The Creeps

by John Connolly

  Just then, there was a wet popping sound from inside Mrs. Abernathy, and her heart moved. It seemed to be forcing itself out of her damaged body, as though trying to escape its fate. At last it was entirely outside her, and it was only when a small gelatinous mass appeared behind it, black gore running down his sides, that the truth of what was happening was revealed.

  Mrs. Abernathy gurgled. She reached for her heart, but Crudford was too quick for her. He oozed out of reach as Mrs. Abernathy’s body, weakened by the trauma of her injury, collapsed. The life left her eyes. Just like Mr. St. John-Cholmondeley, her human form had merely been a vessel for an essence of evil. Her foul heart continued to beat in Crudford’s arms, for that was where all of her true power resided.

  The wooden door collapsed in upon itself. The face of the Shadows opened its mouth in a soundless cry of frustration and rage, and then was gone. The divisions between the dimensions of the Multiverse were slowly concealed, falling upon one another like clear sheets of plastic dotted with stars until at last there was only one familiar set of constellations in the sky, and then even that was gone as the floors and ceilings and walls of Wreckit & Sons became visible once more. Samuel and the others were left standing beside the ruins of the grotto, and there was silence but for the beating of Mrs. Abernathy’s heart.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” said Crudford. “I won’t be a—”

  And then he, and the heart, vanished.

  XXXVII

  In Which Mrs. Abernathy Finally Gets Her Just Deserts

  A GREAT HOST HAD GATHERED by the shores of Lake Cocytus, in the chilliest, bleakest region of Hell. Jagged peaks towered above the lake, casting their shadows across its frozen surface. Nothing dwelt among their crevasses and caves: even the hardiest of demons shunned Cocytus. A bitter, howling wind blew ceaselessly across the lake’s white plain, the only barriers to its progress being the bodies of those not fully submerged beneath the ice.

  Cocytus was both a lake and a river, one of five that encircled Hell, the others being the Styx, the Phlegethon, the Acheron, and the Lethe. But Cocytus was the deepest and, where it entered the Range of Desolation, the widest. It was there that the Great Malevolence imprisoned those who had betrayed it. The lake had four sections, each deeper than the next: those guilty of only minor betrayals were permitted to keep their upper bodies and arms above the surface; those in the second level were trapped up to their necks; those in the third were surrounded by ice, yet a little light still penetrated to where they lay; but the worst were imprisoned in the darkest depths of the lake, where there was no light, and no hope.

  The Great Malevolence itself had once been a prisoner of the lake, placed there by a power much greater than its own, but it had been freed by a demon that had melted the ice with cauldrons of molten lava. Each load of lava would melt only an inch of ice, and before the next cauldron could be brought, most of the ice would have returned again, so that every cauldron made only the tiniest fraction of difference. Yet still the demon filled its cauldron and carried it to the lake, working without rest for millennia, until finally the ice was weak and low enough for the Great Malevolence to escape.

  That demon was Ba’al, later to mutate into Mrs. Abernathy.

  The Great Malevolence was not a being familiar with sadness or regret. It was too selfish, too wrapped up in its own pain. But Mrs. Abernathy’s betrayal had hurt it more than it had ever been hurt before. Now it was forced to condemn to the lake the demon that had once saved it from this same ice. Had there been even one atom of mercy in the Great Malevolence, it might have found some way to forgive Mrs. Abernathy, or make her punishment less severe, as a reward for her help in times past.

  But the Great Malevolence was entirely without mercy.

  It had instructed all the hordes of Hell to gather at the Range of Desolation and witness Mrs. Abernathy’s fate. It would be a lesson to them all. The Great Malevolence demanded loyalty without question. Betrayal could lead only to the ice.

  Arrayed before him were the jars containing the various parts of Mrs. Abernathy. At a signal from the Great Malevolence, the jars were emptied on the ice and Mrs. Abernathy—part human, part Ba’al—was reassembled until only the space for her heart remained empty. Finally, Crudford appeared accompanied by the Watcher, and carrying the beating black heart in his arms.

  “Well?” said the Great Malevolence.

  “The Shadows have withdrawn, Your Awfulness,” said Crudford. “They will threaten you no more.”

  The Great Malevolence did not share Crudford’s optimism. The Kingdom of Shadows would always be a threat, although the Great Malevolence did not say this aloud: it would display weakness, even fear, and it could not be weak or fearful in front of the masses of Hell. Beside the Great Malevolence, the Watcher fluttered its bat wings briefly, the only sign it gave that it, too, understood the danger posed by the Shadows.

  “And the boy?” said the Great Malevolence. “What of Samuel Johnson?”

  “He fought her,” said Crudford. “Without him, she might well have managed to complete the ritual, and the rule of the Shadows would have begun.”

  “Such strength,” said the Great Malevolence. “Such bravery. Perhaps, in time, he might be corrupted, and we could draw him to our side.”

  Crudford very much doubted that, but he knew better than to say so.

  “And the traitor Nurd?” said the Great Malevolence.

  “He remains on Earth with the boy.”

  “He should be here. He should be frozen in the ice like all these others who have betrayed me.”

  Again, Crudford said nothing. He felt the Watcher’s eight black eyes examining him, waiting for Crudford to make an error, to condemn himself with his own words, but Crudford did not.

  The Great Malevolence waved a clawed, bejeweled hand.

  “Place the heart in its cavity,” it instructed.

  Crudford did as he was ordered, and was glad to be rid of the horrid thing. Instantly the heart began to fuse with the flesh around it, and the disconnected parts of Mrs. Abernathy’s body started to come together. Atoms bonded, bones stretched, and veins and arteries formed intricate networks.

  When all was complete, Mrs. Abernathy’s eyes opened, and she rose to her feet.

  “Master,” she said.

  “Traitor,” said the Great Malevolence.

  “All that I did, I did for you.”

  “No, you did it for yourself. You sided with our enemies. You called the Shadows to your cause. You would have given them the Multiverse, and eventually Hell itself, all to avenge yourself on one human child.”

  “It’s not true,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “It was all a trick on my part. I had a secret plan . . .”

  She was frightened now. The ice was already burning her bare feet. She looked to Crudford for help.

  “Tell our master, Crudford. Tell it of my loyalty.”

  But there could be no comfort from Crudford. Mrs. Abernathy was appealing to the only demon in Hell who was incapable of lying. Before she could speak again, the Great Malevolence’s right hand closed around her body, and it lifted her high above the lake.

  “I condemn you,” said the Great Malevolence, and its voice echoed from the mountains as every demon in Hell looked on. “You are a traitor, and there is only one punishment for traitors.”

  And with all the force that it could muster, the Great Malevolence flung Mrs. Abernathy at the ice. She hit the surface and broke through, and the ice gave way before her as she plummeted deeper and deeper into the lake. At last, when she was lower than any of the others condemned to its cold grip, her descent slowed, then ceased entirely. The ice closed above her head, and she was lost to view.

  There was only one task left for the Great Malevolence to complete, for there was one demon that most definitely could not be allowed to roam freely throughout Hell and the Multiverse any longer, spreading his optimism and good cheer. There was space in Cocytus for Crudford as well. Looking on the bright side was also a betra
yal of all that the Great Malevolence stood for.

  But when the Great Malevolence reached for Crudford, the little demon was already gone, and he was never again seen in Hell.

  XXXVIII

  In Which There Is a Parting of the Ways

  IN THE SILENCE OF Wreckit & Sons, Samuel and the others stared at the spot from which Crudford had popped from one dimension into another.

  “Well, we won’t see him for a—” said Jolly just as Crudford appeared once again. Jolly was ever so slightly disappointed. He’d been hoping to keep Crudford’s hat.

  “All done,” said Crudford. “Can I have my hat back, please?”

  Jolly obliged with as much good grace as he could summon, which wasn’t a lot.

  Beside them, the mutated form that had, until recently, housed Mrs. Abernathy’s black heart was already starting to rot. All traces of Nosferati, and spiders, and sinister clowns had vanished. There were toys scattered across the floor below, but they were no longer intent upon inflicting harm on anyone. They were simply toys, although Samuel had the feeling that he’d never look at a teddy bear in quite the same way again.

  “Where’s the heart?” asked Nurd.

  “Back in Mrs. Abernathy’s body,” said Crudford.

  “And where is that?”

  “Frozen somewhere near the bottom of Lake Cocytus.”

  “Ah. So the Great Malevolence wasn’t very pleased to see her, then?”

  “Oh no, it was pleased,” said Crudford, “but only because it meant that the Great Malevolence got to freeze her in an icy lake for eternity. I think it would have liked to have imprisoned you there with her, Nurd. I think it would have stuck me in the ice as well if I hadn’t made myself scarce.”

  “Tut-tut, and after all that you’ve done for the old miseryguts,” said Nurd. “Some demons have no gratitude.”

  “It’s all for the best,” said Crudford. “I never really fitted in down in Hell. I didn’t want to torment people, or be horrible. I always felt that there might be something better around the next corner. There wasn’t, of course: there was just more of Hell, but I never gave up hope. Unfortunately, Hell has no place for optimists. Well, it does have a place for them, but it’s at the bottom of a lake.”

  “So you can’t ever go back?” said Samuel.

  “I don’t want to go back,” said Crudford. “I know my way around the Multiverse, just like Mrs. Abernathy. I know all the little back entrances, all the cracks and holes. I think I might just explore it for eternity. After all, there’s a lot of it to see. It’s a wonderful place, the Multiverse.

  “And I’m not the only demon who has escaped: there are thousands of demons scattered all over the Multiverse, and only some are vicious and evil. Lots of them are perfectly lovely, with an admirable work ethic. Mr. Comestible, for example, has set himself up as a baker only a couple of universes from here. His cinnamon rolls are worth crossing dimensions to try.”

  “With all of your knowledge, I don’t suppose you could help me to get home?” asked the Polite Monster. “Not that it isn’t nice here, but I left a pot boiling on the stove—five letters, ‘an apparatus for cooking and heating’—and Mother will be starting to worry. Oh, and I have a crossword puzzle to finish.”

  “It would be my pleasure,” said Crudford, and he meant it.

  “I’d like to come, too,” said a voice. “Actually, we’d like to come.”

  It was Nurd who had spoken. Samuel stared at him in shock.

  “What?” he said. “You’re leaving? Why?”

  Nurd looked at the boy. Samuel was his friend, the first friend that Nurd had ever had if you didn’t count Wormwood, which Nurd didn’t, or not aloud. (He didn’t want Wormwood to think that Nurd might need him. He did need him, and Wormwood knew that he needed him, but it didn’t mean they had to get all soppy about it.) Samuel had made Nurd a worse demon, but a better person. For that Nurd would love him forever.

  “I don’t belong here,” said Nurd. “I’ve tried to belong, but I’m still a demon, and I’ll always be one. If I stay here, I’ll have to keep my true nature hidden forever; if I don’t, they’ll lock me up, or try to destroy me. Even if I avoid discovery, I can never be myself. I’ll just be that strange-looking bloke who lives with the Johnsons, him and his even stranger-looking friend.”

  “That’s me,” said Wormwood, unnecessarily.

  “And what am I to do as you get older?” Nurd continued, having slapped Wormwood semiaffectionately on the back of the head. “Do I continue living with your mum? Do I come and live with you? How will you explain me to your wife, or your children?”

  “So you’re running away?” said Samuel. He fought his tears, but they won, and he hated them for winning. “You’re leaving me because of something that hasn’t even happened yet, something that might never happen?”

  “No,” said Nurd, “I’m leaving because I have to make a life for myself. I spent so long in Hell, and then you gave me a place here. You showed me a new world. More than that, you gave me hope. Now I want to see what I might become out there in the Multiverse. And you have to make a life for yourself, too, Samuel, one in which there aren’t two demons peering over your shoulder, always needing you to protect them.”

  “Don’t,” said Samuel. “Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

  Now Nurd was crying, too, weeping big wet tears that soaked his elf costume. It was hard to be dignified while dressed as a large elf.

  “Please understand,” he said. “Please let me go.”

  Samuel’s face was contorted by grief.

  “Go, then!” he shouted. “Go on and wander the Multiverse. You were only ever a burden to me anyway. All I did was worry about you, and Wormwood just made things smell when he wasn’t setting them on fire. Go! Find your demon friends. I don’t need you. I never needed you!”

  He turned his back on Nurd. Maria tried to comfort him, but he shook her hand off and stepped away from her.

  Slowly, giving Samuel space in his sadness and anger, the others lined up to shake hands with Nurd and Wormwood. The dwarfs even managed to hug them without trying to steal anything from them. When their farewells were completed, Crudford drew a circle in the air with his finger, and a hole opened. On the other side lay a red ocean, and anchored upon it was a white boat with a yellow sail.

  “Where is that?” asked Wormwood.

  Crudford shrugged. “I don’t know. Let’s find out.”

  Crudford and Wormwood waved good-bye as they stepped through the portal and into the boat. Only Nurd remained. He reached out a hand as though he might somehow bridge the distance between Samuel and himself, the space both emotional and physical that had opened between them, but he could not. His let his hand drop. A new universe beckoned. He touched the sides of the portal. They felt solid. He used them to support himself as he placed his right foot into the waiting world.

  A finger tapped him on the back. He turned, and Samuel buried his face in Nurd’s chest. The boy wrapped his arms around him, and it seemed that he would never let go. Samuel was sobbing, and could barely speak, but Nurd could still make out the words.

  “Good-bye,” said Samuel. “Good-bye, friend. I hope you find what you’re looking for. Come back to me someday. Come back and tell me of your adventures.”

  Nurd kissed him gently on the top of the head, and Samuel released him. Nurd stepped through the portal. Before he could look back it had closed behind him, and his friend was gone.

  XXXIX

  In Which We Step Forward in Time

  THERE IS A HOUSE on the outskirts of a town far from Biddlecombe, a house old and full of character. Its gardens are neatly tended, but there is space in them, too, for ancient trees and blackberry bushes, for a little chaos amid the order. On this day the sun is shining, and the house is filled with people. There are children, and grandchildren, and even some great-grandchildren. A man and woman, both still lively and bright despite their years, are celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary. There w
ill be cake, and songs, and laughter.

  A small table has been cleared in the living room, and on the table sits their wedding album. It contains all of the usual photographs that one might expect to see from such an occasion: the bride arriving, the ceremony, the couple leaving the church in a cloud of confetti, the hotel, the dinner, the dancing. Here are the parents of the bride and the parents of the groom, basking in the happiness of their children; there, guests cheering and raising glasses. It is a record not only of one day, but of many lives lived until that moment, of friends made and not forgotten.

  The final photograph is a group picture: all of those in attendance are gathered together, row upon row: tallest at the back, shortest at the front. Most people who leaf through the album just glance at it and move on. They have seen enough photos by then. There is food to be eaten, and champagne to be drunk. There is even some beer, for Spiggit’s has brewed a special ale for the occasion. It is called Spiggit’s Old Faithful, and those who have tried it swear that it is very good once their memory has returned. The brewers are here somewhere, too. They are giving rides on their backs to small children, who don’t care that they smell a little odd and can only say “Hurh!”

  But those who take the time to look more closely at this last photograph in the album might pick out what appears to be a small, gelatinous being in the bottom right-hand corner. He is wearing a top hat, and has borrowed a bow tie for the occasion. To his left, wearing a suit with one sleeve on fire, is a man disguised as a ferret, or a ferret disguised as a man. Whatever he is, he is grinning broadly, mostly because he has not yet noticed the flames.