Imp

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Maybe,” he said, but he didn’t look convinced. “How did the chief react to all you told him?”

  “He didn’t. He might be the smartest of all of us. Well, see you in the morning.”

  “I’d like to go with you.”

  “Oh no, Cy.”

  “She’s right, Cy.”

  “Just like to see them creatures destroyed, that’s all.”

  “I’ll let you look at the bodies. Why should you go traipsin’ through the forest?”

  “You listen, Cy Baum. You’re not as young as …”

  “As I think. I know, I know.”

  Eddie stared at both of them for a moment. The heaviness of the scene depressed him. It reminded him of the sitting room in the Baker Nursing Home in Liberty—old people just staring into space, eyes glassy, hypnotized by the emptiness of their lives and the monotonous highway that led them only to their deaths. In this moment he hated whatever it was that had done this to them, and he wished that he had something concrete to attack.

  Even if it were some extraterrestrial creature.

  FIFTEEN

  Mary’s determination was so intense that she didn’t leave the basement even though she had grown tired. She fought sleep for as long as she could, and even when she dozed, she woke up periodically, searching the darkness and listening to be sure he hadn’t entered while she wasn’t awake.

  The night seemed to take forever and when morning came and he was not back, she was surprised. She suspected, though, that he would come in just before she usually brought him his breakfast, so she continued to wait.

  The little illumination, that came through the hole in the wall transformed the basement into a dreamy, surrealistic world. The shadows elongated; their shapes twisted and turned in bizarre configurations. Particles of dust caught in the tiny rays of light seemed in perpetual motion. Mary felt lightheaded and ethereal herself. She was like someone caught between the real and the unreal worlds, floating on gray-black clouds, waiting … waiting.

  She heard him only moments before he began his reentry.

  He had been in a frenzy, charging through the forest and the undergrowth, driven on by the stinging pain that radiated from the bat bites. The only thing that gave him pause was Eddie Morris shouting through his megaphone. He heard it, listened, and then ran from it. Everything in the forest was frightening to him now. The girl was gone and he had been hurt. That made him wild. He neglected well-traveled paths and tore through the fields, tripping on roots and vines, scratching himself, bruising his feet and his calves. The more he hurt himself, the more panicky he became. He could think of only one solution—get to the safety of his box, the warmth of his raggedy blanket, the soothing comfort of his own hum and embrace. In fact, he longed for it, longed for what had been distasteful to him once he had discovered the outside world—his basement.

  He never thought about the big creature or about being discovered. He had lost all sense of time and he had forgotten how long he had been out. In his flight he came across other animals, friendly animals, but he felt threatened by them, so he growled at them and showed his teeth. Some ran from him; some looked at him curiously, but stayed their distance. It seemed to him it was taking him too long to get back and that made him even more irritable. He struck at branches and vines, attacking the wilds that had once been so beautiful and exciting. But all the world was gray now; everything was of one color, one texture. Nothing attracted his interest; he no longer had the impish curiosity.

  It wasn’t until he saw the house before him that he felt any sense of calm, but even that didn’t slow him down. His hair was filled with stickers and twigs; his body was covered with dirt and pieces of leaves. There was a long scratch from the right corner of his mouth nearly to the tip of his ear. Blood had appeared on his left foot, caking over the toes. But he noticed none of this. It was as though he had begun to crawl out of himself and leave his body like a shell on the ground behind him.

  He whimpered and went forward, the house looming above him, growing, growing. He saw it as a living thing about to swallow him, but he welcomed that. He wanted to escape the outside world now, and he wasn’t capable of seeing the irony in such a desire. When he came upon his hole in the wall, he finally paused, feeling safe. It would only be a matter of moments and he’d be secure in his box.

  He wiped his face. The bites on his back felt like the candles the big creature often brought with her when she came down to feed or bathe him. In fact, he spun around, half expecting her to be there, touching the base of his brain with the tiny fire. Of course, there was nothing, nothing but the pain. He tried to reach back and touch it, but he was too muscular and tight for such a contortion. There would be no relief, until he got into his box.

  He approached the hole. Only then did he consider the possibility of the big creature discovering him. For a moment that vision left him undecided. He sniffed at the opening. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he sensed her.

  What was the alternative? He looked back at the wild bushes and the forest. They were no longer as attractive to him as they had been and the little girl wasn’t friendly. He would have to chance it, chance facing the big creature and her anger. The thought of that had a new and quite unexpected effect on him. Perhaps it came from the radiating pain in his neck, pain that was now traveling over his shoulders and sending fingers of heat into his head. The effect was to make him angry and to make him show it. He heard himself growl. He felt his body tighten in anticipation of his defiance. His fingers stiffened into claws and he ground his teeth together until his gums hurt. Then, he began to enter the hole.

  She saw him lowering himself in, finding his footing on the fieldstone wall. She waited until he touched the floor of the basement and then she moved forward out of the darkness. By the time he heard her behind him and turned, she had raised her hand, clutching the strap. He brought his arms up just in time to block most of the first blow. But a piece of the strap caught him on the right temple. Because of the surprise, it stung more than usual.

  “SATAN!” she screamed. She struck him again and again. He tried to escape the blows, but he didn’t flee to a corner or the safety of the old furniture piled against the wall. Instead he went in a circle around her, moving faster and faster. Her blows began to miss, because turning quickly to strike him made her dizzy. “DEVIL, DEVIL, DEVIL …”

  Whenever one of her blows did catch him on the back or on the head, he reached forward angrily and swiped at her legs, scratching her with his long, sharp fingernails. She kicked him, hitting him in the ribs and turning him over. She swung again, this time striking his face and his chest. He screamed his distorted high-pitched cry and scampered toward an old dresser against the rear wall.

  But she followed him, striking harder than ever, each blow coming down full force. Some hit the bat bites, making the pain so excruciating he could barely crawl; but finally he squeezed under the dresser. Her anger intensified when she couldn’t get at him. So she grabbed onto the heavy, old furniture and literally moved it off him. Exposed once again, he went to the wall. His only hope now was height.

  Her blows had begun to tear at his flesh. The welts were antagonized, bleeding. He grasped a protruding stone and dug his now swollen feet into a groove. Like a monkey, he scampered straight up the wall, until he could hook his hand around a beam and swing himself into an opening between the ceiling and the wall of the basement. She paused only to contemplate how she could continue whipping him. He pulled himself in as far as he could, when she snapped the belt above her head at him. But she couldn’t reach him.

  Unsatisfied, yet still determined to punish him further, she pulled the old dresser close to the wall and crawled up on it. The layer of dust on the shiny veneer made it slippery, but she was too intent to notice. From this height she struck him easily. He pressed himself back, now growling freely and showing his teeth. He no longer had control of his reactions. She reached back to hit him straight on, but he would not suffer any more pain.


  He leaped out at her, clawing her face with his fingernails as he dropped to the floor. His unexpected aggressiveness took her by surprise and she lost her footing on the dresser. Her feet flew out from under her and she went crashing down, the base of her spine hitting the edge of the dresser and her upper torso slapping over it, smashing the back of her head against the thick, solid oak. Her spine snapped and she flipped over completely, landing in a folded position, face down.

  He was at her again, this time surprised at how easily he could push her over onto her side. But a stream of blood rolled out of her mouth and he backed away immediately. Her eyes were still open and she glared at him with a glazed, hateful look. Her arm extended toward him slowly. When her hand opened, he slapped at it, gouging the palm. The fingers closed instinctively and she was still.

  He waited, his growling diminishing. The hateful belt lay a few feet from him. He took it up and then flung it across the basement. He looked for her reaction. She didn’t move, but he still didn’t trust her. He waited and watched her closely. Nearly a half hour passed before he ventured forward in tiny, careful movements, expecting her to be up and at him in a moment.

  His body was tensed, ready for flight, but she didn’t move or turn toward him. He circled away from her, studying her constantly. Once he thought her fingers twitched, but after he waited, growling again, nothing happened.

  He reached his box, and still staring at her, crawled into it. Once there, he lay back facing her. He was like that for a little more than an hour before fatigue and pain finally drove him into sleep. His eyes closed and he fell into a restless slumber filled with wild sounds and horrible faces. He dreamed of bats and snakes and the big creature’s belt. He tossed and turned until he woke himself with his contortions.

  It took him a few moments to reorientate himself. After he did, he remembered where the big creature had fallen and looked in that direction. He was surprised she was still there, just as quiet and as unmoving as before. Gradually, his curiosity overcame his fears and he crawled out of the box. He moved toward her in short, quick steps, crouching and crawling and sniffing the air.

  When he was an arm’s length from her, he whimpered and waited in anticipation of one of her blows, but nothing happened. He sensed something different about her now. The small pool of blood that had formed on the ground by the side of her face had begun to sink into the hard earth. The red line from the corner of her mouth lost its brightness and didn’t drip any longer. Her mouth was slightly opened, the tips of her teeth visible. He thought he saw her tongue just under her upper lip. Her eyes were opened and she looked upward.

  He sniffed the air between them and then reached forward slowly … slowly … the tips of his fingers nearly there. He thought she moved and pulled his arm back instantly, springing a few feet backwards at the same time; but apparently, she hadn’t.

  It took him almost as long to approach her the second time as it did the first. Once he was in arm’s reach again, he did the same slow extension of his arm until his fingers were inches from her face. Then, in a burst of courage and curiosity, he touched her. What he felt caused him to pull his hand back as quickly as if he had touched fire.

  He paused to understand it. Then to confirm what he sensed, he reached out and touched her again. This time he permitted his fingers to linger and travel down her face. When she didn’t move, he was certain. He sat back and stared at her. His whimpering and growling ceased. He waited, undecided about what to do next. The pain in his neck and head had intensified terribly. He could feel it moving over the tops of his eyes.

  He embraced himself and rocked, but even the humming didn’t sound right, so he stopped and touched her again. Then he crawled back to his box.

  She was as the little creatures he had squeezed too hard, but even so, he didn’t feel safe closing his eyes in her presence. She was spoiling the power of the box. It gave him no relief and did not ease his pain. He couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t get up again and hit him with the strap. She was the big creature; he couldn’t think of her as anything else.

  He was confused and irritable. The headache had become more intense and now made it impossible for him to sleep. His limbs seemed uncontrollable. He kept extending them and pulling them back. He turned and twisted and moaned. The box just wasn’t comfortable. It was no good here anymore, no good …

  He looked to the hole again. Everything ached, but he had to get up and get out. He moved over the floor slowly now, not because he wanted to be careful, but because the pain running down his back and through his legs made it difficult for him to go fast. He paused at the wall and looked back at her. She didn’t rise to prevent him from leaving. He looked about the basement sadly. Everything about it seemed so different to him now. He didn’t understand, but he felt betrayed. He got his footing on the wall and then put his head back and released a long, piercing howl of pain and confusion.

  With the sound echoing behind him, he slipped through the hole like a shadow and was gone.

  He had lost all sense of direction and moved in a senseless circle, zigzagging and crisscrossing his way through the field. The sunlight brought pain to his eyes, but it was the tightness in his throat that held most of his attention. The aches and the restlessness kept him moving, as though his only hope lay in motion. There was a small pool of stagnant water just beyond the bushes to his right, but the mere thought of drinking produced such contractions in his throat that he began to gag. He crawled as fast as he could to get away from the sight of the liquid.

  Finally, he found a cool spot under a large maple tree. He lay there gasping, too tired to react to his drawing limbs. He closed his eyes, but that didn’t diminish the pain in them. A swelling had begun at the base of his brain, and the whole area was supersensitive, so that if he just grazed it against something, it sent knives down his neck and caused him to cry out.

  Gradually, the afternoon sun draped longer and wider shadows over the landscape. The first star appeared, and then the lights of a house some distance to his left went on. He struggled to his feet again, steadying himself against the tree, and looked out at the house. For a few moments he simply stared at it as though he were drunk on the sight. All different kinds of unrelated images and thoughts passed before him in a staticlike jumble.

  He suddenly felt clothed in a warm glow and started forward, not stopping until he heard the dog bark.

  Upstairs, Billy O’Neil opened his window and looked out. Captain was straining at the chain, going up on his hind legs and driving his body forward, until the chain and the collar pulled him back with equal force. His bark was high pitched and hysterical. Billy didn’t want to call down to his parents. He took the whistle out of his pocket instead and blew and blew and blew, as hard as he could. The noise only aggravated the dog more and he lunged at the air. The chain loosened and snapped, loosened and snapped.

  Downstairs, Bobby and his father finally heard the racket. Bobby lowered the volume on the television set so they could listen more clearly. Cindy joined them in the hallway.

  “What the hell’s going on now?” Dick said. He rushed to the back door. Billy continued to blow his whistle. Just as Dick O’Neil stepped onto the back porch, Captain’s chain snapped loose from the tree. Instantly, the dog dove into the bushes and was gone.

  “Damn! Get my shotgun,” Dick commanded and Bobby hurried back into the house. “Stop that damn whistling!” he screamed. Billy pulled himself back inside and hurried down the steps, just as Bobby brought his father the gun.

  “Where are you going, Dick?” Cindy asked.

  “The dog’s loose, dammit.”

  “But it’s getting too dark to shoot anything,” she said, as he went down the steps. “Dick, those bats … they’re out by now!”

  He paused at the doghouse and looked out over the fields. He heard Captain barking and charging through the brush. Dick took a few steps in and then stopped. He couldn’t see anything to shoot at and he didn’t want to go running after
that dog. Cindy came up behind him.

  “Dick, come back. It’s no use. Come back. We’ll call Eddie Morris.”

  “Shit,” he said. “How the hell did that chain break loose?” He spun around looking for Bobby. “Didn’t you see it was loose?”

  “It wasn’t, Dad.”

  “Damn. That animal comes back, we’ll have to take him to a vet and keep him tied. Damn.”

  “Come back inside, Dick. Please. I don’t like this,” Cindy said. She searched the darkening night sky for signs of bats. The dog’s barking became more distant.

  “Aaa, maybe he’ll get lost for good,” Dick said and turned back. The three of them returned to the house. Billy was waiting in the doorway.

  “I blew my whistle,” he said excitedly. “I blew my whistle and it worked. It kept him away!”

  “Kept who away?” Cindy asked.

  “E.T.,” Billy said. “I saw him again.”

  The three stared down at him. Then both Bobby and his father looked back over the fields. Neither saw anything.

  “This is scaring me, Dick. Call Eddie Morris. Please.”

  “All right, all right.” The dog’s barking now came from the woods. “I hope he gets whatever he’s chasing, so we’ll find out what it is once and for all,” he said.

  They went inside, but Billy and Bobby waited by the doorway and listened to Captain pursuing in a frenzy.

  The animal had crossed the field rather quickly, the dragging chain not holding him up. But when he reached the forest in pursuit of his prey, his chain became tangled in some stumps and the resulting tug snapped him back so hard, he fell to the earth. He struggled to his feet and continued to bark and pull, but the chain was too entangled for him to simply break loose. The prey was getting further and further away.

  Of course, he had fled from the dog as quickly as he could, but there was no question now that with his slowed, painful movements, he would have been caught if the dog had not snarled himself on the stumps. He went back into the fields, creating as much distance as he could between himself and the barking, yelping animal. Exhausted from the flight and the pain, he finally collapsed in a gully not far from The Oaks.