Chasing the Moon (11 page)

“Wait a minute. You’re telling me those things keep us sane.”

“You didn’t think your fragile psyche was able to hold itself together all on its own, did you? Something has to clean out the baggage, remove the excess goop clogging the gears.”

“
Labroides dimidiatus
,” said Diana.

“Uh-hmm.”

“Cleaner fish. It forms a symbiotic relationship with other fish by eating the particles that—”

“I know what
Labroides dimidiatus
is, Number Five.” He took another flare out of his coat pocket and handed it to her. “We should get you out of here. Before they come back. They don’t like being seen. Puts a fright into them, can make them dangerous.”

“But you said they were symbiotic.”

“Symbiotic and easily frightened. Not that it matters unless you wake up too suddenly, like you did.”

The dream eater’s cries were echoed by others of its kind. Lots of them.

“You should probably follow me now.”

She was wearing her pajamas, and the ground under her feet felt warm and squishy. Like sand that wasn’t quite mud. Every step made a wet, plopping noise. A few steps, and her bed disappeared into the emptiness. She could see some shapes in the dark. Maybe trees. Maybe rocks. But aside from that, all she could see was West’s torch, which she followed closely.

“It was that howl. It’s what woke me up.”

She could still hear it. Low and mournful. Inhuman and pitiable.

“That’d do it,” said West. “You must’ve heard Fenris’s pain. You must be an empathic soul, Number Five.”

Diana had always assumed empathy was a good thing, but if it meant waking up in an alien corner of the universe, she wasn’t so sure. That’s what she got for assuming anything.

“Who’s Fenris?” she asked.

< />“The wolf that chases, the herald of Ragnarok, the ravenous godling. The big green thing that forever chases the moon.”

“Shouldn’t it be called Managarmr then? Because in Norse mythology—”

“I’m well aware of the mistake.”

They walked a little farther. The cries of the dream eaters variously seemed to come from behind them or ahead of them. It was impossible to tell. Aside from the light of the flares and a dim shape glimpsed here and there, the world was nothing but black.

“Why is Fenris in pain?” She asked the question as much to keep her mind off what was happening as to satisfy any personal curiosity.

“It’s trapped.”

She chuckled to herself. “Aren’t we all? Take a number, pal.”

“True, Number Five. But for a being like Fenris imprisonment is unbearable. Most creatures were meant to occupy a single sphere of existence, but Fenris is one of the rarest of beings, made to swim the oceans of existence like you walk from room to room. Imagine being entangled in a net from which you cannot escape that only tightens itself the more you struggle.”

It did sound pretty damn awful. “Isn’t there some way to free it?”

West looked over his shoulder. His face was nothing but shadows, except for his four eyes that glinted in the torchlight. “The net is your universe. Or what you once thought of as your universe before your eyes were opened.”

“Oh.”

“If it makes you feel any better, this is merely an inconvenience for Fenris. His efforts to free himself are why there are tears in your reality in the first place. His thrashing snaps and strains the fabric of your world. While it might contain him for a while, he is greater than the forces that bind him. Inevitably, he will escape, even if he must obliterate your world in the process.”

“But—”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about that, Number Five. Now that you live in the building, your existence doesn’t depend on anything as delicate as reality. So it’s really not your problem anymore, is it?”

She didn’t find that very comforting.

“Hasn’t anyone figured out a way to help him escape without destroying the world?”

“If there are forces at work with the power to do so, they’re largely indifferent to the well-being of this small universe.”

“But—”

“It’s a long ways off,” he said. “At least a day or two.” She stopped. “What?”

He kept walking. “Or perhaps the day after that. Or the day after that. Eternity is measured one moment at a time.”

She used one of thosemoments to focus on what was important, escaping from the dream eaters, and caught up with him.

“Where are we?”

“Do you know where you go when you sleep? When you close your eyes and no one is looking at you, not even you?”

“Here?”

“Sometimes here,” said West. “Sometimes other places.”

“You’re telling me that when I go to sleep, my body is transported to a place like this?”

“More or less. Unless someone’s watching you.”

They passed another bed where an elderly couple dozed. A pair of those things were lurking beside them.

“Should we do something?” she asked.

“Do what? As long as they’re asleep, they’re fine. Trust me, waking them up would only cause problems.”

“How often does this happen?”

“I already told you,” he said. “Every time you aren’t seen.”

“I get that, although I won’t ask the obvious question like how does that work with the blind because… well… because it’s probably pointless. But how often do people wake up too soon? And what happens to them if those things get them?”

“It happens infrequently, and you don’t really want to know what happens. Now we’re almost there. Ah, here we are.”

West reached out and flicked a switch, dispelling the dark. The dreamworld disappeared and her bedroom fell into place. Everything was normal. West and the dream eaters were gone. She might’ve convinced herself it had all been a vivid dream, if not for the flare still clutched in her right hand.

She threw on her slippers, pushed the dresser aside, and stalked out of the apartment and downstairs. She pounded on West’s door. She didn’t expect him to answer right away, but she resolved to stick with it until he did. She was midway through her second round of knocks when the door opened.

“How in the hell am I supposed to sleep now?” she asked.

West leaned against the door frame and sighed. “If you don’t sleep, how can the dream eaters clean out your mind?”

“And knowing that dream eaters are out there or that my world is destined to be destroyed by a cosmic monster, how am I supposed to get to sleep then?”

“All you need to do is close your eyes,” he said. “The eaters take care of the rest. Now that you’ve nearly seen them, they’ll be drawn to you. You’ll probably sleep better than you’ve ever imagined you could. All the tenants that survived the longest woke up too soon at least once or twice in their first few months in the building. It’s a good sign.”

“But when I’ll close my eyes,l I’ll see is—”

“You’ll see nothing. The eaters will give you blessed oblivion, relieve you of the burden of jumbled thoughts and overheated memories. They’ll allow you the sanctuary of a state of pure, untroubled unconsciousness, eight precious hours at a time. If I were you, I’d be thankful for every moment of peace you can get in this hectic universe.”

He closed the door.

Diana trudged back to her room. He was insane if he thought she could get back to sleep, knowing what she did. She cracked open a book and read to stay awake. At some point, she fell asleep.

It was the best night’s rest she’d ever had.

Diana awoke, slid the dresser away from her door, took a shower, and got dressed. Today was a new day. She was determined to make the most of it. And she was determined to do that by proving she could have an ordinary, run-of-the-mill experience from start to finish. She still had to ignore her monstrous roommates and all the weird things only she could see. But she could do that.

Unending Smorgaz lay flat on his stomach in a corner of the living room. He was a huge, purple lump. Unlike Vom, Smorgaz slept on a human schedule. His steady snore sounded very much like a buzz saw wrapped in cotton.

Vom reclined on the couch, reading a book. As he finished each page he tore it out and gulped it down.

Diana had time for a quick breakfast. Unable to find anything to eat, she used her powers to will a carton of orange juice
and some cereal into existence. The multidimensional qualities of the apartment made using her magical abilities easy, and she figured it was a good place to practice. Her box of Frosted Flakes came without a bowl, milk, or a spoon, though. It was annoying how the magic lacked common sense. She created these items as well. Everything molded itself out of the kitchen counters, rising up as if budded from the tile, and she wondered if she was creating reality or if the apartment, like some obedient living thing, was reshaping bits and pieces of itself to her desires. Was she eating cereal or some small piece of an otherworldly monster? Like a tick sucking blood from a dog?

When she bit a spoonful of cereal, she thought she felt the kitchen tremble. Whether the feeling was real or not she couldn’t know, but that was just par for the course now. Better to not overthink it. She picked up her bowl and orange juice and went into the living room.

“Hey, did you hear that sound last night?” she asked Vom. “That long sort of howl?”

“Oh, that’s just Fenris. The wolf that chases, the herald of Ragnarok, the ravenous godling…”

“I got that covered last night. Although shouldn’t he be named Managarmr?”

“What?”

She took a swig of juice, right out of the carton because she didn’t feel like wishing for a glass. “In Norse mythology, Fenris is the giant wolf that bites off Tyr’s hand and kills Odin at the end of time. Managarmr is the wolf that pursues the moon and swallows it as one of the events leading to Ragnarok.”

Vom lowered his book. “How the hell do you know that?”

She shrugged. “Internet.”

“So you were just looking up obscure mythological references at some point in the past because you thought it might come in handy someday?”

“I don’t know. Must have had some time to kill.”

“I’m just shocked you remembered that name.”

She smiled. It pleased her to shock a cosmic horror, even if only a little.

“Fenris is easier to say than Mana—Moona—Maga—”

“Managarmr,” she said.

“Yes, that.”

“Do you know him?” she asked.

“Fenris? Oh no. Can’t say we’ve ever met. He’s a greater eldritch while I’m only a lesser embodiment. We don’t travel in the same circles. And if we did ever meet, he’d probably just eat me because he is as far above me as I am above…”

Vom trailed off, not finishing the sentence, and she ignored the potential insult.

“You guys have cliques?”

“In a way. It’s like high school, except instead of jocks versus nerds, it’s things who eat civilizations versus things who eat galaxies. I could devour the universe if you gave me a few billion years, but Fenris could do it in a few years, a decade at most if he put his mind to it.” He crumpled another page into a ball, tossed it in the air, and caught it in his gut mouth. “I’m a big fan.”

“So why is he wasting his time chasing one insignificant moon? I thought he wanted to escape our reality?”

“Maybe the moon has something to do with it. I don’t
know. You’d have to ask him that. It probably has to do with the same reason I like hanging around you. There’s something about it that draws him, something he needs. All anyone knows is that he’s been after the Earth’s moon for… oh, about five billion years or so… give or take.”

“Weird.”

“Takes all kinds,” said Vom.

She deposited her bowl into the sink. “Crap, I’m late for work.”

“I thought the fire ruined your job.”

“No, I fixed that.”

“How?”

“The same way I started the fire in the first place,” she said. “Magic.”

Vom sat up. “Well, aren’t you the fast learner?”

She smiled. “I don’t know if it really worked yet. I just know that I concentrated really hard last night on undoing my first spell.” She frowned. “That doesn’t sound right. Do you call it a spell?”