Nearly Departed by Max Schlienger (read novels website .TXT) 📗

still air. Someone had been out here very recently, and Dennis was willing to bet that he knew who.

Under normal circumstances, he might have felt some hesitation about the prospect of trespassing, particularly at night. Normal circumstances, however, did not generally include the ghosts of British teenagers and magical buzzing rocks. He plunged through the doorway, ready to confront the shop’s dreadlocked owner, but encountered only an empty room. The ancient lights cast a muted yellow glow on a space that reminded Dennis of a school cafeteria, with a faux-tile floor and a collection of waist-high cabinets. There was a battered folding table, rather out of place at the room’s center, surrounded by four equally weathered collapsible chairs.

The door leading out into the shop’s main area was still open, and Dennis peered through. Everything about the store felt different in the dark, and not just because the merchandise had apparently been migrating again. He stepped into the room, his eyes moving from the front windows to the cash register, looking for any signs of life. The shop looked deserted. Dennis was about to turn and exit when he felt a sudden pain as a porcelain statue shattered over his head.

The blow came more as a shock than anything else, but it was enough to knock him off-balance. He quickly ducked away, staggering further into the shop, and he caught sight of his assailant. The giant figure stood silhouetted by the sickly light from the back room, its powerful arms raised to chest level. For a moment, Dennis thought that Draadtrekker had somehow managed to get behind him, but then he noticed that the figure lacked the storekeeper’s distinctive hair. Even through his quickly-rising panic, a voice in Dennis’ head sardonically commented about the irony of breaking in at just the right time to stop a robbery.

Dennis backpedaled away from the figure, fighting to stay upright. He collided with something behind him, and there was a clatter of objects smashing together. As he fought to steady himself, his fingers closed on a long wooden object, and he slashed it forward, brandishing it like a club. The figure let out a deep growl and advanced, his motions slow, as though he was trying to gauge his opponent. Dennis did his best to appear confident, despite knowing that he was likely outclassed in ability as well as size.

“Come on, you bastard!” Dennis yelled defiantly. His voice cracked, but it was apparently enough to give the figure pause. Although the dim light made seeing details next to impossible, Dennis could make out the shape of the man’s head as it turned, and he followed the gaze to a collection of wooden busts on the floor.

Some deep, primal sense of survival made Dennis’ limbs tense. The man bent to snatch one of the sculptures, and Dennis rushed forward, bringing his own weapon down at the figure’s head. The blow connected with the man’s shoulder, and there was a sharp pain in Dennis’ leg as the man swung a heavy statue at his knee. He hopped backwards and stumbled to the ground, his leg throbbing where he had been hit. He could see a shadow advancing on him, and lashed out with a kick at the man’s midsection. There was a grunt of pain and a resounding crash as the figure was pushed back into one of the display tables, and Dennis scrambled to get to his feet.

Before he could he could rise completely, Dennis was battered by a fist coming down on his back. He felt his breath forced out of him and he fell back to the floor, his nose inches from the other man’s feet. Again relying on instinct, Dennis dropped his improvised weapon and clawed at the man’s shoe, pulling it forward with a desperate jerk. The man stumbled and fell sideways, barely missing a glass display case. A ring of darkness at the edges of Dennis’ vision threatened to make him pass out for the second time in as many hours, and he gasped for air as he pulled away from his attacker.

The figure lurched into a sitting position and crawled forward, his breath audible over the roar in Dennis’ ears. Dennis managed to wrestle his feet beneath him, and mustering as much strength as he could, he sprang at the man. The attack seemed to catch him by surprise, and he fell backwards, bringing his hands up in front of his face. Dennis landed heavily on the man’s chest and started pummeling him with adrenaline-fueled blows. Most of them were deflected by the man’s forearms, but one lucky strike connected with his jaw. The man’s head jerked away, and his entire body rolled under Dennis’ weight, throwing him to the side. Dennis held out an arm to catch himself, and landed painfully amongst the pile of toppled wooden busts.

There was a burning, pulsing sensation in Dennis’ muscles as he rolled from the pile of statues, and he could feel his strength beginning to fade. He heard movement behind him, and he grabbed the first object that his fingers encountered. Dennis slammed the statue down, not caring where he hit. The blow connected, and the man let out a yelp of pain, curling into a ball as Dennis rose to his knees, bringing the sculpture up for a second attack.

“Stop, stop!” came a muffled voice from the floor. “No more, please!” Dennis halted in mid-swing, but stayed ready to deliver the blow. The man waved a hand, his arms still in front of its face. “Just take whatever you want and go!”

Dennis fell back into a sitting position. The voice, although devoid of any exotic quality and now colored with an English accent, was irrefutably familiar.

“Draadtrekker?” Dennis wheezed. The figure peered out from behind crossed arms. In the dim light, Dennis could barely make out the face of the shop’s owner, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Dennis did not answer, feeling both stunned and