At this point I did my best to gather my composure, then stood up and relinquished the harsh environment of the kitchen for the darkened security of my office, where I once again sat at my desk to wait for the golden eyes to appear.
During this time I placed my hands out in front of me, seeking out the stability of the desk in an effort to rid my mind of the day's sad events. My sights roamed casually around my office with its hardwood floors and crowded bookshelves, to the locked liquor cabinet and then to the towering brick hearth. The room lay in pure silence, the mere creak of a settling beam amplified as if a bone had snapped somewhere nearby. I peered through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the moonlit garden (Christine, in her solitude, had taken up a hobby of herb gardening; now there's a twelve-foot patch back there that looks like witchgrass and weeds. She enthusiastically uses these 'weeds' to spice our dinners and brew pitchers of that green-colored tea) and fountain birdbath. This is the only activity that helps stabilize my rationality, looking out into the distant woods, even if the scenery suggests only fringes of itself in the pale moonlight. Tonight was no exception.
The lamps were out in the office. Earlier I'd made a fire and now only a few glowing embers remained, leaving the moonlight shining through the bay unshared by anything as contrived as a flame or bulb. I thought about starting a fresh fire, but decided against it.
I set my eyes back outside, noticed a few drops of water cascading down the sides the bird fountain.
And saw them. Two golden eyes.
They were as round as crystal balls, glowing as if charged with electricity, pitch-black points fixed at the crux of their focus. They floated a foot above the ground alongside the base of the fountain, remained there for at least a minute, then climbed the night air to a height of perhaps four feet. They blinked, and in a smooth and unhurried pace, advanced through the herb garden toward the window; the body they had been attached to seemed not to take steps forward, but moved in some other way I really couldn't indicate, as though drifting.
The effect upon first sighting these eyes was very intense and unpleasant for reasons obvious. My body started doing things it had never done before, my insides churned, and I immediately wished that I'd taken a valium or at least a shot of bourbon before sitting down tonight. I shut my eyes in an effort to calm my slamming heart, but the image of the fiery eyes stayed with me much like the lingering impressions of a dream immediately after waking. When I finally divulged my sights through the bay window once again, the nightmare had preserved itself, enhanced itself, undermining the frightful sensations thrust upon me just moments earlier, and I could only stare, frozen with a unique icy fear as something grotesque pressed itself against the glass, staring in at me.
Although common sense told me otherwise, it looked like a street person from the city, the kind that huddles in a cardboard box erected in some alleyway foul with refuse: clothing dark with sweat and hanging upon its body in dirty strips that barely concealed the unwashed skin of its emaciated torso; long lank hair falling in damp strings; scars—one a red twisting streak—running across its scrawny cheek. But the appearance of the bulbous eyes quickly rejected this hypothesis, their glow professing it not born of human genes, but that of something otherworldly.
Isolates...
Like a wizard in mid-charm, it methodically raised its angular arms and scraped ten lengthy yellow claws against the glass of the window. I shuddered as the terrifying screech passed through my body like a powerful drug, paralyzing my senses to a state of dreamlike inaction.
I stayed unmoving for what seemed a prolonged time, helplessly charting a territory in my mind previously unexplored, allotting a significant capacity to store the depths of the mystery before me. I wondered (in vain) if it were an aberration, whether more like him were hiding nearby, waiting for some cue to commit their filthy deed.
An immense pain darted through me, a repercussion to my tensed-up muscles. I wanted to move but couldn't; fear owned me now, settling into my body as an extreme form of paralysis, making me feel not unlike I had upon my first and only encounter with Old Lady Zellis.
Still staring, still scratching the glass, the thing pulled its dirty cracked lips far apart and flaunted a mouth rife with gnarled brown teeth.
At once I had the sense of hearing words from those gaping jaws, as if they'd somehow loomed from its silent mouth directly into my mind. But I heard and recognized the words in my own voice and not the distorted growls most apt to escape its throat. Nonetheless, it did not matter, for the meaning was all the same, and I finally found the will to shudder again as it reaffirmed something I'd known all along. What I'd been warned of.
Of why it came.
It needed me.
I tried to move. Fear still held every muscle in my body immobile.
Then, something horrible happened.
Beneath my pant leg, between the calf and knee, I felt a stroke, gentle yet determined.
Sickly confusion struck me. I looked down to assess the source of the strange sensation and beheld a smallish figure like the being in the window stooping under the desk, its clawed hand no longer caressing me, but now groping my shin painfully hard, its mutilated stare meeting my terrified one, its golden eyes glowing beneath a black mask of soot.
I tore my sights away, so strongly wanting to believe that somehow my bleakest, most terrifying nightmare had released its delusions from my subconscious and placed them within my home to terrorize me.
But my poor fortune would have it otherwise.
Somehow I found the strength to hobble from the chair, to no good use as the demon beneath the desk held me firmly, and I stumbled to the floor. I managed to look up, saw another golden-eyed demon only feet from me, doused in ashes like the one still gripping my leg, face-down on the floor but pushing itself up on all fours. Behind it another wriggled in from the tight sweep of the chimney, arms dangling, reaching for the brick hearth. Rustling sounds emanated: more were pushing their way down the length of chimney!
Coming for me.
An unnamable, gristly odor invaded my nostrils, and my eyes automatically released sour tears. A gray cloud veiled my sights, and simultaneously with my slamming heart, a multitude of tiny scraping footsteps pattered about the hardwood floor all around me.
And all I could see were their eyes, flying about my head like fireflies (like fireflies!), eight, ten, then more than a dozen golden lights, dizzying me.
Many hands groped me, tore at my clothing, dragged me helplessly across the floor.
Sweat, hot and odorous, fell upon my skin. Transient whispers brushed my ears.
I prayed for death to take me, and thought it had. Until I woke and found myself in Hell.
26
I awakened in the same manner I had swooned. On my back.
I heard murmuring throats, grinding teeth, then the soft sounds of movement, of tentative feet shifting stealthily about me. Breaths—hot primitive sighs—danced across the surface of my skin. I suspected more movement, but could not see quite yet. I perceived a dark shadow looming over me, a misshapen silhouette, eyes shining through the curtain of haze obscuring my vision. A rough hardened object touched my face. A claw. I shivered.
The gray haze cleared and in the flickering midst of an unseen flame I saw a horrible manlike creature hovering over me. It was emaciated, a living skeleton coated with tendons and filth, arms and legs as thin as whittled broomsticks. It groveled on all fours then bowed its head and sniffed my leg from ankle to thigh. I could see its face and it terrified me, a mutated demonlike visage, two peaholes for a nose, mouth and eyes much too large for its tiny head. The eyes rolled up and looked at me across a loose wisp of weblike hair, then glowed a gold-colored light that ignited its horrid filth-covered features.
Somewhere in the proximity a stir erupted and the creature next to me scurried away on two legs, pushing up clouds of dust before disappearing into a hole in the dirt wall about twenty feet away. A chorus of growls and grunts spewed ou
t from the mouths of many. Not three or four or even a dozen. Many.
I forced myself up on my elbows, peered out into the distance and saw at least a hundred glowing lights crowding the gloom of a smallish dirt cave.
Eyes. All of them pointed in my direction. I'd quit praying years ago, scoffed religion for scientific beliefs. But for this? I found no choice but to quickly reinstate my faith. It was my only hope.
Quickly, I looked around. Indeed I was in a cave of some sort, the walls constructed of dirt, tendrils of roots sprouting from the walls, dangling from a ceiling not six feet above my head. It smelled awful in here, of sewage and of all things gone to rot. Breathless, I dared to look at the creatures staring at me with their golden eyes, but the collective glow of them occluded their faces, leaving only jerking fragments of their bodies visible.
A single beast approached from the crowd, stood before me for a minute then kneeled down to eye level and stared into my face. It—the Isolate—had an almost humanlike quality to it, brow arched downward as if in deep concentration, as though I were a curiosity. Perhaps here I was. It possessed a grand collection of awful features on its face, deep wrinkles, warts and moles the size of beans, bristles of coarse hair sprouting everywhere. It peered at me for another fifteen seconds, golden eyes unblinking the entire time.
Then, it smiled. It fucking smiled. The expression was long and broad and intentional upon its deformed face—a face with a gash racing along its cheek, and by this horrid feature I recognized it as the creature that had first appeared at my window.
It stood up. Still staring at me, it raised its sinewy arms in the air, and yelled: "Kahtah!" The crowd, a multitude of voices, repeated the foreign gesture: "Kahtah!"
I remained silent, stunned. They can speak, I thought, terrified. Jesus Christ, I am so fucked.
It drew a claw into its body. "Fenal," it proclaimed, head tilted, voice deep and gravely. There was a damn frightening silence. Then it said...no, demanded, "You...help."
Then something amazing and totally unexpected happened. A second Isolate appeared. It too stared at me with a lengthy expression that could only be described as awe. When it appeared to have had its fill of me, it reached around, grabbed something from behind, and placed it at my feet.
My medical bag. I'd packed it the day after we moved in and kept it in my office in case of emergencies. Inside were the bare necessities like gauze and antibiotics, fresh needles and syringes—the usual housecall requirements. After I'd stepped on the nail I realized that anything could've happened at any given moment and that it was always prudent to be prepared. As it turned out, I'd ended up using the bag on my sojourns to the Deighton's when seeing Rosy. That seemed so long ago now.
The creature—Fenal—grabbed me by the wrist and forced me to my feet. Two more came, seized my arms and hurried me into a cave-like corridor lined with red soil and dark slimy moss. Many more of them were ahead and behind, running along the path and crawling on the walls and ceiling like giant insects, forcibly ushering me forward, their eyes igniting the way. I felt horribly nauseous from the brutal odor here; it reminded me of the summer stench that rides the wind over from the neighboring farmlands, only more intense. High hoots and hollers whipped about the tunnel in an echoing frenzy. Brisk, meandering activity surrounded me as the twisting passage widened, some sections breaking off into branched corridors. Bodies scampered by, shrieking as they did so. My head spun crazily. Eventually I choked and gagged, then vomited down my chest. But I didn't stop moving. They kept pushing me, and I could do nothing but continue on, the blind being led by an untrustworthy source, my feet sinking deep in the muddy ground, my stomach churning in twisted knots. My muscles screamed. I groaned in pain and vomit dripped from my chin. I cradled my medical bag close to my body as if it were my only means for survival.
Soon, they stopped moving. The sea of filth parted, many of them scampering away like cockroaches in sudden lamplight. I stood my ground, heaving for breaths. Eventually a single Isolate appeared alongside me, grabbed my thigh and urged me forward. I paced in that direction, turned a corner, and at once found myself before a wholly intimidating sight.
I stood at the forefront of an immense room. It appeared at first glance to have been either constructed within a mountain of dirt, or built entirely underground. Hundreds of hovels had been dug out in the muddy walls of the hub, multitudes of glowing eyes peering out from within their far-away depths. Hundreds of torches burned, igniting the chamber to a ghostly yellow luminescence. I saw a large group of Isolates gathered at one of the gouged-out areas at the opposite end of the room, maybe two hundred feet away. A cool breeze struck me, and I said to myself, this place is huge.
Fenal appeared at my side and gently ushered me forward. Every damn creature in the place had their golden irises pinned on me; I thought crazily, this is what a human astronaut might feel like as an exhibit in the alien zoo. The place sat in virtual silence excepting the errant squeal, which was subsequently answered by a silencing bark. I stopped, suddenly sick again, then leaned over and puked once more, all the while trying desperately to ignore the reek of sweat, urine, blood, feces, and God knows whatever else might be festering in the air. I gagged and coughed again, then eased back up and followed Fenal's lead through a sea of groping limbs all the way to the opposite end of the dirt chamber, near the gathering at the far wall. Upon my arrival, the crowd there dispersed, some on two legs, many dashing away on all fours. A few were fighting over the last scraps of meat on what looked like a human leg bone. Fenal pulled aside a burlap bag used as a curtain and allowed me access to a smaller chamber scooped out in the wall.
The interior of the room was damp and miserable, cramped. I could barely stand up. A couple of small torches carved the dark interior with their flames.
"Help...Cerpdas," Fenal stated, pointing.
I followed its bony finger to a being—Cerpdas apparently its name—laying barechested and trembling along the slime-ridden wall. A spread of rags acted as a mattress beneath it. She—and I say this as the appearance of breasts, however flattened and mottled, were evident upon the exposed torso—had been covered to the waist with a burlap bag, fresh bloodstains saturating the upper half.
I gazed at Fenal. It peered back at me, the same desperate emotion I saw through my bay window again pasted upon its deformed face. Suddenly, for reasons I could not explain, I no longer felt fear. I felt only pressure, for I realized now that I'd been brought here to perform what might very well be an impossible task; the endowment of my medical bag was evidence of this. Fenal squatted next to the injured Cerpdas and stroked its shoulder. Her eyes rolled up, the golden glow diminished to a dull luster. Sick.
I placed my bag down, took a deep breath of rotten air, then hunkered down next to the creature and slowly peeled down the burlap bag, a few inches at a time until I saw the first splash of crimson washed across its distended abdomen. A powerful stench of waste and rot assaulted me, hinting to me that it had been laying in this spot for quite some time.
Wanting to get this over with, I tugged the cover away...
...and stared in horror at the freakish sight laying on the rags before me. It was beyond believability. Yet here it was, in my presence, much too real to renounce.
The female creature's legs were spread eagled. A pool of blood and substance tided from the vaginal canal.
A gnarled claw protruded crookedly, wriggling like a worm out of earth.
"Help Cerpdas," Fenal begged, gently stroking the rotting strands of hair on her pear-shaped head. Help.
So I set to work, trying not to think about what I was actually going to do because now was not the time for me to doubt my abilities or ask myself questions. All I could do was remain strong—and sane—and convince myself that this was just another patient, a woman in need of an emergency c-section (something I've never done, mind you), and not whatever else she might be.
I retrieved a scalpel from the bag, placed it on the burlap bag. I doused the creatu
re's abdomen with alcohol, then with a topical painkiller. Taking a deep breath, I wished the whole scene away, wondering if perhaps this might be a dream, but knew wholeheartedly that this time I wouldn't be waking up in my bed with just blood on my hands.
I took the scalpel and slowly cut her open. Brown blood spilled from the wound, tiding down the sides of her gaunt torso. A tiny hand poked free from the split, tossing a spray of blood into my face. I used my forearm to wipe it free of my eyes, only to see a second hand emerge, five bony fingers replete with yellow claws flexing in the free world for the very first time. I hesitated in touching the thing, but Fenal barked help...help... over and over again, so I closed my eyes and reached into the open cavity, grabbed the bawling creature—I felt the tug of the protruding leg slipping back inside—and plucked it free of the womb.
Arms outstretched, I held it out before me. I opened my eyes and beheld the hairy demonlike beast, all swollen and doused like any human baby might be, eyes open and peering about with stunning alertness. Its toothless mouth choked out a garbled mess of fluids, which I sucked free with a plunger. I turned and handed the bawling infant to a waiting Isolate, which in turn hurried it away into a darkened corner of the room.
I faced the mother. Its eyes glowed weakly, as if mustering the strength to thank me for what I'd just done. I cleansed her wounds and crudely stitched them back up, then buried all her injuries under a thick layer of bandages. I fed her a dose of penicillin and acquiesced myself to the fact that this was all I could do.
Once the task had been completed, I staggered up and backed away against the dirt wall in the shelter, the back of my head pressed against a pulpy patch of fungi. In the soft glow of the flames I observed the others in the room with me: perhaps a dozen Isolates, all silently scrutinizing me, their glowing eyes now full of questions. One being, horribly deformed, separated itself from the horde and writhed across the room, its leg dangling helplessly behind it. It confronted me, tracing a finger through a damaged gnarl of skin on its thigh.
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