A Haunting of Horrors: A Twenty-Novel eBook Bundle of Horror and the Occult

by Chet Williamson

  A small tinkling from his alarm wristwatch—Calie's idea and a damned fine one—made Perlman realize he only had an hour of good daylight left. This makeshift laboratory was sinking quickly toward darkness, and he couldn't very well examine the tissue samples back in his original lab with its wall of large, northern windows. C.J. and Calie had provided three kerosene lamps to add to the battery-powered spotlight, and now the doctor noted that the spotlight's glow had faded to soft yellow and most of the room’s wan light came from those lamps. He pushed out of his chair and stood unsteadily; fatigue, the pain in his foot, and yesterday's blood loss still working on him. It was time to wrap it up and perform his final and irreversible experiment. He powered down the generator, pulled the slide from the microscope and carefully covered it with dark plastic, then swept the soiled slides, debris, and damaged samples into the trash; it was vital that he had fresh tissue to work with on a daily basis, no matter how difficult it was to obtain. That done, he snapped on the Maglite, extinguished the remaining lights, and hobbled back to his regular lab. Another five minutes' preparation and Perlman was ready.

  He estimated that it only took four seconds to get the slide in place and flood it with nearly painful halogen light, yet already the tissue had started to disintegrate. Maybe, he mused, disintegrate was an incorrect term, one that implied decomposition. Dissolve was more accurate, or evaporate. He wished desperately for a higher magnification level. Perhaps a sudden, massive output of enzymes was causing the tissue to digest itself, with the sun’s rays as the catalyst. Or was it something more toxic, or a modulator, a type of noncompetitive inhibitor …

  The slice of tissue was gone, like a fragment of shaved ice in August heat, before Perlman’s questions had even begun.

  He sat back and mentally replayed the tissue self-destruction, comparing this viewing with the first experiment he'd performed on the fresh sample hours earlier. He flipped through his notes to make sure of the time—noon. The sun had been at its peak point beneath the gray clouds that had moved over the city yesterday evening. That small piece of flesh, purposely placed under the microscope by the window, had deteriorated at almost twice the rate of the one he'd just witnessed, a noteworthy example in terms of energy output versus retention. And more reason to get back to Water Tower, as another look at his watch verified. He stood hurriedly, glanced around, and decided everything could be left where it was overnight. His stomach growled and Perlman grinned; he'd quickly returned to forgotten habits—the days without meals and hours of not speaking to another person when he was heavy into a project. The future was sure to get him plenty of sleep though, since it remained impossible to work through the night. He'd be the most well-rested scientist in history.

  Satisfied that nothing was running, Perlman slipped on his jacket and limped down to the first floor, letting himself out and locking up. Someone would be waiting for him at the Water Tower entrance, probably ready to come after him in another ten minutes if he didn't show. The freezing temperature and gusty wind made the empty length of Michigan Avenue desolate, especially against his memories of harried lunchtime crowds and the long-gone horns of the once-abundant taxis. Now it was … nothing, winding away to a gray, damp haze at either end, making him look forward to the company of Calie and the others, and maybe a hot bowl of canned stew, things that would warm him in body and spirit. He was tired, and it was nice to be heading home.

  Home.

  Now there was a good word.

  6

  REVELATION 3:11

  Behold, I come quickly: hold that fast which thou hast.

  “Alex?" Deb squirmed within the circle of his arms and heard him murmur. "Alex, wake up." She used her elbow to prod at his ribs. "Where'd you get these flowers?"

  He opened his eyes and smiled; looking at him, she decided she liked the way his grin carried into little crinkly lines around his eyes, which were a deep, puppy-like brown and filled with warmth. Instead of sitting up immediately, he lightened his hold around her. "What flowers?"

  She tugged the two daisies gently from his fingers and held them up. "These, you big goof. Where'd you get them?"

  He jerked as though she were waving something nasty under his nose, then he was on his feet, gripping the machete and hurrying in one direction, then another, as he peered suspiciously into the afternoon shadows of the store. Deb sat staring on the couch, stunned and very aware of the cool draft where only a second before his arms had been.

  "What's wrong?" she demanded. "Did you hear something?"

  Another explosive ten seconds passed while she sat frozen, one hand cold against the pistol in her jacket; finally Alex let out a shaky breath and turned with a bewildered look. "Someone else was here," he said, his eyes still probing the unseen corners and making a lie of his calm, flat voice.

  "I never left you!"

  "Look at this," Deb said. They stood by the store's front entrance, the same one from which Deb had fled the day before. State Street Mall stretched away on both sides, empty, cold, and windswept; occasionally pieces of trash skittered along, pushed by a wind that was becoming frigid beneath heavy, mercury-colored clouds. "Look," she said again, the breath pluming from her lips. "They even have roots, Alex. Roots." The shock had worn but not evaporated; it was mind-boggling enough to realize that there really was another person in the downtown area, though Deb knew Alex had already been convinced of that, but to know that someone had stood within a foot of them, perhaps even touched them while they slept … Every time she got to that point, her mind shut down and gave her nothing but a gray, blank fog. It was simply unthinkable.

  "I'm sure it was that girl," Alex said suddenly. "The one I told you about."

  "Why?"

  For a second he looked sheepish, then his jaw set stubbornly. "Because she was … weird. Crazy enough to come out before sunrise, then just walk right into the arms of that vampire, like she wanted it. Yet by the time I got down there the vampire was nearly dead and she'd disappeared." He looked thoughtful. "If that'd been you or me we'd have been killed. I just can't figure it out."

  "How can you grow daisies in Chicago in March?" Deb asked wonderingly. She bent her nose to the sweet-smelling blossoms. "Maybe we can plant them. Do you think they'll grow? I always thought they were outside flowers."

  Alex sighed, then his expression softened. "I don't know, Deb. Tell you what, we'll go by Woolworth's and get some dirt—"

  "Soil," she interrupted.

  "Okay, soil. And we'll get a pot and stick them in and see what happens." He grinned. "We'll worry about where they came from some other time."

  "Sounds good to me." Deb smiled at him. "Let's go." His words brought the sadness creeping back and she strove to keep it from her voice. Alex's warm gaze faltered, then smoothed as Deb put a little more effort into smiling. Her eyes had always been naked little windows into her thoughts; best to turn Alex's mind to other things, because if he pushed, she'd probably spill everything and spoil their too-short time together. "Do you think it'll be safe?" she asked. "I thought the garden stuff was in the basement."

  "Then let's try somewhere else," he suggested. "I know—Carson's has a floral shop on the first floor. Probably nothing but dead plants now, but there'll be plenty of light and pots."

  "Say," Deb said severely. "How come you know where the florists are in this town? Guys are only supposed to know where to buy footballs and beer."

  Alex lifted his nose and gave her a smug glance. "Because, my dear girl, it was formerly necessary to keep my harem in fresh flowers on a daily basis."

  "Harem, huh?" Alex dodged the mock swipe of her fist. "Obviously a group of backwoods girls who never had a city woman like me to show them the ropes."

  "They were willing slaves to my many charms."

  "Oh, jeesh!" Deb snorted. "This is getting deep!"

  Alex laughed, then shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking backward. "It’s getting cold." The chilly wind made a soughing noise as it spun between the buildings and
past the door fronts and he indicated the flowers with a nod of his head. "You better put those away or we might as well not bother."

  "Pretty nasty, isn't it?" Deb tucked the daisies carefully into a high pocket, then turned up her collar and pulled her sleeves down and over her hands to keep them warm. "Nothing like yesterday."

  ”Here we are," Alex said cheerfully. "The landmark building of Carson Pine Scott and Company. Let’s get out of this wind."

  "I don't know." Deb rubbed a spot on the dusty window with the side of her hand but she still couldn't see much. “You seem to like taking me into dark department stores."

  "It's not as dark as it looks," he promised as he pulled open one of the doors and stepped inside. "I've been in here before. It just seems that way because it's lighter out here than inside. Besides, we should get going. With these clouds, it’s going to get dark earlier than normal. Let's grab what you need and go home."

  Deb had been about to follow him into the foyer, but that stopped her. "Home?" she asked mildly.

  Alex flushed a sudden deep red. "I didn't mean it like that," he stammered. "I would never assume—"

  Deb couldn't stop a mischievous grin as she gave him a playful shove. "You sure embarrass easily for a guy who used to have a harem."

  "It's late," Alex finally said. They were seated once again on the stone bench in the plaza of the Daley Center. "There's probably only an hour of light left." Huddled next to him, Deb could see him watching her out of the corner of his eye. Time, it seemed, her time, was passing much too quickly. They were facing west and Deb tilted her face into the breeze, enjoying it despite the temperature. Somewhere beyond the buildings, obscured by thick clouds, the sun was settling slowly toward the horizon, leeching away the rest of the day's warmth.

  "It's very cold," Deb said. Inside her pocket she could feel the delicate petals of the flowers and she wondered if life still moved within the slender plants. At her feet was a shopping bag with a clay pot and a small bag of potting soil. Would these simple things combine to protect and keep life in the daisies? Deb's thoughts took a sudden black turn and her stomach twisted in sympathetic pain.

  And what will it take to keep life in me?

  Oh, God.

  Her eyes followed the sleek lines of the Daley Center. Behind its black steel and darkly tinted windows, if she wanted, was temporary safety and warmth, and other things, too, long-forgotten feelings—physical and emotional—that a short time ago she had thought she might never feel again.

  For just one night.

  I will treasure this memory, she thought. For as long as I can.

  She smiled and stood, then held a hand out to Alex and tugged him to his feet. He looked at her quizzically and she was glad they were almost the same height; it made it that much easier to press her lips against his. For a moment she felt his surprise as she squeezed his hand, a startled tremor that blurred beneath the warmth and pleasure the kiss reawakened. The muted agony in her belly faded, then winked away like a snuffed candle.

  The city around them darkened visibly as its myriad shadows gathered and lengthened to become more inviting to those things of the night she particularly wanted to avoid. She wasn't feeling very brave this evening.

  "Stay with me?" Alex whispered against her cheek. "We don't have to—"

  "Shhh." She put a finger gently across his mouth. His eyes were wide pools of raw emotion in the fading light. "Let's go."

  Hands entwined, warm flesh against warm flesh, she followed Alex across Daley Plaza.

  I will treasure this, she thought again.

  And I will have no regrets.

  The Hunters

  7

  REVELATION 21:8

  And the abominable … shall have their part in

  the second death.

  "You seem very pleased with yourself tonight, Howard. Things went well today, yes?" Anyelet's eyes, so deep and black, glittered across the candlelit expanse of the main lobby.

  Howard started and realized that they were all watching him—the Mistress, Rita, Vic, even that creepy little Gregory. Now there was a type, all right, just like those finicky little bastards at his old job. They were jealous, he knew—after all, he had the best of both light and dark worlds, and they were forever trapped in darkness. Well, you make your choices.

  "Yes." He smiled at Anyelet and nodded his pudgy head for emphasis. "They did." He could feel Vic's gaze boring into him, trying to read his thoughts, and Howard was careful not to meet the former bodybuilder's eyes or even look in his direction. They could read minds; he realized that now though in the past he'd never been quite sure. But after what he'd seen Anyelet do to the old man last night—he'd been hiding just around the corner—Howard finally believed.

  "How many women did you beat and rape today, Howard?" Rita jeered. Coming from her, his name seemed like a dirty word and Howard flinched.

  "I didn't beat anyone," he responded smoothly, raising his voice to be sure that Vic could hear him clearly. “I had … relations with three of them." Not bad for someone of his immense weight and as out of shape, too. Did vampires have sex? He didn't think so—the act would be impossible for a male since they had no blood to maintain an erection. Howard barely kept his snigger to himself. Good ol’ American Red: he had it, they didn't. Besides, he'd heard about bodybuilders and steroids and what that shit did to a man’s sex drive and performance. That meant Vic had two strikes against him—no wonder the big vampire hated him. Howard almost felt sorry for the guy.

  But not quite.

  Howard had been saving his next statement for a few days, treasuring it like a special piece of candy. "I think," he said, unable to mask the pride he felt, "that another woman might be pregnant. One of the younger ones." Howard thought he heard a growl come from deep in Vic's chest and his head jerked toward the larger man in alarm. The odd sound was drowned out by Rita’s harsh voice.

  "It's easier when they're babies, isn't it?" Rita spat. "What a pig you are, Howard!"

  "What difference does it make to you?" he challenged. "You only need them for food."

  Rita opened her mouth but Anyelet cut her off. "That will be enough." There was a dangerous hint of impatience in her tone. "Howard is serving a useful purpose. Aren’t you?" She looked his way.

  Rita stared at the Mistress in disbelief. "But just last night you said …" The tall vampire lapsed into silence at Anyelet's warning glance and Howard's eyes narrowed. "Last night was a different time," Anyelet murmured. She raised her voice and spoke to Howard. "You say another child will be born? When?"

  "It's too early to tell," Howard admitted. "But I'm positive the girl has missed her cycle for at least two months."

  "It's probably just stress," suggested Gregory. "I understand that happens sometimes."

  "It is not!" Howard protested hotly. "She's as healthy as any of them, and she hasn't been giving me any trouble."

  "Which is another way of saying you haven't found an excuse to slap her around," muttered Rita.

  “But you're sure she's pregnant?" Anyelet interrupted.

  Howard nodded, straining to conceal the sudden nervous flutter in his stomach. He hated putting himself on the line like this—what if that stupid, nerdy Gregory was right? What if the girl was only screwed up, some kind of mysterious female infection or something? Jesus. Rita's words flashed painfully into his mind, like sticking your face onto the glass of a Xerox machine and pressing the COPY button with your eyes still open.

  "Good job, then," Anyelet continued. "The ideal situation would be to have all the females impregnated as much as possible and feed only from the males."

  "The ideal situation would be if there was food for the taking everywhere, like there used to be," Rita said sullenly.

  Howard considered offering his own opinion about the future, then wisely decided to wait when Gregory spoke. "True," the boyish vampire agreed, "but impossible. We would inevitably end up in the same position—"

  "I know that, you idiot!" Rita hi
ssed.

  Gregory threw her an irritated glance. "Well, you seem to need reminding." The onetime accountant's smile was smug, and Howard imagined computer drives churning in the icy recesses of Gregory's brain. "The ones like you ruined it for all of us, you know."

  Anyelet's eyebrows raised. "Oh?"

  "Not you," the thin vampire amended quickly. "That's not what I meant at all." He shrugged and brushed at his sweatshirt fussily. "I mean the … I suppose a good word would be gluttons." He nodded at Rita, who wore an expression of incredulous rage. "The ones like her who took more than they needed and hunted just for fun, depleting everything. That's why we're in such poor shape."

  "Who the fuck appointed you judge?" Rita shrieked, leaping to her feet. "You annoying little cockroach! I could stomp you into the floor right now—"

  "Vic," Anyelet said so softly that only she, Vic, and Howard heard the world. Howard cautiously edged away.

  Gregory laughed, unperturbed by Rita's threats. “Hardly, dear. You're more mouth than muscle." The air between the two crackled. Go on! Howard cheered silently. If Gregory tore the bitch's head off, the dweeby CPA would solve Howard's worst problem!

  Rita sprang like a deadly jungle cat, black and sleek and twice as fast as the feeling of scalding water on bare skin. Gregory rose to meet her, either in response or anticipation, his own movement rivaling the astounding killing strikes of the rattlesnakes on the old PBS nature broadcasts. Howard's stunned gaze couldn't even follow the blur as the two bodies hurtled toward each other.

  Incredibly, Vic was there, stepping between them before flesh met flesh and collided to a point of no return. One immense forearm wrapped around Rita's shoulders and simply plucked her from midair; when Gregory would have attacked the imprisoned woman, Vic's fist connected solidly with his chest and knocked the smaller vampire back a good twenty feet. Howard's sweat-slimed fingers clenched in disappointment inside his pockets when Vic made no move to further punish the combatants, and he shivered and turned away; it was colder tonight than yesterday and he found it disconcerting to watch these horrific creatures battle without the slightest puff of steamy breath. They never seemed to notice the temperature. "I think I'll go check on the prisoners," he said to no one in particular. There was nothing more to see here anyway.