The Empty Ones

Chapter Two- Prophecy

Magpie-eyes crashed to the ground. Blood burst free in warm gushes. Melted into the drain water. It didn't look like it did on TV, not exactly. Thinner. Brighter. More of it. The thing Harriat would always remember most about that moment wasn't the blood, wasn't the screams of the spotty boy behind him, somehow muffled, like he was listening to them through earmuffs. It was the cold. It overtook him in one swift sweep, froze through skin and blood and bone.

"What-what the hell did you do to him?" the spotty boy yelled in a wild voice that spun up an octave, like an out of control roller coaster. "Jesus, that's-that's blood. Why ain't he moving?" He looked at Harriat, whites of his eyes so big they might burst free any moment. "Why ain't he moving?!"

But The Shouting Man just kept staring at Magpie-eyes, which seemed strangely understandable to Harriat. It was all he could do.

"Answer me!" the spotty boy screamed. Raw. Savage. "Answer me!"

Slowly, The Shouting Man raised his head.

For the smallest of seconds, Harriat's heart stopped.

Behind him, the spotty boy whispered, "What's wrong with his eyes?"

At first, Harriat thought he didn't have any eyes at all, that the spotty boy had made a mistake, but tiredly, numbly, realization crept up on him. His eyes were still there, if you could even call them eyes. They were completely black. It was as if his pupils had exploded and leaked into the rest of his eyes. Sunlight danced on the tips, like it did with those bug eyed aliens in old science fiction movies.

"What the hell?" spotty boy whispered beside him, a choked, withered whisper. "What the hell? What the-"

The Shouting Man laughed.

It wasn't a mad laugh, which was what Harriat had been expecting, rather a laugh of a man at a card table just before he lays down a march. Quiet. Knowing. He laughed and laughed as he walked towards them, a goofy smile plastered across his face.

Harriat's heart slammed against his ribcage with the force of a bullet, slapping in time with The Shouting Man's steps. His mind screamed at him, but his body stayed dead. He was banging on the lid of his own coffin.

The Smiling Man was in front of him, so close Harriat could see each freckle of blood eating away at his shirt. The numbness in his head grew and grew, washed over his body in a pulsing, swelling tide, and-

He stepped past him. That smile frozen across his face, he walked to the spotty boy, whose skin was so pale and pasty he looked like a walking corpse. The Shouting Man reached his hand out- smeared red, like a child's when they play with paint- and wiped it across the spotty boy's shirt. The spotty boy retched silently, his whole body lurching, and The Smiling Man was off, walking calmly- almost cheerfully- down the street. Harriat could have sworn he heard him whistling a soft tune. Behind him, the spotty boy made a strangled, guttural sound. Harriat tried to speak. Couldn't. Tried again.

"Come on." At first, he thought someone else had spoken. That withered, hollow voice couldn't be his. "We-we need to call someone. An ambulance. We need to call an ambulance."

The spotty boy just stared.

"Come on!" Harriat yelled, louder than he expected to.

"He's moving!" the spotty boy cried suddenly. "Look at him, he's moving!"

He ran to Magpie-eyes, fell to his knees as the blood followed the cracks in the pavement.

Magpie-eyes raised his head weakly. His hands shook, and he stretched them out. All Harriat could think of was a newborn lamb trying to walk.

"I'm here, man," the spotty boy choked. "Look at me. Come on, look at me."

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

His black, black eyes.

The spotty boy screamed and fell back, scrambled behind Harriat.

Magpie-eyes- they looked more like a magpie's now than ever- laughed. It was low and gurgling, like the sputtering of a stubborn car, and blood had created patterns around him in the pavement cracks, giving him a sickly crown, but he didn't seem to notice.

"What's happened to him?!" the spotty boy cried, almost screamed, taking Harriat's arm and shaking it. "What the hell's happened to him?!"

Harriat tore his eyes aware. Wrenched his hand free. He gripped the spotty boy's shoulder and pulled him along. At first he didn't respond, just let himself be dragged along limply, and then they were running. Harriat didn't know where- the spotty boy probably didn't either- just away. Away was good enough. His legs were limp, and every time his foot crashed against the ground, it shook him to the bone.

He tore around the corner, stopped dead.

The spotty boy was still craning his head back over his shoulder, saying, "What happened to him, man? His eyes- they just changed. And the laughing. Why wouldn't he stop laughing." He looked up at Harriat. "What?"

He followed his gaze, saw. Maybe he screamed, Harriat didn't know.

They were everywhere.