Petrified

by Graham Masterton

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Tuesday, 1:47 a.m.

  Jay and Tory and Kenny and Pat were sitting in one of the brightly-painted children’s playhouses in the Palumbo Playground on Fitzwater Street, passing a joint around.

  The night was chilly, and their breath fumed almost as much as the skunk they were smoking, but they were all wearing thick coats and scarves and Jay was wearing a huge black woolly hat.

  The city had quietened down, but there was still a restless swooshing of traffic all around them, punctuated by horns blowing, and sirens whooping.

  ‘You know what my old man said to me yesterday?’ said Jay. ‘He said, what are you staying at school for? He said when he was my age he was working in the spoon factory, making spoons. I said, that’s the reason I want to stay at school. I don’t want to make no spoons.’

  ‘I know,’ said Kenny, ‘you want to be an unclear physicist.’

  ‘It’s “nuclear”, you dimwit. Besides, that’s not what I want to be anyhow. I want to be like a New Age Diddy. I want to have my own record label and my own line of men’s clothing and my own chain of restaurants. But I don’t want to be such an arrogant asshole as Diddy. I believe in swagger, like he does, but I believe in, like, restrained swagger.’

  ‘I want to be a model,’ said Tory. She had long blonde hair and big gray eyes and a pert little nose. She was wearing an oversized pink padded windbreaker and gray woolen leggings. ‘In fact I want to be America’s next top model.’

  ‘You won’t have no-o-o trouble at all,’ Jay assured her. ‘Models don’t need no brains, do they, so you have all the necessary qualifications already.’

  Tory slapped him and Jay laughed and lifted his arm up to protect himself. ‘Temperamental, too! That’s good! All the top models got to be temperamental!’

  Pat was coppery-haired and pale and wore a dark brown duffel coat. ‘I always dreamed of being a nurse,’ she said.

  ‘A nurse?’ said Jay. ‘That is one genuinely shitty job. Long hours for crappy pay, and all that wiping old people’s asses.’

  ‘I did dream of being a nurse but I changed my mind. Now I want to be a manicurist. Or maybe a dog-groomer or a pole-dancer.’

  ‘Hey, I like a girl with ambition.’

  Kenny said, ‘Me, I want to be ride-pimper. Just give me a workshop and a set of tools and a fifty-nine Chevy Impala and I’ll be h-a-p-p-y for the rest of my life.’

  Pat passed him the joint and he took a deep drag at it, and then went into a coughing fit. ‘That is seriously strong shit, man. Where’d you score it? Jesus!’

  Jay was about to answer when they heard a harsh screeching sound, directly above their heads. Then another screech, off to their right. And another, and another.

  ‘What the hell was that, man?’ said Kenny. He turned around and peered across the playground, shielding his eyes against the nearby street light.

  There was more screeching, and Jay stood up and leaned out of the side of the playhouse. ‘Sounds like buzzards,’ he said.

  ‘Buzzards? In the middle of the city? And how do you happen to know what buzzards sound like?’

  ‘I seen enough cowboy movies. Those are definitely buzzards.’

  ‘Oh, the great bird expert, all of a sudden.’

  They heard three or four more screeches, and then a loud flapping of wings. Tory stood up, too, and took hold of Jay’s arm. ‘They sound big,’ she said. ‘And look! There they are! They’re flying all around us!’

  She pointed upward. Although the playhouse was under the trees, they could make out at least three shadowy shapes. They were circling around and around, about fifty or sixty feet above them, their wings making a steady, dull thumping sound, like somebody beating carpets.

  At first, they couldn’t see anything at all. But then, without warning, a huge gray creature swooped around the side of the playhouse, so close that its horny wing-tip clanged against one of the yellow-painted metal uprights. It turned its head as it flew past, and they saw bulging green eyes and a curved beak and fangs. It screeched, and then it flapped its wings and disappeared upward.

  The four of them stared at each other in shock. Tory was stunned into silence but Pat was panting in terror as if she had just run the hundred meters. ‘What the fuck was that?’ said Kenny, in the thinnest of screams. ‘That wasn’t no buzzard, that was a fucking dragon!’

  ‘Let’s just get the hell out of here,’ said Jay. ‘Like – let’s go, man! These things look like they want to fucking eat us!’

  They jostled their way toward the playhouse steps, but before they could clamber down them, they heard a high-pitched whistling sound. One of the creatures collided with the side of the playhouse with such a devastating impact that it felt as if they had been hit head-on by a speeding truck. They were all thrown backward on to the floor, tumbling over each other, and Kenny hit his head on one of the railings with an audible klonk.

  The steps were ripped up sideways, so that now they led nowhere at all. Three of the playhouse uprights were so badly bent inward that one side of the roof almost touched the handrail.

  ‘Jump out!’ Jay shouted. ‘Jump out and run for it!’

  Both Tory and Pat were screaming, but Kenny was still lying on his back looking stunned. Jay snatched hold of his sleeve and tried to heave him upright. ‘Get up, man! They’re trying to kill us!’

  Tory managed to lift one leg over the handrail, but she was just about to drop down to the ground when one of the creatures landed right next to her, noisily folding its wings and making a hoarse rattling noise in its throat.

  Tory started screaming again, and Jay let go of Kenny’s sleeve and tried to make a grab for her hand. But the creature was much too quick for him. It dug its claws into the back of Tory’s pink windbreaker and lifted her off the handrail like a hawk picking up a field mouse. With a few drafty flaps of its wings it rose up into the air and carried her high over the playground, screaming and thrashing her arms and legs.

  ‘Tory!’ shouted Jay. He vaulted over the handrail but he was still in mid-air when a second creature plummeted down and hit him. It struck him so hard and so fast that he exploded, his head flying over the railings and rolling across Fitzwater Street, underneath a passing car. His detached arms flew up in the air, turning over and over as if they were being juggled like Indian clubs. His whole body burst open, and was strewn across the play area in a chaotic tangle of lungs and intestines.

  The creature that had hit him turned in mid-air and then came swooping back down. It landed among his remains, its wings still outstretched, scratching through them with its claws until it found his heart. It let out a screech of triumph, and then it shredded his heart with its beak and teeth, greedily devouring it.

  Pat was still crouching on the playhouse floor on her hands and knees. Every now and then she let out a low, quavering moan. Kenny was lying beside her, half-concussed and not at all sure what was happening.

  ‘Pat?’ he said, trying to lift up his head and look around. ‘Pat – where’s Jay?’

  ‘Mmmpphhh,’ said Pat.

  ‘What? I don’t understand you. Where’s Jay? Where did Tory go?’

  Pat stared at him. ‘Those flying things . . . they took Tory away. Right up in the air. She’s gone. Then one of them came down and smashed Jay to bits.’

  ‘What? What do you mean, smashed him to bits?’

  ‘I mean smashed him to bits! Smashed him into pieces! There isn’t any Jay any more!’

  Kenny managed to roll himself on to his side and sit up. He reached around and touched the back of his head and said, ‘Jesus. That hurts.’

  ‘One of the flying things took Tory and then the other one came down and smashed Jay to bits.’

  ‘OK, OK, take it easy,’ Kenny told her. He looked around, and then he said, ‘Seems like they’ve gone now, anyhow.’

  He used one of the bent uprights to help himself stand up. Now he could see what was left of Jay, glistening in the street light. He clamped his hand over his
mouth and retched.

  ‘Jesus,’ he said, with his eyes watering, and he crossed himself. ‘You weren’t fucking joking, were you?’

  ‘We need to call somebody,’ said Pat, her voice quaking. ‘We need to call nine-one-one.’

  Kenny looked up. ‘What were those things? Like, what the fuck were they?’

  ‘I don’t know. Just call nine-one-one.’

  Kenny took his cellphone out of his coat pocket. He punched out 911, but he had lifted his phone only halfway up to his ear when there was a shuddering bang on the metal roof, right above his head. This was followed by a furious flurry of scratching. He looked up and saw eight curved claws hooked around the edge of the guttering.

  ‘Pat,’ he said, and pointed upward. ‘It’s landed on the roof.’

  There was a rattling noise, and some more scratching, and then another harsh screech. A creature’s head appeared, upside down, staring at him with yellowish-green eyes. Kenny took one step backward, and then another. The creature didn’t move, but continued to stare at him. It was hideous, this thing, whatever it was, but it was expressionless, and it was impossible to tell what it might be thinking. Maybe it wanted to smash him to bits, too. Or maybe it was just curious.

  He slowly raised his cellphone to his ear. A voice was repeating, ‘Nine-one-one. What is your emergency, please?’

  Kenny had never felt so frightened in his life. ‘We’re at the Palumbo Playground. We’ve been attacked by these things.’

  ‘What things, sir?’

  ‘These flying things, like demons.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir. Did you say “demons”?’

  ‘They’ve taken one of us. Tory. And they’ve killed another one, Jay.’

  ‘When you say “demons”, sir, are you talking about a gang called The Demons?’

  The creature blinked at him, its eyelids closing upward, like a frog’s, and he saw a gray forked tongue flicker out of its beak.

  ‘No, I mean real demons! They have horns and tails and they can fly, and they killed my best friend Jay and took a girl called Tory. For Christ’s sake, you have to send somebody before they kill us, too!’

  ‘A patrol car is already on the way, sir. Just try to stay calm.’

  ‘How can I stay calm when there’s one of them sitting on the roof and it’s staring at me like it wants to bite my fucking head off?’

  ‘Please, sir, stay calm. You don’t have to use that kind of language.’

  ‘My best friend has been smashed to pieces! What other kind of language do you suggest I use? Fucking Arabic?’

  ‘Sir—’

  Before the emergency operator could say any more, however, the creature came scuttling into the playhouse in a sudden rush, dragging its wings in behind it. It came across the ceiling, upside down, and gripped Kenny by the neck with its claws. Kenny tried to cry out, but the creature’s claws were so sharp that they pierced his carotid artery and penetrated his windpipe with a hiss of air. He dropped his cellphone and desperately seized the creature’s forearm, trying to pull its claws out, but the creature was far too strong for him, and he was already spurting bright red blood out of his neck and all down his coat.

  Pat whimpered, climbed on to her feet, and started to climb awkwardly over the handrail. She managed to swing both legs over and drop down on to the rubbery play surface. Then, still whimpering, she ran toward the yellow gate that led out into the main playground area. She was so terrified that she found it difficult to make her legs move one in front of the other, and to keep her balance. She almost felt like falling to her knees and letting the creatures catch up with her.

  She was two-thirds of the way toward the gate when she heard screeching, directly above her. She didn’t look up. She didn’t dare, she just kept stumbling on, past two other playhouses and a swing set.

  She heard another screech, and the flap-flap-flapping of wings. Oh God, she thought, it’s going to get me. It’s going to fly down and smash me into bits, the same as it did to Jay. But still she kept on running, and still she didn’t look up. Maybe she was going to die but she didn’t want to see her own death coming.

  She was only ten feet away from the gate when something fell on to the play surface next to her, and bounced. It had a long mane of bloody blonde hair and she realized that it was Tory’s head. She stopped, totally shocked, as the head rocked to a rest beside the fence. Then, suddenly, she was struck on the shoulder by something heavy and wet, a severed leg, and then by a deluge of warm blood and slippery human remains.

  She looked up. Her face looked as if she were wearing a scarlet mask and her hair was drenched. The creature was slowly wheeling around in the air and gliding off to the west. She could see the street light shining through the thin grayish skin that covered its wings. It let out a screech, and then started to flap away. Pat didn’t know it, but it had taken what it had come for, which was Tory’s living heart. The rest of Tory, it had simply dropped to the ground, unwanted.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Tuesday, 3:12 a.m.

  Stephen let Kayley out of the front door of the Utopia Diner, set the alarm, and locked the door behind him.

  ‘What a great night,’ he said, buttoning up his brown tweed overcoat. ‘And did Lenny tell you who was sitting at table twelve? Don Williams from Playboy magazine, who writes all of their Best Bar reviews. Not only that, he smiled a lot. And he told Lenny that the lobster mash was to die for.’

  Kayley stood on tiptoe and gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘I can’t believe it’s all working out so well. It’s better than we ever dreamed of, isn’t it?’

  They walked south along Second Street together, arm-in-arm. At this time of the morning, it was almost deserted. This was a part of Old Town Philly that until five years ago had been tatty and neglected. Stephen Mars had been one of the first bar owners and restaurateurs to start bringing it back to life, and now the Utopia Diner was rapidly making its name as one of the city’s classiest nightspots, where moneyed thirty-somethings came to eat sophisticated tapas and crab cakes and drink Martinis and admire themselves in its mirrored walls. In the past year, more than fifteen new bars and restaurants had opened up all around them.

  Stephen had risked everything he owned. He had mortgaged his house and invested all of his savings, but now his self-belief was beginning to pay dividends.

  Kayley said, ‘How about we take a couple of days of down time? We don’t have to do anything special. Stay in bed all day and watch TV.’

  ‘Maybe. I don’t know. I have the year-end accounts to go through, and all the new winter menus.’

  ‘You never take any time off. It’s bad for you. Look what it did for your marriage.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But I’m always worried that if I take any time off, something disastrous is going to happen when I’m not there. Like everybody in the diner is going to go down with E. coli poisoning, or the building’s going to burn to the ground.’

  ‘Stephen, you have the most brilliant staff ever. You have to trust them now and again. Lenny is absolutely the best manager I’ve ever worked for.’

  ‘I’ll think about it, OK?’

  ‘I wish you would. You know, we could even have sex.’

  ‘Sex, huh?’ Stephen nodded in exaggerated approval. ‘That would be a novelty.’

  Stephen and Kayley hadn’t been attracted to each other at first sight. For starters, Stephen had been married to Margie when they met, whom he had dated since high school, and he and Margie had a boy aged seven and a girl aged three. And he was a workaholic. He had joined a realty company in Glenside when he left college, but he had quickly struck out and started his own business selling multimillion-dollar properties in and around Jenkintown.

  He was tall, dark and serious, and he always looked as if he had something on his mind. This was because he always did, and it was always business.

  Kayley on the other hand was businesslike without being driven. She was small, with a raven-haired bob and a pale, heart-shaped face. She had always wanted
to be a dancer but she was much too full-breasted and apart from that she had absolutely no sense of musical timing. Instead, she had found work behind the bars of several downtown hotels, and then at a trendy cocktail bar on Market Street called Lucca’s. That was where Stephen had first seen her, and from where he had eventually bribed her away to run his bar at Utopia. To begin with, he had been impressed by her efficiency and her people skills, more than her breasts.

  When Utopia had first opened, Stephen and Kayley had worked together from morning till night with hardly a word spoken between them. Then one night last September, they had worked until it was too late for Stephen to go home. He had booked a hotel room at the Sheraton on Society Hill, and when he locked up the diner, he had simply said, ‘Why don’t you stay with me tonight?’

  He had never been quite sure why he had asked her, and Kayley had never been quite sure why she had said yes, but she had. They had been lovers ever since.

  They had reached the concrete parking structure on Second Street where Stephen always left his Toyota, and they were just about to walk into the low main entrance when they became aware of a howling noise, somewhere in the distance. They both stopped, and looked at each other.

  ‘What is that?’ asked Kayley. ‘Is that a train whistle?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Stephen, looking around. ‘Where’s it coming from? It’s more like – I don’t know – singing.’

  But the noise quickly grew louder and louder, and more and more discordant. Soon it sounded like hundreds of mourners at a funeral, all keening at once – a dismal, penetrating, high-pitched chorus that set their teeth on edge and made windows rattle all the way down the street. Dogs began to bark and car alarms were set off, even as far as Lombard Street. The noise became so overwhelming that Stephen and Kayley had to clamp their hands over their ears.

  ‘What is it?’ Kayley shouted. But Stephen didn’t have time to answer her before she could see for herself what was causing it. In the sky above them, which was already dark, scores of darker shapes appeared, howling as they flew. They were slowly circling over Old City Philly in a swirling black cloud, their wings flapping and their long tails twisting like snakes. They flew in unison, like a flock of migrating birds, dipping and turning as the crosswind caught them.