Shadows Out of Time

We set foot on a cobble-stoned surface in a scene so outlandish, the impossibility of it froze me in place. The ladder emerged from a hatch in the underside of the second-floor balcony of a Georgian Revival house, the kind tucked away here and there in the Village. A second alley intersected the one in which we stood and wound into a city lit by gaslight streetlamps. Above us, stars dappled the sky — the open sky — where clouds drifted across a bright half-moon encircled in blue haze.

Maggie: Are we…outside? What…?

Me: How the hell did we get…? Where are we?

Scuffling as Maggie climbs the ladder, pokes her head up through the balcony hatch.

Maggie: Oh God, Richie. The basement is, like, what, inside the balcony? How’s this possible?

Me: I…I don’t know.

Maggie: It’s like an Escher drawing. I hate those things. They give me a headache.

The recording catches a nearby scream, plaintive and frightened.

Me: What was that?

Maggie: We should split.

Me: Maybe, but…

Maggie: But what?

Me: What if Redcap’s here?

Maggie: Where is here? How do we climb down an underground ladder and come out on an open street?

Me: We’re…hey, look where the moonlight reflects on the water. That’s the East River, isn’t it? It’s okay.

Maggie: It’s ten in the morning, and the moon is up. There are streetlamps out of a Henry James story. Fifty buildings should block our view to the river from here. Nothing’s okay! Nothing!

All of Maggie’s points hit home, but I had no explanations.

The connecting alley revealed more of the city’s rudimentary geography. A rough sketch of the Big Apple we knew, delineated in cobblestone, low buildings, and flickering gaslight. The antique seed of modern New York, yet to grow and bloom.

Even the air tasted different, free of fuel exhaust and street food aromas but richer with smoke scents and animal musk I couldn’t name.

A second horrible scream curtailed our amazement.

Maggie gripped my arm. In a courtyard at the far end of the adjoining alley stood a man in Georgian high socks and breeches, a frock coat, and a tricorne hat. He paced and checked a pocket watch repeatedly, each time changing direction. The quality of his clothing and the shine in his silver shoe-buckles suggested great wealth and status. His posture telegraphed impatience. I inched closer to hear what he muttered to himself, but then he sensed my presence and looked at Maggie and me with a terrified expression before stamping off out of the courtyard.

A second man appeared, hurrying after him.

A man in worn denim bell-bottoms and a tie-dyed Uriah Heep t-shirt.

A man with unruly dark hair and a close, shaggy beard.

A man I knew.

Dennis.

Maggie saw him too.

At that moment, I forgot our bizarre and inexplicable circumstances and chased after my brother. Maggie, my true friend always and in all things, ran right along behind me.

From the courtyard, we faced the mouths of several dark alleys.

Along one, I glimpsed the bright spray of Dennis’s shirt and cried his name. We spilled into another courtyard, the hub for more openings onto narrow pathways into blackness.

Dennis gaped at us when we caught up to him.

I couldn’t help myself. Overjoyed to find my big brother, I seized him in a rough hug.

Dennis: Richie? What the hell are you doing here?

Me: Dennis! Oh God, is it you? Is it really you? I’m so happy to see you!

Dennis: Okay, yeah, I’m happy to see you too, little bro, but…how’d you find me?

Me: We were looking for Redcap, snooping around his old apartment building.

Dennis: What the hell do you want with Redcap?

Me: It’s, he…uh, I don’t know how to explain.

Maggie: We thought he killed you.

Dennis: What?

Me: Dennis, we haven’t seen you for two years. The police told us you died. They brought us your body. We had a funeral and…

Dennis: Ha-ha. Bullshit.

Maggie: He’s not joking. We cried our goddamn eyes out over you.

Dennis: I don’t…What the hell are you saying?

Me: What is this place? We don’t know how we got here.

Dennis: You couldn’t have come here unless you were invited by that guy I was following, or Redcap opened the way.

Me: We came through a trap door in the basement of Redcap’s old building.

Dennis: That’s how I got here. He did a ritual. He sent me to find…

Me: Find what?

Dennis: I…I can’t say. How long have you been here?

Me: Not long.

Maggie: Longer than we think. Look.

Maggie pointed at the now three-quarters moon, night’s eye watching our every move. How had it changed phases so fast? Even Dennis regarded it with discomfort — or, perhaps, distrust. One more thing about which our senses lied.

A series of screams rose from every direction.