by James Kahn
He shielded his eyes from the Light but did not falter. He looked closely from face to face until he found the one he sought—the evil one, dressed in black, with eyes like moss. Taylor watched him approach a young, lost girl and try to befoul her spirit with self-mutilation. The girl wavered.
Taylor was about to intervene in this obscenity when he noticed someone else observing the interaction: an old woman, heading toward the Light. She’d stopped in her journey, though, to watch the young girl confront this monster of a man.
Taylor approached the old-woman-spirit. “Do not watch this shameful display,” he told her. “Go into the Light, if that is your journey.”
The old woman’s lip quavered. “She’s my granddaughter,” she said, nodding toward the young girl. “She needs my help.”
“I will help her,” Taylor promised. “But if your journey is into the Light and you do not go, you will wander here in the Dark Canyon forever with the Evil Ones—like that thing.” He pointed at Kane, who was now ripping out pieces of his own lung with his teeth and eating them in front of Carol Anne, trying to force her into submission through horror.
Taylor moved between Kane and Carol Anne. “Perhaps it is for me to touch your heart.”
Kane backstepped with a grimace. “You . . .” he growled.
“And you,” Taylor answered flatly. He looked momentarily at Carol Anne. “Be not afraid.” Then he reached into his medicine bag, pulled out an ancient obsidian lance tip, and, quicker than thought, touched it to Kane’s heart.
Kane screamed, making no sound. His heart was punctured where it had been touched. Out poured first vile smoke, then thick matter that curdled in the light, then putrid snakes and newts, all wriggling to get free, tearing the hole open wider as they squirmed away.
Then Kane just diffused into the ether and was gone. When Jess saw this she rested easier and called thanks to Taylor, and she continued her journey into the Light.
Taylor turned to Carol Anne. “Go now,” he said, pointing to where Sceädu still lay, enchanted by Taylor’s song.
Carol Anne stared in wonder a long moment at Taylor; then she scampered over to Sceädu and jumped through.
And the rest of her sleep was dreamless.
Taylor, too, returned to the Upper World. But when he opened his eyes, sitting atop the cold stone obelisk, the wind had died down, the fire was out, the smoke was gone.
And Sing-With-Eagles was nowhere to be seen.
Ten o’clock the next morning, Steve was on the phone to the family lawyer. “No, Diane found it this morning . . . Yeah, in her sleep, very peacefully, the doctor said. No, he just left. Okay, we’ll be in touch. Yes, I will.” He hung up and turned to Diane, who was crying as she did the dishes.
“God, I wish I hadn’t behaved so badly last night,” she said. “I mean, my last words to her were angry.”
“Di . . . she knew you loved her.”
“If I only had one more day . . .” She turned from the sink to wipe her hands, angry at herself.
The kids were standing in the doorway, listening.
Diane tried to get herself under control. “Gramma passed away last night . . .” she began.
“She died?” said Robbie, startled.
Carol Anne felt the knowledge of this strike her like a slap in the face; her regret was edged somehow with fear.
Diane started crying again.
“Kids,” said Steve, “your mom needs some hugs.”
And they all wrapped arms around one another, crying and comforting and not comprehending the vast, heartless mystery of death.
That afternoon Diane walked through her mother’s garden, looking for meaning in memory.
She remembered herself as a small girl in the same garden, helping Jess plant the first flowers: the same rose bush that blossomed beside her now. Jess had hugged her then, and she remembered thinking: I will never be happier.
She sniffed a yellow rose, closed her eyes; the memory engulfed her, brought tears again as the wind rose and dropped petals in her hair. They felt like her mother’s fingertips, touching her delicately. Almost as if Jess was right there again.
“Mom,” Diane whispered; and the wind picked up, dropping more petals. “There are so many things . . . so many things I wish I’d told you . . . You always made me feel so safe . . .” Her mother’s presence completely encircled her, lifting her out of time and mind to a place of eternal unity. “Mom, I love you so much.”
And suddenly the wind settled, and Jess’s presence was gone.
“I wish you were here now.” Diane looked up at the sky, then to the ground. “Good-bye, Mom.”
She wiped away her tears, took a deep breath. There was no meaning in memory, but there was love.
Steve, who’d been watching her from the patio, stepped forward and hugged her. “We’ll make it,” he whispered. “I love you.”
Carol Anne came running out of the house, wearing her ballerina costume, holding out two silver wings. “Mom, can you put these on me so I’ll be a ballerina with wings?” she asked.
She took the wings lovingly from her daughter and spoke with a bit of Jess’s inflection. “Darlin’, you can be anything you want to be.”
That night it rained. Great charcoal clouds of rain, detonated by lightning that was eerily silent. The drops fell slowly at first, as if they were testing the house, waiting for a response. There was no response, though; for the first night in many years, Jess’s vital spirit no longer inhabited the place.
The rain came down harder.
A harsh wind rose up, too, driving the rain sideways—under the eaves, under the flashing. Under the lip of the skylight in Carol Anne’s and Robbie’s room.
The rain dripped from this unsealed corner of skylight to the floor of the kids’ room. To the toy phone on the floor. Making the toy bell on the toy phone go ding.
For just the briefest moment, all the clectrical toys in the bedroom winked on: the magic castle night-light, the Lava Lamp, the Talk-a-Dolly, the Speed-King race car—the miniature robot even walked two steps toward Robbie, then stopped. As if, for an instant, they were alive.
Rain pinged the phone again, and Carol Anne opened her eyes. She got out of bed quietly, sat on the floor by the phone, picked up the receiver.
It was Gramma’s voice on the other end.
“Hi, Gramma,” said Carol Anne. “Do you have wings now? My ballerina costume does. Gramma . . .” she started to go on, but when Gramma spoke back, it was in a slightly different voice.
“Gramma, you sound funny,” said Carol Anne. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m okay,” said the voice, but it definitely wasn’t Gramma now. “I’m okay because I can see you. Just like I saw you last night, when you saw me.”
“Who are you?” said Carol Anne. She didn’t like the voice. It was high and silky sweet.
“I’m the man of your dreams, child. Remember me?”
“No, uh-uh . . . I don’t remember . . .” And she didn’t, by the grace of God.
Robbie opened his eyes.
“Yes, she’s my guardian angel,” Carol Anne said into the phone. “What?” She looked at the receiver queerly, saying, “Okay, I’ll get her.” She picked her doll up off the floor and held the receiver to its ear; then she took the phone back from the doll.
The voice said to Carol Anne, “Katrina’s a nice doll. Would you like me to turn you into a nice little doll like Katrina?”
“How’d you know Katrina’s name?” said Carol Anne.
“I know everything,” said Kane. “Because I’m smaaaaart.”
“Oh . . .”
But before she could respond further, there was a snapping of electrical discharges all over the room as a smoky substance exuded from the mouthpiece of the toy phone. Carol Ann dropped it. Robbie sat up in bed, fear pulling his face tight.
A wispy, steamy tentacle snaked out of the receiver, twisting higher, giving birth to itself, translucent and cold. Hovering above Carol Anne, it grew br
ighter.
“Carol Anne!” Robbie tried to yell, but it came out a croak.
The ectoplasm brewed around the ceiling, becoming a hand that danced, flexed, palpated the fixtures. Then it reformed into something resembling a head and torso, but mutant, corrupt. It seemed to gaze around, studying the room, studying Carol Anne.
With a sudden ripping CRACK, it expelled itself completely from the phone, into the room—and with an intense, bursting light, it migrated violently into the walls.
The house shook like an earthquake was upon it, and it didn’t stop.
Diane woke up first; she thought she was dreaming. “Steven!”
They jumped out of bed together as lamps crashed to the floor, books tumbled from shelves. They lost their footing twice as they ran down the hallway to the children’s room, but the tremor halted as soon as they reached the door.
Inside they found Carol Anne and Robbie huddled in the middle of the floor, clutching each other and Carol Anne’s guardian angel doll.
When she saw her parents, Carol Anne knew it was starting all over again; and she knew she had to tell them. “They’re here,” she said.
Steve’s face went white. “Oh, shit . . . not again . . .”
It took them about five minutes to dress and pack. Carol Anne carried only her doll, Diane carried only her daughter, Steve carried only one suitcase, Robbie carried a knapsack full of toys.
E. Buzz barked incessantly as the whole troop clambered down the stairs, then along the front hallway toward the door. And the entire distance they were followed by the thudding of huge, monster footsteps, pounding closer each moment, within the substance of the house.
“Hurry, please, hurry,” Diane whimpered. “Don’t turn around.” Just like last time. It was all coming back.
“Don’t panic!” bellowed Steve. Then, in a whisper “Don’t panic!!”
“Oh, God,” prayed Robbie. Maybe the thing was after him this time.
“Don’t stop!” shouted Steve.
Diane reached the front door first, swung it open, and screamed: there was something there.
Someone, actually. It was Taylor.
The pounding in the house grew louder, as Steve moved forward angrily on the large man who was impassively blocking their way. “Who the hell are you?”
“Name’s Taylor,” said Taylor stoically.
“Well . . . great,” said Steve, plowing past him with family in tow. “Nice meeting you. We’re going now.”
The reverberating footsteps were almost to the front door . . . but Taylor made a quick gesture and spoke an ancient Way, and the footsteps disappeared.
Then he turned to Steve, who was already in the driveway, hunting for his car keys. “Tangina Barrons sent me,” he said to the fleeing Freelings.
Steve found his keys. “Terrific. Say hello to the magic munchkin for us.” He opened the car door.
Diane was slowed by that name, though. She looked at Taylor. “Sent you for what?” she said.
“It’s no use running,” said Taylor. “It’ll find you. You’re better off here.”
For a moment, his words stunned the entire family. They stared at him as if he were a prophet of doom.
Steve recovered his first intent, though. “Good.” He threw the word at Taylor like a knife. “You stay. We’re gone.” Then to his family: “Come on. In the car. Let’s go.
They all piled into the station wagon with varying degrees of reluctance, fear, and confusion. Diane was relieved that Steve was taking control of the situation, though she wasn’t sure this messenger from Tangina should be dismissed out of hand. Steve, for his part, wasn’t really thinking at all; he just wanted to get the hell out of there. Robbie was actually kind of excited about the whole thing, now that they were out of the house.
And Carol Anne looked at Taylor with a curious smile. She liked that man; she didn’t know why. She felt almost like she knew him from someplace, though; she just couldn’t remember where.
She gave him a little wave out the back window of the car.
Taylor waved back.
Steve started the car with an untuned rumble, pulled out of the driveway, and screeched off down the street into the night.
An hour down I-10 going west, they pulled into an all-night roadside diner. They sat at a booth by the window, ordered chocolate sundaes for the little kids and coffee for themselves, and stared silently into their own thoughts.
It was finally Robbie who spoke first. “Are we gonna move again, Dad?”
That was, of course, everyone’s question—resolve themselves to an over-the-shoulder life of half-ignored fears, half-repressed memories, ready to pick up and run every few years? Every time it found them? Whatever it was?
Everyone looked at Steve.
“Well, son . . . I don’t know.” He sighed at the admission and tried to include them all in what he perceived as his own private loss of will. “I guess . . . we’ll have to think about it.”
Diane didn’t want to leave, now that the first flush of fright was past. This was no sterile tract house of Sheetrock and PVC; this was her mother’s home. Diane’s home. They couldn’t just . . . walk away. “Where can we go?” she demanded.
“Disneyland!” suggested Carol Anne.
“Don’t be such an infant,” Robbie scolded her.
“Then how about Knott’s Berry Farm?” Carol Anne goaded her brother. She hated it when he tried to act like an adult. She didn’t ever want to be an adult. Adults died and got scary.
“Okay, you two, settle down,” warned Diane. She had enough to think about without monitoring them. She took all the change from her purse and handed it over. “Here, go play the videos.”
The kids ran off to the other end of the diner, leaving Steve and Diane to sort it out.
“Steven, what are we going to do?”
“I’m thinking,” he lied. He was wallowing.
Behind them, at the counter, sat two overweight, T-shirted, redneck women, the younger one in hair curlers, the older one in her cups. “You’re just a pack o’ trouble, Momma,” the younger one was saying. “Why you messin’ around with that bum is beyond me.”
“Cuz I likes him, that’s why,” replied her sullen momma.
Diane tried to ignore their rising voices. “Steven,” she said, taking his hand across the table, “we’ve got to go somewhere. We can’t just drive around.”
Steve was feeling trapped.
The woman in hair curlers stood, saying to the other, “Well, Momma, don’t be bringin’ him to my house. That’s all I can say.” Then she turned and, without any preliminary, walked directly over to Steve and Diane. She spoke softly, and her voice changed character completely. It was Jess’s voice. “Listen, children,” it said, “you can’t run from this thing. It has made contact with you and will stop at nothing. You must fight him head-on. Stay together. Be loving. Be brave.”
Diane turned pale. “Mom?!” she whispered.
The woman suddenly shivered, blinked, and looked at Diane as if seeing her for the first time.
“Mom?” Diane said again.
The woman made a face. “What? I ain’t your mom, lady.” Her voice was pure redneck again.
“You okay, Elspeth?” shouted the older lady from the counter.
“Yeah, I guess,” said the younger. The two of them left, looking back at the Freelings as if perhaps the police ought to be called.
“I need a drink,” said Steve, and signaled the waitress.
He finished the beer quickly, neither of them talking. Then, in the cold light of the mercury lamps, they all walked out to the parking lot. Parked next to their station wagon was a battered blue pickup truck; sitting on the bumper of the truck was Taylor.
“What do you want?” Steve said suspiciously.
Taylor nodded toward the diner. “She told you the truth.”
“Who?” Diane came up quickly. “You mean those two women?”
“You in cahoots with that girl?” Steve accused angrily.
“I don’t cahoot with anyone.” Taylor smiled.
“Is that right? Then why are you following us?”
“I came to help.”
“We don’t want your damn help!” Steve exploded. “We don’t want anyone’s help! We just want to be left alone!” He was near hitting the man, just to have something to do.
Diane sensed this and wanted to defuse it before Steve got himself into something else he couldn’t handle. Besides, she felt an intuitive trust for this Taylor, and she was desperate to trust. “Steve, please . . . calm down now, honey . . .”
“Please what?” Steve clenched and unclenched his fists. “Maybe it’s no coincidence that this guy shows up when everything starts getting funny again.” Steve distrusted himself totally now, distrusted his ability to reason, to cope, to act, and so he naturally distrusted everyone else. “Now, get in the car, Diane.”
Diane spoke to Taylor, though. “Why did Tangina send you? Why didn’t she come herself?”
“My kind of job.” Taylor shrugged. “When you have a special problem, you call a specialist.”
“Diane, this is ridiculous,” Steve said in the staccato tone he used when he had to try to substitute the force of his voice for the force of conviction. “Now, come on—”
“Steve, let’s try to handle this sensibly,” Diane pressed.
“Sensibly!” he rasped. “What’s sensible about anything that’s happened? Nobody can help us, Diane.” This is how he felt—beyond help. “I want to get out of here—now.” His voice was taking on a surly edge.
“And go where?” Diane shouted, near her own breaking point. She knew Steve had nowhere to go. “Steve, it followed us here. It will follow us anywhere we go.” She squeezed his arm to make him understand. “We can’t keep running.”
Steve looked up to see Carol Anne, Robbie, and E. Buzz standing beside the impassive Taylor. They’d cast their votes. And their sad faces bespoke an eloquence Steve couldn’t answer, for all his anger and shame.