Something From the Nightside

by Simon R. Green

  “Tell me you’re not thinking what I’m thinking,” said Joanna.

  “He’s in there,” I said reluctantly. “He’s still alive. Alive, and in there … because there’s nowhere else he can be.”

  I swallowed hard, and reached out one hand to the cocoon. The material was hot and sweaty to the touch, something like silk, something like spiderweb, and my flesh crawled instinctively just at the feel of it. I grabbed a handful at about head height, and tore it away by brute strength. The horrid stuff clung stickily to my fingers, stretching unnaturally rather than breaking, and it took all my strength to open up a hole in the outer layer of the cocoon. There was a face underneath. A human face. The skin was grey, the eyes were closed. I hesitated, sure he must be dead, even though my gift was never wrong, and then the eyelids quivered, as though the eyes were trying to open.

  I thrust both hands into the hole I’d made and tore the material away from his face. It fought me, clinging to my fingers and the face, trying to repair the broken threads even as I tore them apart. I yelled for Joanna to help, and between us we broke open a larger gap, freeing the head and shoulders. I pulled the last of the stuff away from the face, the eyes finally opened, and I was forced to admit that I knew the face. It was older than I remembered, and much more lined, and the eyes held more horror than I ever want to think about, but it was still, clearly, Razor Eddie.

  His eyes slowly came into focus as they looked at me. I scrubbed the last sticky traces from his face with Joanna’s handkerchief. The eyes were aware, but that was all. There was no recognition in them, no sense of self, of humanity. Joanna and I talked loudly and comfortingly as we forced open the cocoon, splitting it apart inch by inch, until finally we had an opening large enough to drag him out of. His whole body was limp, unresponsive. He was wearing his old grey coat, even more of a mess than I remembered, much holed and tattered, soaked with slime and darkened with what looked like a whole lot of bloodstains.

  We hauled him away from the cocoon, but his legs wouldn’t work, so we had to lower him to the floor and set him down with his back against the wall to support him. He was breathing heavily now, great gasping breaths, as though he wasn’t used to it. I didn’t even want to guess how long he’d been in the cocoon, or what it had done to him. I had a hundred questions, but I kept talking calmly, trying to reach Eddie, bring him up out of the place he’d had to hide in, deep inside himself, for the sake of his own sanity. His eyes fixed on me, ignoring Joanna.

  “It’s all right, Eddie,” I said. “It’s me. John Taylor. You’re out of that… thing. You get your strength back, and your legs working, and we’ll get you out of here and back to the Nightside. Eddie? Can you hear me, Eddie?”

  A slow knowledge came into his unblinking eyes, though the horror never quite left them. His mouth worked slowly. I leaned closer, to hear his quiet voice. It was rough and harsh, and painful, as though he hadn’t used it in a long, long time.

  “John … Taylor. After all this time. You … bastard. God damn you to Hell.”

  “What?” I jerked back, shocked, sure he must have misunderstood. “I’m going to get you out of here, Eddie. It’s going to be all right.”

  “It’ll never be all right… Never again. This is all your fault. All of this.”

  “Eddie…”

  “I should have killed you… when I had the chance. Before you … destroyed us all.”

  “What are you talking about?” Joanna said angrily. “We only just got here! He hasn’t done anything! This is a Timeslip!”

  “Then damn you, John … for what you will do.”

  “You’re blaming me for this?” I said slowly. “You’re blaming me… for something I haven’t even done yet? Eddie, you must know I’d never do anything to bring the world to this. The end of everything. Not by choice, anyway. You have to tell me. Tell me what to do, to prevent this happening.”

  Razor Eddie’s mouth moved in a slow, utterly mirthless smile. “Kill yourself.”

  “You betrayed John to the Harrowing,” said Joanna. “Why should we believe anything you say? Maybe we should forget about rescuing you. Just stick you back in the cocoon again.”

  “That’s not going to happen, Eddie,” I said quickly, as the horror filled his eyes again. “Come with us. Help us prevent this. We’re not far from the Timeslip’s boundary. I can crack it open, get us home again. Back where we belong.”

  “Back … into the past?”

  That stopped me for a moment. If this Eddie had got here the hard way, the long way, could I risk taking him back? Would the Nightside accept two Razor Eddies? I pushed the thought aside. It didn’t matter. There was no way I was going to leave Eddie here. In the dark. In the cocoon. Some things you just can’t do and still call yourself a man.

  We got him on his feet, and this time his legs supported him. Even after all he’d been through, he was still Razor Eddie, and tough as nails. Joanna and I helped him across the room, pushed and pulled him through the hole in the wall, and out into the alley. As soon as we were all out into the night, the sounds started up again. Eddie actually cringed for a moment as he heard them, but only for a moment. His gaze was steady now, and his mouth was firm. By the time we reached the main street again, he was walking on his own. Something had broken him, something awful, but he was still Razor Eddie.

  “How did you end up the only living person here?” I said finally. “When is this, anyway? How far in my future? I’ve just come back into the Nightside, after five years away. Does that help you date it? Dammit, Eddie, how many centuries have passed, since the city fell?”

  “Centuries?” said Eddie. “It seems like centuries. But I’ve always had a good grasp of time. Not centuries, John. It’s only been eighty-two years since you betrayed us all, and the Nightside fell.”

  Joanna and I looked at each other, and then out over the deserted city. The crumbling buildings, the starless, moonless night.

  “How could all this have happened in just eighty-two years?” I said.

  “You were very thorough, John. All of this is down to you. Because of what you did.” Eddie tried to sound more accusing, but he was just too tired. “All Humanity is dead … thanks to you. The world is dead. Cold and corrupt, the only remaining life … like maggots writhing in a rotten fruit. And only I am left… to tell the tale. Because I can’t die. Part of the deal I made … all those years ago. On the Street of the Gods. Fool. Damned fool. I have lived long enough … to see the end of everything and everyone I ever cared for. To see all my dreams dashed, and made into nightmares. And now I want so badly to die … and I can’t.”

  “What did John do?” Joanna said urgently. “What could he have done … to bring about this?”

  “You should never have gone looking for your mother,” said Eddie. “You couldn’t cope, with what you found. You couldn’t cope with the truth.”

  “Hang in there, Eddie,” I said lamely. “You’re going home. Back in Time, to the Nightside as it was.

  “And I swear to you … we’ll find a way to prevent this. I’ll die, rather than let this happen.”

  Razor Eddie turned his head away and wouldn’t look at me. He breathed deeply of the relatively fresh air, as though it had been a long time since he’d breathed anything like it. He was walking more or less normally now, and we were making a good pace as I headed us towards the boundary. But we were still in the same street when it all went to hell.

  They came up out of holes in the ground, before and behind and all around us. Dark and glistening, squeezing and forcing their flexible bodies through the ragged openings in the dusty ground. We stopped dead in our tracks, looking quickly around us. And everywhere there were long spindly legs, hard-shelled bodies, compound eyes, grinding teeth and clattering mandibles, and long, quivering antennae. Insects, of all shapes and breeds, species I’d never seen before, all horribly, unnaturally large. More of them came scuttling and scurrying out of the ruined buildings, or skittering down the crumbling walls, light as a br
eath of air for all their size, joining the hundreds and hundreds already circling us, hopping and seething in a living carpet, covering the ground. The smallest were six inches long, the largest two and even three feet in length, with great serrated mandibles that looked sharp enough and strong enough to take off a man’s arm or leg in a single vicious bite. Sometimes the insects crawled right over each other to get a better look at us, but for the moment at least they maintained a safe distance.

  I could feel my gorge rising. I really can’t stand creepy-crawlies.

  “Well,” I made myself say lightly, “I always thought insects would end up inheriting the world. Just never thought they’d be so bloody big.”

  “Cockroaches,” said Joanna, her voice thick with loathing and disgust. “Revolting things. I should have stomped on more when I had the chance.” She waved her cigarette lighter at the nearest insects, and they actually seemed to shrink back a little. It had to be the light. It wasn’t any real threat now, but their instincts remembered. Maybe we could use it to open up a path, make a run for it… I glanced at Eddie, to see how he was doing, and was horrified to discover he was quietly crying. What had they done to him? The great and terrible Razor Eddie, Punk God of the Straight Razor, reduced to tears by a bunch of bloody bugs? I was suddenly so angry I couldn’t speak. Somehow, before I left this place, there was going to be some serious payback.

  “This … is disgusting,” said Joanna. “We’ve come to where the really wild things are. Nature at its most basic and appalling.”

  “Got that right,” said a familiar, cheerful and self-satisfied voice. I looked round sharply, and there he was, in a little circle entirely clear of insects—the Collector. An old acquaintance of mine, from before I left the Nightside. Not a friend. I don’t think the Collector has friends. Got a hell of a lot of enemies, though. He was currently dressed as a gangster from the Roaring Twenties; every detail correct, from the white spats on his shoes to the overbearing colour scheme of the waistcoat, to the snap-brimmed hat. But he was at least thirty pounds too heavy for the suit, and his stomach strained against the half-buttoned waistcoat. As always there was an impression of the utterly false about him. Of someone hiding behind a whole series of masks. His face was almost painfully florid, his eyes gleamed fiercely, and his smile was totally insincere. No change there, then. Warm yellow sunlight surrounded him, from no obvious source, and the insects gave it plenty of room.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Collector?” I said. “And who did you steal that incredibly vulgar suit from?”

  “It is rather good, isn’t it?” said the Collector smugly. “It’s an original Al Capone, acquired from his very own wardrobe when he wasn’t looking. He won’t miss it. He had twenty others just like it. I even have a letter of authentification, from Capone’s tailor.” He beamed about him, not in the least disturbed by his surroundings. “We do meet in the strangest places, don’t we, John?”

  “Do I take it you know this person?” said Joanna, looking at me almost accusingly.

  “This is the Collector,” I explained resignedly.

  “You name it and he collects it; even if it’s nailed down and surrounded by barbed wire. Nothing too rare or too obscure but he hasn’t got a line on it. He has an endless appetite for the unique item, and the thrill of the chase. Word is he gets off just indexing his hoard. The Collector, thief, con man, cheat, and quite possibly the most conscienceless individual in the Nightside. There’s nothing he won’t go after, no matter how precious it might be to other people. I know other collectors, not in his league, who’d give everything they owned, and everything you owned, just for a tour of the Collector’s famous and very well hidden warehouse. How’s it going, Collector? Found the Phoenix’s Egg yet?”

  He shrugged. “Hard to tell, until it hatches.” He turned his entirely unconvincing smile on Joanna. “You don’t want to believe everything you hear about me, my dear. I am a very misunderstood man.”

  “No you’re not,” I said. “You’re a grave robber, a miser and a meddler in history. Archaeologists use your name to frighten their children. You don’t care who gets hurt, as long as you get what you want.”

  “I save things that would otherwise disappear into the mists of history,” said the Collector, unperturbed. “One day I’ll open a museum in the Nightside, so everyone can appreciate my treasures … But for the moment there are just too many competitors, jealous people, who would cheerfully rob me blind.”

  “What are you doing here, Collector?” I said. “I wouldn’t have thought there was anything valuable left here for you to appropriate.”

  “You have such limited vision, John,” said the Collector, shaking his head sadly. “Surrounded by treasures, and so blind to them. Look around you. There are species of insect here unknown to the world we came from. Unique variations, unavailable anywhere else. I know collectors who speculate in insects who will piss blood when they hear what I’ve got. I’ll take back a few duplicates, of course, to auction off for utterly extortionate prices. Travelling in Time can be so expensive these days.”

  “Time travel?” Joanna said quickly. “You have a time machine?”

  “Nothing so crude,” said the Collector. “Though I do have rather a nice display of some of the more rococo mechanisms … No, I have a gift. Many do, in the Nightside. Dear John here finds things, Eddie kills with a razor that no-one ever sees … and I flit back and forth in Time. It’s how I’ve been able to acquire so many lovely pieces. But to answer your next question; no, I don’t carry passengers. How did you get here, John?”

  “Timeslip,” I said. “I was heading for the boundary when these insects appeared. When exactly are you from, Collector?”

  “You’ve just left the Nightside,” said the Collector. “In something of a hurry, swearing never to return. Do I take it you’re back?”

  “Five years up the line, after you left,” I said. “I’m back, and my mood has not improved.”

  “Can’t say I’m surprised,” said the Collector. He grinned happily about him. “Ah, so many beauties, I don’t know where to start. I can’t wait to get them back to my warehouse and start pinning them to display boards!”

  Joanna snorted. “Hope you brought a really big killing bottle.”

  The insects were stirring restlessly all around us, antennae twitching with dangerous agitation. I decided to get to the point. “Collector, Eddie says we’re only eighty-two years in my future, but everything here is destroyed. Do you know what brought this about?”

  The Collector spread his fat, nail-bitten hands in an innocent gesture. “There are so many futures, so many possible timelines. This is just one possibility. If it’s any comfort, there’s nothing inevitable about this.”

  “You knew this future well enough for your gift to bring you here,” I said. “You knew about the insects. Talk to me, Collector. Before I get upset with you.”

  The Collector just kept on smiling his insufferable self-satisfied smile. “You’re in no position to make threats, John. In fact, you don’t even recognise just how much danger you’re in. You’re right; I have studied these insects, from a safe distance. I know why they’re so interested in us. In humans. I even know why they haven’t just killed you. I’m afraid it’s rather an unpleasant reason, but then, that’s insects for you. Such wonderfully uncluttered minds. No room for fear, or other emotions. They don’t even bother with sentience, as we understand it. They’re concerned only with survival. I’ve always admired their ruthlessness. Their single-minded, implacable nature.”

  “You always were strange,” I said. “Get to the point.” It seemed to me that the insects around us were edging closer.

  “You never studied,” said the Collector. “Insects lay their eggs in host bodies. Non-insect host bodies. The eggs grow and hatch inside the host, and the larvae then eat their way out. A bit hard on the host, of course, but… Nasty, totally without conscience and compassion, and utterly insect. However, the only living species left in thi
s future world are insects. So all they’ve got left to use for a host is … that unfortunate fellow with you. For eighty-two years now, the undying form of Razor Eddie has been host to generation after generation of insects. Eggs go in, larvae with teeth come out, and the insect race survives. Rather unpleasant for poor Eddie, of course, eaten alive over and over again, but then … I never liked him.”

  I didn’t look at Eddie. He didn’t need to see my shock and horror at what had been done to him. Especially if it really was my fault. I knew now why the insects had kept him imprisoned in a cocoon. They couldn’t risk his finding a way to kill himself. I was so angry then … if I’d been big enough, I’d have stamped on every damned insect in the world.

  “And now here you are, John,” said the Collector. “You and your lady friend. New hosts, for more insect young. I shouldn’t think you’ll last anywhere near as long as Eddie, but I’m sure they’ll make good use of you, while you do last. I suppose I could help you escape … but then, I never liked you much either, John.”

  Razor Eddie cried out suddenly, his back arching, his whole body shaking and shuddering. I grabbed him by the shoulders, but his spasms were so violent I couldn’t hold on to him. He fell to the ground, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out again, but his eyes were leaking tears in spite of him. I knelt beside him. I think I already knew what was happening. I didn’t back away as hundreds of insect young the size of thumbs burst out of his flesh, eating their way out of his convulsing body. Black soft squishy things, with teeth like tiny razors. They even came out through his eyes. His coat soaked up most of the blood. Joanna fell to one knee and vomited, but still managed to hang on to her lighter. I grabbed handfuls of the emerging larve and crushed them viciously. Their innards ran down my wrists, but there were just too many of them.

  “What can I do, Eddie?” I said desperately, but he couldn’t hear me.

  “Only one thing you can do,” the Collector said reasonably. “Kill him. Put him out of his long misery. Except, of course, you can’t. This is after all the remarkable Razor Eddie, who cannot die. Take a good look at him, John. Once that cigarette lighter runs out of fuel, they’ll come for you … and this will be your future, and hers, for as long as they can make you last…”