*****
Malcolm jumped up with a gasp. He looked around him. The fire was only glowing embers and it was nearly pitch black; the moon hidden away by clouds. Something had woken him from sleep, a sound.
He heard it again. It was behind him now, in the darkness. It was laughter.
He turned and faced toward the direction of the laughter but as soon as he did, it seemed to change direction, always staying behind him.
He leaned down and took a lighter out of his pocket, rekindling the fire with a scrap of wood. He felt more comfortable as the flames began to rise, lighting up the tents around him. He walked to his tent and pulled out a Colt handgun he’d brought with him, checking the clip before tucking it into his waistband and venturing back outside.
It was quiet now. He listened intently; hearing nothing but a distant breeze blowing across the sands.
He put more wood on the fire, and went to sleep in his tent.
The morning came quickly, Malcolm having a restless night of tossing and turning. That laughter stayed in his head, like an echo that kept reverberating. He’d heard hyenas before and though their whining might sound like laughter, he’d never heard it so clearly as last night. It sounded almost . . . mocking.
He walked out of his tent and shielded his eyes from the bright sun. Clouds of sand had been kicked up from the digging of the workers, more than two dozen of them in total. Malcolm watched as they scurried about at the site, their darkly tanned bodies glistening in the light with sweat.
“Rough night?” he heard someone say.
Malcolm looked over and saw Cindy Menendez, his graduate understudy. She was wearing the typical canvas shorts of a paleontologist out in the desert and she offered bottled water to Malcolm.
“You could say that,” he said as he took the water.
“You should’ve come to town with us.”
“Why’s that?” Malcolm said as he opened the bottle and took a drink.
“Billy got drunk and started into a rendition of the H.M.S Pinafore at the piano.”
Malcolm grinned. “Now that I would’ve liked to have seen.”
Cindy looked out absently at the workers. “Are you gonna go talk to the family of that worker?”
“Soon.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“No. There doesn’t need to be two of us going through that.”
“Some of us were talking last night. We think maybe it wasn’t a hyena.”
“Oh?”
“There’s never been a hyena attack inside a tent with other people around. Only a few people heard anything . . . do you know how difficult it is for an animal that large to stay silent?”
“Yes. I do. I also know there’s a lot we don’t know about them. I’ve seen one, from real close. I looked into its eyes and I can tell you, there’s something looking back.”
Cindy grimaced and looked away. The thought of a hyena sneaking into a tent and killing someone was ridiculous. She felt disappointed that Malcolm clung to the idea so tightly. He was a scientist after all.
“Malcolm Khan!” someone yelled.
Malcolm looked to the dig site. Amir Abu Jalabad was motioning to him. Malcolm started walking toward him and Cindy followed.
Amir had been on every dig Malcolm had done in the Middle East and North Africa in the past twenty years. He was an older man, in his mid-sixties, but was as high-spirited as a bull. He spoke over half a dozen languages and was an archaeologist as well. Though he disliked paleontology, considering digging up fossils a disgrace to the animals, he needed the money Malcolm offered.
“What is it Amir?” Malcolm said as he approached. Amir was standing on the edge of a large pit, at least thirty feet long and twenty feet wide, that was dug into the sand in front of a stone pillar of the temple.
“They found something. It is your dig, you have the honors.”
Malcolm nodded in appreciation and began descending into the pit. He walked down the wooden plank they’d set up as stairs and past the workers standing by with their shovels. Cindy followed him with a leather satchel.
He knelt down over a piece of what looked like rock. Malcolm ran his hands over the ridges; they were bumpy at intervals of three inches. It was the vertebrae of a fossil.
He held out his hand without taking his eyes off the fossil and Cindy pulled a small brush out of the satchel, handing it to him while she leaned in closer. Malcolm began brushing away the sand. He had to be extremely careful; some fossils were so sensitive they could literally crumble while being brushed.
As he continued to brush, his shirt clinging to his back with sweat, he began to see a more general outline. It looked like the skeletal remains of a large animal. He’d unearthed the massive skull and part of the vertebrae; he felt a surge of excitement course through his body. They might have a full skeleton on their hands.
Malcolm stood up and shouted orders to the workers. They began scrambling in excitement as they gathered tools for the dig; Malcolm had made the agreement that they would get a bonus for every viable fossil found.
They began digging around the fossil, slowly bringing the shape into focus. It was massive, at least as large as a horse, and it was a complete fossil. The teeth were as long as fingers and it had a thick bone structure, indicating a strong musculature. Malcolm couldn’t even guess as to what it was. It didn’t appear reptilian or bird-like, so dinosaurs were probably not a possibility. It was most likely mammalian from the shape of its vertebrae and legs. But he’d never seen a species like this before.
The digging would take a full day until the fossils were ready to be sampled and Malcolm stood and watched the digging a bit longer before he started making his way out of the pit.
“What is it?” Cindy asked as they walked out of the pit.
“I don’t know. I would guess mammalian, but I don’t think there’s been that many large mammals found in this part of the country.” Malcolm stopped at the edge of the pit and looked over. “Do a search would you? And email a photo of this back to the university. Have Greg determine its species.”
“Sure thing,” she said as she walked away to retrieve her camera.
“You’re not going to dig?” Amir asked as he walked next to Malcolm.
“Not right now. I have to go into town.”
“Ah, the young boy.”
“Yes.”
“The men are talking about that. They’re frightened.”
“It’s unlikely the hyena’ll come back. But just in case, I’ll get a pistol in every tent.”
“They don’t believe it is a hyena.”
Malcolm looked over to him. Amir’s face was deeply tanned and leathery from years of being exposed to the elements. “And what do they think it is?”
Amir looked down at the digging. “A demon.”
“Just superstitions, it’ll fade.”
“Don’t take it so lightly, Malcolm Khan. If they truly believe it, their numbers will begin to dwindle and you won’t be able to finish your dig.”
“Well, I’m certainly not going to cater to their fairy tales. It was a hyena and when we kill it, I’ll put its corpse up so everyone can see it.”
“Don’t be so certain my friend. There are things in the world we’ve yet to understand.”
“My Heavens, Amir! You believe this nonsense, don’t you?”
Amir looked to him, and then back to the digging.
“You’re a damned scientist! You believe in fairy tales?”
“Science is a tool. Its basis is reason and, though a powerful one, reason itself is only a tool to understand the world. But we have many other tools and many other senses. Just because one of our tools cannot identify something does not mean it does not exist.”
“The evidence shows—”
“The evidence shows nothing conclusive. You keep trying to rationalize Malcolm, but some things are beyond rationalization. They require a different tool rather than reason. You wouldn’t keep trying to use a wrench when a
screwdriver is the tool you needed would you? So why do you persist in using reason in places where instinct can work much more effectively?”
“Instinct? It was an animal attack!”
Amir shook his head. “You are not the first one to dig at this site my friend. Nearly a decade ago I was here with a professor of archaeology from the University of London. He too was on a mission to discover the secrets of Queen Hatshepsut . . . he failed.”
“Failed how?”
“Workers began to disappear. One of his own men from London was found torn in half in his tent. The workers became frightened and abandoned the dig. When he found that no other workers were willing to take their place, he gave up and went back to Europe.”
“Well if we have to give up we have to give up, but I won’t leave because of some ghost story.”
Amir didn’t respond. He looked solemnly at the digging.
“I need some men to stay tonight,” Malcolm said, “there’ll be plenty of floodlights to continue the digging in the dark.”
“As you wish.”
Malcolm put his hand on Amir’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right, I promise.” He turned and walked toward a green jeep parked beyond the tents. He had to inform a family that their only son was dead.
*****
Night fell quickly over the desert. Under the moonlight the sands appear black, like a vast sea of whirling darkness. This was the time the desert became alive. The day was far too hot for any animals to be out but the night cooled the sands in a matter of hours and a vast assortment of species slithered and crawled from underneath the sand to the surface.
Malcolm watched these animals as he drove the jeep back to the camp. He saw a snake slither sideways through the sand as if it were swimming. A small rodent scurried across the road in front of him, waiting by the edge for him to pass.
Malcolm took up the small bottle of gin and took a swig. The family had blamed him for the death. They’d warned their son about going on these digs; that foreigners had no respect for the holy sites. They accused Malcolm of spilling poison into his ear with talk of money.
But the deed was done. And now he could focus on the digging.
He pulled into camp and parked the jeep behind the tents. As he jumped out, he found it odd that he wasn’t hearing any voices or music; the workers were usually laughing and talking or blaring the radio.
He walked past the tents and looked out around the camp. It was empty. He opened the flap to one of the tents; empty. He looked in another, and then another . . . until every tent was searched. There was no one here.
He walked to the pit. The floodlights were on and a few tools were scattered about but there were no workers. Except for the soft hum of the electric generator, it was silent.
He began walking back to the jeep. They undoubtedly decided to go into town for the night. He was furious; he’d given specific instructions to Amir to keep digging. He wanted the fossils out by the morning.
As he walked by the campfire he noticed something. It looked like darkness in the sand, some sort of discoloration. He bent down and touched it. It was warm and wet; he brought it up to his nose . . . it had the coppery stench of blood.
Malcolm ran to his tent, taking out his handgun. He walked back outside. Perhaps there was a murderer in the camp? Someone killed that boy and now they killed the rest of the workers. But where are the bodies? And how did he manage to kill so many people? There must be a group of them. There must be some sort of—
He heard something behind him; it was laughter.
He jumped back, his chest tightening from adrenaline. Another laugh, somewhere behind him. It was so flamboyant. It was almost like it was taunting him.
“Who’s there!” he shouted.
He heard a response. It was in a deep, grainy voice. It was almost inaudible, seemingly coming from a distance, but he could make out the words; they were saying “WHO’S THERE.” It was mimicking him.
He took a step backward, pulling the gun up in front of him.
“WHO’S THERE.”
The voice seemed to echo as it spoke.
“WHO’S THERE.”
It was coming closer, out of the darkness. Malcolm strained his eyes, staring at a single spot that the voice was coming from. Then, he could see something.
It was two pinpoints of light. Yellow and slightly glowing. He saw teeth shimmering in the glow from the lights . . . they were eyes.
Malcolm didn’t wait to see the rest of it. He fired his gun twice and then sprinted in the opposite direction, unsure where to go. He could hear the soft crunching of sand being displaced by something heavy behind him.
He was unsure if he could make it to the jeep in time. He turned sharply to the right and headed for the temple.
His footsteps echoed against the stone walls as he sprinted through the large entrance. The temple was a labyrinth of massive rooms and domed ceilings with openings for observing the stars. The moon was shining brightly through the openings, providing enough light for him to see where he was going.
Malcolm ran across the large atrium and into the adjacent room, slamming into the wall as he slipped on something. He got up and saw what he had slipped on; entrails. Strewn all over the temple were the bodies of the workers. Blood was coated on the walls and floors as flies had already started buzzing.
He gagged and choked back the vomit as he hurried across into an altar room.
The room was square with no roof, causing it to be flooded with moonlight. At the head of the room was a raised structure. An embedded table in front of a large statue.
The walls rumbled and dust was kicked up as something large entered the adjacent room. Malcolm watched the entrance, backing up slowly. He saw the yellow glow first. It filled the entrance to the altar room.
Malcolm backed all the way to the altar; he couldn’t go any farther. He fired the remaining shots in his gun but the yellow glow grew near. He began to climb over the embedded table, looking around the room for an exit.
He slipped and fell backward onto the table itself. He realized for the first time why the table was embedded; it was in the shape of a man.
Malcolm closed his eyes tightly, sweat dripping from his face and his heart about to rip away from his chest. He felt a hot breath against his skin, and then a cool wetness.
Before he died, he had the abhorrent sensation that he was being eaten.
AZ
Kierkegaard had once said that the reason people feel so much dread is because they know they have to prove to themselves that they’re free, even if it destroys them. As I sat in the shelter unsure where I would find food for tomorrow, I wondered if he had written this about people like me.
The shelter was dirty linoleum and gray chipped walls, but it was as holy as the greatest of Cathedrals to the starving people inside. It smelled of disinfectant and body odor; a mixture that many found repugnant but which I’d gotten used to.
I took a tray and walked in the food line, receiving a small portion of crusted mashed potatoes and a little hardened jerky. A small dish of vegetables waited for me at the end of the line but they were wilted and had a thin film of slime. I passed on them.
I took my food to a table where no one was sitting and received glares and heard whispers. These people were seen as the lowest social class in society and it made them feel better to have someone else to look down upon.
A particular group of men were laughing and teasing louder than the rest and, after a while, one of them got up and approached me.
He was wearing gray exercise clothes that were a size to small and had holes in the legs. He stood tall and had broad shoulders and a rough, hairy, face.
“I don’t like androids,” he said in a thick accent.
“Why not?”
“Ain’t human. Ain’t right for them to live at all if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you.”
His sardonic smile went away and an expression of anger took its place. He tried to knock my tray of
f the table and I deftly moved it aside at the last second. He took a step closer to me.
“Maybe we should go outside after we eat?” I suggested.
“My buddy over there says I can get some money if I sell you as parts. That true?”
“It is.”
He smiled. “Well, I’m just gonna see you outside then.” He walked away and sat back down. He blew me a kiss and the table laughed.
I heard footsteps close to me and looked up to see a woman standing in front of my table. Her clothes were old and worn and she had a black smudge on her cheek, but, from what I knew of aesthetics, she would be considered quite beautiful. She had an innocence to her face that glowed through her soft skin, and her smile was wide and revealed nicely white teeth; a rarity on the streets.
“This seat taken?” she said.
“No.”
She sat down across from me and took a bite of a stale piece of bread on her tray. “Do you get that a lot?”
“What?”
“Being made to feel inferior?”
“Do you?”
She glanced down and took another bite. She was trying to be friendly and I’d responded rudely. “I’m sorry. I’m just not used to people being nice to me.”
“It’s okay,” she said with a smile, “neither am I.”
I smiled and we took another bite of food in silence. She appeared shy, at least shyer than the rest of crowd in the shelter. She had a familiarity to her, though I was certain we had never met.
“I didn’t know androids needed to eat.”
“Very little. Just enough to keep our skin and its blood healthy.”
She looked at my food as she took another bite of bread. “Here,” I said as I lifted my tray and pushed the food onto hers.
“No, I don’t need it.”
“It’s okay. Really. I’m sustained anyway.”
She hungrily attacked the mashed potatoes and meat and took big gulps of water as I watched her. “What’s your name?” I asked.
“Candace.”
“I’m Az.”
“Az?”
Star Dreamer: The Early Short Stories of Victor Methos Page 5
