The World Of Myth

Face to face with his attacker, Nick forced himself to keep his eyes open and was determined to stare it down. It’s gigantic, flapping wings blotted out the moonlight, but he could still see it clearly. A reptilian face, just like the two men he had seen at the bus stop on Geary Street, stared into Nick’s teary eyes. Its lipless mouth opened slowly, revealing two circular rows of sharp, jagged teeth. From within the attacker’s throat issued a repetitive clicking noise that Nick interpreted to be laughter. He refused to show his fear to this monster.

A long, pointed tongue rolled out from behind the attacker’s mucus dripping teeth. The thin, black muscle traced a slimy trail from under Nick’s left eye down to his chin as if savoring the flavor of human flesh. He was on the verge of losing his mind.

Staring into the yellow irises of his attacker’s eyes, Nick imagined himself hanging from the edge of a monolithic skyscraper, fighting to hold on as his grip got ever weaker. Below his feet there was only darkness. Nick knew that with one good smack to his hands he would let go of the building and fall into the waiting void, losing his sanity and consciousness. All of his Catholic life, Nick believed that evil existed only as an action that a man took against another man. Never did he believe that evil was a real, in-the-flesh monster. It was almost more than his battered psyche could handle and his grip on reality was rapidly slipping.

Nick’s psychic survival instinct gripped him by the balls and gave a hard tug, bringing him back from the edge of insanity. His eyes popped open and he scuttled backwards on his palms and heels. Nick wanted to put space between him and the attacker. He got to his feet and ran, crashing into the metal door marked 249. It did not seem to have any visible locks, but when Nick pulled up on the handle it would not open.

Feeling defeated, Nick cried out loud and beat his injured fists against the metal door; the loud clamor, mixed with the shrieks of the other dark watchers that flew overhead, added to the welter of discordant sounds echoing through Arkham Alley. Nick hoped the noise would deafen him to the sound of his adversary as it approached for its killing stroke, but this was not to be. As suddenly as they started, the flying watchers ceased their song. Nick slowly and cautiously turned toward the alley.

The dark watchers were on the street all around him. His attacker stood only a few feet away, its mouth open, black tongue darting in and out like a snake's. Sensing death in front of him, Nick shouted as he backed away, then tripped over his own feet and fell backwards, passing completely through the closed metal door without obstruction.

His head impacted a cold, flat surface. Nick lay still in the solid darkness waiting for the deadly talons and teeth of the Dark Watchers to rip into his flesh. In the end he had not been able to face death, but had cowered away from it. Like a child fearing the boogeyman, Nick remained on the icy floor with his eyes squeezed shut, but no sharp talons sliced through his skin. Nick slowly opened his eyes.

The darkness around him was complete. There were no windows to let rays of silvery moonlight creep into this new location, and a sickening stench of ancient decay, more foul than the graveyard scents on Arkham Alley, filled the chamber. Buried within the odor there was another, more curious perfume that tinged the air.

Nick covered his nose and mouth with the lapel of his jacket. It didn’t help much. The smell was overwhelming and in combination with disorientation due to walking like a ghost through solid metal, he could barely stand. He remembered the lighter he had stolen from 'The Egyptian' earlier, and within seconds had it lit. A small orange flame, casting too small a glow to really perceive anything beyond the end of his nose, flickered in his hand. He walked back in the direction from where he had fallen. The light revealed the same corrugated, metal garage door. It was sealed. Yet somehow he had passed through it like a ghost. Nick chose not to think about how it was possible--that would mean revisiting the borders of reality, sanity and insanity that he had just barely escaped.

The smallest amount of light was comforting to Nick in this dark place. His eyes were watery and something in the room, other than the smell, made him start coughing dramatically. He thrust the small torch forward. His imagination was unbound in the darkness. Nick took small, patient steps as he navigated through the space, making his way deeper into the chamber, as far from the metal door as possible.

"Where am I?" he asked himself. The room smelled like it could be the place where Faro kept the corpses of those who got in his way during his climb up the criminal ladder. Nick strained to see beyond his poor light. Would there be more treasures like the ring? Was it Faro’s personal vault? Impatience edged into Nick’s actions and he walked into something solid and heavy that did not move when he kicked it. He blindly reached into the air in front of him. Nothing. He bent slightly at the waist and felt about. His hand ran across something that felt like a wooden box. Nick’s patience wore out as a throbbing pain pulsed in his right foot from kicking the heavy box.

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