The HUM: The complete novel

by Michael Christopher Carter

  Shocked the scream ringing in her ears was hers, Carys clamped her hand to her mouth.

  The shriek turned to sobs as salty tears streamed down her face. Just as every time before, no-one came to her aid. From the creature’s gesticulations, she understood: it wanted her baby. Flinching back, she scuttled up the bed as it shouted at her in a polyphonic growl.

  She knew she had no choice but to do as it wished. There was menace in each movement. Frantic to wriggle free from its willowy fingers as they advanced toward her belly, her eyes bulged in terror as movement was impossible. Paralysed, the creature was unhampered to perform its hideous examination of her bump.

  In a supreme attempt to scream, she shifted her parched tongue an inch, pressing what little moisture remained in her mouth dribbling down her chin. Even blinking appeared impossible, forcing her to endure an unwavering stare at her foe.

  She so wanted to scream; wanted to punch it in its bug-eyed face; make it stop and leave her and her baby alone, lying immobilised, abused by the alien beast. A voice she’d never heard before cackled in the hush.

  “That there’s an eebomeenashon,” the voice slurred in what Carys recognised as being bizarrely, Pennsylvania English.

  Unable to see who spoke, from the corner of her eye a man came into view. Beneath a wide-rimmed black hat, he wore a white shirt and black waistcoat supplemented by an unattractive beard combined with wide sideburns, peculiar without an accompanying moustache. He was pointing at her tummy, unconcerned with the alien.

  “That there insida youu is a eebomeenashon. You should get ridda eet,” he drawled. As she looked away from the Amish stranger, the alien released her from her paralysis, stood straight, and walked out of her bedroom door. Free from her restriction, she finally screamed. The Amish man’s hand shot over her mouth and he looked into her eyes.

  “Hush now! You don’t wanna be worrying your folks any,” he grimaced. Carys nodded her compliance, and he released his hand from her face. Following the alien’s path, he paused as he opened her bedroom door, and turned once more to speak. “You get ridda that thing, you hear?”

  Mercifully, he didn’t wait for her answer. And Carys was pretty sure he couldn’t have been real. She rolled over into the foetal position and rocked back and forth until eventually, not long before dawn, she dropped into a fitful sleep.

  The next day didn’t get off to a good start as she’d forgotten to set her alarm (or slept through it through sheer exhaustion.)

  She hated being late for college lectures. It was hard to catch up, and that made Professor Simpson less than pleased with her.

  Disappointed to have missed the praise she’d learned to rely on, Carys was surprised when at the end of the lecture he asked her to stay behind. He was full of smiles so she knew she wasn’t in trouble. Saying his goodbyes to the rest of the class as they departed, when he was sure the last of them had left: hearing the flapping closed of the double doors and fading chatter of the class along the corridor, he peered at Carys over his spectacles. His eyes twinkled from his lofty height, lessened by his posture leaning against his desk.

  He slumped his shoulders in a pseudo-defeated manner before speaking. “What’s the matter, Carys?” he asked. “You don’t seem yourself at all today.” Carys shifting from foot to foot betrayed her internal struggle. “Trouble at home?”

  Problems in the home were the usual cause of teenage angst, and speaking out often compromised their loyalties. His next presumption would have been boy trouble, but he had no need to guess. Carys was perfectly forthcoming.

  “I think I’ve been seeing things: people. Well I definitely have seen them, but I don’t think they’re real.”

  Professor Simpson gasped. It wasn’t what he’d expected. Broadening his smile for a moment, his lips pursed and he rubbed his chin in thought “When have you seen these people?” he inquired eventually.

  “Well one of them isn’t people, really. It’s an alien. And the other one’s an Amish bearded man in a hat. Oh, and there were thousands of spiders, everywhere; all over the floor and dropping from the wardrobe.” The thoughtful look persisted on Professor Simpson’s kind face.

  “So, you’re happy to admit these people, and the spiders were not actually there, but you saw them as though they were?” he nodded slowly, confirming his point. “You had a bad night by the sounds of it. No wonder you look so tired.”

  Carys nodded distractedly as she considered how she did feel. “I think they weren’t real. Well, I know the spiders weren’t real because they disappeared when they reached me.” She paused, feeling embarrassed before continuing. “I don’t know about the alien… it seemed true, and I could feel it touching me.”

  Professor Simpson smiled in amusement. “What about the Amish gentleman?” Carys shrugged. He chuckled. “So you’re happy that the spiders, and Amish man aren’t real, but you’re not so sure regarding the alien?” he asked rhetorically.

  “Given that we know Amish actually exist, it could be argued that it’s far more likely the man was real, and not the alien? And as an Amish gentleman from Pennsylvania in your room, in Wales, in the middle of the night is extremely unlikely, it’s probably fair to presume that neither were true.”

  “Not very scientific!” Carys argued. “What if the alien was real and tricked my mind with the other hallucinations to throw me off the scent?!”

  “I love how your mind works, Carys. You are, of course, absolutely correct. I’m a Psychologist, not an expert in Extra-Terrestrial biology! We cannot discount any theories without proof, can we?” He smiled understandingly at her.

  “I think, given our lack of knowledge in such areas; the world as a whole’s lack of knowledge, we should treat them as hallucinations.” He nodded in earnest agreement with his own evaluation. “In your condition, it’s not all that surprising. But it would probably be a good idea to seek medical advice. You don’t want them to get any worse. You might find you’re prone to post natal depression. Go and see your GP,” he advised.

  Carys agreed. Perhaps more concerned than he was showing, Professor Simpson offered Carys use of the phone in the classroom. He looked up the phone number for the Narberth Surgery, and detecting Carys’s reluctance, he even phoned for her.

  Whether it was his status as a Professor, or whether they were just having a quiet day, the surgery surprised Carys by offering an appointment for that day. It fitted in with when the bus arrived back in Narberth, so she agreed to go.

  She didn’t expect to feel nervous, but found on the bus journey she was becoming more and more so. The bus stopped opposite Meddygfa Rhiannon, the Narberth Health Centre. The heaving waiting room convinced Carys of Professor Simpson’s clout.

  “Dan ei Sang,” she sighed, emulating her dad in any crowd. It was an idiom she didn’t even understand. Leaning against a wall in the absence of an available seat, she locked her legs for a long wait.

  The receptionist who checked her in told her she’d be seen by Doctor Ferrero. The wall plaque declared her to be very well qualified; in fact, judging by the amount of letters after her name, the most qualified in the building. She didn’t know what the letters meant, but was pleased she had so many of them.

  Of course, there was a lot more to being a good doctor than qualifications. Carys’s sensitivity required an impeccable bedside manner; and when the stern face of Dr Ferrero appeared from behind her door and she bustled to reception, Carys wasn’t convinced she had it. The receptionist jumped to attention as though in the company of a severe sergeant-major.

  Carys’s mind whirred. Should she ask to see someone else? Maybe she should leave and go home? She shifted from the wall and stepped towards the door. She’d rather take her chances with weird Amish men and aliens than the terrifying Dr Ferrero. But before she made it past the doctor’s door, it flew open.

  “Carys Ellis?” Dr Ferrero inquired, and when Carys looked into her eyes, she was relieved to detect an undeniable kindness. Carys smiled back. As they stepped into the roo
m together, Carys towered over her diminutive frame. Recalling the receptionist’s nerves brought a smile to her lips.

  “What can I do for you today?” Doctor Ferrero asked when they were both seated. Carys fumbled with the hem of her top. “Take your time”, she reassured.

  After a bout of nervous coughing, she decided to tell all.

  “I’m eleven weeks pregnant with a history of mental illness. My mother is bipolar, and last night I was awoken with what I suppose must have been hallucinations, but seemed completely real at the time.”

  The doctor sat in attentive silence as she listened to Carys’s tale of spiders, Amish and aliens. Pausing for a moment, she tapped her pursed lips with her extended index finger before speaking.

  “It sounds as though you’ve had two types of hallucination. It’s quite common for people to have them as they drop off to sleep. Spiders, in actual fact are not uncommon. It’s called ‘hypnagogic’ hallucination.” The technical words were both reassuring and interesting to a student of psychology.

  “The second type, known as ‘hypnopompic’, happen when you are just waking. They’re not uncommon either.” The doctor sat up in her chair, obviously enjoying airing her knowledge. “Your body is going through a lot. You’re more fatigued than you realise. People who are particularly tired or stressed are prone to this type of thing. You probably shouldn’t be all that concerned.” Carys looked up at the ‘all that’. Doctor Ferrero explained.

  “There’s a slight risk it could be an indicator to a more serious mental health condition such as your mother’s bipolar. I’ll make a referral to the psychiatric department for further assessment.”

  Dr Ferrero’s reassurance had calmed her, but Carys knew she hadn’t told the doctor everything. If she were to find peace, it was vital she disclosed her darkest fear. “I am not convinced the baby I’m carrying is human.”

  Doctor Ferrero flinched and struggled to maintain her composure. Carys imagined her scribbling on her doctor pad when she left: “CRAZY!”

  Smiling sympathetically, she reiterated her diagnosis. She added if Carys became more worried that she should phone the surgery any time of the day or night for immediate assessment.

  So, until someone told her different, she was perfectly normal. Memories of the hideous creature touching her sent a shudder down her spine. Dr Ferrero might be convinced, but Carys wasn’t. The alien was real, she felt certain of it. She almost hoped she was crazy. At the moment, that might be her only hope.

  As she walked slowly home, the doctor’s scepticism offered a perverse comfort. If she could be told clearly that she believed her baby to be extra-terrestrial, and not consider it for a second, she realised with a smile that no medical professional would. Even if they did, they’d never risk their reputation by saying, would they?

  Whatever measurements and scans the obstetrics department took, her baby was safe. No-one would suspect the truth.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Moving things forward

  The twelve week scan went by without a hitch, and Diane had loved every minute. A due date of the twenty second of April 2002 was estimated, and her twenty-week scan booked. Carys received the news blankly. It would be a worry, but she aimed to put it out of her mind until then.

  No more strange visits in the middle of the night had bothered her in the intervening weeks. She didn’t like to tempt fate by thinking about it, but allowing herself a smile, she was blooming.

  A-level studies saw her on top form again, and things were plodding along nicely with Marco. His company was easy. He never judged her. Gazing at him during church one Sunday as he played his guitar and sang, she realised she was actually quite smitten.

  Holding the latest letter in her hand, she felt a dilemma. It was from the Psychiatric department, offering her an appointment to attend a clinic at the health centre next week. She was fine now. Was it worth even bothering with? In anticipation of what she might have to endure after birth, she grudgingly decided to go.

  When the day of her appointment arrived, she arranged a taxi and arrived prompt. A scruffy looking gentleman and a very short, slightly obese lady were already sat in the windowless upstairs waiting room. As they sat in their seats rocking back and forth, the lady occasionally hitting herself in the face with the palm of her hand and shouting “Go Away!” Carys began to wonder what she was letting herself in for.

  Sitting as far from the others as possible, her mood brightened when Doctor Rimmer entered the waiting room. Partly because she looked pleasant, and partly due to her taking with her the lady (whose face hitting had turned to punching, in-between opening up a gruesome scab on her wrist.)

  Left with the silent, rocking man for a good half an hour had the effect of making Carys feel unquestionably sane.

  She was sane, wasn’t she?

  The lady came out, red-faced, and the man replaced her in the doctor’s care. She was next.

  After only a few minutes, the man emerged clutching a piece of paper.

  “Carys Ellis?” The gentle Doctor Rimmer inquired. As Carys nodded, she invited her to follow her through double doors into a corridor. It was uncomfortable following the stranger. She didn’t know if she should start a conversation.

  Before she’d opened her mouth to speak, they’d arrived at a small room containing a few chairs and a desk shoved against the wall. As they sat down in the cramped office, Doctor Rimmer introduced herself as the registrar to the consultant Psychiatrist, and they began.

  Having listened to Carys’s problems, her diagnosis concurred with Doctor Ferrero’s. And like her, she baulked at the idea of Carys’s baby being ‘not of this earth’ dealing with it in the same way: by ignoring it

  “Everything you’ve described is completely normal,” she said, discounting the alien baby theory as though it hadn’t been mentioned. “We don’t like to give out medication unnecessarily. If you have further concerns then please phone my secretary at Bro Cerwyn and ask for another appointment.”

  Carys didn’t disagree. She didn’t want to take medication and hadn’t been bothered for weeks anyway. Happy to be declared sane by a professional who should know, Carys left and made her way back home.

  Sunday morning came round again and time for Narberth Christian Fellowship’s primary worship. Marco had asked her virtually every day that week if she was definitely coming to church on Sunday. She had become suspicious and he had stopped asking. She’d been every week since moving to Wales. Why he was so anxious about this week in particular, she could only wonder.

  The cold November morning provoked a premature festive feeling in Carys, who was already looking forward to her first Christmas in Wales. She’d easily forget her worries with the distraction. Especially as she now was in the bosom of friends from Narberth Christian Fellowship.

  She was still daydreaming about Christmas trees and nativity scenes when Geraint pulled the car into the town car-park. They walked as a family to the Town Hall, and took their places near the front in their usual seats.

  It was unusual for them to make it to their seats without interception by well-wishers, but today they’d been left alone. Not that anyone was unfriendly. No, there were big beaming smiles and stifled words from every face they saw. Something, Carys was sure, was definitely afoot.

  The band began tuning up. Marco jumped onto the stage to join them. He was wearing smarter clothes than his normal casual attire. Maybe there was a special guest expected today? The band played. Marco seemed oblivious to Carys’s presence; strange since he’d gone on and on about her coming.

  Fluffing a couple of notes on the guitar really threw him where normally he’d laugh it off. After his struggle to lead the congregation in Hymn, he sat down for his dad to take the sermon: a lovely message of love and family. Carys felt unusually lifted and sang along with unprecedented verve.

  When the preaching paused, and the band came back on stage to accompany a few more Hymns, Carys waited for them to restart playing, but instead, Marco shuf
fled to the front of the stage with his microphone.

  He looked at her for the first time that day; nervously, but with a glint in his eye she liked. When he spoke, she was stunned to silence

  “Carys. Would you please join me on stage?” She was very shy. The unwavering attention sickened her and she stood motionless. A tug at her sleeve, and an encouraging ‘go on,’ from her mum was enough to surge her on. Marco took her hand and helped her onto the stage.

  No sooner had he done so than he was down on one knee in front of her.

  “Carys Ellis,” he said into the microphone he already held. “I knew I wanted to be with you from the first time I saw your photograph. Since I’ve met you and had the pleasure of getting to know you, I have fallen deeply in love with you.”

  Carys couldn’t quite believe what, now she looked back, the whole day, the whole week even, had been pointing to. She flushed red with embarrassment and delight.

  “I want to look after you. I want to be a father to the little gift from God growing inside you. Carys… Will you make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?”

  She knew straight away, she wanted to say yes. It wasn’t love, but safety he offered. He’d be a good provider. She certainly enjoyed his company. And the clincher was his joy at being a father. Surely, she could learn to love a man like that?

  Aware she had taken a long time to answer, she flexed the biggest smile onto her face and gazed into his eyes.

  “Yes. Yes I will marry you.”

  He beamed back at her. “Sorry. Would you please say that again,” he asked, head tilted coyly, microphone extended to her lips. “Yes!” she cried, amplified now by the sound system. The “I will marry you,” she also repeated, lost in the cheers of jubilation and joy from the congregation. Carys suspected they’d been in on it from the start.

  The rest of the day went by in a whirl of congratulations and well wishing. Carys couldn’t remember ever having been happier. Something, intuition? Just her usual negativity? She didn’t know, but something burnt away at her contentment as surely as a flame on a rope.