by Simon Clark
Onscreen the old man glanced at his watch, those sad eyes tired now.
”… but there is one last act. My wife, you will recall, was pregnant. She gave birth to a healthy son whom we named Nathaniel. The doctors marveled at the sight of such a robust baby boy delivered by a mother of fifty. Right from the start I knew he was special. Within days he was taking notice of his surroundings. When he looked at me, I saw his eyes were knowing. He ever seemed amused, as if to say, 'Well hello there, Pop. You think I'm just a little baby. There's far more to me than meets the eye, you know.' Within a month he'd dispensed with night feeds and was sleeping through. He didn't cry so much as shout when he was hungry. Nathaniel lit up Mary's life. It seemed as if she'd waited half a century to be so happy and so fulfilled. We were old parents, by most standards, I guess, but Nathaniel gave us the shine of a married couple in their twenties. We were overjoyed; we…”
He tailed off, remembering some bitter reality with a vividness that choked the words in his throat. He took a deep breath, then forced himself to continue. Benedict's eyes fastened on the screen. Benedict couldn't look away now even if he wanted to.
And, dear God, he wanted to.
”What happened to Nathaniel robbed Mary of every shred of happiness. After a while she took to her bed. You've heard of the phrase 'died of a broken heart.' My Mary did just that. Not in a biological sense, naturally. But the heart of her personality, the core of Mary that contained her hopes, faith and ability to be happy, was destroyed. Within a year of losing Nathaniel, Mary fell asleep and never woke up. And as for our baby boy? What happened to him? Now you realize why I've made this video recording. I couldn't bring myself to tell you. I don't possess the descriptive words. I don't have the heart to tell. But I can show you. On the evening of April 20,1971, Mary and I put Nathaniel into his crib. Outside it was unseasonably warm, so we left a window open in his room. I noticed a flock of crows flying toward the Luxor just as the sun was setting. By eleven that night we were tired, so we decided not to finish watching the show on TV and go straight to bed. Also, I'd arranged a meeting with a booking agency in the morning and needed to be clearheaded. Like we did every night, we looked in on Nathaniel. He was sleeping like a lamb. Then we went to bed, and sometime during the night there must have been… there must have been some…” Benjamin Lockram shook his head. In the brilliance of the spotlight, tears shone in his eyes. He pressed his lips together, straightened his backbone, then took a deep breath.
”What you will see next, my friend, is footage I have taken from the security camera that covers the dance floor. The time counter in the bottom right-hand corner reads 3:08 in the morning, April twentieth. The light source is from a sixty-watt bulb left burning for security purposes. That light is situated above the doors from the dance hall to the lobby. There is no one in the building apart from Mary and I, who are asleep upstairs in the apartment at this time. Oh? And let me tell you-on the thumb of Nathaniel's left hand is a brown birthmark that resembles the Man in the Moon.” Tears filled the man's eyes with liquid silver. ”This, then, is the security footage.”
The edit was a rough one. The image jumped from a man who sat grieving for his lost son to a high angle black-and-white shot from a camera fixed midway up the dance hall wall above the lobby doors. In the light of that sixty-watt bulb, Benedict could see the stage only dimly as if it were partly hidden by a pearl-white mist. For a moment nothing happened. The dance floor was bare, the place deserted. And of course without taped sound, the CCTV footage was completely silent. When the time bar in the corner of the screen clicked over to 3:09, a shadow appeared on the floor, an elongated one of a figure as yet unseen coming through the doors onto the dance floor. Benedict found he was holding his breath.
Moving slowly, without hurry, but with a purposefulness that breathed of sinister intent, a figure walked out. The picture quality was poor, the light source insufficient for real clarity, and yet Benedict saw enough to snap his muscles tight and quivering. The figure moved ten paces toward the center of the dance floor.
Benedict shivered as his eyes widened, striving to process every black line, every gray smudge on the cathode ray tube into a coherent picture. He saw that the figure was walking hunched over the bundle it carried, hugging it to its chest.
Benedict saw the spindle legs sheathed in torn material. The dome of its head was over-large and swelled from one temple, lending it a lumpy, lopsided look. A froth of wispy hair floated around the skull so thinly it barely appeared to grow from it. The mystery figure paused for a moment, standing there, as if waiting for some inexplicable event.
As Benedict watched, a cylindrical shape slipped from the bundle the figure carried, to dangle beneath. Benedict leaned forward, his eyes watering as he stared hard to identify what he saw onscreen. Yes… he was right the first time. He was looking at a baby's leg. The leg moved in a kicking motion. The baby-Nathaniel Lockram-was awake. Of course, Benedict heard no screams because the camera system wasn't wired for sound. Then, just for a second, as if the figure had heard something, it swung around to look back toward the lobby And just for that dreadful, heart-stopping second, Benedict looked into the face of the figure. He saw a pair of eyes that were huge and round and hard as glass, blazing back into the camera. He saw the mouth, too. A series of rounded lips, one inside the other, growing smaller as they reached the core where a hole pulsated. The creature didn't grasp the crying baby-that oh-so silently crying baby-in a pair of arms. No. They were long tapering limbs, something like pale, fleshy stems.
Then the misshapen figure turned its monstrous back on the wall-mounted camera (as Benedict sat with his knuckle between his teeth). Quickly it moved forward, carrying the baby parceled in its crib blanket. It must have been the poor quality of the light, its low power, surely, but the effect that Benedict saw on that grainy, indistinct security footage was of the figure vanishing into a pearl mist on the dance floor.
Benedict sat with his eyes locked unblinking on the screen. The figure never emerged. The dance floor lay nakedly empty A moment later the screen crashed to black. A line of print appeared in the center: We are nothing. Less than nothing and dreams. We are only what might have been.
CHAPTER 21
Benedict West left his apartment at noon. The sun blazed from a clear sky with an intensity that soon had him reaching for his sunglasses. He walked down the steps holding an envelope that contained notes he'd made as he watched Lockram's tape. Images still whirled in Benedict's head.
He recalled the footage of Lockram sitting in a luminous glow in the spotlight as he described what had happened to him in the Luxor. Of the men and women who visited the building in the belief that somehow they could find their way home-to their true ”home”-through a portal that manifested itself on the dance floor. Was that invoked by the nature of the dance hall itself? The excitement of the young people year after year, heading to the Luxor determined to escape their day-to-day reality for a few hours as they danced, flirted, and watched their favorite band perform. Or had that portal to another world always been there? Ten thousand years ago had Native Americans stood on that same tract of land with their spears and stone axes and gazed in wonder at that block of mist opening up to admit the brave-or the foolhardy-to another world?
Benedict moved quickly across the parking lot to where his car sat in the shimmering heat haze. His plan now? He couldn't begin to formulate one. But the obvious move was to head to the Luxor. He had to warn Robyn and Noel that the place wasn't merely uncanny, it was dangerous, too.
Despite waves of heat beating across the blacktop, raising a rich tar smell, Benedict shivered as if crystals of ice formed in his veins.
Because the clearest memory came from the closing seconds of Lockram's videotape. The man's baby son had been abducted by something that Benedict could only describe with one word, and that was: Monster.
***
Ellery's in the chair… The words ran through Ellery's head as he sat there that Tuesday, a l
ittle after midday. He'd escaped Logan and his gang for the time being. He'd moved in with Robyn and Noel, again for the time being, he guessed. Although deep down he knew he had to stay close to Robyn here in the Luxor. Ellery's in the chair… He'd left Robyn and Noel to have time to themselves in the apartment upstairs.
They weren't keen on him venturing down here alone but Ellery knew the couple must have privacy every now and again. Even so, they told him they'd make up the spare bed in the room that contained the baby's crib.
The wounds on his face that he'd gotten from Logan's gang that morning still stung. The split in the eyebrow burned like it harbored smoldering wood. During the walk to the chair on the dance floor he'd had to hobble. His ankle had puffed up to resemble a hoof. Ellery knew that the floor was free from debris in this part of the Luxor, so he'd elected to walk barefoot. Come to that, the cold floor felt good against his inflamed skin. Jeez, he must have wrenched his foot pretty ferociously leaping onto the truck like that.
Now he was in the chair-his chair-the chair where he dreamed himself into a better reality. A candle burned beside him on the floor. Its light barely touched the dance floor's walls. The stage was nothing more than a shadowed void. Ellery believed he was sane… as much as anyone can believe he is sane. He knew that the world he dreamed himself into was the product of his imagination. Even so, with every flight of fancy there, it became more real. His imagined world fed every sensory organ.
He saw the gray forest and the way melting frost dripped from the twigs.
He smelled woodland odors-leaf mold, moss, mushrooms, the musky sharpness of animal spoor. He heard the call of birds, the creak of trees in the breeze. And his skin was sensitive to the touch of cool air currents, or the tingling drop of water from a branch.
In the dance hall, shadows leapt across the floor with the agility of panthers. Ellery glanced at the candle at his feet. A draft had tugged the flame, sending shadows leaping one way, then the other. Whereas the building's atmosphere had been stuffily warm, now there was freshness to it, laden with moisture and an ion-rich zest.
Ellery closed his eyes. He could feel imagination pull him in the direction of the place he thought of as home. As he'd done so many times before, he willed himself into a forest of dripping trees. There was wintry freshness. No leaves remained on branches. In the distance he could see the shining city on the hill. Pain left his face now. The sting of broken flesh couldn't reach him here. He was entering the place he loved.
***
”We're doing the right thing?”Noel asked as he made up the bed in the spare room.
Robyn worked a pillow into a cotton case. ”You mean about Ellery?”
”Everything. You leaving home. Us moving here. Ellery moving in with us.”
”Ellery will be fine.”
”But we don't even know the guy!”
”He's as gentle as a kitten.”
”I'm not suggesting he's a serial killer or anything, but it's a gamble, us living under one roof.”
She smiled. ”We'll survive, Noel.”
He returned the smile. ”I guess I'm going through overload. So much happening so quickly ”Don't worry. Everything will become routine, just you watch.”
”There's the bed. We've got a spare sheet for the mattress but apart from that…”He shrugged. ”I don't know what to suggest for bedding.”
”You brought your old sleeping bag, didn't you?”
”Sure, but it's none too fresh.”
”We can hang it out of one of the windows to air”
”You think of everything, don't you?”He kissed her on the lips.
”Just call me Mistress Organization.”
He kissed her again. She rested her hands against his forearms. His muscles bulged against her palms.
”Robyn. We might as well make the most of being alone, you know?”
”We are. We're fixing up the spare room for our houseguest.”
”That's not what I mean, you minx.”He slipped his arms around her. The next kiss was on her lips; she felt his stubble lightly prickle her top lip.
”Ellery might be back any minute.”
”He said he'd be no more than thirty minutes. That gives us twenty to claim our bedroom as our own.”
”Only twenty?”she joked. ”We'll need longer than that.”Even though she'd pretended levity, her stomach twitched unpleasantly. Kissing was nice.
Holding hands was nice.
He whispered, ”That bedroom's virgin territory as far as we're concerned.”
Hugging was nice; caressing was nice. But she felt a rising panic.
I can't let him make love to me, she thought with a surge of revulsion.
I can't allow him to push himself inside me. I can't…
But why couldn't she? Robyn didn't understand why the prospect of Noel making love to her terrified her and repulsed her all at the same time.
Her stomach erupted into a mass of fluttering as if winged creatures were trapped there and were beating frantically to escape. It was ever since she'd become pregnant… she knew she couldn't bear to feel Noel's penis slide inside of her. She detected her sudden squeamishness, but it was her body that rejected the notion of lovemaking. It was as if her stomach muscles had revolted over the idea of such an invasive act.
Maybe it was an unconscious reaction? The baby inside her might be at a vulnerable stage. This was a purely automatic defense mechanism to prevent harm to the fetus. Even though consciously she knew lovemaking wouldn't harm it, unconsciously her body refused sex point-blank.
”Hmm, you smell nice. Your hair is soft… fluffed just how I like it.”Noel hmmed and ahed.
She could sense Noel's rising excitement. She anticipated his hurt expression when in a few moments time she knew she'd confess that she couldn't allow him to make love to her.
***
Deep in the forest of his imagination, Ellery saw the man watching him from the shadows. Ellery hadn't deliberately produced this image of the tall, watchful man with the muscled torso of an athlete. The man's stare revealed curiosity but a kind of informed curiosity, as if he knew Ellery would walk this way through the forest. The man was a good fifty yards away but Ellery could judge his age to be perhaps mid-thirties.
His skin shone a bluish-white, resembling the smooth hardness of marble.
After a moment of gazing at Ellery with interest, the statue-like man walked away into the trees. Within ten paces he'd vanished into undergrowth. Even though Ellery only caught a glimpse, he realized that the figure his imagination had spontaneously created wasn't mortal. From beneath a pair of faded blue jeans extended bare feet, or what should have been feet. But Ellery saw that instead of feet taking the weight of that athletic figure, there was a pair of muscular human hands.
***
Robyn took a step back each time Noel kissed her. She'd have to speak out. She couldn't go through with this. Not yet. Her stomach twitched; muscles spasmed, while she sensed a presence that was solid and powerfully muscular turn over and over in her stomach. The image that came was of a fish swimming in panicky circles inside a small glass bowl.
”Noel…”
”I love you, Robyn.”
”Aren't you going to let a girl come up for air?”
She took another step back and felt her bottom press against the wall.
She couldn't retreat any farther. Revulsion roared through her; she wanted to scream at Noel: STOP IT! STOP IT!
How would he react? He'd be appalled by the expression of disgust on her face.
Then from outside she heard the surge of a motor.
”Noel… Noel. Stop.”
”What's wrong?”
”There's a car outside.”
”Aw, crap.”
Robyn looked through the glass, shading her eyes against the force of the sun. ”It's the guy from last night.”
”Benedict?”
”Noel, honey,”She smiled. ”Best let me go so I can straighten my clothes. We wouldn't want hi
m to think I was being molested by monsters again.”
”Robyn, that's not funny!”Noel sounded deadly serious.
”Joke.”She kissed the tip of her finger and pressed it to his lips.
”Come on, let's say hello to the guy.”
Noel shook his head. ”Jeez. This place is turning into a public drop-in center.”
Robyn headed for the apartment door.
***
Jets of ice thrust into Benedict's veins with brutal power when he saw them. He parked the car at the back of the Luxor and watched for a moment.
”You bastards,”he murmured. ”You evil little bastards.”He'd seen them within seconds of pulling into the Luxor's parking lot. Now as he climbed out of the car into the hot noon air, what he had noticed provoked a visceral reaction: rivers of ice blasted through his veins to chill him to the bone. For there, forming ugly clots on the branches of trees and congealing in a black mass on the Luxor roof, were those harbingers of doom. Feathered demons. Squawking promises of death.
They were more than black bodies. They were tiny grave pits of darkness that sucked the sunlight out of the sky. Benedict stared, his mouth turning dry as bone dust.
Because there they were. Crows. Thousands of crows. They sat in the trees. They squatted on the roof. They spiraled down from the vastness of the blue sky, black snowflakes from a nightmare world. And what is the name for a flock of crows? It's called a murder of crows. A murder of crows aptly sums up that sinister looking infestation.