Chapter 12 – Beyond the Boundary
Stardate 54837.6 (4 November 2377)
Location – Unknown
Coulrophobia.
No need to look it up. It’s what you’re feeling right now. The unreasonable fear of clowns.
Maybe it’s not so unreasonable.
-Anthony Breznican
Tess Edwards approached the bridge that crossed the divide separating two universes. The structure creaked ominously as she put her weight on it and it bounced a bit before settling.
Tess’ heart was hammering as she cautiously made her way across. Below her, the raging torrent roared and a mist rose creating droplets that settled on her face. Glancing down she noticed something that did not belong. Amidst the rocks was a cylindrical metallic object lying against a rock. She quickly realized it was the remains of a badly damaged sensor drone, probably one sent into Sector Lambda by Captain Gilead. Whether its guidance system failed or it suffered a power loss, Tess could not tell . . . not that it mattered.
A board gave way, tumbling into the rapidly moving water. She stumbled slightly but regained her balance as she watched the piece of wood hit the river’s surface, disappear, then reappear as it moved away quickly in the current. Gingerly, she stepped across the gap and quickly covered the remaining distance until she was on solid ground once more . . .
. . . in a different universe.
She looked back behind her from whence she came. The dead oak tree still loomed over the tattered tent which flapped in the strong breeze. Beyond the hill she supposed (hoped) were the doors that would lead back out of Section Lambda.
There was no sign of Trevor Harney.
Okay, Tess . . . time to move, find the kid, and get the hell out of here. She turned to face the densely wooded forest in this new realm, idly wondering if somewhere beyond lay another version of Section Lambda and Starbase 66.
The wind picked up and she shivered. Wherever she was, it was colder here than on the other side of river in her own universe. Despite Trevor Harney’s admonition, she withdrew the small phaser from her sleeve and set it on heavy stun as she walked toward the woods. The small weapon gave her a slight sense of comfort.
There appeared to be a faint trail that led into the trees. As she entered the forest, the scant light from the gray sky faded and she was engulfed in a murky gloom. Her eyes adjusted enough for her to see and she began to walk, not really certain of where she was going but any path was better than none.
It took her perhaps five minutes of walking before she came to the first indication she was on the right path. Or, the wrong path, depending on one’s perspective and threshold of fear.
A bright red balloon bobbed languidly on a string in the middle of the path, unaffected by the stiff wind that moaned through the tree limbs. In what appeared to be white grease paint, the words “last chance to go back,” were written on the balloon.
“Not today,” she muttered, and walked past the balloon, giving it a wide berth.
The meager light began to fade. Perhaps the sun that illuminated this place was setting or perhaps the darkness emanated from something else. She activated the light on her phaser and thus was able to follow the path.
The trail itself was becoming more difficult to follow, partly due to the encroaching darkness, and partly because the vegetation was more dense. Twice, she felt branches clutch at her uniform like skeletal fingers. She twisted free with a snarl and continued to move ahead.
She was scared, more scared than she had ever been in her life. More so than when she served on the Coronado when Cardassian torpedos pounded their shields and the red alert klaxon wailed incessantly.
But the fear motivated her. She knew if this place brought her such terror, a child would be overwhelmed.
It was the little boy that kept her moving. She had decided she would not return without him.
The trail began a sudden, sharp ascent. Tess found herself struggling to move uphill as tree roots tripped her up and sharp vines slashed her face and arms, opening the fabric of her uniform sleeves. The blood that streamed down her cheeks drew small gnat-like creatures that buzzed about and attacked her nose and eyes.
She swatted at the insects as she sought purchase for hands and feet to climb. The roots had a slimy texture, proving to be more a hindrance than a help as she moved upward.
Progressing fifty meters took nearly the same number of minutes. Finally, she reached a level place and rested for a moment, gasping from exertion and perspiring freely despite the chill.
Tess looked up and saw the second most macabre sight of the day.
The body of Juud Mo was seated on a tree stump, much as it had been situated in her apartment earlier. This time however, the head was placed upside down on the neck stump. Tied to his right hand was another red balloon. The message on it said, “Hurry, Tess – Malan won’t last much longer. Love, Red Jack.”
To her surprise, the sight of the dead Orion and the ominous message did not bring on a panic response. She began to chuckle. Oddly enough, she found this latest death pose to be funny in a sophomoric way. Part of her mind wondered if this was a different Juud Mo or the one who had paid a call to her quarters.
“Is that the best you can do?” she shouted above the wind. “Corpses and balloons have lost their charm, Red Jack, or whoever the frak you are.”
She turned in a circle, anger welling up in her heart. “Show yourself, you murderous son of a bitch!” she shrieked.
Thunder rumbled in the distance and a flash of lightning briefly illuminated the path beyond the corpse of Juud Mo. In that instance, Tess could see a dark silhouetted figure standing in the trail. But that glimpse was enough for her to know.
It was the clown.
She raised her phaser in the direction of the apparition. “SHOW YOURSELF!” she screamed.
Another flash of lightning crossed the night sky. The clown-creature was gone.
Tess moved quickly in the direction she had spotted the clown. Fear had given way to anger. A roiling rage gave her a second wind, the fatigue and ache of tired muscles forgotten.
She sprinted through the thick vegetation, her breath coming in harsh grunts of exertion as some inner compass guided her. As she raced along the path, her foot caught on an exposed root, causing her to land awkwardly and painfully as she slid amongst moldering leaves. Her phaser tumbled away, disappearing into the underbrush.
Momentarily stunned, she staggered to her feet and winced at a sharp pain in her left knee. Looking down, she could see nothing in the darkness but her hand came back sticky and wet with blood.
Great. She fumed to herself. Running like a damn fool and you lose your weapon and slice open your knee. Good going, Tess.
She ripped off one of the already tattered sleeves of her uniform and wrapped it tightly around her injured knee. It helped but she could tell the joint was already stiffening. No more running for now.
Tess tried to locate the phaser but it was an exercise in futility. The adrenaline rush had passed and the sense of foreboding was beginning to return. Shaking her head angrily at her foolishness, she began to move along the trail when a sudden, soft sound brought her up abruptly.
She listened, trying to concentrate her hearing against the constant wind and the rustle of tree branches and dead leaves. For a moment, she thought she imagined it, then once more, faintly, the sound returned.
Someone was crying.
Lt. Edwards turned her head from one side to another, trying to get a fix on the faint sound. The wind tended to carry it away but it was soon apparent that the keening was ahead of her and close, quite close.
"Malan?" She called, her voice nearly drowned out by the incessant wind. "Malan Wright! Can you hear me?"
She hobbled in the direction she last heard the crying and continued to call out for the boy. "Malan, please! . . . answer me if you can hear me."
But she received no answer.
Gritting her teeth against the pain in her leg, Edwards forced herself up another rise . . .
. . . And came to a halt when she came to a clearing in the woods.
The clearing was not as surprising as the macabre scene before her. A sick parody of a birthday party appeared to be underway in the center of the open area. A young boy that Tess knew to be Malan Wright from the holo-pics provided by his parents sat in the place of honor, though she thought it more a place of horror. The child was surrounded by his "guests" - a gruesome collection of corpses seated around the table. Once more, the remains of the late Juud Mo made an appearance, or at least his head was present - placed on the table with a party hat situated at a jaunty angle. A shiny black beetle of some sort scuttled from an empty eye socket, burying itself in the cake that sat before the terrified boy.
But Malan Wright was not the one who caught Lt. Edwards' attention. No, that honor went to the tall clown that loomed over the child. It stood at least seven feet tall in a costume of shimmering white with narrow blue stripes. Huge orange buttons festooned the front of the costume and white gloves covered his hands.
Traditional white and blue makeup covered the long face of the clown, complete with red nose and a ring of bright orange hair about a too-large head. But there, the familiar aspects of a circus icon ended. The smile was too wide with lips curled back to reveal a menacing set of needle sharp teeth tinged a blood red. And the eyes . . .
For a moment, Tess was mesmerized as her eyes met that of ilichthu'ud.
Red Jack.
Ripper.
Clown.
It.
"Welcome Tess," the clown crooned, the voice caressing her ears and her mind, "Do join us. We were just about to begin the party." Silvery orbs stared into and through her, beckoning her into a bright darkness.
Unbidden, her legs numbly moved, bringing her to the one vacant chair at the table. She sat down stiffly, like a marionette. Across from her, Malan Wright sat frozen in place, his eyes wide and full of terror.
The corpse next to Tess turned its head in her direction, its long unused bones creaking audibly. Strips of desiccated flesh hung in tatters from its ruined face.
"Now, now," chided the clown, "It's not polite to stare." Red Jack made a gesture and the corpse turned its head the other way.
And turned, and turned, and turned until the sound of splintering bone and sinew began to break through Edwards' fugue. She blinked but remained still lest the clown notice.
Red Jack clapped his hands together in a show of anticipation. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes! Time to celebrate young Malan's birthday." The last rolled off his tongue, ending in a guttural growl.
"And what party is complete without a cake?" He asked, indicating the pulsing white confection centered next to Juud Mo's head. The clown snapped his fingers and candles appeared, blazing brightly. So bright and hot, in fact, that the late Orion's cranium also ignited eliciting the sickening odor of burning flesh.
"Oh dear, oh dear," tsked the clown. "What shall we do for refreshment now?" He raised his hand and tapped his cheek in thought. Tess noticed that talons now extended through the ends of the white cotton gloves. The talons were very long and very sharp.
The clown's smile grew even wider, impossibly wide. "I know!" he effused, "what better treat than to treat ourselves to the birthday boy!"
Silver eyes glowing with an infernal heat, the clown moved behind Malan and placed his massive hands on the boy's frail shoulders, flexing his terrible claws.
"Don't worry, Tess. I'll share . . ." Red Jack began to laugh. It was a thick, horrible sound that quickly devolved into a guttural snarl of hunger and anticipation.
Edwards felt helpless, frozen in place but all too aware of what was about to happen. As the horror of the moment threatened to overwhelm her, the chant she had first heard from Trevor Harney suddenly came to mind.
She began to hum softly.
To be continued . . .
