Night Things: The Monster Collection

by West, Terry M.

  "And how could we accomplish that?" Herbert asked.

  "My ability to hear their thoughts," Edmund said. "What if there were a way for them to hear mine? I could reach them through the dark storm and calm them."

  Herbert considered the possibility. "You want to control them?"

  "No. I want to communicate with them. Deeply. Manage them. Make them see our intentions and avoid this exhausting and dangerous dance."

  Herbert thought again. "I could run some tests on you. See if there is a chemical anomaly that gives you this gift. That is where the mystery would be hidden."

  "Were I discussing this task with any but you, it would be too monumental an expectation. But I know you are capable. You are the most brilliant researcher I have ever encountered."

  Herbert beamed. "Well, yes. But I will need more sophisticated equipment. Costly equipment. But this is an avenue worth taking."

  "Make me a list and worry not over expense," Edmund said with a smile.

  Suddenly, the creature sprang up from the floor. Its head was bent completely sideways and its scream was a wet, deep rasp. It pushed Herbert aside and grabbed a stunned Edmund by his shirt. It began to ram the man's head into the stone wall of the basement. Edmund was too dazed to fight it off.

  Herbert grabbed a small medical mallet and ran at the creature. He buried it deep into the thing's askew head. It fell to the ground, the life it had borrowed gone.

  Herbert knelt down to Edmund. The man was bleeding profusely from his scalp and he was unresponsive. Herbert felt for a pulse.

  There wasn't one.

  12.

  All my Friends are Going to be Strangers…

  Herbert and I stepped out of a cab and into a city that was chugging on merrily without me. I was wearing a hoodie and had it tightened around my head. Herbert walked me to the Children of the Full Moon shelter. It was indeed decorated with police tape. Shrines of the fallen, a picture of me swiped from my office among them, littered the sidewalk. I stared sadly at the memorial.

  Suddenly, a woman approached the minor cenotaph and put roses at my picture. She straightened up sadly and looked to me. It was Erin Maher. It took her a moment to process, and then her hand went to her chest and her eyes bugged.

  "Carol?" she whispered, shocked and sad. "Oh my God in Heaven. You're a zombie?"

  "Yeah, I guess," I said, noting the minor similarities and major differences I had with the undead. "I am so glad they didn't get to you."

  "It was a horrible bloodbath. I can't believe I managed to get out and call the police."

  I didn't bother telling her that I had provided the distraction for her escape. It seemed tacky to try and take credit for saving her life at that moment.

  "What are you doing here?" Erin asked. "You know you aren't supposed to go back to your place of employment when this happens."

  "I just want my photos and my knick knacks," I assured her. "I'll be in and out."

  "Carol, you shouldn't," Erin said. "Why aren't you at Staten Island, getting processed?"

  "She is vital to my research," Herbert said. "She is far too valuable to get eaten by the system."

  "Who are you?" Erin suspiciously asked Herbert.

  "He is my friend, Erin," I said, interrupting the interrogation. "Like you were. Are. Please just forget you saw me here. Okay?"

  Erin stared at the both of us. "It's a hard road you are on. Take care of yourself," she said, burying me for good and melting into the sidewalk crowd.

  "She seemed… pleasant," Herbert mustered.

  I walked to the door and swiped the police tape away. "Shit," I said, realizing something. "I don't have my key."

  "Is there an alarm system?" Herbert asked.

  "No. We were open twenty-four seven. Didn’t need it," I said.

  "Then kick it in," he encouraged. "I'll position myself behind you here so no one sees."

  The door gave easily. Herbert followed me into the darkened building. There was glass everywhere. A carpet of shards glittered in the sunlight of the main hallway. I looked to the alcove near the public restrooms and noticed that the wall length end mirror had been shot and shattered. For some reason, it gnawed at me.

  "Why would they shoot out the mirror?" I wondered aloud.

  "Maybe one of the assailants saw his reflection and mistook it for a person?" Herbert offered.

  "It makes sense," I agreed.

  I had lied to Herbert. Sure, there were personal belongings I wanted, but my real goal had been to try and find a clue behind the attack. But as I stood there, in death's exhaust, the Nancy Drew in me fled. I didn't need to see this. Herbert was right. I needed to let it go. It struck me, suddenly, that I had hardly thought of the transition I was going through at all. There should have been so much inner turmoil going on, but there wasn't. Maybe I wasn't devastated because I knew the process of becoming a Night Thing. I had held the hands of so many whose shoes I now wore. Maybe there was anguish to come. And maybe building a conspiracy there and throwing myself into Herbert's research would be perfect distractions from it all. But I knew, eventually, the pain would come home to roost.

  "Are you okay?" Herbert asked.

  "Yeah," I said. "This is harder than I thought it would be. I'll grab my stuff and we can go."

  I walked to my office, avoiding the violent messes where my co-workers had perished. I hadn't gone there to tear myself up over them. My office didn't look that bad. Except for the blood- my blood- on the shitty industrial beige carpet. I pulled a gym bag from the office closet and collected my photos, supplies, and workout clothes. I sighed, looking at the room which no longer held who I was. It was gray and dead. And so was I.

  "Come on," I said. "I have what I need."

  We walked outside and two police cars immediately lurched to the curb. Policemen jumped from the vehicle and pointed their weapons at us. I dropped my bag and my arms instinctively went into the air.

  "Carol Haddon! You are walking these streets illegally! You will surrender and be transported to the Staten Island Z Station now!"

  I didn't resist. As they cuffed me, I saw Erin across the sidewalk. She looked at me sadly. She mouthed, I'm sorry.

  I nodded at her softly, realizing that she had called the cops. I wasn't angry. She had only done what every citizen was instructed to do when spotting an illegal Night Thing.

  "Carol!" Herbert called out frantically. "It's okay! I know people! I will make a phone call and get you out of there!"

  The police escorted me to the patrol car and stuffed me into the backseat.

  They didn't bother reading me my rights.

  I had none.

  13.

  Edmund Wraight is Born Again…

  September 5th, 1929

  Arkham, Massachusetts

  Herbert secured Edmund's corpse to the table. He was excited for this was the freshest specimen he had ever acquired. He wished, however, it had been anyone else on his table. He didn't want to lose his patron and confidant to the process, but he had to try and bring Edmund back.

  He administered the formula into Edmund's stalled vein and then he drew back, his dark, hopeful eyes studying the body. It took less than two minutes before Herbert saw a sign of reanimation. The man's eyelids shook and his hands trembled in their restraints. Herbert braced himself for the usual violent display, but it didn't come. Edmund awoke, as if from a light nap. He stared curiously at Herbert and then realized he was strapped to the table.

  "Herbert," he said clearly. "What is happening here? Why am I tied in such a fashion?"

  Herbert was astonished that Edmund had come back with his reason intact. He wondered if Edmund's telepathic abilities were somehow responsible. "You took a serve beating from the drunk we reanimated."

  "And you saw fit to hoist me upon this slab and strap me down?" Edmund asked incredulously. "Really, Herbert, are these shackles necessary?"

  "Evidently not," Herbert said, loosening them.

  Edmund rubbed his wrists but continued to
lay there. "How insulting. Treating me like one of your cadavers."

  "Edmund, you died from the attack," Herbert said gently. "My formula brought you back."

  Edmund looked confused. And then anger erupted on his face. He grabbed Herbert's shirt. "You injected me? I wasn't dead, you bloody fool. I was merely inert as I recuperated from the injuries. I would have risen of my own accord in hours had you left me alone."

  Herbert tried to pull away. "What are you talking about? Why are you so angry? You have returned with your faculties completely intact. This is a major breakthrough."

  "I am angry because I have no idea how your serum will interact with my unique chemistry," Edmund said.

  Suddenly, the arm that seized Herbert quaked and pulsed. Edmund released Herbert and held his arm up to the light. A blend of fascination and dread grabbed both men. Edmund screamed as his entire body convulsed. He began to swell. His fine clothes stretched and tore. His silver hair shed to the floor. Herbert backed away slowly. He feared the man might explode.

  Edmund's head twisted and enlarged as his body continued to morph. He grew as great in size as an ogre. He slid off the examination table and landed on the cold floor. His clothes had come off, and Herbert watched as his back and buttocks shook. His flesh boiled and darkened. Black veins began to streak his body. When it had subsided, Edmund Wraight lingered on the floor on all fours. He raised his pink and misshapen head. His face was a travesty of humanity. His large mouth sucked in air with great difficulty. His teeth were as big as piano keys and a black tongue spilled hot drool to the floor. His eyes were crooked, the right nearer his cheekbone.

  "What have you done to me?" the monster demanded, trying to find the strength to stand.

  Herbert grabbed a broom and braced himself.

  Edmund's strength gave away. His head slid back down, his cheek pressed against the floor.

  "What have you done?" he said again in a soft whisper of exhaustion.

  Darkness claimed him.

  14.

  Carol Haddon: Illegal Immigrant

  The Z Station on Staten Island was a place that had been fearfully recalled to me several times. It had been erected quickly after Z Day. The facility was as large as a stadium. The detainment/interment area was filled with hundreds of small sensory depravation pods. When taken in, you were first stripped and put into a bright orange outfit that resembled a prison uniform. Then you were put into one of the metal pods. Your hands were shackled and ear buds were attached to you. A cacophony of noise, music, and words were blasted into your ears. It was meant to keep the horde frequency at bay. But without its influence, I was assaulted completely by the abstract and maddening sounds. As I sat there, waiting, I could barely pull a full thought from my frightened brain. My door opened, after what seemed an eternity, and guards clad in riot gear took my cuffs off.

  They pulled me into the main walkway. I saw hundreds of metal pods, humming quietly, and I knew the torture brewing inside each one. Several feet ahead of me in the expansive walkway, two guards were pulling a male zombie out of his pod. He fought, his teeth gnashing behind a soft muzzle. One of the guards used a Taser on the prisoner. Dazed, the zombie collapsed to the floor.

  "Let's feed this prick to the incinerator!" the guard barked. The zombie was dragged away by the men. He clawed at the smooth floor and wailed as they pulled him down the hallway.

  One of my escorts nudged me hard in the back.

  "Move, you fucking rotter," he commanded.

  I obeyed, stepping quickly down the hallway. I bit my lower lip fearfully, an act hidden by the soft muzzle I wore. They marched me past the holding pods and stopped me at a pair of glass doors. One of the guards swiped his security card, and I was ushered in to processing.

  They walked me to an office, sat me in a chair, and cuffed me to a table.

  "Be a good girl," the guard said, taking my muzzle away.

  I sat there, trying to look as docile as possible.

  "See, she listens real good," one guard said to the other. "Finally a bitch that knows when to keep her mouth shut. Too bad she's dead meat."

  The men laughed and left the office. An elderly and overweight woman stepped in and took the work station in front of me. She wore a name badge that read Dorothy. She put on reading glasses and whipped open a file.

  "Carol Haddon," she read aloud. As she read further, her face darkened. "You were a victim on that shelter hit?"

  "Yes," I said, hoping it would soften the process. "I was a counselor there."

  The woman closed the file and looked at me, indifferent to the details. "I'd have a little more sympathy for you if you hadn't been such a pain in the ass to this station."

  "It was my job to make sure-"

  "Can it," the woman said, harshly. "You don't know shit about what we do, Miss Haddon. We make sure that this city doesn't turn into a lunch buffet. We analyze and destroy any of the rotters who exhibit too much of a hold on the horde frequency. We make damn sure the rest know the score before they shamble out of here. And our jobs would be a lot God damn easier if you left wingers knew a rabid dog when you saw one."

  "They are… were… human once. That's still there," I said, making sure to keep my tone civil. "I understand the challenges. I do. But they… we… still think and feel. This is a horrible ordeal for anyone. Put yourself in this seat."

  "Ain't ever gonna happen. I have an RIP request on the books when I die. Would be way too ironic," she said. And then she took a huge red stamp and punched my paperwork. She had just marked me as high risk.

  "Wait," I said. "Why did you do that? I haven't threatened you."

  "Given your sympathy toward the Night Things, I see you as a threat," she said, coldly. "And you obviously understand what a high risk mark means."

  "It means you can destroy me for little or no reason," I said, feeling fear and anger begin to boil inside. This was payback.

  "So I would watch yourself," she said, with a small grin that betrayed her objectivity.

  Suddenly, a man in an expensive suit rushed into the office. He was completely bald and looked stressed and driven. He carried my clothes and gym bag. "I am going to take this over, Dorothy," he said to my processing officer.

  Dorothy looked at him. She was confused. "What's going on Milt? I have this. We are about done."

  Milt glanced at her paperwork. He frowned. "You marked her high risk? Why in God's name?"

  "She is a sympathizer," Dorothy argued.

  "This isn't Nazi Germany!" he barked. "Go take your break and report to my office when it is over. We have to talk about a few things."

  Dorothy nodded, timidly, and left the room.

  Milt turned to me, shaking his head. "I'm Milt Crockett, the man in charge here. On behalf of Z Station, I apologize, Miss Haddon."

  He put my belongings down and placed an envelope on top of the pile. "This is your Red Card. You have been vetted by a high source and there is no reason to detain you."

  Milt pushed a button. The guards returned. "You will free Miss Haddon. Take her to the restroom, let her change into her clothes and then walk her to the gates. A car is waiting for her. If you so much as mess up her hair, you'll be terminated."

  "Wait, who is waiting for me?" I asked.

  "Someone important, Miss Haddon," Milt replied.

  ***

  The guards took me to the entrance. I walked through and the late afternoon sun hit my eyes as if for the first time in years. I squinted, and then heard my name called.

  "Carol Haddon?"

  I focused on a black man. He wore dark sunglasses and a suit. He stood next to a limo.

  "My name is Glass, ma'am," he said, opening a door for me. "My employer would like to speak with you."

  "And who is that?" I asked, suspiciously.

  "Johnny Stücke," Glass said. "He would like for you to join him for dinner at his building."

  15.

  Before the Stars Came

  September 15th, 1929

  Ar
kham, Massachusetts

  Herbert stood in front of the holding cell in his laboratory. It was dark inside. He couldn't see Edmund's form.

  "Edmund?" he called out softly.

  There was no answer. Herbert took a lantern from a table.

  "I am here," Edmund said in an unearthly rasp. "Please do not employ that light. I can't bear it at the moment."