His body felt as though it were on fire, so he drew the cool night air around him and welcomed the chill of the earth beneath him. Unaware of how close he was to the safety of his own basement, he curled up, put his thumb in his mouth, and fell into something that resembled a state of unconsciousness more than it did sleep. But it didn’t last long.
He awoke in a piercing, ghoulish scream that ripped through the night. Red ants had found him, crawled over his body, and begun to bite on his tender skin. He jumped up and flailed about wildly, slapping at his arms and legs and stamping his feet until most of the ants were brushed away. Then he crashed through the bushes and fled to the edge of the forest. There, he rested a moment, taking hold of a tree and looking about with yellowed, frightened, and confused eyes. Nothing looked familiar; nothing looked friendly.
He turned and went further in, moving trancelike, his awkward gait slowed, his head lowered in fatigue and defeat. Finally he stopped near a large rock. First, he leaned against it, breathing hard, his tongue out, his eyelids drooping. After a moment he tried to get some footing on the boulder, but his feet didn’t work right and his toes didn’t grip as they always had. He clawed at the stone to pull himself up, but he was no more successful at that. Frustrated, he went around the rock and placed himself against the pocket of it. On this side the rock had something of a ledge, which served him as a roof.
He rubbed his legs and arms again, and felt a great thirst and then a great pain in his throat. It was better to close his eyes and try to forget. He couldn’t remember much anyway, and there was an increasingly loud buzzing in his ears. He slapped at them and put his palms over them, but nothing seemed to help. He wanted to do something else to make himself feel better, but he couldn’t recall what that something else was.
He had a vision of another like himself, but he couldn’t put all the parts together. There was long hair, but it was a different color from his. There were sounds, but the sounds were nothing like the sounds he made. The vague memory of laughter threaded through his confusion. He attempted to catch it mentally a few times, but every time he put all his concentration to it, it evaporated.
He felt a need to reach out for something or someone, but when he extended his arms, he couldn’t even imagine what it was he sought. So he slumped back against the rock. He was too tired to react to the jagged surface digging into his skin. Instead, he let his head fall against his right shoulder, his drooping arms at his sides. His hands, palms up, opened and closed spasmodically.
He could see his legs in the darkness and for a moment he thought them to be two long, thick snakes moving about him. He made some kind of sound at them. At least he felt the sound come from him, come from somewhere in the center of his chest. And then he closed his eyes.
There was more illumination behind his lids—colors and flashing lights in lightning streaks. He opened and closed his eyes many times because the brightness disturbed his rest. When sleep came again, it felt like a heavy, wet sheet covering him with the weight of darkness and the damp odor of his own dirty flesh. In his crazed nightmares, he gnawed on his own lower lip.
Things of the night stirred around him. Animals that sensed him, even in their sleep, started in fear, instinctively hearing the bad vibrations, and moved away. After a while nothing was too close to him. But he didn’t know anything of his solitude. He was a part of the rock, hard and grainy, practically inanimate, stirring and jumping convulsively as he fell down the twisted, nightmarish tunnel dug by his infected and sick body.
He was spinning and falling and all he grasped to stop it turned into oozing mucus. The world was filled with sores, abrasions, and bruises. The sky was inflamed and the cry he heard was the primeval cry of the race being born in fire and brimstone, the flesh of every embryo turning instantly into ashes and smoke. He was thrown back through time, back over the genetic highway, until he settled into a mass of bubbling protoplasm waiting to be born again.
The morning sunlight would cut through the trees and slice him like a hot knife.
“OK, Sam Spade,” Sam Cobler said, “you went and did it.”
“What?” Eddie looked back at Barbara who stood a few feet behind him in the kitchen. “What’s up, Chief?”
“Nothing much, except you’ve got one of those families up on Wildwood Drive a little hysterical.”
“Which family?”
“Just got a call from Dick O’Neil. His wife’s terrified. Seems their dog broke loose and went after E.T.”
“I don’t understand, Chief.”
“Oh, that’s a twist. I was beginning to think you were the only one who did. That kid of theirs, Billy, said he saw your creature again and the dog’s out in the woods barking his head off. Dick wants to go after it; his wife’s screaming about rabid bats, and his little boy is blowing a police whistle to scare away creatures from outer space. You were up there again today asking questions?”
“Well, I just thought…”
“All right, all right. Look, Ralph’s up in Loch Sheldrake checking on a brawl in Groman’s Tavern. I got Bob and Willie on an ambulance call. You’re going on overtime. Get up there and settle the problem, will ya. And forgodsakes, don’t get anyone else on that street hysterical, will ya.”
“OK, Chief. I’ll take care of it.”
“Call in when you’re finished,” Cobler said and hung up.
“What is it, Eddie?”
“I don’t know,” he said, going for his jacket. “I might have botched things up. I probably should have left things alone instead of letting my instincts dictate my actions.”
“Your instincts have been pretty reliable in the past, Eddie.”
“Yeah.” He thought for a moment. “I don’t know about this time, though,” he said and then kissed her on the cheek.
When he reached the O’Neils’, things had not calmed down much. The dog was still barking wildly from the woods. The O’Neil boys were at the back door and Cindy was seated at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee between her hands. Dick O’Neil paced about angrily.
“She won’t let me go out there,” he said. “It sounds like the damn dog is caught. He ran off draggin’ his chain behind him, the stupid mutt.”
“Tell him everything, Dick. Tell him what Billy said.”
“Oh, Billy, Billy. The kid’s got a wild imagination,” Dick O’Neil said and then focused on Eddie. “I’m sorry, Eddie, but I don’t think you’re coming here today and asking him about that boy creature helped the situation.”
“Maybe not,” Eddie said. “I didn’t mean to cause problems.”
“Oh, he was just doing his job,” Cindy said.
“Don’t worry about the dog. I’ll go out there and get him,” Eddie said.
“Well, I’m comin’ along.”
“Dick!”
“Dammit, Cindy, I’m not a little boy.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I’ll get my flashlight and meet you in the backyard,” Eddie said. He went out to his patrol car and then walked around the house. Billy and Bobby came out on the porch.
“I saw it again,” Billy said. “I did.”
“The dog went wild,” Bobby said.
“It could have been anything, boys. Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Eddie said. Dick O’Neil appeared with his flashlight.
“But I blew the whistle,” Billy said.
“And that probably scared the hell out of the mutt, too,” Dick said. “You guys get back inside and don’t worry your mother. Women,” he said, joining Eddie and starting for the bushes.
“Well, you can’t blame her. You’re right, though,” Eddie said, looking toward the forest. “The dog sounds caught. Barking from one spot.”
“It’s not that bad here. Let me lead,” Dick said and they went on across the field.
Although there was no moon, the sky seemed ablaze with stars because of the cloudless sky. The spaces between the dog’s barks grew shorter, as it sensed their coming. When Eddie looked back, he coul
d see Cindy and the two boys silhouetted in the back porch door. The darkness around him, the heavy foliage and undergrowth, and the reverberations of the dog’s barking created an ominous atmosphere. He couldn’t help but think about the mysterious creature both children described. When he did so, he turned almost hypnotically to the left and looked out at the dark, brooding house that was inky against the starlit sky. The Oaks looked deserted. He suddenly felt that the illumination cast by his flashlight was sorely inadequate. They were at the mercy of shadows.
“There he is!” Dick said and ran toward the dog. Eddie followed quickly. It was obvious Captain was eager to see his master. He jumped all over Dick, licking his hands and face and making it difficult for him to loosen the twisted, entangled chain. Eddie stood by and looked out over the field toward The Oaks. “What a mess.”
“Need help?”
“No, I got it,” he said and after a few more moments, he freed the chain. Almost immediately, the dog started toward The Oaks. “What the …” Dick leaped forward and caught hold of the chain again. “The crazy mutt.”
“Something’s still out there,” Eddie said. “Near The Oaks.” The dog began barking again.
“Look at him. If I let him, he’d get lost and tangled out there again.”
“Better get him back. Cindy’s nervous.”
“Yeah. QUIET!” Dick commanded. He pulled the dog closer to him and forced it to sit. It did so, but it continued to growl. “This time I’ll cement him to the tree.” He shortened and tightened his grip on the chain so he could have better control of the dog and started for home. Eddie didn’t follow. “Ain’t you comin’?”
“What? Oh, no, no, I think I’ll just walk over to The Oaks and have a look about. Something might be about to disturb them.”
“Disturb Mary Oaks? I doubt it. All right. I’ll see you back at my place.”
“Right.”
Eddie watched Dick and the dog go and then he started toward The Oaks, shining his light before him and making his way through the bushes carefully and slowly, watching both sides as he moved and listening as hard as he could. What was it? he wondered. What was out here? Was it just a wild animal, a raccoon, like Dick and the chief thought? He fought back any fantastic proposals his imagination tried to present to him, but as he drew closer to The Oaks and the dark building loomed higher and wider, it was difficult not to think of terrible things.
He suddenly realized that there didn’t seem to be a light on anywhere in the house. No one home? They couldn’t go to sleep this early, could they? he wondered. Something scurried to his right and he spun around with the flashlight. He wove the beam in and out of the bushes, over the earth and through the saplings. A pair of eyes stared out at him, but when he took a few steps toward it, whatever it was turned and was swallowed by the darkness. He heard a screech owl way off to his right, probably a half a mile or so in, and then he looked longingly for a moment toward the O’Neils’, where Dick was just arriving and the voices of the boys could be heard in their excitement.
Directing the beam to the house, he ran the light up the rear wall and down by the corners of the building. How lonely it must be to live in such a place, he thought, and once again considered the kind of person Mary Oaks was. He would at least have to go around to the front and knock on the door. If he were lucky, no one would be home and he could forget about all this for now.
He stepped onto what were once the back lawns and manicured grounds. Tall grass and weeds grew wildly about the old wooden benches and tables. He saw the remnants of what was once a beautifully hand-built pond constructed with fieldstones. Now the stagnant water looked oily and the hearty weeds practically grew into it. He was sure it was just his imagination, but there was a pervasive odor of decay about the place.
He started around toward the front, running the beam of light before him and over the building. All the windows on this side were as dark as the ones in the rear. He had quickened his pace in the hope of getting this over with quickly when he saw it. It stopped him in his tracks and he held his flashlight on it—a small, but significantly gaping hole in the fieldstone foundation wall. What an odd thing. What could be its purpose? Slowly, he approached it. He knelt down before it and turned his flashlight in.
The basement smelled dank and sour and the darkness was so complete, it was like looking into a black curtain. He started the light at the foot of the stairway to the left and cut a line through the thick darkness along the floor, over old furniture. He stopped when he spotted an oddly shaped box. There were bowls beside it and a shredded blanket draped over one side of it. It looked like it had a piece of a mattress or a small cushion on the floor of it. He continued his investigation, running the light over the back wall and around to more furniture, the water heater and the oil burner, and then …
He stopped.
First he saw the hand and then the arm and then the entire body of Mary Oaks. From this angle, he couldn’t tell that her eyes were opened.
“HEY!” he shouted. His voice echoed through the basement and came back at him, as though there were five duplicates of him within, but she didn’t stir.
A cold chill threaded its way up his spine and settled at the base of his brain. He turned abruptly and looked behind him into the darkness. When he looked back, his hand shook and the light danced over Mary Oaks’ torso. He paused a moment longer, the realization settling over him.
“MRS. OAKS!” Again, there was no movement. Since he couldn’t fit through the hole to get to her, he stood up and hurried around to the front of the house.
His instincts were right after all.
SIXTEEN
Eddie Morris pounded on the front door of The Oaks and waited. No lights went on and no sounds were made. He shouted, pounded again, stepped back, and contemplated the front windows, and then put his shoulder to the door. The Oaks’ front door was an antique. More than one traveler with an eye to valuable old things remarked about it in passing. It was nearly a half foot wider and a foot taller than the average modern door. It was made of thick oak wood and the front of it was handcarved. The years had weathered it, but age had only made it stronger. Eddie thought he might as well have tried to move a solid wall.
He went to the nearest front window on his right. The windows were the old six-panel type, so when he broke one panel with his flashlight, he was only able to get his hand in to search for the window lock. He couldn’t reach it, so he broke all the frames and then kicked in the narrow wooden crossbars. Now he was able to step through it carefully. He came down in what he thought to be a sitting room. The furniture was barely visible, until he put on his flashlight and looked about.
“HELLO!” he called, hoping to get some reaction from Mary Oaks’ daughter. Hearing nothing, he continued on through the room and out to the hallway. He explored everything around him, looking into other rooms, shining his beam down to the kitchen and coming back to find what he thought must be the basement door. He was surprised at the hasp and open lock that dangled from it. Did they think someone might enter the house from the basement?
As soon as he stepped in, he found the light switch and turned it on. He paused for a moment to think about the odors and the dim glow of the inadequate ceiling fixture. What the hell is going on? he wondered and started down the steps slowly. When he reached the bottom and turned around, he held the light in the direction of Mary Oaks’ body. He went to her quickly and knelt down beside her. The moment he took her hand into his, he knew she was dead.
He let her body fall over completely so she’d be on her back and shined the light on her face. Her eyes were still wide opened, a look of total surprise and horror locked into them. He searched for wounds and found the stain of blood down the side of her mouth. Other than that, there was nothing on her body to indicate what had happened.
He stood up and looked around. When the light of his flashlight fell on the dresser, he saw what looked to be footprints in the heavy layer of dust. For a moment he studied that and th
en directed the light up the wall. He traced the beams all around the basement, but he saw nothing. Puzzled, he remembered the box.
The blanket was absolutely disgusting. It reeked of urine and other odors. There were the remains of some food in the dishes and bowls beside the box and traces of food in the box itself. Did they have some kind of pet down here? he wondered and looked for any signs of an animal. There were no bones, no boxes of dog or cat food. The body of a dead rodent just to the right caught his eye. He looked at it and ran the light up into the far corner, where he saw what looked to be other dead things—decayed bodies of field mice, small rats, even a snake.
Damn, he thought, looking back at Mary Oaks’ body. Must’ve been an accident. She fell off that dresser somehow. Better call it in, he thought, and went back up the stairs. When he got to the kitchen, he thought about Mary Oaks’ daughter again. Perhaps she was out. She certainly would have heard him shouting and walking through the house.
He picked up the receiver of the wall phone and called the station. Sam Cobler answered the phone himself. As soon as he said hello, Eddie went into a detailed description of events.
“No sign of foul play?”
“Looks like she fell off a dresser. I found her footprints on the top of it in the dust. Imagine she hit her head. The daughter’s not around, so you’d better put out a call on that.”
“OK, we’ll send up an ambulance. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. That’s one helluva street.”
“You don’t have to remind me,” Eddie said.
After he hung up, he unzipped his jacket and looked about the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and leaned back against the sink, staring ahead down the corridor. It was then that he heard the slight tap, tap, tap, coming from somewhere above him, deeper in the house. He listened as hard as he could for a few seconds. Then he put the glass down quietly and moved out of the kitchen. When he reached the stairway, he stopped and listened again, but now he didn’t hear anything. Even so, he directed his flashlight up into the darkness and followed the beam to the second level. Once there, he located a light switch and illuminated the corridor. He listened again. This time he was sure—there was a distinct tapping coming from further in; so he headed toward it.
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