The HUM: The complete novel

by Michael Christopher Carter

  No longer creeping, a figure swiftly entered the room. Not her mum or dad; something else. And when Carys saw it, she relinquished control of her bladder and bowels. Sat in her mess, she recoiled, but there was nowhere to go. Welded to her disgusting sheets, she watched it prowl closer to her. Staring, it stood so close she could touch it if her limbs weren’t clasped tight to her body.

  Longing for the refuge of her duvet, she couldn’t tear her eyes from the repugnant reality inches from her skin. Enormous, cold, black eyes bore into her from the featureless grey face. Its line mouth opened and it shouted at her in a language she didn’t recognise, but understood immediately.

  Whilst the creature screeched its instructions over Carys’s own screaming, she was astonished to still hear her dad’s tell-tale snoring. Telling the tale she was to face whatever this creature was on her own.

  It loomed over her, taller than she would be standing, but smaller than any adults she knew. Its orb head perched precariously on a pencil neck, emerging from naked, almost translucent shoulders. The huge eyes stared through her, chilling like death. The impassive pallor exhibited no emotion, but Carys burned from the heat of its unseen rage.

  The sight was more than she could cope with and she vomited to add to the disgusting urine and faeces mixture. Whimpering, she strained to understand the barked orders.

  “Be quiet,” the voice commanded. “No-one can hear you.” Words sounded in her head, whilst at the same time, the screeching voice of the creature filled the room like an injured animal.

  “You must do as I say. I will not hurt you if you do as I say.”

  It was cross with her. Petrified of making it angrier, Carys resolved to do exactly what it asked. But she couldn’t. She simply couldn’t stop screaming.

  “You must be quiet. You must do as I say,” the creature commanded with the authority of someone sure they could force their will if necessary. Staring at the beast, squeals rose from her throat, barely heard by her ears; the alien instructions so dominating her head.

  Looming nearer, it extended spindle thin fingers toward her fragile frame. In a daze, Carys trembled, horrified as other identical creatures pierced her peripheral vision. The fingers moved in slow motion closer and closer to her face. Closer and ever closer until they could be no nearer without touching her.

  Her forehead jolted from the icy sensation for only a second before she fell into a dream.

  The same bright light burned her eyes, but there was now a surrealness which made it almost peaceful. The creatures were all around her, talking in the screeching animal shrieks Carys had heard before, but this time she couldn’t understand a word.

  A glance down shattered her calm and brought a gasp of disgust and terror to her lips as the spindle fingers touched her little belly. Sucking in her stomach was the only movement she could make to repeal the advancing claw hand. Its touch repulsed her more than anything she could imagine.

  Forced to oblige the gruesome examination, terror expressed from every pore, standing each tiny hair on her little body rigid as poles. A tear welled in her eye. Lying flat, it domed, obscuring her vision, which was fortunate because from what she could make out, several other of the creatures manipulated large machines over her, ready to perform God only knew what dreadful purpose.

  Flinching away from their touch, she was horrified when nothing happened and she didn’t move at all. She just couldn’t. Her limbs wouldn’t obey her desperate command to kick, and hit, and get the hell away from them.

  And then, from nowhere, a calm serenity engulfed her, consuming her. She smiled. It was all a dream. Just a lovely, funny dream.

  She awoke with a start. The sticky, odious wetness reminded her she was lying in a puddle of her own excrement and vomit. Jolting away from it and throwing off her night clothes, she used them, as best she could, to wipe herself clean.

  Relief was tempered with uncertainty that the room wasn’t really empty. She could see no light, and the humming noise was back as it had been when she’d first gone to bed. Her dread remained as she streaked naked across the landing and climbed into bed with her mummy and her daddy, who incredibly, after snoring through all the screeching beforehand, woke at the merest touch from his daughter.

  “What are you doing, young lady?” he questioned hoarsely “Go back to your own bed.”

  Carys told him about the creatures and how she’d called and called for him. “You didn’t come, Daddy. I was so scared, and you didn’t come.”

  He cuddled her, squeezing her tight. “It must’ve been a nightmare sweetheart,” he soothed. “Of course I’d come if you needed me. I will always be there to protect you.” He smiled his warmest dad smile (or the best his groggy numb face was capable of at this time of the night). “Now, shall I take you back to bed?”

  Carys didn’t want to go, and then she remembered her perfect excuse not to. “I can’t.” she said. Sheepishly, she admitted how she had messed her sheets.

  Geraint considered momentarily before deciding it should be a job for Diane tomorrow. He cuddled up to his little daughter, and they prepared for sleep. Almost at once, he began snoring loudly again. Diane, instead of waking and berating her husband, slept through the racket, albeit with a frown on her pretty face.

  Carys’s ears pricked, catapulting her back into extreme consciousness as the humming noise grew louder, and once more, the house flooded with the intense, searing light.

  Why must she be the only one awake again? Sandwiched in-between her parents, she forced down her fear and repressed her screams as light flooded the landing and bedroom with an intensity Carys believed would melt flesh if it were to touch.

  She gasped, staring wide eyed, wrenching the covers so only her eyes and hair peeped from beneath. Arching herself closer into the warm protection of her daddy, she stared agog as several of the creatures walked past the door in single file and disappeared from view down the stairs.

  But his time they paid no heed to the three occupants of the double bed, and presently, with no noise of the front door opening or closing, they were gone. The light was gone... The hum was gone.

  Chapter Three

  Mrs. Robbins

  Carys opened her eyes, exhausted and alone in the large double bed of her parents; surprised she’d woken without prodding. Noisy bustling noises from the kitchen led her to surmise that’s what woke her.

  Making her way sleepily to the source of the sounds, she was astonished to see her mummy, washed and dressed and cooking breakfast. Diane usually stayed asleep when she left for school in the morning. Daddy would give her a bowl of cereal and maybe some toast, and drive her to school on his way to work.

  Gawping in disbelief, she didn’t know who could possibly be expected to eat the enormous feast being prepared. Her typical bleary-eyed breakfast would be pushed around her bowl, forcing it down out of duty whilst stifling sleep, her head resting on the palm of her hand.

  Eggs of two varieties (poached and scrambled), fried bread, fried tomatoes, sausages (a quick count revealed either they expected guests, or there were four each!) Bacon was being added to the immense pile while her mother put the final touches to lava bread cakes (edible seaweed from Swansea—her daddy’s favourite) in the frying pan with cockles, winkles, black puddings and hash browns.

  The microwave whirred in pride of place on the worktop, but not to make anything processed, just baked beans turning round and around in a Pyrex bowl. Carys, shocked, stood stock still in the doorway. Her mother actually cooking was a very rare sight indeed.

  “Carys, darling!” Diane greeted enthusiastically. “Be an angel and get the sauces from the fridge, please.”

  Carys did as she was bid. Her father entered the room, beaming. He obviously approved of the great breakfast banquet.

  “Is it school today?” Carys asked, confused with breakfast usually so rushed. How would they manage to eat all this in time?

  “Of course,” answered Geraint with a frown, explaining; “Your mother got up e
xtra early to make us this super breakfast, that’s all.” Chuckling, he added, “We shouldn’t need any lunch!”

  Why her mother had got up so early was conspicuously not discussed. Unnerved, the jovial good humour of both her parents was contagious, so Carys smiled and joined in, surprised to find she had a hearty appetite.

  Lava bread and cockles were favourites of hers, too; particularly because her schoolmates thought they sounded disgusting. She felt very grown up for liking what her parents described as ‘brain food.’

  All three ate voraciously, joking the while, in good party spirit. Carys decided it would probably be safe to talk about last night’s events. Diane was just getting up from her chair to replenish the sausage and bacon platter when Carys spoke.

  “Daddy?” she began.

  “What is it, angel?” he asked.

  “I saw the things again. When I was in bed with you and Mummy. They walked down the stairs. I wasn’t as scared because I was with you, but I know it wasn’t a dream,” she announced, quite matter of fact.

  The noise of the clattering pan as it hit the table, knocking Diane’s plate and the bowl of baked beans onto the floor, was deafening. Carys jumped back in her chair in fright. Geraint looked unnerved, too; his posture stiffening.

  Diane made no attempt to explain her behaviour, or to clear up the mess she’d made. Leaving the room abruptly, she stomped up the stairs. The bedroom door slammed, and she was gone, presumably back to bed.

  Geraint smiled woefully at his daughter and began clearing up the mess and remains of the breakfast banquet. He wrapped leftovers in foil and loaded the dishwasher.

  “Pop your clothes on, cariad. And brush your teeth,” he instructed her, and carried on with his cleaning.

  Before leaving, he galloped up the stairs, two at a time. Carys heard him calling goodbye to her mummy. Silence was the only reply. Geraint hurried back down the stairs and instructed Carys to follow him to the car.

  “We’re late, I’m afraid,” he apologised. Carys nodded her acceptance. The lump in her throat prevented her from commenting.

  Geraint ensured Carys was strapped into her car seat correctly before connecting his own seat belt and starting the engine. As the scenery flashed by, and their home became further and further away, they both began to relax a little.

  “What was wrong with Mummy?” Carys felt able to ask at last.

  Geraint considered his answer before replying. “You know your mother’s frightened of the aliens you talked about,” he began. He thought he discerned a nod from the back. “They’re not real, bach. It must just have been a dream; a nightmare. I think Mummy being afraid has put strange ideas into your little head.”

  Aware it sounded like a criticism, and not wanting to be disloyal, Geraint adjusted his remark. “She doesn’t mean to scare you,” he assured. “She isn’t well, that’s all.” He planned to finish there but decided to add, “It’s probably best if you don’t mention these nightmares in front of Mummy in future. Just tell Daddy.” Then he added with wide-eyed assertion “When we’re alone. Okay?” He spoke with a questioning intonation, but meant it as an order.

  Carys understood the true nature of the question, and even though she would never accept the alien creatures weren’t real, she agreed.

  They travelled the rest of the way in silence. The car stopped abruptly and Carys was kissed on the head by way of a goodbye.

  “Can you take me in?” she pleaded, “Because we’re late.” Geraint nodded and got out with a tut and a terse shake of his head. With an overly-firm grip on her small hand, he led her down the path to the school and explained at reception that they were late due to Carys’s mother being unwell. Carys waved half-heartedly, and he left her to her day.

  Watching until the very last moment the police car disappeared round the corner, she turned the corner to her classroom. Her teacher, Mrs Robbins, looked up briefly and allowed a small smile to form on her lips by way of a greeting, without interrupting her flow of teaching. Carys shuffled into her usual place, next to a boy called Max

  The classwork swam over her head, Mrs Robbins’ words floating away from her ears unabsorbed. The lateness made her naturally behind of course, but it was more than that. With every blink of her eyes, the looming faces of her night time intruders filled her thoughts. She knew it was only in her mind, but they were so real. Shaking her head to dispel the images, when they wouldn’t go, she began to cry.

  “Miss. Miss!” bellowed Max at the sight of Carys’s tears and the sound of her repressed sobs. “Carys Ellis is crying, Miss.”

  Mrs Robbins looked up and started at the distressed face of her pupil. “Whatever is the matter, Carys?” she invited with an undertone of annoyance. Carys was unable to speak. She didn’t want to say in front of the class.

  Recognising her need for privacy, Mrs Robbins walked over to her. Holding out her hand for Carys to take, she led her to the reading area. Not quite private, but rather like a hospital cubicle curtain, it gave a pseudo feeling of discretion, especially to a six year old.

  Secluded from her class, Carys let her emotions abound. As she sobbed and sobbed, Mrs Robbins’ concerns grew. “What is it, Carys dear? Is it something at home?” she instinctively inquired.

  At this, Carys wailed louder, filling Mrs Robbins with a determination to find out what was bothering this child. Her professionalism dictated it. Of secondary importance was providing comfort and solace for this poor wretch. And thirdly, she had to know what was disrupting her carefully planned lesson. She was a stickler for the national curriculum.

  Grasping Carys by her young shoulders, a reminder of her authority and trustworthiness, she peered through large spectacles into the black holes that were Carys’s eyes, wet with streaming tears.

  “Carys, listen to me,” she implored. “Whatever is upsetting you so, you must tell me about it. I have a duty to care for you, and I’m sure I’ll be able to help.” It was no empty promise. “Now,” she said, readying herself for whatever she was about to hear. “Tell me.”

  Carys described in detail, the entire night’s events. Mrs Robbins’ initial judgement was that it had been a nightmare. Night terrors were something of which she knew little, but this sounded like a probable example. She revised her theory when Carys described how her mother knew about the creatures and was afraid too.

  She’d learned of the unfortunate rumours of Diane’s poor mental health. Psychosomatic suggestion (again something she knew little about) joined simple night terrors as the likely truth. Despite her complete lack of actual expertise in mental health disorders, Mrs Robbins accredited herself with acute common sense. Quickly, she made a plan.

  With a brief hug to demonstrate her understanding, she proffered a few “Now, now’s” and “There, there’s,” before taking action.

  Concerned that her mother’s mental issues were obviously having such a detrimental and upsetting effect on her pupil, she conceived to propose a meeting, stat, with Carys’s parents, and the appropriate council social department. She was sure there must be a counselling service available for Mrs Ellis to relieve her burden to someone trained to deal with her type of problem, rather than her young daughter.

  The opportunity would arise sooner than she planned.

  She still had the job of comforting her pupil, hoping her authority as her teacher would play trumps. “Carys,” she opened, firmly. “The creatures you are scared of... aliens,” she said reluctantly. “They’re not real. Your daddy is right,” she assured. “It must have been a nightmare.”

  Carys looked up at her with wide eyes. Mrs Robbins continued. “Sometimes, we experience something called ‘night terrors’. Do you know what they are?” Carys shook her head.

  “They are nightmares where people think they are awake,” she explained. “Very upsetting, even for grownups. You must have been terrified. But please trust me that it was just a silly dream.”

  Carys felt better for having told this grown up. She didn’t quite believe her,
but wanted to so desperately, she allowed herself to be seduced by the notion.

  “How is your mummy at the moment?” Mrs Robbins probed. She’d received the message from reception about Diane being unwell, and she knew perfectly well what that meant.

  Carys told her how her daddy warned her that mummy wasn’t well, and to take no notice of anything frightening she might say. With Mrs Robbins’s look of complete comprehension, Carys knew that she and her daddy were probably right.

  “I think, perhaps, when Mummy isn’t very well, you might hear things you shouldn’t. Things that give you nightmares and these awful night terrors.”

  She placed a sympathetic hand on Carys’s head and stroked her hair. “Are you feeling a little better now?” she asked, already sure of the answer. Carys nodded and followed her teacher’s instruction to return to her seat.

  Before long the bell rang to indicate play time. Concerned that Carys might suffer mockery by the other children for her emotional outburst in the morning (especially due to the nature of their discussion).

  Mrs Robbins was well aware that Carys was not a popular child. She was always polite in class, always diligent with any out of school work. This, she supposed, along with her undoubted beauty, made the other children envious.

  They picked on her Welsh accent as a noticeable difference, and accused her of telling tales based on her father’s occupation. She supposed Carys might benefit from a playtime inside today. “Would you like to wipe the blackboard for me, Carys?” she asked, kindly.

  Carys nodded enthusiastically. She’d been dreading the usual teasing and name calling in her fragile state. She wiped the board clean, then helped Miss to get sheets of colourful paper from a box and place them on each pupil’s desk, ready for when they returned.

  At the end of break Carys was allowed to do the job all the girls and boys thrilled to do... ringing the hand bell to decry play time’s end. Taking the large, heavy brass bell in both hands, she walked outside the classroom via the back door (used as entrance and exit at playtime) and waved it vigorously up and down. The deafening ding, dong noise, as the clapper made contact with the cup again and again was immensely satisfying; and demonstrated her grown up responsibility.