Summoned

Everything was dark, every movement arduous, and yet nothing hurt. My brain was as impaired as my vision, though as my vision began to clear, the same did not hold true for my brain. I felt no panic, just confusion, a general dullness. What was that sound? That light? Was someone speaking to me?

Someone was definitely speaking, but I couldn’t understand the words. At first, I thought my ears were the problem until I realized I didn’t know the language. I creaked my jaw open in an attempt to speak, but a mumble and a moan were all that escaped my cracked lips.

Still, with those sounds, the voice began to speak my language. “Good. You are awake. Please, come with me.”

I did not like this voice. And though my vision was still blurry, I did not like the face either. A middle-aged white man with a bowler hat, scruffy brown beard, and sinister blue eyes. He turned and strode away, and though there was nothing I wanted less than to follow him, I found my limbs working of their own accord. I followed one step behind and could do nothing to stop myself. I let out another pathetic moan of protest.

Helpless to control my legs, I swiveled my head around me, straining to see in the dim moonlight, and despite my barely functioning eyes, there was no mistaking that I was in a graveyard. I heard footsteps behind me, and turning my neck to its limit, I saw others behind me. They looked terrifying: rotten clothes, sickly flesh, stumbling gait. It wasn’t until then that I glanced down at myself for the first time.

No wonder I felt awful. And even with the fog smothering my brain, I knew why I looked like this. There must have been a hundred empty caskets in the ground behind us, vacant holes where a body should have been.

My first memory, which I suspected had also been my last, came drifting back to me. It was of the same man who was guiding us through the graveyard. I remembered lying on my back, staring up at the night sky, and he was standing over me, reciting something that sounded similar to the words he had been saying when I awoke.

No wonder I didn’t like his face.

We marched single file behind the man in front of me, who led us to a gate and out of the graveyard. We marched down the pavement beside closed shops, and I glimpsed a few other people across the street, staring at us with wide eyes.

We wandered down several streets until we heard, “Stop! Don’t move another step!” A man in a black uniform holding a pistol was charging towards us. A few more followed cautiously behind.

“Your first test,” said the man guiding us. He faced us, pointed to the officers charging us, and said simply, “Destroy.”

A high-pitched wail escaped my lips in unison with the others, and before I knew what was happening, I was running as fast as my stiff legs could carry me. Others, who were in better condition, and therefore faster, charged ahead of me, intercepting the officers before they could reach the man.

The officers let out frightened shrieks. Gunshots went off, and some of the stumbling bodies around me were jerked off their feet and flung to the ground. The officers should have run, but only one was smart enough to do so. The rest held their ground as our numbers overwhelmed them. We could not be stopped. Even those who had been shot were back on their feet in seconds.

I found myself tackling the lead officer, clawing at his face and drawing screams of pain from him. He dropped his gun in a feeble attempt to ward me off, but my hands found his throat and squeezed. He flailed at me as his face turned purple, but no matter how much his fists pounded me, my grip never slackened. Meanwhile, the others were tearing chunks of flesh from his face, and if I had the capacity, I knew I would have been sick.

When the officers were dead, the man said, with a beaming smile, “Good work. Let’s move. I’d say we have about fifteen minutes before the entire force comes down on us.”

He led us another two blocks and stopped outside a standard one-story brown house, made browner by the dirt caked all over it. He stopped at the front door and faced us again. “You, you, you, and you,” he said, pointing to a few of us including myself, “go to the back door and destroy any who attempt to run.”

A small part of me was shouting No, no, no, no, but outwardly I did nothing more than moan softly and walk around the house. I looked into the faces of the few others with me, and I could somehow tell they felt the same as me. We stood there while pounding and shouting erupted from the front of the house, which was followed by breaking glass and then pleading and screaming.

The back door flung open, and a terrified woman burst out. Upon seeing the four of us clustered there, she stopped, the hopelessness evident in her shrunken demeanor. She began to scream as we fell on top of her, tearing and gouging. I turned my head away until the screaming stopped, thankful I at least retained control of my neck.

I had no eyelids with which to block out the world, and so I caught a glimpse of the mangled corpse beneath us. I wanted nothing more than to scurry away and cry, but without orders, I had no choice but to remain there, my eyes returning again and again to the dead woman.

Deep inside, a boiling sensation ignited, the first strong emotion I had experienced since waking. As I stood there seething, I tested each part of my body, but I only seemed to have control of my neck up. I longed to squeeze my hands into fists, to run into the house and “destroy” the evil man who was causing all this death, but I stood there, more obedient than a dog, doing nothing.

At last, the man came out the back door, grinning like a proud parent. “Come, my wonderful friends. Let’s return you to whence you came before we have to fight through an army.”

He led us back towards the graveyard but along a different path. Off in the distance came shouting, which grew in number until it sounded like a riot.

“We’d better hurry,” the man said, beginning to jog.

Our weak legs pushed themselves to keep up with him, half-stumbling, half-jogging, until we reached the graveyard. “Now return to your caskets and remain there until I call on you again,” he said. “I hope this marks the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership.”

Those words pushed the boiling inside me to a furious explosion. I strained against my body, desperate to regain control, any control, to do something of my own volition before I was summoned again for his grisly desires.

And yet, I could do nothing. I walked away, towards my grave, back to the unknown, to await another dark day.

The man came up beside me as I walked and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Especially great work from you today. I like you. I think I shall name you Nathaniel.”

That was my name. He was mocking me with my own name, and with it came more memories. My wife of ten years. My two daughters who I was so proud to see excelling in their math skills. My tailoring business that was just getting off the ground when this awful man had cut it all short. In the flood of memories and fury, I almost didn’t realize he had made a mistake.

My neck swiveled towards him, my jaw finding his neck and clamping down on his windpipe. I heard a small gasp as his mouth opened and closed, and I knew he was failing to speak the words to force me to release him. I squeezed until blood poured into my mouth, and then he fell, pulling me down on top of him.

Suddenly, my grip slackened, and as I rolled off him, I realized why. His eyes were losing their vigor, the surprise and fear leeching out into sightlessness.

As my own sight went black, I attempted to say, “Glad you could join us,” but all that came out was a satisfied moan.