Dead Man at the Door

by Anthony Masters

  Ten minutes later, they were standing inside Jackson’s Garage. Wan moonlight gave some slight illumination to the empty space that, tonight, had a feeling of aridity and desertion.

  ‘Is this the first time you’ve been in here?’ asked Gary, and then stopped himself. ‘Er –’

  ‘Tried to burn it down last time,’ said Ted casually, as if it wasn’t important.

  ‘Thanks for getting me out.’

  ‘Yeah –’ said Ted. ‘I gave you concussion, didn’t I?’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ said Gary and they laughed for what seemed the first time in years.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Ted. ‘I’d be nicked if your dad found out.’

  ‘He won’t – and you didn’t do much damage, anyway.’

  ‘I could have done. I sent those letters to your father, too.’

  ‘I thought as much. Were you so scared?’

  ‘I’d been having those dreams for weeks,’ Ted whispered. ‘They were really getting to me.’

  ‘And you saw him on the beach.’

  ‘Yeah – I ran like hell.’

  ‘And yet you fished down there,’ said Gary, puzzled.

  ‘I know. But he seemed to give up on me. I hadn’t seen him there for ages. The dreams went on though, if they were dreams.’ He paused. ‘Also, maybe I wanted to see him. To get it over with.’

  ‘You don’t know who he is?’

  ‘No –’ He was looking straight at Gary, but it was impossible to guess what he was thinking.

  ‘I spoke to him,’ Gary whispered quickly. ‘I’ve got to tell you.’

  ‘Who – who is he?’

  ‘I don’t know. But he said he’d lost you and that I was in the way.’

  ‘I know,’ said Ted desperately. ‘He wants me on my own – and then he’ll kill me.’

  Gary said nothing. In the great empty space of the garage his thoughts were gathering far more clarity than at any other time since the nightmare had started.

  ‘He drowned,’ said Gary at last. ‘His wet clothes – he must have drowned.’

  ‘But what does he want with me?’ asked Ted.

  ‘He must know you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know him,’ said Ted fearfully.

  ‘He’ll keep on coming. Maybe you managed to escape him on the beach; maybe he wasn’t strong enough to get through. But he will when we’re asleep, when we’re weak.’

  ‘It’s not a dream,’ snapped Ted.

  ‘No, but that’s the time he can really get to us. Maybe the Watchers give him the power to get through. On his own he’s too weak.’ Gary paused. ‘Are you sure you don’t know him, Ted?’

  ‘I’m certain. I’ve never met anyone like him.’

  ‘Let’s wait then. See what happens.’

  ‘No, I want to go.’

  ‘We must stay,’ said Gary. ‘I’m just as scared as you, and I don’t think he likes me one little bit. So I’m in far more danger than you are.’

  Ted said nothing and they both sat down on an old wooden crate and waited. The silence was immeasurable. Nothing happened – and nothing went on happening for the next half-hour. They didn’t speak, only watched the emptiness and heard the sound of traffic outside. Eventually Gary, suffering from cramp, shifted his position. Ted started, and the crate tipped them on to the floor in a heap. Gary started to laugh, then Ted joined in, and their laughter filled the vast space. The louder it sounded, the longer they laughed, until Gary suddenly realized how near his parents were. Quickly he clapped his hand over Ted’s mouth.

  ‘Shut up – they’ll hear.’

  ‘Who?’ Ted spluttered.

  ‘My parents.’

  ‘Yes, we could blow it,’ he said, the laughter still perversely rising in his throat.

  There was a short, stifled silence. Then Gary said, ‘You know what?’

  Ted stared at him, the strained look back in his eyes.

  ‘Suppose he’s waiting for dream-time? Maybe this is all wrong – we shouldn’t be in here at all.’

  ‘But we’re out of control in dream-time,’ pointed out Ted fearfully.

  ‘Listen, you’re sleeping in my room. Why don’t we tie ourselves together. Then neither of us can move or go anywhere without waking the other.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ted doubtfully.

  ‘It’s the only way,’ replied Gary.

  ‘I know,’ Ted replied, but he sounded very anxious and Gary felt weighed down with responsibility again. How on earth do I know what I’m doing? he asked himself. The obvious answer was that he didn’t.

  Gary and Ted lay on their beds watching TV. Both of them felt totally wide awake and Gary’s mind still had tremendous clarity.

  ‘Maybe he’s scared of me?’ Ted said reflectively.

  ‘How do you make that one out?’

  ‘Well, he made it so far, didn’t he? Maybe when he was really near me – outside dream-time and on the beach – he was scared, or something.’

  Gary didn’t reply and they looked back at the TV, which was screening an American cop show. A villain was being pursued over Brooklyn Bridge when the sound went. The picture stayed. Then all they could hear was a baby crying. But this time it wasn’t plaintive. It was like a lullaby, for the baby began to hum and gurgle. Despite the shock, Gary felt his eyes closing. Everything was velvety dark. The clarity in his mind was going; all was confusion.

  Fighting against the heaviness of his lids, Gary shouted out:

  ‘Ted!’

  There was no answer.

  ‘Ted!’

  ‘Yes?’ He was somewhere a long way away.

  ‘Can you hear?’

  Silence.

  ‘Can you hear?’

  ‘Just.’

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘We’re sleeping,’ choked Ted. ‘And we’re not tied together.’

  He’s beaten us to it, thought Gary.

  They were back in the garage, and it was almost exactly as they had left it: a big empty space that still smelt vaguely of oil. The effect was wholly natural except that there was a vague shimmer to the walls.

  ‘We’re in dream-time,’ said Ted and his voice was oddly distant.

  Gary turned and saw that he was standing next to him. His black hair was moving slightly although there was no draught in the garage. But this was dream-time. Anything could happen. They stood there with Ted’s black hair rippling. How long? agonized Gary. Just how long?

  The knocking began lightly, as if the branch of a tree was hitting a window-pane, and at first Gary did not recognize it for what it was. It was only when Ted whispered, ‘He’s here,’ that Gary knew it was beginning. The knocking increased in power but not in urgency. Gary had never heard it like this before. The polythene on the floor fluttered, went limp – and then fluttered again.

  ‘And he’s afraid,’ said Ted.

  ‘We’ll let him in.’

  ‘No.’ He grabbed at Gary’s arm, but missed. Then he grabbed again, and to Gary’s amazement Ted’s hand went through his arm. The answer was immediate.

  ‘We’re out of time,’ he muttered.

  ‘What?’ Ted’s voice was fainter.

  ‘We’re not in the same time.’

  ‘You go.’ Ted sounded as if he hadn’t heard him. Gary reached out to try and touch him and there was nothing there. He thumped space in frustration, and his fist went clean through Ted’s chest and out the other side.

  ‘Can you see me?’ Gary asked frantically.

  ‘Not really. You’re just there. Just.’

  ‘How can I go? He’ll be in your time.’

  ‘Please, Gary, do what I say.’ There was no authority in Ted’s voice, just pleading.

  ‘OK.’ Gary went to the door. His footsteps were soundless and there was no hinderance, just a lightness, an airiness that was very unsettling. As he walked, the walls of the garage grew hazier, going into soft focus. The knocking increased in volume as Gary reached the door, sounding like hammer blows. He wrestled with the bolt and
the door swung open to reveal his own father.

  But it wasn’t his father; there was a bubbling of the features, a lifting of the mask, something beyond. Terror struck Gary as it had never struck him before, for he realized that although he was looking at his father’s face, it was not his body. There was a horrible familiarity about the wringing wet jeans, the cracked trainers, the leather jacket with weed clinging to the lapels. Then his father’s face dissolved into liquidity and the young man’s dead white face showed through.

  ‘Baby,’ came through the static. ‘Baby.’

  The young man’s eyes were fixed on a point beyond him and through him. Gary realized with a kind of stunning finality that, like Ted, the young man was somewhere else in time – that he wasn’t even seeing Gary. He walked through him and yet Gary felt his passing – salt water and weed and coldness.

  Then Gary heard the baby crying, and when he turned round, he saw Jackson’s Garage filled with shadowy life: dismembered cars, ramps, work-benches, girlie calendars, several car wrecks and a breakdown truck. The baby’s cries were loud and piercing, and although he scanned the garage intently, Gary could see no sign of Ted.

  Gary watched the young man search the wreck of a Ford Escort; the car roof was flattened and the front was completely staved in. He leant through the smashed window, managed to wrench open a crumpled door and busied himself in the interior. The baby’s cries suddenly ceased and the young man emerged, holding aloft a very young child – probably no more than three months old. He clasped the baby to him tenderly and Gary felt his eyes filling with tears. Never had he seen such blissful happiness in the face of anyone in his life. The young man kissed the child and then began to move back towards Gary and the half-open garage door. The baby gurgled in delight and the young man began to whistle. But the tune was no longer melancholy. It lilted. Gary stepped back so that they shouldn’t pass through him, and as he did so he heard Ted’s voice crying out, ‘Gary, help me. Help me.’

  ‘Where are you?’ shouted Gary.

  ‘In here,’ whispered Ted. ‘Oh, God – I’m in here.’ The baby’s face turned towards him, and in the baby’s eyes he saw Ted’s.

  Twelve

  The garage door closed quickly, and when Gary looked round the empty arid space had returned. A despair closed over him as he realized what had happened; in some confusion of space and time, Ted had been taken away. What could he do? What would the Roberts believe? That Ted had simply run away again; it was the most likely explanation. What on earth was he to do?

  Suddenly he had an idea. Wasn’t he still in dream-time? Didn’t he have power? He looked round the garage; the walls looked soft and pulpy and the ceiling like foam rubber. Would he wake up? Or could he put distance between himself and waking up? Yes, there was an idea crystallizing; it was illogical, crazy, unsafe, unsure – but then so was dream-time.

  Pushing open the garage door, Gary ran through the streets of the old town, and as he ran his feet hardly touched the ground. It was as if he was being drawn on a moving sheet of silk, past the unstable buildings that shimmered around him. One moment he was running past shops, the next, town houses of another time, then past buildings crouched low and mean, with latticed windows and whitewashed steps. Everything was changing, shifting; he was being drawn backwards down the sliding streets of centuries.

  Then he was out on the headland and time became eternal. Nothing changes out here, he knew that, although the speed of his gliding run seemed to increase. Now he was on the cliffs above Black Gull Chine and he sensed immediately that he was not alone. He slowed down and came to a halt and discovered the cliffs were black with shadows. They were all there. The Watchers. And he knew why he’d come – to appeal to them. To find a way back for Ted.

  He was walking slowly amongst shadows. It was neither night nor day and the air was full of static. The sea was still and it winked and gleamed under a shiny bronze sky. Could he speak to them? How should he speak to them?

  ‘Please –’ he began, talking to the shifting dark. ‘Please – help me.’

  But there was no reply.

  ‘I need help,’ pleaded Gary. ‘There is someone. Someone who came out of the sea. Searching for his baby. He’s taken my friend. My friend who was the baby.’

  It was ludicrous – he was talking to no one.

  ‘You’ve got to help me – this person – you let him through. You gave him the strength. You’re the Watchers – I can see you.’ And he could. There were shapes around him, turning away from their vigil on the cliffs, seeing him, watching him. But Gary wasn’t afraid; he couldn’t feel evil, he could only sense an interest in him and he was sure that what he was saying was being heard. ‘Can’t you do something?’ he implored.

  Then a word seeped into his mind and crystallized there. It was a name. James.

  ‘Is that what he’s called?’ he asked the darkness. ‘Is that the young man’s name? Is it James?’ But he was sure that it was. ‘Who is he?’ asked Gary. ‘Who is James?’

  ‘Watch with us.’ The words lodged in his mind and Gary felt a hand on his shoulder. It was warm and comforting. His shoulder glowed – and the glow seemed to spread throughout his body. ‘Watch what could have been.’

  Gary stood on the cliff-top and saw a black beach, black sky, black sea. Only silver-tipped waves broke the darkness. Then he saw Ted and James walking down the beach kicking a ball. They were like burnt-out images from a photographic negative. He watched them climb up until they were sitting on Ted’s fishing rock. They stared out to sea, their arms round each other’s shoulders. Then Gary looked back to the cliff-top and saw Ted, crouched, staring down, watching himself and James play football on the dream-time beach. Gary rushed towards him, but he fell into air and rolled over. ‘He’s not here. You’re conning me,’ he yelled furiously. But Ted was there, still crouched, still watching.

  Gary flung himself at Ted again – and rolled away into empty space. He got up and something touched him again and the warmth of the glow disappeared.

  He was on the sea front which was almost the same but not quite. Some shops were different: an amusement arcade where a supermarket now stood, a café where a burger bar was now. He sensed Ted standing beside him, but couldn’t see him.

  It was late at night when the Ford Escort appeared, driving down the hill towards the sea, too fast. In front was the young man, his lips pursed into a whistle. Next to him was a young woman. The first signs of alarm were appearing in her face. On the back seat was a carry-cot. Realizing he had miscalculated, the young man trod on the brakes, the Escort swerved, caught the railing and somersaulted on to the beach. The sound of breaking metal and the cries of human agony were appalling to hear. Then it rolled on – into the boisterous waves. Long fingers of foam gradually covered the car. One wheel still spun and then disappeared.

  Minutes later the beach swarmed with people, suddenly emerging from houses, many clad in their night-clothes. For a few seconds they gathered at the water-line, staring in horror at the nearly submerged car. Then a bolder spirit ran into the waves, swam and dived. After a while someone else joined in – and then others raced into the sea, circling the car, diving down, desperately trying to release the passengers. Only the rear end of the vehicle protruded from the waves, and another would-be rescuer tried to wrench open one of the rear doors – but without success. After minutes of fruitless effort, someone brought out a rope, fixed it to the rear fender and everyone pulled. Gradually, the Ford Escort lurched out of the sea and there was a rush to open the doors. But they all knew that it was too late.

  Gary turned away; he couldn’t bear to watch any more. Then he thought he heard a sob from somewhere beside him.

  ‘Ted –’

  Another sob.

  ‘Ted – are you there?’

  But there was only the murmuring of the dream-time waves.

  Suddenly he was in the breakdown truck, sitting between two mechanics, but Gary could hardly see them – they were vague and faint, barely rec
ognizable. Time had passed and the car, dragged from the beach, was rattling and banging behind them, the sounds as distorted as the shapes around him.

  ‘Makes you want to weep.’

  ‘He must have been drunk.’

  The voices seemed to wash around the cab, coming and going, sometimes near, sometimes very distant.

  ‘Killed the girl as well as himself.’

  ‘Can’t make out the cot; no sign of a kid.’

  ‘Sure you checked right through?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Know what, that roof’s flattened. Couldn’t a mite have rolled away inside somewhere?’

  ‘I told you, I looked. Don’t you believe me?’

  It was not long before the breakdown truck arrived at the hazy front of Jackson’s Garage. The sliding door opened mistily and the wreck was towed in. Then the walls seemed to close in on Gary and he was outside the cab, floating, until he found himself crouched on the cliff-top again, watching the shadowy images disappear into the silver spume of the black waves. From somewhere he heard a baby crying and he saw James and Ted kicking the ball on the beach. But almost immediately they were lost in a huge wave as the tide thundered in. The cliff-top was bathed in a jaundiced light, and through the ranks of silent Watchers Gary saw James running towards him, his wet leather jacket flapping behind him like a cloak, his footsteps like drum-beats. As he came nearer, they seemed more like the pounding of the sea. His voice was hoarse, almost lost in rapidly increasing static. Gary could only pick out one word: ‘Ted!’ It was a cry of total desperation.

  As Gary ran over the cliffs with the night wind on his face, he suddenly realized something. He was out of dream-time. There was no fuzzing of the edges of the world he passed through and there were no Watchers. He had woken. He looked at his watch; it was only just after eleven.

  Minutes later, Gary was letting himself into the yard and then back into Jackson’s Garage. He had been careful to keep out of sight, staying in the shadows, darting through narrow side-streets. He had only one objective: to burn the garage. He didn’t want to think, didn’t want to analyse the situation. It was too awful to dwell on. In the back of his confused mind, Gary knew he was going to burn down his parents’ property. Would the insurance pay up, or would his parents be ruined? And what if they found out that he had been the arsonist – their own son. Well at least his father wouldn’t be able to say ‘these Islanders’ this time. Instead they would both be heart-broken and never forgive him. But he mustn’t think; he must blot out the consequences. Jackson’s Garage must be burnt to the ground, and he was quite sure that when the place was reduced to ashes, James would not bother Ted – or himself – ever again.