“Valhalla, NY,” I say in a rush.
“Isn’t that really far?” the girl sitting shotgun prods her phone for answers—“still no fucking signal!”
“Anyone know someone closer—I’m all ears!” I hit a hard offramp exiting the 287, whipping around the full loop to cross over on the streets to hit the Bronx River Parkway, and the three passengers in my car brace.
“I have cousins in Harlem,” John says.
“We already passed Harlem—and why would you want to go to a densely populated area?” I ask.
“I was just answering your question, not thinking logistically!”
“Well, think fucking logistically!”
Sitting shotgun is a girl I met the night before, she has bright teal bangs—name unknown—tapping her phone like it owes her money. In the back was my best friend John, next to a rail-thin theater buff—black lipstick, fuzzy jacket—whom he’d also just met the night before—name also unknown.
The Wyrd Interlude:
In this wyrd corner of modern sprawl, mundane highways lead straight to the edges of myth. The improbable stands shoulder to shoulder with the everyday—and Valhalla is just off the exit ramp. This—is wyrd fiction.
It’s 5:30am.
I see the red and blue lights flashing in my rearview.
“Oh fuck,” John says as I slap the steering wheel and pull over.
“You’re pulling over — doesn’t this guy know what’s going on?!” John looks back at the cop.
“Everyone, just be calm,” I say.
“Is that your logical viewpoint?” John asks.
“What’s your viewpoint?” I ask him.
“My viewpoint is we’re fucked with a capital F.”
“He must not know,” I say as the cop casually exits his car. Mesmerized by something outside, the other girl, who had been oddly quiet, stared out the window. “The roads have been empty,” she says as a small cluster of commuters pass us on the off ramp — dazed men in ties drinking coffee, one followed by another. “Don’t think they’d be going to work if they knew,” she says.
“Are we really stopping?” John asks.
My pulse pounded. “I know we don’t have time for this—who knows how far this outbreak’s spread?” I glanced over my shoulder, half-expecting to see shuffling forms in the distance. I wanted to take off and drive fast, but I found myself rolling my window down with a gentle: “Good morning, officer.” I can’t help but grin as I see his face.
He’s black.
I’m black.
He looks in the car. Eyes me. Eyes the girls. Eyes my best friend. Then settles back to me. I can see it in his eyes. I know what he wants to say. “Are you fucking dumb? Two black twenty-year-olds with two white girls flying down the highway at 5 in the morning — probably high — you want trouble? Be smarter.”
I can hear my Uncle’s voice telling me again and again, be smarter.
“Speeding,” the Cop says. “You know how fast you were going?”
“Fast—”
“—ask him if he knows?” John blurts out.
“Knows what?” The cop asks.
“Nothing, don’t mind him,” I say. “I apologize, officer. We are heading to my Uncle’s house in Valhalla—we’re students at Iona—I’m supposed to watch his house this week.”
“Students?” The cop asks.
“Yes.”
“It’s Monday—no class today?”
“Fall break.”
He nods and points at the girl sitting shotgun. “You, what’s your major?”
“Speech pathology,” she says without missing a beat.
“You,” he points at the other girl.
“Theater.”
“You?” He points at me.
“Computer science.”
He nods approvingly. “And you, big man,” he says to John.
“I—um—I,” John stutters. He wants to blurt out about zombies. Tell the cop what we just saw. But by now he’s put together what I have — we must have been the first to see it. And if we ramble crazy shit to a cop, we’re going to jail. We’re under age. Have weed in the car. And have been drinking.
“Undeclared,” John says.
The cop pauses. “Figure that out. You wait too long, you’re just paying for nothing.”
“Yessir.”
“You—” he leans into me. “CS man. Make better choices.”
“I will, Sir.”
“Excuse me, Officer,” the girl sitting shotgun holds up her phone. “None of us can get a signal—”
He chuckles. “AM radio, kids.” He stands back and slaps the top of the car. “Get on your way—and take it slow.”
We do, at first.
AM radio is on before I can make the effort.
“Who listens to AM radio?” The girl sitting shotgun asks.
“Old people,” John says.
She tunes the dial and stops at the first voice that comes in clear. They discuss a rolling blackout and mass cell tower outages across the tri-state.
“Is that a coincidence?” John asks the car.
“No fucking idea,” I answer.
I drove fast.
My uncle lives in a small unassuming house that overlooks the Kensico Reservoir. As we pull up I bring us to a screeching halt—I can’t believe my eyes.
In the middle of the river there is a swirling fog, and floating twenty feet in the midst of the storm is my uncle—dressed like a black Gandalf—locked in combat with a robed figure whose eyes shine green.
“What the hell is that?” John presses himself against the window.
Kelly and Anna cram into the front seat, straining for a better look.
I killed the engine.
A flash of blue lightning erupts from my uncle’s staff, colliding with a churning black energy that the robed figure summons from the depths of the river. The water churns, and shapes rise—undead, skeletal arms clawing up onto the bank. My uncle slams his staff down, sending a wave of shimmering light across the surface and the skeletons disintegrate.
My uncle comes to a powerful superhero landing in the ankle-deep water on the shore and is instantly under attack. Hissing words I can’t understand spit fire at him as the being with green eyes wraps his bony fingers in the mud and summons a swarm of dark smoke snakes that wrap my uncle’s legs, trying to pull him into the Earth.
I jump out of the car and run towards him—but he’s already free—I don’t know how but the snakes vanish in a crackle of white flames.
Then the sky seems to tear itself open, and arcs of swirling energy are at war all around us. The river is swelling and waves crash higher on each shore and over the dam in the distance water floods.
A few yards from me, a half-rotten corpse drags itself out of the foam with a gargled moan. I recoil. My uncle notices, yells something, and blasts it to ash.
He whirls back to the robed figure. The green eyes flash and a final surge black electricity swirls around his body like a hurricane. My uncle leans forward, keeping his staff pointed like a man on the front lines holding a spear.
The air trembles as opposing spells collide and then with a thunderous boom the robed figure’s shadows crack and shatter with a burst of bright crackling light. The green-eyed being staggers back and lets out a shriek that rips across the shoreline, and then recedes into a swirl of black embers and his green eyes dim as every part of him turns to dust and is carried off in the wind.
My ears are ringing. The river, still churning, begins to calm.
My mind reels, adrenaline crashing into a weird numbness—like I’m half-asleep and half-terrified. I’ve never felt so doubtful of what I’ve seen or so utterly unprepared.
I gasp for breath, numb from what I’ve just witnessed. My uncle stands there a moment, shoulders rising and falling, staff still lit at the tip like a smoldering ember. Then he releases a sigh and turns to me.
“Michael,” he says softly. He trudges through the shallows, water sloshing around his robes. Behind me, I hear the car doors slam—John, Kelly, and Anna can’t resist joining us now that the danger’s passed.
Uncle eyes them, then me. “I have a lot of clean up to do.”
He lifts his free hand, swirling purple runes in the air.
Kelly’s mouth falls open but no words come out. John frowns, trying to speak, only to look confused. Anna stares at her palms. The runes fade, and a faint glow envelops their heads, swirling briefly then slipping away like a final exhalation.
And then a ripple of purple shoots out in all directions.
“Did you just Men-in-Black them?” I ask.
My friends blink in unison, brows furrowing, clearly they have no idea what’s going on.
“I Men-in-blacked everyone in a 100 mile radius—this one almost got out of control.”
“This one? What the hell is going on.”
“Most will think we had some weird morning fiasco that started with a broken water main.”
I realize I have been left out. I still remember. “Why… didn’t you Men in black me?”
“You and I have work to do,” Unc said. “I’m tired of waiting for you to figure this out on your own. You’re staying here with me now. It’s time we start.”
He bends down and plucks a piece of bone from the mud and it dissolves to dust. His eyes focus on the dust, curious.
“Start… what?” I ask.
He looks up to me with a stern glare: “Your training.”
The Wyrd Curtain:
Where light and arcane staves clash, and echoes of magic ripple through suburban roads, a journey takes shape. A nephew has a veil lifted on destiny, while friends forget the horrors they witnessed. Lines blur between routine and undead uprisings, leaving us with a single truth: even in the unlikeliest places, unknown forces stir. The circle closes for now—and Wyrd Worlds yet await.