Alone with the Horrors

by Ramsey Campbell

  "Maybe he's got better things to do," Sam said icily.

  Sonny drew in a breath that tasted of disinfectant, which seemed too clear a sign to doubt. As he strode past the dentist's open door he experienced a rush of trust and hope such as he'd never even felt towards his father. There must be others like himself or potentially like himself in the world, and surely Sam was one. "It's how my father dressed me," he confided.

  "Has it anything to do with where we're looking for?"

  "Yes, to remind me I'm a child of God," Sonny said, and was reminded more keenly by a twinge from the marks of the birch.

  "Does your father dress like that too, then?"

  "Of course not," Sonny giggled. "He was, he's my father."

  Sam appeared not to notice his indiscretion. "How old are you anyway? You dress like ten years old, but you could be in your early thirties."

  "We don't need to know. Years like that don't matter, only the minutes before the fire that consumes the world. If we've spent our time counting our years we'll never be able to prepare ourselves to enter the Kingdom of God. ------------------------------------427

  Not the place we're going now, the place of which that's a symbol. Where we're going now is the first and last church, the one that won't be cast into the fire where all corruption goes. That's because we keep ourselves pure in every way and cast out the women once they've given birth."

  Sam's mouth opened, but what it said seemed not to be what it had opened for. "You mean your mother."

  Though it hadn't the tone of a question, Sonny thought it best to make things clear. "Questions come from the devil. They're how the world tries to trick the faithful."

  "So you have to look after your father all by yourself."

  Why should that matter to Sam? Sonny couldn't recall having said his father needed looking after. He tried to let the truth speak through him as he searched the curves ahead, where gleaming houses rested their bellies on mats of grass. Newspapers and boards quoting newspapers hung on the corner of a side street, and he glanced away from the devil's messages, perhaps too hastily: the world seemed to pant hotly at him, the houses swelled with another breath. "Only the pure may touch the pure," he mumbled.

  "That's why I mustn't touch you."

  Such a surge of trust passed through Sonny that his body felt unfamiliar. "Maybe you'll be able to," he blurted.

  "Not if--was

  "We can all be saved. We just have to admit we need to be," Sonny reassured Sam, who agreed so readily that Sonny wondered if he'd missed the point somehow. Houses white as virgins breathed their stony breaths and expanded their bellies until every polished name-plaque turned to the sun and shone. For a moment he thought it was God who was filling the virgin bellies, and then he recoiled from himself. How could he let the world think for him? Where had he gone wrong? "Quick," he gasped, and tottered round, almost touching Sam's bare downy arm.

  The world twisted and tried to throw him. The fat houses between him and the market began to dance, wobbling their whited bellies. He mustn't think of leaning on Sam, but a distant edge of him wished he could. He held the spectacles to his eyes as he came abreast of the dangling newspapers, but the darkness of the lenses seemed a pit into which he was close to falling. As he stepped off the pavement to cross the side street, he felt as if he were stepping off a cliff.

  He faltered in the middle of the side street, though cars snarled beside him. He thought a voice had spoken to him, saying "King God." He snatched off the spectacles so eagerly that one lens shattered between his finger and ------------------------------------428

  thumb. Black shards crunched under his feet, the sun went for his eyes, but none of this mattered. He hadn't heard a voice, he'd seen a sign. It hadn't just said King God; only the lens had made it seem to. It said Kingdom of God, and it was in a window.

  He ran across the side street, scrambled onto the pavement. How could he have missed the sign before? Surely he needn't blame Sam for distracting him. The Kingdom was here now, that was all that mattered--here beyond the window that blazed like a golden door, like a fire in which only the name of the Kingdom was visible, never to be consumed. He took another pace towards it, and the sunlight drained out of the window, leaving a surface grey with dust and old rain, which he was nevertheless able to see through. Beyond it was ruined emptiness.

  He stumbled forward so as not to fall. The sign he'd seen was a faded placard in the window, beside a door whose lock had been gouged out. A rail dragged down by stained curtains leaned diagonally across the window. Several chairs lay on the bare floorboards, their legs broken, their entrails sprung. On a table against the ragged wall, a dead cat glistened restlessly.

  Sam pressed his forehead against the window. "This can't be it, can it? Nobody's been here for months."

  Sonny's father had been, only days ago: wasn't that what he'd said? He must have meant it as a parable, or meant that he'd met some of the brethren. What could Sonny do now, as the world throbbed with muffled mocking laughter? Go back home in case the Kingdom had come there and if not, stay nearby until they found him? Then Sam said "Don't worry, I'll help you. Shall we see to your father first?"

  The window had blackened his forehead as if he'd been branded, and Sonny seemed to perceive him all at once more clearly. "See to him how?"

  "Have him taken care of, however he needs to be."

  "Who by?"

  "I won't know that until I've seen him. I promise I'll do whatever's best for both of you."

  Sonny swallowed, though it felt like swallowing chunks of the world. "Who are you?"

  "Nobody special, but you might say I help save people too. I'm a social worker."

  Sonny felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach, the way his father had punched him sometimes to make him remember. He doubled up, but he had nothing to vomit. People who said they were social were socialists, communists, architects of the devil's kingdom, and he'd let one of them entice him, ------------------------------------429

  hadn't even realised he was being led. Perhaps the ruined shop had been set up for him to see, to turn him aside from searching further.

  Sam had stepped back. He was afraid Sonny would be sick on him, Sonny realised, and flew at him, retching. When Sam retreated, Sonny turned with the whirlpool of sky and bloated buildings and staggered to the corner of the street, almost toppling into the parade of cars. He jammed the one-eyed spectacles onto his face and fled.

  His legs were wavering so much that a kind of dance was the only way he could keep on his feet. The houses joined in, sluggishly flirting their bellies at him, growing blacker as he jigged onward. The giantess lazily raised her uppermost leg, the stench of charred rotten vegetables surged at him down the uneven street. Compared with Sam and the virginal buildings, the smell seemed at least honestly corrupt. It made him feel he was going home.

  He was appalled by how familiar the world already seemed to him. The children jeering "Pirate" at him, the pinched faces eager for a bargain, a trader kicking a van that wouldn't start, Sonny thought for a moment which felt like the rim of a bottomless pit that he could have been any one of them. As he stumbled past the discount church and down the disused street he wept to realise that he liked the feel of the open sky more than he expected to like the low dimness of the house. Then he wondered if he might have left his father alone for too long, and fell twice in his haste to get home.

  He dug his key into the lock, reeled into the house as the door yielded, shouldered it closed behind him. A smell of disinfectant that seemed holier than incense closed around him. He mustn't let it comfort him until he had taken care of his father. Anyone who'd seen his father sitting in the Bible chair might wonder where he was now, might even try to find him.

  His father lay as Sonny had left him, straining to touch his clasped hands with his knees. Sonny gathered him up and wavered downstairs, thumping the staircase wall with his father's shrivelled ankles and once with his uncombed head. Would it look more natural to have
his father kneeling in the front room? As soon as he tried, his father keeled over. Sonny sat him on the Bibles and stood back. His father looked at peace now, ready for anything. The sight was making Sonny feel that the Kingdom of God was near when he heard the key turn in the front door.

  He'd been so anxious to reach his father that he'd left the key in the lock. He knew instinctively that it wasn't the Kingdom of God at the door. He felt the house stiffen against the world that was reaching in for his father and him. He scrabbled the hall door open. Sam was in the hall.

  All Sonny could think of was his father, powerless to defend himself or ------------------------------------430

  even to dodge the grasp of the world. "Get out," he screamed, and when his voice only made Sam flinch, he forgot the warning his father had given him, the warning that was so important Sonny's stomach had been bruised for a week. He put his hands on Sam to cast the intruder out of the house.

  And then he realised how thoroughly the world had tricked him, for Sam's chest was the memory Sonny had driven so deep in his mind it had been like forgetting: his mother's chest, soft and warm and thrusting. He cried out as loudly and shrilly as Sam did, and flung her backwards onto the broken road. He staggered after her, for he wasn't fit to stay in a house that had been dedicated to God. He hadn't been ready to venture into the world after all, and it had possessed him. In the moment when he'd flung Sam's breasts away from him he'd felt his body reach secretly for her.

  He slammed the door and snatched the key and flew at her, driving her towards the waste where the lost souls swarmed under the dead sky. He tore the spectacles off and shied them at her, narrowly missing her face. The lost souls might tear him to pieces when they saw he was routing one of them, but perhaps he could destroy her first--anything to prevent the world from reaching his father ahead of the Kingdom of God. Then he threw up his hands and wailed and gnashed his teeth, for the world had already touched his father. He had been so anxious to take his father to the safety of the Bibles that he'd forgotten to disinfect himself. He'd held his father with hands the world had tainted.

  A smell that made him think of disinfectant drifted along the street to mock him. It was of petrol, in a jug that the trader who had kicked the van was carrying. The trader glanced at the spectacle of Sonny lurching at Sam, trying to knock her down as she retreated towards the market with her hands held out to calm him, and then the trader turned away as if he'd seen nothing unusual. He put down the jug in order to unscrew the cap on the side of the van, and at once Sonny knew exactly what to do.

  He ran past Sam and grabbed a stick with a peeling red-hot tip from the nearest fire, and darted to the jug of petrol. He had just seized the handle when the trader turned and lunged at him. Sonny would have splashed petrol over him to drive him back, but how could he waste his father's only salvation? He tipped the jug over himself, and the world shrank back from him, unable to stop him. He poured the last inch of petrol into his mouth.

  "Don't," Sam cried, and Sonny knew he was doing right at last. The taste like disinfectant stronger than he'd ever drunk confirmed it too. He ran at Sam, and she sprawled backwards, afraid he meant to spew petrol at her or ------------------------------------431

  brand her with the stick. Smiling for the first time since he could remember, Sonny strode back to the house.

  He was turning the key when Sam and more of the devil's horde came running. Sonny made a red-hot sign of the cross in the air and stepped into the house, and threw the key contemptuously at them. The stick had burned short as he strode, the mouthful of petrol was searing his nostrils, but he had time, he mustn't swallow. The stick scorched his fingers as he took the three strides across the room to his father. Carefully opening his mouth, he anointed his father and the chair, and then he sat on his father's lap for the first time in his life. It was unyielding as iron, yet he had never felt so peaceful. Perhaps this was the Kingdom of God, or was about to be. As he touched the fire to his chest, he knew he had reached the end of the parable. He prayed he was about to learn its meaning. ------------------------------------432 ------------------------------------433

  433

  End of the Line

  "Pook."

  "Is this Mrs Pook?"

  "Who wants to know?"

  "My name ... My name is Roger and I think you may be interested in what I have to offer you."

  "That's what you say. You don't know a thing about me."

  "Don't you wish you could see what I look like?"

  "Why, what have you got on?"

  "I mean, don't you wish you could see my face?"

  "Not if it looks like you sound. Mum, there's some weird character on the phone."

  "Hang on, I thought you said you were Mrs--was

  "He's saying would I like to watch him."

  "Who's speaking, please? What have you been suggesting to my daughter?"

  "My name is Rum, that is, my name's Ralph, and I think you may be interested in what I'm offering."

  "I doubt it. Don't I know you?"

  "My name's Ralph."

  "I don't know anyone called Ralph, but I'm sure I know your voice. What's your game?"

  "He said his name was Roger, Mum, not Ralph."

  "Did he now. Charlie? Charlie, pick up the extension and listen to this."

  "Mrs Pook, if I can just explain--was

  "Charlie, will you pick up the extension. There's one of those perverts who like to hide behind a phone. He can't even remember his own name."

  "Who the fuck is this? What do you want with my wife?"

  "My name's Ralph, Mr Pook, and perhaps I can speak to you. I'm calling on behalf of--was

  "Whoever he is, Charlie, his name isn't Ralph." ------------------------------------434

  "My name isn't important, Mr Pook. I should like to off--was

  "Don't you tell me what's important, pal, specially not on my fucking phone. What do you want? How did you get this number?"

  "Out of the directory. Can I take just a few minutes of your time? We'd like to offer you a way of avoiding misunderstandings like this one."

  "It's we now, is it? You and who else?"

  "I'm calling on be--was

  "Charlie, I think I know who--was

  "Tell you what, pal, I don't care how many of you there are. Just you say where I can find you and we'll settle it like men."

  "Just put it down. Just put it down."

  "What are you mumbling about, pal? Lost your voice?"

  "Mrs Pook, are you still there?"

  "Never mind talking to my fucking wife. This is between you and me, pal. If you say another word to her--was

  "That's enough, Charlie. Yes, I'm here."

  "Mrs Pook, would your first name be Lesley?"

  "That's it, pal! I'm warning you! If any fucker says another fucking word--was

  "Just put it down," Speke told himself again, and this time he succeeded. The long room was full of echoes of his voice in voices other than his own: "I'm speaking on behalf. ...8 "Don't you wish. ...8 During the conversation his surroundings--the white desks staffed by fellow workers whom he scarcely knew, the walls to which the indirect lighting lent the appearance of luminous chalk, the stark black columns of names and addresses and numbers on the page in front of him--had grown so enigmatic they seemed meaningless, and the only way he could think of to escape this meaninglessness was by speaking. He crossed out Pook and keyed the next number. "Mrs Pool?"

  "This is she."

  "I wonder if I could take just a few minutes of your time."

  "Take as much as you like if it's any use to you."

  "My name is Roger and I'm calling on behalf of Face to Face Communications. I should have said that to begin with."

  "No need to be nervous of me, especially not on the phone."

  "I'm um, I'm not. I was going to ask don't you wish you could see what I look like."

  "Not much chance of that, I'm afraid."

  "On the phone, you mean. Well, I'm calling to
offer--was

  "Or anywhere else." ------------------------------------435

  "I don't rum real um realura really under--was

  "I could have seen you up to a few years ago. Do you look as you sound?"

  "I suppum."

  "I'm sorry that I'm blind, then."

  "No, it's my fault. I mean, that's not my fault, I mean I'm the one who should be sorry, apologising, that's to sum--was He managed to drag the receiver away from his mouth, which was still gabbling, and plant the handset in its cradle. He crossed out her name almost blindly and closed his eyes tight, but had to open them as soon as he heard voices reiterating portions of the formula around him. He focused on the next clear line in the column and, grabbing the receiver, called the number. "Mr Poole?"

  "Yes."

  "This is Mr Poole?"

  "Who, you are?"

  "No, I'm saying you are, are you?"

  "Why, do you know different?"

  "Yum, you don't sound--was To Speke it sounded like a woman trying to be gruff--like Lesley, he thought, or even his daughter, if hers had been the voice which had answered the Pooks' phone. "My name is Roger," he said hastily, "and I'm calling on behalf of Face to Face Communications. I wonder if you can spare me a few minutes of your time."

  "It'd be hard for me to spare anyone else's."

  "Well, qum. Dum. Um, don't you wish you could see my face?"

  "What's so special about it?"

  "Not just my face, anyone's on the phone. I'd like to offer you a month's free trial of the latest breakthrough in communication, the videphone."

  "So that you can see if I'm who I say I am? Who did you think I was?"

  "Was when?"

  "Before I was who I said I was."

  "Forgum. Forgive me, but you sound exactly like--was

  "Sounds like you've got a wrong number," the voice said, and cut itself off.

  It seemed to have lodged in his head, blotting out the overlapping voices around him. He returned the handset to its housing and made his way up the aisle to the supervisor's desk, feeling as if his feet were trying to outrun each other. The supervisor was comparing entries on forms with names and addresses in her directory. "How's it coming, Roger?" she said, though he hadn't seen her glance at him.