Forget Me Not

Forget Me Not

 
 
         The first time Harry Carmichael should have noticed something was wrong, he was driving home from work. His hands tapped the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song playing on the radio. It was one of those classics that never sounded too old when compared to more contemporary fare. It was a welcome opportunity to tune out the world, focus on the road ahead of him, and try to forget his day. He’d stayed late at the office again, which marked his fourth consecutive absence from the dinner table this week. Ruth was tolerant, as ever, but even she was starting to show signs of impatience. A slight bite to her words, a pause in her voice that grew noticeably longer every time he had to call to tell her he’d be putting in extra hours.

         He couldn’t blame her. It was becoming difficult to draw a line between his regular hours and the overtime that seemed more and more mandatory every week. It had been this way for months now. Whether it was company growth or the office’s high turnover rate rearing its ugly head, Harry had been stuck with a workload even two people in his position would have been hard pressed to keep up with. No matter how much he buckled down and tore through files, the stacks on his desk seemed to grow taller with each passing day. But Harry had managed. He had to come in early every morning and leave late every night, but he was getting by. And all it was costing him was his family.

         Tonight had been the worst of it. Ruth had sounded so distracted over the phone, so absent-minded, he was beginning to worry she didn’t even care anymore. Which was worse? Having your family angry at you because you were never around, or having them forget about you entirely because you were never around?

         It was this thought that was cycling over and over in his mind when he suddenly realized he had driven past his freeway exit. The green reflective road signs had been mere echoes in his peripheral vision until the one immediately marking the exit had reflected his headlights back in his eyes.

         He snapped out of a trance he hadn’t noticed falling into and quickly slowed the car. Making sure he had no one in front or behind him, Harry made a U-turn, crossing onto the opposite side of the unpartitioned road, and started back toward his exit. It was an illegal move, but Harry wasn’t worried. This narrow stretch of wooded freeway was only frequented by tourists driving across the state and residents of the cozy little community Harry called home, neither of which were likely to be out and about this late.

         It was only Harry.

         He threw on his turn signal, just for good measure, as the exit came into view again. As the car left the freeway, Harry shook his head, wondering how he could have missed something so familiar. Usually, his drive to and from work was made more on reflex than conscious actions. To his mind, completely spacing like this meant the job was getting to him more than he’d thought. He resolved to have a talk with Ruth about it tonight before she went to bed. Maybe he’d be able to salvage his family after all.

         He should have been more worried.
 

* * *

 
         “Hey Clarence.”

         Harry pulled to a stop at the entrance to his neighborhood and waited for the guard to open the gate for him. Clarence looked up from the magazine he was reading and removed his glasses, peering out of the open guardhouse door at Harry. Rather than wave and press the button like he always did, Clarence set the magazine down on the small desk in front of him and exited the guardhouse. He approached the car with his hands in his pockets and leaned down to look at Harry. When he spoke, his breath came out as mist.

         “Can I help you with something, sir?”

         Harry huffed. He liked Clarence, but now wasn’t the time to strike up a conversation. “Just looking forward to getting inside and getting warm. Could you buzz me in?”

         “Is someone expecting you?”

         “Heh. Yeah. My family. About five hours ago. Could you..?” Harry gestured to the gate. He hadn’t noticed when the temperature dropped but now he was starting to feel it creep into his extremities. He considered turning on the car’s heater, but he’d be home in another two minutes anyway.

         “I’m sorry sir, what was your name?” Clarence was walking back to the guardhouse.

         Harry smiled. Great, now even the security guard’s forgotten me. “It’s alight, Clarence. I’m Harry Carmichael.”

         Clarence entered the small building and looked down at his desk. Harry put both hands on the wheel, waiting for him to hit the button.

         Clarence shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir, that name’s not on my list.”

         Harry sighed. “Clarence... c’mon. It’s been a long night. I just want to get home.”

         “I appreciate that, sir, but I can’t let you in if your name isn’t on the guest list.”

         “My name isn’t on the guest list because I’m not a guest.” Harry was starting to feel impatient. “I live here. Now will you please open the gate.”

         “I can’t let you in sir. If you live here, then you should have a security card that will open the gate for you.”

         “This is ridiculous.” Murphy was out in force tonight. Harry had wanted nothing more than to put this whole evening behind him and sit down on the couch to watch the Late Show with Ruth, but the world seemed hell-bent on thwarting him at every turn. He dug his wallet out of his back pocket, struggling against the too-snug seat belt. “We go through this every night, Clarence--”

         “I’m not here every night, sir.”

         “Well then I go through this every night, with you or whichever one of the other guys is on duty, and you always know who I am...”

         “Just slide the card right there, sir,” Clarence gestured to the magnetic reader that protruded from the pavement three feet behind Harry’s driver-side window. Harry could hear in Clarence’s voice that the guard wasn’t expecting him to produce a card. He just watched Harry, expectantly.

         Harry put the car into reverse and backed up until he was level with the reader box. Fishing through his wallet, he pulled out the security card and flashed it to the stone-faced guard before swiping it over the magnetic panel.

         It took two attempts before the little indicator light glowed green and the gate began to swing open.

         Clarence remained at the guardhouse with his arms crossed, watching Harry drive passed. “Have a nice night, sir,” he said without inflection.

         Harry didn’t even look at him.

         Two quick turns later, Harry was pulling up to his house, situated at the end of a long cul de sac. The neighborhood was quiet. Most of the houses still had lights on, but some were already dark. Only the first floor of Harry’s house was illuminated; Ruth would have put Monica to bed by now, but she herself was still awake.

         Porch light was off.

         Not a good sign, Harry thought as the car shuddered to a stop in the driveway. The last few months, Ruth had laid claim to the garage. It made things easier since Harry had begun going into work early. Rather than having to move her car every morning to pull out, they had just agreed to switch places for the time being. The only real difference it made was that Harry now entered the house by the front door, rather than the garage door.

         Ruth had gotten into the habit of leaving the porch light on for him when he worked late. The absence of that light now was a forecast for the mood he could expect when he went inside.

         Steeling himself for the inevitable and reassuring himself that he would not let the job come between him and his family anymore, Harry slammed the car door, beeped the alarm on, and walked up to the front porch. Keys jangled as he slid one home and unlocked the front door.

         The foyer light was also off when he stepped in, but he found his way by the ambient light from the other rooms. He closed and locked the door behind him, setting down his briefcase and removing his jacket. He wanted to call out a greeting to the house, but that might wake Monica. Silently, he walked into the hallway, loosening his tie. He could hear the television on in the living room. Probably, he would find Ruth there and they would have their talk.

         Ruth wasn’t in the living room.

         The couch looked like it had been recently occupied, a bowl of still-steaming microwave popcorn sitting on the coffee table. Harry passed through the living room, a brief glance given to the images on TV. She was probably in the kitchen, getting a drink to supplement her late night snack. She’d always had the bad habit of drinking soda before going to bed, which inevitably resulted in her waking up hours later with an irresistible need to pass gas. It was one of those spousal quirks only the two of them knew about, but it was a part of why he loved her.

         He dipped down to snag a few kernels of popcorn on his way to the kitchen. He was starting to feel more at ease now that he was home, away from the office, away from the city. The strange ordeal with Clarence still nagged at the back of his mind, but even that was a quickly fading memory.

         When he turned the corner, Harry found Ruth with her back pressed against the kitchen sink, facing the doorway. She was holding a knife.

         “Get out of my house.”

         Harry pulled up short, eyebrows lowering as his gaze landed on the knife in her hands. “Whoa. What..?”

         Ruth’s eyes were wide but determined, her breath shallow. Her hands shook, though their grip on the knife never loosened. “You heard me, you son of a bitch. Get out of my house. Now!”

         “Honey?” Harry was dumbfounded. He could have imagined many things happening when he got home tonight, but the thought of his wife brandishing a knife at him had never even begun to cross his mind. He took a slow step forward. “Honey. Look... Put down the knife. Tell me what’s wrong. What happened..?”

         “I said get out!!!” She lunged at him.

         “Ruth! RUTH! What is going on?!” He backed off, hands out to the side to avoid the swipe of the blade.

         As quickly as she had attacked, Ruth was on the defensive again, holding the knife out like a barrier between them. “I want you... to leave. Either you’re leaving, or I’m leaving.” Slowly, she was inching her way toward the garage door to her right.

         “Ruth, please, just... tell me what is going on...”

         “Stop it! Shut up! You know what’s going on! You’re breaking into my house and I want you out!”

         “What do you mean breaking in-- Ruth, I live here! We live here! Together!”

         “I don’t know you. Alright..? I don’t know you, and you walked into the wrong house. Now just go. Leave. I won’t even call the police, just go...”

         “What are you talking about? I’m your husband!”

         “I DON’T HAVE A HUSBAND!”

         She was frantic now, not even trying to hide her path to the door.

         Harry was suddenly struck by a disturbing thought. She’s delusional... She’s on something. She’s got to be on something. She’s never touched a drug in her life. Did I drive my wife to drugs..?

         One hand tentatively left the knife handle to search for the doorknob without taking her eyes off of Harry.

         “Ruth...” He tried to move forward again but her hand was swift to return to the handle and she pointed the knife at him like an accusing finger. “Ruth... please...”

         “Stop saying that...” Her voice was weak, trembling. Harry had never seen his wife this way before. Always, she was a pillar of calm and understanding. She was swayed by nothing, taking everything in stride. But this...

         Once again, she reached out for the door handle, grasping as though she hadn’t just located it a second before -- she must be on something -- and she turned the knob.

         She was leaving, Harry realized. She was actually going to leave; trying to escape via the garage.

         He couldn’t let her.

         She was a danger to herself and the people around her right now and he couldn’t allow her to place herself at risk like this...

         More than she already has, anyway.

         Resigning himself to probably taking a few cuts from the knife, Harry tensed to lunge at her.

         “Mommy..?”

         They both froze.

         Harry whipped his head around to see Monica standing in the doorway to the kitchen. She was dressed in blue pajamas and looked like she had just woken up. His heartbeat sped up and he looked back to Ruth, wondering what she might do.

         Ruth was staring at the little girl as though looking at a stranger. She still aimed the knife at Harry, but the tip had lowered slightly. Her eyes squinted and her gaze wandered, as if she were struggling for a thought. Suddenly, her head twitched to one side, as though struck by a harsh gust of wind, and her eyes settled on the little girl again. “M-Monica..?”

         Harry was torn. He didn’t want Ruth to get herself -- or someone else -- killed, but he couldn’t allow his daughter to be in this situation either. What if Ruth attacked her next?

         Turning his back on his wife, Harry moved toward Monica, leaning over to pick her up. “Monica, come on... Mommy’s not feeling well, why don’t we--”

         “YOU GET AWAY FROM HER!!!”

         Ruth stabbed him.

         He felt the tip of the blade punch through cloth and skin and glance off his shoulder blade. Before he knew what was happening, Ruth had barreled into him from behind, knocking him into the refrigerator and sending him sprawling to the floor. The refrigerator door swung open from the impact, bumping into his knee. Monica was lifted into Ruth’s arms. His wife still held the knife, but it was kept far away from the child, who’s eyes were wide with confusion. Ruth rushed out of the room, their daughter staring over her shoulder at Harry.

         “Mommy, who is that?”

         She sounded scared.

         He heard the deadbolt disengaged in the foyer and the door opened and shut, and they were gone. Harry remained on the kitchen floor, stunned by what had just happened.

         Ruth, his wife, had just stabbed him in the back. That was shocking enough, but the realization of why she had done it staggered him even more.

         She was trying to protect Monica.

         Harry tried to move, but the pain from his stab wound was so intense he nearly lost consciousness. He’d never experienced anything like this before. The wound was like a furnace that stoked higher every time he made even the slightest of movements.

         Frustrated and trying to acclimate himself to a category of pain that was wholly foreign to him, Harry slumped back to the floor, staring up at the ceiling. The kitchen tile was cold to the touch and managed to soothe his aching wound, just a little.

         She was trying to protect Monica, and she didn’t know who I was. And neither did Clarence. And neither did Monica.

         The strangeness that had reigned over his life tonight was only compounded by Ruth’s attack. Harry felt like the main character in a book he’d once read, in which a man helped a wounded girl on the street one night, and the next day he woke up to find out the world had forgotten he existed. Harry doubted he’d end up in a world of fantasy and magic the way the character in that book had. This was the real world. The truly abnormal was only brought on by chemical addiction or simple insanity rather than any supernatural means.

         Maybe I’m dreaming, he distantly wondered.

         Harry didn’t know how much time had passed by the time he was ready to try standing again. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his back, which had both gotten worse and become more tolerable at the same time. His shirt peeled wetly from the tile floor and he uttered a groan as he slid one foot beneath him, then the other. Gripping the open door of the fridge with his good arm, Harry pulled himself upright. Even transferring the burden to his other arm and legs didn’t completely save him from stimulating the muscles around his wounded shoulder blade, and his groan became a strained gasp.

         God... DAMN it, this hurt.

         But he was up.

         He closed the refrigerator. He didn’t know where Ruth and Monica had gone. Maybe to one of the neighbors? Maybe to get Clarence. Harry weighed his need to dress the wound on his back against the need to find Ruth and calm her down. He tried looking over his shoulder to get a glimpse of his back and see how bad the damage was, but the resulting agony drove that idea crashing into the ground.

         Ruth it is.

         Slowly at first, making sure he still had the strength and balance to walk, Harry made his way back through the living room and hallway, to the front door. Instinct made him reach for the doorknob with his right hand, but pain in his shoulder blade corrected that idea and he pulled the door open with his left.

         Out on the walkway, a person stood in the shadows.

         From the shape and size, it looked to be a man, but the light from the open door did little to illuminate his features. Harry stepped outside, leaving the door open behind him. An uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach made him halt. The man in the shadows hadn’t moved since Harry had opened the door. Only stood rooted in the center of the walkway, silhouetted by the light of the street lamps behind him.

         “Uh... Hello. Excuse me...”

         Harry hadn’t realized the man’s head was bowed until his words brought the shape of it rising higher on his shoulders. He had an unusually long neck that placed his height about five inches taller than Harry’s. He didn’t speak. Only remained, watching from the shadows.

         A movement in the corner of his eyes brought Harry’s attention to the neighboring lawn. Another person, swathed in shadows, was lifting their head to regard him as well.

         And another...

         Suddenly, Harry became aware of similar figures placed all along the street. All were obscured by the pervasive darkness; even those who stood near street lamps lingered just outside of the light.

         Harry’s eyes returned to the person standing in front of him. The man still hadn’t moved. Harry wanted to say something more, something to elicit a reaction of any kind, but he was at a loss. This stranger’s silence was unnerving and he was beginning to think it might be a better idea to go inside and call someone.

         Then the gravity of what he was contemplating sunk in.

         Ruth and Monica were still out here. If the presence of all these strangers was setting off alarms in Harry’s head, then his wife and daughter were in the same danger. Mustering up his courage and pushing the pain in his shoulder blade to the far back of his mind, Harry took a few more steps forward. He hoped his voice wouldn’t sound half as intimidated as he felt.

         “Hey...”

         And that’s all he got out.

         The figure in front of him grinned an unnaturally wide, toothy grin, and the next second, it was in his face. Harry realized in that horrifying moment that the man was not a man at all. It had no gender, no clothing, no eyes, no ears... not even skin. Skin had texture; it reflected light. This was a being of pure, uninterrupted blackness. Uninterrupted, that was, but for the shockingly white smile that stretched to the very edges of its face. The teeth were long and narrow, forming a jagged horizon where they met in the center of its mouth. Harry had barely registered the figure’s movement, but now that it was in motion, the once solid lines of its body seemed to stretch and flow, like black cigarette smoke refusing to dissipate.

         It reached for Harry with sharp, elongated fingers. He took a reflexive step back, but was unable to avoid the thing’s grasp. Those fingers plunged into Harry’s chest, passing through layers of clothing and flesh like a ghost. A sudden, violent shudder rippled through the muscles of Harry’s torso. It felt as though he had jammed a fork in an electrical socket and the charge had gone straight to his heart.

         His breath caught in his throat, eyes fluttered, and Harry once again tried to back away from his attacker. His feet became tangled and he fell backwards, removing the figure’s hand from his chest. His back struck the concrete walkway a half-second before his head did, and a cold, numbing ache joined the crescendo of pain that erupted in his body.

         He blinked, trying to regain his bearings, to resist the pull of unconsciousness. It was a losing battle. His eyelids fluttered a few more times, but each time they closed, they were harder to reopen. The leering figure loomed over him, its grin growing wider. Before he lost the battle, Harry saw the figure whip its head around to one side, its elongated neck arching like an alert predator.

         Then, darkness.

 

* * *

 
         When Harry came to, he was greeted by the smell of incense and wood smoke. His vision was blurry at first, a faint orange glow fluttering in his periphery. He could hear wind crashing between tree limbs, rustling the leaves above and below, and the low crackle of a camp fire.

         Harry’s eyes were quick to adjust to the light and he blinked away the last remnants of sleep. The sense of calm that surrounded him now was disorienting when compared to the creeping tension that had assailed him outside his house. Not for the first time tonight, he wondered if he might be dreaming.

         “Y’re awake.”

         Harry lifted his head to see who was speaking, but a new surge of pain flooded into his skull and he had to lower it again. This felt like the worst hangover he’d ever had in college, only this wasn’t brought about by rampant partying or fraternity rites. This was a reminder of the nightmare his life had recently become.

         How long ago..?

         “How...” His throat was dry. He coughed once, to no avail, then tried clearing it sharply, trying to work saliva onto the flexing muscles.

         “Here y’go, mate,” the voice produced an arm, which tipped a canteen over Harry’s lips. Cold liquid flooded his parched pallet and his throat opened so wide to accept it that he nearly choked. The canteen was removed when he started coughing. His head hurt more with each jolt, but he was thankful for the water. He cleared his throat again, this time with limited success.

         “How long..?”

         “You’ve been out about an hour, hour and a half.”

         “Where’s my wife..? My daughter?”

         “Can’t help you with that one, mate.”

         Harry tried to move again. Struggling passed the pain that coursed through his body, he pushed himself to a sitting position.

         “Easy, mate, easy. Gonna pass out again if you’re not careful,” the speaker moved from the other side of the fire to help Harry reposition himself. He had tanned skin, which glowed like mottled chocolate in the firelight, and exotic features that lingered somewhere between Hawaiian and South American. His clothing was worn, as though he’d spent much of his time outdoors.

         Once Harry was sitting up, the man offered him the canteen again. This time, Harry drew a long swig from the container, only now realizing how thirsty he’d become. The man sat back on his heels, waiting for Harry to finish.

         “Mind your back, now. I’ve got a poultice on it that’ll help it heal faster, but it still takes time.”

         Harry lowered the canteen and looked around, getting a better view of the makeshift camp. A beaten backpack lay open on the other side of a fire big enough to warm those sitting close to it, but small enough that it would be difficult to spot at a distance. Square cuts of animal skin the size of washcloths were spread across the earthen ground with mounds of powder or crushed herbs gathered in the center of each one. Leather thongs lay forgotten in the soil where they had been tossed aside. An elaborately carved wooden incense burner sat between Harry and the fire, holding aloft a foot-long stick of incense that had already burned a third of its length. The scent hung heavy and dry in the air, pungent but not altogether unpleasant. Beside the animal skins sat a small wooden bowl that contained traces of white putty; probably the poultice. Harry realized that his shirt was missing, replaced by a thick blanket that had been wrapped around him, and he could hear the crinkle of a newly applied bandage on his shoulder blade.

         After taking the canteen back, the man crossed over to his side of the fire once more and began bundling up the medicine skins and tying them shut with the leather thongs.

         Leaning back against an old, dead log, Harry refocused his attention on the man. Close-cropped black hair showed a peppering of grey around the temples, and poking out just above the collar of his faded grey sweatshirt, Harry could make out the tip of an elaborate tribal tattoo.

         “Where are we?”

         The man looked up and nodded to the tree line. “Woods behind your neighborhood. ‘bout a quarter kilometer that way.”

         Harry glanced to where the man had indicated. “I thought they fenced off all the areas around the community.”

         The man just smiled. “Can’t fence it all off, mate. For those lookin’ to get in, there’s always a way.”

         This made Harry feel a bit uneasy. “Who are you?”

         “Name’s Jack Miahauri. I’m a paranormal investigator,” he held out his left hand in consideration of Harry’s wounded shoulder.

         Harry met the shake weakly, his body still sluggish from the unwanted sleep. “Harry Carmichael.”

         “Pleasure,” Jack released the hand and went back to wrapping his bundles.

         The title had struck Harry as oddly funny. The image this man conjured, with his animal skins, burning incense, and holistic remedies, didn’t quite live up to the X-Files-stereotypical paranormal investigator. In truth, he seemed more like a Native American medicine man.

         “‘Paranormal investigator,’” Harry gestured to the camp from beneath his blanket. “Aren’t you guys supposed to carry around cameras and graph machines..?”

         “Nah, mate. I’m the real thing.”

         “You’re, uh, from Australia?”

         “New Zealand.”

         “Oh... Sorry.”

         Jack smiled. “No worries mate. We don’t take offense at it the way Australians do.”

         Harry shivered as a gust of wind blew through the trees. He was suddenly very glad for the fire Jack had built. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shirtless form and stared out at the woods. “So, what are you doing here?” He asked, looking back across the fire at Jack.

         Jack glanced up at Harry, as though sizing him up in that moment, measuring the amount of information his question warranted. His eyes were quick to return to his task and he did not look up again when he spoke. “Been on the trail of a paranormal phenomenon.”

         “What phenomenon?”

         “Well, I think that should be pretty obvious, mate. You saw them for yourself.”

         Harry shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know what I saw...”

         “Right. Well. I do. I seen ‘em myself a while back. Sorta hard to forget.”

         “What are they..?”

         “They’re called the kengai. They’re a legend. A myth among my people. Dark spirits that feed off of people’s memories...”

         “Feed off of memories,” Harry eyes narrowed in confusion, “how?”

         “The kengai are able to steal a person’s memories and turn it into raw energy,” Jack continued to tie his bundles as he spoke, setting them aside one after the other. “That energy can be used in a number of ways. Commonly, it allows the kengai to fully crossover onto our plane of existence. Become tangible...”

         Harry shook his head, struggling to keep up. “Why would they want to do that?

         Now, Jack set his task aside and focused his attention on Harry. “Think of these things like animals... A bear. Now, a bear can live its entire life, eating fish, scraping bugs out of tree bark, and never be a danger to a human. But if that bear gets the taste of flesh on ‘is tongue, if he decides he likes it, well now you’ve got a man-eater on your hands. That bear’s gonna want more to sate ‘is hunger. He’ll chase it down at any cost.

         “Now, you take the kengai. Their food is memories. The things you hold dearest and fondest in your heart. In most cases, a person’s fondest memory is of their loved ones. So, now a kengai gets the taste of that memory on its tongue and the first instinct its gonna have is to consume more of the same. That means its gonna use the energy its absorbed from the memory to manifest itself on the material plane, just to get another taste of what you held so dear.”

         Harry was lost. Common sense waged war on the indulgent part of his brain, the part that wanted to believe what Jack was telling him. “This is... this is sounding a little--”

         “I know how it sounds, mate. Doesn’t change the facts.”

         Harry started to convince himself that he was just humoring a crazy person. Someone so lost in their own mind that they believed their delusions to be truth.

         “Okay, well, why are they here..?”

         “Dunno that, mate. I’ve been tracking these things down, following signs of possible appearances all over the world. New Zealand, Africa, Europe, the U.S.. Most of the time, it’s red herrings. But sometimes I’ll find a place, usually isolated, like this, that shows the signs...”

         “How did you find out about this, then? How did you know they’d be here?”

         “A friend of mine. A psychic. She warned me that--”

         “A psychic...”

         “Look,” Jack’s voice was firm now. It carried the edge of someone well accustomed to defending his beliefs against a skeptical audience. “Y’saw the thing outside your home, yeah?”

         “Yeah.” Harry already regretted the tone he’d taken.

         “Y’saw its teeth?”

         “...Yeah.”

         “Y’felt it when it put it’s hand through you...”

         Harry remembered the cold, electrified feeling. Like something had stirred the waters of his soul. “Yeah.”

         “What about your family? D’you remember them?”

         “Excuse me..?”

         “D’you remember their names? Start soundin’em off for me, mate. What’s your mother’s name? What’s your father’s?”

         “The hell are you talking about?”

         “It touched you. It was brief, but it happened. And now, somethin’s missing and you don’t even know it.”

         “You’re out of your mind...”

         “Humor me, mate. Don’t even need to say it aloud. Just go through the names of your friends and family in your head.”

         Harry felt a rush of indignance fill the pit of his stomach. He didn’t have time for this. Ruth and Monica were in the neighborhood somewhere and they needed his help...

         “Mommy, who is that..?”

         Glaring darkly at the New Zealander, Harry began to recite the names of his family in his head. It didn’t take him long.

         My father’s name is Earl Carmichael.

         My mother’s name is...

         ...

         Harry’s pulse quickened. Breaths started coming to him deeper and faster as he began to panic. Eyes darted back and forth, the campfire becoming an orange smear in his vision.

         My mother’s name is...

         “I... I can’t... remember... my mother’s name.”

         Jack watched him with sympathetic eyes. “That’s how it starts. First things to go are always the memories that have faded into the background. The people you haven’t seen in a long time. The kengai pick ‘em off like stragglers in a herd.”
         Harry squeezed his eyes shut as the implication of that sunk in.

         His family had forgotten him. He was never around anymore, and now they didn’t even know he was alive. Grief flooded in from the edges of his thoughts and he choked on a rising lump in his throat. Tears threatened to burst forth, but he held them back.

         “What happens to someone who’s... affected... by them?”

         Jack shook his head. “Depends on the level of exposure. How long they’ve been in the kengai’s presence. For some, people who’ve only been exposed for a short time, they’ll lose pieces of their past, parts of themselves, but they’re otherwise unharmed. For those that stay longer..?” He shook his head again.

         “How do you know all this?”

         “I told you, Harry. I’m a paranormal investigator. It’s my job.”

         Harry shook his head and looked up at him. “I don’t buy that. You said you’d seen them before...”

         Now it was Jack’s turn to fall silent. He looked at his hands as he went through the motions of putting away his medicine pouches and scraping the rest of the poultice into a ziplock bag.

         “My, ah... my village, back home. We were attacked by the kengai. Seven years ago.”

         “What happened?”

         Jack shook his head. “We weren’t prepared. Our chief was a traditional man, but the culture had become more about the land, less about the spirits. We were... defenseless.”

         “How did you escape..?”

         “I didn’t.” This was accompanied by a bitter laugh. “They feasted on us until their time was up. They only come with the moonlight, y’see. Well, at dawn, I woke up and couldn’t remember the names of my parents, didn’t even know if I had siblings.

         “And I didn’t know, for the life of me, who the woman and child were who were lying dead on my kitchen floor. Someone told me it was my wife and daughter. Took me a while to believe ‘em.”

         Jack stopped moving. He only stared at the fire now, lost in the void of his remaining memories.

         “They were... all torn up. ‘parently some of the kengai had gotten a taste o’them in my brain and decided they wanted the main course. Couldn’t remember them, though. The little girl was seven. There were pictures of her and ‘er mum on the shelves in my house. Pictures of her as a baby. Of me holding ‘er.” The dancing flames cast long shadows across his face. “Didn’t remember a’none of it.

         “Still don’t,” he shifted, shaking himself out of his reverie and looking at Harry once more. “But I can feel that hole in m’self. That pit in my soul where my family used to live.”

         Harry locked eyes with him for only a brief moment before looking away. He no longer felt the skepticism he had so desperately clung to before. Only pity. And dread.

         “Why do you chase them?”

         “Well, what else am I gonna do?” Jack zipped his backpack shut, leaving only the incense burner and stick out in the open. “I got no more happy memories left. Got nothing to lose. They’re all I know, now. They’re all I remember. So, I follow them. See if I can’t catch ‘em in the act.”

         “And what do you do once you catch them..?”

         “Well that seems to be the dilemma tonight, doesn’t it?” Jack seemed to have pulled himself out of the darkness of his past, once again projecting the amiable fellow he was before. “I was hoping to get here in time to warn people, but the guard stopped me at the gate. By the time I found my own way inside, it was already too late. Spotted you, chased ‘em off before they could do any worse t’you, and brought you out here.”

         “How did you chase them off?”

         Jack gestured to the wooden burner. “Incense. Their not too susceptible to it once they’ve crossed over, but in spirit form it cuts right through them.”

         “The incense chases them away?”

         “Like garlic to a vampire.”

         “Don’t tell me those’re real too...”

         Jack grinned. “Jury’s still out on that one, mate.”

         Harry smiled lightly. Despite the hopelessness of the situation, he was starting to like Jack. The man spoke with an honesty and conviction that was rare in most people. His eyes held no trace of deception, nor some deeper psychosis. He was for real.

         “So,” Harry said, leaning forward. His wound ached, but was indeed starting to feel better. Whatever was in the mixture Jack had applied to it was doing the job. “How do we stop them?”

         Jack huffed. “Y’don’t. Y’let them do their damage and try to pick up the pieces in the morning.”

         Harry was already shaking his head. “No. I can’t accept that. My wife and daughter are still back there...”

         “And they’re safe as long as you still remember them...”

         “I can’t just let them lose their memories, Jack!”

         “It’s better than the alternative, mate.”

         “Well, what if the alternative is to get their memories back?”

         Jack shook his head. “It’s not. Harry, that’s what I’m tellin’ you. Once the damage is done, there’s just... there’s no way.”

         “Come on, Jack, we’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone already. Let’s take it a few steps further. You said your chief should have been able to fight them. Why?”

         Jack sighed, leaned forward on his knees. After a few moments, he spoke. “I said that he was a traditional man, but he’d lost sight of the spiritual side of the culture. We all had. There are stories, though. Myths about tribal warriors, usually chiefs, who were specially conditioned to combat the kengai.”

         “Conditioned, how?”

         Jack shrugged. “Fight fire with fire.”

         Harry shook his head, not understanding.

         “Everything is a flow of energy, Harry. As long as someone is close enough to a kengai, they’re like a conduit that the kengai can siphon off of. Their memories become the energy that feeds them. The flow can’t be broken by us, here, on this plane, because it’s intangible, it’s on another level of existence. But, if someone were able to interrupt the flow of energy... to take control of it... they might be able to pull those stolen memories back, return them to those who lost them. Someone who was able to harness that energy could defeat the kengai. Drive them off.”

         “Well, wait a second, I thought you said the memories were the energy. Doesn’t using that energy defeat the entire purpose?”

         “Yes. If you’re a spirit, yes. Reconverting the energy would sap yourself of it as well. For a spirit, there’s no reverse switch. They can take, but they can’t give back.”

         “Then what are you talking about..?”

         Jack sighed, resigned. “Well, think about it. These memories, these thoughts... they’re our thoughts. We... Us... Humans. It’s our energy that the kengai are stealing. The theory was that if those energies originated from us, we should be able to have ultimate control over them. If a human were able to wield his memories like a weapon, he could use that to fight, maybe even destroy, the kengai.”

         “What happens to the memories that person is using?”

         Jack shook is head. “I don’t know, Harry. This has never been done. Not in this generation. The myths say that in ancient times, tribal chiefs with great fortitude of spirit were able to fend off the kengai, but the stories about it are vague. They don’t say what happened to the chiefs after achieving victory. Perhaps they were able to cling to those memories, keep them from slipping away. Or, maybe they were spent. Drained, like a battery.”

         “No one’s ever tried to fight them? You never tried?”

         “I never caught them, Harry. And I wouldn’t even know how.”

         “But you just said--”

         “That tribal chiefs of ancient times did this, Harry. These men were spiritually enlightened. As close to gods as legends would allow.”

         “Yeah, well, plain old man is gonna have to suffice this time.”

         “Now what are you talking about?”

         “You know damn well what I’m talking about. I’m going to fight those bastards.”

         “Meditate very often, Harry?”

         “I’m about to start.” Harry looked at him, determined. “Tell me what I have to do.”

         “No. No. For you, going back in there is a death sentence.”

         “Oh, but not you?”

         “For me as well! I may not have any more tasty morsels swimming in my brain, but even now they grow in power. They might be able to actually put their hands through your skin next time, mate, have you thought of that?”

         “I have to do this, Jack. I can’t just sit back and--”

         “Even if you’re able to touch the energy, there’s no guarantee you’ll be able to hold onto it. You could go brain-dead on the spot--”

         “My wife and daughter are back in that town, Jack. What would you do?”

         Jack looked away, silently damning Harry for knowing which buttons to push. Damning him for being right.

         “Tell me what to do. You know the stories, you know the legends. Like you said, it’s your job,” Harry’s eyes never left Jack, even as the other man continued to avert his. “Come on, Jack. Help me do this.”

 

* * *

 
         An eerie silence had settled over the neighborhood, as though what had happened only a few hours ago had never been. Harry walked down the center of the long street, the overhead lamps bathing everything in a dull, yellow glow. His eyes darted to the deep shadows that dwelt in the corners between houses and under cars. In his hand, he gripped the burning incense stick -- Jack’s last -- tightly and tried to stay calm.

         Halfway to his destination, Harry realized that he was covered in cold sweat. Try as he might to keep himself focused on the task at hand, the memory of his encounter with the kengai earlier, the doubts about what he was now attempting, assaulted him. What if it didn’t work?

         He repeated the chants Jack had taught him over and over in his mind. Words of power that had not been spoken in hundreds of years now flowed, stuttering through the mind of a man who did not fully understand them. But understanding was not a requisite. That’s what Jack had told him.

         The chant itself was just words. Their power was whatever he fed into them. What emotions channeled through those words to affect the world around him. Right now, only one emotion was dominant in Harry’s mind, and it threatened to undermine everything that he and Jack had planned. So, he choked it back. He centered his thoughts. And he remembered his family.

         The stillness in the air was broken by a soft gust of wind carrying an abandoned plastic bag across the blacktop.

         On the sidewalk to Harry’s left, stood a tall, dark figure. He didn’t know how it had appeared there or why he hadn’t noticed it until now, but he would not have the time to ponder it.

         Another figure, ahead and to the right, standing between two parked cars.

         Harry slowed to a stop...

         Another, drifting out of the shadows between two houses, made a beeline toward his position, then paused, just at the edge of the street.

         They were everywhere now. Stepping out from behind trees and street lamps, floating in from the corners of his periphery, appearing from seeming nothingness to stand and watch him with their nonexistent eyes.

         Kengai filled the street in front of his house now, as though forming a barrier. A quick glance back showed that they had closed in behind him as well. The cul de sac Harry Carmichael called home appeared more like an arena now. A gladiator ring. But there were no attacks. No sudden outbursts of violence. The kengai only stood, facing him, their abnormally long necks craned forward as though in reverence to something he could not understand.

         The chants grew louder in Harry’s head. He knew that if he tried to utter them aloud, he would fumble. His throat would scratch dry and his tongue would fail him and he would sound more like a dying animal than a man. And that sound would spur these ominous specters into action and they would devour him, mind, body, and spirit.

         As though sensing the thoughts that plagued Harry, the Kengai began to grin their predatory grin. Like a wave, white gashes spread across the wall of black faces that surrounded him. And yet, still, they did not move.

         The incense, Harry realized, was working. They would not come near it. It was anathema to them. Despite this, Harry felt naked. Thin wisps of white smoke were the only thing holding this legion of ravenous spirits at bay. They were his only armor.

         Harry waited. He maintained the cadence of the chant in his mind, but he did not allow it to escalate. He had to wait for what he knew must be coming...

         A flutter of movement to his right. Harry turned in time to see a kengai leap onto the hood of one of the cars. It crouched there, knees bent up past its shoulders, neck extended forward like one of Geiger’s aliens. The car rocked under its weight...

         It was solid.

         The thing’s grin split, its jaw extending farther down than any natural being’s could, and for the first time, Harry heard the voice of the kengai. A deep, groaning howl, like the sound of air rushing through a narrow tunnel, pierced the frigid night, and Harry shuddered. The shocks of the car creaked as the kengai launched itself from the roof, bearing down on Harry like a homing missile. Harry could not move. He just stood rooted to the spot, watching the kengai close the distance between them...

         Jack came barreling through the line of spirits, a large hunting knife held in one hand, and a deep, primal roar building in the back of his throat. He intercepted the attacking kengai like a linebacker, carrying it past Harry and plowing it into the asphalt thirty feet away. The materialized spirit began thrashing and swiping at Jack, illiciting sounds that chilled Harry to his very core. But the immediate threat was dealt with...

         “NOW!”

         At Jack’s command, Harry elevated the chant in his mind to the next level. He closed his eyes, trusting that Jack would keep the kengai who had tasted his family’s memories at bay long enough to accomplish their goal, and he focused on the ritual. He envisioned the streams of energy that flowed invisibly through the air around him. He saw the incorporeal bodies of the kengai, saw the thoughts and memories that bound them to the people of this neighborhood. In his minds eye, he saw the essence of their power.

         Then, as Jack had taught him, he envisioned his family... He remembered falling in love with Ruth at a bowling alley in the town they both grew up in. He remembered the morning, lying in bed, illuminated by the golden rays of the sun, that she told him she was pregnant. He remembered the day, four years ago, when his daughter was born. He remembered the first time Monica called him daddy; the first time she told him she loved him. He remembered lying on the couch when she was two and holding her on his chest as she drifted off to sleep.

         Harry remembered his family, and he felt his fingers begin to tingle. Memory after memory was called to the fore of his mind and forged into a solid, radiant well of power. Where at one point Harry had worried he wouldn’t have enough strong memories to throw at the kengai, he now felt an overabundance of them flowing forth. He had to stem the tide, narrow his focus into laser-sharp accuracy in order to keep from burning himself out. Jack had not been exaggerating... He could very well have lost his mind in attempting this. He’d had no conditioning... No spiritual training to combat ancient horrors. All that he had was the determination to do the impossible, and the love of his family, which he now wielded as a weapon.

         Feeling his energies reach the apex of their potency, Harry reached out and took hold of the threads that fed the kengai... And he tugged.

         When he opened his eyes, the still blackness of the night had become chaos. The scores of kengai had dispersed into a rapid blur of movement. Most moved to and fro, trying to find cover, or maybe to reclaim the threads of energy that were even now being pulled loose. Some merely stood in one place and whipped their torsos back and forth like some horrific tantrum on fast-forward. The wind had picked up as though it too had been upset by this turn of events. Trails of smoke from the incense swirled around Harry and blew into the fray, sending some kengai fleeing, their mouths stretched inhumanly wide in silent protest.

         The only sound aside from the blowing wind, was the bellowing howls of the kengai locked in battle with Jack. The two tumbled back and forth along the pavement, slashing at each other with claw and blade.

         Harry could still feel the power coursing through his limbs. The images of his family flashed through his mind as he continued to peel away the layers of memory the kengai had stolen.

         All along the block, doors were flung open and windows shattered as the other kengai who had manifested on the material plane came to investigate the sudden flux in the flow of energies. One zeroed in on Harry immediately and charged into him from the side, knocking him prone. Razor sharp fingers dug into Harry’s shoulders and he could see glistening wet spots on the thing’s pitch black form that hadn’t come from him. The kengai’s mouth opened like a vacuous pit wreathed in bleached bone-shards, and it howled in his face. Acting on instinct, Harry jammed the burning end of the incense stick down the thing’s throat. It made a choking sound and scrambled backward as smoke as black as its skin billowed from its open mouth, forming a churning cloud above its head.

         Free of his attacker, Harry pushed himself up, watching the kengai whip its head back and forth until it was obscured by the black cloud. Controlling the energy was becoming second nature to him now, as though he’d tapped into some hidden part of himself he never knew existed. All but ignoring the new punctures that peppered his shoulders, Harry clutched at the threads of power that fueled that single kengai, and ripped them loose. There was a loud sucking sound, like air escaping into a vacuum, followed by a loud pop, and the incense stick fell to the ground. The spirit had been forced back onto its own plane of existence and was now writhing in the residual smoke of the incense. It began to break apart, pieces of it frittering away until there was nothing left.

         People were filling the streets now. Coming out of houses, out of hiding places, the inhabitants of the neighborhood watched in awe, confusion, and horror as two men fought to free their minds.

         Ruth and Monica were among them. Harry saw them standing on the neighbor’s lawn, holding each other’s hands for support. Ruth was watching the frenzied scurrying of the enraged kengai, but Monica’s attention was completely on Harry. The two locked eyes from across the street and, for a brief moment, Harry felt utter devastation at the lack of recognition in his daughter’s eyes...

         “Mommy, who is that..?”

         With renewed strength, Harry got to his feet and poured more of himself into the undoing of the kengai’s hold on his neighborhood. More pops occurred as kengai were sucked back into their own dimensions, their accumulated energies drained from them. Before long, the only material kengai left was the one being hacked apart by Jack. The paranormal investigator continued to pound away at it, sending up jets of inky smoke to mingle over their heads. His clothing was stained and shredded from the battle, but it seemed he had won. Harry focused his energy on that kengai, which even now reached for him with a lover’s longing. Then, with a pop and a whiff of smoke, it vanished as well.

         Harry was suddenly struck by an overwhelming exhaustion. He fell to his knees, looking around to see if there were any more left to fight. There were none. The kengai were gone. Harry’s eyes found Jack’s. The man looked like he had been attacked by a mountain lion, but he did not look too badly injured. He nodded to Harry, a silent acknowledgement of what they had achieved. Harry felt a flood of relief. At last, the nightmare was at an end.

         He closed his eyes, trying to push the remaining images of the kengai from his mind. They would linger in his nightmares assuredly, but he was confident he would be able to endure them. In the end, all that mattered was the safety of his family. The family whose memory had served him so well tonight; who had enabled him to drive off the dark spirits.

         “Daddy..?”

         He opened his eyes and saw them coming. The little girl was running towards him, her arms already held out for an embrace. The woman’s hand covered her mouth, tears welling in her eyes as she looked upon him. They were so beautiful. The very thought of them filled his heart with joy and warmth...

         If only he could remember their names.

         No...

         Oh, no...

         He looked to Jack again. The expression on his face must have reflected what he was thinking, because when Jack saw him, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He started toward Harry as well.

         This is the price, Jack. This is the part the legends never told you...

         “Daddy!”

         She flung herself into his arms, clinging so tightly to his neck that he felt the aches of his wounds intensify, but he didn’t care. She was all that mattered. She was safe. And she remembered him. Happiness mixed with grief in the back of his throat and Harry could feel hot tears streaming down his wind-chilled cheeks.

         There was a woman standing a few feet away, watching them, but he paid her no mind.

         “I love you, Daddy.”

         “I love you too, sweetheart.”

         I think...

         He smiled, trying to hide his anguish. Trying to offer this little girl comfort he himself could not feel. A wracking sob threatened to shatter his facade, so he hid it the only way he knew how...

         He began to laugh.

         With tears in his eyes and pain in his heart, Harry Carmichael lost himself in laughter that echoed through the night until he could no longer remember what was so funny.
 
 
 

The End