by Gary Fry
Everyone was growing fraught, and when Sheila called again, “There’s something else with us, ” she sounded no less rational than the rest.
Or had she originally said “something”? Back in the car park, before starting out on this abortive venture, hadn’t she said “someone”? And if that was true, what might the change of emphasis imply?
Jim gazed at Derek and Kevin, both of whom appeared to admit defeat. Instead of panicking as he’d often done lately, however, Jim chose to be practical, not to let stubborn life get the better of human resourcefulness. His chest was still aching, but at least his mind was functioning well.
“Look, ” he said, and a few of them did—in the direction of a noise that seemed to have crept up among a cluster of nearby shadows. Sheila also turned to glance and then clapped a palm over her mouth. But Jim, used to such bizarre behaviour, refused to allow this to interfere with his purpose. “Let’s all take a break, eh? We should just sit here—hey, even lay down if we prefer. We’re okay. It’s cold, but not unbearable. And if we have to sleep outside overnight, well, so be it. It might even be fun. ”
Hadn’t he, an irrepressible hypochondriac, lived with danger all his life? Hadn’t he looked it repeatedly in the eye since his wife had developed her illness? Oh, just bring it on, he thought. I’ve had enough of your hints and teasing. Let’s see you. Let’s deal with you the way a real man should…
At that moment, he wasn’t sure he was fully sane.
As the encroaching night claimed dominion over the land on which they reposed, Jim smiled. He cuddled Sheila for protection, feeling her bony ribcage. Then he remembered first seeing her naked, his poor heart thumping like military drums. The sex had been brief and clumsy, but he nonetheless treasured the recollection. Her flesh had been so smooth, her breasts small and firm, her vagina tight and moist…Mutual attraction might well be a trick played upon people by a cosmos surely driving at a terrible punch-line, but such moments meant so much. Whatever the science, religion or social consequences of life, experience was all that mattered. And without memory to codify it, what was the point? How could he touch his wife’s sagging body and still desire it? How could he look at her face and see not what others saw, but the person behind her failing form?
His exhausted companions must have succumbed to Jim’s proposal to sleep, because the next Jim knew he was suffering a nightmare.
——
Jane was the first to go. Her rapid disappearance was announced by a short, hellish yelp. All the men were quickly on their feet, while Sheila was saying, “It’s here, it’s older than time. It’s here, it’s older than time. It’s here, it’s older than time…”
“Darling, please be quiet, ” Jim said, having to be forceful, because the savage sounds coming from only a few yards away strove to overrule him. It was pitch-dark, the early hours of the morning. They’d chosen to sleep on a flat area of grass, flanked by dense vegetation to keep out the cold. But what had breached this tenuous fortress, a barrier strengthened by little more than foolish faith? It was obviously something much stronger than Jane’s.
The woman screamed something beginning with ‘G’ yet entirely lacking an ‘od’, and was soon whisked away with a flurry of dry, scuttling noises.
Silence followed, and then the night was swept back to their collective attention.
“What…what the f-fuck was that?” asked Kevin, his voice shaking.
“I’m n-not staying to find out, ” Derek replied, no less assured in tone.
“This is crazy, ” added Peter, his voice divided between curiosity and escalating fear.
Mark had either been rendered speechless by the event or was unable to come to terms with its source. It was left to Jim to act responsibly.
He strayed away from Sheila, preoccupied by what had just besieged the group. Creeping forwards, he observed the four unmoving men in his peripheral vision, but focused only on what lay ahead. There was a rotten scent, like impure water, and when he reached the place the religious woman had occupied earlier, he felt like gagging.
“Jesus, ” he said, not entirely inappropriately, and then stared at the mess on the ground. The streaks of whiteness down there resembled strands of a giant web. The grass vacated by Jane had been crushed fl perhaps by her dragged-away body…or maybe by whatever had done the dragging.
Whichever was true, Jim decided that nobody should stay to discover more. He retreated to his wife, and despite wishing he could ask what she’d seen earlier, he turned quickly to the other group members. “We need to leave. It doesn’t matter which way—just far from here. We must keep moving until daylight. Come on! Let’s go!”
They did.
——
Had he really seen what he’d thought he had: pieces of discarded web on the floor where the woman had lain? The notion was too terrifying to hold in his mind, and he shoved it aside to focus on leading the survivors away from whatever had taken such a fickle fancy to them.
And wasn’t that just like life? You worked for ages, retired a few years early with a decent pension and no mortgage, and then bang: Alzheimer’s…bang: hardening arteries…bang: something frightening strikes during a harmless hike. It was surreal, inexplicable, vicious…but you had to keep moving on.
They did so, until about an hour later, still with nothing which resembled civilisation anywhere near, their nightmare took another savage twist.
Whoever was at the back of their haphazard line—Kevin, it sounded like, to judge by his scream—was also taken. A horrible lashing sound was followed by a coiling motion, putting Jim in mind of tape being wrapped around a plastic toy. Then there was a thump, a sliding noise, and a gleeful crunch of triumph.
The thing in pursuit was clearly delighted to have another victim to devour…if of course devouring was its intention and their enemy wasn’t in the game only for its sport.
It’s using us as a ladder, Jim couldn’t help thinking. The thing from before time is climbing up us one by one to…to…
But enough of that; he knew that along such a path laid madness. Realising that Sheila’s repeated comments, along with the conversation he’d prompted earlier, had put this idea in his head was less than useful. He simply mustn’t entertain it. After all, he now had four people in his charge to reassure.
“Don’t stop!” he called, gripping his poor wife as firmly as possible without slowing down. “Keep going!”
But that was when another was lost in the same way: lash, wrap, drag…and had it been Mark on this occasion? Jim thought this must be the case, because he heard only Derek and Peter cry out, their voices following him into slowly dissipating darkness.
How much longer before dawn? Too long, undoubtedly…Nevertheless, as seconds, minutes, and then hours lumbered by, he and his companions refused to lapse in their headlong motion.
Maybe their pursuer had had enough for now. Yes, and maybe there was also a cure for Sheila’s illness. And maybe God was just a bearded guy in the sky, full of merciful benevolence.
As Jim began tiring, he felt like laughing out loud.
——
The notion that this experience was just a pernicious dream was augmented when they chanced upon a church built into the side of a modest stone hillock.
It was almost daylight, the sky filleted with lashes of grey cloud. The building up ahead, its frontage intricately carved, had been hewn out of rock, like the unfinished project of some outré artist. The rear of the property was splayed out, embedded in the hillock. The entrance beckoned, like an invitation to some anti-haven. Surely only the desperate would assent to this shadowy supplication.
But what choice did they have? Even though glancing back at the terrain they’d fled revealed no entities—there was surely more than one; that could hardly be denied—the prospect of entering this manmade dwelling was tempting.
“What’s going on?” Derek wanted to know.
Even knowledgeable Peter was unsure. “Do we really want an answer to that?”
He was amazed, but in response all he could say was, “No time for that now, my darling. We’re doomed. We are. They’re climbing towards us, don’t you see? First it got religion—poor Jane. Then it took technology—that was Martin, who couldn’t even guide us home safely, let alone cure your illness. After that, society went the same way—Mark and his ruthlessly logical ways. And who’s left, eh? I mean, what’s left? Science, perhaps?” Jim turned to glance at Peter. “Well, I suppose that has a chance. ” Then he switched his attention to Derek. “Or how about tradition? Oh, maybe…” He glanced again into Sheila’s dark eyes, but saw only his own image looking back. “And what am I? Who am I? Just an old sod with a failing body. You and me, my love, we never had children. I sought comfort in life, played everything safe. It’s the anxiety, you see—the anxiety of living, which is really just the terror of dying. ” At that moment, he thought he understood what his hypochondriasis meant. The revelation steeled him and he twisted to face the perverted church behind them. After a brief hesitation, during which he checked to make sure there were no more creatures nearby, he started pacing towards the property.
“Where are you going?” asked Derek, his panicky voice belying his previous reliance on maps.
Then Peter added, “It’s my considered hypothesis that no good can come of entering that place. ”
“Spiders!” called Jim’s wife, and the plural she’d used this time only encouraged him to keep moving under a moody sky, which a rising sun had painted red, orange and purple.
All this illumination was blotted out as he strayed inside the primordial building. The vestibule was narrow, around ten yards square. Jim crossed it, and then passed between the stone jaws of a new opening. Soon he found himself inside a decidedly unreligious auditorium, much bigger than the hillock he’d spied outside…But time had behaved strangely enough today, so why not space?
Again he felt trapped in a nightmare, and the sensation was enhanced while examining the gigantic chamber’s walls. They bore the same fine art as the entrance, but none of its delicacy. Hideous monsters had been carved out of rock. Was that a scorpion…or a species of fish? And further along, was that an over-sized insect or a mutated bird? Others were woven among these creatures, each resembling a species with which Jim was familiar and yet not quite identical…
Then his attention was drawn to an aisle, which led to a stage full of darkness. Along either side of this passageway, copious stone seating had been stationed and human bodies occupied every part of it…at least Jim thought the figures were human. While advancing down the aisle, he glanced left and right, examining the decaying people in the gloom. Some still had clothes attached to their rotting flesh, but the further he moved, the less these garments resembled anything he’d ever seen before. Was that a leather outfit, crafted from animal hide? And one here, closer to the front of this primal auditorium—was it really made of fur? Jim inspected the wearer’s face, and felt immediately nauseous.
The jawbone protruded unnaturally, like that of some long-extinct Neanderthal…
His heart gave another painful twinge. He recalled earlier thoughts about the things that had been chasing them, how they might be climbing up a ladder of sorts from before time began: a ladder formed by humans, reaching far back beyond the advent of mankind.
How many bodies inhabited this place? Jane Harrison’s one hundred? No, surely more. Peter Connell’s four thousand, then? Having viewed the property from outside, this seemed a foolish suggestion, but Jim couldn’t be certain of anything now. In his peripheral vision, the place appeared to be expanding and the number of corpses increasing. Maybe there were more people here than even the palaeontologist’s larger sum. But how many more?
Calculation was impossible while Jim’s mind whirled, but he nonetheless wondered how far back in time a single human life multiplied by the huge quantity of bodies behind him would reach.
But that was when he reached the front of the building, where darkest shadows parted. And then he saw.
If all the people behind had once prayed, was this what had received their ungodly devotion? It seemed absurd—perverse, even: a large sculpture of a hideous spider, clinging to the rock at the rear of what now resembled little more than a cave. Although Jim found it hard to make out details in the darkness, he could see that the spider bore eight angular legs, that its multi-sectioned body was bulbous and grotesque, that crooked mandibles occupied its misshapen head, and that around its waist hung a corrugated skirt, like the ruffs certain reptiles developed when primed for attack. The whole thing was perhaps twenty feet long, and possibly half that wide. And it was surely just a treacherous breeze that made this creature appear to move…
Jim looked quickly away. To his right, he spotted the gaping mouth of a tunnel. To his left stood a simple wooden door, neatly installed in contrast with all the primitive furnishings elsewhere. He stepped backwards, crushing debris underfoot…and that was when the entity directly up ahead betrayed its aliveness. There were more of the hideous things pounding up the throat of the nearby tunnel; he heard them approach, scuttling wildly. Should he retreat? His wife was waiting outside, along with the other two walkers, but it wasn’t long before Jim realised the futility of his hopes.
The walls around him had begun churning with activity; all the sculptures he’d noticed earlier had come inexorably to life.
The creatures would surely close off his exit, just as the one ahead now crawled his way. He had only one option, then: the door. As the tunnel’s mouth erupted with countless of the things that had killed three of his companions today, Jim dashed to the left, shunted open the door and darted through. Then he closed out the terrors with a violent slam.
“Sheila, ” he said, closing his eyes. And when he reopened them, she was there.
——
There was a lock on the door and a key in its chamber. Jim dealt with this at once, excluding the things clawing viciously at the other side.
Then he turned to confront his wife.
Only she wasn’t his wife—not yet, anyway. Yes, it was Sheila, but as a fourteen year-old, just before their relationship had begun. He was standing in her bedroom, watching as she adjusted books on a shelf high above her vanity unit. His heart ached, but not with pain as it had lately. It was full of only love, grief, fear and pity.
This was the image that had burned in memory, but now he was viewing it from a different place. He wasn’t in his own childhood home, gazing across the street through his bedroom window. He was directly behind his future partner as she reached up, her shirt rising to reveal her slender belly, a sight that would tear holes in him for years.
He couldn’t hear the entities shuffling beyond the entrance to this new dream-place. All he could focus on was Sheila’s beauty, her smooth flesh, her uncorrupted mind making minor adjustments to her cherished room. Time had collapsed, and now space was acting strangely, too. Only the two of them remained, and yet…she couldn’t see him. He stepped forwards to attract her attention, but she simply continued to conduct her solitary task, unaware that in another house, a teenage boy watched, his body thrilling to her every move.
Wiping tears from his eyes, Jim passed the girl to reach her uncurtained window. It was summer outside, early evening, and a delicate breeze brushed against the glass, making soft sounds that precluded the spider-riot behind. One window was parted in its frame, and despite his age, he climbed through the gap. He recalled that the property was a bungalow, and that there’d be no dangerous drop to negotiate while exiting.
He glanced back at Sheila enjoying her carefree life. Then he was gone, his nightmare supplanted by this shift into some spiritually significant realm. He hurried across a wet lawn to reach the quiet street in which he’d once lived.
It was flanked by two line
s of people, and he knew every member. While walking, he spotted several colleagues he’d worked with at schools. Here was his doctor, wagging one finger with solemn instruction. Further along stood adult friends and family acquaintances. And finally, there was Mark Henson, Kevin Benny, Peter Connell and Jane Harrison.
Were all these people dead? Or rather, was he? His new companions applauded as he stepped onto the driveway of his first home. Before long he reached the front door, entered unthinkingly, and was then addressed by…his mother. He’d suspected that the gazes of everyone outside had been falling as he’d passed and now his suspicions were confirmed. His mum, never a tall woman, was looking down at him, like a grown-up with a child, and saying, “Come on, son. Time for bed. School in the morning. ”
Jim went obediently, just as he’d always done. He’d been a well-behaved boy, undeserving of all the hardships that had inevitably followed. Once he’d changed into his pyjamas, his mum tucked him into bed, and at that moment he experienced a brief twinge in his chest.
“I’ve got this pain, Mum, ” he said, surprised by his high-pitched voice.
“Never mind. It’ll go away, ” she replied, stooping to kiss him. “Get a good night’s sleep and it’ll be better in the morning. ”
She exited, switching off the light. And then Jim could only wait…until, minutes later, he climbed out from under his deceptively warm sheets, strayed to his window, and finally glanced out, across the road.
Sheila’s bedroom window was full of those spider-things; they’d clearly broken in beyond her door. They were each as big as a person, but he had to believe that this was just a dream within a dream within a dream. One of the creatures stroked a scabrous leg against the window, as if threatening revenge across unthinkable years.