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Red Sky Soldiers
By
Jeremy Schneider
Two days before Halloween, Charles Williams returned from lunch and found a business card on his desk. It looked like any ordinary business card (three and a half by two inches wide, matte white) except it was blank. Charles stared at the blank business card and wondered if it was some kind of joke from one of his co-workers; most likely, Sean, one of the programmers. He was always doing stupid stuff like this, stuff that only he thought was funny.
Charles walked three cubicles over and found Sean sucking on a cherry Blow Pop and meticulously browsing the numerous pornographic websites that the Internet had to offer.
"Hey, Sean, what the hell is this supposed to mean?" Charles asked.
Sean swiveled around and gazed at Charles through coke-bottle lenses. Behind him, on the screen, a midget and a woman in black heels and a whip were rolling around on the floor of a public restroom.
"What's what supposed to mean?" Sean asked around the Blow Pop.
Charles showed him the card. "This. I got this on my desk. What's it supposed to mean? Is it a joke, or some kind of critique on the modern workplace? Let me guess: the blank business card is supposed to represent the barren imagination of the worker drone, wiped clean due to years of repetitive monotonous work, right?"
Sean looked confused. "Beats me, Chuck, I didn't give you that. My stuff is normally funny. Well, maybe not funny, but always annoying. That's just plain weird." Sean took the Blow Pop out of his mouth and took the card from Charles. "Wait a minute. This isn't blank. Look right here...in the bottom corner."
Charles snatched the card out of Sean's sticky hands and examined it closely. "I don't see a thing. It's completely blank."
Sean grabbed the card back and pointed to the bottom right hand corner. "Right here, it's very small, but it's definitely there. Here use these." Sean handed the card back along with his coke-bottle lenses. Charles examined the card again this time using Sean's glasses to magnify the corner. Now he could see what Sean was talking about.
It looked like a tiny red cross, set in to the bottom of the card. When Charles rubbed his thumb over the cross, it was embossed and felt slightly warm to the touch. "How could I have missed this before?" Charles said.
"Yeah, it is pretty weird," Sean said, half looking at Charles and squinting myopically into the distance. "Now can I have my glasses back? I have to work...if you don't mind?" Charles handed Sean his glasses. Sean put the glasses on his head and the Blow Pop in his mouth. He swiveled around to his computer screen. The lady with the whip and the midget were still rolling around on the floor.
Charles pocketed the card and returned to his cubicle.
He tried to work, but the card and the mystery of who sent it continued to pry its way into his thoughts.
Charles entered the mildly-dingy Condo he called home at 6:30 that night. He tossed his keys onto the hall table and slung his coat over the back of the living room sofa. It was a full moon and through the living room window he could see the moonlight reflecting off the wet grass in his postage stamp size yard.
He sighed and looked out on the early evening. Is this it? Is this really my life? Charles silently asked himself. There has to be something more out there? And it seemed that there was, because in his dreams he was not Charles Williams, a 33 year old accountant, living a bachelor's life in Astoria, Oregon, he was someone else. Someone whose life was filled with adventure, and romance and intrigue. Then he recalled the white business card with the little red cross.
He fished it out of his pocket and looked at it again. Something had changed. The card was not blank anymore. The cross was still there, but now there were words clearly visible.
"What the---" Charles said.
He switched on the living room lamp and was startled to see that the words had disappeared. He brought the card closer to his face. The words were gone. He switched off the lamp and there they were again. He brought the card over to the living room window and looked at the card in a shaft of moonlight. Now he could see the words clearly. This is what he saw:
So that was it, Charles thought, just an invitation to a Halloween party. The lettering on the card was probably printed with some kind of light-sensitive ink. He tossed the card onto the kitchen table and took a beer from the refrigerator.
Charles had hated Halloween ever since he was a kid. Most of all he hated the trick-or-treating. He was always on the wrong end of a can of shaving cream or an accurately tossed rotten egg. Now that he was an adult, he had completely put it out of his mind. He didn't even turn on his light for the kids in the surrounding condos.
"No thanks. I think I'll skip this one." Immediately after that statement, the phone rang. Charles took another swig of beer and picked up the phone.
"Hello?" he said into the receiver.
"Is this Charles Williams?" A female voice responded.
"Yes it is. May I ask whose calling?"
"No. Meet me at the party. Dress up. Choose one of the classic monster movie characters. You will know me when you see me. Come at Ten o'clock. Don?t be late."
"Wait, who is--? Charles asked.
A dial tone was the answer to his question.
Charles hung up the phone and crossed over to the kitchen table. He picked up the card. It was blank again. Of course it was; he was looking at it under the glare of his kitchen light. He walked into the living room and looked at the card again in the glow cast by the full moon. The invitation was gone. It was now replaced with this:
Charles wondered if he had enough time to rent a costume.
Paradise Lane is an exclusive community of gated, Victorian mansions. It was definitely the side of town that Charles, and his '92 Ford Taurus, were unaccustomed to seeing. He found 184 on a gold plate outside of a large and imposing security gate. Two formally dressed guards with thick chests, big arms and no discernable senses of humor stood sentry outside the gate. The one on the left (they both looked the same) walked over and knocked on the driver's side window.
Charles obliged the behemoth in the dinner jacket and rolled down his window. The guard stared in at Charles who had chosen The Invisible Man as his costume for tonight. He was dressed in a black suit and red tie; bandages covered his face and head, small wisps of hair were visible through the bandages.
"I'm sorry, sir, this is a private function. Please move along," The guard said, trying to sound polite, but with an undercurrent of derision in his voice.
Charles tried to speak, but bandages were covering his mouth. He pulled the bandages down. "I'm supposed to be here. I have an invitation. If you don't believe me," Charles pulled the small white card out of his breast pocket and handed it to the guard, "here look."
The guard took the card and scanned it with a gadget that, to Charles's eyes, resembled a pricing gun. He pulled a trigger on the scanner and a green light shot out and covered the card. He released the trigger and handed the card back to Charles. Finally the guard said, "Okay, you can go."
The other guard, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "Who are you supposed to be, anyway?"
"I'm the Invisible Man," Charles responded.
"Lon Chaney?" The guard asked.
"No. Actually Lon Chaney was the Wolf Man; Claude Raines was the Invisible Man, which is who I'm supposed to be?" The guard stared at Charles, stone-faced. Charles stared back with a half smile. "Well, good night." He slowly rolled his window up. The guard pressed a button on the gate and waved the Taurus on.
Charles drove up the winding, tree-lined driveway. The trees were bare and the branches pulled at the sky, back lit by the full moon, they appeared to be the bony arms of reverent followers of some mysterious god in the stars. A slight mist covered the expansive grounds.
Two Mexican Valets were stationed outside of the entrance to the mansion. The shorter Mexican greeted Charles in broken English, took his keys and gave him a small white card with a number on it. Charles turned and looked at the two large wooden doors awaiting his entrance. The house appeared even more gargantuan now that he was so close. Well this is it, Charles thought, you wanted adventure, don't pussy-out on me now. He took a deep breath and released it. The taller Mexican opened the door for Charles and he entered the house.
The man that greeted Charles as he entered the house was the exact size and shape of the two guards at the gate. The man had a name tag attached to his lapel that read: Langdon.
"May I take your coat, sir?" Langdon asked.
"Um, no thank you. The coat is part of my costume."
"I'm sorry, sir, your costume?"
"Yeah, I'm The Invisible Man. I know it isn't the best costume in the world, but I did the best I could on such short notice." Charles smiled. "Maybe I should get one of those name tags and write 'Invisible Man' on it, you know."
Langdon smiled politely. "Sir, I'm sorry to be the one to break this to you, but this is not a costume party."
Nervous laughter bubbled out of Charles's throat. "You're kidding, right? What do you mean 'not a costume party?'" Charles asked.
"Well, I don't really know how to clarify it anymore than that, sir. I'm sorry."
Charles swallowed hard, his smile was gone. "You're not kidding, are you?" he asked, terror creeping into his voice.
"No. I'm not," Langdon said. "Please follow me."
Charles followed Langdon into the foyer and then down a long luxuriously decorated hallway, they stopped in front of a double set of mahogany doors. Charles could hear music and conversation coming through the cracks between the doors. Langdon gave Charles a sympathetic smile and opened the door. Charles walked into the ballroom.
The only pleasant thought that remained in Charles's mind was that they had an open bar; a bar that could numb the huge feeling of embarrassment that was now a companion to his growing feelings of disbelief. As he walked to the bar, he received several strange looks from the well-dressed party goers. He tried to smile and play off his appearance, but it was not working.
Could this whole thing have been just some elaborate Halloween prank? The answer to that question was standing at the bar. She was dressed in a sequined gown and her blonde hair was done in a 1930's showgirl style. She looked like Faye Wray in the 1933 version of King Kong. In fact, that was who she was supposed to be.
"Nice choice," she said to Charles, handing him a glass of champagne. "I wouldn't categorize The Invisible Man as a classic horror movie myself, but that's debatable."
"Thank you," Charles said, taking the glass of champagne with pleasure, "May I say you look stunning as Faye Wray in King Kong."
"Finally, everyone's been asking me if I'm Naomi Watts. But, do you know her character's name from that movie? Answer that and I will show you things that can only be glimpsed in the nightmares of the clinically insane." She winked and downed the last of her champagne.
"Umm...ok. I don't know if that's such a hot prize, but I'll give it a shot." He paused for a moment, simultaneously plowing his movie-addled mind for the correct answer and sizing up this very peculiar, very beautiful woman who he had, up until a few seconds ago, never met before in his life. "The answer is Ann Darrow. The lovely young lady who captured Kong's heart was named Ann Darrow." Charles traded his empty glass of champagne for a full one.
"Now that I've answered your question, how about answering mine: what the hell am I doing here? Who are you? How do you know me?"
The mystery lady walked slowly over to Charles, using every bit of material the sequined dress had to offer. She leaned in and whispered, "That was three questions."
"Who are you?" Charles asked again.
She put her glass of champagne down on a near by table and grabbed the back of his head with both hands. "Give me your lips and find the answer." She pulled his face toward her and stuck her tongue in his mouth. From her tongue dropped a tiny, white pill.
It landed in Charles's mouth and he immediately pulled back, startled. He reached up to take the pill out and she caught his hand. "Don't. Swallow it. Here take another glass of champagne--swallow it and then you will see. You have to trust me. I know you don't know who I am. I know you have no reason to trust me, but you must take this pill, dear-heart."
There was something in those final words, dear-heart, which struck Charles as oddly familiar. In fact, this whole scene was familiar to him. It was almost as if he watching himself on screen; an actor playing the part of Charles Williams, and reciting lines that had been written for him. He paused for a moment and stared into her eyes. She handed him the glass and he swallowed the champagne, and with it, his former life.
The pill was tasteless, it went down with no ill-effects and when he handed her the empty glass, he did not feel different in anyway. "I don't feel anything happening. I'm still confused about pretty much everything that's happened since this past Thursday. On the bright side, I am starting to get a little buzz going."
"It takes a moment. Just be patient, when it comes you will know it. I want you to look at that those people, standing by that table." She pointed to an elderly woman in evening wear chatting with a bald man and his wife, who had to be 25 years his junior. Charles could see her shoulder length red hair. It was dazzling even from 15 feet away.
He stared at the party guests. They were pleasantly chatting and laughing in all the right places. Charles felt a wave of dizziness pass over him and stumbled slightly, when he returned his gaze to the couples, they had changed. He pulled in a chocking breath and nearly fainted.
The people now resembled walking corpses. The skin of the older woman's arm was cracked and sagging. Black liquid oozed from the cracks. The younger woman had lost her luminous red hair, now she was totally bald, and Charles could see ropes of black veins crisscrossing her skull. The bald man's face had a greenish hue to it. His eyes were covered with a cloudy white film. His front teeth were needle-sharp and protruding over his bottom lip.
Two thoughts fought for space inside Charles's mind. One: these people are dead, and two: these aren't people at all, they're vampires.
The entire ballroom was filled with vampires.
The members of the band were vampires dressed in white tuxedos with gold lapels. They continued to play slow jazz. The waiters that patrolled the party were, like wise, vampires. They handed out hors d'oeuvres, which Charles could see now were actually bloated dead rats covered with a viscous black liquid.
Charles felt another wave of dizziness pass over him, he turned and nearly fell. The mystery woman grabbed his arm and led him onto the dance floor. She put her arms around his shoulders and clasped his neck. "Relax, dear-heart," she whispered. "You have to be calm. This is only the beginning. There is so much we yet have to do."
"What do you mean? What do I have to do?" Charles asked, still slightly out of it. "This is all crazy. You drugged me and now I'm hallucinating. I'm seeing all of these things...and they can't be real. What the hell is going on here?"
Her lips were the answer to his final question. She kissed him long and deep; slow and gentle. She kissed him the way he had always dreamed he would be kissed.
And in that kiss he begins to remember.
A darkened movie palace, on the screen a classic black and white frightener, (King Kong) next to him sits the beautiful woman who is his love and will be his wife. She smiles and he nods his head. It is time. The whole theater suddenly lights up with a flash of blinding white sun fire. The patrons are screaming; the inhuman screams of vampires being roasted. He picks her up; he knows this part always drains her. That is why he is here; they are partners, she has done her job, now it is time for his to be done.
He snaps out of this memory with a whisper from the nameless woman. Except now he knows her name is Amber, like the color of flame, his name is not Charles Williams either, it is?
"Will," she whispers into his ear, "Will, do you remember now? Please remember. Remember. Remember."
"I...I do remember...I think I do. This is all so crazy. Amber, how did I lose you? I'm sorry I couldn't remember before. Something's happened to me."
At the mention of her name she begins to cry softly, she uses his coat to dab the tears. She looks up and smiles her eyes are a brilliant blue even behind the tears. "It was all a mistake, bad information from one of our sources. We were given up even before the job began. I had to improvise, and I know how you hate it when I do that."
He smiles. He remembers all of it now.
"You were taken, stowed away in this world, so much like the others. They knew they couldn't kill you, people like us are special and we can't be killed, not by the likes of them anyway. So they kept you from remembering, gave you someone else's life and someone else's memories. I don't know how they did it, but that's over now. Oh, Will, you don't know how long I have searched for you. Mission after mission I kept hoping I would find you."
"Thanks for looking, Kid." He kisses her and wipes the tears from her cheeks. "We're on the clock now, aren't we? Best we get our game faces on and light this party up."
"You've seen too many movies, Will. No one talks like that in real life."
"Real life is along way from here, Amber. What do you say? Should we get cooking?"
She smiles and raises her arms and he pulls her gown over her head. Light is already seeping through her skin. The vampires nearest to them on the dance floor begin to hiss. Her light, not at full power, is already destroying their brittle, paper-fine skin.
The music stops suddenly. The entire ballroom of undead party goers is looking with hatred at the two interlopers in the middle of the dance floor. The vampires circle them; moving in closer, when they should be running in the opposite direction.
Will nods and she bursts into the light that is her real self.
The vampires are screaming now. He always likes that sound the most; it's what makes these jobs worth while. That and the smell of the roasting vamp flesh. Amber continues to burn her brilliant essence. She is doing her job. Now it is his turn.
He raises his left hand and makes a drawing motion in the air. A wooden door materializes in the middle of the dance floor. Seared into the wood above the brass knob is a red cross. He places his hand on the knob and turns it. He is the only one who could ever open this particular door.
He turns back to Amber who is nearly finished roasting the entire ballroom. He walks over to the blinding white light that is Amber. He grabs her shoulder. She collapses into his arms and he carries her through the door and into a world painted with a red sky.
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