Nightworld ac-6

by F. Paul Wilson

  "All right, all right!" he said, then looked up at Jack again and thrust his hand through the opening. "They're real anxious to get started. Gimme the metal."

  Jack handed him the box. Haskins pulled it inside and handed it to someone down by his feet.

  "There! You happy now? You gonna shut up and leave me alone now? Good!" He looked up at Jack again. "They been driving me crazy waiting for this stuff."

  "Who?"

  "My tenants. I been spending my nights down in the crawlspace with 'em. They been keepin' the cooters out. If it hadn't—"

  More babbling.

  "Okay, okay. They say come back in about four hours. If they really rush it, they should be done by then."

  Curious, Jack stepped up on the stoop and peeked through the opening. He saw maybe a dozen scurrying forms, like midgets, only they couldn't have been more than a foot-and-a-half tall. And they looked furry.

  "What the—"

  Haskins moved to block his view.

  "Four hours. They'll have it for you then."

  "Yeah, but who are 'they'?" Jacked remembered Glaeken mentioning something about "smallfolk."

  "My tenants. They been with me nigh on twenty-five years now, just waitin' for this day—'when time is unfurled and we're called by the world,' as they put it. Seems to me like time and ev'rything else is unfurled these days. So go away and come back later. They don't want anyone around while they're workin'. See you later."

  He closed the door.

  "Four hours," Bill said, looking at his watch as they returned to the car. "It's a little after eleven now. That'll be after dark."

  Jack sat behind the wheel, unease gnawing at his stomach. Bill was right. According to the Sapir curve, this morning's sunrise had been the last. After four hours and forty-two minutes of light, the sun would set for the last time at 3:01 p.m. No more day forever after. Only night.

  And then there'd be no quarter from the "cooters," as Haskins called them.

  "How the hell are we going to get back?" Bill said.

  Jack started the car. "Drive. How else?"

  He pulled out and headed back down the road, wondering how to kill the time. No point in heading back to the city. Maybe they could find something to do in Monroe.

  "What is it with this town?" Jack said.

  "Village," Bill said. "North Shore towns like to refer to themselves as villages."

  "Fine. Village. But what gives here? Every time I turn around, the name pops up. You're from Monroe, Carol's from Monroe, the Doc, the Nash lady and her boy are from Monroe. And now we're back out here again making a delivery to some old coot with a house full of furry dwarves. Why are we always coming back to Monroe?"

  "I've wondered about that myself, and I think I know. Take a right at the end of the road down here and I'll show you."

  Bill guided him to a residential neighborhood, to Collier Street. They stopped in front of number 124, a three-bedroom ranch.

  "This is where it happened," Bill said, his voice strangely husky as he stared at the house through his side window. "This is where Rasalom re-entered the world more than a quarter-century after Glaeken thought he'd killed him. It was in the house that used to stand on this lot—the original was set afire—that Carol conceived the child whose body was usurped by Rasalom. That single event has left a stain on this town, given it some sort of psychic pheromone that draws odd people and creates a fertile environment for weird and strange occurrences."

  "Like those dwarves out in the marsh."

  "Right. They must have sensed Rasalom's return, must have known they'd be needed, so they've been camped out there with George Haskins for decades, waiting for their moment. Now it's come. Same with the Dat-tay-vao. It traveled half way around the world to end up in Monroe where it lived for a while in Alan Bulmer, then moved on to Jeffy. From what I can gather, that journey began about the time Rasalom was reconceived."

  "So it must have known that it would be needed too."

  "So it seems. But there were other occurrences back in that first year, a cluster of hideously deformed children born in November and early December. No one could explain it then, but now I can see that they all must have been conceived around the same time as Rasalom. His very presence in town must have mutated them in embryo." Bill shook his head. "Major tragedies for the families involved but merely warnings of what was to come."

  Jack mulled that as Bill guided him through the town, past the high school where he'd been a football star, past the new house built on the site of his family home, burned to the ground a little over five years ago, killing both of his elderly parents.

  "I truly believe Rasalom was responsible for that too," he said in a low voice, thick with emotion. He ground a fist into his palm. "So many others—friends, acquaintances, children! My folks, Jim, Lisl, Renny, Nick, and Danny—dear God, Danny! Damn, I've got scores to settle!"

  Jack put a hand on Bill's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  "We'll get the bastard. We'll make him pay."

  Sure we will.

  They killed time driving around Monroe. The town—village—seemed all but deserted. No bodies lay about. No bodies anywhere. Probably because unlike the bugs, which merely sucked the juices from their victims, the newer, bigger hole-things devoured their kills. Occasionally Jack spotted fearful faces peering at them from darkened rooms through shattered windows. As they cruised the main drag through the remnants of the downtown harbor front area, a gang of lupine scavengers began to approach the car.

  Bill lifted one of the Spas-12s and worked the pump.

  "I almost hope they try something," he said through thin, tight lips. "I'm feeling real mean at the moment."

  At the sight of the shotgun they immediately lost interest and trotted away.

  Jack stared at him. "Even you."

  "What?"

  "It's getting to you. Even you're starting to feel the effects of this craziness, aren't you?"

  "And you're not?"

  "Nah. I've made my living waiting for guys like that to start something. You're just beginning to browse in the neighborhood where I've spent my adult life."

  The Movie Channel:

  Joe Bob Briggs' Drive-In Movie—A Special All-Day Edition.

  And Soon The Darkness (1970) Levitt/Rickman

  When Time Ran Out (1980) Warner Brothers

  Nothing But The Night (1972) Cinema Systems

  Doomed To Die (1940) Monogram

  Night Must Fall (1937) MGM

  The Dark (1979) Film Ventures

  Dark Star (1972) Bryanston

  Dead Of Night (1945) Universal

  Fade To Black (1980) Compass International

  Don't Be Afraid Of The Dark (1973) TV

  Night World (1932) Universal

  By three-thirty they were back at Haskins' place. The fire was still burning in the forge in the back, but not as brightly as before. The air, however, was filled with the clang of metal upon metal.

  "You're early," Haskins said at the door, still not inviting them in.

  "We know," Bill said, "but it'll be dark soon and we want to get moving as soon as we can."

  "Can't say as I blame you. Just as well you did show up. They're almost done. Wait in the car and I'll bring it out to you."

  Jack and Bill returned to the old Mercedes. Bill sat inside, fiddling with the radio, trying to find a broadcast of any sort, while Jack paced in front, his gut twisting steadily tighter as the gray sky faded toward black.

  He wished again that he hadn't sent Gia and Vicky off with Abe. He needed to see them again, hold them in his arms—one last time before the end.

  "Listen," Bill said, sticking his head out the window. "The clanging's stopped."

  "Doesn't matter," Jack said. "It's too late. We're not going to make it back. Even if we had a goddam plane we couldn't make it back in one piece."

  The storm door slammed then, and there came old George Haskins lugging two blanket-wrapped objects in his arms like sick children.


  "There you go," he said, dumping them into Jack's waiting hands.

  One bundle was square and bulky, the other long and slim. And they were heavy. Bill took the smaller one and together they placed them on the back seat, then Jack was diving for the driver seat.

  "It's been great talking to you, George, but we've got to run."

  "Good luck, boys," Haskins said, heading back to his front door. "I don't know what this all means, but I sure hope it works out."

  The rear wheels kicked gravel as Jack accelerated down the road. He glanced at the rearview mirror and saw Haskins standing on the stoop, watching them go. He couldn't be sure in the dim light but he thought he saw a group of knee-high figures clustered around his legs. Then Haskins waved—they all waved.

  Blinking his eyes to clear them, Jack concentrated on the road.

  Somewhere beyond the mists that masked the sky, the sun was setting for the last time.

  "We're not going to make it," Jack said. "No way we can get back alive."

  "We've got to give it our best shot," Bill said. "We don't have any other options that I can see."

  "Oh, we'll give it one hell of a shot, Billy boy. One hell of a shot."

  But we're not going to make it.

  WNEW-FM

  JO: This is it, Folks. It's 3:01 in the afternoon. Supposedly the last sunset. If Sapir's curve is right, the last time we'll ever see the sun.

  FREDDY: Yeah. Nobody's offered us any hope, so we can't pass any on to you. We wish we could, but—

  JO: And don't ask us why we're here because we don't know ourselves. Maybe 'cause it's the only thing we know how to do.

  FREDDY: Whatever, we'll keep on doing it as long as the generators hold out, so keep us on as long as you've got batteries to spare. If we hear anything we'll let you know. And if you hear anything, call us on the CB and we'll pass it on.

  JO: Anyway you look at it, it's gonna be a long night.

  Part III

  NIGHT

  Aaaahh! NIGHT. Endless night. Everlasting darkness.

  Rasalom turns within his fluid-filled chrysalis and revels in the fresh waves of panic seeping through from the nightworld above. Darkness reigns supreme. His dominion is established beyond all doubt. A fait accompli.

  Except for one flaw, one minuscule spot of hope—Glaeken's building. But that is a calculated flaw. It, too, will fade once its residents realize that all their puny efforts to reassemble the weapon are for nought. It is too late—too late for anything. The juices from those crushed hopes will be SWEET.

  All Rasalom need do now is await the completion of the Change at the undawn tomorrow, then break free from this shell to officially lay claim to this world. His world.

  And he is nearly there. He feels the final strands of the metamorphosis drawing tight around and through him. And when it is done, he will rise to the surface and allow Glaeken to gaze on the new Rasalom, to shrink in awe and fear from his magnificence before the life is slowly crushed from his body.

  Soon now.

  Very soon.

  End Play

  MANHATTAN

  "Where can they be?

  Carol knew she was being a pest, that no one in the room—neither Sylvia, nor Jeffy, nor Ba, not Nick, not even Glaeken himself—could answer the question she'd repeated at least two dozen times in the past hour, but she couldn't help herself.

  "I know I'm not supposed to be afraid, I know that's what Rasalom wants, but I can't help it. I'm scared to death something's happened to Bill. And Jack."

  "That's not fear," Glaeken said. "That's concern. There's an enormous difference. The fear that Rasalom thrives on is the dread, the panic, the terror, the fear for one's self that paralyzes you, makes you hate and distrust everyone around you, that forces you either to lash out at anyone within reach or to crawl into a hole and huddle alone and miserable in the dark. The fear that cuts you off from hope and from each other, that's what he savors. This isn't fear you're feeling, Carol. It's anxiety, and it springs from love."

  Carol nodded. That was all fine and good…

  "But where are they?"

  "They're gone," Nick said.

  Carol's stomach plummeted as she turned toward him. Glaeken, too, was staring at him intently.

  Nick hadn't answered her all the other times she'd asked the same question. Why now?

  "Wh-What do you mean?" she said.

  "They're gone," he repeated, his voice quavering. "They're not out there. Father Bill and the other one—they've disappeared."

  Carol watched in horror as a tear slid down Nick's cheek. She turned to Glaeken.

  "What does he mean?"

  "He's wrong," Glaeken said, but his eyes did not hold quite the conviction of his words. "He has to be."

  "But he sees things we don't," Carol said. "And he hasn't been wrong yet. Oh, God!"

  She began to sob. She couldn't help it. Lying in Bill's arms last night had been the first time since Jim's death that she had felt like a complete, fully functioning human being. She couldn't bear to lose him now.

  Or was this part of a plan?

  She swallowed her sobs and wiped away her tears.

  "Is this another of Rasalom's games?" she asked Glaeken. "Feed us a little hope, let us taste a little happiness, make us ache for a future and then crush us by snatching it all away?"

  Glaeken nodded. "That is certainly his style."

  "Well then, fuck him!" she said.

  The words shocked her. She never used four-letter words. They simply were not part of her vocabulary. But this had leapt from her—and it seemed right. It capsulized the anger she felt. She glanced over to where Jeffy sat reading a picture book with Sylvia. He wasn't paying attention. She turned back to Glaeken.

  "Fuck. Him." There, she'd said it again, but in a lower voice this time. "He's not getting anything from me. I won't be afraid, I won't lose hope, I won't give up."

  She went to the huge curved sofa, picked up a magazine, and sat down to read it. But she couldn't see the trembling page through her freshly welling tears.

  The Movie Channel:

  interrupted transmission

  "Got to be those things in the back seat," Jack said in a hushed voice.

  Bill said nothing. He held his breath and leaned away from the passenger side window as the countless tentacles brushed across its surface.

  Hurry up! A giant, tentacled slug blocked their way on Broadway as it squeezed into 47th Street. He mentally urged it to keep moving and get out of their way.

  "This happened to me once before," Jack went on. "With the rakoshi. As long as I was wearing one of the necklaces, they couldn't see me. One or both of those things Haskins gave us was made from the necklaces. This has got to be the same kind of effect. I mean, look at that slug. It's ignoring us like we don't even exist." He flashed a smile at Bill. "Isn't this neat?"

  "Oh, yeah," Bill said. "Real neat."

  The whole trip had been like a dream, an interminable nightmare. The horrors from the holes had taken over—completely. Their movements had lost the frantic urgency of all past nights. Now they were more deliberate, no longer like an invading army, but rather like an occupying force.

  Bill and Jack had traveled in from the Island through swarms of bugs and crawlers large and small—but they had traveled unnoticed. An occasional horror would flutter against one of the windows or crash into a door or a fender, but each was accidental contact. Still, their progress had been slow through the dark dreamscape, and when they arrived at the Midtown Tunnel, they'd found it utterly impassable—choked with countless giant millipede-like creatures. They'd finally found their way across the Brooklyn Bridge, which was still intact, and had been making good time heading uptown on Broadway. Broadway had run downtown in the days when it had been a thoroughfare for cars instead of crawlers, but there didn't seem to be anyone writing tickets tonight.

  The slug's back end finally cleared enough pavement to allow Jack to scoot around behind it and they were on their way
again. Another fifteen minutes of picking their way around abandoned cars and the larger crawlers and they were back at the Glaeken's building.

  Bill unlocked his door and reached for the handle as Jack drove up on the sidewalk.

  "Better not get out empty-handed," Jack said. "You might not make it to the door."

  Good thought. Bill grabbed the boxier of the two blanket-wrapped objects and hopped out. Julio was at the lobby door, holding it open.

  "Where you guy's been?" he said as Bill rushed through. "We been worried sick 'bout you."

  Bill patted him on the shoulder as he passed.

  "Elevator still working?"

  "Slow as shit, but it gets there."

  Bill hopped in and waited for Jack only because it would have been a slap in the face to leave him behind. The need to be with Carol was a desperate, gnawing urgency. He wanted to see her, hold her, let her know he was all right. She had to be sick with worry by now.

  He ran ahead of Jack when they reached the top floor, straight into Glaeken's apartment, and there she was, the wonder and joy and relief in her eyes so real, and just for him. She sobbed when he wrapped his free arm around her and he wanted to carry her back to the bedroom right now but knew that would have to wait.

  "Nick said you were dead!"

  Bill straightened and looked at her. "He did? Dead?"

  "Well, not dead. But he said you were gone—not there anymore."

  "Why would he—?"

  And then Bill thought he understood. Just as he and Jack had been invisible to the bugs on their trip home, so they must have been invisible to Nick as well.