The Gates (2009)

by John Connolly

  Meanwhile, back at Crowley Road, Mrs. Abernathy was unhappy. The destruction of the flying skulls she had sent after Samuel Johnson and his friends had not gone unnoticed, for each demon that passed through the portal was linked to Mrs. Abernathy’s consciousness, so she could see through their eyes and assess the progress of the invasion. She was also aware that two hellbulls had been beaten into nonexistence with household implements over what appeared to be some trampled rosebushes, but that was not a primary concern. Increasingly, she found herself infuriated by the Johnson boy. Why couldn’t he simply die? After all, he was just a child. His continued refusal to accept his fate was like a splinter under one of her fingernails.

  She recalled something she had learned from her interrogation, and subsequent torture, of the demon that had so unsuccessfully occupied the space under Samuel Johnson’s bed, and her unhappiness began to ease.

  Oh yes, she thought, I know what frightens you, little boy.

  She closed her eyes, and her lips moved as she issued her summons.

  XXIV

  In Which Nurd Puts on an Unexpected Show for the Police

  THE CALL CAME THROUGH on the police car’s radio while Nurd, Constable Peel, and the Sarge, whose real name Nurd had now learned was Rowan, were still some way from the station.

  “Base to Tango One, Base to Tango One. Over,” said a male voice. It sounded somewhat panicked.

  “This is Tango One,” said Sergeant Rowan. “Everything all right back there, Constable Wayne? Over.”

  “Er, not exactly, Sarge,” said Constable Wayne. “Over,” he added, with a tremor in his voice.

  “Clarify the situation, Constable, there’s a good lad,” said Sergeant Rowan. “Over.”

  “Well, Sarge, we’re under attack. Over.”

  Sergeant Rowan and Constable Peel exchanged a look. “What do you mean, attack? Over.”

  “We’re being attacked by flying women, Sarge. With the bodies of lizards …”

  • • •

  Biddlecombe’s police station was a small building set in a field on the outskirts of the town. It had replaced an older building on the main street that had become infested with rats, and which was now a chip shop that nobody frequented unless they were very drunk, or very hungry, or rats visiting their relatives. The station consisted of a small waiting area and a large desk, behind which was an open-plan office and a single cell that was rarely used for prisoners; currently it was filled with Christmas decorations and an artificial tree.

  The village had only six policemen, two of whom would generally be on duty at any one time. On this particular night four were on duty, as it was Halloween and people tended to get up to all sorts of mischief involving fireworks and, occasionally, fires.

  PC Wayne and WPC Hay were currently holding the fort at the station. “Holding the fort” is usually a turn of phrase, a bit like “manning the barricades” or “fighting a losing battle.” In other words, people use it to describe perfectly mundane situations, like staying at home on a cold night, or keeping an eye on the local shop while the shopkeeper goes for a wee.

  Unfortunately, PCs Wayne and Hay were now literally holding the fort, literally manning the barricades, and also literally fighting a losing battle. The first of the flying lizard women had appeared in the station car park while PC Wayne was having a crafty smoke outside, almost causing him to swallow his cigarette and choke. The woman had a green, saurian body, and long sharp nails. Her wings were like those of a bat, with curved talons in the middle and at the ends, and she had a long tail that terminated in a vicious-looking spike. Her hair was dark and flowing, and for a moment Constable Wayne thought that she wasn’t bad looking, the whole lizard body and wings thing excepted. Then she opened her mouth and a forked black tongue flicked at the air between the kind of jagged yellow teeth that crop up in dentists’ nightmares, and any thoughts of dating her vanished from Constable Wayne’s mind.

  At that point Constable Wayne decided that the best course of action would be to head back inside and lock the door, which is precisely what he did. There was a large bolt, and he pulled that across as well, just to be sure.

  “What are you doing that for?” asked Constable Hay. “The sarge will spit nails if he comes back and finds that you’ve locked the front door.”

  Constable Hay was small and blond, and Constable Wayne was a little in love with her. He had always thought she was very pretty, but now, after being confronted with a woman who appeared to be made up of bits of other creatures that really didn’t belong together, he decided that Constable Hay was quite possibly the loveliest girl in the world.

  “There’s a woman outside,” said Constable Wayne. “With wings. And a tail.”

  “It’s Halloween,” said Constable Hay slowly, as though she were talking to an idiot. She liked Constable Wayne, but he really could be very thick sometimes. “On my way here, I saw a man dressed as a toadstool.”

  “No, this isn’t a woman dressed up to look like she has wings and a tail. She does have wings and a tail.”

  There was a massive thud on the door. Constable Wayne backed away from it.

  “That’s her,” he said. “The lizard lady.”

  “Lizard lady,” said Constable Hay dismissively. “You’ll be telling me she can fly next.”

  A woman’s face appeared at the barred window to the right of the door. Constable Hay walked determinedly toward it, her finger wagging.

  “Now listen here, miss, it may be Halloween but we’ll have no more nonsense or—”

  She stopped talking when she noticed that the woman was hovering two feet from the ground, her huge wings flapping hard to keep her in place. Then, bracing her feet against the outside wall, the flying woman gripped two of the bars with her claws and tried to pull them from the wall.

  “See?” said Constable Wayne. “I told you so.”

  From above their heads came the sound of something landing on the roof. Seconds later, the first of the slates began to fall into the car park as whatever it was tried to force its way into the station.

  “Call the sarge,” said Constable Hay.

  Constable Wayne ran to the radio. “Where are you going?” he asked as Constable Hay ran past him.

  “To lock the back door!”

  Inside the police car there was a long pause following Constable Wayne’s description of the attackers. Constable Peel made a gesture of someone drinking from a bottle, followed by an imitation of that same someone being very drunk. Then over the radio they heard the sound of glass breaking.

  “Constable, what’s that noise? Have you been drinking?” said Sergeant Rowan. “Over.”

  “I wish I had!” said Constable Wayne. “One of them has broken the front window, and there’s another on the roof. Oh, crikey: the back door. Get here, Sarge—quickly. Please! We need help. Er, over. Over and out.”

  The woman at the window had injured herself breaking the glass, and black blood now covered the shattered pane, but the bars had held. The woman appeared to give up, and flew upward. Constable Wayne heard her land on the roof and then followed the sound of her footsteps as she ran across the slates in the direction of the rear of the station. There, Constable Hay was using the full force of her body to try to force the back door closed when Constable Wayne joined her. The problem quickly became apparent: a claw was clutching at the door as the thing outside tried to push its way in. The gap widened slightly, and a gnarled foot appeared, and then Constable Wayne saw one of those terrible female faces pressed against the wood, its teeth bared.

  “Help me!” cried Constable Hay. “I can’t hold it much longer.”

  Constable Wayne reached for his truncheon and began using it to smack the creature on the knuckles. It screeched in pain and withdrew the claw, but its foot remained in place. Constable Wayne tried stamping on it with his size 11 shoes. Its claw appeared again, slashing at him.

  “Hold the door!” said Constable Hay, and suddenly Constable Wayne was alone, with only his weig
ht to keep the creature at bay.

  “Where are you going?” he cried.

  “Just hold it. I have an idea.”

  It had better be a great one, thought Constable Wayne as he heard more footsteps above his head, followed by the sound of flapping wings as a second creature flew down to aid the first.

  “Oh no,” said Constable Wayne to himself. “That’s not good. That’s not good at—”

  The door was struck with such force that Constable Wayne was flung headfirst across the room. He scrambled to his feet in time to see two of the lizard women trying to force their way through the narrow door at the same time, and getting tangled up in each other’s wings along the way. Then the larger of the pair pushed aside her smaller sister, and stalked inside, her claws raised and her mouth open wide as she advanced on Constable Wayne.

  Constable Hay appeared beside the demon, her arm outstretched and a small bottle in her hand.

  “Hey!” she said. “Over here.”

  The winged woman turned, and Constable Hay sprayed perfume straight into her eyes. She screeched and tried to rub at the irritant, but that just made things worse. At the same time, Constable Wayne picked up a hat stand and swung it at the second demon, which was trying to sneak around her sister. The hat stand caught the demon a vicious blow on the side of the head. She reeled away, stunned but still dangerous. Constable Wayne, now using the hat stand like a spear, began poking at her, forcing her back outside. Meanwhile Constable Hay continued to spray perfume mercilessly into the first demon’s face until she stumbled blindly toward the door. Constable Wayne helped her on her way with a sharp kick to the behind, then slammed the door closed.

  A series of loud shrieks came from outside and the two coppers watched through a window as the lizard women ascended into the night sky, off to seek easier prey.

  “Great,” said Constable Wayne. “The sarge will never believe us now…

  Sergeant Rowan had just hit the lights, and Constable Peel was about to put his foot on the accelerator, when Nurd tapped on the sheet of toughened plastic that partially separated him from the men in the front seats. He had heard the exchange over the radio, and he had also noticed some things that the policemen had not. The first were the little tendrils of blue energy that were shooting across a field in the direction of what looked like a nearby church. The second was a small being about two feet in height that appeared to be a yellow ball on legs, although most yellow balls didn’t have two mouths and a multitude of eyeballs. The yellow ball was chasing a rabbit, which jumped down a burrow, the ball in hot pursuit. Unfortunately for the ball, the hole was smaller than it was, and now it seemed to be stuck, its stumpy legs waving wildly.

  This isn’t a positive development, thought Nurd. He recalled what Samuel had told him about the woman in the basement, and about her friends who no longer seemed to be human. Nurd had been rather hoping that Samuel was mistaken, or that the four people, or demons, or whatever they were, might just have conveniently vanished, or returned home. Now there were yellow balls with eyes chasing rabbits, which disturbed Nurd greatly. It’s all very well if I’m the only demon here, he mused, but if there are lots of demons, well, then there could be problems. And that blue energy, that wasn’t just regular old electricity, or even transdimensional residue. No, it was energy of a very particular kind …

  Nurd had once glimpsed the Great Malevolence. It was shortly before Nurd’s banishment, and he had been summoned to the Great Malevolence’s lair to be dealt with by his most trusted lieutenant, the ferocious demon named Ba’al. In the darkness behind Ba’al a huge shape had lurked, taller than the tallest building, wider than the greatest chasm, and for an instant Nurd had seen his face: eyes so red that they were almost black, great fanged jaws, and a horned crown upon his head that seemed to have grown out from his skull. The sight had so frightened Nurd that he had almost welcomed his banishment, for there could have been worse punishments. He could have been taken by the Great Malevolence himself deep into his lair, there to be slowly torn apart for eternity, always suffering and never dying. Compared to that prospect, banishment was a doddle.

  But there was one other thing that he recalled about the Great Malevolence: the contours of his body had rippled with blue energy. It was his power made visible, and now it was here. On Earth. Where Nurd was, and, most certainly, was not supposed to be.

  “Hello?” he said, knocking on the glass again. “I think there’s been some mistake.”

  “Not now, sir,” said Sergeant Rowan. “We’re a bit busy.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Nurd. “I’d really like to go home. You can forget about the car. Actually, you can have it. I don’t want it.”

  “I’m not sure that it’s yours to give away, sir. Now you’ll have to be quiet. We’re a little concerned about our colleagues at the station.”

  Nurd sat back in his seat. “This isn’t a costume,” he said softly, having at last figured out what the word meant.

  The two policemen ignored him.

  Nurd said it again, louder this time. “This isn’t a costume!”

  “Beg your pardon, sir?” said the sergeant.

  “Look, I’m not wearing a disguise. This is me.”

  “Very droll, sir,” said the sergeant.

  “If it was a costume,” said Nurd patiently, “could I do this?”

  Nurd’s head split evenly in half down the center, exposing his skull. His eyes popped from their sockets, extended themselves on lengths of pink flesh, and examined Sergeant Rowan very intently. Then Nurd’s skull separated, revealing his brain. It was held in place by twelve curved purple muscles, which immediately stood upright and wiggled. Finally Nurd stuck out his tongue, which was three feet long at its fullest extension. The top of the tongue had a hole in it, through which Nurd played a short fanfare before restoring his head to its regular form.

  Constable Peel drove off the road. He braked suddenly, and both he and Sergeant Rowan jumped from the car and backed away from it.

  “Sarge,” stammered Constable Peel. “He’s a m—, he’s a mo—, he’s a mons—”

  “Yes, he is, Constable,” said Sergeant Rowan, trying to sound calmer than he felt.

  “Demon, actually,” said Nurd, shouting to make himself heard. “Don’t mean to be fussy about it, but there’s a big difference.”

  “What are you—?”

  “Doing here?” Nurd finished for him. “Well, I was going to try to conquer your world and rule it for eternity, but I don’t think that’ll happen now.”

  “Why not?” asked Sergeant Rowan, carefully drawing a little closer to the car once more.

  “Funny you should ask, but someone else has his eye on this place, and I don’t think he’ll fancy any competition. I’d really prefer not to be around when he gets here, so if you could see your way clear to letting me out, I’ll be about my business.”

  Sergeant Rowan stared at Nurd. Nurd smiled back politely.

  “What exactly is happening?” asked Sergeant Rowan.

  “Well, it’s just a guess,” said Nurd, “but I think it’s the end of the world as you know it …”

  XXV

  In Which Bishop Bernard the Bad Makes His Presence Felt, and the Dead Rise from Their Graves, but Only the Nasty Ones

  MARIA, TOM, SAMUEL, AND Samuel’s mother watched from the darkened house as all manner of infernal creature slid, jumped, flew, or crawled from the direction of 666 Crowley Road, where a blue light hung over the adjoining rooftops. They had already been forced to fend off two further attacks, the first from a pair of foot-long slug demons with mosquitolike proboscises for sucking blood, which had oozed through the letter box, the slime trail behind them eating away at the carpet as they approached their intended victims. The judicious use of a container of table salt had caused them to dry up into withered husks before disappearing entirely in a puff of smoke.

  The second attack was still ongoing, as the house was being buzzed by a pair of giant flies with jaws in thei
r bellies. They struck the windows occasionally, the hooked teeth in their abdomens leaving marks upon the glass, and their pink saliva staining it like watery blood. Mrs. Johnson monitored their attempts to gain entry, a can of bug spray in each hand. All things considered, Samuel thought she was coping very well with being confronted by demons, but he also felt angry at something she had said earlier. She had wished his dad was with them and, for a moment, when he first saw the flying skulls, Samuel had wished that too, but now he no longer felt the same way. He had suggested using salt on the slugs, and he had found the bug spray hidden away in the back of a closet. With Tom’s help, he had secured all the doors and windows, and set up a system of watches so that, between the three children and Samuel’s mother, they were able to keep an eye on all the approaches to the house. For the first time since his dad had left, Samuel was starting to feel that, if necessary, he could look after both his mother and himself.

  What he couldn’t do, it seemed, was stop Mrs. Abernathy. They were trapped inside the house, and they had heard nothing further from Dr. Planck.

  Soon, Samuel feared, all would be lost.

  Back at the parish church of St. Timidus, the thumping sounds continued from what should have been the final resting place of Bishop Bernard the Bad but clearly wasn’t, since the last thing Bishop Bernard the Bad appeared to be doing was resting. Clouds of dust rose from the stone bearing his name, and the dates of his birth and death. One end of the stone lifted from the floor. It hung in the air, and the vicar and verger could almost feel the dead man below straining to move it higher, but then the stone fell down again and all was quiet.

  “He’s very strong,” said the verger as he and Reverend Ussher peered through the small window in the door. He was quite surprised. After all, Bishop Bernard couldn’t have been much more than a collection of old bones, and old bones tended to break easily. They shouldn’t have been able to move huge slabs of stone. It just wasn’t right.