by Robert Price
Bill was moving toward the phone when he heard a low moan. He spun and looked back at the couch. Nora, still standing next to the couch, was staring, wide-eyed. The stranger was waking up.
“Where am I?” asked a rich, melodious voice.
For a few moments, Bill and Nora only stared, taking in the eyes that were now open. They were a glossy, reflective black. No irises or corneas were visible…just pure black.
“I’m sorry…my research indicated that most in my target area spoke English. Comprende?” the stranger asked.
“No, no,” stuttered Bill. “We speak English but…well…”
“I’m sorry. I did my best to match your appearance, but some details were bound to be different. I am sorry.”
“Don’t…well…no, that’s not it,” Bill eventually stuttered. “It’s just that…”
“You’re not…” Nora whispered.
“No,” the stranger said. “I’m not human.”
“That’s…” Bill started, and then he let out all the air in his lungs with explosive force.
“Yes, it’s a major milestone. This visit proves that humankind is not alone in the universe.” Nora dropped onto the arm of the couch.
“…Okay,” Bill finally said after a long silence. “But how did you get here? And why was this your ‘target area’?”
“How, meaning my method of travel?”
“Yeah! And where—”
“Before we discuss such heady topics, let me move on to your second question.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, it was quite deliberate, I assure you. I came to meet you, William, and to speak with your team and your superiors.”
“Me? My superiors? But why?” He glanced nervously back at his wife.
“You work in the Advanced Propulsion Division in the Theoretical Physics Laboratory at Area 51, do you not?”
Nora’s face went white. “William Hayes Thomas! You told me you were teaching physics!”
“I’m sorry to have upset you Mrs. Thomas,” began the stranger. “But could you get me a glass of water?”
“O-oh. Of…of course.” Nora rose and walked into the kitchen. Bill stared after her, his head still spinning from all that was happening. His head was suddenly wrenched back by the hair, and before he could cry out the stranger’s face filled his vision, black eyes burning with hell’s fury.
“William!” he hissed. “Listen to me very closely. I carry with me the secrets of survival and prevention of the annihilation of the universe, and very much need to get to your air base as soon as possible. I can no longer afford to be gentle.”
With that, images flooded Bill’s mind. Pictures, he somehow knew, of the apocalyptic future: seas of people, fighting, war, genocide, fire, burning, pain, suffering, vista-blurring agony, RAPE, MURDER, DEATH, STARS FALLING, METEORS COLLIDING, EARTH IMPLODING!
Bill came to lying on his back on the living room carpet, the shag rug tickling his left ear. His hands had been pulling on his face, and his eyes still watered. Nora came back in at that moment.
“What happened? I heard a thump…Oh my Lord! Bill! Are you okay?” Nora stopped and spun. “What did you do to him?” she spat at the visitor.
William. We have no time. She has to go.
Bill heard the stranger’s voice boring into his already-tender brain. But he stood, as if he were watching a horror movie while strapped to a chair. He wrapped one arm around Nora’s shoulders, and the other around her head. Then, Bill Thomas broke his wife’s neck with a vicious twist.
He heard the cracking, popping sound from far away as if he were dreaming. As her body hit the floor, he knew it was real, but he was still numb. Still outside.
We need to go, William. To the base. There has to be no trace here.
“But…my children.”
No trace, William. Fire.
The strange numb, separated feeling clawed at his connection to his children. “But…they’re so young…surely…”
An iron wall slammed down between his body and his emotion, with his mind vaguely aware of both, but fully aware of neither. He felt a pushing against his body, separating his emotion further from the rest of him.
Robotic movements took over. His body jerked its way over to the door to the garage. His hands reached down and picked up the five gallon gas can. He lumbered back into the house and up the stairs. He went to his infant daughter’s room, all decked out in pink, complete with pony wallpaper. He stalked into the room and doused the carpeting in the room with gasoline, splashed fuel onto the crib bedding, and walked out again. Then he went next door to his son’s room. He looked, but did not see the cowboy motif to the room that he and little Danny had worked on over the four years of his life. He soaked the carpet and bed in here as well.
Danny stirred as the bed got wet. The little boy’s eyes opened still glassy with sleep, but when he saw his father, he smiled, rolled over, and drifted off again. Bill was at war with himself, pushing, pulling, trying to fight, but the outside control clamped down, and did not allow him to react or stop what he was doing.
Leaving the can upended, he walked down the steps and back into the living room, splashing fuel along the stairs, onto the living room carpet and couch, and finally emptying the final sloshes onto his wife’s corpse.
The stranger stood by the door to the garage, waiting. He nodded. Bill took out his lighter, flipped and lit it, and dropped it onto Nora’s body. Flames immediately bloomed to life, and flowed outward, running along the floor, over the couch and out of sight up the stairs.
As he walked to the garage to get into his car and drive his visitor to the base, he heard faint coughing and a baby wailing. His body kept moving, but his eyes filled with tears.
He dropped into the driver’s seat of his Studebaker Land Cruiser, and his visitor sat in the navigator’s seat. Don’t worry. No one will be able to see me.
They pulled out of the garage and into the night, and as he pulled away from his house, he heard his neighbors cry out the alarm as his house burned. Minutes later, he heard multiple fire engines, their sirens crying out into the night. Bill glanced over his shoulder and saw orange flames licking at the sky and red, white, and blue lights of fire and police vehicles nearby as they fought to get the blaze under control. And he drove away.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a police car swerved in front of them and screeched to a halt. The police officer stepped out and shouted at Bill. “Out of the car! Now!”
The cop reached into his patrol car and pulled out the CB. “This is car fifty-five. I’ve got the suspect the neighbor phoned in. I’m holding him on the corner of Angell and Phillips streets.” The officer turned back to Bill in the car. “Sir, please. Get out of the car. Now.”
Try as he might, Bill could not move or speak. He struggled and pushed, but his hands remained clamped on the steering wheel and his body remained rigid. He felt sweat rolling down the small of his back. His eyes glued to the agitated policeman, Bill watched in horror as the policeman drew his gun and pointed it through the driver’s side window right at his head, clearly oblivious to the man seated next to him in the car. Bill wanted to close his eyes, but he just couldn’t. As he watched his certain death unfold, the policeman’s body seemed to lock up. The gun started the move. The stranger next to Bill had gone very still, but was breathing as if lifting something very heavy. The policeman’s gun arm was shaking now…quivering with tension. Fighting his own arm, the officer turned the gun with aching slowness, and pressed the barrel to his own temple. His eyes filled with horror.
Bill jumped as the gun went off, and the policeman’s form crumpled to the ground.
Drive on, William. Others will follow. We must hurry.
Colored lights flashed from behind as Bill mashed the pedal down and the big sedan lurched forward. The fallen police officer’s comrades had arrived moments too late, but the damage had been done. Bill was now fleeing the murder of a police officer. Sweat poured freely down his body, and the tension shot fr
om his shoulders to his jaw in painful spasms.
Just pull onto the highway, William.
Bill raced up the ramp, his car’s engine roaring. He glanced into his rearview mirror in time to see the lead police car suddenly swerve into the barrier at the side of the road, spin out of control, and whip its tail end into the following car. The second car then smashed into the opposite barrier. The driver of the third car hadn’t had time to respond yet, and slammed into the two cars in front of him. Three more cars, all in pursuit of the car fleeing a deadly fire and police shootout, smashed into the piled cars in front of them, piling up and blocking the on-ramp to the highway.
Bill sped away. Before long, the flickering lights from the sirens faded behind them, and they drove in silence until they approached the base.
Bill pulled up to the security gate. He and the guard knew each other. Vinny was his name.
“Working late tonight, Dr. Thomas?”
All Bill could manage was a mute shrug. Vinny smirked and handed him the clipboard to sign in. Shortly, Bill had parked the Studebaker in the lot by the back entrance away from the areas regularly patrolled by the MPs. He got out of the car, and his guest leapt out of his seat and gestured for him to lead the way into the building.
Bill led him in and down a quiet hallway and into a small windowless office.
“William,” said the stranger, speaking for the first time since they were at his house. “Call a meeting.”
“But…”
“An urgent one. Bring everybody in, and have them meet us by the vessel. Give them thirty minutes.” No questions, William. Do it.
The psychic push at the end spurred Bill into action. He spun his rolodex, picked up his phone, and started dialing all seventeen members of the team.
Forty tense minutes later, the last person filed into the enormous hanger. Bill stood under the alien spacecraft found in the desert at the crash site eight years earlier. Looking up it, bolted to multiple levels of scaffolding, one thing was very clear: this was no weather balloon.
Bill had been quieting many a cantankerous coworker as they entered, assuring them that answers would be forthcoming. The last person to enter was Major Roger Mullady, the highest ranking Air Force officer in Bill’s division. He was not happy to be called in this late, no matter the reason. “Dammit, Thomas, what in hell is going on here? You called me away from an evening with my wife.”
“Actually, Major, you were in bed with your secretary,” called a voice from behind Bill under the scaffolding. “Your wife is visiting her sister in Tahoe.”
“Who the fuck said that?” shouted the Major, drawing his .45 from under his suit jacket.
“I the fuck said that, Major Mullady,” said the stranger stepping out. “Kindly holster your weapon.” The eyes of everyone gathered locked onto this newcomer with impossible eyes. Everyone was too terrified to do more than breathe.
Major Mullady’s breath was heaving, his eyes wide. He continued to point his gun at the stranger. Suddenly, it looked like he was fighting an invisible tug of war over his pistol, with his unseen opponent trying to push the gun to the floor.
“Your will is strong, Major, but really you have no chance.”
The officer’s nose suddenly started to bleed, heavily. Still the major fought. He then started to cough, his mouth spluttering blood as well. Finally, he lowered his gun and fell to the floor on all fours. Everyone else pulled back from the fallen officer, staring in horror at the newcomer.
“I trust I now have everyone’s full attention,” the stranger said.
There was a murmur of yes’s from the crowd of physicists and military strategists.
“Good. Dr. Thomas was good enough to bring me here tonight and to call this meeting as you know. These next few minutes will be the most important of your short lives.”
There was more fidgeting from his audience, and many stared daggers at Bill, who merely stood as if locked in position, his head drooping forward and his shoulders sagging.
“This craft behind me showed you that you were not alone in the universe. Some of the greatest minds of humankind, therefore, sought to use the mysterious technology herein, rather than develop their own. They, and you, want to leapfrog evolution, and I am afraid it does not work that way.”
With that, the stranger turned and waved his arm casually at the most incredible find in human history, and with screeches of metal and crumpling of bulkheads, the craft slowly, deliberately folded in on itself, over and over again until it winked out of existence with a sound of sucking air.
The assembled officers and scientists gasped, too dumbfounded to be enraged. They just gaped at this newcomer who, without the aid of technology or weaponry, destroyed their lives’ work.
He started again. “My brief stay here is almost at an end. I will, therefore, be direct so minds as small as yours will be able to grasp my meaning. The universe is a harsh, uncaring place. In some ways, my actions may be seen as a mercy. In others, a warning. We who travel the stars do not wish to be bothered by primitive pests such as yourselves. When you have proven your own ability, without the use of borrowed technology, we will see how you do. If you proceed beyond this planet as you have overrun it: without respect to greater powers, then you will have proven your questionable nature.” He paused, letting the people in the room absorb the challenge.
“There is a pecking order,” the stranger continued. “And you are at the bottom of the pile. Know that we may destroy you; humanity pursues distant horizons at its own risk.”
The stranger glanced out at his audience, letting the gravity of his statement sink in. “Now I must leave. You have heard my warning and seen what I can do, and I am not the greatest of beings in the cosmos,” he said, and knit his eyebrows, looking off over the group’s heads. He exhaled. “And now, we wipe the slate clean.”
A red plastic phone mounted to the wall suddenly rang, and the light bulb on it flickered and flashed. Major Mullady dashed over, and identified himself. He stopped and stood stock still; his face drained of color as he listened. “I understand,” he said finally, and hung up the phone in slow motion. “Area radar has multiple signals, and they appeared out of nowhere,” he told the assembled team.
No sooner had he finished addressing the stunned group then he cocked his head, but they could all hear the droning buzz of propeller engines. “Dear God,” Major Mullady said. “Those are Tu-95s! How could our radar have missed planes that big?”
“Anything’s possible, Major, if you know how. And now, fulfilling the worst fears of your Senator McCarthy, this place will be consumed by Russian fire! I wonder which of you will be labeled a ‘commie bastard’ and shamed throughout history.”
At last the situation seemed to sink in and panic filled the room. Everyone on the team scrambled for the door. “THERE’S NO POINT,” Major Mullady yelled. “The Russians have H-bombs. Now that we can hear the bombers, they’ll drop their payload before we can get beyond the blast radius.”
A chorus of whimpers and cries rose in response. “My only solace,” Major Mullady began and he turned to the stranger, “is that you’ll be burning with us.”
The stranger chuckled. “No, I’m afraid not. My work here is done. I now must leave you to face your fate on your own.” With that, he made a swift elaborate gesture, and disappeared.
“Dammit, Thomas, what have you DONE?” Major Mullady growled.
“Death…” whispered Bill, finally released of the iron hold on his will. “Death will be a mercy.”
The next sound the assembled group heard was the scream of bombs tearing through the air. And there wasn’t a damn thing they could do about it.
PROFESSOR PATRIOT AND THE DOOM THAT CAME TO NICEVILLE
BY CHRISTINE MORGAN
In dark-shadowed dimness, a pallid light flickered and tinny voices spoke.
The hush was classroom-quiet, a surface listening attentiveness underlain by the swinging of feet and shifting of bodies, the soft scritch of a penci
l, the rustle of paper as notes were passed or comicbook pages surreptitiously turned, the occasional whisper.
The projector continued its rattling hum. The educational film played on, showing a cartoon family in a cartoon dining room.
Dad sits at the head of the table, Big Sister Susie to his left, Little Brother Jimmy to his right. Mom, smiling, carries in a steaming pot roast from the kitchen.
Ding-bong!
“What’s that?” says the narrator. “Someone at the door?”
Susie hops up, all poodle skirt and ponytail. She goes to answer it. “Hi, Uncle Bud!”
“It’s Uncle Bud,” the narrator says. “And he’s brought someone with him. Who could it be? Why, it’s his new fiancé!”
Cartoon introductions and small-talk follow, during which only Jimmy seems uneasy, frowning and suspicious.
With a pthoo! sound, a spitwad flew through the air and pasted itself to the blackboard beside the pull-down screen. Muffled snickers and giggles erupted around the room.
“Eddie,” Miss Chambers said, using one of her milder but serious warning tones.
He immediately adopted perfect posture and an expression of angelic innocence. The other children followed suit.
By then, of course, they’d missed the dramatic moment in which cartoon Jimmy exposed Uncle Bud’s new fiancée for the batrachian monstrosity she truly was.
“Golly, Jim, thanks!” Uncle Bud ruffles Jimmy’s cartoon cowlick hair. “Good thing for me you knew what to do!”
“Aw, shucks,” says Jimmy, freckled and grinning a wide gap-toothed grin. “I just pay attention in school, is all.”
The rest of the family crowds around them, lavishing congratulations on Jimmy before Dad suggests they go out for ice cream sodas.
“Looks like it worked out all right…” The narrator trails off into an ominous pause. “…this time. But would you know what to do? Would you recognize the signs? Let’s go over them again. Read along with me.”
Bold lettering appears on the screen.
THE INNSMOUTH ‘LOOK’:
1. BULGING EYES
2. CLAMMY SKIN