Collected Stories (4.1)

by R. Chetwynd-Hayes

  Sheridan Croxley turned his head from left to right, then bellowed his rage and defiance.

  "What the hell is going on here? I warn you, if that ugly old brute doesn't get out of my way, I'll knock him down."

  Grantley shook his head as though he deplored this aggressive statement, then said softly: "I can promise, he will not lay a hand on you, sir."

  Sheridan slowly approached the heavy, grotesque figure, and when he was within striking distance, shot out his massive fist, straight for the gaping mouth. Grandfather-Shaddy did not so much as flinch. His mouth opened even wider until his face was split in half by a great gaping, gum-lined hole - then the black tongue twisted and became a long, vicious whiplash, that flicked the threatening fist - then quickly withdrew. The mouth closed with a resounding snap and the shaddy began to chew with every sign of intense satisfaction. Sheridan roared with pain, then stepped back and stared at the raw gash that ran across his knuckles and up the back of his hand. In one place the bare bone glimmered softly like red-tinted ivory. The shaddy swallowed and growled some unintelligible words. Grantley translated.

  "My father wishes to compliment you on your flesh, sir. He says it's very tasty."

  With a roar of rage, Sheridan flung himself at the taunting figure; leaped across the intervening space with outstretched hands, motivated by an overwhelming urge to kill. Grantley tilted his head back and made a kind of subdued rumbling sound. Then when Sheridan's eyes came level with his own, he opened his mouth and - blew. It was not by any means a hard blow. A mere puff that might have extinguished a candle flame, but its effect on the big man was electrifying. He screamed and clasped shaking hands to his eyes, trying to claw away the burning agony that had come from a tainted breath. The voice of Grantley had not lost one iota of its respectful quality, as it spoke comforting words.

  "Your discomfort is only temporary, sir. Nothing in the least to worry about."

  Gradually Sheridan ceased to dance from one foot to the other; the time came when he was able to lower his hands and look, with red-rimmed eyes, at his tormentor.

  "What the hell are you? In the name of sanity - what - who are you?"

  Grantley parted his lips in a mirthless smile and looked thoughtfully over his victim's right shoulder. Caroline was watching Marvin. The handsome one… the dream-lover… the walker of the dark-ways… He was leaning against the wall staring aimlessly at the open door and it seemed as though nothing could ever disturb the quiet serenity of that beautiful face, or bring a flash of passion to the clear blue eyes. Then Grantley answered.

  "We are you, sir, as you would be - without your clothes." Then his expression changed and he became once again the attentive, even, solicitous butler. "May I suggest, sir, that you go to your room and lie down. This has been an upsetting experience for you. If you wish, my father can accompany you."

  "I'll see you damned," Sheridan roared. "Somehow, be you madmen, animals or monsters, I'll smash you. If you were wise you'd kill me."

  They all shook their heads. "We couldn't do that, sir," Grantley explained. "We need you."

  Sheridan rushed from the room and the sound of his heavy footsteps could be heard ascending the stairs. Caroline remained in her chair and watched Marvin who had now resumed his duties and was clearing the table. Once he threw her a smile-tinted glance and she was so happy she almost cried.

  Sheridan barricaded himself in their bedroom.

  Grantley and his father were polishing the dining room furniture - the former with effortless ease, the latter with much gum-baring glee - and Caroline was following Marvin round the house to a plot of cultivated ground.

  The shadmock - the designation was now firmly rooted in her mind - was carrying a spade and hoe and did not, despite an occasional plaintive whimper, acknowledge her presence, or bother to turn his head when she stumbled over a lump of concealed masonry and measured her length on the ground.

  The cultivated plot was about twenty feet square and stood out from its unkept surroundings like a sheet of clear water in an arid desert. It had been lovingly fashioned and meticulously tended and presented neat rows of piled earth that curved gracefully down to rounded valleys. Marvin laid the hoe and spade down, then removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Caroline watched him like a puppy waiting for a kind word - or at least an encouraging whistle - and when it was not forthcoming, dared to make her presence known by timidly touching his arm.

  "I want to help. Please let me help."

  He smiled politely. A mere matter of parted lips, creasing of mouth, but she was as grateful as Lazarus for a sip of water.

  "You are very kind, madam. If you would care to hoe the furrows, I would be greatly obliged. But, please do not tire yourself."

  She seized the hoe - an instrument that to date she had only seen in an ironmonger's window - and began to worry the loose earth that lay between the mounds. Marvin watched her with evident anxiety.

  "Be careful of the young shoots, madam. They are just germinating and a moment's carelessness could be fatal."

  "I'll be careful." She was so happy that he was at last talking to her, but fearful that this frail contact might wither away before it had time to grow. "I didn't know anything grew at this time of year."

  "My plants are all perennials, madam."

  Caroline peered at the nearest mound and saw for the first time, little white shoots that were just beginning to peek coyly above the black earth. White, seemingly soft, they could have been sprouting tulip plants or maybe baby leeks.

  "What are they?" she asked.

  "Corpoties, madam."

  "What on earth are they? A vegetable?"

  He smiled at her childish ignorance and shook his head.

  "Not quite, madam I suppose one could say they are a kind of meat-and-veg plant. They need a lot of careful attention. I use bone-manure in the early stages, then water them at regular intervals with a blood mixture. But of course the initial chopping up of the seed specimens is most important. If one chops too small, the result is a stringy and entirely inedible result. Too large," he shrugged and Caroline was delighted to see his face was alight with boyish enthusiasm, "means a soggy and flavourless plant. Are you keen on gardening, madam?"

  'Absolutely," Caroline exclaimed. "Please go on, I could listen to you for hours."

  Now his smile was wonderful to behold. All the icy reserve had gone and he was bubbling over with the joy of a stamp collector who has discovered an educated postman.

  "I say, I'm so glad. You see, Father and Mother, and of course Grandfather, are all hunters. They have no appreciation of the intense satisfaction that comes from planting, then reaping the fruits of the earth. Sometimes I become quite irritated with them and worry most awfully in case I lose my temper and do something dreadful. But, dash it all, the earth is so generous. You get so much more from it than you put in."

  "You're so right," Caroline agreed gushingly, grabbing his nearest arm between her two hands. "I expect you've got green fingers."

  He frowned and she trembled. Had she said the wrong thing.

  "No, I haven't. Only the long dead have green fingers. The ripe dead - the ready-for-planting dead."

  Her hands dropped from his arm and she shook her head in token denial, while her brain screamed its fear and grief. Because of his face, his beautiful exterior, she had been thinking of him as a normal, if rather shy boy, who could be transformed into a passionate lover. But now she knew he was just as much - perhaps more - a monster as his hideous elders, but - and this was the real horror - it did not make the slightest difference to her feelings towards him. His boyish enthusiasm would not be denied.

  "There have been three sets of new owners during the past fifteen years, but they were not all just right. They did not always keep and ripen in the way that is so important. And Father and Grandad are so rotten. They keep on about the essence which keeps us strong, and how the specimens must be drained, and no one will listen to me… and only give me the rubbish… the
old, the sick… the ones that are almost dry…"

  At last Caroline reached the frontier where she moved out of the shadows and met reality face to face. She turned and ran back to the house and Marvin's young voice called after her.

  "Please don't go. I can't bear it when people go away, it makes me angry… y… y… y…"

  The last word ended in a kind of drawn out whistle. Not a full-lipped whistle, just a suggestion of liquid vowels; a hint of what might follow. Caroline ran even faster.

  Sheridan, at first, would not let her in. He shouted from behind the barricaded door: "You're on their side. Don't try to tell me any different. I saw you mooning over the young one and you did nothing to stop them. Nothing at all."

  "Please, Sheridan. Let me in. We've got to help each other. My God, if you only knew."

  "May I be of service, madam?"

  She stifled a scream as the soft voice spoke behind her - and there was Grantley, grave of face, respectful of demeanour, standing a few feet away.

  "The door…" She shrank back against the wall and allowed the first words that came to mind, to come tripping off her tongue. "The door… it's stuck."

  "Kindly permit me, madam"

  He placed one large hand on the left panel and after pausing for a moment, suddenly pushed. The door flew back and there was a resounding crash as a wardrobe went hurling back against the side wall. Caroline saw Sheridan sitting on the bed, his face a white mask of abject fear. Grantley bowed.

  "Will you forgive the intrusion, sir. But I have to inform you that Mrs Grantley will be yawning in half an hour. I trust that this will be convenient."

  Sheridan made a noise that was halfway between a scream and a shout and Grantley bowed again.

  "Thank you, sir. I am obliged."

  He departed, closing the door behind him and from somewhere along the landing they heard a muted growl - a low, impatient sound that could have been menacing or enquiring. Caroline ran to her husband and clasped his arm.

  "We must try to get away. Sheridan, listen to me, I am sane at this moment, but, God help me, if I see Marvin again, I will be helpless. Please do something."

  He shook her off and all but snarled his rage-fear, looking so much like one of them, Caroline covered her eyes and sank down on the bed. Her husband watched her for a few minutes, then his lips curled up into a sneer and he beat his fists on to the bedside cabinet.

  "I won't run. Do you hear me? I won't run from a set of degenerate madmen. I haven't got where I am by running. The entire set-up is one gigantic swindle. Grantley is not the first man to spit fire - acid - and the old man, not the last who will attach a length of wire to his tongue. Haven't you ever been to a fairground, for God's sake? But I won't be caught a second time. Once bitten…"

  Caroline raised her head and screamed at him.

  "Stop fooling yourself. They are monsters. MONSTERS. A different species - throwbacks - creatures we all know exist, but dare not think about. Try to remember and stop pretending you are not afraid. Remember the face in the crowd: the room you accidently entered: the howl you heard in the night: the thing that peeped round the corner - all the memories the mind chose to forget. Now - if you dare - say you do not believe."

  He sat down beside her and was suddenly a tired, middle-aged man, who had forgotten how to relax.

  "Perhaps you're right I wouldn't know. I have met so many monsters, I'd never be able to distinguish one from the other. But if what you say is true, what is the point of running? They must be everywhere. A vast freemasonry of tooth and claw, fur and fang. There can be no escape."

  As they sat together and watched the morning grow old, there was peace between them for the first time in four years. Despair flattened the hills of contention, filled in the pits of derision and left free the plains of tolerance.

  "I can't help myself," she whispered. "He… you know who I mean… has something that calls to me."

  They did not speak again until a quiet knock on the door brought horror back and a muffled cry to Caroline's lips. The door opened and Grantley entered.

  "Beg pardon, sir - madam. But Mrs Grantley is ready to yawn."

  Sheridan Croxley climbed to his feet and after one quick glance at the bearded face that looked over the butler's shoulder, backed to the window.

  "I warn you," he said quietly, "I will defend myself."

  "That would not be wise," said Grantley suavely. "We have no wish to cause you discomfort and in any case resistance is useless. Please try to understand, sir, we only wish to help you. Fulfil your potential."

  Mrs Grantley came into the room and never had she looked so grotesque. She walked with a strange stiff-legged gait; her eyes glittered and did not move, but stared at the, by now, terrified man with the cold intensity of a venomous snake. She strutted towards him and he made no move to defend himself, but became as still as a hypnotised rabbit; lower lip sagging, eyes bulging and face so white the erupted veins stood out like red streaks in polished marble. Then they were standing face to face, shoulders to shoulders, hips to hips, and they could have been lovers about to embrace. Then the maddy yawned.

  Her mouth opened until the lower jaw hid her neck and the upper lip curled up over the nose, so that her mouth was one gaping cavern where discoloured teeth glimmered like two rows of weather-stained tombstones. A yawn - a shuddering rumble -began somewhere behind her heaving bosom, then rose up and became a body-shaking roar. Her shoulders quivered, her buttocks and legs jerked, her arms flailed like wind tossed branches, but her head remained still. Then the yawning roar died. Was cut off a though a hidden switch had been pulled and at once all movement ceased. Both figures became as rigid statues. Croxley a study in frozen terror. The Maddy an awful automaton that is preparing to carry out a scheduled programme. Then she suddenly leaned forward and pressed her gaping mouth to that of Sheridan Croxley. Caroline heard the hiss of expelled breath and Sheridan gave one mighty shudder, before falling back, senseless against the wall. Mrs Grantley picked him up as though he were a child and laid his limp body on the bed.

  The butler gave a little sigh of satisfaction.

  "Pray do not distress yourself, madam. Mr Croxley's period of unconsciousness will be of short duration. When he is himself again, you will soon find a great change in his character. My wife has erased what is commonly called the soul and the gentleman will be able to develop his natural attributes without the hindrance of a conscience."

  They both looked thoughtfully at Caroline who screamed once, thereby causing Grantley to shake his heed in sad reproof.

  "There is no need for alarm, madam. We have no intention of-how shall I put it? - desouling you. This is not our normal practice. But Mr Croxley can be of great service to us - if I may be allowed to make such a bold statement. We have long wished for a representative in the upper strata of the business world. When the gentleman has fully matured - and I would remind you, madam, that he has been licked by a Raddy, blown on by a Mock and yawned upon by a Maddy - he will indeed be one of us and advance our interests to everyone's satisfaction. We may even put him up for parliament. It would be nice to have one of our number in the cabinet. We have several on the back benches, but that is not quite the same thing."

  "What… what do you intend to do with me?" Caroline asked.

  Grantley smiled and adjusted his bowtie.

  "It is not always wise to ask leading questions, madam. Suffice to say, you will not be wasted."

  They went out and Caroline was left to await the waking of her desouled husband.

  The sun was setting when Sheridan stirred, then sat up and looked round the room with a slightly puzzled expression. Caroline could not see any alteration in his appearance, although there was a certain bleakness in the eyes that usually meant he was about to erupt into a fit of bad temper.

  "What the hell happened?" he asked.

  "Don't you remember?"

  "I wouldn't ask if I remembered. We were sitting here frightened about something. And, oh yes, Grantle
y came in with that wife of his. Rather attractive in an odd sort of way."

  "That… that thing… attractive!"

  "I wouldn't expect another woman to agree. Now get out of here. I feel strange and probably another sleep will do me good."

  "But, Sheridan," Caroline pleaded, "this is no time for us to be parted. That… woman yawned on you and…"

  Sheridan was staring at her and there was a baleful gleam in his eye that reminded her of a vicious dog that has cornered an intruder and is now seriously considering attack. When she moved the cold, watchful stare followed her and soon an unreasoning flood of fear made her run to the door and go stumbling down the stairs.

  Marvin was in the dining room and looked up when Caroline entered and although he appeared to be pleased to see her, his first words were those of reproach.

  "Why did you run away? I thought that I had at last found someone who liked gardening. I was so disappointed and almost became angry. And no one must make me angry."

  Despite her fear, the awful knowledge, Caroline again came under the influence of that strange, animal charm, and suddenly he was a tree standing alone in a desert of madness. She ran to him and grabbed one limp hand and held it to her face.

  "I am so frightened. Please help me."

  He looked surprised - even alarmed.

  "Why, madam? I am not angry."

  "Please don't call me madam. I am afraid of your father - and the others. They have done something dreadful to my husband."

  He nodded - almost cheerfully.

  "I expect they have desouled him. Now he will be one of us and feel much better. Why, do you want to be desouled?"

  "No." She shook her head violently and tried to bury her face in his shirt front, but he moved away.

  "Just as well. I have never known a woman to be desouled. Father usually drains them and I plant what is left in the garden. Women make good corpoties. I expect that is what will happen to you."

  "Nooo." She screamed her protest and tried to shake him in a frenzy of horror, but he was like a deeply rooted tree, or a rock that has its foundations deep down in the earth, for he did not move. "You must not let them touch me. Please… please protect me and I'll do anything you say. Anything at all."