by Gary Fry
As Barnes lowered his weapon, James put away the silver ball and then crept closer to the creature’s lair. He thought he might need the tiny spacecraft later, but for now he wanted to assess its solitary passenger. He wondered where the thing, once reawakened, would head next and with what purpose. Would it eat people as well as animals? How big would it grow? And was the awful entity the Barnes boy had seen from his bedroom window only a hint towards its most unspeakable form? James had found the boy’s description disturbing, struggling to imagine anything worse than that. But then, his mind paradoxically filled with thoughts of a Costa Rican university and accepting a short-term professorship there, James pushed back a wedge of variegated grass…
…and finally beheld the creature.
16
It was little more than a dark silhouette, nestled between rocks that formed a rough cradle. Tree roots covered its body, shielding most from sight and preventing moonlight from revealing its full glory. Nevertheless, James observed that it was about four feet long, its wings folded in and half-covering that multi-eyed face and its gaping mandibles. Its torso was a column of fatty rings, oozing clots of slime; a small puddle had collected around its ragged perimeter, like oil leaking from an aging truck. It had about ten lengthy limbs, five on each side; the large pincers ending each bore serrated edges and were tucked into its plump frame, which was all angular joints and armored skin. The creature was clearly sleeping, building up strength for another trawl; James understood this with intuitive certainty. He saw air passing in and out of its body, its torso expanding and then shrinking with a gentle rhythm, the way his aging beagle’s did while snoozing in front of an open fire.
Was it possible to hold this beast responsible for all it had done lately, any more than James had blamed Damian for chasing cats or barking for no sensible reason he could deduce? Such events were just nature going about its unforgiving business. Indeed, the entity’s arrival from another world instilled in James a curious confidence about the universe’s structure. He glanced up at the sky, seeing hundreds of twinkling stars, unmoved for millennia. Identical life-supporting mechanisms were at work elsewhere in the cosmos: oxygen for breathing; food chains for survival; bodies to convey consciousnesses, however primitive, from one part of any world to another. It was awe-inspiring. James was dealing with life here, the way the previous owner of his home had done, however well-meaning or otherwise his motivations for summoning this thing across space. And James knew that such matters required almost religious respect.
Which was why he was dismayed when, as he continued gazing at the creature with speechless reverence, his new neighbor took the opportunity to push him aside and hitch his loaded gun.
17
“Don’t shoot!” cried James, and wasted no time before diving the way of the thing nestled in dank-smelling mulch. He hit the ground with a sickening thump, causing pain to affect every bone. But even before he made contact, the creature stirred, cocking up its head and upsetting the fringe of tree roots hanging over it.
“Get away from it!” Barnes replied, some part of his weapon resounding with a click in the otherwise quiet night. Only a breeze fumbled at nearby foliage, as if furtive stalkers were out prowling and were about to attack. But both men knew just the two of them were here…as well as something else. That was when Barnes added in an uncertain voice, “It’s a…a fox. That’s all it is. Or maybe…a dog. Whatever it is…it’s obviously…gone…rabid.”
The suggestion was absurd. What fox or dog could take down a horse, let alone strip it to the bone? But James understood how confused his neighbor must be, his mind given over to shock and acting according to habit. Indeed, after landing on top of the creature and arching his body to avoid placing all his weight on it, James felt uncertain about his own motivations for intervening. Why had he decided to protect the thing? Had he begun feeling sympathy or even empathy for it? Whatever this implied, his action was almost certainly honorable, but he mustn’t let such affection lead him to danger. The creature was seriously threatening, as all James had recently witnessed could testify.
But it was too late to back off now. As soon as James landed on the ground, striking the beast on its rapidly expanding back, he realized the great peril in which he’d placed himself. The creature, fully awakened, was responding to instinctual imperatives, its body growing bigger to defend itself, the way James had guessed it would. One moment, James easily straddled the entity, and the next he was hitched off the ground by its widening frame. Then he was directly on top of it, clinging desperately to its multisectioned torso as it puffed up like some giant, inflatable edifice. Cool air struck his face, the slap of a disciplinarian father. There was a stench like choking old car engines mixed with burning plastic and bronchial breath. Seconds later, James was thrust yards above the ground and could hear Barnes way beneath him crying out, “Jesus…Christ…” Then James moved along with the thing, bouncing up and down on its swelling spine, a brave rider on the wildest steed in the valley.
James somehow kept his hands attached to deep ridges running along the creature’s back, each of which felt composed of an uneven mix of flesh and hide. After a sudden burst of speed that jerked his body from side to side with the force of whiplash, the beast was airborne, leaping from its inadequate shelter, barging powerfully into trees and making them snap, snap, snap with sounds of breaking bark. Great wings lashed out to each side, the draught blowing what little remained of James’s hair from his sweat-greased forehead. Slime hissed venomously, leaking from the thing’s skin, rendering James’s grip uncertain and making his face boil; this collected between his fingers, like a mad jelly. Then the creature, once a quarter of his size, was ten times as big and heading in a seemingly random direction, quickly away from its temporary hideout. To James, it felt like a dominant mother smothering a newborn child.
How much energy had a devoured horse and incomplete sleep offered it? Surely not enough to travel much farther. But as more branches cracked around James, like fragile kindle in the hands of an enraged lumberjack, he thought it unlikely his ride would end soon. Great pincers as wide as his body wavered in front of the thing, snatching at this new environment, trying to make sense of its nature; their jagged edges sliced through bushes and brambles with vicious ease. Then the beast’s great head, overburdened by countless pulsing eyes, reared up, its razor-filled mouth grunting and roaring, spitting out what passed for saliva in its native world. It appeared to be trying to communicate, its noise or even nascent words like a ripsaw burring, a petrol tank igniting, an earthquake roaring in some acoustically tender part of the world.
Then the whole of it jerked upwards, its body buckling as an age-old rock proved resistant to the thing’s faltering strength. The wings folded up, as if in agony, and the face twisted round with a hundred dilating peepers, each registering distress. Its sound diminished and became an uncertain boom, like a rocket failing to launch. That was when James, with no time to reflect on his awe or terror, was flung from the entity’s body, striking the earth nearby with a sickening thud that was surely dangerous for a man of his years. Before losing consciousness, he had an impression of something immense slumped beside him, huffing and panting, its giant body settling like an overworked steam engine reaching a railway station. The shadow it cast was nothing less than a rebuke from God, rendered tangible and impossible to dismiss. Then, with seconds acting like minutes, it fell incongruously silent, forlorn, bereft of fight. And that was all James knew.
Obeying his own compromised biology, he blacked out.
18
When he awoke, who knew how many hours later, there was no sign of that monstrous entity. Despite vivid recollections of its immense form, the feel of hard flesh under his hands, and the riotous progress through woodland, James was unable to spot the thing after prising open his eyes and gazing across the tilted world.
He was lying on his side, moist soil pressed against one cheek. He lifted his head, groaning as he detected aches all over his body. His brain spu
n, he felt weak and vulnerable, but he realized he had work to do. He glanced up and observed daylight pushing its pale yellow above a distant horizon, sending warm rays across the Yorkshire countryside. For a moment he felt peaceful, but then more memories invaded, dive-bombing his mind like mosquitoes. He looked around again, trying to relive his recent experiences, that terrible entity thundering through trees. James was now well away from the woodland, that much was certain, but just how far? If a significant amount of time had passed since the events he was just beginning to intuit had occurred, why hadn’t Barnes located him, bringing along the authorities?
But then, as the sky filled with light and the ground around him reawakened, James heard voices, mumbling at a distance. These were the sounds of men speaking as they crossed land, moving slowly closer. If James’s neighbor was shaken by all he’d witnessed and a search party had been arranged by his wife, James should be grateful. Their shared experiences might result in neighborliness, which was all James had wished for since moving into the area. What were living creatures without such qualities? The answer was straightforward: beasts roaming a planet with only physical demands to obey. It was the mind, humanity’s unique virtue, that distinguished people from animals, a psychological capacity to adapt.
As the voices and footsteps grew nearer still, James spotted the silver ball—that weird spacecraft in which the creature had arrived—only inches from his hands. This must have been jettisoned from his jacket pocket after he’d been flung from the back of its enlarged passenger. Reaching out, James struggled to stare at its distorted sides, at all the weird figures etched into its silver surface. The reflection of his face had again appeared unpleasant, shot through with nefarious secrets and bloated with capillaries. Feeling fretful, he grabbed hold of the ball, lifting it from wet, leafy earth. He brought it close to his face, examining its six-inch, solid mass. Seconds later, he looked back at the patch of soil from which he’d taken it…and then spotted the beast lurking less than a foot beyond this spot.
It was no bigger than James’s clenched hand. All the energy it had expended after fleeing the woodland had clearly rendered it powerless to uphold its larger size; it had shrunk with as much haste as it had grown, reverting to its smallest form. It would now require more sustenance, starting perhaps with insects, in the hope of gaining enough strength to become strong once more. Observing the thing, James realized how marvelously adaptive it was, like the evolutionary history of any Earthbound species compacted into a single entity. It belonged to a world with different selective processes, all of which permitted what was impossible here. James recalled people scoffing at his own early belief in his intellectual abilities, his determination to do well on such a socially restrictive planet. He’d come from a lowly background to his present location, just as the creature had traveled such a long distance, but one spatial rather than psychological, despite similar challenges and obstacles in the way. James felt profound kinship with the thing, as if they’d shared identical trajectories, the same arduous path to achievement. And now a wordless instinct informed James that the entity would want to return home, the way James had wanted to retreat to this countryside haven, which always put him in mind of rare periods of childhood joy.
Did the silver ball freeze its passenger, replicating some sort of cryogenic process? That was the closest approximation to the technologies on the beast’s planet James could imagine. He pictured scientists like himself, experimenting with time and matter. Having mastered what on Earth was considered impossible, they’d want to send a message to potential invaders elsewhere in the universe: Look at the things we have; treat us with respect or we’ll retaliate… But now James’s reason faltered. He was trying to make sense of an alien intelligence and the attempt was an abject failure. Hell, he’d struggled enough during his career with human psychology, and so what chance did he have with anything other than that? He should leave the issue alone and simply help the struggling creature back into its mysterious vessel.
“Come along, little fellow,” James said, holding out the silver ball covered in all those weird hieroglyphics. He was unable to see how the thing could achieve access but knew this would happen anyway. He had a curious yet inarguable feeling that this was a necessary part of its adventure here on Earth, before it moved on to Lord knew where next. Hearing more footsteps and voices approaching, James observed the shrunken creature through a veil of awed tears and could suddenly think of only one thing: accepting that visiting professorship in Costa Rica. For some reason, the thought felt highly relevant. Continuing to gaze at the floundering entity as it dragged itself towards the ball, he said, “There’s life in us both yet, my friend. Time for one more journey, at least.”
The beast, still hardly bigger than James’s outstretched hand, had now reached the receptacle’s body. Its innumerable eyes swiveled in tiny sockets; its elaborate, jewel-encrusted wings rustled with a whispery grace. That segmented body continued to exude a sticky-looking substance and its pincers ratcheted upon a bed of dead leaves. For the first time since becoming aware of its activities, James could fully see the thing…and it was truly wondrous. He tried to imagine what the elder Barnes son had observed from his bedroom window; James had earlier wondered why the boy hadn’t been frightened, merely describing the creature in a firm voice, even after it had torn to pieces his family’s horse. But James finally understood. Unlike his jaded father, who’d probably made his fortune on the stock market or some similarly pedestrian method, the boy had viewed it with a child’s eyes, an innocent quality James had tried to retain in himself. The universe was incredible, he knew all too well, and people should be willing to acknowledge more than their limited capacity for thought permitted.
Like a fish reentering a body of water from which it had been involuntarily jettisoned, the thing was absorbed by the silver ball, drawn inside it by whatever weird mechanisms still defied natural law in this brave new world. Then, as the approaching people grew near enough for James to make out unimportant words—“He can’t be much farther away… Do you really believe what that guy told us back there? …Living out here must send them all crazy…”—the ball began to hover, inches and then a foot and then yards above the ground. Only seconds later, cheating physics just as its passenger had overturned conventional biology, it bolted away, as if fired by some frightful cannon, directly up into a clear blue sky with just a few stars still twinkling on its fragile carapace, tiny hints of all the wonders beyond.
James sat up and refused to move as several policemen finally arrived. They tried helping him off the ground, with encouraging comments made in unnaturally loud voices. They must assume he was aged and worthy of respect.
Truly, they had no idea.
About the Author
Gary Fry, whom Ramsey Campbell has described as “a master,” lives in Dracula’s Whitby, literally around the corner from where Bram Stoker was staying when he was thinking about that legendary character. Gary has a PhD is psychology, but his first love is literature.
He is the author of many short story collections; several novellas, including Lurker, Emergence, Menace, and the forthcoming Savage; and the novels The House of Canted Steps, Conjure House, and Severed, all published by DarkFuse.
Gary warmly welcomes folk to his Web presence: www.gary-fry.com.
About the Publisher
DarkFuse is a leading independent publisher of modern fiction in the horror, suspense and thriller genres. As an independent company, it is focused on bringing to the masses the highest quality dark fiction, published as collectible limited hardcover, paperback and eBook editions.
To discover more titles published by DarkFuse, please visit its official site at www.darkfuse.com.
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