by Stuart Young
His brother continued to howl, twisting frantically in his wheelchair, the stench of his excrement befouling the air.
Robert shut himself off from it; he needed to think, let his intellect override his emotions, let him prioritise, strategize. His limbic system might be pumping him full of adrenaline but that was to supercharge his muscles for action, not an excuse to blunder about in a blind panic. He dealt with pressure everyday, weighing options, making hard decisions. Thinking was the key.
He had already made one possible blunder – he should have stayed and held the door shut until they could lock it. But it was a calculated risk, he wasn’t going to leave Dan in danger.
Pulling his mobile from his pocket he dialled for the police. Best not tell them about the creature, say it was burglars instead, otherwise they would think it was a prank call.
The wheelchair was impossible to steer with only one hand, it veered towards the wall. Grabbing at the handles to avoid a collision he fumbled the phone and it bounced off the carpet. He left the mobile where it lay, kept running down the corridor.
He could have avoided all this if only he hadn’t been forced to go to that bloody neurosurgery conference. But his boss had sweet-talked him into it, promising that if he went it was the last international conference he would ever have to attend. So he had been in the States listening to idiots rave about how wonderful lobotomies were when he should have been at home caring for Dan.
He thrust his resentment away from him. Right now it was a distraction he couldn’t afford.
Reaching the end of the corridor he dashed round the corner and nearly crashed into Delia. She crouched behind a dresser, trembling. Out ahead of her in the front hall lay a small pile of corpses. Robert recognised them as more of the home’s staff. They sprawled across the floor in a messy heap, dead faces contorted with fear, limbs twisted and bent at awkward angles like some kind of modern sculpture.
Above the pile of bodies floated more of the creatures. Half a dozen of them. They drifted through the air; fat, bloated, as though they had just finished a large meal.
Gasping for breath Robert sank down beside Delia, out of sight of the creatures. ‘Everyone’s dead,’ sobbed Delia. ‘Everyone’s dead.’
Dan picked up on her hysteria, his own wailing increasing in pitch and intensity. Robert grabbed Delia’s arm, squeezing hard, hoping the pain would bring her to her senses. ‘Snap out of it,’ he commanded, his voice harsh, brutal. ‘If we want to get out of this alive we’ve got to keep our heads together. Understand?’
Delia nodded, wiping the tears that leaked from the corners of her eyes.
Robert turned to Dan, stroked his cheek. ‘It’s okay, Dan. It’s okay.’
His voice soothed his brother, Dan’s howling gradually quietening to a whimper.
Robert peeked round the corner at the creatures. Again he had the feeling of not being able to perceive them clearly, as if they were a concept he didn’t quite grasp, an idea he didn’t quite understand. They rippled and shimmered in an unnatural manner, not reflecting the light from their surroundings but glistening with some inner illumination. And the way they moved, systematically sweeping back and forth in tight formation, covering every last inch of space, almost as if they weren’t hunting by sight. He suspected the creatures were blind.
As he watched the creatures’ tightly ordered configuration caused one of them to float into a wall, drifting through it like a ghost. He gasped. If the creatures were intangible then no weapon could harm them, no trap could hold them. Even the creature he had trapped in Dan’s room could float free whenever it chose.
Fear gripped Robert, but then he reminded himself that fear was just nature’s way of telling you to think faster, to plan harder. The creatures were blocking the path to the front door but if the creatures really were blind he and the others might sneak into the lounge and out through the patio doors, work their way round to the front of the home. Then Delia could help him get Dan into the car and they could escape.
He ducked back round the corner to whisper his plan to Delia. Before he could even open his mouth he saw a creature floating out of the corridor he and the others had just fled from – probably the same creature they had attempted to imprison in Dan’s bedroom.
Seeing the creature Delia screamed and leapt from hiding, racing for the front door. The creatures were on her in an instant. The nearest one latched onto her skull and that horrible sucking sound began. The other creatures tightened their circling pattern, closing in, not in a greedy attempt to share in feasting upon Delia but merely to eliminate all her escape routes, their methodical cruelty a cold counterpoint to Delia’s horror as she desperately tried to break free.
She twisted in the creature’s grip, writhing in agony. Her grimacing face pressed up against the strange transparent membrane of the creature’s body, imprinting her despair on its insides. Images flowed from her head into the creature; a bleak, grey vision of her stretched out cold on a slab, a mortician about to start the post mortem. And behind that flickered computer icons and toolbars; endless reams of paperwork forever being rewritten – block and delete, block and delete – until the desired result was finally attained.
Robert almost tried to save her but he stopped himself, knowing it was hopeless. Instead he ran for the lounge, hoping the creatures remained focused on Delia, praying that the one that had escaped the bedroom chose to join its fellows instead of pursuing him and Dan. He ran, not daring to look back, concentrating all his energy on propelling the wheelchair forward.
And then he was in the lounge, dropping to his knees, stabbing at the button on the magnet that held the fire door open. Quietly easing the door shut he breathed a sigh of relief. Then he turned and jumped in shock.
The lounge was full of the home’s clients; alive, untouched. Still sitting in their seats, still staring into space. For some reason the creatures hadn’t attacked them yet so they remained oblivious to what was happening outside the lounge; they just sat in eerie silence. Only Dan made a noise, whimpering piteously as Robert wheeled him over to the patio doors. Slowly the other clients began to pick up on Dan’s distress and they too began to cry and whimper.
‘Shush,’ hissed Robert. ‘Be quiet!’
That just made things worse. One of the clients started yelling at the top of his voice. Another one, a short plump woman, jumped up and ran to Robert, pawing at him as she gabbled incoherently. He pushed her away but another client, a middle-aged man with distorted features, stood before him, waving his arms and shouting gibberish, all the time blocking Robert’s path to the patio doors.
Robert shoved him aside. ‘Get out of my way!’
But it was too late. Ahead of him one of the creatures came through the wall of the lounge. Then another. And another. Soon all the creatures from the front hall floated at the far end of the lounge forming a barricade before the patio doors.
Horrified, Robert tried to turn the wheelchair round, run back the way he had come. The clients clung to him, slowing him, pulling at his clothes, his hair; someone bit him, teeth sinking into his flesh, saliva dripping over his skin.
With a cry of revulsion he charged forward, Dan’s wheelchair becoming a battering ram, knocking aside all who stood before him. Reaching the door he flung it open and pushed Dan back out into the front hall. With all the creatures in the lounge he had a free run at the front door.
Except he didn’t.
Not all the creatures had been in the lounge. One of them floated before the front door, barring his exit. The cunning bastards had outflanked him, outthought him.
He had failed. He was dead. Dan was dead.
Then survival instinct took over. There was a corridor on either side of the creature. In guarding the front door it had left the way down the corridors clear. His brain whirring Robert remembered that the corridor to his right led to the kitchen and out into the back garden. He fled down the corridor.
Glancing back he saw the creatures float out of the lounge to
pursue him. From inside the lounge he could still hear the grunts and screams of the clients. The creatures had spared them, electing to hunt him and Dan instead.
That made no sense. Why chase after only two men when there was a whole room full of prey trapped and ready for the killing?
It didn’t matter. He just had to outrun the bastards. Once he got outside he could work his way round to the car and get him and Dan the hell out of there.
That’s all he had to do. Just make it to the car.
He ran, his lungs burning, each breath scraping across his throat like sandpaper. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up.
Then – thank God! – he saw the kitchen door, wide open, inviting him in. Pushing Dan into the kitchen he kicked the door so that it broke free of its magnet, slamming shut behind them.
Chest heaving he took in his surroundings. The kitchen had been recently refitted; gleaming sink and draining board, a fridge so white it looked as though it had been carved from ivory, the aroma of a slow baking casserole wafting from the shiny new oven. But none of that compared to the beauty of the door that led out of the kitchen and into the back garden.
A sob of relief escaped his lips as he pushed Dan over to the door. He caught a glimpse of his and Dan’s reflection in the pane of glass that took up the top half of the door. Both bedraggled, both terrified; they looked more alike than ever.
He was just reaching for the doorhandle, telling himself how lucky they were, when he saw one of the creatures waiting in the garden.
He ducked down, below the window. Risking a cautious peek out he saw another creature float up over the fence from the next door neighbour’s garden and into the home’s garden, joining its companion.
Shifting his position slightly to gain a new vantage point he saw across to the houses on the opposite side of the block. More creatures floated there, swimming in between the houses, dozens of the strange blobs, searching for prey.
His jaw dropped. How many of the bloody things were there?
Keeping low he crept over to the kitchen door and peeked through the small window at the top. The creatures hadn’t quite reached the kitchen yet but they were close. Suddenly the fine wire mesh embedded in the glass felt like the bars of a prison.
Spinning round he cast a frantic eye over the kitchen. Spotting a door in the corner he raced over and flung it open. The door revealed a larder. It contained tins, boxes of cereal and a six-foot high freezer but no escape route.
Then he realised that escape didn’t just entail running, it also meant hiding.
There was an empty space at the bottom of the larder, next to the freezer; it might just be big enough to hide himself and Dan in there.
He shoved Dan’s wheelchair at the larder. The wheels caught on the doorframe, the impact jarring up his arms. Damn, the wheelchair was wider than the door.
Quickly he grabbed at the buckle of Dan’s seatbelt so he could drag him from the chair. The buckle held fast, obstinately refusing to come undone
Cursing, he searched the kitchen for something he could use to cut the belt. Finding nothing suitable on the worktops he yanked open the nearest drawer. Metal gleamed up at him; ladles, tongs, serving spoons. No knives.
He thrust his hand into the drawer, rummaging through the utensils, the metal rattling harshly. Still he found no blades, the best he could find was a skewer for a shish kebab. He didn’t have time to search the other drawers, this would have to do. Maybe he could use it to force the seatbelt’s buckle open.
As soon as he aimed the sharp metal point at the buckle Dan started squirming and crying in distress. Robert whispered to him, trying to soothe him, promising him that he wouldn’t hurt him, that he wanted to use the skewer on the buckle not on Dan. No use. He couldn’t make Dan understand the intent behind his actions. Robert lowered the skewer and Dan stopped squirming, although he still kept a fearful eye on the skewer.
Gritting his teeth Robert groped blindly for a new plan. He only had seconds before the creatures searched the kitchen. Think, damn it, think!
Staring at the exit he noticed the fire blanket attached to the wall beside it. Seizing the metal ring on the bottom of the fire blanket he tugged hard, pulling the blanket free. ‘Hide and seek, Dan. Hide and seek, okay?’ He draped the fire blanket over Dan, covering him.
‘Stay still. Stay still.’
He paused, praying that Dan would do as he said. Dan remained immobile.
Looking up Robert saw the creatures out in the hall about to enter the kitchen. He dashed into the larder, pulling the door shut behind him.
He sat hunched in the shadows, his panicked breathing so loud that it sounded as if he was panting into a megaphone. He tried to steady his breathing, to force it into a shallower, more regular pattern. His left hand had a tight grip on something cold and hard and he realised he still held the skewer grasped in his hand. He knew he should discard it. Yet the desire to hold a weapon, even one that was totally ineffectual, was too strong. He kept it clenched in his fist.
Now if Dan just stayed still and quiet, if the creatures didn’t look under the fire blanket, if they didn’t check in the larder. . . He knew it was a stupid, pathetic, idiotic plan but he was desperate. He would try anything to keep Dan and himself safe.
A chink of light penetrated the larder, skewering the darkness. The door hadn’t caught on the latch properly when he shut it.
Moving as silently as possible he crept forward to pull the door shut. He hesitated and, unable to resist, peered out into the kitchen to ensure Dan was unharmed. The creatures drifted across the room, passing high over Dan’s head. They really must be blind because they remained totally oblivious to Dan’s presence. If Dan would just stay silent. . .
Dan started to moan. The moan grew to a howl. Robert uttered a silent curse, he should have known Dan wouldn’t be able to stay quiet for long, he hated being alone. Dan started twitching and writhing in distress and the blanket fell away from him, revealing him to the world.
Robert watched in horror. Knowing that the creatures would be upon Dan any second and that he would rush out to defend him, both of them dying in terrible agony.
The creatures ignored Dan.
Robert frowned. Even blind the creatures had to know Dan was there. They must possess some sort of sensory apparatus for locating their prey; keen hearing, sonar, highly developed olfactory abilities, sensitivity to changes in air pressure. Something.
As he watched one of the creatures passed through Dan, leaving him completely unharmed. Robert’s eyes widened. Either the creatures really didn’t realise Dan was there or else they just didn’t care.
The creatures had also spared the home’s other clients when they could have feasted upon them in the lounge. Yet they had slaughtered the staff. He struggled to put the pieces together. He thought of Margaret and Delia, thrashing wildly in their death throes, the strange images pouring from their heads. No, not just out of their heads, out of their minds. Of course! The creatures fed on people’s thoughts – memories, concepts, deductions and calculations – the clients’ damaged minds didn’t satisfy the creatures’ appetites, didn’t even warrant their attention.
So Dan was safe from the creatures.
But Robert wasn’t.
Watching through the tiny crack he saw the creatures search the kitchen. Soon they would reach the larder.
He tried to make his mind go blank, to banish all thought. Impossible, ideas kept popping into his head – visions of the creatures spreading, killing everyone in their path; the entire world laid waste with only the mentally impaired surviving. He tried to focus, eliminate the endless parade of ideas, knowing it was futile. Even if he did somehow manage to temporarily suspend all mental activity sooner or later he would have to start thinking again. As soon as that happened the creatures would devour his mind. And Dan would be left all alone.
He shrank back against the wall of the larder. There had to be a way out. There had to be.
Sea
rching about the larder for an escape route his eyes fell upon the dim outline of the tins on the shelves above him. Then he looked down at the skewer in his hand and a crazy idea slowly started to take shape.
If his brain sustained just enough damage to make it unappetising to the creatures then he would be safe.
He picked a tin up off the shelf. It would make a crude hammer but it would get the job done, tapping the skewer through the bone behind his tear duct and into the brain tissue behind it. The same procedure Walter Freeman used when performing off the cuff lobotomies in hotel rooms. Of course Freeman hadn’t performed the lobotomies without anaesthetic. Or on himself.
No. It was crazy. He couldn’t do it.
He had no choice.
He placed the point of the skewer against the corner of his eye.
He tried to swallow. His mouth contained no moisture, his throat was a desert.
If this worked he was bidding farewell to his intellect, his dreams and his fantasies, perhaps even his sense of self, the very seat of his consciousness.
And if it didn’t work he was bidding farewell to life itself.
His hands trembled. He told himself it wasn’t nerves, it was just the exertion of all that running.
He sat, the tin poised above the end of the skewer, ready to plunge it deep into his brain. He wasn’t sure if he could go through with this.
But if he didn’t then who would look after Dan?
As he hesitated one of the creatures passed its head through the larder door. Sensing his presence it reared, preparing to strike.
He brought the tin crashing down on the end of the skewer, felt the sharp pain of metal penetrating bone.
Robert stumbled out of the larder.
He grasped awkwardly at the skewer in his eye, pulling it free, yelping in pain as it clattered to the floor.
Shuffling forward, he moved into the kitchen. Strange blobs floated in the air, their edges all wobbly as though made from water. The blobs circled him a couple of times and then drifted off out of sight.
With the blobs gone Robert turned his attention to the man who sat before him in a chair. Robert stared at him blankly. Then he prodded him, uttering a series of unintelligible grunts. The man looked up and smiled at him.
