The Dark'Un

by Ronald Kelly

  "But why didn't you tell me this before, in my room the other night?"

  The pale man smiled. "The power of speech was beyond our grasp at that time. We have since learned the art of vocal communication. We did not intend to frighten you, simply to recruit your assistance against our mutual enemy."

  "You mean the Eco-Plenty Corporation?"

  "Yes, the men with the machines that destroy nature. The men who would exterminate an entire race of passive creatures for the sake of riches."

  Suddenly, a gasp of surprise came from the doorway of the cabin and they all turned. Alice McCray and Dale Tucker stood there, staring at the gathering of pale beings. "So you weren't dreaming the other night, were you?" breathed Alice as she and the boy stepped inside.

  "No," admitted Jenny. "It was certainly for real."

  "Wow!" said Dale. He gaped at the pale-skinned ladies, especially those without a stitch of clothing.

  "Do you think you could do something about them?" Jenny asked LaBlanc, pointing to a couple of the naked women. "I think the kid's a little too young to be getting such an eyeful."

  The man frowned. "I do not comprehend."

  "They're, uh, naked. They don't have any clothes on."

  "And they should be altered?" he asked. He nodded to both Jenny and Alice. "They should be as the two of you are?"

  "Yes," said Jenny, hoping that she had gotten her point across.

  "Very well," said LaBlanc. He nodded to his two followers. With a brittle crackling, they collapsed, their bones and cartilage dissolving and their pale flesh pooling on the dusty floorboards. Jenny, Alice, and Dale watched in uneasy fascination as the puddles of boiling whiteness swirled and churned for a long moment. Then they began to reform. The crackling sound grew louder as their skeletal structures rebuilt themselves and the duplication of flesh, hair, and clothing was completed. Soon, the new forms stood there before them, whole and alive.

  "Is this better?" asked Lance LaBlanc.

  "Yeah, neat!" piped Dale.

  Jenny and Alice didn't know quite what to say at first, for the new forms were their own. One of the women was an uncanny duplicate of the blonde, while the other was unquestionably a carbon copy of the brunette. It was a disturbing feeling looking at themselves standing there like that. It was like looking at yourself in a foggy mirror, or being haunted by a ghost of your own self.

  LaBlanc continued his appeal for Jenny's help. "You must assist us in reclaiming this land. If it were possible, we would move on to another mountain and make our home there. But that cannot be. True, we live on PaleDoveMountain, but even more so, we live within its shelter."

  "You mean you live in underground caves?" asked Alice.

  "Yes. Due to the light pigmentation of our physical structure, we can only exist in sunlight for short periods of time. We spend most of our time in darkness. In the caverns, we are safe. There no one can harm us."

  "Until they start strip-mining the mountain," said Jenny.

  "Correct. Then we will be discovered and destroyed." LaBlanc looked to the young woman. "Our protector has allowed us only one chance to settle this problem as we would want it done…peacefully. If we fail to do so, then the protector will do whatever is necessary to see that our race survives."

  "Your protector?" asked Jenny. "Do you mean the Dark'Un?"

  LaBlanc looked puzzled at first, then nodded in understanding. "Yes, the one you have named the Dark'Un. It has only been playing games with the invaders so far, trying to warn them of the danger involved. But this adversary is either too foolish or too greedy to pay heed to the wrath of the Dark'Un. That is why we must settle this peacefully. If not, then there will be many of your kind that shall die. And there is a chance that we, too, shall not survive. We have seen images of humankind's destructive weapons on your television, and if so armed, the invaders could very well destroy the mountain as they themselves are being destroyed."

  "But what do you want me to do?" asked Jenny.

  "We wish for you to buy back Pale Dove Mountain."

  Jenny's heart sank. She didn't think these beings realized how extremely difficult that would be to pull off. "I don't think you understand. Eco-Plenty is a very powerful corporation. Once they get their hooks into something, they simply will not let go. Besides, even if they did consider reselling the property, I couldn't possibly raise enough money to make them a decent offer."

  "We can provide you with the means with which to buy," said LaBlanc. "We left a small sample with you during our last encounter."

  "The gold," said Alice. "He means that three-ounce hunk of gold."

  "Yes, gold." The tall albino gestured to the yard beyond the cabin. "Come and I will show you."

  They followed him outside. One of the albino beings stood next to Jenny's red MG convertible. It was in the form of a hulking football player, complete with helmet and shoulder pads. The changeling held a galvanized metal bucket in each hand. And both buckets were loaded to the brim with sizable chunks of pure gold.

  "There must be a fortune there," Alice told Jenny. "It could be close to a million dollars, maybe more."

  Jenny walked over to where the football player stood. Cautiously, she reached down and lifted a chunk of gold the size of a grapefruit in her hand. "But where did you get all this?"

  LaBlanc smiled. "From where it is plentiful. If you should need more, we will be glad to bring it to you."

  "No," said Jenny. "This should be more than enough to get their attention." She knew that she had no excuse to refuse the albino leader and his subjects now. "I can't make any promises, but I'll give it my best shot."

  "That is all we ask," said LaBlanc, reaching out and taking Jenny's hand. "You have the spirit and courage of your father. I am sorry that we could not prevent his passing. He watched over us well and we mourn his loss."

  "Yes, so do I."

  "But he was avenged," came a deep voice from their right. "Those who were to blame were punished."

  Jenny and the others looked toward the dense tangle of the encroaching forest. A dark form stood within the shadows. A form that appeared human, yet misshapen, as though a conglomeration of several different identities had been crowded into the framework of a single body.

  "Yes," Jenny said. "They certainly were." But for some reason, she could not bring herself to thank the Dark'Un for its act of unrestrained vengeance.

  After the pails of gold were placed in the trunk of the car, LaBlanc called his followers to him, then saluted Jenny with a graceful bow. "PaleDoveMountain is our one and only home, Jenny Brice. We either live here or perish. If the intruders do not agree to a peaceful settlement, then there shall be war. A war of bloodshed and savagery the likes of which they have never known before."

  "Amen!" declared the dark beast in the forest.

  Then, with a clap of his hands, Lance LaBlanc began to change, along with the rest of his pallid subjects.

  "The cameras!" cried Alice. During the bewildering encounter, she and Dale had completely forgotten them. They began to focus in, snapping shot after shot as the collective metamorphosis took place before their eyes.

  The crackling noise grew in intensity as the albinos lost form and collapsed into white pools on the green grass. They began to lose mass and reduce in size, then blossom like the blooms of white flowers. Wings unfolded from new bodies and the albinos—now a flock of pale doves—rose skyward.

  "The Dark'Un!" yelled Dale.

  Alice turned her camera to the forest, but the shadowy form was no longer there. "Where is it?"

  "Up there!" The boy pointed skyward.

  Alice raised her camera and caught the dark creature in her viewfinder. "Oh my God!" she squealed like a happy child as she let the speed advance go wild. A great winged reptile of pitch black and iron gray rose above the tall trees, joining the doves in midair. She watched as the pterodactyl flew in perfect formation with the others, leading the way over the lofty foliage and toward the mountaintop.

  After they had di
sappeared from view, Jenny turned to the two grinning photographers. "So, what are you two doing up here anyway?"

  "We came up here in search of Dale's dinosaurs," smiled Alice, feeling more excited than she had been in years. "Looks like we found them…and more!"

  "How do they do it, Professor McCray?" asked Dale. "How do they change themselves like that?"

  "Well, I'm not exactly a biologist, but it looks like they are a species of intelligent organisms that can juggle their molecular structure, cell by cell, and imitate other life forms from visual contact or memory. That's just a quick theory, of course. Until I get hold of a tissue sample and a microscope, that's the best explanation I can come up with."

  "I think we'd better be getting back to town," said Dale. He regarded the two women nervously. "I hope you won't tell Dad about me playing hooky. He would tan my hide if he found out."

  "Don't worry, partner," said Alice. "Your secret is safe with us. Right, Jenny?"

  Jenny hated the thought of lying to Glen Tucker. She had grown close to the man in the past few days, but she had also grown close to Dale as well. She couldn't see getting the boy in trouble over something as petty as missing a single day of school, especially when his truancy had resulted in one of the most unforgettable experiences of his life. "All right, I won't spill the beans," she agreed. "Given the circumstances, I believe it would be best if we all kept a lid on what happened here today."

  They piled into the MG and drove down the mountain to the main highway. A company guard with a shotgun let Jenny through the blockade, eyeing her new passengers suspiciously. A short distance down the highway, Jenny let Alice and Dale out where the professor's car was parked at the edge of the road.

  "I'll see you two later," she said. "I've got a job to do this afternoon and I hope to God I can pull it off. If not, I think a lot of lives are going to be lost…both human and inhuman."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It had been an uneventful Saturday night, until the phone rang around ten o'clock.

  "Sheriff," Homer called out, grabbing his hat off the front desk. "It looks like we've got some more trouble brewing on PaleDoveMountain."

  Gart was at his desk, catching up on some overdue paperwork. "What's happening up there now?" he asked. Gart retrieved his fedora from a brass hook on his office door and straightened his gun0020belt as he accompanied his deputy outside to the patrol car.

  "I don't know, but the fella who called sounded like he was scared plumb outta his wits. Said there was something up there lurking around the Eco-Plenty camp on the south side of the mountain. Something big and dark and ornery. You don't reckon it could be a black bear, do you?"

  "Maybe," said Gart. "Or it could be our troublemaker. The one who's been wreaking havoc hereabouts for the past few weeks." He jumped into the passenger side of the cruiser while his deputy took the wheel.

  "You mean the Dark'Un?" replied Homer with smirk. "I still don't know if I can swallow that old wives' tale."

  "Tonight might just make you a true believer, Homer," Gart told him as they pulled onto the main stretch and headed southward out of town.

  Tucker's Mill was practically deserted that night. Most of the houses were dark, and the gas station and market were both closed. Gart knew for a fact that Glen and Dale Tucker had taken Jenny Brice to the drive-in movie in Mountain View that night. Miss Mable and Alice McCray were spending their evening at the boardinghouse, playing Rook, watching TV, and enjoying each other's company. Gart didn't know exactly where Rowdy was that night, but knowing his grandson, he was probably having a few beers and playing some pool over at Rebel's Roost. He was surprised that Rowdy hadn't taken Alice along with him; they seemed to be a little sweet on each other. Maybe Rowdy had figured the honky-tonk to be an unsuitable place for someone like the lady professor. Rebel's Roost did have a bad reputation. A Saturday night didn't go by without there being a barroom brawl or the robbery of a liquor-blind drunkard in the parking lot, usually by some of his back-stabbing drinking buddies.

  Ten minutes later, they were off the main highway and heading up a rarely used access road on the mountain's southern side. As the patrol car sped up the curving road, the headlights providing the only illumination against the pressing darkness of the surrounding thicket, Gart began to feel a bit uneasy. There was something about this emergency that didn't ring true. First of all, how did the guy from Eco-Plenty make his call from the wilderness of PaleDoveMountain? The only answer Gart could come up with was that they had one of those newfangled cellular telephones with them, the kind you tote around in your car. Another thing that was a little puzzling was Homer Lee Peck's sudden behavior. The overweight deputy was entirely too eager to get to the site of the trouble. Ever since the slaughter of Anthony Stoogeone, Homer had been dragging his heels and making excuses whenever the chance of danger presented itself during the course of his duties. Tonight, however, Homer was roaring up the mountainside as if he wanted to get to the action as soon as possible. Gart supposed that his deputy could have reevaluated his dedication to his job and pledged to be a better law officer in the eyes of his community. But such an abrupt change of heart was rare, especially for someone like Homer.

  "Look, Sheriff!" said Homer, slowing the car as they rounded a bend in the road. "There's a truck up ahead."

  Gart turned his attention on the green Ford pickup. It was parked crossways in the narrow road and was riddled with deep dents and jagged tears, much like the ones in Bubba Graham's truck. Several of the windows were shattered, as well as both headlights. The door on the driver side was open and, next to it, laid the body of a man. They couldn't make him out very well, but it looked as if his clothes were torn to shreds and he was completely covered with blood.

  "Damn!" breathed Homer. "Looks like something fierce got hold of that truck…and that poor fella next to it, too." He braked the patrol car to a halt thirty feet from the battered vehicle and cut the engine. Homer sat there, swallowing dryly, looking as though his sudden burst of bravado was wearing off fast.

  "Well, come on, Deputy. I reckon we'd better go check it out." Gart shucked the pump shotgun from the rack beneath the dash and slowly stepped from the car.

  "I'm with you, Sheriff." Homer left the cruiser and nervously unsnapped the retaining strap on his holster. He trailed a few feet behind Gart, his meaty hand resting on the butt of his service revolver.

  Gart reached the body first. The man was lying face down, with his right arm and leg partially hidden beneath the frame of the truck. The lawman grimaced at the state of the guy's clothing. It looked as if it had been slashed to ribbons by a straight razor.

  He was bending down to check the man's pulse when he noticed two things that sent a flare of alarm through his brain. First of all, the blood was not congealing and it was a little too red in color. And instead of the hot copper stench of blood, a different scent drifted up from the man's body. The tangy scent of tomato ketchup.

  "Homer!" Gart called behind him as the dead man suddenly came to life. "Watch out! It's a trap!" The hand of the bogus victim appeared from beneath the truck, clutching a Louisville Slugger. The sheriff tried to step away, but the bat lashed out swiftly, cracking painfully against the back of his ankles.

  "Yeah," said Homer in response to Gart's warning. "I know." He watched as the sheriff fell on his back in the dirt road. The shotgun clattered to the earth a few yards away and the deputy snatched it up before the constable could make a mad scramble for it. Then he returned to the front of the patrol car, taking a seat on the bumper as if it were a front-row seat to a show he had wanted to see for a very long time.

  With a grimace of pain and growing rage, Gart managed to struggle to his feet. It felt as if one of his ankles might be fractured, but he drove the injury from his mind and turned to the man who had served as the bait for his ambush. The fellow stood there grinning through a face full of ketchup, looking like an extra in a low-budget horror flick. Gart reached for his sidearm, but the baseball bat crashed
down, rapping across his knuckles. He cried out as he heard a brittle snap and felt a hot, burning sensation arc down the length of his hand, from middle finger to wrist.

  "'Come on out, boys, and join the fun," called Homer. The deputy had turned on the police flashers, bathing the space between the cruiser and the battered truck in swirling blue light.

  Eleven men appeared out of the darkness of the surrounding forest. Most were men that Gart knew by sight—men he had run across during his career as sheriff of PeremontCounty. They were all rawboned rednecks of highly questionable character, the kind of white trash that shunned decent work and preferred to make their living running moonshine or poaching. He watched as they formed a close circle around him, their hands wrapped around baseball bats, crowbars, and two-by-fours. Their eyes brimmed with cold malice for the man who had been a burr under their saddle for so many years.

  Gart turned hard eyes on his deputy. "You son of a bitch!" he said. "You planned this whole thing. You're on Eco-Plenty's payroll, just like Baldwin and Jergens, aren't you?"

  "Yep," replied Homer smugly. "And they pay a helluva lot better than the PeremontCounty sheriff's department does. The reason we've set up this private meeting tonight is to lay down the law to you…Jackson Dellhart's law. You should have left well enough alone, Mayo. Trying to pin Fletcher Brice's death on a powerful corporation like Eco-Plenty was a very bad decision to make. Unfortunately, you won't be getting a second chance. Mr. Dellhart has instructed us to put you out of the picture for good. So I reckon there's no need to drag this thing out. Bust him up good, boys, and I'll finish him off."

  Gart turned this way and that, but he could find no break in the tightening circle, no gap from which he could escape. He backed away from the approaching men, but the guy with the baseball bat nudged him in the small of the back, prodding him back into the open. "Go on, you old fart. Get out there and take your punishment like a man."

  A husky fellow with a scraggly red beard and tattooed arms the size of hog thighs stepped in, balancing a tire iron in one hand. "Remember me, Mayo? Jimmy Whitman. You stuck me in that pigsty of a jail for a solid month for teaching my wife and young'uns a little respect…at the end of my fist. Now it's my turn to teach you some." He lashed out and struck Gart a sharp blow across the collarbone. The sheriff cried out, feeling the bone snap in half, the sharp ends digging into tender muscle.