MirrorWorld

With a fresh wave of pain, the monster reappears, one floor higher and on the move. It’s fast for its size, taking each flight of stairs with a single leap.

My hands reload the P229 without taxing my mind and despite the pain. It’s a reflex, muscle memory, and I’m able to keep my eyes on the rising creature.

It’s mostly black, which doesn’t help with the details, but twisting green lines trace the body, helping to define its muscular forearms, powerful limbs, and arched back. It has no hair to speak of, just rough black flesh like the skin of a stealth bomber … or the black machete on my back. There are four glowing green eyes atop its head, two on the sides, two looking forward.

But that’s all I get. The flickering effect intensifies as the creature nears.

Its massive mouth opens like a hippo’s, long strands of saliva stretching out, revealing large, sharp teeth and a tongue composed of what looks like undulating worms. It appears to be roaring, its entire body shimmering, vibrating, but all I hear is a whispered hiss. Katzman reacts to the sound by yelping and scrabbling back toward the door. “Shoot it,” he says through grinding teeth. “Shoot it!”

It’s just one story down when I empty the second magazine into it. If I missed at all the first time, which is doubtful, I score a hit with each and every round this time. The thing bucks and reels, throwing itself back against the wall, but it doesn’t go down. All I’m really doing is irritating it.

“Not working,” I say to Katzman.

The creature drops back down to all fours and turns its flickering head up.

“It’s a bull,” he says, looking a little more put together, but still wild-eyed.

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“They’re tougher.”

The bull’s green eyes come into focus. The pupils are split, two vertical rectangles connected in the middle, forming an H.

“What’s it doing?” Katzman asks.

“Looking at me.”

“Does it know you’re looking back?”

“We’re having a staring contest, so that’s a safe bet, yeah.”

He pushes himself up, fighting against quivering legs. “You can’t let it escape. If they find out…”

My hands eject the spent magazine and slap in a fresh one. My last twelve rounds.

I keep my eyes locked onto the beast’s. The rest of its ugly face slowly comes into focus. Its domed head has no nose. No ears. Its eyes are circular, blank, but somehow also filled with loathing. The teeth in its prodigious hippo mouth are like a great white shark’s, but the color of night. The only color aside from black and pale, fleshy worm-tongue is green. Thick, glowing, fluorescent-green veins twist away from its eyes, forming pathways around its body.

“Find out about what?” I ask.

“You,” he says. “That you can see them.”

“Right. Any advice on where to shoot it?”

“I’ve never killed one in combat.”

Great. I adjust my aim, pointing the barrel of my gun at its right eye. If a .40 caliber in the eye won’t put it down, I’m not sure what will. It just stares back, as fearless as me, either not fearing the weapon or naive about its ability. I squeeze the trigger.

Far below, a door bursts open. Beta Team surges into the first-floor stairwell. My first shot misses. The bull is no longer there. Has it disappeared or did it move? A blur of movement, bounding down the stairs, is my answer. It’s going for Beta Team.

“Incoming!” I shout down the stairwell, and charge down after the unreal creature. It’s taking the flights down, one leap at a time, but slows to round the bend. As I keep my downward sprint at an even pace, we move in tandem, separated by a story and a half of stairs.

With one hand on the railing, I try to run faster, swinging around the corners. It helps, and I avoid smashing into the concrete walls, but I’m going to dislocate my left shoulder if I’m not careful. That said, my pace never slows because I’m not afraid of dislocating the arm. Sure, it will hurt, but I don’t need it to fire a weapon and a quick slam into the wall can pop things back into place.

Screams rise up from below as I reach the building’s third floor. I look over the edge. The bull is still two flights above the Beta Team, but they’ve spotted it, and, like Katzman, they’ve become useless sacks of molten fear. The four men climb over each other to escape.

There’s no way I’ll be able to stop it in time.

I’m just two sets of stairs above the group when it reaches them.

But it doesn’t attack. It simply lands among them and vibrates. Otherworldly whispering fills the stairwell. When it does, I see it better than ever. Its frequency is changing, I think, closer to A than B, having a more profound effect.

A kind of madness grips the men. They react out of terror.

One man turns to run and careens straight into the concrete wall. The impact knocks him out cold. He tumbles limply down the stairs, bruised and broken, but still alive.

He’s the lucky one.