The Spy Who Haunted Me sh-3

by Simon R. Green

“It’s out there,” said Blue. “I can feel its presence like a weight on the world, a disturbance in the night. But . . . I can’t tell what it is. It’s natural and unnatural, both at the same time. Strange . . .”

  “Is it human or animal?” said Walker, practical as ever.

  “It has elements of both,” said Blue. “But if I was pressed, I think I’d say neither . . .”

  “Is it dangerous?” said Honey.

  “Oh, yes,” said Blue. “I can smell fresh blood on it.”

  “As long as it doesn’t turn out to be some kind of ape or missing link,” said Peter, his voice just a little too loud and carrying for my liking. “Probably end up throwing its poop at us.”

  “It’s not an ape!” Blue snapped, not looking around. “Nothing so ordinary . . . Something about this creature puts my teeth on edge. Just making mental contact with it makes me want to wash my soul out with soap.”

  “But all the descriptions of Sasquatch agree on a large, hairy, manlike figure,” said Honey. “If not actually an ape, at least some kind of protohuman.”

  “No,” the Blue Fairy said flatly. “Not an ape. Not human. Nothing like that. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder if this is a Sasquatch at all. Perhaps this is something else, something different . . . and that’s why Alexander King sent us here instead of to the more usual Bigfoot locations.”

  “Okay,” I said. “No one make any sudden moves. We don’t want to frighten it off after waiting so long for it to put in an appearance. If it retreats into the dark, we might never find it again.”

  “Quite,” said Walker. “Last thing we want is to go rushing off into the dark after it. Only too easy to split us up and pick us off one at a time.”

  “Are you worried about the Sasquatch, or one of us?” said Peter.

  “Come on, Blue,” I said. “We need information. What can you tell us about this creature?”

  “It’s not natural,” the Blue Fairy said doggedly. “I can feel the wrongness in it, like teeth gnawing on my instincts. There’s a basic wrongness to it, an instability . . . Yes! That’s it! The damn thing’s a shape-shifter. Sometimes one thing, sometimes another. Sometimes human, sometimes something else.”

  “You mean it’s a werewolf?” said Walker.

  “Damn,” said Honey. “And me without my silver bullets. Did any of you ever wonder why the Lone Ranger only ever used silver bullets? I always felt Tonto knew more than he was telling . . .”

  “If we could stick to the point, please,” said Walker.

  “It’s not a werewolf,” said Blue. “I know what they feel like. This isn’t any kind of were.”

  “If it is a shape-shifter,” Walker said thoughtfully, “that might explain why it’s never been successfully tracked or identified. At the end of its . . . hunt, it would just turn back into a man again and disappear back into its community with no one the wiser.”

  “No . . . no!” said the Blue Fairy, practically talking over Walker in his excitement. “I’ve had this feeling before! I know what this is. That thing out there is a Hyde! Not some poor sad bastard bitten or cursed to be were, but a man chemically changed, transformed into something more and less than a man. I can almost smell the chemicals in him this close.”

  “Rather you than me,” said Peter.

  “I shall slap you in a minute,” said Walker. “And it will hurt. Pay attention.”

  “What’s so impressive about a Hyde?” I said. “I’ve seen dozens of them working as bodyguards or thugs for hire. Oversized muscle freaks usually, and drama queens to a man.”

  “The diluted serums that Harry Fabulous and his kind hawk around the Wulfshead Club aren’t a patch on the real thing,” said Blue. “The effects from those potions are as much psychological as physical. No one’s ever been able to duplicate Henry Jekyll’s original formula. The one to let loose all the evil in a man. Some mysterious impurity in the original salts . . .”

  “Yes,” said Walker. “Even Jekyll couldn’t re-create his original dose. That was why he lost control over the change and Hyde kept reemerging even without the formula. Perhaps . . . there’s some plant or flower or vegetable growing naturally here that contains the original impurity. Local people would eat it, unknowing, and then succumb to its effects. Then either the affected ones go off into the woods on their own, to make sure they won’t hurt anyone . . . or more likely the community recognises the signs and drives the afflicted one out into the wilderness until it’s safe for them to return.”

  “That’s why Grandfather sent us here,” said Peter. “The mystery of this creature solved; not a Bigfoot but a Hyde. Of course, we’ve still got to catch the thing on camera as proof.”

  All our heads swivelled around as we heard something moving out in the dark. It was circling us, slowly and unhurriedly, making no effort to conceal its movements now. It wanted us to know it was there. It moved around us in a complete circle, always careful to stay just out of the firelight, as though it had already taken our measure and decided we were no threat to it. And then it stopped, and the heavy silence of the night returned. What could be so scary that every single beast and bird in the wood was afraid to draw its attention?

  “It’s right in front of me,” the Blue Fairy said quietly. “Watching me.”

  I strained my ears against the quiet, and gradually I made out a low, harsh breathing, more beast than man.

  “This can’t be a Hyde,” I said. “Not the real thing. Jekyll was quite clear in his diaries. Edward Hyde was all the evil in a man, made physically manifest. Driven by instinct, ruled by his id, unconcerned with consequences or conscience. A thing of wants and needs and no self-control. A man with the mark of the beast upon him. Nothing but rage and lust and hate and the need to kill.”

  “Like your tulpa?” said Peter.

  “Worse,” said Blue. “Much worse.”

  “Eddie has a point,” said Walker. “If this is a Hyde, why hasn’t he attacked us?”

  “Let him try,” said Honey. “I’ll kick his nasty ass for him.”

  “You’re missing the point,” I said. “Sasquatches don’t kill. There’s never been a recorded incident of a Sasquatch killing a man. Not here, not anywhere.”

  “But if I remember what I saw on television correctly, this creature did terrorise a house full of people,” said Honey.

  “And this far out in the woods, what chance would he get to kill people?” said Walker. “If he did make his way back to his home-town, the people there would shoot him on sight. Hydes may be brutal, but they’re not stupid. He’d know he was safe out here in the wilds, satisfying his violence on the wildlife.”

  “Then why hasn’t he attacked us?” said Honey.

  “Because he’s enjoying this,” said Blue.

  “We’ve got to lure him forward, into the light,” I said quietly. “We need to see exactly what we’re dealing with.”

  The Blue Fairy looked at me for the first time. “You want to get up close and personal with a full-blown Hyde? Pure evil in human form? Well, you know best, I’m sure. You’re a Drood; you know everything. You go right ahead. I’ll be several miles away, running for the horizon at speed.”

  “Where’s your pride?” I said just a bit tetchily.

  “Where’s your common sense?” said the Blue Fairy.

  “We wear the torc,” I said patiently. “Nothing can harm us.”

  “You keep believing that,” said the Blue Fairy. “I’ll put my faith in a good pair of running shoes.”

  “Unfortunately, I have to side with the Drood on this,” said Peter. “We have to supply proof of what this creature is, and while I have my state-of-the-art phone camera at the ready, to get a good picture I need the thing to step forward into the light. In fact, I’d really like to get some before and after shots, and maybe even some film of the actual transformation.”

  I hated to agree with the annoying little twerp, but he had a point. “I could armour up, drag him in, and hold him down,” I said. “Hydes may be big and br
utal, but they’re still just flesh and blood. My armour should be able to handle him.”

  “You armour up and he’ll run,” said the Blue Fairy. “And you’ll never catch him in the dark.”

  “I’m still not too happy about letting that thing get too close,” said Walker. “Hydes live to kill.”

  “I know an industrial spy we can hide behind,” said Honey.

  A sound came to us from out of the dark. It might have been a growl, or a chuckle. Something about the sound made my hairs stand on end. No man ever made a sound like that, nor any kind of beast. There was a touch of Hell itself in that sound, and the Hyde knew it and gloried in it.

  “Well,” said Walker. “I was hoping to save the last vestiges of my Voice for a real emergency, but . . .” He stepped forward and addressed the dark directly in front of the Blue Fairy. “You. Come here.”

  I shuddered at the sound of his Voice. I think we all did. It was Walker’s legendary Voice that could not be argued with or disobeyed. Some say it contained vestiges of the original Voice. The one that said, Let there be light. I didn’t like to believe that. It would have opened too many questions as to just where Walker got his Voice from . . . The dark itself seemed to hesitate, as though struggling, and then the Hyde came lurching forward into the firelight, drawn forth against his will like a dog on a leash or a fish on a hook. He lurched forward another step, fighting every inch of the way, hating us all, but still he came and stood before us.

  He was clearly a man, but just as clearly something more and less. He was taller than any of us but seemed shorter because he was so stooped over. His great overmuscled back rose up into a hump, and his square bony head thrust out at the level of his chest. He glared at us all with bloodshot eyes from under heavy protruding brows. Long ragged jet black hair hung down around a fierce, ugly face full of every sin man ever contemplated. His clothes were rags, torn and tattered and soaked with blood not his own. His huge hands were thickly crusted with dried blood, like horrid gloves reaching up to his elbows. Elsewhere his skin was flushed, stretched taut, full of pulsing blood. His eyes were deep set, watchful, crafty, and he smiled a cold happy smile, full of all the evil in the world.

  Just to look at him was enough to make you want to kill him. Just the sight of him filled me with disgust, hatred, loathing: a basic primordial need to attack and destroy something that shouldn’t exist in this world. Something too horrid to be borne, an abomination on the earth. Standing before us, he was all the forbidden needs and impulses of man made flesh and blood and bone and let loose in the world. All the worst actions that a man could conceive of without conscience or compassion or any fear of consequences. All the most evil men in the world, and there have been so very many of them, were just glimpses of the Hyde within.

  I could feel my torc burning coldly around my throat as though trying to protect me from the contamination of the creature’s presence.

  Almost instinctively, the five of us had moved to form a circle around the Hyde, like hunters with a prey too dangerous to be allowed to escape, though none of us wanted to get too close. I could see the same confused expressions of fear and loathing in the faces of the others, see their hands clenched into fists, twitching and jerking, wanting to reach for weapons. Or maybe just to kill the awful thing with their bare hands. I knew what they were feeling, because I felt just the same.

  The Hyde stood very still, half crouching like an animal, his eyes darting back and forth though his head never moved, searching out which of us was the weakest and most vulnerable. The one it would be most fun to torment. His crafty eyes finally settled on Honey, the only woman in our company, and her dark coffee face went stiff and taut under the impact of his loathsome gaze.

  “Pretty pretty,” said the Hyde in a voice smooth as silk, sweet as cyanide. “So good of you to come visit me in my backyard kingdom. I like you. You look good enough to eat.”

  “Shut your filthy mouth,” said Honey. Her voice wasn’t as firm as usual. She couldn’t hide the revulsion she felt.

  “Change back,” Walker said to the Hyde. “Become human again.”

  But though his words cracked on the night with all the authority of a man used to being obeyed, it wasn’t enough. They were just words. He’d used up all his Voice. The Hyde laughed soundlessly at him.

  “What’s your name?” I said. He looked at me, and the force of his gaze was like a backhand across the face.

  “Names,” he said. “Why, sir, does plague have a name? Does rape or torture, cancer or senility have a name or identity? I am what I am, and I glory in it. I’ll trample you all beneath my feet, rip the flesh off your bones, and stick my dick in all the holes I make.”

  “Your name,” I said. “Tell me your name.”

  “You mean, who I was, good sir? Forget him. He doesn’t matter. He never did. But I matter. I will do terrible things until the world sickens from my very presence. I will wade in blood and offal and sing happy songs, and I will make children from every woman I meet, because I am a very potent nightmare. I will people this land with Hydes, remake this rotten world in my awful image, and love every minute of it. My name? Edward Hyde, at your service, sir, and this is Hell nor am I out of it. The old jokes are always the best, are they not?”

  His smile was very broad now, and I hated him more than I had ever hated anyone.

  “How does it feel?” said Peter, fighting to keep his voice steady. “How does it feel, to be Hyde?”

  The Hyde studied him curiously, and Peter actually flinched. “I am this thunder, this lightning,” said the Hyde. “I teach you this: man is something to be overcome. I . . . am the tumour in the brain, and the wind that uproots trees, and the thing that hides under your bed at night. And I love it. It is a glorious thing to be free of fear, to be the thing that everyone else fears. Oh, my dear sirs and madam, you have no idea how good this feels . . . to throw away the constraints of man and all the chains society binds us with to hold us down. To be free at last, because the only real freedom is the freedom to do anything . . .” He laughed soundlessly again. “I am everything you’ve ever wanted to be but didn’t dare admit to yourself. I will do what I will do, and none of you can stop me. And when they finally find what’s left of your bodies and see what I’ve done to them . . . they’ll cry and puke and scream their minds away.”

  He broke off because Honey’s shimmering crystal weapon was suddenly in her hands. Her lips had pulled back in a deadly smile like a death’s-head grin. The Hyde giggled suddenly: a harsh, high-pitched, soul-destroying sound. And then he surged forward impossibly quickly, just a blur in the firelight. He slapped the weapon contemptuously out of Honey’s hand and threw her to the ground with a single vicious backhand slap. Blood from her mouth and nose flew on the air. She hit the ground hard.

  Walker was pulling an Aboriginal pointing bone from his waistcoat pocket. Peter was drawing a large handgun from a concealed holster. The Blue Fairy was chanting a curse at the Hyde, old elf magic . . . but his voice was a deep slow crawl. Because I had armoured up the moment the Hyde started moving, my golden armour sealing me in and insulating me from the almost subliminal effects of the Hyde’s presence, I could think clearly now, no longer blinded by the impact of his foul nature.

  I still hated him just as much.

  I surged forward to meet the Hyde, my armour moving me so fast the world slowed to a crawl. Even so, he sensed me coming and turned away from Honey to face me. Which was what I wanted. I fell upon him, my fists slamming into him like golden hammers. Blood flew from the Hyde’s face as I turned it into pulp. I felt as much as heard bones in his face and skull break and splinter. The Hyde didn’t give an inch. He struck at me with fists like mauls, but the force of his blows merely smashed his hands against my unyielding armour. He had the strength of his terrible condition and the conviction to fight without restraint, but in the end he was still mostly a man, and the armour made me so much more than that.

  He was a Hyde, but I was a Drood.


  I beat him to death with my spiked golden fists. I killed him: for what he was, and what he’d done, and what he intended to do. He went down still fighting, and he died cursing me. I broke his arms and legs, smashed in his ribs, drove my fist deep into his skull. And when it was done and I stood over his body breathing harshly, blood dripping from my spiked hands, I didn’t feel anything. Anything at all. I looked slowly around me. Honey was back on her feet, pressing a handkerchief to her bloody mouth and nose. Her eyes were very wide. For a moment, I didn’t recognise the expression on her face. She was looking at me the same way she’d looked at the Hyde. As though one monster . . . had been replaced by another.

  I looked down at the dead Hyde. I’d half expected him to turn back into his original, human form, but he hadn’t. Only the potion, or the plant, or whatever he’d taken, could make that transformation happen.

  I armoured down and looked at the others with my naked, human face. I was shaking. Walker looked at me thoughtfully. Peter’s face was blank, empty, as though he didn’t know what to think. Honey came slowly forward to stand before me. Her mouth was swollen, and already dark bruises were rising on her coffee skin.

  “It’s all right, Eddie,” she said. “We understand.”

  “Do you?” I said. “Maybe you can explain it to me. I never lost it like that before. Never . . . lost control, so completely. You can’t afford to lose control when you wear the golden armour. I never knew . . . I had that much rage and anger within me.”

  “We all have a Hyde within us,” said Walker. “Perhaps his presence awoke some of that in us.”

  Peter moved around the Hyde with his phone camera, filming the dead body from every angle. When he was finished, he put the phone away and looked at me. “So,” he said. “What do we do with the body?”

  “Drop it in the river,” said Honey. “Let the alligators take care of it. Nobody would want to claim it, looking like . . . that.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Where’s Blue? Where’s the Blue Fairy?”

  We found his body on the other side of the fire, almost hidden in the darkness at the edge of the firelight. His neck was broken, the head lolling to one side. His eyes were open and staring, and a small trickle of blood had run down from his slack mouth. He looked . . . confused, as though he couldn’t understand how such a thing could have happened to him. I knelt down beside him and closed his eyes.