Frayed Strings Page 2

  Silence.

  "Fenrir can't be the only one to try," Dayton tapped the bat into the palm of his left hand.

  A rustling sound filled the phone again. Dayton's father and Cosgrove exchanged words.

  Dayton grasped the door handle. It was colder than usual, colder than expected. His pulse raced. He knew he was about to do something stupid. He twisted the handle.

  Cosgrove began screaming, "do not approach that door!"

  Dayton pulled the door open.

  "Holy shi," he started. Fenrir yelped.

  ***

  Maribelle pressed against the door of the bathroom. Her knees were in her chest and she leveraged her heels against a wall that always seemed out of place right behind the door. She was very thankful it existed now.

  "What did you say your name was again?" Maribelle asked the stranger on her cell phone.

  "Ty, Maribelle. My name is Ty," Agent Cosgrove repeated himself.

  Maribelle was out of breath and she felt her blood pulse through her veins. Her pistol rested in the palm of one hand, cell phone in the other. Ty explained that her family was waiting for her outside and she'd have plenty of coffee and a bagel once this was over. He offered no time line, but pressed the issue that the door needed to stay closed until the oddity was resolved.

  Maribelle was a worrier, coming from a proud family tradition of worriers. She fretted over the on/off status of her oven at least twice a day despite never using the device. She worried her cell phone battery at 84% strength in the morning meant she would be disconnected from the world by lunch time. She called her aging mother and father every night. She claimed this was to stay connected, but deep down she worried they had fallen down the stairs and if they did not answer the phone within four rings she would have to call an ambulance.

  Ty's words reassured her. She felt her pulse settle. She thought for a fleeting moment that Agent Ty Cosgrove was some sort of witch. As she settled, she let her pistol tap against the tiled floor of the restroom.

  "What was that sound, Maribelle?" The agent asked, his tone sounded slightly startled.

  "Sorry, didn't mean to raise any alarms there. My pistol tapped against floor."

  "Maribelle, why do you have a pistol? Please put it in a trash can or something. There is no need for a weapon in there; we'll bring them inside if appropriate, okay?"

  "Why would a weapon be bad right now? There's something in the corporate offices that caused you to show up. You're with 'the government'"

  Maribelle ended her question as the echo of footsteps down metal stairs filled the factory.

  "The thing from the offices is moving. I hear it coming down the stairs," she whispered into the phone.

  "Stay put. Stay quiet. It wasn't supposed to open the door. Do not use violence, Maribelle," Ty sounded panicked.

  "What do you mean it wasn't supposed to open the door?" Maribelle no longer felt settled.

  "Maribelle, this has happened before and we have a process. The other side has a process too," Ty started.

  "The hell does that mean 'the other side'? I hear more steps. It is getting closer. I have to shoot it or it will eat me. That's what monsters do, right? They eat the poor factory worker alone in the middle of the night."

  "Maribelle, you cannot use that weapon," Ty commanded. "Put the gun away and I will tell you what is happening."

  "Steps are getting closer. There are so many steps."

  "The problem is with time. Best we can tell, everything that can happen is happening all at once. Time is a structure made up like a quilt and our part of the quilt, every one's part, is on one little string of that quilt. The strings next to ours, like on a quilt, look very much like our own. I suspect strings faraway look completely different. This is where things get a bit scary," Ty said.

  "Begin?" Maribelle was frightened enough already.

  "The quilt is fraying. Bits of the string next to us, or maybe bits of our string, are touching the wrong time line. When these bits of time line touch, I show up. On this side and on the other. We put a barrier up to contain the problem and eventually the strings break free of one another. Usually this sort of stuff happens in the ocean or uninhabited desert. Usually no one is so unlucky as to have to face the oddity alone. I'm sorry this is happening to you, Maribelle, I really am. But I need you to help me and keep that pistol out of the situation, okay?"

  Maribelle wanted to agree. The snarling and growling coming from the other side of the bathroom door made that impossible.

  ***

  "What is this?" Dayton said. He was standing at the bottom of a flight of metal stairs and looking into what appeared to be a manufacturing facility. The robotic arms had idled and his footsteps clanged and echoed. On the wall next to the bedroom door, he left it open in case retreat was deemed necessary, the word "Administration" was written in a fancy font. Fenrir darted to the far end of the room, nose the ground sniffing like mad.

  He let the baseball bat rest at his side and looked around in wonder. He had no idea what was happening, but the spectacle of it all was mesmerizing.

  "Fenrir, can you believe this? I guess we're not in Kansas anymore, huh?" Dayton's laugh was followed by a sigh of disbelief, "I am making Oz jokes with a terrier. At least no one was around to hear that. I hope."

  His awe of the moment gave way to the fear of not being alone.

  "Hello?" He called out. "Is there anyone here?"

  Fenrir barked from the other side of the factory.

  "I didn't mean you, dumba," Dayton was cut off by more barking.

  Fenrir only barked like this when the postal carrier approached. And often when Old Man Thompson from across the hall was anywhere near by. Fenrir loathed the Old Man Thompson with every ounce his canine heart and soul.

  Dayton raised his bat. For Fenrir to be acting so aggressively toward a door meant something unpleasant was behind it.

  "If there's anyone out there know that I am armed!" Dayton purposely left out 'and dangerous'.

  He walked by a machine colored bright orange and labeled 09-1 FR. The boxes surrounding the machine were full of disc golf materials. Any other time he would have quite pleased and probably pocketed some of the unguarded goods.

  "I don't know where I am and cannot figure out why this place smells like burned cinnamon. If you could come out, I would greatly appreciate any answers you could provide," Dayton said. He stepped slowly and made himself as small a target as possible. The cop TV shows he spent far too much time watching were finally paying off.

  Fenrir was trying his best to claw through the door.

  As Dayton drew nearer he heard what faint sobs. The person behind that door was just as scared as he was. He hoped it was a person.

  "Fenrir, down boy," Dayton said, trying to grab the dog's collar and steady the animal. Even when he was able to gain control, Fenrir did everything possible to lunge and bark at the door.

  "Stop it," Dayton pleaded, "whoever is in there is just as scared as we are." He was knelt beside the dog, bringing him to his chest and attempting to sooth. "Maybe seeing the person would help?" He asked.

  Dayton looked to the door and addressed the crying and now screaming voice he could just make out, shouting, "I am sorry about the dog. I'm going to open the door. If he sees you he'll calm down and we talk, okay?"

  There was no answer. "They can't hear me over the barking, Fen," Dayton scolded the mutt. "I'll just open the door."

  ***

  Maribelle could not hear anything over her tears. She heard Cosgrove's voice, but could not make out any words. She heard a muffled call to her from the other side of the door, but it was drowned out by the barking.

  All she could do was cry and think of her daughter, the smartest person in the house and pride of her life. She worried her daughter would not have her mom present at her high school graduation, her wedding, the birth of at least four grandbabies, and all because of some monster that slipped th
rough time. She worried the monster would break down the door and eat her, denying her daughter and husband a body for a casket. She thought of this and wept. She could not bear the thought of her family knowing she died crying and afraid.

  She moved herself from having her back against the door and heels into the wall, instead placing her back against the wall and heels against the door. She did not want the growling monster to pull her through the door. More importantly she wanted to be able to get a few rounds off if the beast broke through.

  Her vision was obscured and she could now taste the mascara running from her eyes to the corners of her mouth.

  The phone was sitting at her side now; she knew not when it was dropped. Once again she gripped her pistol with two hands. Readying for what now felt inevitable.

  She felt a sudden shove against her legs. The monster was trying to push the door open.

  "No!" She managed to scream.

  The monster said something back to her, but if it spoke words she understood none of them.

  Again the door was shoved into her legs.

  "Go away," she begged the monster.

  Her hold gave slightly. She heard the monster shout and the barking grew louder. Light from the factory floor poured into the bathroom.

  She saw a dog burst from the doorway. It looked just like her dog from back in high school. White fur spotted throughout with brown patches. Pointy ears and a tongue that seemed far too big the snout made her feel safe for a moment. The dog's eyes were full of anger.

  She felt a surge of pain as the dog's teeth gouged into her left hand. With her right she pulled the pistol up and squeezed the trigger.

  She squeezed the trigger until only clicking sounds remained. At her side the dog lay still. The body of a young man filled the doorway. Light from the factory poured in through four new holes in the door.

  Her entire body shook as the scene came to make sense in her mind. The thumping sound of her pulse in her ears started to quiet. She stood up and moved to the man to see if there was any hope.

  "Oh god," she said over and over again, "I'm so sorry. I didn't think you would be so human," she said. She read the shirt the man wore Clarkston Community College it read. She knew it as Metropolitan Clarkston Community College.

  Cosgrove's voice was understandable again.

  "Maribelle? Maribelle?" He called out.

  "I shot the monster. He tried to come through the door. He wasn't a monster. This is a kid. I shot his dog," Maribelle fought back the urge to vomit and cry all at once.

  "Maribelle, is the bathroom door open?" Cosgrove asked.

  "What does the matter? Get in here, there's a chance to save him. There has to be a chance," Maribelle shouted through her sobs.

  "Maribelle, is the door open?" Cosgrove asked again.

  "Yes, okay, yes the door is open," Maribelle was enraged at the lack of action on Cosgrove's part.

  "Is the administration door open as well, Maribelle?" Cosgrove asked. "I have to know."

  Maribelle took a quick look at the admin offices. "Yes, the door is open."

  "Dammit," Cosgrove said in the first show of real emotion he had displayed all night. Maribelle heard a sigh; a few more swear words and finally the agent returned to the phone.

  "Maribelle, I know this will provide no comfort, but in the quilt that is time there is a string where none of this happened. There's a string where you and your family live a happy, long life. There's a string where I am you and you are me and one of has a trillion dollars to blow on golf games played from helicopters. A string where those doors stayed closed," Cosgrove said.

  "What does that mean, Cosgrove?"

  "I am so sorry, Maribelle. When the frays of our strings get intertwined they have to be cut off. I wish those doors had remained closed," Cosgrove answered without answering anything.

  Maribelle heard a crunching sound like every beam and girder in the building was coming in on itself. The blue light grew brighter and hotter. The building creaked and crackled around her, beams collapsed and rivets popped.

  She soon saw nothing but blue light and at that moment she realized the horrifying truth; she was being removed from the quilt.

  About the Author

  Shawn Cowling is a dad, blogger, and book writer guy attempting to make dumb jokes at twice the rate considered healthy behavior.

  Other works include The Egress and the Jupiter Cult, the People on the Highway series, His Grandfather’s Ring, and Roan’s Demon.

  Find more short stories and fun stuff at his blog, https://shawncowling.wordpress.com

  Connect on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/writershawncowling

  Twitter @ShawnCowling