The Weird: A Compendium of Strange and Dark Stories

by Jeff Vandermeer; Ann Vandermeer

  It wasn’t easy getting out of the city. There were so many roadblocks and soldiers were all over the place. They stopped me and searched the car. At every one of the roadblocks the soldiers commented on the food I had at the back. They asked where I was going. I told them I was going to visit my mother who was ill in the village. Then they would ask if I thought that people were hungry. When I said no, the soldiers would take some of my food and wave me on. By the time I cleared through the last roadblock I had very little food left. But that wasn’t what worried me. What made me anxious, as I drove through the forests, was that the car kept giving me trouble. It would stall and I had to sit at the wheel and wait for the engine to cool. When it did start, and move, it did so erratically. The car would suddenly, it seemed, start driving me. It picked up speed, and slowed down, of its own inscrutable volition.

  I drove for a long time down the winding forest roads. I managed to cross a wooden bridge that had been partly devastated by rain. For long periods of time I heard only the purring sound of the car. Sometimes it seemed as if I were driving on one spot. The road and the forests didn’t seem to change. I crossed the same partly devastated bridge several times. I got tired of driving without seeming to be moving. I stopped and locked all the doors and got some sleep.

  I felt better when I woke up. I was driving for a while when I felt that I had broken the sameness of the journey. Mountain ranges, plateaus of ambergris rocks, and precipices, appeared all around me. I passed a clay-coloured anthill. I slowed down for a pack of hyenas to cross the road. I came to a petrol shack. The door was open. There were dirty barrels of petrol and diesel oil in the front yard. I stopped the car and parked. I passed the greasy hand-pump and knocked on the door. An old man came out. He had a pair of grey braces over a black shirt and he wore filthy khaki trousers. He was barefoot.

  ‘You’re the first person I’ve seen for a long time,’ he said.

  I asked him to fill the tank. He didn’t say anything to me as he did so. I changed the water in the radiator. He didn’t have any brake fluid. I sat on a bench and listened to the insects of the forest while he slowly and painstakingly looked the car over and tuned the engine.

  ‘How do you manage to live here?’

  ‘I manage. I like it.’

  I paid him. As I was getting into the car the old man said:

  ‘Don’t go that way. I haven’t seen any vehicles coming back. Stay where you can be happy.’

  I nodded, smiling. I shut the door and started the car. As I moved away I waved at him. He didn’t wave back. He stared at the car motionlessly. I drove on into the forest.

  Further along I ran over a goat that had been crossing the road. I felt the wheels bump over its body and I stopped. The goat jerked on the tarmac. When I came out of the car I heard violent noises and saw people emerging from the forest and rushing towards me. The men had machetes and the women held long pieces of firewood. I ran back to the car, but when I started it the engine only whined. The people pounced on the car and smashed the bodywork with their machetes and firewood. They broke the windows and several hands reached for my face. The car started, suddenly, and I sped off with a few hands still grasping for my eyes. I swerved both ways and people fell off and I drove on without looking back. Afterwards I saw blood and bits of flesh on the jagged, broken windows.

  And then it was as if the rain that had fallen in the city began to catch up with me, intensified. The forest reverberated with thunder. Lightning struck in the trees. The leaves were blown into frenzies by the relentless wind. The car kept swerving and sometimes it was as if the wind was blowing the car on, lifting it at the back. Sometimes I did not feel that the wheels were on the road. I drove on air. I drove on through the torrential rain. There were trees swaying and leaves flapping everywhere. And then there was water pouring on the trees everywhere. Now and again someone would emerge, soaking, from the forest and would run across the road and wave for me to stop. I did not stop for anybody, or for any reason. I drove on in demented concentration. Soon my eyes got tired. I was thrashed by the rain and all I could see was the windscreen and the forests distorted in the rain. I found it difficult to blink and when I did I felt the blankness pulling me into sleep. I would wake up to find myself veering off the road. I managed to sleep while driving.

  When night came thickly over the forest I couldn’t separate the darkness from the rain. Occasionally I saw a flash behind me which I thought belonged to a car. I adjusted the mirror and in the crack of a second I saw my face. Thunder broke and exploded in front of me. A moment later there was a forked, incandescent flash which lit up the handwriting on my face. I negotiated a bend and heard a deafening crash in the forest. Something shattered my windscreen and I drove wide-eyed into the darkness. Insects flew into my face. Wind, rain, and bits of glass momentarily blinded me. Then I saw that a tree had fallen across the road ahead of me. The car spun into the vortex of leaves and branches. And then there was stillness. For a long moment it was completely dark. I couldn’t hear, see, or feel anything. And then I heard the whirring engine and the insistent din of insects and rain.

  I tried to move, but couldn’t: I felt I had become entangled in the car. I heard magnified grating noises. I was covered in crumbly earth which seemed alive and which stung me. Something settled inside me and I extricated myself from the front seat effortlessly. When I was out of the wreckage I saw that the car had run into a large anthill. There were ants everywhere. I pushed on through the rain. I couldn’t find the road. I went on into the forest. I passed rocks flowering with lichen. I moved under the endless lattice of branches. Thorns of the forest cut into me. I didn’t bleed.

  I came to a river. When I swam across I noticed it was flowing in a direction opposite to how it seemed. As I came out on the other bank the water dried instantly on me. I went on through the undergrowth till I came to a village. At the entrance there were two palm trees growing upside down. I went between the trees and saw a man sitting on a chair outside a hut. When the man saw me his face lit up. He ululated suddenly and talking drums sounded at distances in the village. The man got up and rushed to me and embraced me:

  ‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’ve been waiting for you.’

  ‘That can’t be true.’

  The man looked quite offended at my remark, but he said:

  ‘I have been sitting outside this hut for three months. Waiting for you. I’m happy that you’ve made it. Come, the people of the village are expecting you.’

  He led the way.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’ll find out.’

  I followed him silently. As we went on into the village, I noticed that there was a woman following us. Whenever I looked back she hid behind the trees and bushes.

  ‘We’ve been cleaning up the village for your arrival,’ the man said.

  We passed a skyscraper that reflected the sunlight like blinding glass sheets.

  ‘That’s where the meeting will take place.’

  The huts looked solid and clean with their white ochred walls. The iroko and baobab trees were neatly spaced. The bushes were lush. The air was scented with flamingo flowers.

  We arrived at the village square when it occurred to me that the place was vaguely familiar. It was a very orderly and clean place. And then suddenly I realized that I couldn’t see. I didn’t hear the man leading me anymore. I heard singing and dancing all around. I panicked and started shouting. The dancing and singing stopped. I stood for a long time, casting about in the menacing silence. After a while, when I quietened down, I heard light footsteps coming towards me.

  ‘Help me,’ I said.

  Then a woman, who smelt of cloves, in a sweet voice, said:

  ‘Be quiet and follow me.’

  I followed her till we came to a place that smelt of bark. She opened a door and we went in. She pulled up a stool for me. I could have been sitting on solid air for all I knew, but the wom
an’s presence reassured me. I heard her moving about the place. She set down food for me. I ate. She set down drinks and I drank. Then she said: ‘This will be your new home.’

  Then I heard the door shut. I soon fell asleep.

  When I woke up I felt things coming out of my ears. Things were crawling all over me. I stood up and called out. The door opened and the woman came in and led me to the place where I had a wash. After I had eaten, she sat near me and said:

  ‘We heard you were coming. It took a long time.’

  ‘How did you hear?’

  ‘You will find out.’

  ‘Why have you all been waiting for me?’

  She was silent. Then she laughed and said:

  ‘Didn’t you know we have been waiting for you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Didn’t you know you were coming here?’

  ‘No. But why?’

  ‘To take your place in the assembly.’

  ‘What assembly?’

  ‘We kept postponing the meeting because you hadn’t arrived.’

  I grew weary of asking questions.

  ‘The people of the village have been anxious,’ she said.

  ‘When is this meeting taking place?’

  ‘Two days’ time.’

  ‘Why not today?’

  ‘The elders thought you needed time to rest and get used to the village. It’s an important meeting.’

  ‘What is the meeting about?’

  ‘You are tired. Get some sleep. If you need me call.’

  Then I heard the door open and shut again.

  In the village everything had a voice and everything spoke at me. Sounds and voices assaulted me and my ears began to ache. Then slowly my sight returned. At first it was like seeing through milk. When my vision cleared, the voices stopped. Then I saw the village as I had not seen it before.

  I went out of the place I was staying and walked around in bewilderment. Some of the people of the village had their feet facing backwards. I was amazed that they could walk. Some people came out of tree-trunks. Some had wings, but they couldn’t fly. After a while I got used to the strangeness of the people. I ceased to really notice their three legs and elongated necks. What I couldn’t get used to were the huts and houses that were walled round with mirrors on the outside. I didn’t see myself reflected in them as I went past. Some people walked into the mirrors and disappeared. I couldn’t walk into them.

  After some time of moving around, I couldn’t find my way back to where I stayed. I went about the village listening for the voice of the woman who had been taking care of me. I stopped at a communal water-pump and a woman came up to me and said:

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m lost.’

  ‘I’ll take you back.’

  I followed her.

  ‘So you can see now?’ she asked, turning her head right round to me as she walked.

  ‘Yes.’

  And then I had the distinct and absurd feeling that I knew her. She was a robust figure, with a face of jagged and familiar beauty. She wore a single flowerprint wrapper and was barefoot. Her skin was covered in native chalk. Her eyes radiated a strange light which dazzled like a green mirror.

  ‘Who are you?’

  She didn’t answer my question. When we got to an obeche tree she opened a door on the trunk. Inside I saw a perfect interior, neat and compact and warm.

  ‘I’m not going in there,’ I said.

  She turned her head towards me, her face was expressionless.

  ‘But this has been your new home,’ she said.

  ‘It can’t be. It’s too small.’

  She laughed almost affectionately.

  ‘When you come in you will find it is large enough.’

  It was very spacious when I went in. I sat down on the wooden bed. She served me food in a half calabash. The rice seemed to move on the plate like several white maggots. I could have sworn it was covered in spider’s webs. But it tasted sweet and was satisfying. The cup from which I was supposed to drink bled on the outside. After she had cleared the food from the table, I pretended to be asleep. Before she left I heard her say:

  ‘Sleep well and regain your strength. The meeting is taking place tonight.’

  I sat up.

  ‘Who are you?’ I asked.

  She shut the door gently behind her.

  I waited for some time before I got up and left the tree. I was intent on fleeing, but I didn’t want to betray it. As I wandered round the village looking for the way out, I heard people dancing, I heard some disputing the village principles, I heard others reciting a long list of names, and I heard beautiful voices telling stories behind the trees. But I could not see any of the people.

  And then as I passed a hut, from which came the high-pitched laughter of shy young girls, I noticed that a one-eyed goat was staring at me intently. I hurried on. Dogs and chickens gazed at me. I experienced the weird sensation that people were staring at me through the eyes of the animals. I passed the village shrine. In front of it there was the mighty statue of a god with big holes for eyes. I was convinced the god was spying on me.

  I wandered for a long time looking for the exit. I heard disembodied voices saying that the big meeting would soon begin. The lights hadn’t changed. I came to a frangipani tree full of white birds. Beyond the tree was the village square and beyond the square was the entrance. I pushed on till I came to the hut. Sitting on the chair outside the hut was a man who had three eyes on his face. He kept staring at me and I was forced to greet him.

  ‘Don’t greet me,’ he said.

  He went on staring at me, as though he expected me to recognize him. His three eyes puzzled and disorientated me. But when I concentrated on the two normal eyes I suddenly did recognize him. He was my vanished neighbour.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘A soldier shot me.’

  ‘Shot you?’ I asked, surprised.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To kill me. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  He laughed.

  ‘They will tell you at the meeting.’

  ‘What is the meeting about?’

  ‘Life and death.’

  ‘What life, what death?’

  He laughed again, but more explosively. There was something about his mouth, the way his eyes moved, that gradually made things clear to me. I backed away in terror.

  ‘You better not try and escape,’ he said maliciously.

  That was all I needed. I ran towards the entrance and things got scrambled up as I ran. And then I found that I was moving not forwards, but backwards. I passed the white ochred huts and the blinding skyscraper. I heard the high-pitched scream of a woman. Talking drums sounded in frenzies. When I stopped and ran backwards, I found I was actually running forwards. Then I saw the woman who had screamed, and for the first time I recognized her as my dead wife. She tore after me in great distress. Men and women and disembodied voices came after me with their wings that didn’t help them fly and their feet which were turned backwards. I fled past the trees that were upside down and the cornfields outside the village entrance. The cornplumes were golden and beautiful. The people of the village pursued me all the way to the boundary.

  I crossed the river. Birds came at me from the forest. I ran for a long time without stopping till I came to my car that had smashed through the branches of the tree and devastated the anthill. I am not sure what happened next but when I came to I found myself in the wreckage of the car. I was covered with ants and they bit me mercilessly. The twisted wreck of metal seemed to have grown on me and I could feel my blood drying on the seat. There were cuts and broken glass on my face. I spent a very long time struggling to get out of the car. When I did I felt about as wrecked as the car and my body felt like it had already
died. I staggered through the forest. I ate lemon grass leaves. As I pushed my way through the forest I became aware that I could see spirits. It was morning before I could find the main road. After a while of stumbling down the road I saw a car coming towards me. I stuck out my hand and waved furiously and was surprised when the car stopped. There was a young man at the wheel. He wound down his side window and I said:

  ‘Don’t go that way. Find where you can be happy.’

  But the young man looked me over, nodded, and drove straight on. I watched the car till it had disappeared. Then I trudged on with the hope of reaching the old man’s shack before I died.

  The Boy in the Tree

  Elizabeth Hand

  Elizabeth Hand (1957–) is an American writer of cross-genre fiction who grew up in New York State. She has won the World Fantasy award, the James Tiptree Jr. Award, Nebula Award, and Shirley Jackson Award for novels and short fiction. Hand has long had an interest in outsider artists, and even her mainstream novel Generation Loss (2007) deals with that subject matter. As for the story reprinted herein, a unique blend of the supernatural and science fiction, it has its inspiration in real life: ‘I had my own encounter with the numinous in…1974, when I had an epiphanic vision of a Dionsyian figure I named The Boy in the Tree’. The result is a tale both disturbing and beautiful.

  What if in your dream you dreamed, and what if in your dream you went to heaven and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower, and what if when you woke you had the flower in your hand?

  – Samuel Taylor Coleridge

  Our heart stops.

  A moment I float beneath her, a starry shadow. Distant canyons where spectral lightning flashes: neurons firing as I tap into the heart of the poet, the dark core where desire and horror fuse and Morgan turns ever and again to stare out a bus window. The darkness clears. I taste for an instant the metal bile that signals the beginning of therapy, and then I’m gone.