Darkshield: John's Arc 2

By Benjamin D. Baker

Darkshield is a great series for fans of the SCP universe, X-Files, Lovecraft, and other weird concepts that embrace the odd, terrifying, and otherworldly.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Benjamin D. Baker
• Release date: Feb 7, 2021

Benjamin D. Baker

At a young age Benjamin D. Baker developed a voracious appetite for books. As his tastes matured and the school library began running out of books he hadn’t read he stumbled across the works of R.L. Stine and developed a craving for dark fiction.Now Benjamin has begun digging into his own mind to see what shadowy thoughts lie within and is sharing them with the world. Though his works run the gamut of science fiction, fantasy, and other speculative genres there’s always a little darkness found within the pages.He currently resides in the shadow of the mountains of Utah with his wife Maddie and little Maltese terror Alfie.

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Darkshield

John’s Arc: 2

By Benjamin D. Baker

Copyright 2020 Benjamin D. Baker

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed are either productions of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

This book is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the reader. It is the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, copied, or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

Cover Design by Madeline Baker

Ebook Design by Benjamin D. Baker

Chapter 1

A woman sat by herself in front of a desk in a large office. The clothes she was wearing were as disheveled as her hair. She sat slumped on a desk chair, her eyes staring at the ground deep in thought.

Above her on the walls was a collage of photos all strung together with an intricate web of string. Some of the photos were of people’s faces and others were of blurry landscapes. Among the pictures were an assortment of sticky notes with tiny notes scrawled across them. In fact, there was little empty space on any of the papers.

In the center of it all, above the desk was the picture of a young boy. Where other photos were covered in pins, notes, and string, his was untouched. The women raised her head to look at the picture and tears came to her eyes.

I’m sorry.

Moving slowly, she opened the drawer in the center of the desk in front of her and pulled out a bottle of red wine. She uncorked the bottle and her eyes fluttered shut as the scent of cherries hit her nostrils. Her lips trembled as she brought the bottle to her lips.

With a sudden burst of anger, she flung the bottle away from herself and it smashed against the wall. Several photos were doused in red wine and broken glass tinkled to the laminated floor.

Screaming she swept a hand across the desk, knocking notebooks, photos, and other objects to the ground. With a few fumbling starts she managed to upend the desk and send it careening off to one side, one of the legs breaking off as it fell.

Panting in rage she stared at the desk a moment before closing her eyes. Chin trembling, she marched over and yanked the drawer of the desk open. A small metal box clattered out onto the floor and she picked it up with trembling hands.

Cradling the box even as her body shook, she walked back over to the desk chair and slumped into it. For several seconds she stared down at the dull black metal box before she flicked the clasp and opened it.

Nestled in the padding was a small revolver with two bullets next to it. Still trembling she pulled the gun out and slowly opened the cylinder.

Remember that Christmas we went to your grandmother’s, she asked aloud as she spun the empty cylinder, that last Christmas before she died?

Taking a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes shut and massaged the barrel of the empty gun against her temple.

You were five years old. Your father and I had spent the entire night driving to her house in the worst snowstorm. We nearly slid off the road several times and I prayed that whole night that we would make it safely.

She smiled.

You slept the entire time, completely oblivious to what was going on.

When we finally arrived, having made the two hour drive in four hours, your grandma was waiting for us by the door. We hadn’t told her we were coming, but somehow she knew.

Tears streamed down the woman’s face as she opened her eyes again and tapped the gun against the metal case.

She knew that we would come when the hospital released her. When she lied and said the doctor told her she had many more years to live, she knew we’d know the truth.

With a shaking hand she picked up one of the bullets and slid it into the cylinder.

For that one Christmas everything was perfect, no one was dying, no one was leaving, everything was as it should be.

Taking a deep breath, she picked up the other bullet and inspected it.

But it was a lie, a lie everyone knew except you.

She loaded the bullet into the gun, wondering why she was bothering with the second bullet but not wanting to stop either.

I dedicated my life to lying to you. Keeping you safe from the horrors I knew were out there and making sure you would never know about them until you were ready.

Her hand started shaking violently and she nearly jostled the bullets out of the cylinder. She snapped it shut and took several deep breaths as her body shook.

But even I couldn’t protect you from what I didn’t know was out there. The hell that lies underneath everything, the lie that is reality.

Looking up from the gun she stared at the photo of the small boy, the tears drying on her eyes as coldness entered her body.

I couldn’t find you, but maybe I wasn’t looking in the right place.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted the gun and held it against her head. Her hand trembled as she held it there, her eyes locked onto the round blue eyes of the little boy on the wall.

I’m sorry, she said with a sob before closing her eyes and pulling the trigger.

She was met with a loud click and her eyes flashed open with a gasp. Heart thudding in her chest she stared at the gun in bewilderment. A thought occurred to her and she quickly opened the cylinder and looked inside.

Shaking her head, she sighed and spun the cylinder so one of the two bullets was aligned with the barrel.

Come on Nel, she chided herself as she raised the gun to her head again, you know better.

This time her hand didn’t seem to tremble as bad and somehow the impact of what she was doing seemed lessened. Staring at her son’s eyes this time she felt shame and somewhat embarrassed.

Closing her eyes against these thoughts she massaged the trigger with her finger, willing herself to pull it.

Come on, she whispered to herself, come on.

With a cry she flung the gun away where it clattered against the wall. Her eyes drifted longingly to the small puddle of wine that had formed at the base of the wall. A flickering thought crossed her mind to try and drink it, but she waved it away in disgust.

Instead she leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling.

Well now what, she asked herself with a sigh.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head sadly wondering how long it would be before she worked up the courage to retrieve the gun and try again or if she’d give up and come back another day.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a dull thud from behind her. Eyes flashing open with a frown she whirled in the chair to stare at the metal door leading to a storage closet. It was a space of shelves and inanimate objects, nothing mechanical or living was inside that space.

Yet sure enough, something thudded four times against the metal door in quick succession.

Quickly rising to her feet, she walked over and retrieved the gun she had thrown. She aimed it at the door and walked forward steadily.

The thuds came again, and she thought she could hear something else, a muffled voice perhaps.

Her hand drifted to the door handle and she held it there for a moment. A brief thought that she might have gone insane crossed her mind or some danger lurked behind the door, but in either case she’d have to open it eventually.

Taking a breath she flung the handle down, kicked the door open, and backed up several feet with the gun leveled.

Whoa, don’t shoot!

Nel frowned as a middle aged man in a hospital gown held his hands up. His hair was as disheveled as hers and his hospital gown was stained with red, black, and oily smears. The man stank of body odor and oddly fish.

Who the hell are you, she asked with equal parts confusion and fear.

The man’s eyes searched hers a moment before he licked his lips to respond.

My name’s John.

#

The woman’s hands were shaking, and John didn’t like how unhinged she seemed. His eyes flickered to the wall behind her and he saw a large collection of photos on the wall connected with string. He briefly wondered if she was some kind of serial killer, but for whatever reason he wasn’t getting that impression from her.

How did you get in there?

John frowned, telling her the truth didn’t seem like a good idea but what else could he say?

You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.

Try me.

John shook his head still trying to process what was going on. A second ago he had stepped into the purple orb in a dark place and the next he was in a dark storage room full of shelves. Glancing around he saw the shelves were lined with labelled boxes.

Start talking, she said interrupting his thoughts, how the hell did you get in there?

I’m worried you’ll think I’m crazy and shoot me if I tell you.

You’re about to be shot anyway, so you might as well take the risk.

Taking a deep breath John tried piecing together different ways to explain what happened. Yet it seemed the more he thought about how to say it the worse it got.

Ah hell, he said rolling his head around, I was teleported here.

She blinked but remained silent.

I stepped into a purple orb of energy or something and it brought me here.

The woman shook her head slowly.

You’re lying.

Look,’’ said John in exasperation, I know how it sounds but it’s the truth. It was a purple orb about the size of a soccer ball. When I stepped into it… whatever it was, I was instantly transported into this room. I don’t know why it brought me here, what it is, or how it works but-."

I’m not buying it.

It’s true, the orb…consumes…the space around itself until it comes into contact with someone. When it came into contact with me I was taken from where I was-.

Stop, she said in annoyance, I’m familiar with the orb.

John blinked.

You are?

Of course, I’m aware that it is capable of transporting sentient organic matter of any size from one point in space time to another in an entirely different dimension.

John wasn’t sure how to respond so he remained silent.

But the reason I don’t believe you is that it’s a rift designed to be a one-way ticket to the Shelf. It wouldn’t have even appeared in the Shelf dimension, let alone transport you to another point outside of the Shelf, it doesn’t work that way.

The Shelf?

She smirked.

See I knew you were lying. The Shelf is a dark dimension with a flat rocky exterior that extends infinitely in either direction, hence the name Shelf.

John frowned.

I know, she said with a head shake, I wasn’t the genius who named it. Point is I know you’re lying because the purple orb would have taken you there.

But I was taken there.

She raised her eyebrow.

Ok look, I take it you’re familiar with Darkshield?

I’m an employee.

"Ok, well I assumed you were somebody normal and wouldn’t believe my story. The whole story is that I was in a large garden in Darkshield when