Into The Out Of

by Alan Dean Foster

  "Since you will not accept cattle, perhaps I might pay you with this." So saying, he turned the bag over and loosened the drawstrings slightly. Like so many misshapen marbles, a handful of irregularly shaped pebbles spilled onto the table.

  Even in the reduced light they lit up the booth. There were gemstones the size of Oak's thumbnail. Some were a unique lavender blue. Others were a deep green whose minor inclusions gave them the appearance of aerial photographs of rain forests. There was also gold in the form of nuggets larger than the gemstones, and more crystals still, some transparent, others pale yellow, still more tinted light blue.

  Oak eyed the bag. Olkeloki had emptied less than half the contents onto the table. The bag might now hold a collection of lead fishing sinkers or just plain rocks, but he had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't so. He pulled his chair back up to the table. Merry Sharrow was gaping at the pile with her mouth open. The expression on her face might have been taken straight from a children's book.

  "They aren't real, are they?"

  Oak picked up several of the nuggets, took a long one between thumb and forefinger. It bent easily and he finally managed to snap it in half. If it was dyed lead it had been colored on the inside as well as on its exterior. Putting down the nuggets, he picked up one of the bright lavender gems.

  "Sapphire?"

  The old man shook his head. "It comes only from my homeland and is called Tanzanite."

  Oak put it down, nudged a couple of the green crystals with a forefinger. "And these? Emerald?"

  Again the shake of the head. "Tsavorite."

  Oak added a half handful of the smaller, transparent gems. "Also from your country?"

  "Everything I have brought with me comes from my country. Those are diamonds."

  That was what he'd suspected. Oak knew a little about diamonds because a group of radicals he'd infiltrated six years back had been financed with them. He'd suspected, but hardly dared to believe. A couple of the stones would weigh in at twenty carats or more. As for the Tanzanite and Tsavorite, he suspected they wouldn't bring the same return as the diamonds, but neither were they something you'd use to decorate the bottom of an aquarium. And there was the gold, too.

  "You'd pay us with this?" he asked slowly.

  Olkeloki nodded once. He looked bored and impatient, as though this were a part of his tale he was anxious to be done with. When the stones had been returned to the leather sack, he looked at Merry Sharrow.

  "You can have it all. I have no need of it."

  Gold and jewels will allow any man to suspend his disbelief, for a little while at least. "You say these shetani, these otherworldly spirits, are slipping into our world to cause trouble and that more of them, billions of them, are just waiting for the right moment to pour in and destroy us all?" Olkeloki nodded solemnly. "Unless we can seal up some kind of passageway which is located in a remote part of Tanzania?" Again the nod. "I didn't think ghosts and poltergeists deliberately hurt people. I thought they were content to rattle a few chains and throw toast across a kitchen."

  "I think you know what people can do to one another, Joshua Oak, but of the other world, of the places that cling to the dark side of reality, you know very little. You should not be ashamed of this. It is true of most all ilmeet."

  Oak wanted to ask him about the first part of that statement, but Merry spoke first. "How are these shetani dangerous to us?"

  "They can assume many disguises, sometimes animals, other times seemingly inanimate objects. Very rarely, they can make themselves resemble people. But they can only accomplish such transformations successfully in the absence of light. By this I do not mean simply darkness. The pen in Joshua's pocket," and Oak glanced reflexively down at the ballpoint that rode in his shirt pocket, "is black. It could be a shetani, waiting for the right moment to sign your name wrongly to an important document, or to break your fingers."

  Oak removed the pen. It was a perfectly ordinary pen. He smiled at the old man.

  "Or it might not be," Olkeloki went on. "The shetani are very clever, mischievous and clever. I know that both your country and that of the great tribe that opposes you are full of shetani, many more than ever before. They are the cause of much trouble between you. They tend to concentrate in certain subtribes, like the CIA and KGB."

  Oak didn't know whether to laugh or frown at that one. If naught else it was a novel thought. Imagine maleficent poltergeists wandering around Langley, Virginia, and Moscow stirring up trouble, causing discontent, perhaps misfiling important papers and fiddling with secret documents. Spooking the spooks, so to speak.

  "I don't know what you're trying to say, old man, and I don't understand how you came into possession of that," he gestured toward the leather sack with its precious contents, "but I'll give you this: I've met a lot of strange people in my time, and you're unique. The KGB and the CIA, huh?"

  "What about the mistakes they've made over the last thirty years?" Merry was eyeing him challengingly. "Even their governments haven't been able to figure out some of the things they've gone and done."

  "Any secretive organization is going to trip itself up every now and then. Take it from me. Perfectly natural. Has nothing to do with infiltrators from the spirit world. I know because—" He stopped himself sharply. Was Olkeloki grinning at him? "Now look, old man, this—"

  Suddenly the elusive smile vanished, to be replaced by a complete change of expression and posture. It was as if someone had smacked the African across the face. Instead of looking relaxed and confident, he was sitting up straight and stiff. His eyes were wide and unblinking as he looked first to his left, then right.

  "What is it?" Merry was looking around also.

  "There are shetani here," Mbatian Olkeloki declared.

  Oak scanned the empty tables, the deserted restaurant. "I don't see anything." He was trying to let the old boy down gently.

  "They are here." Olkeloki took no umbrage at Oak's comment. "Do you not see how dark it has become? They bring the darkness with them, on their backs. They cannot function well without it."

  "Like I said, there's no reason to keep the lights turned up when a place like this isn't serving." That was no reason to turn them off completely, though, he told himself.

  "You do not see them?"

  "Sorry," Oak replied, and he was.

  "And you, Merry Sharrow?"

  She was trying to stare past the artificial palm trees and genuine potted plants, turning her head a lot. "I'm sorry, but I don't see anything either."

  Their denials did not put an end to the old man's fantasy. "That's good. It means they sense our presence but have not located us precisely yet. The eyes of the shetani serve them ill during the daytime hours."

  You had to admire him, Oak mused. Nothing fazed him. There were shetani here, but if you couldn't see them it meant it was because they hadn't found us. Neat. Like the kid whose dog chased airplanes and when he was teased about this by his friends replied, "We haven't had an airplane land in our yard since we got him."

  "We'd better leave," Olkeloki whispered.

  "I'm with you on that one." Oak pushed back in his chair, rose, and extended a gentlemanly hand to Merry Sharrow. She ignored it and slid out on Olkeloki's side. Oak shrugged.

  Then something happened which cracked his smugness as surely as lead shot breaks a duck's neck. It wasn't particularly impressive, nor was it very loud. Just something between a cough and a grunt.

  It wasn't imagined. Oak owed the fact that he was still alive to his highly trained senses. He was not one of those people who hear sounds where none exist. He looked sharply to his left, saw nothing.

  "Ruvu shetani," murmured Olkeloki. "We must hurry." Merry moved close to Oak, perhaps unconsciously. The old man's fingers were tight around his staff.

  Easy, Josh, he told himself. Don't let a little noise get you all—there it was again! Was that a rustling there, back among the dense silk flowers and well-watered dieffenbachia?

  "Must be a waitress." His voice
sounded unnaturally thin to his own ears. He took a step toward the cluster of real and artificial vegetation. Really shouldn't turn the lights off completely when there's anyone at all in the restaurant, he told himself.

  "Don't go over there, Josh, please." Merry looked back at Olkeloki, who was also watching the greenery. "I loved your story, I really did. But it was just a story, wasn't it? You just like to tell people stories, right?"

  Olkeloki gestured with his walking stick. "To the right, I think." As he said it the rustling sound came again.

  Oak was torn between the desire to remove the snubnosed .38 he always carried with him from its shoulder holster and an equally strong desire not to make himself look like an idiot. If some busboy or waiter was moving around back there deliberately trying to frighten them, Oak was going to return the favor in kind.

  The gun stayed under his arm. Waving your weapon around in a downtown restaurant was not a good way to endear yourself to your superiors. Anyway, there wasn't anything over there.

  Merry sounded small and lost when she spoke into the silence. "I smell something. Over that way." She pointed.

  Oak had smelled it too, but he'd been so intent on trying to see through the bushes that he hadn't mentioned it. It was a strange, unsettling, unpleasant odor, as if someone had exhumed a month-old corpse and drenched it in brandy. It was weakly nauseating, sweet one moment and putrid the next. Perfumed carrion.

  Olkeloki moved up close and put a hand on Oak's shoulder. "Come. Come quickly."

  "It's just a story, isn't it?" Merry kept repeating that and Olkeloki kept not answering as they turned away from the dark recesses of the restaurant. He held the staff in both hands and his eyes kept darting from right to left as he tried to see between the tables.

  They were alone in the restaurant. The bamboo that grew amidst concrete and steel, the palm fans in their pots, the vines that hung from the ceiling all testified to the art of a master decorator. The tables began to thin out, recede behind them.

  Oak stopped, uncertain. "Wait a minute. We came in over there. I'm sure of it. We've walked too far in any case. This isn't that big a place."

  "You are right. We have come too far." Olkeloki turned on his heel and started retracing their steps. Soon he was running, which was crazy. The restaurant wasn't that big. You could run through it in much less than a minute. Merry and Oak were running too, running hard between the bushes and plants. Because the coughing, grunting noises were all around them now, and the rustling of the bushes was becoming violent.

  Something in our drinks, Oak thought wildly. He got us to look away and slipped something in our drinks. Because this running was impossible. They should have run through the whole building by now. Then he glanced down and it was like the time he'd stepped into his shower and his hot water heater had been broken and a powerful stream of pure ice water had smacked him in the middle of his back, running down his spine to chill the crevice between his buttocks. In addition to being stunned he was scared, more scared that he'd ever been except maybe for the time in Idaho when he'd been discovered by that neo-Nazi group and was sure he was going to be shot.

  He was frightened because he was running over grass.

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  8

  Then the grass was gone, as fast as if someone had slipped new glasses over his eyes, and he was moving over soft, low carpet once again. Green carpet, he noted absently. He was so relieved to see tables again, neatly set with napkins and silverware, that he almost cried out. And still the expectant, nervous rustlings and gruntings came from the vegetation closing down around them.

  "To the right."

  "No, straight ahead," Merry argued, "keep going straight!"

  "You're sure?"

  "I work at night," she told him, panting hard from the endless sprint. "I've got excellent sense of direction in the dark."

  "No," he said abruptly, slowing to a halt. "Not yet."

  Merry stopped nearby. "Please, let's just leave."

  "Huh-uh. I want to know what's going on here. Hell, I need to know what's going on here, Merry. I need to know if this is some kind of test the Bu—my company is putting me through, or if this old fart's got us both hypnotized, or if this is some kind of new amusement ride or what." This time he did draw the .38 from its holster, not caring what any other patrons or employees of the restaurant might think if they saw it. Let the manager call the cops if he wanted to.

  More sounds and rustling from a cluster of palms and calathea, and then a glimpse of maybe-movement. Busboy? The leaves stilled as he drew near the clump and he paused. It had to be a ride of some sort, or an elaborate gag that wasn't funny anymore. Or maybe he'd just been to too many movies.

  Reaching out, he swept the top layer of leaves aside.

  In the darkness an enormous gray-black face leaped toward him, fiery red-orange eyes burning like coals. Jaws parted to reveal a mouth that looked big enough to swallow a Volkswagen. From the black throat came an angry growl. Oak staggered backward and gestured feebly with the pistol, too shocked by the sight to aim and fire. Then it was gone.

  Something the size of a house cat skittered from behind the cluster of bushes to vanish between two tables. Merry Sharrow had inhaled sharply behind him but had been unable to scream.

  The three of them retreated slowly. Oak waited several minutes before returning the pistol to its resting place beneath his left arm. He might have cursed himself for not firing, but didn't. Would a .38 be any use against a visitor from Hades anyway?

  "What the hell was that?" he muttered, then looked sharply at Olkeloki. "What's going on here, old man?" He was conscious of the fear in his voice and desperately embarrassed by it.

  "That was your lion," Olkeloki said softly.

  "I asked you what the hell's going on here! No riddles."

  "Not a riddle. Your lion. Everyone has their lion. I have mine, you have yours, she has hers. Most people do not see their lion until it comes for them. The first time is usually the last."

  "It wasn't any damn lion. It was just a big dark shape." Wasn't it? Or had that dirty yellowish fringe framing the horrible face been something else? A mane? He looked at Merry. "You saw it too?"

  "No, but I saw the other thing." She pointed between the two tables where the cat-shadow had vanished. "It ran from behind the bushes in front of you, under there. It looked like, it looked like—I think I've seen something like it before."

  Olkeloki spoke without taking his eyes off their surroundings. "Yes, you are the right ones. I was right to choose you, as you chose me."

  Ignoring him, Oak stared at Merry. "What are you talking about? You can't have seen it before."

  "Not 'it,' something like it. About a week ago, back home outside of Seattle. I was driving home in a bad storm and just as I was getting off the interstate I hit something. I thought it was a big dog, about collie size. I kept telling myself it was a dog. But it didn't look like a dog. It looked like the thing that ran under the tables."

  All kinds of crazies were racing around inside Joshua Oak's skull, bizarre thoughts colliding with one another, bouncing off reason and crashing through logic, messing up his usual cool calculation. Get out, no matter what's going on. Get out of this restaurant, out of this building, back into the clear no-nonsense June sunshine, down on the street where people were hawking newspapers and ice cream and giant pretzels. Get away from giant lion faces and twisted parodies of humanity that go scuttling out of sight beneath dining room tables.

  Another distinct growl reached them from a clump of bamboo off to their right. "We must go from this place now," said Olkeloki intensely. "There is too much darkness here. The longer we linger, the stronger they become."

  Ordinarily Oak would have trusted his own senses to lead him along, but he was so dazed by what he was seeing and hearing that he allowed himself to be led. Which was just as well. Merry Sharrow hadn't been just boasting when she'd laid claim to a good sense of direction in the dark. The restaurant brighte
ned slightly as they came within sight of the wide picture windows that overlooked the city. He was extraordinarily relieved to see that it was still there.

  The cash register was locked and there was no sign of the hostess who'd seated them. The carpet behind her little podium was stained. Probably a spilled Coke, though Oak found he didn't really want to examine the stain too closely. He tried to keep his body between Merry and that section of floor so she wouldn't see the strain. The hostess might appear if they yelled for her, and then again she might not, and something else might follow the sound of their voices.

  Out. He wanted outside, immediately, now.

  There were no offices atop the building. Only the restaurant. They moved rapidly down the short hall toward the waiting elevators. As they ran Oak was sure the noises behind them were growing louder and more distinct. Besides the grunts and growls there was something else, something new. A sharp chittering sound, a drunken distorted laughter like a cloud of muffled hornets might make.

  Wuzz, wuzz—run, run!

  He tried to divide his attention between the lights rising toward them on the plate between the elevators and the dark, now almost black, entrance to the restaurant. A pair of steel doors separated and they rushed between them. Oak jabbed repeatedly at the "G" that would take them to street level.

  He didn't allow himself to relax until the doors closed and they started to descend. Then he glanced at Olkeloki. The African was watching the lights.

  "I want an explanation, old man. Any kind of explanation, but I want one. And no more of this shetani bullshit, understand?"

  "He already explained it to you." Merry sounded as much angry as frightened. "You saw it. You heard."