Mal bit the side of her cheek to stay awake. As the rhythmic noise of the subway shuddering down the tracks lulled her, she bit and felt the sharp pain of her teeth grinding her own flesh. But just as her eyes closed again there was a terrible squeal and an explosion of glass as giant, papery arms burst through the windows, cutting down passengers at random with blue laser beams firing from twisted, writhing fingers. Mal stood and almost slipped on the rushing river of blood. She took hold of one of the giant monster arms and tore at the paper skin with her nails, ripping holes in it. The monster’s gelatinous blue blood sprayed on her white blouse and her face. She half-expected it to melt her skin but it didn’t, and the little that had landed on her lip tasted like cupcake frosting. The arm she’d torn then swung and knocked her off her feet. She landed hard on one of the benches then tumbled down to the bloody floor.

The train screamed to a halt at 14^th Street. Firemen and police had arrived on the station platform but the creature made mincemeat out of them- severed body parts bouncing in every direction. The bulbous head with its six rotating eyes jammed in through the broken subway window, searching for Mal. She was now trembling in the gore, crawling away sideways like a crab. The thing then burst into flames and the platform and subway car filled instantly with black smoke. Mal sprang up and felt her way toward a broken window in the back, stepping over slippery body parts. Just as she climbed through the window the subway lurched forward again and she landed hard on the platform.

When her eyes opened in the darkness she saw a beam of outside light filtering down through the haze. She could just make out the half-dead monster writhing back in the shadows. She got to her feet and stumbled toward the light. The staircase leading up to the street was littered with laser-cut arms and legs but strangely no torsos or heads. She stepped gingerly over the appendages, some which were still clutching police-issue firearms, and finally reached the light of day. A few young paramedics rushed past her, back down in the tunnel. That won’t do any good, she whispered to herself.

Even outside the air smelled toxic but everyone on the street went about their business as though nothing had happened. Mal stepped into a nearby pizza joint and wiped blue monster blood off her face with a handful of napkins. Take it easy on those! the unshaven man behind the counter said. Two—she started, finding it hard to talk. Two cheese– and she had a coughing fit before she could continue.

Just then a monster arm smashed through the back door of the pizzeria, spinning lasers cutting through stacks of cardboard pizza boxes. When the pizza guy’s head tumbled off his shoulders Mal took off running, not stopping until she was ten blocks away, running up the stairs of her grandmother’s brownstone. She pounded on the door. Let me in, she screamed, her voice hoarse. Finally she heard the chain slide and locks clicking.

There, there, her grandmother said, pulling her into a tight hug. I seen it all happening then I just closed the blinds, love. Sometimes you just need to close the blinds and pray when they get you it’ll go quick.

Mal sat down to a plate of her grandmother’s spaghetti and budget cola. There was a comedy on TV about clownish Nazis. She wanted to whistle along to the show’s theme song but she found herself nodding off. Screams from down in the street faded as her real dreams finally took over.

Fulbertin came down the staircase, one hand on the bannister, one hand pressed tightly against a gaping chest wound. I’ve been shot, Margaret, he told his sister. She’d been reclining on the couch in a nightgown and now set her plate of breakfast eggs on the cushion beside her. Then she turned toward the kitchen. He’s finally done got himself shot, Mama! she belted out. Fulbertin leaned against the newel post and his whole body sagged.

Mama came to the doorway in her apron, rolling pin in one hand. Blood dripped from Fulbertin’s chest to the hardwood floor. We need the police, he said in a weak voice. Police? exclaimed Mama. What has police ever done for us?

Nothin’ but put our sweet ol’ Pappy behind bars! said Margaret.

No, we ain’t callin’ no police! We ain’t goin’ through all that again! said Mama.

Fulbertin slipped off the post and lurched toward Mama. She knocked him in the head with the rolling pin and he hit the floor. Pappy would have wanted it that way, she said. When you wake up, honey, you’ll understand.

Just then a tall figure appeared at the top of the staircase. His eyes were inset and feline beneath a black homburg. His mustache was thin and sharp. In his gloved hand was a Colt .45. I suggest you bury him in the backyard, he said. Where no one will see.

We only bury dead people around here Mister, Mama said. And Fulbertin ain’t dead. He’s restin’ ‘til he comes back round to his senses. There was a terrific blast and the tall man tumbled headfirst over the bannister. He landed in a bloody heap at the foot of the stairs. Mama looked down and saw Fulbertin on his side clutching a smoking Smith & Wesson. Fulbertin then crumpled forward, the gun dropping from his bloody hand. A cocker spaniel tore in from the kitchen and hopped onto the couch to eat the remaining eggs off Margaret’s plate. Mamma glared at Margaret.

It ain’t my dog, said Margaret. It’s Petey’s dog.

Later that night they dragged the bodies out into the back. Margaret went rooting through the closet for a shovel. Mama came downstairs. We gonna need more lime, she said. There’s another one up there.

The next morning was Sunday. Margaret and Mama sat at the picnic table on the back patio. They were dressed for church and each had a plate of bacon and eggs in front of them. They ate in silence, gazing out at the three fresh mounds of dirt in the backyard. Occasionally Margaret tossed a piece of bacon down to the dog. Time for church, Mama said, pushing her half-eaten breakfast away. Yes, it certainly is, Margaret said.

They got up from their chairs. After they’d moved into the house the spaniel jumped from a bench onto the table. He looked up for a minute when he heard the car pull out of the gravel driveway, then lowered his head and licked their plates clean.

Sharp edges inside the helmet cut into his temples and he could barely see out the eye slit. His face was slick with sweat. He stumbled down the path, swiveling his head back and forth just to see. What he saw were black tree trunks and dry leaves. Occasionally his metal boots slipped in the mud and he’d flail around to grab a tree for support.

Eventually he made it to the river, breathing hard. Beyond the trees a large slab of white rock extended into the dark water. He stepped cautiously onto the slab, pivoting his head around to make sure he was alone. With some effort he got himself down to a seated position on the rock, his metal armor clanking and grating. He aimed his eye-slit at the water and saw his reflection- he looked like a stack of rusty tin cans. There was a dark hole in his breastplate on the left side of his chest, still encrusted with dried blood.

He remained seated like that for a long time, his breathing gradually becoming more regular. Soon he could hear the river flowing. On the opposite shore a fawn bent down to drink. There were butterflies. He closed his eyes and saw crimsons and violets swirling like molten lava. He found himself feeling very tall. He felt like he was growing bigger, rising higher and higher, towering over the trees.

When he opened his eyes a tiny hummingbird hovered a foot away, right at eye-level. Its wings were invisible. Its green and red body gently bobbed up and down. You must go to the North Woods, the humming bird said in a high-pitched voice. The Woods of Death. Before the knight could reply the bird was gone. The sky had darkened and an evening breeze blew through his eye-slit, cooling the sweat on his face. Come back, Bird! he growled. I ain’t goin’ to no Death Woods!

He pushed himself up and almost lost his balance before pitching forward and trudging along the slab of rock down to the edge of the water. He gazed into the blackness and saw schools of little white minnows swirling around.

A dark shape floated down the current toward him. As it neared he saw it was a boy in a wide-brimmed hat, paddling a small boat. The boat grated against the rock right in front of the knight until it came to a stop. The boy’s face was pale and his eyes were dark voids. All aboard for the North Woods, the boy said, his teeth red with betel nut. The knight stood there, immobile. The boy poked him with an oar. Tink! Tink! Tink! Anybody home?

Before long the two of them were floating together, drawn downriver by the ebony current. Bird sent you? asked the knight. Yes, the boy said, paddling first on one side then the other.

What’s going to happen when we get there? he asked the boy. Nothing, said the boy. They floated in silence. The knight closed his eyes. He remembered a tune his mother used to play on the lyre. It was a beautiful melody with one wrong note. He’d never been sure if it was supposed to have a wrong note or if his mother was playing it incorrectly. Either way, thinking about it took him back to the pig farm and the smell of stew cooking in their small kitchen. He saw his sister leaning in the doorway, smiling her lopsided smile.

When he opened his eyes again it was pitch-black night. He could hear the paddling and the water going by but the boy was invisible in the darkness.

When they arrived at the North Woods the knight had fallen asleep sitting up. The boy struggled to drag the knight’s sleeping body off the boat. Finally the knight lay on the shore, snores muffled by his helmet.

The boy pushed off with an oar and floated away down the river. The knight went on dreaming about his sister. Wake up! she kept saying to him. But he stuck his fingers in his ears and squeezed his eyes shut tight. I’m never gonna wake up! he told her. Never!