The Monsters of Morley Manor

by Bruce Coville

  This adventure had started in a haunted house. Now I found myself in a haunted body. And certainly the first of its memories that I experienced scared me as much as a cold hand grabbing you in a dark room—partly because it seemed to come out of nowhere. I would have jumped in terror, except I couldn’t, of course, since I had no control of the body. Even so, I did feel it flinch a bit.

  The memory was as intense as my best daydreams, and deeply terrifying. The terror came because my immediate reaction was that the alien who had originally owned the body was still in it after all—that I was trapped in this body with its own ghost.

  “Get me out of here!” I wanted to cry.

  If I had been in a room instead of a body, I would have beat at the door with my fists, flung myself against it, trying to break it down.

  But this body had no door.

  The memory itself was simple enough: It was of standing on a mountaintop, staring at a city far below. Even though the city was squat and ugly, the view had a kind of stark beauty. The sky—high, wide, and light green—was lit by two suns. The city sat beside a dark lake. Beyond it stretched a scorched desert, open and arid, but vivid red against the pale green sky.

  Yet there was no pleasure connected to the memory, only a flash of terrible fear and loneliness. More information bubbled up, and I suddenly understood that the memory was from a childhood day when my body’s owner had been abandoned on that mountaintop in order to toughen him up.

  Clearly, growing up Flinduvian was not easy.

  Other memories began to surface, like bubbles rising in a glass of soda: memories of fear, of being hit, of being trained to be cruel and ferocious. The one that still haunts me most is of being locked in a room with three other kids, and only enough water for two of us to stay alive until the day we were scheduled to be released.

  I can’t talk about that one in any more detail. It still upsets me too much.

  I almost began to feel sorry for these guys—though that sure didn’t mean I wanted to let them take over the Earth, much less the entire galaxy.

  The problem was, how could we stop them?

  I certainly didn’t expect an answer to my question. I got one, anyway. It sounded unexpectedly in my head, seeming to come from nowhere: All we have to do is let the Coalition of Civilized Worlds know what they’re up to.

  This sudden communication was even scarier than the alien memories, and I think I actually managed to flinch. That was pretty minor, considering that what I wanted to do was grab the sides of my head and scream “Who are you? What are you doing in here?”

  I couldn’t, of course. But I guess I managed to think it, since the voice answered me.

  This is Martin.

  22

  Martin’s Story

  MARTIN? I thought in astonishment. As in Gaspar’s brother? As in the kid that the Flinduvians brought back with them?

  No, Martin the next-door neighbor’s dog. Of course I’m Gaspar’s brother.

  But how did you get in here—into this body?

  The Flinduvians have put me in and pulled me out of more bodies than I can count. After a while I learned to do it on my own—though I never let them know I could do it. Now, are you going to waste my time with stupid questions, or shall we try to figure out a way to solve this mess?

  You got any suggestions? I thought, hoping that didn’t qualify as a stupid question.

  Martin sighed. Unfortunately, no. But now that I’ve managed to get in contact with you, at least we’ll be in better shape if an opportunity does arise.

  That was fine with me. It was the first glimmer of hope I’d had since the Flinduvians showed up. But I was still curious. So despite the crack about stupid questions, I tried another. I don’t get it. Whose side are you on—ours, or the Flinduvians?

  My own, he replied sharply.

  Care to explain that? I asked.

  Depends on how much time we have, he answered. Let me go check.

  I didn’t feel him go, but I guess he must have, because suddenly he said, All right, it looks like everything is quiet out there.

  Don’t they notice when you leave your body? I asked.

  Actually, it’s possible they could, and that’s a danger. But I’ve just been sitting in the corner looking sullen and no one is paying much attention to me. Even if they do glance my way, it just appears that I’m resting my head on my arms. Now, let me fill you in on some of the details of what’s happening.

  Here’s his story. A couple of points I figured out later, but for the most part, this is what he said:

  WHEN I FIRST FELL through the worlds into Flinduvia, I was nearly as pleased as I was terrified. At last, it seemed, my quest for greater knowledge of the worlds beyond ours was to be rewarded. Little did I know that the reward would carry with it its own punishment. But that was the case, for in stumbling into Flinduvia, I had entered a place that was as close to a living hell as you will ever find.

  Given what I had learned about Flinduvia from being trapped in the alien body, I had no trouble believing this.

  When I tumbled out of our world, there was a Flinduvian waiting to snatch me up. They had detected the reckless experiments Gaspar and I were conducting, and had created a kind of trap, hoping we would stumble into it.

  It took very little time for them to make a copy of me and send it back to Earth. Not a clone; the clones came later. This was a quick copy job, little more than an animated puppet to hold my place. Within a few days it was replaced by a more sophisticated copy, and a few weeks later another. Finally they had a perfect clone of me, which they programmed as they wished, then sent off as my final replacement. It studied both my family and our world, sending back information to its masters. But because they had a need to make it believable, the clone had a combination of human and Flinduvian characteristics, which is one reason that it shared some of the great secrets with my family, such as the Starry Doors. The Flinduvians were unhappy about that—partly because if it had been discovered that they had let the secret out to a planet not part of the Coalition of Civilized Worlds the punishment would have been swift and severe. But they felt the risk was worth the possible gain.

  Meanwhile, I was being held prisoner. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I was kept as an experimental lab animal. I was poked, prodded, and analyzed as completely and impersonally as if I were some important new species of insect.

  Yet after a time, some of them began to talk to me, to tell me about things. I got the feeling they looked on me as we might look on a particularly intelligent pet: someone to share your troubles with. Certainly a Flinduvian would never share his troubles or doubts with another of his own species. That would be seen as weakness, which is the most dangerous trait you can display in their society.

  Now, time in Flinduvia flows differently than it does here, at a ratio of about three to one. That’s one reason they were able to send back that first copy in what seemed such a short time to Gaspar: for every minute that passes here, three minutes go by on Flinduvia.

  Which means that I, myself, have been there for the equivalent of over two hundred years.

  There was such weariness and sorrow in that statement that it nearly broke my heart. But it also confused me. If you’ve been there so long, how come you still look like you’re only twelve?

  Because this was the body the Flinduvians thought would work best as bait when the Wentar and the others showed up. Besides, even though I have been several different ages, physically speaking, during my time on Flinduvia they liked keeping me as they had first captured me. I think I was a symbol of their first step toward the conquest they dreamed of.

  Anyway, as the years rolled on, as the first century moved into the second, I earned more and more privileges from the scientists who guarded and studied me. One of those was the ability to occasionally don other versions of my body. I could be myself as I would appear at twenty, or thirty, or forty, and so on. They kept dozens of copies of me in their lab, and with their technology it
was not that hard to move from one to another.

  Which is how I was able to come back to Earth when I discovered that they had called home the clone that had been taking my place here. They knew I hated being in the old man versions of my body, so they didn’t put many safeguards on them. Late one night, I slipped into one of those bodies, then through the Starry Door that leads to this house. I was horrified to discover that the contents were being sold. I had only a little time before I would be missed in Flinduvia. I didn’t want to take my family back there, but I had to make sure they were taken out of the house before the place was destroyed. That was why I showed your sister the box where my clone had placed my frozen, shrunken family so long ago.

  How did you know about that? I asked him.

  The Flinduvians told me, the fools. Because they have no family bonds at all, and because they knew I had had many conflicts with my brother and sisters, my captors simply assumed that what they had done to my family wouldn’t make that much difference to me. They actually thought it might amuse me.

  His voice grew scornful. Vile Flinduvians! They did not understand the ties that bind the Family Morleskievich! Blinded by their own cruelty, they could never guess the bonds of blood and loyalty I share with my brother and sisters, no matter how much I might have fought with them. Nor could they ever begin to realize how deeply I desired to free my family, how I would plot for decade after decade to release them.

  He was silent for a moment, and I got a sense he was brooding about his centuries on Flinduvia. I tried to put myself in his place, imagine what it was like. The idea gave me cold shivers.

  Finally he spoke again:

  Now, here’s what you need to know, Anthony. The key to the entire Flinduvian plan is secrecy. If word of what they’re up to gets back to the High Council of the Coalition of Civilized Worlds, the Coalition’s massed forces will clamp down on the Flinduvians faster than a mousetrap snapping shut. The Council is suspicious, but this is High Diplomacy, and there are delicate rules to be followed. To have any chance of success, the Flinduvians must have their conquest well under way before anyone realizes what is going on.

  So all we really need to do is break up this situation long enough for the Wentar to get back to his home world and pass on this information. It would be nice if we got out of this alive, but given what’s at stake, living through it is really a side issue.

  Are you telling me that the fate of the civilized galaxy rests in our hands? I asked.

  I’d say that’s an accurate statement of the situation, Martin replied. But then— Wait! Let’s listen.

  An argument had broken out among the Flinduvians. Actually, their regular conversations could be considered arguments, so this was something bigger.

  “We should not wait for Jivaro!” shouted one of the warriors, one who had not spoken before. “Let’s kill them now and be done with it.”

  “Who is in command here, Frax?” shouted Dysrok.

  “The question is, who should be in command?” replied Frax, giving Dysrok a shove.

  Martin must have sensed my astonishment that a soldier would shove his leader, because he said, They’re like this all the time. A position of power is yours for no longer than you can hold it. They shift— Uh-oh!

  Frax, getting louder and angrier, had shoved his way past Dysrok. “We’ll start with the old lady,” he said. “Just for fun.”

  I could smell him moving toward my grandmother. In vain, I ordered my body to act, struggling desperately to lift an arm, take a step. No luck. I stood as if frozen.

  My little sister had no such problem. “You leave my gramma alone!” Sarah screamed. I could smell her fear—and her anger, which was at least as strong. I smelled her leaping over to stand in front of Gramma.

  “You’ll do just as well for starters!” roared Frax, snatching her off the floor.

  Sarah’s scream filled the room.

  23

  The Red Haze

  THAT WAS IT. Sarah might be a total pain-in-the-butt sister, but she was my pain in the butt, and I didn’t intend to let any stinking alien turn her into sister sushi.

  “Let her go, you damn Flinduvian!” I screamed.

  At the same time my eyes snapped open. A haze of red colored my vision, and I could feel myself taking control of the body at last.

  Bellowing with rage, I charged forward.

  “Zarax, stop!” commanded Dysrok.

  I laughed. As if I was going to stop simply because he told me to! I was a creature of fierce power and furious anger. The red haze had me, and no mere order would stop my onslaught!

  Dysrok fiddled with the control box, twisting the knob, shaking the box, shaking it harder, finally flinging it to the floor so fiercely that it burst into pieces.

  I reached out with my fist and smashed him in the face as I went past. He fell with a thud.

  The red haze grew brighter.

  The alien who had picked up Sarah looked at me in fear and astonishment.

  “You . . . put . . . her . . . down!” I roared, the words coming out in the harsh language of Flinduvia.

  Somewhere in my head I could hear Martin laughing.

  The Flinduvian dropped Sarah. Immediately Ludmilla and Melisande swooped in and snatched her away from the battle.

  And a battle it was. The Flinduvian I had challenged had started to pummel me. I didn’t care. My blood was like fire. I was in a frenzy, a creature of the red haze, a roaring, shrieking, fighting machine.

  Two other aliens jumped me from behind. I tried to shake them off, but they clamped on to me and dragged me to the floor.

  Then, suddenly, complete chaos erupted in the room. It took me a moment to realize what had happened. Gaspar, sensing the moment was right, did what he had not had a chance to do before. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the sonic disruptor that the Wentar had given him back on the Planet of the Frogs. He flung the silvery disk to the floor.

  It exploded in a cloud of smoke that gave off bright flashes of color. As each flash burst, it emitted a high squeal that seemed to go right through my head. It must have been pitched to some note that was particularly excruciating to the Flinduvians, because all of them (me, included) slammed their hands to their ears and began to howl.

  The humans in the room looked at us in astonishment, as if they couldn’t figure out what we were doing.

  The pain was incredible, so intense and debilitating that I suspect it came from more than just the sound. But Flinduvian warriors are trained to ignore pain. So the sonic disruptor proved to be no more than what the Wentar had said it would be: a distraction.

  The other aliens were the first to move against it. Staggering, groaning, they began to lurch toward the device—with the intention of breaking it, I suppose.

  I wasn’t used to dealing with such pain. I wasn’t used to maneuvering this body. But I had one thing in my favor: The Flinduvians were mere soldiers. I was a brother, a grandson, a friend. They were fighting because it was what they did. I was fighting because I had to save people I loved.

  I had one more thing in my favor: Martin. He was inside my head, cheering me on.

  This isn’t your body, Anthony! he cried. Who cares what happens to it? The pain will end. All that matters is who wins the fight.

  With a roar I threw myself forward, heading for the device myself. The pain was phenomenal, pulsing through my Flinduvian skull like razors of fire coated in add. But the red haze was stronger. I pushed through the wall of agony, screaming and howling in a voice that scared even me. It was like trying to force yourself upstream through a river of burning molasses. I could see the other Flinduvians, each moving slowly toward the disruptor, ready to smash it, if it was the last thing they ever did.

  I had to get there first, to keep the advantage.

  I pushed ahead, pushed faster.

  “Zarax, I command you to stop!” screamed Dysrok. He was crawling across the floor from the other direction.

  Frax, the soldier who had been arg
uing with him, stepped on his head—a gesture of contempt for his failure, I guess.

  One of the Flinduvians grabbed my arm. I spun and slammed him so viciously it sent him sprawling across the room. Astonished at my own strength, I forged onward. I was about to snatch the disruptor from the floor, turn it toward the others, drive them out of the room, when two Flinduvians tackled me. I hit the floor with a crash that shook the walls.

  All the Flinduvians were roaring and screaming.

  The smell of their rage, their fear, their hate burned in my alien nostrils, filling the real me with horror. Yet at the same time, it seemed to give added power to the alien body.

  The red haze still clouded my vision. With a roar, I picked up one of the Flinduvians who had tackled me and smashed him against the other. Both fell unconscious.

  I started crawling toward the disruptor again. The closer I got, the more I felt as if my head was going to explode.

  So what if it explodes? Martin screamed through the blazing pain. It’s not your head! Keep going! KEEP GOING!

  I had almost reached the device when one of the Flinduvians grabbed my feet. I tried to pull myself forward, but it was hard to move toward so much pain, hard when the enemy was trying to pull me away from it and each inch I slid backward offered a shred of blessed relief.

  Suddenly I heard a vicious snarling and snapping. Bob, sweet little cocker spaniel Bob, had attacked the Flinduvian holding my foot. The alien shouted in anger. He didn’t let go, but the attack distracted him enough for me to shake myself free.

  I pulled myself another few inches closer to the Wentar’s silvery disk.

  Now I realized that the others had thrown themselves into the battle. Albert was leaping around the room, bounding against the staggering aliens, trying to keep them from reaching me. I saw him scramble onto a table, launch himself into the air, then land on a Flinduvians back.