A Twisted Fury
"Hello, boys," They were both greeted by Chet's mother who was tending to her Chrysanthemums outside the porch of their ranch-style house. She was kneeling by the flower bed and was loosening the soil around the bushes. The rain from earlier had left everything wet and muddy, leaving her task easier. "Chet didn't say you were coming over."
Frank exchanged a glance with Joe before turning back to her with a sheepish smile. "Uh, we were around and just thought of dropping by,"
"We haven't seen him in a while," Joe added.
"He's at the back with his dad," she said, pointing with her trowel towards the back end of their large yard. "They are fixing up the barn." Then her expression turned troubled. "The place looks like the aftermath of a bad storm–"
"A storm?" Frank repeated with a frown. "We hardly had any rain last night, just a continuous drizzle."
"So did we," Mrs Morton admitted with a forlorn sigh. "But it's a mess in there. We got a surprise when we saw the place this morning," her voice got quiet as she added, "we were hoping to clean up the attic for some storage space…"
Joe ducked his head at her words. He had a feeling they were looking for space to probably move Iola's things.
"Don't you think maybe someone broke in?" Frank asked.
"No, Frank," Mrs Morton shook her head. "That wreck in there was not done by any wanna-be thieves. You boys can go see for yourselves."
They thanked her and took off towards the barn that stood at the edge of their property, looking over the little creek that marked the boundary between their farm and the thicket on the other side. It was an old, one-story warehouse that the Morton's mostly used as a secondary tool shed or storage for produce. But, sometimes, they liked to clean the place up and host events such as birthday parties or Halloween masquerades.
Joe reached the barn door first and pushed it open, seeing that it was not locked. The greeting he was about to yell died on his lips as his gaze landed on the devastation the open door revealed.
The place looked as if it had been hit by a hurricane. The entire interior was in shambles. There were wooden planks, broken pallets, roof tiles, and pieces of broken corrugated sheets everywhere all over the place. The attic on their left looked crooked and the small staircase that led towards the attic floor was twisted to a side, a few wooden steps broken, and some hanging on to the rest of the stairs precariously. Beams of weak sunlight hit the barn floor in a few places through the gaps of the roof, and they could see that some of the cross beams were also on the floor and leaning haphazardly against the attic, having fallen off the ceiling.
The floor was also a mess full of ruins and rubble with hardly any space for them to walk across to the other side. Then there was a faint coppery smell mingled with the scent of petrichor that was still thick in the air. Joe blanched at the familiar scent in his dream which now invaded reality, and he was fairly confident that something extremely bad had visited their friend's barn before leaving the place in barely-recognizable ruin.
"Yeah, this was no random trespasser, that's for sure," Joe heard Frank muttering softly next to him. "Joe is this–"
"No, no," Joe shook his head, unable to look away from the awful mess that used to be a neatly organised place. "It's something else, I don't know what," he dragged his eyes away with effort and focused on his brother. "But this is really weird."
"Tell me about it."
Chester Morton, the eighteen-year-old chubby youth noticed them first. "Hey guys," he dropped the rake he was using to sweep the debris and ambled over to where they were with a wide grin on his face. "What brought you two here? I thought you had practice or something."
"I did and got back a while ago," Frank said, nodding at the ruined barn interior before them. "Just felt like dropping by to see what you were up to. Guess we have good timing."
"Hey, that depends on how you look at it," Chet laughed. "Definitely good timing for us, mind giving a hand?"
"Not at all."
Then he graciously pointed at the small table that was in a relatively clear corner to their left. "You're welcome to help yourselves to some snacks–"
Just as the few plates of sandwiches came to view, Joe remembered how starved he was. He was sure he could smell the food from where he was over the musty odour of the damp earth. He didn't waste any time walking over to the table and started to help himself with a roast beef sandwich, ignoring his brother's and his friend's chuckles.
"Definitely snacks first," Frank said, joining him and going to pour some coffee for himself from the flask that was there along with a half-full jug of lemonade.
Three sandwiches and a glass of juice later, Joe decided he was recharged enough to start helping their friend out. It looked like it would at least take a few more days to restore the barn to its previous state. Chet and his dad could definitely use all the help they could get for that task. Besides, that bad feeling was still there, lingering around him like an unwanted aura of discomfort, compelling him to hang around until it passed.
They were all busy for about an hour, with Joe sweeping the barn from left to right while Chet did the same from the opposite side. Frank helped Chet's dad with piling up pieces of broken pallets, bricks, roof tiles and other wreckage that couldn't be swept near the barn door, out of the way. Joe was about to fetch another thrash bag to throw away the big debris pile he made in the middle of the barn floor when the steel door to his right closed suddenly with a loud bang.
"What the–"
The rest of Joe's curse trailed off as he felt a cold gust of wind blowing around them inside the barn, causing the neatly piled debris to start scattering back in all directions. The temperature dropped a few degrees rapidly, and he saw his breath starting to come out in weirdly-shaped plumes due to the unexpected freezing chill. Looking around, he saw Chet only a few feet away to his right, staring up at him with a frown on his face. Frank was near the door, trying and failing to open the barn door while Chet's dad moved closer to him with a long iron crowbar, intending to pry open the door that was obviously rammed shut.
The strange wind picked up speed and volume as he watched, wide-eyed, and he could almost see it turning rapidly into some kind of a twister before his eyes. It got so cold so fast as the wind kept growing, he started to shiver in earnest. A blood-curdling howl started to build inside the barn, along with the strange phenomenon. It was a piercing wail that he could hear in his ears and in his mind at the same time - and it reminded him more of the screams of a wounded and trapped animal than a storm.
"Whoa!"
Joe heard Chet exclaim as he dropped to his knees in an attempt to stay on the spot. The stray gust of wind was now so strong and rapid, Joe had to do the same to stop being swept away by it. The visibility inside the barn was dropping fast due to all the debris in the air, starting to swirl around them in a wild vortex.
Joe squinted and focused on the spot where his brother was only a few metres away near the door. The wind speed was so incredibly high, he wondered in alarm whether the large pile of rubble would take off into the air to join the madness around them at any moment.
As if hearing his fears, he saw the exact moment the planks, bricks, pieces of steel and other sizable rubble took off in the air, spinning and twisting madly as the twister started to throw them around like confetti in a parade.
"Frank, get down!" he screamed and saw his brother tackling Mr Morton just in time to avoid the both of them getting knocked down by a flying rake that missed them by a dangerously thin margin. The flying hazard took off and joined the swirling wind, and a trail of bricks and tiles followed its wake like a tail of a comet to add to the rapidly growing, twisting vortex.
"Under the attic," Chet's dad yelled and started to drag Frank with him towards the small mostly enclosed space under the wooden ceiling that separated the barn into two stories at the back end. Joe could see them straining against the massive and unbelievable storm to get to the shelter. Chet started to leopard-crawl towards the same area and Joe followed, flinching every time when the wind and everything in it made his skin scrape raw as it kept swirling around them.
After what felt like hours, they all managed to huddle under the tiny space that used to be the feed store for the horses they had a long time ago. Joe was grateful that the animals and their food were long gone, leaving them a modicum of shelter and safety from the freak of nature that was inexplicably trapped inside the barn.
"You two all right?" Frank still had to shout to be heard over the cacophony of the wailing wind, even though the four of them were basically on top of each other, crowded in the too-tiny space.
Joe and Chet both nodded, taking the time to catch their breath. The small entrance to their shelter was of about three feet wide and four feet tall, and they had about twenty-five square feet of space to huddle, hopefully until the miniature storm died.
"I can't believe we have a freaking tornado trapped inside our barn," Chet shook his head, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the view through the low opening.
"Looks like this is the same exact thing that caused the mess in here in the first place," Frank added.
The unbelievable and utterly strange tornado showed no sign of dying down as it kept growing into a massive vortex that barely fit inside. All their hard work was merrily up in the air, swirling around caught in strong massive wind currents. The howling kept climbing in volume and Joe thought his ears would start bleeding if this continued any longer. The temperature kept dropping low, and the body heat from their mutual huddling did nothing to stop them from shaking and chattering against each other. There was a thin layer of white frost already becoming visible on the wooden walls that provided scant protection from the destructive force trapped inside the barn with them.
So this was what brought me here, Joe thought, hugging himself in search of some warmth to no avail. The dread he had felt earlier was still there, churning in his gut, unsettled and agitated. Frank had his hand on his shoulder and he gave Joe a small, reassuring squeeze, almost as if he was thinking along the same lines.
"This place won't hold together for long," Mr Morton's gravelly voice got lost in the howling of the wind. Joe turned to look at him and as if to confirm his prediction, there was a sudden, loud crack somewhere above them.
"That's the attic floor," Chet glanced up worriedly. Joe could also hear the groans and creaks from above joining the already deafening cacophony outside. It seemed that the wooden floor of the attic that was serving as the roof of their tiny shelter was not going to last longer before flying apart under the assault.
"Crap!"
Maybe there's something I'm supposed to do before we all die in this freak storm, Joe forced himself to think. His mind was a mess, and there were images of his dreams, nightmares and long-forgotten childhood memories swirling inside his head, not too dissimilar to the twister gaining mass and speed outside.
He moved to the opening and knelt there, careful to keep his body and head inside so as not to get hit by the flying debris that came closer and closer every passing second. There. In the middle. The eye of the storm, he could barely see it through all the rubble cycling around, but it was there, nevertheless. If I could just–
"Joe, hey," Frank was behind him in a flash, and his hand on Joe's shoulder tightened. Joe had no idea how Frank knew that he was about to do something extremely manic. "Whatever you're thinking, don't."
Joe turned his head and locked gazes with his brother. "Frank, stay."
Apart from the jumble of memories, there was something else in his mind now, urging him to cross through the twister and get to the middle. He also knew that he was the one who needed to do it, by himself. Frank couldn't be allowed to interfere, not just yet. The urgent insistent feeling in his mind was also telling him that he needed to act now, before the rest of the barn crumbled and joined the twister, setting it free to the rest of the world.
"Joe–"
"Frank, please," Joe cut off his brother with a firm head shake and shook himself free from his grasp. "Stay back. I'll be fine."
Frank must have seen something in his eyes, Joe figured because his brother frowned and let him go with a nod. Joe could tell that he was perplexed, and absolutely hated the idea of letting go, but was willing to trust Joe for the moment.
Joe squeezed his eyes shut and crawled the mere three feet of distance to get to the edge of the rapidly spinning and twisting storm. He felt the exposed skin on his face and arms getting raw and abraded due to the harsh cold and the debris-filled wind. The maddening roar filled his ears and his lungs started to constrict, as he struggled to breathe the harshly cycling air.
Gritting his teeth to summon up courage, he ducked and rolled headfirst through the vortex, making sure to keep his eyes shut as he crossed the wind-stream. The few seconds it took to pass the wall of air and debris felt like a lifetime, and by the time he rolled inside the eye of the storm, he felt like he had been propelled by a fast-moving truck.
He dragged in a lung full of air and made a quick assessment of himself. Apart from a few scratches and bruises from the debris, he hadn't broken anything and he was in one piece. He opened his eyes slowly and was treated to an even more astonishing sight. He was in the middle of a rapidly revolving and twisting cylinder that was most definitely not a creation of nature. It was the most impossible and unnatural tornado he had ever seen. The wreckage caught in it was all dissolved into smaller bits, almost like hail caught in a whirlwind. And it was turning darker and darker around him as it kept absorbing the bits and pieces of the barn itself as it kept growing in size.
Joe stared intently at it, obeying the instinct that was screaming at him from deep within. At long last, he knew he found what he was looking for when he spotted the dark, eel-like shapes - shapes that were slimy, nasty and rotting - blended into the revolving storm, twisting and wriggling among the flying ruins. The moment he saw them, he knew that they didn't belong, in the storm or in this world…
They had to go! The voice in his mind screamed.
He extended an arm without really realising what he was doing. He waited patiently for the shape to pass him a few times in quick succession, getting a feel of the speed of the vortex. When he felt he had a sense of it, he readied himself, and the moment the strange shape made the pass, he struck, as quick as a viper, catching the nasty thing by its tail.
The piercing wails around him reached their zenith the moment the bare skin of his hand made contact with the eel-like thing. During that fraction of a second he held it, he was in excruciating agony, and he couldn't help the scream that tore out of him in surprise and pain. That moment of distraction cost him. He felt a searingly cold sensation of the shape slipping through his fingers at the last second, leaving nothing but a rapidly growing numbness in his hand and forearm.
A crushing sense of failure engulfed him, making him forget about the pain as he fell to his knees. The twister around him vanished without a trace the moment his knees made contact with the ground. Everything that had been flying along with the twister rained around him, falling everywhere on the ground and on him like ash from an erupted volcano. Joe blinked and swallowed hard, popping his ears to adjust to the swift air pressure change.
Then, the damp soil of the barn floor came to meet him at a rapid ascent as he toppled face-first to the ground, unconscious.
