*****
Captive Audience
Lattok panicked as he felt himself falling into the material plane again. It took him long minutes after he arrived to realize that his destination was bearable after all — for the moment. It was true that he was in a city, crowded with noisy, quarrelsome humans; but the house in which he had appeared was empty. It stayed that way for most of the next several days, and Lattok gradually relaxed.
Only two beings came in during those days. One was a half-grown kitten which came and went by a cat door; the other was a neighbour woman who came over twice a day to feed the cat. Her presence sent shivers up and down Lattok’s non-existent spine at first, and he fled to the furthest corner he could find, up in the attic, pulling all his ectoplasm into as tight a bundle as he could. But she was a peaceful, cheerful person, emitting only kindly vibrations, so her brief visits were no real disturbance, and after a while Lattok just stayed in the next room till she left.
The kitten, which the woman addressed as Candy, was a delight. He spent most of his time curled up sleeping, giving off such an aura of contentment that Lattok hovered close to him, soaking up the feeling. When neither sleeping nor eating, Candy hunted out his ping-pong ball or crumpled bits of paper to play with; and Lattok was able to draw on the cat’s energy – small but intense – to roll the ball or rustle the paper, to Candy’s purring delight. The cat seemed half aware of Lattok’s presence, waiting in patient ambush for him to move the stalked object.
Lattok was so pleased with the kitten’s company that he almost stopped worrying about how temporary the situation must be. He found new playthings for Candy, nudging some off shelves or out from under carpet edges, and wished that he were material enough to feel Candy’s smooth fur. All he could do to pet the animal was to move a layer of air along him.
And then one evening, the door slammed open. A man tromped in, jammed a jacket onto a hall hook, barged into the livingroom, and flung himself down in a chair. As a woman followed into the hall, dumping two suitcases cases on the floor and kicking off her shoes, the man bellowed, “Gimme a drink!”
“Get it yourself, you lazy slob!” yelled back the woman. “I gotta get dinner. If you’d let us stop along the way …”
“And listen to another ten minutes of your brat’s whining? No way!”
“It’s your kid that starts Chris off! If you’d make him stop teasing the poor boy…”
“Guy knows how to behave like a big boy! If you’d stop babying Chris he might learn to do the same!”
The two boys came into the house, the older one holding a toy gun out of the other’s reach. “Gimme! It’s mine!” wailed Chris.
“Not any more!” taunted Guy.
“Bring in the rest of the bags!” yelled the father.
The boys ignored him, and began fighting for the toy, tripping over the luggage already in the hall. Their voices rose to shrieks. The father heaved himself up, stomped out to the hall and clouted them both. As they bolted out, the man yelled in the direction of the kitchen, “When are you going to have dinner ready?”
“I just started!”
“All you ever do is thaw something. What takes so long?”
“The thawing does, you idiot. And what’s wrong with frozen food? It keeps well that way.”
“You should make your own.”
“Why? Do you grow your own? Why’s a housewife looked down on when she modernizes her work, when every other type of worker’s praised?”
Lattok had fled to the attic crawlspace, recklessly using up stored energy. He wished he could shut out consciousness of the quarreling family, and wished even more desperately that he were not confined to this house for the duration of his current existence in this plane.
The anger level fell somewhat as the family eventually consumed food and drink; it eased yet more as they watched soporific television, and then grumbled their way to bed, and slept.
As quiet settled at last, Lattok timidly ventured down to stay with the cat through the night. Candy had been out all evening, except for a few minutes indoors to bolt his food. Lattok envied him his freedom to dodge out of the house, and his ability to relax during this temporary peace. Candy curled up in an armchair and sang himself to sleep as Lattok hovered by him, reflecting his mood back to him.
At the first sounds of stirring in the morning, Lattok rushed to the cellar, trying to ignore the woman’s increasingly irritated yells as she urged the others to get up. The two boys eventually came down to breakfast, carrying boom boxes tuned to competing stations. When the father staggered down after them, he cuffed them into turning off the radios. In the brief silence, while all the people applied themselves to food, Lattok crept up to the attic again, cowering in its furthest corner, and squeezing himself into the smallest possible bundle, shaking against the drag of the emotions as they poured out energy.
All of the family went out for the day, but Lattok was so nervous he could hardly bring himself to come down to look for Candy. The cat, too, was out for some hours, but eventually brought his soothing presence back; and Lattok soaked in all he could of the good feelings.
All too soon it was suppertime again, and the family was back. Lattok huddled in the attic, waiting for the calmer television hours. But the man’s first day back at work had raised his irritation level. Steadily consuming beer, he kept interrupting the programs with gripes about his boss, his co-workers, politicians, sports events, and the world in general.
“If you had half the guts you keep saying Guy has, you’d get another job,” sneered his wife.
“If you think jobs are that easy to get, why don’t you go out and get one?”
“Because you like to boast your wife doesn’t have to work. Think I wouldn’t rather be out making money of my own? And at least I’d meet people who don’t yell all the time.”
“Meet other men, you mean!”
“Why not? I might find one who appreciates me!”
“You’d look a long time to find one who wanted a slut like you!”
Chris’ voice rose above his parents’. “Gimme the book, Guy. I gotta do my stupid homework!”
“Yah! You’re a sissy. I don’t do homework.”
“You’re gonna fail.”
“Who cares?”
“Well, whadda you care if I do my homework? Gimme the book.”
“Won’t!”
“Mom! Make him give it to me!”
“Shut up!” yelled the father. “Can’t you see I’m trying to watch TV?”
“You aren’t,” muttered Guy. “All you’re doing is complain about everything.”
“Talk back to your father, will you?” snarled the man. Lurching up, he slammed his fist into the boy. “And you started it!” he snarled, hitting the younger boy even harder.
The mother screamed, rushing to stand over the fallen boys. She seized the disputed book and beat at her husband with it. He slugged her too, and blood streamed from her nose. Candy, dodging a kick by Chris, streaked out the cat door, with a speed born of experience. Guy, not daring to attack his father, kicked Chris and his mother. The father hit everyone he could reach. Hatred and fury poured through the house, swirling and mounting like a cyclone.
“Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!” shrieked Lattok soundlessly. Unable any longer to prevent his action, he flowed to the centre of the emotion, drawing in the energy and casting it forth again.
Ornaments flew from the shelves. Curtains snapped and ripped. Pictures plunged from the walls. Rugs twisted. A swag lamp swung wildly. Shoes, toys, CD players, and other objects racketed down the stairs. The TV toppled off its stand. Tables lurched. Dishes leaped out of cupboards and smashed. Floor lamps crashed over. Doors and windows slammed, and the oven door fell open with a bang. The stereo speakers crashed to the floor.
By this time the family, screaming, was outdoors. As the source of the energy Lattok was channeling lessened with distance and kind of emotion, he slowly gained enough control to force it out of him, and the h
ouse quieted.
But Lattok knew, bitterly, that this respite was only temporary. Even if the family went away, there would be the investigators and the exorcists, with their own emotional disturbances. All he could do was wait, in greater or lesser torment, until mercy gave him another reprieve, taking him back out of the horrors of the material plane.
Death and Taxes Page 2