by TJ Park
It took a while for Doug to appreciate that the light had failed completely, the ghost of its image still troubling his eyes. Since no-one had filled them in on the night’s events so far, Lauren and Scott began charging the dead air with questions. Janet shushed them with a barely suppressed fright. This was not the mother they knew.
“Doug?” Warlock whispered. “Doug? You said it was an animal. What sort of animal knows how to turn out the lights?”
The two men withdrew into the centre of the room, moving away from the door and windows. There was no real doubt in their minds as to what came next.
“Doug, can I have a gun?”
Doug had snatched the sawn-off from Warlock after he’d come back from the shed. After a moment’s consideration, he found him a spare pistol. Warlock took it greedily. Doug steadied him, gripping his arm so he would stop creeping off to the back of the room. If he was to have any choice in the matter, Doug would rather not be shot in the back by accident. At the same time, Warlock thought Doug was trying to put him in front so he’d be attacked first.
They were still in the midst of their shuffling back and forth when the stair and veranda outside were crossed in three banging strides and the front door crashed open.
Without a thought, Doug shoved the barrel of Warlock’s pistol aside. It fired and the window beside the door blew out. Doug did not know whether he had averted the shot or set it off. He only knew that what charged in through the front was not the thing that pursued him through the fields. “It’s Mick, dammit!”
The man framed in the doorway was a shadow in the gloom, but it was obviously Mick, holding the same type of pistol as Warlock. He was in a shocking state. His clothes were torn up, and parts of him shone wetly. Without his specs he was nearly unrecognisable … Then Doug recognised him truly, but it was the Clarkson family who chorused first.
“Dad!”
Above his wild and ready stance, Rob’s head twisted about as he tried to see into the dark room. Doug saw a situation playing out horribly similar to the slaughter at the aerodrome. He’d have to start killing if he didn’t want Rob to gain his night-eyes first.
And that was how things might have panned out if Doug hadn’t been distracted by Rob’s reinforcements outside – how many dogs did this farm have? Doug saw a shape lope into the yard outside, a big one, coming to the grazier’s aid.
Wait. No, not a dog.
As it approached, coming fast, it grew too big.
The recognition did nothing for Doug’s state of mind. If anything, the rifle became impossibly heavy in his hands. He barely had the strength to hold it. He knew speaking up was an invitation to be shot, but that beat what was coming for them.
“Rob?”
Rob snapped round in the direction of his voice. The pistol fell inside his silhouette and Doug could not see where it was aimed. He couldn’t have cared less. He was watching the door as it slowly swung closed behind Rob, not closing fast enough for his liking. Through the doorway behind Rob he could see a shadow reach the foot of the stairs, coming up and onto the veranda in an oily glide.
“Rob, close the door,” Doug said hoarsely, all the warning he could muster.
The door was about to gently latch shut, until the thing reached out and grasped the panel before it could close – not like an animal, but just like a human would. Except with a black paw the size of a dinner plate, adorned with huge spikes.
Doug thought, We’re dead.
Then, instead of forcing the door open, pushing inward, the thing wanting entrance pulled the door closed, then through, off its hinges. It broke in two.
Screams filled the room.
Rob jerked like a puppet in reaction. He was confused, torn between the cries of his family and the explosive force behind him. He turned to confront what, at first sight, looked like the largest, blackest toad in all creation. The thing was hunched before the threshold, preparing to spring – never mind it couldn’t possibly fit through the splintered doorframe.
It leapt at Rob.
It got no further.
Hitting the doorway drew a sudden shower of light. At first Doug thought perhaps the thing’s claws had raised sparks from scraping the doorknob; anything seemed possible since the incident in the paddock. But then the monster tried again to thrust past the doorframe; the same flash came again, a hundredfold, a flash of fire.
The thing’s forehead ruptured with incandescent light. It was something that wanted to be pure, but wasn’t. It was riddled with filth. It was there and gone in a blink.
Doug looked round to see who had fired the shot, but there was no noise except for the thing skidding away from the door, the black stencil of it outside shunting its large head into its shoulder.
Rob backed away nearly as fast, running into Doug.
On the veranda, the thing lifted its head and considered the gaping doorway.
“It’s hurt,” Lauren cried out. “It’s bleeding.”
And indeed it seemed so. Despite the lack of visible hide, the thing appeared to be covered with numerous close wounds, dimly gleaming a wet red. No-one dared get closer to find out, but the temptation to confirm was there. It was bleeding. Wounded. Cut. But the marks almost seemed like something else entirely. Like designs. As if you looked at them long enough they would begin to form pictures.
The thing reached out and swiped a paw at the open doorway.
A streak of dirty-white flame followed the claws through the air. There was something horribly unright about it; despite the darkness, the abrasive light didn’t linger as an afterimage. There was no residual effect. It was there and gone faster than a camera flash, like it wasn’t an authentic event, something that should never participate in the natural world. And further, the ugly flare didn’t throw light on the thing’s face. If possible, the thing became darker in the aftermath.
No-one in the room said anything, held inside brittle carapaces of tension.
The thing raised its kinked, affected paw and shook it as if stung. Then it turned its attention again to those inside. It studied them … Doug could tell by the tilt of its immense head. Unlike them, he guessed it had no problem seeing in the dark. It saw them well enough, right down to the bones. Doug gripped Rob by the arm, not to restrain him, but for reassurance. Rob calmly allowed it.
The thing stayed in the doorway for the longest time. When Rob thought to raise his pistol, it rose unhurriedly and prowled out of sight along the veranda, tracked by a long twitching tail.
One of those monstrous paws, with claws like butchers’ knives, appeared at the nearest window. It flexed and the glass burst inside, the claws hooking briefly over the sill. That distinctive flare of light raked the air again. The breaking glass had the effect of a starting gun on Rob and Doug. They rushed to the window with their weapons raised, the others shouting to keep back.
Both men fired into the dark as the thing moved on. There was another crash of glass at a second window. Another uncanny flash. Soon enough they understood the thing meant to stalk the entire house, trying every opening. Another was tested before the men got moving again, chasing the flashes that accompanied the sound of breaking glass. They paced the thing from inside, firing odd shots at it, finishing the demolition of the windows. Rob led the pursuit, knowing the layout of his house more intimately than Doug. They darted in and out of rooms, hunting the flashes.
Doug was right not to underestimate the Clarksons and their ability to recover swiftly. Janet had untied her children during the uproar; the boy was suddenly behind his father with torch in hand, spotlighting the thing. The torchlight confused the hunt, bouncing reflections off what was left of the windows. The kid meant well, but got in the way, knocked down in the hallway when his father exited a room too swiftly.
Moving in a low glide, the thing tried a window and was gone again before they could respond, a tinkle of glass and a vestige of white not-light telling them it had been. Rob was getting more and more alarmed. The thing never stopped nor slowed. Most
of their wild firing would have missed, but surely one or two shots had found the mark.
As the thing swept to the back of the house, more bedlam ensued as the two men rushed through the living room. The others scrambled clear as Rob and Doug charged through, picking up fresh weapons. They raced to the small, porthole-like window beside the back door, readying their defence, but it was the back door that burst inward. The lock was torn out with a chunk of panelling. A row of flashing scrapes was there and gone before the men had a chance to aim.
Exchanging a look, the two men cut ahead, setting up an ambush in the room after next. When the beast arrived, Rob and Doug were set. They fired at point-blank. The back end of the thing slewed around on the veranda as if sliding on a freshly waxed floor. Then it straightened and calmly continued its bizarrely serene vandalism.
Rob froze in surprise. Doug kept moving; he had encountered the thing’s attitude to bullets before. Both spurned the last room and tumbled back into the living room, pointing their guns at the shattered front door. They heard breaking glass from a last window and prepared themselves.
The monster sauntered into view. Its easy, careless gait unnerved them. They did not fire. It settled on a spot before the top of the steps. The floorboards did not creak, though they should have suffered greatly from the thing’s great size.
It turned and sat down to face them, as bold as you please, an easy target.
Scott wanted to point his torch in its face, but he was busy trying to put it back together. It came apart when his father had bounced him off the wall in the hallway.
Rob fired once into the thing, dead centre. Doug held off. He finally appreciated the futility.
As he got the shot off, the monster sank its claws into its perch with the distinct sound of crunching wood. It bent a little when struck, then straightened. Otherwise, it showed no intention of moving. Not until it chose to.
It defied examination. Its eyes could be pointed anywhere, but Doug knew they were set firmly on those inside. He could feel the weight of its attention.
“What the bloody hell?” Rob cried, exasperated. He staggered in place, his mad dash through the house suddenly catching up with him.
Janet went to help her husband, but her eyes were driven to the thing outside.
“What’s it doing?” she asked.
Nothing. That was precisely it. It was doing nothing.
Perhaps it was deliberating, coming to the same conclusion as Warlock.
“It can’t come in!” he shouted crazily, elated. “It can’t fucking come in!”
The thing was stock-still. It could have been facing inward or outward for all they knew. The thing was a black cipher. A black hole in space.
Then, without warning, the thing moved again. Everyone braced for a fresh assault, but it slipped down the front steps, going away to merge with the night. Again, for all its enormous size, it left without a sound.
Kneading his bruised shoulder, Scott came and stood by his mum and dad. His eyes glistened, but he remained stoic. Rob looked down at him.
“Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to bump you. You alright?”
“Yeah, it was a wussy hit.”
Rob laughed and rubbed the back of his son’s neck.
Scott looked over his father’s injuries with concern.
“How about you, dad? You look like crap.”
Janet didn’t complain about her son’s choice of words.
“Are you bleeding?” she asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said, indifferent.
Scott raised the torch, flicking it on and off. “I got it working again.”
“Good lad. Leave it on.”
But Rob’s hope evaporated when he saw the front door in the torchlight, burst open like soft fruit.
“Does anybody … does anyone know what that’s about?”
Janet’s disdainful answer was pointed firmly in Doug’s direction.
“We know as much as you do. But I think we’re all in the same boat now.”
“Mum?”
The anguished cry came from Lauren, who had stayed on the couch during the ruckus. Having comforted her mother in the same place earlier, she now needed help. Her hands were clenched into fists, pressing down into her lap.
“Scott, give me the torch.” Janet angled it so as not to single out her daughter, but the diffuse light showed plenty.
“Bloody hell!” Rob roared.
Lauren’s hands were dark and lustrous with crimson. The bottom of the blouse pulled into her lap was darker still. Rob started toward her, fearful she’d been hit by a stray bullet.
“Is she …?”
In sharp contrast, Janet became flat and businesslike.
“It’s okay,” she announced, “I’ll handle it.” She grabbed a doona draped over the back of a lounge chair and tucked it around her daughter’s lap.
Rob could finally continue. “How bad is it?”
“She isn’t hurt.”
“Don’t be stupid, woman!” Rob said, outraged. “Where’s all that blood com–”
Understanding struck him. They all got it. Even Scott knew what it meant. There was nothing sacred about bodily functions when life revolved around livestock. The males responded clumsily, suddenly unable to look directly at Lauren, concerned yet embarrassed for her, though she was already covered up.
Doug spoke up. “Okay, so she’s fine. Rob, where’s Mick?”
He asked it over a pointing gun.
Rob was still holding a pistol, but it was pointed at the floor, his finger off the trigger. He considered his next move slowly.
“Did that thing get Mick?” Warlock wondered, aghast.
“Yeah, that’s what happened, isn’t it, Rob?” Doug asked.
Rob was slow to answer. Doug helped him along.
“It attacked you and Mick. You fought it, but only you got away, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s how you got hurt, then?”
Rob lifted a hand to the red marks on his neck. Signs of hand-to-hand combat. Doug could see a clear thumbprint by the light of the torch Janet was holding.
It was agonising for Rob’s family to watch him think up a credible excuse.
“No,” he finally admitted, “I left him in the shed.”
“Yeah? And how did you leave him, Rob?”
“I beat him bloody. He’s alive. I tied him up.”
“No, you didn’t. You killed him. That’s what I would have done.” Doug smiled gently to show how much in sync they were. Then he dropped the smile. “I should shoot you where you stand … and I’ll shoot your brat next if he doesn’t stop trying to get in back of me.”
“Scott!” Rob commanded. “Stay still!”
Scott did as his father directed. He had been doing a reasonable job of edging stealthily around the perimeter of the room – Warlock hadn’t noticed – but now felt foolish. His mouth twisted into a thin line.
“And sticking that torch in my eyes won’t put off my aim,” Doug said.
Sitting on the couch beside her daughter, Janet’s grip on the torch loosened.
They all took stock. Doug’s chest felt squeezed tight. He didn’t believe Mick was dead. If he did, it was possible he’d shoot Rob where he stood, no matter his family being present. But he had to know for sure. His tone was light, but his face wasn’t.
“What do you think, Warlock? Should we get Rob to go find Mick? Fetch him back?”
Warlock seemed unsure at first, but his gun hand was steadier. That was all that mattered. “I guess that’s fair,” he said, chewing on his lower lip.
“It’s murder,” Janet said.
Warlock couldn’t help giggling, thinking of recent events.
Janet tried again. “What Rob did was self-defence.”
“Yeah?” Doug considered. “Well, now he can make amends. He can try his luck out there, or I can shoot him right now. It’s the least I owe Mick.”
It wasn’t quite the same as spitting, but the noise
Janet made came close.
Meanwhile, Rob was very still, calculating.
“Put the gun down, Rob. You might think you’re in with a chance, but I’ll put two in you before you raise the bastard. And Warlock here … he’s not half as good a shot as I am. If he starts shooting up the place, his shots could go anywhere.”
Doug indicated the family with a flick of his eyes. Warlock didn’t know whether to smile or be insulted. His expression tried a combination of both. It looked horrible.
Rob subsided a little when he contemplated his family. He wouldn’t chance it.
“If I’m going out there, I’m taking my rifle,” he said.
“No, Rob!” cried Janet. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Warlock started doing a little nervous jig from foot to foot, seeking attention.
“What?” Doug asked dangerously.
“You might want to give Rob one of our guns. And swap clothes with him.”
Doug felt uneasy. It was probably more of Warlock’s nonsense, but nonsense was all the rage tonight.
“Why?”
Warlock twitched furiously. “I dunno. Only … I get the feeling that thing’s not after just anybody. I think it might be after –”
“There’s someone coming out the shed!” Scott exclaimed.
Doug joined Scott at the window, but not before taking the pistol from Rob.
***
The machinery shed was an enigmatic wedge of dark. Doug could not even make out the doors. Nothing appeared to be moving out there in the yard except for what the wind pushed along. But he trusted the boy’s eyesight, and soon enough, he could see someone stumble from the black murk of the shed.
The figure came to a stop, uncertain at first which way to go, then began shuffling with tortured deliberation toward the house. Doug raced to the front door, stepping through the opening with only a moment’s pause. He’d recognised the turn of the head in the tottering silhouette, saw the dim flash of spectacles.
Doug ran onto the veranda and nearly kept going. But his instincts kicked in and he clung to the railing where he had a better vantage. Raising the Winchester he surveyed the empty yard around the figure’s plodding approach. Eyes darting, he whispered tersely: “Hurry it up, Mick!”