Free Nightingale Songs by Simon Strantzas Page B

bang on the door, but the sound paralyzed him with instant dread. There was nothing he could do but watch as the finger-like projections of darkness descended on the unconscious body of Breem. There was a bright flash and he was gone. Left behind was an image burned into Fisher's retina of Breem being joyfully beaten by a crowd of leering strangers.
    Fisher's head throbbed. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't take his eyes from the thundercloud in the window, terror weighing his limbs down. There was a ringing in his head he feared might be his brain about to burst until he recognized the sound. He managed to turn away from the small window and quickly made his way back to the control room. The telephone there continued to ring, as though waiting patiently for his return. He shook as he picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. He did not speak. He did nothing but listen and stare at the door to Room One and at the small dark portal in its frame.
    "Fisher? Are you there? This is Doctor Wy ."
    Fisher's eyes began to water.
    "There's been -- We had --"
    "What's happened, Fisher? Is there something wrong? You were supposed to call me."
    "There wasn't time. It's Rose and -- and Sanderson. He's -- and Breem, he--"
    " Breem was there?" Doctor Wy 's voice shook as he spoke. "Did he come into contact with Sanderson? I told you to not let anyone in." Fisher couldn't say anything. All he could hear was the sound of a windstorm, and that terrible droning that could no longer be blocked. "Fisher, you must listen to me now. The experiment is a failure. I should have known better; some things cannot be controlled. It's my mistake and I have to clean it up. What time is it? Stay there; don't do anything. I'm going to make a call and send someone right over."
    "But," Fisher was dizzy from confusion; "I don't understand. What's happening?"
    "There's a darkness, Fisher, that is slipping into the world through the dreams of the weak. A force of corruption, of entropy, that is taking this world apart to feed itself. I thought -- naively it seems -- that there might be some way to control it, to slow it. Perhaps even reverse it, but I see that was a mistake. I thought I could plan for everything, but one cannot plan to thwart entropy. By its very nature it's unpredictable. I only hope I can stop this in time. Whatever you do, stay there until someone arrives. I -- I'm sorry about this, Fisher."
    But Fisher could not hear those words. They were overwhelmed by the sound of droning. He dropped the receiver to the floor and tried to rub the pain from his temples. "It's okay," he chanted. "It's going to be okay. Doctor Wy is sending someone." On the desk were his headphones and he put them on, desperate for anything that would block the noise from getting inside his head. He turned the volume of the white noise machine up as far as it would go but it was no use. It did nothing to mask that horrible droning. Fisher threw the headphones to the floor, nearly weeping, and watched them break into far too many plastic pieces, scattering them for all eternity. Unwillingly his eyes moved to the polysomnograph which was still drawing Room One's feed across the console screen. The peaks fluctuated so wildly it was a solid wall of color, yet how was it possible when Sanderson had ceased to be anything but some sort of gateway?
    Amid the noise around Fisher was something sharp and sudden, yet he could not place it, not until it repeated. He stepped from the control room to the sound of an echoing creak and saw the door to Room One had bowed out, its window a spider’s web of cracks, barely containing what lay behind it. Dark flying things swarmed, splinters popped off of the frame and landed a few feet way. Fisher wondered where was the help Doctor Wy promised him? He had to escape the lab before what was amassing inside Room One broke free.
    Fisher ran to the front door of the lab and tried the handle but it would not budge. He fumbled the key from his