by Clive Barker
He began his investigations as soon as they got back into the House, by going in search of Lulu. Her bedroom door was closed. He knocked, then called her. There was no reply, so he tried the handle. The door was unlocked.
“Lulu?” he called. “It’s Harvey.”
She wasn’t there, but he was relieved to see that her bed had been slept in, and that she’d apparently been playing with her pets recently. The doors to the doll’s house were open, and the lizards were everywhere underfoot.
There was one strangeness however. The sound of running water led him through to the bathroom, where he found the bath full almost to brimming, and Lulu’s clothes scattered in the puddles on the tile.
“Have you seen Lulu?” he asked Mrs. Griffin when he got downstairs.
“Not in the last few hours,” she replied. “But she’s been keeping to herself.” Mrs. Griffin looked hard at Harvey. “I wouldn’t pay too much mind if I were you, child,” she said. “Mr. Hood doesn’t like inquisitive guests.”
“I was only wondering where she’d got to,” Harvey said.
Mrs. Griffin frowned, her tongue working against her pale cheek as though it wanted to speak, but didn’t dare.
“Anyway” Harvey went on, deliberately goading Mrs. Griffin, “I don’t believe Mr. Hood exists.”
“Now you be careful,” she said, her voice and frown deepening. “You don’t want to talk about Mr. Hood that way.”
“I’ve been here…days and days,” Harvey said, realizing as he spoke that he’d lost count of his time in the House. “And I haven’t seen him once. Where is he?”
Now Mrs. Griffin came at Harvey with her hands raised, and for a moment he thought she was going to strike him. But instead she took hold of his shoulders and shook him.
“Please, child!” she said. “Be content with what you know. You’re here to enjoy yourself for a little time. And child, it’s such a little time. It flies by. Oh Lord, how it flies!”
“It’s just a few weeks,” Harvey said. “I’m not going to stay here forever.” Now it was he who stared at her. “Or am I?” he said.
“Stop,” she told him.
“You think I am here forever, don’t you?” he said, shaking off her grip. “What is this place, Mrs. Griffin? Is it some kind of prison?”
She shook her head.
“Don’t tell me lies,” he said. “It’s stupid. We’re locked up in here, aren’t we?”
Now, though she was shaking with fear from head to foot, she dared to make a tiny nod of her head.
“All of us?” he asked. Again she nodded. “You too?”
“Yes,” she whispered, “me too. And there’s no way out. Believe me, if you try to escape again, Carna will come after you.”
“Carna…” he said, remembering the name from the conversation between Jive and Marr.
“He’s up there,” Mrs. Griffin said. “On the roof. That’s where the four of them live. Rictus, Marr, Carna—”
“—and Jive.”
“You know.”
“I’ve met them all but Carna.”
“Pray you never do,” said Mrs. Griffin. “Now listen to me, Harvey. I’ve seen many children come and go through this House—some of them foolish, some of them selfish, some sweet, some brave—but you, you are one of the brightest souls I have ever set eyes on. I want you to take what joy you can from being here. Use the hours well, because there’ll be fewer than you think.”
Harvey listened patiently to this. Then, when she’d finished, he said: “I still want to meet Mr. Hood.”
“Mr. Hood is dead,” Mrs. Griffin said, exasperated by his persistence.
“Dead? You swear?”
“I swear,” she replied. “On the Brave of my poor Clue-Cat, I swear: Mr. Hood is dead. So don’t ask about him ever again.”
This was the first time Mrs. Griffin had ever come close to giving Harvey an order, and though he wanted to press her further, he decided not to. Instead he said he was sorry for bringing up the subject, and wouldn’t do it again, then left her to her secret sorrows.
XII .What the Flood Gave up
(And What It Took)
Well?” said Wendell, when Harvey came to his room. “What’s the story?”
Harvey shrugged. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “Why don’t we just enjoy ourselves while we can?”
“Enjoy ourselves?” Wendell said. “How can we enjoy ourselves when we’re locked in?”
“It’s better in here than it is out in the world,” Harvey said. Wendell looked at him in astonishment. “That’s true, isn’t it?”
As he spoke he grabbed hold of Wendell’s hand, and Wendell realized there was a ball of paper in Harvey’s palm, which he was trying to pass between the two of them.
“Maybe you should just find a quiet little corner and do some reading,” he said, glancing down at their hands as he spoke.
Wendell got the idea. He claimed the balled-up note from Harvey’s hand and said: “Maybe I’ll do that.”
“Good,” said Harvey. “I’m going to go out and enjoy the sun while I can.”
That was exactly what he did. He had a lot of planning to do before midnight, which was when the note told Wendell they should meet to make their escape. Surely even the forces that guarded the House had to sleep sometime (the business of keeping the seasons rolling around couldn’t be easy) and of all the hours to slip away, midnight seemed the most promising.
But he didn’t suppose it would be easy. The House had been a trap for decades (perhaps centuries: Who knew how old its evil really was?) and even at midnight it would not be so foolish as to leave the exit wide open. They would have to be quick and clever, and not panic or lose their tempers once they were in the mist. The real world was out there somewhere. All they had to do was find it.
He knew when he saw Wendell for Halloween that the note had been read and understood. There was a look in Wendell’s eyes that said: I’m ready. I’m nervous, but I’m ready.
The rest of the evening passed for the two of them like the performance of a strange play, in which they were the actors, and the House (or whoever haunted it) was the audience. They went about enjoying themselves as though this was a night like any other, heading out to play trick-or-treat with a show of loud laughter (even though they were both shuddering in their borrowed shoes), then coming in to eat their supper and spend what they hoped would be their last Christmas in the House. They opened their presents (a mechanical dog for Wendell; a magician’s kit for Harvey), said their goodnights to Mrs. Griffin (goodbye, of course, not goodnight, but Harvey didn’t dare let her know) and then went to bed.
The House grew quiet, and quieter still. The snow no longer sighed at the sill, nor the wind in the chimney. It was, Harvey thought, the deepest silence he’d ever heard; so deep that he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and every rustle of his body against the sheets sounded like a roll of drums.
A little before midnight he got up and dressed, moving slowly and carefully, so as to make as little noise as possible. Then he headed out into the passageway, and—slipping like a thief from shadow to shadow—hurried down the stairs and out into the night.
He left not by the front door (it was heavy, and creaked loudly) but by the kitchen door, which brought him out at the side of the House. Though the wind had dropped, the air was still bitter and the surface of the snow had frozen. It crackled as he walked, however lightly he trod. But he was beginning to hope that the eyes and ears of the House were indeed closed at this hour (if not, why hadn’t he been challenged?) and he might make it to the perimeter without attracting attention.
Just as he was about to turn the corner, however, that sweet hope was soured, as somebody in the murk behind him called his name. He froze in his tracks, hoping the darkness would conceal him, but the voice came again, and again called his name. It was not a voice he recognized. Not Wendell, certainly, nor Mrs. Griffin. Not Jive, not Rictus, not Marr. This was a frail voice; the voice of somebody who barely k
new how to shape the syllables of his name.
“Harrr…vvvey…”
And then, all of a sudden, he knew the voice, and his heart—which had been working overtime since he’d slipped out of bed—grew so loud in his ears it almost drowned out the summons when it came again.
“Lulu?” he murmured.
“Yesss…” said the voice.
“Where are you?”
“Near…” she said.
He stared at the thicket, hoping for some glimpse of her, but all he could see was the starlight glittering on the frosted leaves.
“You’re leaving…” she said, her words slurred.
“Yes,” he whispered, “and you have to come with us.”
He took a step toward her, and as he did so some of the glitter that he’d thought was frost retreated from him. What was she wearing, that shimmered this way?
“Don’t be afraid,” he said.
“I don’t want you to look at me,” she said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Please…” she said, “just…keep your distance.”
She retreated even farther from him, and seemed to lose her balance as she did so. She dropped to the ground, the thicket around her shaking. Harvey stepped forward to help her up, but she let out such a sob that he stopped in his tracks.
“I only want to help,” he said.
“You can’t help me,” she replied, every word pained. “It’s too late. You just have…to go…while you still can. I just…wanted to give you…something to remember me by.”
He saw her move in the shadows, reaching out in his direction. “Look away,” she said.
He turned his head away from her.
“Now close your eyes. And promise you won’t open them.”
He dutifully closed his eyes. “I promise,” he said.
And now he heard her moving toward him, her breath laborious.
“Open your hand,” she said.
Her voice was near now. He knew if he opened his eyes he’d be face to face with her. But he had made a promise, and was determined to keep it. He put out his hand and felt first one, then two, then three heavy little objects, cold and wet, dropped into his cupped palm.
“This was all…I could find…” Lulu said, “…I’m sorry…”
“Can I look?” he asked.
“Not yet. Let me…leave…first…”
He closed his fingers around the gifts she’d given him, trying to make sense of them by touch. What were they? Pieces of frozen stone? No, they were carved. He could feel grooves on one; a head on another. And now, of course, he knew what he held: three survivors of his ark, dredged up from the depths of the lake.
The answer was no comfort to him; quite the reverse. He shuddered as he put the puzzle of Lulu’s silvery gleam together with the knowledge of what he held. She had swum down to the bottom of the lake to recover these figures, a descent that was beyond the capacity of any land dweller.
No wonder she’d retreated into the shadows, ordering him not to look at her. She wasn’t human any longer. She was becoming—or had already become—a sister to the strange fish that circled in these dark waters, cold-blooded and silver-skinned.
“Oh, Lulu…” he said, “…how did this happen?”
“Don’t waste your time with me,” she murmured, “just go while you’ve a chance.”
“I want to help,” he said.
“You can’t…” came the reply, “…can’t help me…I’ve been here too long. My life is over…”
“That’s not true,” Harvey said. “We’re the same age.”
“But I’ve been here so long I don’t even remember…” Her voice trailed away.
“Don’t remember what?”
“Maybe I just don’t want to remember,” she said. “It’ll hurt too much…” She made along, choked sigh. “You have to go…” she said in a whisper, “…go while you still can.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Then you’re stupid,” she said. “Because you should be.”
He heard the thicket shake as she started to retreat from him.
“Wait,” he said. She made no reply. “Lulu!”
The din of her departure grew louder. By the sound of it she was almost throwing herself out of his range. Breaking his promise, he opened his eyes, and caught a glimpse of her as she fled; a shadow in the shadows, no more. He started after her, not knowing what he would say or do when he caught up with her, but knowing he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t somehow help.
Maybe if he persuaded her to go with him, out of the shadow of the House, its vicious magic would be undone. Or maybe he could find some doctor for her in the outside world who could cure her of this malformation. Anything rather than leaving her to return to the lake.
Its waters were in view now, gleaming darkly between the branches of the thicket. Lulu had reached the bank, and for a moment the meager starlight found her. All that Harvey had feared was true, and more. A fin grew from her bent and scaly back, and her legs had almost fused together. Her arms had become short and stubby, her fingers webbed.
But it was her face, glimpsed as she turned back to look at him, that was the greatest shock.
Her hair had fallen out, and her nose disappeared. Her mouth had lost its lips and her blue eyes turned to swivelling silver balls, lidless and lashless. And yet, despite their freakishness, there was human feeling in those eyes, and on that mouth: a terrible sadness that he knew would never leave his heart if he lived to be a thousand.
“You were my friend,” she said as she teetered on the bank. “Thank you for that.”
Then she tumbled into the water.
He went to the edge of the lake at a dash, but by the time he reached the place from which she’d dived the ripples were disappearing and the bubbles breaking. He watched the icy waters for a minute or more, hoping she would see him and surface, but she’d gone where he couldn’t follow, and that, it seemed, was the end of it.
Clutching her gifts to him like talismans, he trudged away from the lake and down the lawn to keep his rendezvous with Wendell.
XIII. The Fourth Part of Darkness
“What happened to you?” Wendell whispered when Harvey reached the bottom of the lawn. “I thought we were meeting at midnight.”
“I got…waylaid,” Harvey said.
He’d intended to tell Wendell what had just transpired, but his friend was obviously nervous enough without being told about Lulu’s fate. Harvey slipped the three survivors of the ark into his pocket and resolved only to speak of the encounter when he and Wendell were safely away from this terrible place.
Just one thing stood between them and that ambition: the wall of mist. Now, as ever, it seemed innocent enough. But that was an illusion, of course, like so many things in Mr. Hood’s kingdom.
“We have to be very organized about this,” Harvey said to Wendell. “Once we’re in the wall we lose our sense of direction. So we have to be sure we keep walking in a straight line, and not let the mist turn us around.”
“How do we do that?” said Wendell.
“I think one of us should go in first, and the other one keep hold of his hand.”
“Me,” said Wendell, eagerly. “I want to be first.”
“No problem. Then I’ll keep my back to the House, and keep guiding you. Who knows, maybe the wall’s so thin you’ll just be able to pull me through.”
“We can hope,” Wendell said.
“Are you ready?” Harvey asked, extending his hand.
Wendell took it. “Whenever you are,” he said.
“Then let’s get out of here ”
Wendell nodded, and stepped into the mist. Instantly, Harvey felt his grip tighten.
“Don’t…let…go…” Wendell said, his voice already remote although he was just a pace away.
“Just keep walking.” Harvey said, as they reached arm’s length. “Any sign of—”
Before he could finish his question a noise from the House beh
ind him sealed his lips. He glanced back. The front door was open, and a light was burning in the hall, throwing into silhouette the figure rushing down the porch steps. It was Mrs. Griffin.
The noise he’d heard was not from her lips, however. Nothing human could make such a din. He saw Mrs. Griffin glance up toward the roof as she hurried down the lawn, and following her gaze, saw the noise-maker rising against the stars.
He knew its name, even though he couldn’t see its face. Hood had four servants, and he’d met only three: Rictus, Jive and Marr. Here was the fourth: Carna, the tooth-stealer; Carna, the devourer; Carna, the beast Mrs. Griffin had hoped Harvey would never meet.
“Back to the House, child!” Mrs. Griffin yelled as the din of vast wings filled the air, “Quickly! Quickly!”
Harvey pulled on Wendell’s arm, yelling to him as he did so, but Wendell had a whiff of freedom in his nostrils and wasn’t about to give it up.
“What are you waiting for?” Mrs. Griffin yelled. “Get away from there or it’ll take off your head!”
Harvey glanced up at the swooping beast, and knew this was no lie. Carna’s jaws were wide enough to snap him in half with a single bite. But he couldn’t leave Wendell in the mist. They’d begun this adventure together, and that was how they would finish it, dead or alive. He had no choice but to step into the mist himself, and hope that Wendell had snatched a glimpse of the world outside, and could pull him through to the street.
As he took that step, he heard Mrs. Griffin say something about leading the way; then he was blinded by the chill of the mist, and the sound of her voice became a garbled whisper.
Carna’s shrieks were not so hushed, however. They pierced the murk, skewering Harvey’s thoughts the way its teeth would skewer his head if the beast caught up with him.
“Wendell?” Harvey yelled. “It’s coming for us!”
He caught a glimpse of a figure up ahead of him, then of Wendell’s face, smeared by the mist, turning to say:
“There’s no way out!”