The Halfling and Other Stories

by Leigh Brackett

  She whispered, “They came out of the ship, all misty and bright. I couldn’t see them very well but they had wings, beautiful fiery wings. They looked like angels.”

  Her gaze turned upon him, not really seeing him. She asked, “Do you think they could be angels truly?”

  “I think,” said Sherwin, “that you’re going to get a thrashing, young lady.” He caught her arm and began to march her back across the meadow. “You know perfectly well that you’re forbidden to go into the woods after dark!”

  She wasn’t listening to him. She said, in the same odd distant voice, “Do you think they could be, Daddy?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Them. Could they be angels?”

  “Angels!” Sherwin snorted. “I don’t know why angels should turn up in our woods and if they did they wouldn’t need a ship to fly around in.”

  “No,” said Janie. “No, I guess they wouldn’t.”

  “Angels! If you think you can excuse yourself with a story like that you’re mistaken.” He quickened the pace. “March along there, Miss Jane! My palm is itching.”

  “Besides,” murmured Janie, “I don’t think angels laugh— and they were laughing.”

  Sherwin said no more. There seemed to be nothing more to say.

  He was still baffled at the end of a stormy session in the living room. Jane clung stubbornly to her story, so stubbornly that she was on the verge of hysterics, and no amount of coaxing, reasoning or threatened punishment could shake her. Lucy sent her sobbing off to bed.

  “I can’t understand the child,” she said. “I’ve never seen her like this before.”

  Sherwin shrugged. “Oh, kids get funny streaks sometimes. She’ll forget it.”

  He had forgotten it himself by morning. He saw Janie go off to school with Richard Allerton, the boy from the neighboring farm. They always walked together, trudging the half mile into the village. Janie was chattering sixteen to the dozen and now and again she whirled about in a sort of dance, holding out her arms like wings.

  Toward noon Lucy called him in from the barn. “Miss Harker just phoned,” she told him. “She wanted to know if Janie had come home.”

  Sherwin frowned. “You mean she isn’t in school?”

  “No—not after recess. Miss Harker said a number of children were missing. Hugh, I’m worried. You don’t suppose—?”

  “Nonsense. The little devil’s playing hooky, that’s all.” He said angrily, “What’s got into the kid all of a sudden, anyway? All that cutting up last night—hey!” He turned and looked at the woods.

  After a moment he said, “I’ll bet that’s it, Lucy. I’ll bet she’s taken her pals down to look at the ‘angels.’”

  Lucy said anxiously, “I wish you’d go and see.”

  “That,” said Sherwin, “is exactly what I’m going to do— right now!”

  The dogs came with him, chasing each other merrily after imaginary rabbits. But when he reached the edge of the wood they stopped and would come no farther.

  He remembered that they had not gone in with Janie the night before and he could not understand what was the matter with them. The woods were full of small game and normally the dogs spent half their time there, hunting by themselves.

  He called, whistled and swore but they hung back, whimpering. Finally he gave up and went on alone, shaking his head.

  First his child, now his dogs—everything seemed to have gone queer at once.

  The day was leaden, heavy with the threat of rain. Under the thick-laced branches of the trees it was almost as dark as though it were night. The air was moist, dank with the smell of the marshes. Sherwin forced his way through the undergrowth. From time to time he shouted Janie’s name.

  Once, some distance away, he thought he heard a chorus of voices, the shrill laughter of a number of children. But the trees clashed and rustled in the wind so that he could not be sure—and Janie did not answer his call.

  Gradually, creeping in some secret way along the channels of his nerves, the realization came to him that he was not alone.

  He began to move more slowly, looking about him. He could see nothing and yet his heart pounded and the sweat turned cold on his body. Presently he stopped. The dark woods seemed to close around him, a smothering weight of foliage. He called again once or twice, quite sharply. And then he caught a flicker of motion among the trees.

  He thought at first that it was the child, hiding from him, and that he had glimpsed her dress moving. But as he went toward it there was a subtle stirring in the underbrush that was never made by human feet. And as the green fronds were disturbed he saw a muted flash of fire and something, large and misty and glowing bright, darted swiftly through the lower branches. The leaves were shaken and there was a sound as of the beating of wings.

  He caught only the briefest glimpse of it. He was not sure of anything about it, its shape, size or substance. He knew only that it was not Earthly.

  Sherwin opened his mouth but no cry came. Speechless, breathless, he stood for a moment utterly still. Then he turned and bolted.

  CHAPTER II Nightmare by Daylight

  Sherwin had not gone very deep into the woods. Within a few minutes he came plunging out into the open meadow and fetched up in the midst of part of his dairy herd. The cows went lumbering away in alarm and Sherwin stopped, beginning to be ashamed of himself.

  He turned to look back. Nothing had followed. The dogs sighted him—he had come out of the trees lower down, toward Allerton’s land—and ran to greet him. He patted their rough reassuring bodies with a shaking hand and as his brief panic left him he became angry.

  “It was only a trick of light among the trees,’’ he told himself. “A wisp of ground fog, with the sun touching it.”

  But there was no sun, no fog either.

  He had seen something.

  He would admit that. His pride forced him to admit it. That he should take to his heels in his own woods…! But his mind, which he had found adequate for forty years of successful living, began to function normally, to reject the impossible thing it had thought such a short time before.

  The thing had startled him, the stealthy movement, the sudden glowing flash. That was why he had—imagined. Some great tropical bird, strayed far north, hiding frightened in the unfamiliar woods, rocketing away at his approach. That was what he had seen. That had been Janie’s “angel.” A big, strange bird.

  His mind was satisfied. And yet his body trembled still and some inner sense told him that he lied. He ignored it. And he started only slightly when a man’s voice hailed him loudly from across the meadow.

  He turned to see Allerton approaching. The man was like a large edition of his son, stocky, sunburned, with close-cropped head. Sherwin could see on his face all the signs of a storm gathered and ready to break.

  “Saw you down here, Hugh,” said Allerton. “Is Rich at your place? The teacher says he’s cut school.”

  Sherwin shook his head. “Jane’s up to the same tricks. I’m pretty sure they’re in the woods, Sam. Jane found something there last night—”

  He hesitated. Somehow his tongue refused to shape any coherent words.

  Allerton demanded impatiently, “Just what do you mean, she found something?”

  “Oh, you know how kids are. They run a high fever over a new kind of bird. Anyway, I’m sure they’re in there. I heard them a while ago.”

  “Well,” said Allerton, “what are we waiting for? That boy of mine has got some questions to answer!”

  He started off immediately. Sherwin fought down a great reluctance to go again into the shadows under the trees and followed.

  “Which way?” asked Allerton.

  “I don’t know,” Sherwin said. “I guess we’ll just have to call them.”

  He called. Both men called. There was no answer. There was no sound at all except the wind in the treetops.

  Shouting at intervals the names of their children the men went deeper and deeper into the heart of
the woods. In spite of himself Sherwin started nervously now and again when the branches were shaken by a sharper gust, letting the grey daylight flicker through. But he saw nothing.

  After a long time they splashed through an arm of the swamp and scrambled up onto a ridge covered with a stand of pines. Allerton halted and would go no farther.

  “Blast it, Hugh, the kids aren’t in here! I’m going back.”

  But Sherwin was bent forward, listening. “Wait a minute. I thought I heard—”

  The tall pines rocked sighing overhead. And then, through the rustle and murmur of the trees there came a burst of laughter and the cries of children busy with some game.

  Sherwin nodded. “I know now where they are. Come on.” He scrambled down the far side of the ridge, heading south and west. There was a knoll of higher ground where some ancient trees had fallen in a winter’s storm, carrying the lighter growth with them. The children’s voices had come from the direction of the clearing.

  He went perhaps a hundred yards and then paused, frowning. He began to work back and forth in the undergrowth, growing more and more perplexed and somehow frightened. The heavy gloom melted away oddly between the trees and his vision seemed blurred.

  “I can’t find the clearing,” he said.

  “You’ve missed it. You took the wrong direction.”

  “Listen, these are my woods. I know them.” He pointed. “The clearing should be ahead there but I can’t see it. Look at the tree trunks, Sam. Look how they shimmer.”

  Allerton grunted. “Just a trick of the light.”

  Sherwin had begun to shiver. He cried out loudly, “Jane! Jane, answer me!”

  He began to thrash about in the underbrush and as he approached the strangely shimmering trees he was overcome by dizziness and threw his arm across his eyes.

  He took a step or two forward blindly. Suddenly almost under his feet there was a crackle and a swish of something moving in haste, a sharp, breathless giggle.

  “Hey!” said Allerton. “Hey, that’s Rich!”

  He plunged forward angrily now, yelling. “Richard! Come here, you!” As he came up beside Sherwin he too was stricken with die queer giddiness. The two men clung to each other a moment and there came a squeal of laughter out of nowhere and the voice of a little girl whispering.

  “They look so funny!”

  Sherwin moved back carefully until he and Allerton were out of the space where the light seemed so oddly distorted. The dizziness left him immediately and he could see clearly again. A sort of desperate calm came over him.

  “Jane,” he called. “Will you answer me? Where are you?”

  He heard her voice—the teasing impish voice of a child having a wonderfully good time.

  “Come and find me, Daddy!”

  “All right,” he said. “I will.”

  There began an eerie game of hide and seek.

  The children were close at hand. The men could hear them plainly, the giggling and muffled whispers of a number of boys and girls, but they were not to be seen or found.

  “They’re hiding behind the trees in the undergrowth,” said Allerton. He was angry now, thoroughly angry and baffled. He planted his feet, refusing to hunt anymore. He began to roar at Richard.

  “You’ve got to come out sometime,” he shouted, “and the sooner you do, the better it’ll be for you.” He held up his wristwatch. “I’ll give you just two minutes to show up!”

  He waited. There was a great whispering somewhere. A small boy’s voice said scornfully, “All right, scairdy-cat! Go on.”

  Richard’s voice mumbled something in answer and then Richard himself appeared, oddly as though he had materialized out of the empty space between two maples. He shuffled slowly up to his father.

  Allerton grabbed him. “Now, then, young man! What are you up to?”

  “Nothing, Pa.”

  “What’s going on here? Who’s with you?”

  “I don’t know. I was just—playing.”

  “I’ll teach you to play games with me,” said Allerton and laid on. Richard howled.

  Without warning, from out of nowhere, terrifyingly bright and beautiful in the shadowy darkness, two misty shapes of flame came rushing.

  Sherwin caught a glimpse of Allerton’s face, stark white, his mouth fallen open. Then the men were enveloped in a whirling of fiery wings.

  This time there was no doubt. The creatures were not birds. They were not anything Sherwin had ever seen or dreamed of before. They were not of this world.

  A chill of absolute horror came over him. He flung up his hands to ward the things away and then the buffeting of the flaring pinions drove him to his knees. The wings were neither flame nor fire but flesh as solid as his own. The brightness was in their substance, a shining of inner light. But even now, close as they were, he could not see the creatures clearly, could not tell exactly the shape of their bodies.

  Tiny lightnings stabbed from them at the men. Allerton yelled in mingled pain and panic. He let go of Richard and the boy fled away into the undergrowth. A chorus of frightened

  cries rose out of the blankness among the trees and Janie’s voice screamed, “Don’t you hurt my Daddy!”

  A last rough thrashing of the wings, a final warning thrust of the queer small lightnings and the things were gone. A great silence descended on the woods, broken only by furtive rustlings where the unseen children crept away. Allerton stared at his hand, which showed a livid bum across the back.

  Presently he raised his head, Sherwin had never seen a man so utterly shaken.

  “What were they?” he whispered.

  Sherwin drew a deep, unsteady breath. The beating of his heart rocked him where he stood. He tried several times before he could make the words come.

  “I don’t know. But they want the kids, Sam. Whatever they are they want the kids.”

  “Richard,” said Allerton. “My boy!” He caught Sherwin’s arm in a painful grasp. “We’ve got to stop those things. We’ve got to get help!”

  He went away, crashing like a bull through the underbrush, tearing at the branches that impeded him. Sherwin followed. After what seemed an eternity he saw grey daylight ahead and the open field.

  “Sam,” he said, “wait a minute. Who are we going to ask for help? Who’s going to believe us?”

  “I’m going to call the sheriff and he blasted well better believe me!”

  “He won’t,” said Sherwin heavily. “He’ll laugh in your face. What are you going to tell him, Sam? Are you going to say you saw angels or devils or things that came out of the sky in a ship you can’t find and can’t see?”

  Allerton’s jaw set hard. “I’m going to try anyway. I’m not going to let Them get hold of my kid!”

  “All right,” Sherwin said. “My place is closer. Use my phone.”

  He ran beside Allerton across the meadow but he was dreadfully afraid and without hope.

  Lucy was waiting in the yard. She gave a little scream when she saw their faces and Sherwin said sharply, “Jane’s all right. Go ahead and make your call, Sam. I’ll wait here.”

  He put his arm around Lucy. “The kid’s perfectly safe this time. But—”

  How to say it, even to your own wife? How to tell her. without sounding insane even to yourself?

  “Listen, Lucy, there’s some kind of—animal in the woods. I don’t know what it is yet. Something mighty queer. Janie mustn’t go in there again, not for one minute. You’ve got to help me watch her.”

  He was still evading her questions when Allerton came out again, red-faced and furious.

  “He didn’t believe a word of it. He told me to get off the bottle.” Something desperate came into Allerton’s eyes. He sat down on the steps. “We’ve got to think, Hugh. We’ve got to think what we’re going to do. If it was fall we could bum the woods.”

  “But it isn’t fall,” said Sherwin quietly, “it’s spring. The kids are coming now. I’m going to talk to them.”

  A raggle-taggle of small for
ms had appeared among the fringe of trees. They dispersed in various directions and Richard and Jane came on alone toward the house. They walked very close together, bent over some object that Jane held in her hands.

  “Yes,” said Sherwin, “they’re the only ones that can help us. Let me handle this. I don’t want them frightened off.”

  The children came on, slowly and reluctantly now that they saw their parents waiting. They had straightened up rather guiltily and stepped apart a little and Sherwin noticed that Janie now held one hand behind her back.

  Her face had a peculiar expression. It was as though she looked with pity upon adults, who had got somehow far beneath her—so far that even their laws and punishments could not affect her much. “What have you got there, Jane?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “May I have it, please?”

  He held out his hand. She hesitated, her chin set stubbornly, and then she said, “I can’t, Daddy. They made it for me, for my very special own. It won’t even work unless I want it to.”

  Sherwin felt a chill contraction of the nerves. He held his voice steady.

  “Who are They?”

  “Why, Them,” she said, and nodded toward the woods. “I found Them, you know. I was first. That’s why They gave me the present.” Suddenly she burst out, “Daddy, They didn’t mean to frighten you just now. They’re sorry They burned Mr. Allerton’s hand. They thought he was hurting Richard.”

  Lucy, whose face had grown quite pale, was on the verge of speaking. Sherwin gave her a stem look and said to the child, “That’s all right, Janie. May I see your present?”

  Still doubtful, but very proud, she extended her hand. In it was a flat smooth oval of the clearest crystal Sherwin had ever seen.

  “Lean over, Daddy. There, like that. Now watch. I’m going to make it work.”

  She placed her hands in a certain way, holding the crystal between them.

  At first he could see nothing but the reflection of the cloudy sky. Then, slowly, the crystal darkened, cleared…