I felt a faint chill and could not help thinking of the thing we had seen as a kind of monster. It had swirled toward us from a cloud as if about to attack. Large, dark, moving quickly, it had seemed incredibly strong and dangerous. In a way I could not quite understand, it had seemed ugly and evil. What did it eat? Birds? Mice? Insects?
"Why hasn't someone else seen it?" I wondered aloud. "If someone had, there would have been an article in the newspaper."
"There may be good reasons for it never having been seen before," Ronald answered, frowning. "If it is nocturnal, as you've guessed, then it would sleep during the daytime. At night it may hide in clouds even when it is active. It would be almost impossible for anyone on the ground to see it. And as for anyone in a plane seeing it—at the speed planes fly . . ."
We looked at each other. Ronald smiled but it was a grim sort of smile. "We may be stumbling upon a creature as rare as the Abominable Snowman in Tibet."
Or even more rare, I thought. This thing had never even been reported. Considering its size and the fact that it lived in the clouds, it was more unique than ghosts, witches, demons, and other supernatural phenomena people have been talking about for centuries.
"Does the creature scare you?" asked Ronald, watching me carefully. "Uh . . . not exactly." Putting my thoughts into words was difficult. The thing in the sky was an unknown element. We did not know how dangerous it was. Almost everything in life—traveling in a car, train, or plane—involved danger of one kind or another. Why, a person had to be careful just crossing a street! If you were too cautious in life, you would never go anywhere. I tried to explain, "It, uh, doesn't bother me enough to keep me from flying."
"Good!" Ronald slapped me on the back. "Now, for more ordinary things. . . . What do you want for breakfast?"
"Scrambled eggs. After we eat, can we fly again?" Through the window I could see the morning sunlight, and the idea of flying in the daytime sounded exciting. We'd be able to see for miles!
Ronald laughed. "I'm afraid we can't. Suppose someone saw us? How could we ever explain?"
But we did fly again that night. We did not see the cloud creature and had to return when it began to rain. As we went down the stairs from the roof, one of the elderly tenants, seeing us in our soaking wet clothes, must have thought we were out of our minds.
On the following night, the sky was cloudless and bright with moonlight. "We'll have to be quick," Ronald explained. "We can wait until after midnight and then rise as high as possible before someone sees us. After we've reached a certain height, we won't have to worry. No one will be able to see us after we're a few thousand feet up."
Shortly after midnight, we soared into the moonlit sky. Despite our speed, we heard a shout from the street below. I saw a man and woman pointing. They rapidly became tiny dots, but I could imagine them telling others what they had seen. Ronald said we should land before the news spread. As a precaution, we came down among trees in a park several blocks away and walked back to the apartment.
The weather was so clear that we had to wait several days before we could fly again. During that time, Ronald gave me a knife-light identical to the one he carried. He demonstrated how to snap the sheath on my belt. "We may never need these, but it is best to have some protection," he said.
To avoid the risk of ascending repeatedly from the same place, we took a bus to another section of the city, then rose into the cloud-filled sky. It was a dark night and there was little chance that we would be seen, so we hovered beneath the clouds, drifting with the wind, making minor adjustments in our course as if we were sailboats upon a dark but peaceful sea. The city lay stretched out beneath us, much different in appearance than on previous nights. Now, with the stars and moon almost completely obscured by the seemingly endless layer of clouds, the city resembled a forest of soft black velvet studded with gleaming and glittering jewels.
But the beauty of that voyage ended, for we saw the night creature following—several hundred feet behind and above—lurking under cover of a cloud.
"Take my hand," Ronald said. "Let's see if we can lose it."
He rose higher, into the clouds, and I soon understood why he wanted to hold hands. It would have been easy to become separated in the darkness. I had learned that clouds were much like thick fogs, and though Ronald had said that the power of levitation was permanent and would soon feel as natural as walking, tonight I felt as if we were running.
Occasionally glancing over my shoulder, I could see the night creature on our trail. It came relentlessly in pursuit—dark, ominous tendrils outstretched as if to seize our bodies. I wondered how it had been created—where it had come from. An alien from another world? There were so many reports of UFOs that it might be a visitor from another planet, a strange form of life. A mutation? Everyone talked about the danger of mutations from atomic test explosions. Was this some sort of monster that had been created by man? Or—was it possible that creatures such as this had existed since the beginning of time, few in number, always hiding, keeping their existence a carefully guarded secret?
I followed Ronald, and though we raced through the clouds, I knew he was not afraid. He wanted only to see if we could outrun our mysterious opponent. Finally we reached the apartment building and descended.
The next night was my last one in the city until next year. In the morning I would be on a train headed for home. I suppose that is why I hated to leave the sky that night, and why, when Ronald said we should return, I held back moments longer, studying the panorama of crystal-clear stars. Above the smog of the city, galaxies were like handfuls of diamond dust sprinkled across the black ocean of outer space.
As I began to descend, I saw Ronald had already
dropped hundreds of feet and was very close to the layer of clouds that hid the city so far beneath our feet. The creature leaped from the darkness as a lion would leap upon its prey. Ronald saw the attack at the last moment and drew his knife-light. I watched in horror as they struggled—Ronald slashing with the thin bright beam and the monster engulfing him with dark tentacles. They fell beyond view.
Drawing my knife-light, I hurried to help, gliding down into the billowy mass that was so much like an impenetrable fog. . . . "Ronald!"
Turning this way and that, I still could not see. The wind whistled in my ears. I had never imagined a wind passing through clouds. It drowned my voice and made Ronald's impossible to hear. Blinded and frustrated, turning around and around, struggling to see through this strange murky jungle, I kept sliding until I fell from the mass of cloud, and the city lay sprawled beneath me in its glittering array of neon-speckled shadows.
Ronald appeared nearby and I rushed to his side. "Are you all right?"
"Fine." He sheathed his knife-light. I wanted to ask how the fight with the night creature had gone, but the wind had increased in tempo, whipping around us so we nearly had to shout to be heard. Ronald signaled that he and I should return to the apartment to talk.
As I had a cup of hot chocolate and he drank coffee, my uncle said the fight had been a strange one—much like fighting the wind. "And," he added with a smile, "it isn't anything to be afraid of."
A few months after I returned home, we received the news that Uncle Ronald had died in an explosion at his workshop. I felt sadder than I ever had before. We had been so close—in some ways closer than brothers—and now he was gone. For days I felt lost, hardly able to eat, wanting only to be alone. I could not help but wonder if the night creature had somehow been responsible. And it was strange to know that I was the only human able to levitate . . . that the actual secret of levitation had died with Ronald. It was very lonely.
I flew three or four nights a week, setting an alarm clock and placing it beneath my pillow, awaking, dressing, slipping through the bedroom window, and soaring into the sky at two in the morning while the town slept. As winter in the star-filled sea. On Christmas Eve I hovered thousands of feet in the air as a fluffy snow fell. My small home town had turned white, spotted
with the bright pyramids of outdoor Christmas trees.
The creature attacked when I least expected. Its dark tentacles twisted around my throat and chest. My ears were filled with an eerie shrieking as it became more and more difficult to breathe. My whole body was soon caught in the crushing grip and I struggled to draw the knife-light Ronald had given me—slashing, stabbing with the bright beam. It isn't anything to be afraid of, Ronald had said. I swung the beam in a wide circle. . . .
As the suffocating tentacles disappeared, I looked in every direction.
The night creature had vanished.
Real? It had been real. I had felt it, seen it, fought with it
Still, I wondered. Had I killed the night creature? Or—had it been my imagination? Had a whirlpool of wind tugged at my body while fear itself shaped sight and sensation into an unearthly monster? I was old enough to know that fear could make the unknown seem very real. Was that what Ronald meant when he said the night creature wasn't anything to be afraid of?
Today, years later, I still roam the sky, usually in the early morning hours as the town sleeps. I cannot let a little thing like a fear of the unknown keep me from the vast realm of the sky.
But I always carry my knife-light, and I watch the clouds for a sign of the night creature.
TO FACE A MONSTER
by CARL HENRY RATHJEN
I wasn't enjoying the fishing that afternoon with my Uncle Bob because I knew what was coming. But if I'd really known what was in store for me . . .
What I expected was a lecture. The fishing was just to get me relaxed and, Uncle Bob probably hoped, receptive. Of all the people in the McCullum family, Uncle Bob was just about my favorite. But I doubted if even he would understand my problem.
Grandpa McCullum claimed that I, as the runt of the clan, carried a chip on my shoulder because I figured I had to knock down anything bigger than me. In a way he was
right. I was constantly in trouble, and even my own brothers and sisters refused to play with me, claiming I was always starting fights.
At school things were no better. My teachers said that though I was capable of getting good grades, I expected too many indulgences because of my size. But as I saw it, they only had time for their "pets." I was not one of them.
In fact, the only person who really tried to understand how it was with me was my Aunt Beth. She is a tiny woman who raises Chinese pugs—toy-sized dogs that look like bulldogs but aren't—and until a few years ago, she and the dogs and I got along real fine.
But on our way to a dog show one weekend, it all came to an end. We had stopped to exercise three of the pugs when a mongrel, its lips curled, approached. Aunt Beth hurried her two dogs back to the car, but I saw the cur as a challenge. I thought Mingo would feel the same way. So I slipped off his collar and commanded, "Sic 'im, Mingo!" Instead of charging, Mingo fled.
We spent the rest of that day searching and calling. When we had no luck, Aunt Beth hired other people to hunt for him. She offered a big reward for Mingo's return, but when no one succeeded, Aunt Beth gave up. She hasn't spoken to me since.
It's been like that all my life. Challenges I meet head-on have a way of boomeranging. The latest came about in Scouts when a new kid in town joined our troop. In the midst of first aid instruction, the scoutmaster was called to the telephone. Since I had earned a merit badge in first aid, I assumed he'd want me to take over. So I decided to demonstrate the fireman's carry. The new boy was big—a challenge—and I chose him as my "victim." When he backed away, trying to argue, I ducked under his arms and doubled him up over my left shoulder. He screamed and struggled.
By the time the scoutmaster came running it was too late. The boy had recently had an appendicitis operation and my "demonstration" had ripped open the incision. Everyone, of course, acted like I should be expelled from the troop. And the boy's parents threatened to sue the Scouts and my parents. That's when I was shipped off to 9i Uncle Bob. He was a last resort.
Trying not to embarrass me, Uncle Bob acted as though there was no special reason for my visit. First he took me fishing. I knew it was just a stalling tactic. If we hadn't been interrupted by a deer crashing through the brush, a lecture most certainly would have followed. Instead, Uncle Bob only frowned and watched the deer leap over the stream and bound up the hill behind me. "They usually bed down this time of day," he said. "Something's panicked it. . . must be chasing it."
We stared up the hill across the stream. A weasel and a couple of rabbits came fleeing down. "It must be something big to make a weasel run," I said. "Maybe a bear."
"No bears around here," Uncle Bob muttered. "As I told you on the way out here, there hasn't been much wildlife in this area until recently because—"
The screaming clamor of blue jays, crows, and other birds drowned him out. But I knew what he'd been about to say.
Several years ago, after a nuclear explosion had started a radioactive cloud drifting across the Pacific, a heavy rain had brought most of the fallout down here, killing and misshaping wildlife and plants. No one had been allowed into this dangerous area for some time, but recent tests had shown the woods and hills to be safe. The area was once again opened for fishing, hiking, and camping.
"If it isn't a bear, then what ..." I began, staring up toward a leafless tree killed by the fallout.
Uncle Bob reeled in his line. "What do you say we go back to the pickup." His voice had a false cheeriness about it and I wondered whether he was as scared as I was.
A heavy grunting made us jump. Looking up toward the rim of the hill, we both gasped. Looming into view, the sun behind it, a huge black silhouette stood snorting.
Squinting into the sun made it hard for us to see details, but drooping ears that flapped in the breeze like an elephant's.
That was frightening enough. But when it turned its head to face us, its flattened nose and bulging, bowling-ball eyes made me feel weak in the knees. Each eye seemed to be surrounded by black fur, and a deep growl came from its tawny chest.
"Uncle Bob," I whispered. "What is it?" "I don't know," he muttered. His voice shook. "Don't make any fast moves. Don't raise your voice. I don't think it's seen us yet. Let's move away . . . quietly . . . slowly . . . carefully. . . ."
Gingerly I started to reel in my line. The ratchety click sounded awfully loud. "Never mind that!" Uncle Bob snapped, keeping his voice down. "Just lay it down—leave it."
The sun must have glinted on my fishing rod, because the beast peered straight down at us. Growling deep in its throat, it stepped toward us. More of the immense body came into view. A tail, outlined in the gold of the sun, curled over its back. It waved menacingly from side to side.
As the beast stalked down into the shadows of the hill, we could see it in frightening detail. The fur was short for so huge a beast, and the face and ears were black. Dark furrows radiated from the broad brow to the top of the huge skull. I stood transfixed. "Uncle Bob!"
He yanked my arm. "Come on. "
When we moved, the beast came faster. So did its growls. "It's too big—we'll never make it to the car," Uncle Bob cried.
"But Uncle Bob," I shouted. "Listen to me! I have an idea—"
I tripped over a boulder and went down. Uncle Bob hauled me to my feet. We raced ahead. I glanced back over crashing through the bushes as though they were mere weeds.
Uncle Bob pointed ahead toward a thick grove of lodgepole pines. "Get in there."
"But Uncle Bob!" The bounding beast was almost upon us.
"Keep going," he yelled, shoving me. He twisted around to face the charging beast. Waving his arms, he yelled. The beast knocked him tumbling, then swerved away beyond the bushes.
Uncle Bob didn't move. He just lay there, moaning. When I ran back I saw that his face was sweaty and sort of greenish white, and his leg, bent at an angle that shouldn't have been possible, looked even worse. His trouser leg was torn above the knee, and something jagged and white thrust through it. Blood stained the torn cloth. I knew from my fi
rst aid that this was a compound fracture.
"Uncle Bob," I gasped, not wanting to look. "There isn't time to splint. Can you try to hold on while I get you into the pines?"
He opened his pain-filled eyes and gestured with his head. "Never mind me. Get in there yourself. The trees are too close together for it to follow."
"That's okay," I said, and I tried to sit him up. Although he was heavy, I thought that if I could get him up into a fireman's carry we'd both make it.
"Get in there," he repeated as the growling grew louder. I was so scared, the temptation to obey was almost overwhelming. But I couldn't leave Uncle Bob. I'd never be able to live with myself if I did.
Bushes crashed behind me and I spun around to face those monster eyes. Maybe it was bravery, or maybe I just reacted like a defiant mouse that squeaks when it's cornered. But for some reason, from deep inside me came a powerful yell. The beast braced to a stop. Yelling once more, I
grabbed a piece of broken limb and threw it. Surprisingly, the beast whirled back from sight into the bushes.
Jumping behind Uncle Bob, I got my hands in his armpits. Digging in my heels, I dragged him toward the lodgepole pines. He helped by shoving with his good leg. Once or twice he let go of his thigh to grasp trees to help me pull him to safety. At last we were deep into the grove of tall, close-growing trees. Outside, the mammoth animal sniffed and growled, stalking back and forth, looking for a way in after us.
Uncle Bob had fainted. His pants were soggy with blood, and when I tore his trouser leg open wider, the blood spurted. I knew then, from the first aid movie I'd seen in Scouts, that Uncle Bob needed a tourniquet.
Slipping off his belt, I looped it around his thigh close to the crotch, placed a wadded handkerchief over where the severed artery should be, then used a stick to twist and tighten the belt. When I finished, Uncle Bob regained consciousness.
"Thanks," he murmured. When I asked if he could hold the tourniquet, he nodded.
Norton, Andre - Anthology Page 7