere on the mainland. The sunlit sky was split vertically by the thick streak of utter darkness where once there’d been a forest of skyscrapers. A helicopter darted across the void, red light gleaming at its tail. A few glints of light shimmered from the absent city, too; evidently, this was no singular shadowspire, but a thicket of the things grown rampant.

Tom felt a pang of grief. He’d never been to New York, but he felt like he’d known that city from so many movies and shows. The loss was visceral and it stirred a lonely need for a hug; he wished Miriam – lost to cancer these three years gone – were here. But, he conceded, maybe she was better off out of it.

Raj let out a sob. Outside, the kids played on, oblivious. Tom fumbled in his pocket and retrieved his bottle opener. Small blessings.

Cut to the Whitehouse. The President had been in New York. The spokesperson urged calm. Nobody was really listening. Reporters asked furious questions, shouting over each other. The woman held up her hands, appealing for calm, then gave up. She walked off the stage, leaving uproar.

A talking head back in the BBC studio. The stock markets had plunged (although not the New York Stock Exchange, obviously). Gridlock on major transport networks; people hurrying to leave major metropolitan areas. Nobody asked where they were going to go.

Religious leaders were urging prayer. Scientists urged efforts at understanding. Most people demanded answers. None were forthcoming.

Tom finally cracked open his beer and supped it down. The taste was lost to his tongue.

# # #

 

Later that evening, they were back around the telly, this time with the kids.

Tom sat in his usual chair by the fireplace. Meg and Raj were huddled together on the couch. The kids sat cross-legged on the floor. The homeliness was hollow, though; the foolhardy mission unfolding on the screen made sure of that.

“We know what’s going to happen,” Raj said, dejected. He raised his bandaged hand. “They must know, too. It’s a fucking suicide mission.”

“Aye, on international telly, too.”

Meg rubbed Raj’s arm. “They’re in the space station, that’s got to offer some kind of protection, and they’ll be wearing full space suits, too.”

“Yeah, okay, I guess. Maybe that’s something.” Raj didn’t seem convinced. Neither did the kids. Tom caught the glance Amy and Taz shared.

“What I don’t get,” Tom said “is why they don’t just fly a plane through, or one of those drone thingies?”

Meg shrugged. “Guess they’re worried about it falling out of the sky and landing on people.”

“Oh, great,” Raj said, “a space station crashing down is so much better.”

“It’s in orbit. It’s not going to fall. Look, I don’t know why, maybe they want to know how these things will affect satellites.”

Tom shook his head. Even he understood it was an unlikely mission, driven by desperation. He just hoped somebody, somewhere, knew what they were doing.

Tom struggled to follow the bewildering collage of images, hardly helped by the intermittent squelches of blocky interference. They watched, anyway. What else were they going to do?

Even hope was holding its breath, as the crew of the International Space Station used short bursts from its thrusters to nudge the mammoth machine into an intercept orbit with the largest Manhattan shadowspire; apparently the only one to have breached the Earth’s exosphere (so far).

Tom did not relish learning the new word, but the talking heads were done: little more than technobabble as prayer. Now they watched the mission in real-time. Ground-based telescopes, orbital eyes in the sky, kept track of the station’s progress. Live feeds from various points on the station itself offered different angles on its approach. Chief among them was the point-of-view from the command module, curved Earth and cloudscape below – and there, on the horizon…

Tom gasped, involuntary. Framed by the station-view camera and some trick of the angle, the shadowspire wasn’t so much a column, as a monolith; utter black against the hues of mother Earth; it snatched the gaze and demanded awe.

“My God, it’s full of stars,” he said, not so quietly as he thought.

“No, it isn’t,” Meg said.

“I meant… it reminds me of that film. Space Odyssey…”

“2001.”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“I don’t think there’s any god-like aliens on the other side of this thing,” Raj said.

“What’s going to happen, Granddad?” Taz, wide eyed and solemn, trusting in the adults.

“Don’t know, son. Let’s just watch and see.”

Chatter between the ISS and mission control; routine, calm. On screen, an internal shot of the station: helmeted astronauts focused on the job. Cut to a shot of mission controllers tense over their consoles; giant screens displayed live telemetry and trajectory models for all to see. Voice-over from one of the reporters; hushed comments adding little, other than to justify his pay.

Now the ‘monolith’ dominated the screen. Nothing but black, a faint halo of Earth-light highlighting its nothingness against the backdrop of space. The presenter fell silent, awed maybe, by sight of the shadow’s maw.

“We’ll be waiting for you on the far side, ISS,” said the voice of mission control. “Good luck and Godspeed.”

“Copy that, control. Braced for entry. Here we g–”

Radio silence. The station passed into shadow. Mission control’s telemetry screens went dark. One by one the station camera feeds dropped out. Tom felt his gut clench, his lungs leaden with anticipation. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amy clutch Taz and hold him close.

Turgid seconds. Nobody moved, everything was frozen. Tom realised he was leaning forward; he tried to relax. The world paused.

“Come on,” he said.

Then, just like that, it was all over. The ISS emerged from the shadowspire, reappearing on radar. A few screens in mission control kicked into life. The cheer of welcome loosened Tom’s tongue, but his throat clamped down on any elation when mission control stuttered back into silence. No comms. No telemetry. Dead screens.

The station was reacquired on camera. Drastically decelerated, the ISS tumbled in a lazy, decaying orbit; systems down, no power. Even so, desperate ground control crew tried frantically to raise the astronauts. Belatedly, the transmission cut to studio presenters, rallying as best they might.

It took a while for it all to sink in. Then Raj grumbled: “So much for space suits.”

# # #

 
3: Sunday Brings No Rest for the Afflicted

 

There were even more of the things out there this morning; through the kitchen window Tom’s once heartening view of the Yorkshire countryside was riddled with black lines.

Tom tried to ignore the disconcerting sight, but it was right there on the periphery of his vision, nagging for attention. Even so, he attempted to lose himself in the dish washing. They’d let it build up; he wasn’t normally so slack with the chores.

The crackly radio was proving no diversion, but the alternative was brooding silence. Meg, Raj and the kids were in their cabin; maybe they were still asleep. He’d always been an early riser. Semi-retirement hadn’t changed that. Listening to the news, he felt like crawling back to bed and pulling the covers over his head. One way or another, it was all shadowspires.

Tom wasn’t really listening, just absorbing the information through some kind of mental osmosis. The ISS had crashed into atmosphere and broken up over the Atlantic Ocean; that had pricked his ears up. The fiery debris had burned up before it could reach Europe, not that it mattered too much.

More cities had effectively vanished overnight. The loss of life was unimaginable. The lack of real knowing only made it worse. And here he was, wiping suds off a dinner plate, as if normality remained an option.

It had all happened so fast, the shift from curiosity to abject fear. In the wake of Pripyat, Manhattan, and now so many more, where was the sturdy redoubt beyond The Phenomenon’s reach?

Refugees were jamming roads the world over as bewildered people sought to flee population centres, fearful they might go the same way as a growing list of towns and cities. The centre of Leeds was gone too, riddled with shadowspires, far too close for comfort.

Bradford had set up centres for displaced people, even though this mysterious blight was nibbling away its urban fabric too; other nearby towns were following suite. The countryside was no better; he saw that plain enough through his window.

Drying his hands, Tom could only shake his head. “What the hell can I do about it, anyway?”

The flash of anger he felt was a surprise.

# # #

 

By the time he’d finished his chores, the kids were outside kicking a ball about again.

Tom scrunched down the gravel path and left them to their game. The sounds of their play gladdened his old heart, but not enough to lift his sombre mood: not with all those shadowspires encroaching on his little patch of world.

He found Meg outside the cabin, pacing beneath the old beech tree. She looked how he felt; shoulders hunched, face a frown. She had her phone clamped to her ear, free hand clenched at her chest.

She looked up as Tom approached, returned his greeting with a taut little wave. Then she removed the phone from her ear and tapped the screen. “Sugar!”

“Who you trying to get hold of?”

“Everybody,” she barked, exasperated. Then she swore properly and some of the tension went out of her shoulders. “I figured I ought to try and get hold of Amy’s father. The dead-beat isn’t answering, as usual, just his voicemail. Tried to get some medical advice for Raj, too. Can’t get through. Lines are busy or the connection just drops out.”

“It’s them shadowspires,” he said. “They’re causing havoc from what I heard on the radio. There’s power out in some places. Surprised we’ve got any kind of reception at all.”

Meg thrust her phone into a pocket. “Can’t even get onto bloody Facebook to leave a message for Raj’s brother!”

“Is he up? How’s he doing?”

“He’s not getting any better. I’ve told Taz and Amy it’s just a bad cold. I don’t know… Dad, I’m really worried…”

# # #

 

Tom tucked a blanket under Raj’s chin and felt his forehead. He looked like he was burning up; he felt cold and clammy.

“I’ve got to ring Mum,” he said through the feverish shivers, forgetting he’d tried plenty of times before in the days gone.

A glance at Meg; she shook her head. Whether that meant she’d tried and couldn’t get through or else Raj’s mum was lost in some shadowspire, he didn’t know. He tried to remember if Leicester was on the list of lost settlements, but his mind remained blank.

“Later, lad,” he said, moving aside to give Meg room. “You try to rest.”

Sick as he was, Raj wasn’t keen on playing patient. Meg sat beside him and gently removed his arm from beneath the blanket, but when she began to fiddle with his dressing, he flinched and tried to fend her off.

“I’m okay,” he rasped. “Just let me alone.”

“Come on, Raj, lad,” Tom said. “We can all see you’re not right.”

“Dad’s right, Raj. Now stop fussing and let me look at your hand.”

Raj gestured in defeat. Meg took hold of his hand and began to unwrap the bandage. After a while she paused. Her face went pale and she blanched.

“Oh, Raj…”

Tom stepped forward to get a better view and instantly regretted it. The skin on Raj’s hand was discoloured, almost black at the fingertips. There was a faint scent of spoiled meat.

“We need to get you to A&E,” Meg said.

Raj pulled his arm out of her grip. “I’m all right. I’ll be fine.”

“Raj! Look at it!” Meg’s voice cracked. “We’re going, whether you like it or not.”

# # #

 

Amy held Tariq’s hand while Meg fussed over Raj and guided him to the car. Tom stood by with the kids, supposedly a reassuring presence, but he wasn’t feeling too sure of himself right now.

“Will Dad be okay?” the boy asked, bringing Tom out of his reverie.

“He’ll be all right, Taz. The doctors will sort him out. He’ll be back right as rain.”

“That’s what Mum said about Nana,” Amy said. “But she died anyway.”

Taz turned and hugged his sister; he’d never really had the chance to know his grandmother, so he wasn’t anywhere near so worried.

“You kids be good, okay?” Raj called from the car. He looked haggard and tired, all pretence abandoned.

“We won’t be long. Don’t worry,” Meg called. She climbed into the driver’s side and slammed the door.

Tom watched the car pull away and he put his arms around the kids. His eyes strayed to the distant clutter of darkness that marked what had once been the city of Leeds. “It’ll be fine,” he said.

# # #

 

The day wore on. No word from Meg; Tom tried not to fret.

Keeping the kids occupied was easier said than done; boredom wasn’t the problem, more a listless unease that was hard to shake.

DVDs just gave them something to stare at. The same might be said for their personal screens; whatever was left out there in the digital world wasn’t up to much, going by their mutters of frustration.

Tom found little solace in his own screen, between their stock of family movies reception was worse than ever. The radio wasn’t much better. The news channels kept a steady flow of doom and gloom, so not much change there.

Oh, but the conspiracy theorists were having a field day. Most were the usual run of alien interference or deities run amok. With places cooling in the vicinity of the spires, some were even saying it was a secret geo-engineering project; an attempt to address global warming gone wrong.

Back in the real world, a shadowspire had swallowed Parliament, not so funny now it had actually happened. The Beeb’s Broadcasting House was likewise gone; its MediaCity base in Salford had stepped in to provide an emergency national base, but with neighbouring Manchester speckled with shadowspires it was anybody’s guess for how long.

In world news, earthquakes had hit California. There were volcanic eruptions in Indonesia and Iceland. Scientists were in a sweat over the weakening of the Earth’s magnetic field. The economies of the world were in freefall. Governments were rattling sabres over long-standing bones of contention; well, he supposed it was easier than fathoming The Phenomenon’s implacable appetite.

Eventually Tom gave up; it was all too much. He switched off the telly and tried to rouse the kids from their lethargy.

“Come on, you two,” he said, forcing some enthusiasm into his manner. “Why not have a kick around outside? Make the most of the weather…”

Taz looked up. “Is Dad okay?”

“Don’t know, lad. No news is good news.”

“Where are they? Why hasn’t Mum called? At least texted. Why doesn’t she answer her phone?”

“She will, lass. When she can. It can get right busy up at A&E. It’s only been a few hours. They could be there all night, you know.”

“So why isn’t she answering; why hasn’t she called?”

# # #

 

Tom knew he must be a pathetic sight, but he had to hold it together for the kids’ sake.

A call of nature was the only way Tom knew to hide away while he released some of the grief. So, here he was, sat on the bog: an old man with his pants down around his ankles, weeping into his palms.

He removed his hands from his face and glanced at his mobile phone placed on the edge of the bath; nothing fancy, just a basic handset. Without thinking, he snatched it up and thumbed Meg’s speed dial again. The phone went through the motions of trying to connect. The attempt ended with an abrupt message: unobtainable. Not even voicemail operating.

Face facts; they were gone. Meg and Raj. What was he going to tell the kids?

No, there had to be hope. The shadowspires were playing havoc with systems. Too much infrastructure consumed. His little girl was still out there, somewhere. What would Miriam say, seeing him like this? Well, she’d never seen him, before, when the cancer was pulling them apart; he’d made sure of it, so he could present as outwardly strong. But she’d never been a fool; she probably knew. That was his Miriam.

Tom sniffed. Tore off a strip of toiler paper and wiped his eyes. Then he began to fumble his clothes back into place; call of nature unheeded.

Taz and Amy needed their tea. No, they needed their mum and dad, at least the illusion for a little while longer. Magic only their granddad could muster; he pulled up his pants – and himself together – ready to deliver.

# # #

 

Tom went straight to the phone and dialled.

It was an old rotary thing, modified to work on a modern net – something he’d got just to baffle the kids, really – but Amy had long-since dismissed its retro charm. She regarded him now with a sceptical scowl; clearly she didn’t believe it worked, but when he spoke into the mouthpiece he was gratified to see the girl’s jaw drop.

“Meg? Meg! Can you hear me, you’re crackling up – it’s your dad.”

He paused to listen; gave Amy a quick smile.

“You’ve tried ringing? Yeah, us too. Guess the network’s feeling the strain. What’s that you say?”

Tom frowned, concentrating.

“Say that again. Amy wants to know, how’s Raj?”

Another pause. Amy fidgeted.

“Tests you say? Meg? Meg, you’re breaking up. What’s that? Yes, I’ll tell her. Okay, yes… bye. Oh, Meg… ah, she’s gone.”

He turned to Amy. “Your mum is fine, she says hello. They want to do some tests on Raj so they’ll be a while yet.”

Amy folded her arms and glowered. “I wanted to speak to Mum!”

“I know, lass. I’m sorry. The line was real bad, you heard, right? I think she was being called by the docs. She had to go.”

“S’pose.” Amy sighed. She turned and shuffled back into the living room.

Tom didn’t quite let the mask slip, but he felt his body sag as he put the dead handset back on the cradle. Amy wasn’t the only one clinging to hope.

# # #

 

4: In Days Gone By

 

Monday came and went. Still no word from Meg; Tom wasn’t expecting any.

The kids didn’t talk about it; numb inevitability. Tom didn’t know if that was a good thing, but he couldn’t find the words to broach the subject. He wondered if they’d seen through his ruse with the phone.

They grieved, each their own way; throwing themselves into routine, pretending the absence was only temporary. Tom and the kids stared at screens – the telly, tablets, phones, even his old PC – and watched helpless as the world was switched off piece by piece.

Conversation became basic; life was reduced to a skeletal routine – food, toilet, sleep (fitful at best). The kids did what they could, helping with the cabins, which was much, though the point of it now was elusive; something to do, Tom figured. Amy’s tone had softened towards her brother, but who could say how long the armistice would last once – if – life returned to normal.

Kids were often a misrule unto themselves, Tom remembered. There was a blessing in that, somewhere.

# # #

 

They lost power in the night. Tom was rattling around in the kitchen, making the kids something to eat when the lights dropped out.

Amy yelled: “Granddad!”

“It’s okay, probably just a fuse.” But that didn’t explain why what remained of the distant streetlamps through the kitchen window had all gone dark too.

He stumbled, felt for the drawer, then fumbled for the torch. A cone of vision rewarded his efforts and he shuffled towards the fuse box by the kitchen door. A frown as he unlatched the cover and shone the light at the meter.

“Well, bugger it,” he muttered, but he wasn’t really surprised. The circuit breakers on the main board were all in the on position. So much for that.

“Power’s out,” he shouted.

“We know, Granddad,” Taz called back. “Put the lights back on!”

“Can’t, son. Problem’s out there with the grid somewhere.”

Grunting back to his feet, he rubbed his stubbled chin; now, where were they?

He remembered and went to one of the cupboards. A quick rummage and he pulled out a couple of battery powered lanterns. Should last the night, he mused.

“Here, isn’t this cosy,” he said, positioning the lanterns around the front room. “What are your gadgets telling us?”

“No wifi, Granddad!” Taz said, sulky voiced.

Amy tapped at her phone. “I’ve got some data left.” She stared at the screen, lips moving soundlessly “It’s slow. Got something. Shadowspires have taken out a power station and some other stuff. They’re trying to work out a fix.”

“Good luck with that one,” Tom said softly. Louder: “Well, that explains why the horizon’s gone dark. Well, what’s left of it. Don’t you kids worry, we can survive a power cut.”

“But what about my phone, Granddad? I’ll need to charge it soon!”

“Don’t fret, lass. We’ll make do.”

“Granddad! This is serious, how will we know what’s going on?”

“What if Mum tries to call?” Taz said, his voice croaking on the edge of tears.

# # #

 

5: In the Wide Beyond

 

Morning brought no respite, anything but.

Tom stepped out to stand on the patio and let his eyes slowly take in the view. There were so many shadowspires out there now they were soaking up enough daylight to darken the scenery. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear it was dusk.

Most were still some way off, forests of the things. But some of the blighted scenery was too close to home. A cluster brooded in the fields beyond his property. Another shadowed a lamppost on the road itself. Worse, a shadowspire rose out of cabin number two, sealing off the door by the look of it. Nobody was getting in that way. A blessing it wasn’t occupied.

Sudden movement on the edge of his vision turned his head; the shadowspire in the road flickered. Blinking away the discomfort, when Tom opened his eyes he saw the lamppost was gone; absorbed inside the dark column, now visibly thicker. Another one had appeared in the grounds, out by the boundary with the road. A fresh cluster blighted the fields, closer still to his shrinking domain.

Tom rubbed his face and groaned. They were fast running out of options. No power. A short supply of spare batteries. Plenty of water, but food running low. No word on what was out there, in the wide world. But his old eyes told him what was right here on his doorstep. The darkness was closing in.

“Sitting tight is getting us nowhere,” he huffed, stepping back inside.

The kids eyed him quizzically. Sat at the kitchen table, a hasty breakfast of jam and bread barely touched, they looked worn out, poor things. Tom felt little better. He sighed; giving vent to a weariness that went beyond his years.

“We can either wait here for these shadowspires to swallow us up, or we can go see if we can find somewhere they can’t reach us. See if we can’t find your mum and Raj along the way, eh?”

Amy looked solemn. “Is it safe?”

No lies, not now. “Don’t know, lass. Maybe no-where’s safe,” he nodded towards the window, “but we’re sure enough getting boxed in here.”

“I want to find Mum and Dad!”

Tom turned his gaze to the boy and nodded. “Aye, lad, let’s go find ‘em.”

# # #

 

The decision to make a move had taken years off his shoulders, going by the way he took the stairs; even so he was huffing and puffing by the time he reached the landing.

Amy and Taz were arguing over what to take; voices a bickering background as he stomped towards the master bedroom. Sure, he’d told the kids to pack only what they absolutely needed, but an old man couldn’t be grudged a memento of the life he once had. In any case, he wasn’t leaving Miriam behind.

Tom scurried over to the bedside cabinet, scooped up the framed photograph of his late wife, the one with Meg and the grandkids all together. She looked pale and tired in it, a headscarf covering her baldness, but the smile held all the life she needed as she beamed happily at the camera.

Next, he stooped beside the dresser and reached for the lower drawer; a photo album – just one – for old time’s sake. The drawer was stuck. He grunted, straining until it opened. A sudden sense of chill air raised his hackles.

The room grew noticeably darker. The kids had gone quiet. Tom felt the emptiness of the house as a cold lump in his gut. There were no tears, not yet, just resignation. He called out anyway.

“Amy, Tariq?”

Silence.

“Come on,” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Don’t play silly buggers with an old man!”

# # #

 

Beyond the bedroom window, there was little to see.

The view wasn’t entirely pitch black; some light managed to percolate downwards from the lost sky, but a cluster of shadowspires abutted the house, blocking sight of all but a strip or two of the outside world.

Tom’s vision swam; he reached for the windowsill to steady himself. Fear was pointless, but it tickled his ribs all the same. A clump of it weighed down his stomach. He wiped his eyes and glanced towards the door. There was no getting out that way; a shadow stood sentinel on the landing.

“Granddad!” Now he was hearing things. Grief was funny in its ways. He clutched the photoframe and swallowed a sob. The voice again. It sounded muffled, distant… from outside the house.

He cracked the window open, pushed it wide as he dared. A flush of cold through the handle as the frame’s exterior met a shadowspire’s surface; he quickly let go.

“Granddad!”

The voice was real. Tom’s breath caught; he coughed and managed to get his tongue around a reply.

“Taz! Tariq, up here, lad!”

The boy’s face peered up between a gap in the gloom. “Granddad, you’re alive!”

“That I am, Taz. Can’t be rid o’ me that easy.” Despite the circumstances, a smile seized his face. “What about your sister, where’s Amy?”

“I’m here, Granddad.”

Well, that was two of his prayers answered. Shame about the third, but that would be pushing his luck.

Tom tried to peer through the gaps between the spires. Aside from the partial view of Taz he couldn’t see Amy, but he’d settle for the sound of her voice.

“What happened?” His voice almost failed. “I thought they got you.”

“We went to the cabin. Taz wanted some of his things.”

“We can’t get back in, Granddad. The shadowspires are blocking the doors. They’re everywhere.”

“I know, son. They’re in here, too. I’m blocked in.”

“What are we going to do, Granddad?”

“You’ve got to look after Taz, Amy; get him out of here.”

Taz bawled. “No, Granddad!”

“We can’t leave you.” Amy wasn’t so far off tears herself. “You have to get out of the house!”

“I can’t lass. Not unless I could knock through the walls, and this old house is built solid. The shadowspires have got me blocked in good.”

“There must be something we can do.”

“No, Amy. You have to go.”

“NO!”

“There’s nowt you can do for me.” Harsh voice, no regret; the kids had to understand. “But you can get Taz somewhere safe.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere, lass. Do it for me. Just go.”

# # #

 

With a sigh, Tom closed the curtains. It was a futile gesture, but there was a homely defiance that reminded him of better days. Shut out the weather, that was it, cosier this way.

The kids were gone. He ought to feel relieved, he knew, but it was a bad old world out there, now. Well, there was nothing he could do about it. With luck they’d find somewhere safe. If there was such a place. Maybe they really would find Meg and Raj. He hoped so.

Tom wasn’t ready to face the end; he had to brace for it all the same. Miriam must have felt much the same, he guessed.

The darkness at the door was waiting for him. Tom turned to regard it. The lantern he’d left on top of the dresser spilled some of its light out onto the landing. The glow dispersed the mundane dark to reveal the shadowspire’s lurking presence. Most of it was hidden behind the bedroom wall; what remained to sight gave every impression of peering into the room, as if waiting for an invitation to enter.

Tom wondered – just a crazy thought, really – was the shadowspire actually watching him? He shivered, not from the chill air. “Energy dead zone, my arse.”

The shadowspire flickered as if in response; not any kind of answer Tom desired. When his eyes adjusted, he saw that the thing was in the room now, protruding through the wall.

Tom shuffled backwards to the careworn armchair in the corner of the room furthest away. Forlorn, he hugged Miriam’s photo to his chest and let the weight of fate pull him down into the chair.

There, he sat and watched; waiting for the darkness to take him.

 

Fiction by Mark Cantrell

 

 

Mark Cantrell is a UK-based writer and journalist with two novels under his belt so far. He has recently returned to work after spending three years caring for an elderly parent with dementia. It was quite the experience, he says. Currently, he’s working on his third novel. You can find him on Twitter (X, if you must) @Man0Words