Play Test: Stuck in Another World as a Reality TV Contestant

Sally McNeil; Morhaul, New Jersey

Morhaul was quiet as always. There was noise, the ugly baritone of trucks rolling down the I-95 and their higher-pitched chorus of cars, the clatter and drumming of plastic trash bins in the wind, and the whipping of tree branches, but these were what passed as silence in Morhaul. She hated that silence.

Sally hugged herself at the kitchen table, sipping from a glass of water with both hands while waiting for her mother to finish making her an herbal tea. Mom told her she didn’t do anything wrong, but she still felt like she was waiting outside the principal’s office. She had always envied the magic of her sister and mother, but now that it was here in her life it felt like just another sad notification on her phone that made her regret checking the time. Magic was supposed to free her, give her the power to not just slowly shuffle down the hallway of life to her death, but instead it had quite literally trapped her in a horrific vision.

It had been awful. She had spent what felt like hours stuck in a single moment, suffering with every sense enflamed in the worst way imaginable. Thankfully, the worst of it had faded in the minutes after Mom had shaken her awake, but she doubted she’d ever forget it entirely. The monster, a grotesque abomination somehow both starving and bloated, with long clawed arms and a sack full of limbs for a stomach, was stamped into her memory. The only positive in the dream had been that the monster was on fire, the smell of its grey-green rotted flesh going up in flames still lingering in her nostrils, but that had been a small comfort because she too had been burning. She shuddered. Sally felt nauseous just remembering the pain of her arms being reduced to charred cinders in front of her.

There was a loud thud from above as her older brother fell out of his bed. She wondered why it had taken so long for him to be affected by the nightmare, maybe he’d been deeper asleep than Mom and Megan. Another thud signaled that he’d fallen again while rushing for his door.

“Oh Lord,” her mother said with a sigh. “We need to sign that boy up for yoga.”

“Fire!” came a shout through the walls, followed by a series of slams as Jason tripped down the treacherous steps to his attic bedroom. She and Mom exchanged a series of winces with every bang and clatter.

He was panting and clutching his chest when he got to the kitchen. “Fi-ah, hah, hah,” he said, shortly after colliding with the closed door. Mom caught him by the shoulder and led him to a chair. “We gotta, hah, we gotta get outta—”

“There’s no fire, Jason. Sally, flick some water on your brother.”

She dipped a few fingers in her glass and sent the droplets flying at her brother’s slightly battered face. He shook his head fiercely, then looked from the unbothered face of his mother to her own, more apologetic one.

“No fire?”

“No. Your sister had a nightmare.”

It took her brother a few breaths to register what was said. “Oh. Jeez. It’s been a while, huh? Where is she anyway? She alright?”

“Your other sister, Jason. Megan is checking on the neighbors to make sure they’re fine.”

Jason tensed and gave Sally a look of deep sorrow. It wasn’t that bad, was it? “Ah, fuck, Sal. I was really hoping it woulda skipped over you. Hey, look at it this way, couple years of adjustment issues and you’ll be like Meg, making bank selling card readings online and shit.”

She reared back – a couple of years? Oh no, she couldn’t handle two years of this. Brian was working on his car to take her on a road trip this summer, and she was supposed to start college next year, once she had a little more money saved up. She didn’t even like Brian anymore, but she didn’t want him to run off and be happy without her. They were only together because most of their friends had left town after graduating, and the fact that Brian was miserable and lonely made her feel better for being the same. So, what, she was supposed to just let him go now? It didn’t feel fair. But then, what would have happened if she had her nightmare while in a dorm and no one woke her up in time, a mass hysteria event? That didn’t feel fair for her hypothetical dormmates either, who would have been traumatized for no reason save that they’d slept in her vicinity.

Mom rubbed her back and slid a steaming hot mug of tea in front of her. “Hey, none of that now. I’ve had nine years since Megan came into the Mantle, and she only had me; you’ve got us both. We’re going to make this as painless for you as possible.”

“Okay,” she said, voice small and somewhat disbelieving.

Her mother shook her arm and smiled down at her, brushing some of her hair out of her face. “Sally, this is a momentous, historical occasion. Three McNeil women wearing the Mantle at the same time, that’s a proper coven. There hasn’t been a McNeil coven since the 1600’s, Sal. You have no idea what this means for us, the opportunities it opens. New Jersey better watch out.”

Sally nodded and tried to smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

That didn’t sound so bad. She much preferred spending time with Megan and Mom over listening to Brian tell her about memes he’d seen, or to the same three Bruce Springsteen albums that lived on repeat in his car. Maybe she’d let him break up with her the next time he tried. She probably should have the last time, but this wicked, hateful urge had come upon her. Before she could even think to stop, Sally was choking him mid-sentence and jerking him off in his pants until he came. Then she’d made him drive them to Sonic and buy her dinner as an apology for wasting her time with still-wet pants. It wasn’t until she was home washing her hands that she’d realized she raped him, before proceeding to vomit in the toilet and call him crying to apologize.

Jason scooched his chair over and threw a heavy arm around her shoulders. “You got me too, Sal. Plus, you know what I always thought about it? Yeah, it was scary and creepy a lot of the time for Megs, but now she can protect her friends from all kinds of fucked up shit that they don’t even know about and couldn’t do nothin’ to even if they did. I’m pretty sure Meg would go through it all again and worse just for that.”

Siobhan McNeil wore a rare look of pride for her middle child. “Wow, Jason, that was surprisingly thoughtful for you.”

“That’s cause I’m full of thoughts, Ma! I’m fricking brimming with the things!”

Sally laughed and pulled her brother’s arm around her tighter. “Thanks, Jay. I feel a little better.”

A tingle shot up her spine and it felt like the room temperature shot up a few degrees, for Sally at least. Mom was having an altogether different reaction. Her eyes were wide and staring at the window to the north. You could normally see the skyline of Black Harbor from it at night, but the dense storm clouds obscured it today. Morhaul was the last stop on the C3 train line, at the very edge of the Green Belt, and just far enough to feel like an ocean between her and her friends who had moved to the city.

Mom whistled. “Aurora Jerseyalis. That’s why we stay clear of martial artists, kids; never trust a man who can turn into a fire tornado – sort of power’ll drive him insane. Sally, tell me what you see.” She gestured with her head at the window.

Sally shrugged. The lights were on in the kitchen, you could barely see anything through the glass. Occasionally, the wind would part the low-lying clouds enough for there to be a rainbow glint from one of the skyscrapers downtown, but it was no light show.

The older woman furrowed her brow and turned back to the window, squinting at it. “You mean that isn’t visible at all? Jason, you don’t see anything, I presume.”

“Nah, can’t see shit.”

Mom shook her head slowly and took a half step away from the window. “Then, that’s some serious power.” She reached a hand out for her daughter. “Come here, this is the perfect opportunity to practice extending your senses.”

Sally let herself be pulled into her mother’s arms, toned from years of carrying and resetting kegs at the bar. Mom rested her chin on her shoulder and pointed the two of them facing Black Harbor. “Normally, I’d talk you through this slowly, but I’m not sure how long this is going to last. So, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to use a little hypnotism just to get you into the right headspace. It’ll help you relax so you can focus better. That alright? After, it’ll be easier for you to follow along to my directions.”

Sally nodded. Mom leaned closer to her ear and said…something. The words had no language, and the sounds disturbed no air, traveling from Siobhan McNeil’s lips directly into her daughter’s skull. All her stress and anxieties about the past and future drained away, and Sally had the distinct feeling of falling without the fear of hitting the ground. Except for the fact that it was the opposite in every way, it was almost like flying.

She was in a great black void, standing atop of black cracked earth looking at a great black horizon with black roiling clouds above. Everything was dark save for a towering, golden pillar of spinning fire, so bright that it stole away her ability to see anything else. Sally was entirely naked, which wouldn’t have bothered her normally; her mother had accustomed her to nudity, and she knew she was pretty with nothing to feel self-conscious about, or so she had thought. But all the beauty in the world was nothing compared to the perfect column of flame, and her nakedness only made her feel smaller and less worthy in front of it.

Sally had the thought to run closer to the golden vortex and then suddenly she was there, close enough that the heat was beginning to bring her pain. She knew at some animal level that any closer and she would begin to burn into nothing, but despite that, she wanted to move anyway. Survival instinct, unfortunately, kept her feet planted where they were.

In the occasional quick gaps of the flame, she saw flashes of a man, or maybe a god with the form of one. No, definitely a god, she thought as she got a better look at him. And yet he seemed oddly familiar, like someone she’d seen while scrolling through videos online, but surely God didn’t have a JinJin account. In horror, she noticed his hands were burning, turning to black cinders as her own had been in her vision; the memory of which made her turn away from him for a second, and sure enough, in front of him, being torn at by the flames, was the monster she’d seen as well.

Her heart fell. Then, that man was feeling the same pain she had felt, but probably worse for hers had been just a dream. He was in agony, fighting for his life – he needed help, he needed her! He needed her, she thought with a start! She was his Moses! Yes, this was her burning bush, that was her God, and Sally was his prophet! It was all so clear. She had to stomach the pain and push forward so she could help him because he needed her.

The newest McNeil witch forced herself to take a step forward, the heat bringing tears to her eyes. A crow swooped down upon her, making her stumble backward. More joined their brethren to push her further and further away from her God. She cursed at them. They weren’t stopping her from burning herself, though they may have inadvertently, they were instead jealously guarding Him, she knew, preventing her from interfering. Sally took another step forward, but more and more birds came down upon her. They seemed endless in number, and looking up, she saw with dawning terror that what she had thought were clouds were actually flocks of more, a murder of crows so immense that it eclipsed the sky. And there, in the midst of them was a terrible shape, a vulturous Thing that—

A hand clapped over her eyes from behind her. “Nope. Pro-tip, never look up.”

Megan spun her around and hugged her to her naked chest. “Eeeeeee! Sally, oh my god, I’m so proud of you!” She beamed down at her, black hair wild and untamed, looking entirely at ease in their bizarre environment. “It took me years to learn how to Project like this. You’re a total natural! But, Silly,” she said, using her old affectionate nickname for her, “it’s time to wake up.”

Damon Jennings; Princeton, New Jersey

A warm breeze from the balcony woke Damon Jennings up with a start. His eyes snapped open. It wasn’t a strong wind, but it was unmistakably there on the back of his neck. Jessica was deep asleep in his arms, but maybe, he thought hopefully, she had cracked the door open before getting back in bed.

He turned slowly, like a child afraid, and confirmed his dread suspicion. The balcony door was shut, and the floor-to-ceiling curtains were drawn, completely unmoved by the draft.

That damned balcony was the only thing wrong with this house. Damon had two prerequisites for a home when he’d been on the market, it had to have a yard big enough for him to ride an ATV around, and it had to be new construction, truly new construction, as in he wanted the dirt to have been fully compacted before excavation. It absolutely could not be built on top of any other building at all, no matter the reason. He’d even given sizeable donations to the local historical and Native American preservationist societies to verify before purchase that it hadn’t been built on sanctified land.

This house, on the most suburban edge of Princeton, had seemed perfect until his first night alone. The balcony to an otherwise ideal master bedroom faced that awful city so far away with such precision, that the sliding glass doors may as well have been a picture frame around Black Harbor. It had kept him up for hours, looming over him like it did. He’d been too stubborn to sleep in another room. No one else could see Black Harbor, there were woods and hills and entire cities between the house and it, but he could, and it was his bedroom. It was the master bedroom; how would he possibly explain to other people why he wasn’t sleeping in it? He’d chosen to endure it like a man ought to instead.

And now there was a warm breeze coming from Black Harbor through his closed balcony door. That was doubly impossible to ignore because it was never warm in Black Harbor. Reciting a prayer under his breath, Damon extracted himself from his not-quite-girlfriend, slipped into some fuzzy moccasins, and snuck out onto the balcony.

Light in the dark, how could it be? Warmth and now light? Impossible. It was always cold in Black Harbor. It had been chilly and overcast the first day he’d ever visited and that had been on a bright, summer day with temperatures in the upper 80’s. It was always cold, and it was always dark in Black Harbor, no matter what the devil might want you to believe.

Damon closed his eyes and watched closely the red and black of the back of his eyelids. This was the best way to observe the light-that-wasn’t-there, as he’d called it since he was a boy. In the fuzzy shifting shapes, he could see a rough shadow-play. Evil things so loved to cast their silhouettes in God’s light, like how they would wait outside his door when he was young, showing him the shadows of their feet standing there, menacing him for hours.

He had never told anyone not in the clergy about his ability to see like this, least of all his ex-girlfriend Annie, even when he was trying to convince her not to move into the city. It would have only encouraged her, he’d thought. Annie was prone to little obsessions; she’d have never let it go if he told her what he had to suffer through. She wouldn’t understand that anytime he learned anything through his Sixth Sense, it was always bad.

Except now. This was a first. Black Harbor was warm and bright; that made it a triple first. And the little horrors he could see in the light seemed to be burning away. That was a—

No, he shook his head and opened his eyes. That last he just couldn’t allow himself to believe. It must have been a delusion born of hope. His career was going well, he was finally over his breakup, and he’d made some real friends recently. This was his brain trying to convince him that it was okay, that he could grow to tolerate the Black City after a while if he only tried. Its evil could be dispelled. It didn’t have to be so cursed all the time. Things could even get better one day. All very unlikely, he thought, but still, nice thoughts to fall asleep to. He could thank God for that.

He'd have to discuss this with the chaplain. Monty could see the light-that-wasn’t-there like he could, Damon suspected, or at the very least, was able to speak on Damon’s experiences. Maybe he could shed some light on the topic.

Damon smiled to himself. Shed some light, that was a pun he’d just made, wasn’t it? Ha, and Annie said he didn’t have a sense of humor. Showed her.

He slipped back into bed, strangely hopeful for the first time about driving into the city tomorrow. What might be changing in Black Harbor?

Paul Occam; His Penthouse Roof, Canal District, Black Harbor

Miss Aggie ruffled with annoyance as she considered his question. She was a tough old bird, having lived to her overripe age due to the work of diligent caretakers, and didn’t tolerate fools lightly. Paul waited for her answer, even though he could tell by her body language that she had nothing for him.

Gentry translated her speech into English, casting his voice into a high-pitched Victorian Lady’s affectation. The old man must have been quite fond of Aggie since he gave few others such a posh accent.

“I dare say sah, what are you accusing me of?” said Miss Aggie by way of Gentry. “Like any proper lady, I was well asleep at that hour of night.”

Paul held out an almond for Miss Aggie and said apologetically, “Of course, miss, I meant nothing by it. It’s for work, you know, I have to ask these questions. But I don’t suppose, Miss Aggie, that you might know someone who was in the vicinity, perhaps nesting nearby who might have been disturbed from their sleep by the happenings?”

Aggie scarfed down the almond greedily, lacking any of the grace that Gentry injected into her voice. “Oh well, if it’s for your occupation then I suppose I ought to help how I can. I wouldn’t want to be a burden on your hospitality, not with you so graciously providing me such a well-appointed home. Shall I ask around for you, Mr. Occam?”

“I would be delighted if you would.”

Miss Aggie bobbed her head agreeably and took off into the sky with a flap of her wings. He hoped she would return; there had been cats crawling all over Chinatown this morning, more than happy to make a meal of the pigeon, he imagined.

Gentry hopped his way up to Paul’s shoulder, his preferred resting spot ever since Paul was old enough to carry him. He was the family pet, an African grey parrot of about 130 years of age that had been awakened by a great uncle with a ritual no one had bothered writing down. That sort of disorganization had plagued the family for a few centuries now, the curse of being moneyed, comfortable, and without any surviving enemies. Being a pretty shit wizard himself, Paul was almost entirely reliant on the bird for most of his more delicate workings, including the more important half of the Speak with Animals spell. On his own, Paul could only Speak to Animals – not nearly so useful.

“That’s that, I’m afraid, my boy. We’ll need to beat feet if we want to learn any more about the case. Aggie’s a terrible gossip but the storm will have kept the doves to their stoops. Shall we make haste to this burnt-down warehouse?”

Paul dropped his remaining pocket almonds into the pigeon cages, treats for them when they returned from their missions. “I’ve already been. There won’t be much more I can learn from Chinatown, not without attracting more attention than I did this morning.”

“What?! Why didn’t you bring me? You don’t speak a single dialect of Chinese!”

“I could hardly wait until full daylight to break into a crime scene, Gentry. Besides, you should be glad I didn’t. Every familiar in the city was out snooping, most of them—”

“Cats,” said Gentry distastefully, “yes. Never understood why women so adore the filthy little terrors. Well then, to the study! I want to know everything about everything, forthwith!”

They made their way down into the penthouse, which was in its usual state of disarray. He really ought to just shell out for a cleaning service, but Aunt Edna had been promising to send him a custom mannikin-maid since last Christmas and she’d be so dismayed if she heard about it. Then he’d never get the maid, or get it twenty years late, and he had always wanted one.

Paul closed and bolted the door into the master bedroom, and then closed and bolted the door into what had been meant to be the walk-in closet, now converted into one of the most secure locations in Black Harbor. He’d sunk a year’s allowance from his trust on the privacy charms and wards for the room the moment he’d secured his first Harbor Moon contract. Journalism was a dangerous business in a city like this.

He settled into his favorite armchair and poured out a little glass of brandy for himself. It was still early, but he’d been awake since his Eye had alerted him to the ‘Incident on Bell Street’, as he was calling it in his write-up.

Gentry was kind enough to allow him a few long sips before he got impatient. “Come now, I’m all in a frenzy to know more!”

Paul yawned, and tapped a key on his desktop, waking the screen up. “Apologies, old man, it’s been a long night. I cracked the case pretty quickly, enough to write my article certainly, but the Order will want to know more. Lord Watt has turned his attention to Black Harbor for some unknowable reason.”

“Pah, Watt’s in for a rude awakening if he thinks he can claw Black Harbor out of the Jersey Devil’s hands. These American billionaires are like the Pharaohs of old but twice as paranoid. Still, the Order’s money spends all the same, and you would do well to start making your name in High Society. Show me what you’ve got and let’s see if my wizened beak can crack this nut open for you.”

The case of last night was easily laid out; the man at the center of it was perhaps the least discrete actor in the city’s Underworld. It began as such, James Li was seen out on the town with the Shinto Shrine’s older miko, Ishida Maki.

“He puts on a public show of strength in Ito Square,” explained Paul, “then while dining at a Yakuza establishment, puts on a private show of strength, unshackling the limiters on his Qi in a display of force that was felt across the city. What occurred at Tamaki Grill to so antagonize him is unknown to me but of great interest to the Order.”

Gentry used a talon to scratch under his beak thoughtfully. “I see, so they were serious about finally opening a club in the States. That’ll do wonders for your marriage chances, lad. The Occam’s were once highly regarded amongst the Roses. Before my time, of course, that would have been Quincy—” Paul cleared his throat to interrupt the tangent. “Ah, yes, sorry. Well, I bet Watt wants to know who to hitch his wagons to. That man never had the spine to stand alone; that’s what happens when you let a youngest son take over an estate. There are customs for a reason, that’s what I always say.”

Paul took a long sip of cognac. It was true, Gentry did always say that. “Undoubtedly. And he’s paying special attention to the Yakuza, though why eludes me. You’d think he’d utilize his North Sea connections.”

“Anyway, according to the Shrine’s younger miko, who appears to have been quite infatuated with the man, Li met Ishida for the first time that day at a calligraphy class. I have my doubts, but what is clear is that after their dinner, the two make their way to the Shinto Shrine and are then seen entering a cab together. This you and I uncovered from the doves.”

“What happens after they arrive in Chinatown is of course well known to everyone with even a cracked Third Eye by now. Li picks a fight with some evil spirit haunting Bell Street. Their fight is suitably epic, with Li either calling forth or becoming a living vortex of fire so tall it punches a hole through the clouds above. They fight a line through the neighborhood, leaving wreckage in their wake until the man manages to lead the demon into the depths of the city. After that, I don’t know, but according to his social media, James Li is alive, and therefore I assume was victorious.”

Gentry flapped his wings and puffed his feathers in that way that meant he’d just realized something. “I see, I see. He leads the spirit to where his ally is waiting below. Why, there must be some sewer drain down there! Rushing water, that’s it!”

“Er, I confess I don’t follow.”

“My boy, sometimes I wonder if you are a wizard at all. Together they called upon the River Styx and sent the spirit to Hades where it belonged. I am sure of it! Was that what you were stuck upon?”

“Ah, no, I hadn’t really concerned myself with that.” Paul opened his file on the case, pulling up an image of a beautiful Asian woman with venomous eyes and crossed arms being questioned by police on the street in the early 1990s. “Li is the son of Lily Li, sometimes called the Golden Eagle.”

“Of the Hunan Li-family Eagle School? I’ve always liked those queer little Chinamen – it’s the bird connection, you see.”

“Er, yes. She’s been inactive in the Underworld since well before we arrived in the States, but last week, in response to a sudden provocation at her school, she took some minor retribution upon the Tiger Gang.” He clicked to the next image, an underground parking garage in total ruin. “The elder Li located one of the Tiger’s fleets of armored vehicles, tore them to pieces, and maimed a few guards before, I’m told, stopping for a manicure at a friend’s. You may be thinking, what does this have to do with last night? Take a look at what I found in the ruins of that warehouse.”

Gentry hopped down off his arm and examined the screen more closely, putting one of his eyes right up to the images, flapping a wing when he wanted to see the next or return to the last. “Distillery clearly…moonshining? Little old-fashioned, isn’t it? Oh, I see. Is this from below the warehouse?”

Gentry had paused on an image of a cramped bottling facility, crates of empties stacked to the ceiling. “A cellar in the alleyway behind the warehouse.”

“Ahhh, counterfeiters, eh? Not the cheap stuff either; that’s Hors 40-year, and that’s Mendolsohn’s, and Gilt de V’. Heavens, the average cost of these bottles must have been close to 500 pounds. Which gang was running this still?”

“Tigers.”

The parrot laughed and flew back to Paul’s shoulder. “That’s a wrinkle, yes. You think, like mother like son? This James fellow found some reason to be fighting in the area, maybe made a pact with some Kami at the Shrine for a sudden storm just so he could plausibly burn down their operation?”

He frowned. “Hm, Maybe, but he’s, well, he’s a bit of an idiot by all reckoning, the sort of man who gets horny and then follows over 400 ballerinas in a single night. James Li either does it loudly, or he doesn’t do it at all.”

Gentry slapped him in the back of his head with his wing and made deafening sounds of disapproval. “Appearances are misleading, boy! What have I always told you? Martial artists take to intrigue like snakes to grass! What did the great Freud tell us about human psychology? A cigar is never a cigar, it is always a penis!”

“Ow, stop that! And the great Ms. Marple told us that any good explanation must account for at least one coincidence!”

That did the trick; Gentry was always fond of Agatha Christie. “I suppose, yes. Regardless, if this event presages a gang war in Chinatown, then we must act quickly to determine the players involved and their true motives. I assume you’ve reached out to James Li, sent an electronic mail?”

“I was actually hoping for your help with devising a surveillance net around him. He seems like an affable sort, but volatile, and I’d like to avoid having my skull punched off my neck.”

Gentry said skeptically, “And to avoid this fate, you are proposing we go source the dangerous reagents required to surveil a powerful martial artist, then attempt to spy on him illicitly with the hope that your magical talents beat out the scion of the famously Eagle-eyed Li Family?”

“Ehm, when you put it like that…”

“Why not hire him to help you write your report to the Order of the Red Rose? He’s an outsider to the gangs with a vested interest in the matter himself. Time-honored tradition too, to keep a strong arm around you, and in my experience, these martial types tend to be easily amused by even the simplest of magic.”

“That does sound more sensible.”

“Or,” said Gentry, rolling the ‘r’, “he’s clearly motivated by a pretty young face. Did you know your Great Uncle happened to love playing ‘Auntie’ at the docks when he needed a quick source of fuel? Said it reminded him of boarding school. He’d come back as ‘she’ in a few days with a wide smile on his face, dripping with enough life force to raise a large hill out of stone; Earth magic is quite receptive to the use of semen as fuel, it’s a man’s seed you see—”

“Thank you, Gentry! That’s quite alright, I think. I’ll start by sending him a message and see how that shakes out first.”

“Such a stick in the mud, Paul! This is why you’ve stagnated, my boy, this is why.”

“I’ll make do, Gentry.” The parrot stole a sip of his cognac before he snatched it away. “Oi!”

“Bah, you’re an intractable gentleman, Paul. I hope for your sake that this James Li is not. You could use a shake-up, my boy.”

He sighed the long sigh of a man who had heard it before many, many times. “We shall see, Gentry. We shall see.”