by Clive Barker
“This is all Providence, I swear,” he said to her. “You’re here because you can light the light. You and only you.”
She did her best to put the fear out of her head and to concentrate on what John Mischief had just said. In a curious way it made sense that she was here because she had to be here. She thought of the doodle she’d made on her workbook; the way it had seemed to brighten in her mind’s eye, inspiring her limbs to move. It was almost as though the doodle had been a sign, a ticket to this adventure. Why else, after living all her life in Chickentown, should she be here—in a place she’d never been before—today?
This must be what John Mischief meant by Providence.
“So, lady?” Mischief said. “What is your decision?”
“If I’m not dreaming this, then perhaps it is Providence.”
“So you’ll go?”
“Yes, I’ll go,” Candy said simply.
Mischief smiled again, only this time, they all smiled with him. Eight grateful faces, smiling at her for being here, and ready to chance her life. That was what was at stake right now, she didn’t doubt it. The monster moving through the grass nearby would kill them all if he got his claws into them.
“Good luck,” Mischief whispered. “We’ll see you again when you come down.”
And without offering any further instruction, he and his brothers darted off through the grass, bent double to keep out of Shape’s sight until they were clear of her.
Candy’s heart was thumping so hard she could hear her pulse in her head. Ten, fifteen seconds passed. She listened. The grass hissed all around her. Strangely enough, she’d never felt so alive in her life.
Another half minute went by. She was tempted to chance another peep above the surface of the swaying grass, to see whether Mendelson Shape was limping in her direction, but she was afraid to do so in case he was almost upon her.
Then, to her infinite relief, she heard eight voices all yelling at the same time:
“Hey, you! Mendelson Shmendelson! Looking for us? We’re over here!”
Candy waited a heartbeat, then she chanced a look.
Shape, it seemed, had indeed been looking in her direction, and had she raised her head a second earlier would have seen her. But now he was swinging around, following the sound of the brothers’ voices.
At that moment, Mischief leaped up out of the grass and began racing away from the lighthouse, diverting Shape’s attention.
Shape threw open his arms, his huge, iron-taloned claws spread as wide as five-fingered fans.
“There. You. Are!” he roared.
His voice was as ugly as his anatomy: a guttural din that made Candy’s stomach churn.
As he spoke, the configuration of crosses on his back shifted, rising up like featherless, metallic wings. He reached over his shoulders and grabbed two of the blades, pulling them out of the scabbards in his leathery flesh. Then he started through the grass toward his prey.
Candy knew she could not afford to delay. The brothers were chancing their lives so that she could attempt to reach the lighthouse unseen. She had to go now, or their courage would be entirely in vain.
Candy didn’t watch the pursuit a moment longer. Instead, she set her eyes on the lighthouse and she began to run, not even bothering to try and conceal herself by staying below the level of the grass. Simply depending for distraction upon Shape’s terrible appetite to have the John brothers in his grasp.
As she raced through the grass, she became aware that the great rain cloud that had first caught her eye was now directly above the lighthouse, hovering like a golden curtain over the drama below.
Was this part of the makings of Providence too? she wondered as she ran. Did clouds also have their place in the shape of things?
By the time the thought had passed through her head, she had reached the threshold of the lighthouse. She chanced a quick look over her shoulder at Mischief and his pursuer.
Much to her horror she saw that her brief period of protection was over. Shape had given up chasing the brothers—realizing perhaps that the pursuit was just a diversion—and he had now turned his attention back toward the lighthouse.
His eyes fixed upon Candy, and he let out a bloodcurdling cry at the sight of her. He spread his arms wide, and with swords in hand, he began to move toward her.
He didn’t run; he simply strode through the grass with terrible confidence in his uneven step, as if to say: I don’t have to hurry. I’ve got all the time in the world. I’ve got you cornered, and there’s no escape for you. You’re mine.
She turned away from the sight of his approach and pushed on the broken door. The hinges creaked, and there were a few moments of resistance, when she feared that fallen timbers on the other side might have blocked it. Then, with a deep grating sound, the door opened and Candy slipped inside.
Though there were plenty of holes in the walls, and the sun came through in solid shafts, it was still far chillier inside than it was out. The cold air stank of rotting wood. Large fungi had prospered in the damp murk, and the boards beneath her feet were slick with mildew. She slipped twice before she had even reached the bottom of the stairs.
The prospect before her looked dangerous. No doubt once upon a time the spiral wooden stairs had been perfectly safe to climb, but that was decades ago. Now all but a few of the railings had collapsed, and the structure which had supported the staircase had been devoured by woodworm and rot, so that it seemed the stairs themselves had virtually nothing to depend on for their solidity.
She peered through one of the holes in the wall, just to confirm what she already knew: Mendelson Shape was still advancing toward the lighthouse.
Unlikely as a safe ascent seemed, there was no way back now. Shape would be at the front door in just a few seconds. She had no choice but to try the stairs. She put her hand on the shaky bannister and began her cautious ascent.
Outside in the long grass, the John brothers watched the silhouetted form of the lady Quackenbush as she started up the stairs.
“She’s something special, that one,” Drowze murmured.
“What makes you say that?” Moot remarked.
“Look at her!” Drowze said. “Not many creatures of this wretched Hereafter would be so brave.”
“She’s half mad,” said Serpent, “that’s why. I saw it in her eyes, right from the beginning. She’s a little bit crazy.”
“So we send a crazy girl to do our handiwork for us?” Pluckitt said. “That’s not very heroic.”
“Will you just shut your cake-holes, all of you?” Mischief snapped. “Drowze is right. There is something about the lady. When we first laid eyes on her, didn’t anybody think they’d maybe seen her before?” There was silence from above. “Well?”
“You told us to shut our cake-holes,” Sallow reminded him airily. “We’re just obeying instructions.”
“Well, I think she’s got a touch of magic about her,” Mischief said, ignoring Sallow’s riposte. He went to his belt and unsheathed the little knife that hung there. “And we have to protect her.”
“You’re not…” Moot began.
“…intending to attack…” Pluckitt continued.
“…Mendelson Shape?” Slop went on.
“Not with that pitiful excuse for a weapon?” Fillet concluded.
“Well—” said Mischief. “Unless somebody has a better idea?”
“He’s twice our size!” said Sallow.
“Three times!” said Moot.
“He’ll tear out our heart,” said Slop.
“Well, we can’t leave the lady Quackenbush undefended,” Mischief replied.
“I vote we run,” Moot said. “This is a lost cause, Mischief. At least if we get away now, the Key’s safe with us. If we throw ourselves into the fray we’re not just endangering our lives—”
“—which are very valuable—” John Serpent remarked.
“—we’re endangering the Key,” Moot reasoned. “We can’t afford to do that.”
> “Moot’s right,” said John Sallow. “We’ve got a chance to run. I vote we take it.”
“Out of the question,” Mischief remarked. “She’s risking her life for us.”
“As I observed,” Sallow replied. “The creature’s half mad.”
“And as I said,” Mischief replied. “You can all shut your cake-holes, because you’re wasting your breath. We’re going to keep Shape away from her as long as we can.”
So saying, Mischief set off running through the grass toward Mendelson, his little knife at the ready.
As he came within six or seven strides of his target, Shape sensed his presence and swung around, the swords whining through the air. His mouth was wide and foamy, as though he was working up an appetite as he approached the tower. The pupils of his eyes had gone to pinpricks, giving him an even more monstrous expression. His aim was poor. The blades missed the brothers by a foot or more, simply lopping off the feathery heads of the prairie grass.
Mischief just ducked down and doubled his speed, running at the enemy.
“Everybody—”he said. “Give the Warriors’ Yell!”
At which point all the Johns loosed a cry so discordant, so insane; so bestial—
“EEEIIIGGGGORRRAAARRGUU—”
—that even Shape hesitated, and for a moment looked as though he might retreat.
Then he seemed to remember the absurdity of his enemy, and instead of backing away he came at them again with the swords. But the Johns were swift. Mischief darted under Shape’s vast hand and pushed his little blade into Shape’s thigh. The knife went in three or four inches and lodged there, blood spurting over Mischief’s hand and arm. It was enough to make the monster let out a cry of rage and pain. He dropped the blades and clutched the wound, gritting his teeth as he pulled the knife out.
Inside the lighthouse, Candy had climbed fifteen steps when she heard Mendelson’s shout. She carefully ascended another three, until she could see through a hole in the wall. She had quite a good view. She could see that Mischief was playing David to Shape’s Goliath out there.
The sight gave her courage. Instead of advancing up the stairs tentatively, as she’d been doing, she picked up her speed. With every step she took, the whole structure rocked and groaned, but she reached the top of the flight without incident and found herself in a round room, perhaps eight or nine feet across.
She’d reached the top of the lighthouse. But now that she was actually up here, where was the light? It was just as she’d feared. If there’d ever been a light up here (which she strongly doubted: this place was more folly than functional), then it had been stolen long ago, leaving just one strange item in the middle of the room: an inverted pyramid, perhaps three feet high and carefully balanced on its tip, its three sides decorated with a number of designs, like hieroglyphics. On the top of the pyramid (or rather on what had been its base) was a small, simple bowl. The purpose to which any of this obscure arrangement might have been put escaped Candy entirely.
Then she recalled what Mischief had said, when she’d remarked that she couldn’t even see a lamp up at the top of the tower. What was it exactly? He’d said something about light being the oldest game in the world? Perhaps this odd creation represented some kind of game, she thought. The problem was that she had no idea how to play it.
And now, as if matters weren’t bad enough, she heard the din of Shape beating down the lighthouse door; smashing it to smithereens in his fury. The noise reached a chaotic climax, followed by a few seconds of silence.
Then came the limping footfall of the monster himself, as he climbed the lighthouse stairs to find her.
7. Light and Water
“ W here are you, child?” Shape growled as he ascended.
The sound of his voice, and the thump and drag of his limping step, froze Candy for a moment. This was like something from a nightmare: being hunted down by some hellish beast; some vile creature that wanted to eat her alive, limb by limb, finger by finger.
No!
She shook herself from her trance of terror. She wasn’t going to let this abomination take her!
She looked around the room for a door that led out onto the narrow balcony that encircled the room. The door in question was directly behind her. She went over to it and turned the handle. It was locked, but that presented no problem to her, not in her present panicked state. She put her shoulder to the rotted wood and forced it open quite easily. Then she stepped out onto the balcony. The boards had been more exposed to the extremes of Minnesota’s summers and winters than the interior floors—and they instantly gave way beneath her weight. She threw herself forward and grabbed hold of the rusted iron railing. Her speed probably saved her life, because two heartbeats later the whole patch of floorboards beneath her right foot crumbled away. Had she not had the support of the railing, she would have surely fallen through the hole and probably dropped to her death.
Very gingerly, she hauled her foot out of the hole and sought out a more reliable place to stand. She could still hear Shape in the tower behind her, calling out singsong threats to her as he climbed. It was some horrible little nursery song he was singing. The kind only a monster like Shape would have had sung to him in his cradle.
“O little one,
My little one,
Come with me,
Your life is done.
Forget the future,
Forget the past.
Life is over:
Breathe your last.”
Doing her best to blot out the sound of Shape’s obscene little lullaby, she scanned the landscape around the lighthouse.
“Mischief!” she yelled. “Where did you go?”
She only had to call once. Then he was there, racing toward the tower through the grass. There was blood on his hands, she saw. Had he wounded Shape? She dared hope so.
“Lady Candy? Are you all right?”
“I can’t find any light up here, Mischief! I’m sorry.”
“He’s coming, lady!”
“I know, Mischief. Believe me: I know. But there’s no light—”
“There should be a cup and ball up there. Isn’t there a cup and ball?”
“What?”
“The oldest game, Candy. Light is the oldest game—”
Candy glanced back inside. Yes, there was a cup, of sorts, sitting on top of the inverted pyramid.
“Yes! There’s a cup!” she yelled back down to the brothers.
“Put the ball in it!” Mischief replied.
“What ball? There isn’t any ball.”
“There should be a ball.” ;
“Well there isn’t one!”
“So look!” yelled John Serpent.
Candy didn’t waste time telling Serpent to be more polite. She had only seconds to spare before Shape made an entrance into the round room, she knew. So she stopped talking and did as Mischief suggested, stepping over the hole she’d made in the platform and returning to look for the ball.
She listened as she scoured the room. To judge by the sound of his feet, Shape was close to the top of the stairs. Then—just as she was certain he was about to open the door—she heard the welcome sound of splintering timber, and her pursuer loosed a shout of alarm. His weight had apparently been too much for the staircase. She heard a series of crashes as broken portions of the steps fell away into the stairwell. A moment of silence followed, when she dared hope that perhaps Shape had fallen down the stairwell along with the broken stairs and was lying at the bottom of the flight. But instead of the distant moans she’d hoped to hear, there came an outburst of words in a language she had never heard before. She didn’t need a translator to recognize them as curses.
She crossed to the door and glanced down, just to see what had happened. A large portion of the staircase—five or six stairs—had indeed collapsed under Mendelson Shape’s weight. But he had somehow managed to avoid the full fall by jumping back down the stairs before they had collapsed beneath him. This left a sizeable gap for him to get acros
s before he could continue his ascent. She was disappointed that he wasn’t dead or comatose at the bottom, but this was better than nothing.
Looking up at her, he made horns of his forefinger and smallest finger, which he jabbed threateningly in Candy’s direction. No doubt had he possessed the power to strike her dead on the spot, dead she would have been. But all he could do was curse and point, so she left him to it and went back to search for the missing ball.
As she did so, she heard Mischief yelling up at her from outside. Obviously he’d heard the din.
“I’m coming in, Lady Candy!”
She went to the outer door and called down to him.
“No! Stay where you are. You can’t get up here anyway. The stairs have collapsed!”
She saw him looking through the holes in the tower wall to confirm what she’d told him. He was aghast.
“How will you get down?” he said, apparently more concerned with her safety now than with the oldest game in the world.
“I’ll find a way when the time comes,” Candy said. “First I’m going to find this stupid ball.”
“We’re coming in!” he said again.
“Wait!” she told him. “You just stay there. Please!’
Without waiting for an answer, she went down on her haunches and started a systematic search of the floor, looking for the missing part of this bizarre puzzle. It was not immediately visible, but there were several places where the boards had rotted completely, leaving holes in the floor. She went to each one, pulling up the worm-eaten boards to get a better look at what lay beneath. They came away easily, in showers of splinters, dust and dried beetle corpses.
The first hole revealed nothing. The second, the same. But the third was the charm. There it was: rolled away under the boards. A small turquoise-and-silver ball. She had to tear away a little more of the rotted boards before she could fish it out between her fingers. When she finally succeeded, she discovered that it was surprisingly heavy for its size. It wasn’t wood or plastic; it was metal. And elegantly engraved on its blue-green surface was a design she knew! There it was, etched into the metal: the doodle she’d drawn so obsessively in her workbook.