Screams from Above

A whistling was heard, like a distant scream. It meant one thing for the stirring Bernard Felwood; the house alarm had been tripped.

Carefully, he rolled out of his side of the bed, with his Elaine undisturbed. He grabbed his revolver near the foot of the bed, within reach, and he slowly opened his bedroom door. He dared not grab for any lights attached to house or battery, as such would alert the intruder; he was accustomed to see in the dark, as his years in infantry helped him adapt to the night and to poorly-lit shelters. He hoped that he wouldn't have to use his gun beyond holding the trespasser or trespassers until the police could arrive.

He slowly opened their door, hoping that they would not be awakened by anything stirring from either his end or, God forbid, theirs. The door slowly swayed aside, fainting into the wall, and Bernard stepped inside. Unlike the bathroom, he stayed to observe the children, the son and the daughter, seeming to rest comfortably in the bunk-bed. Every night, he would be making a habit of checking their closets and under the bunk-bed for anything out of the ordinary to put their minds at ease. If he could catch whatever was tripping his alarm tonight, they would have nights like this without him being there, armed and alert.

Bernard reached out and grabbed the door, careful to not jiggle the brass knob. Closing it slowly, he moved away from the door-

Another distant scream was heard. He looked up, confused; did he set up a home alarm system in every level of the house? Granted, it wasn't a bad idea, but the eerie sound resonated through the ceiling above him and gave him worry about his children waking up. Waiting, he tried to screen out the whistling for any indication of the kids waking up and inquiring about the noise. The noise, in question, ceased immediately. There was no response from the children's room; all was quiet again. Moving silently, Bernard headed back towards his room, stopping in the middle of the hallway to pull the cord for the ladder leading to the attic.

He turned to what he thought was the sound of hastened footsteps, as if someone ran past him. Quickly, he dropped and turned towards the children's bedroom, his revolver pointing at nothing except the state in which he had left their door – firmly closed and undisturbed. He reasserted his position and slowly pulled the cord. With the other hand, he held the falling hatch, keeping the sliding ladder from scraping up a maelstrom of calamity to interrupt the silence permeating his house. With controlled levering, he brought down the ladder, staring up into the void leading to the attic.

He stopped. The hairs on his neck were pricking up, and he slowly looked around him. All the doors were closed, and the stairs remained devoid of anything more than a couple picture frames and a plain white carpet draped over each step. Yet, despite all of the empty air and motionlessness of the world around him, he could not ignore the idea that someone was watching him. It was like he was back on the battlefield, trying to evade enemy fire, yet knowing that they were out there as if keeping close tabs upon him. He quickly but quietly climbed the ladder into the attic, allowing his eyes time to adjust again – it was like coming out of the dark forest and stepping straight into a cave, a trade of one form of darkness with another; he would have words with the merchant later.

He climbed inside and looked around, waving away the sudden dust that was the second after the dark to greet him, albeit less subtlety. Here was the personal graveyard of his home; toys from decades off of the shelves of mainstream stores and thrift shops, boxes full of decorations that were out of style, old tools and fishing poles from more innocent moments, and a window allowing light to give this place some semblance of life if the clouds above would allow such. Near the back, with an avoidance of clutter all around it, was his wife's wedding dress. Despite the darkness, it seemed to shine in the dark, as if emanating its own light. His wife was glamorous on that day in the church...

The clouds parted to let the moonlight flood the floor, and the feeling from earlier came back! He whirled around, his heart nearly stopping.

“...David?”

The illumination bounced hard from behind the silhouette of the smaller being now standing before Bernard, but there was no mistaking the sharp, hawk-like features of David “Falcon” Brisby. Was this man the reason for tripping the alarm? How did he even find Bernard, let alone get in his house? Bernard squinted, as something wasn't sitting right. Something was dripping from David onto the floor, something with an all-too-familiar hint of iron.

Then the man shifted back, going into the moonlight, and revealed his perceived condition. Full uniform, pack still tightened and overflowing, knife still sheathed and even held into the scabbard with a thin piece of rope, as the young man didn't want to lose it easily wherever he had gone. All of this was the repertoire of the once-hopeful soldier aiming to show his potential to his group, but Bernard wasn't concerned with any of that. It was the wounds in the young man's head that had his full attention; large caliber wounds that made a big hole in one end, and an even bigger hole in the other. And it was here, watching a literal animated corpse before him, that Bernard remembered his first tour; the group was ambushed by sniper fire. David was the first casualty.

The young soldier seemed excited for a dead man, and he pointed a shaking finger in Bernard's direction. Bernard, still in shock and now having his revolver pointed at the cadaver, took one hand off and indicated to himself. Did David not remember him? “David, it's me, Bernard!”

The animated body started shaking his head to the negative, the act like a seizure. It pointed again and again, gurgling from what was left of its mouth. Bernard started sweating again, realizing that the pointing was past him, and he looked behind himself. The dress was still there, but now it was haunting black, and the glow that once emanated from it pulsated a sickening green sheen that turned the veteran's stomach. Instinctively, he looked away, back to where David had stood. The young man was gone!

Bernard's eyes bounced around the attic; only the moonlight, the darkness, and the dust greeting him once again. His confusion gave way to concern, and he looked back at where the wedding dress, once a funeral nightmare attire, now standing back the way he remembered it. But, despite its pale-snow complexion and enduring stance of beauty, something seemed off about it, as if a detail or two was missing and hastily replaced. He shook his head; it was dark, it was late, and he hadn't gotten much sleep.

He headed back to the ladder, stopping only to slowly look over the edge. The image of David was still embedded within his mind, and he dreaded seeing the potential wraith down below. Coast clear, he thought. He headed down the rungs-

Another scream. This time, another sound followed, a deep rumbling like distant thunder. He thought that his house shuddered. Freezing, he waited. When no new sounds were heard, he quickly got down and shoved the ladder up into the hole. Quiet be damned; something was happening, and he needed to check the security and see what was tripping it. In brisk fashion, he checked the doors for closure. Then he made his way down the stairs and to the front door. The lock was still in place, the window was intact, and the pair of electronic devices located at the threshhold that bounced a laser between each other, dubbed “beam boxes”, were still active.

Bernard looked down at the beam boxes, and then looked again. There were dark splotches underneath the beam boxes, and that all-too-familiar iron smell returned. But, again, how could anyone trip the beam boxes and yet leave the lock undisturbed? Especially a man that was dead for years, as far as Bernard recalled. Yes, David was dead, and somehow walking around in his house; the idiot kept tripping the alarm! But another thought crossed Bernard's mind; why was he the only one who heard the alarm? These weren't the only beam boxes in the house, as he had planted such near the windows of the living room, the kitchen, and even the bedrooms; the signal from one tripping would be received and turn on the others, that was how these devices were designed! Weren't they? He couldn't remember...

“Captain?”

Bernard whirled in several directions almost at once. There was definitely a person in his home! But that voice? It sounded nothing like David! It was much deeper, cold yet calm, distant and familiar...

“Captain?”

It was louder now, and he had a direction straight out of the living room. Revolver held up, he headed over to the largest room in the house, checking his corners and over his shoulders. The gaping maw of the hallway from the entrance soon parted to the theatrically opened space, large enough to envelope an entire apartment unto itself. The fireplace was dwarfed by the artistic mantelpiece, depicting the pattern of figurines trading one item for the next item in a cycle ending only at both ends of the hearth. Above this, a picture of a great castle hanged above the cycle as if calling out to be seen. Again, the moonlight was shining through the larger of two windows flanking Bernard on either side of the living room, creating shadows amongst the few chairs and couches encircling a coffee table with many books lying underneath, waiting to be returned to their respected shelves. One of the shadows, though, was not furniture, and Bernard turned immediately to face the culprit. “David!”

David stared deeply at Bernard, with the veteran shifting uncomfortably until he finally leveled his revolver at the walking corpse. “What are you doing here, David?” Bernard demanded of the wraith. “Why are you haunting me? What do you want? Answer me, dammit!”

“He can't, Captain!”

That voice! Bernard whirled around, his revolver now pointed at a middle-aged man wearing the same uniform that David once had. This one, along with its occupant, were devoid of bullet holes and only held the taints of dirt and sweat. In both hands were three cups of what looked like coffee, freshly made from the steam still pouring off. The blonde hair that once were combed over a seemingly handsome face looked as distraught as Bernard felt, seeing his old friend.

“L...L-Lieutenant Jack?”

The blonde soldier nodded. “Yeah, Captain, it's me. It's us, here and now.”

Bernard kept his revolver pointed at Jack. The silence that once permeated this very room, this very house, on this very night, was broken only by Bernard's heavy breathing, Jack's slight discomforting shuffle, and the continuous drip-dripping of David's wounds, staining the floor and even the windowsill. Then, as had happened a few times already, another scream pierced the house, and a second rumbling was felt, shaking the house and rattling the windows. Bernard lowered his revolver, still gripping it tightly. “What's going on?”

“Shells, sir”, answered Jack. David started swaying in the back.

“What do you mean?” inquired Bernard.

“I mean shells”, replied Jack. “Big shells. Mortar shells. These ones are a new design, giving off a shrieking noise as they are fired into the air, and getting louder as they come back to the ground. It's actually an ingenious and artistic tactic.” Bernard walked forward, setting the cups on the coffee table. “Here, sir, and I made one for you, David.”

Bernard shook his head. “But, my alarm system-”

“Never went off.” Jack pointed to the door. “No one came in, no one went out. In fact, the only one actually here is you.”

Bernard blinked in confusion. “Wait, wait, hold up! You are both here, with me, in my house, with my wife and children-!”

He stopped, at a realization. “Oh, God, they're in danger!”

Before he could move, Jack cried out, “They're not in danger, sir! I just told you, the only one here is you!”

Bernard turned back to Jack. “Wha-what, I don't understand... what the hell is going on? I am the only one here? You're here, David's here! David, he's not supposed to be here, he's dead!”

“Sir! We are all dead!”

Jack's revelation had a devastating impact rivaling the rumblings from outside, only with the side effect of returning everything to its silent stature for nearly a minute, after which he continued:

“Or, at least, we will all be. The sniper ambush was just the start, sir! There was an artillery group shadowing the snipers, waiting for their first strike. When we responded, they attacked. David was already dead, and then you gave the order to head for the trees, to get to the hills.” Jack paused and drank from his cup of coffee, continuing: “You figured we could get an advantage above the enemy, above their snipers and even their artillery. And, if nothing else, we could flee behind the hills, using them as cover while we ran back to base. That was when the screaming mortars started firing.” Jack gestured towards Bernard. “You made sure that your men got to the hills as fast as possible, while I remained at your side. We couldn't recover David's body, nor could we get a clear shot at the assailants. You were giving me a direct order when one of those shells hit near us. You are currently unconscious, sir.”

Bernard shook his head, his eyes darting across the floor. “So...how are you and David here, interacting with me?”

Jack picked up the other two cups, bringing one to David before walking around to Bernard in a near-completed circle. “This is a hypothesis, but I think your mind is trying to wake up. I am not here, you pushed me out of the way before the projectile struck behind you. Knowing me, there's no doubt that I, the real me, am trying to get to you and help you regain consciousness. This me, with you and David, is a part of you that was trying to lead you out of this nightmare.”

“And David?” asked Bernard.

“I think he's a point to follow, sir, someone recognizable that would lead you to me, the representation of reality, and then I was to lead you out to the world.”

Bernard nodded, but then exclaimed, “I have a wife, though! Elaine! And I have children! I interacted with them, I even just checked up on them a few minutes ago!”

Jack exhaled sharply. “Elaine was your high school sweetheart, sir. She broke up with you when you joined the military. You two never reconnected. And your children...boys? Girls? A boy and a girl? How old are they both? What is their respected hair color, eye color?” Jack leaned in close to Bernard. “What are their names?”

A cold strike of lightning hit the veteran to the core. Was every single memory with Elaine, with their children, just a figment of his imagination? He recalled Elaine's face when he left the bed; it was as youthful as she was during the last year of their high school attendance. In fact, it was that same face of that same age. He then turned to the smaller of the two windows, and made out his reflection. Again, the visage was not aged, and only had the weathering of one going through boot camp and the early years of war. He reflected on seeing the children in their bedroom; he couldn't make out their faces, their hair, even their bodies. There was no memory where he had interacted with them before tonight.

“You saw the dress, right?”

The veteran stared at the image of Jack, and nodded. Jack nodded back. “Then it's probably too late.” He then sat down on one of the couches. “It's only a matter of time. Check the locks if you feel otherwise, sir.”

Bernard looked upon both Jack and David, and his heart went out to them even if these were just projections of his mind. He walked back to the front door, and pulled at the lock. Sure enough, it would not budge. His head lowered; there would be no point in checking everywhere else. He walked back to the living room, where Jack offered him the second cup. He took and sipped it; though it wasn't real, the taste was unforgettable; the brand mix was used at the base, and it was a personal favorite drink of Bernard's. He took another sip and sat down beside Jack. David shuffled over and, methodically, sat next to Bernard. The veteran looked upon the corpse, which looked back, and all he could do was say, “I'm so sorry, David.”

Warm tears welled up in his eyes, and he looked upon the moonlight, which was fading from its pale beauty to an ugly green. Something that sounded like distant shouting was heard, and the image of Jack looked around. “It seems that I have arrived.” Before Bernard could say anything, Jack interrupted; “I know, sir, but I out there cannot hear you. I in here can only comfort you.” As the tears fell, Jack placed his hand upon Bernard's shoulder as he had done in life; “We're all going home soon, my friends.”

A scream cut through the night as the green light started fading away to blackness, getting closer and closer...