“Maybe I will,” he replied, pleased at the surprised expression on Jim's face. “Way you tell it, these things play on fear. Well, I'm a grown-up, so no boogeyman's going to scare me.”
Jim's face now showed concern, and some irritation.
“It would be stupid to go alone,” he said, standing up. “I'll go with you.”
Marvin felt relieved, but Jim's offer prompted Brie to have a full-on panic attack. Jim had to sit back down and speak soothingly to her to stop her hyperventilating. As Brie would not come outside with them, the Englishman concluded that they had no choice but to stay with her.
“Nah, I'll go anyway,” Marvin said, trying to sound casual. “End of the driveway, right?”
“At least take a weapon of some kind,” Jim said, looking around the kitchen. “There must be something you could use.”
Marvin glanced around the stark kitchen, then picked up a small saucepan, hefted it. He felt slightly ridiculous, but it was a kind of metal club. He gave what he hoped was a jauntily ironic salute to the others and left. When he reached the hallway and saw the heap of foul remains where Jim had dropped them, he hesitated. The creatures were unearthly, disturbing. But the Interloper had nonetheless been killed in a fight with Jim.
A smack in the head with a cheap saucepan might just be enough, he reasoned. I'll show them who's the real man of action here. Cool, decisive. Gets the job done.
As he stepped outside and slammed the door behind him, Marvin was already visualizing his success. He would walk back into the kitchen, throw the dented pan into the sink, then casually remark that everyone's ride was ready.
With his free hand, he flicked on the flashlight, played the beam around the area just outside the house. There was nothing to see but gravel, weeds, mud. A gust of wind blew a spray of rain into his face
Nothing to be scared of, he thought. These Interlopers are just glorified vermin, when you think about it. Stand up to them and they'll run, or get their heads smashed in.
Marvin set off down the driveway. He began to whistle a jaunty tune, then thought better of it and stopped.
Chapter 7: Night Moves
“Who the hell is this?” demanded Jim, jumping up from the table.
“Good question,” Denny replied, as she and Gould helped George to a chair.
By now, the stranger had recovered some composure and was staring around him with obvious curiosity. He still seemed confused and afraid, though. George allowed himself to be seated, leaning forward so that the bizarre growth on his back did not touch the back of the chair.
“Jim, I think this is Lord George Blaisdell himself,” Gould began. “But before we talk about that, let's try and help him. Perhaps some water?”
Jim offered George a plastic bottle of spring water. The stranger stared at the container, took it gingerly, then poured a little of its contents onto his hand. Then George drank, sipping cautiously at first before greedily gulping down the entire bottle. Brie, who had been gazing in puzzlement at the newcomer, got up and offered him a candy bar. Again he seemed puzzled, and Brie had to show him how to unwrap it, and then mime taking a bite.
If he's never seen a Snickers, Denny thought, maybe he is from a bygone age.
“What about that parasite, or whatever it is?” she asked Gould. “Will it die eventually, in our world?”
Gould looked startled at her suggestion, then frowned.
“You know, that's a very sensible notion, based on what we know,” he said, drawing her aside and speaking in a low voice. “I'm impressed by how cool you are about all this. But if that strange organism is somehow part of his circulatory system, its death – for whatever reason – could harm him. Trying to remove it would be very risky, of course.”
Gould glanced over to where Jim and Brie were tentatively speaking to George, who was not making much sense.
“To be honest, I've no idea how to proceed. This seems to combine the paranormal with the medical in a grim way.”
“Guess doctors at a regular hospital would be as baffled as we are,” Denny mused. “But we can't just leave him here. We've got to take him to safety!”
Gould nodded.
“The foundation has its own medical division,” he said. “I'll call them in. It's time they sent help anyway. Things have gone much farther than I imagined.”
“That's quite the understatement,” murmured Denny.
While Gould stepped outside to use his phone, Denny brought the others up to speed on what had happened. Brie and Jim were both stunned to learn that Frankie had simply vanished. Denny, for her part, was amazed to learn that Marvin had gone alone to help the group.
“And Gould thinks this bloke is Blaisdell?” Jim said, staring at George, who was now sitting with a vacant expression, chin smeared with chocolate. “Really? We're talking about time travel?”
“Gould said something about a 'night under the hill',” Denny recalled. “Does that mean anything?”
“Fairies,” said Brie, surprising Denny. “In the old days they said a night under the hill with the Little People was a kind of time-twisting event. A man who went away with them would return, not having aged. But he'd find his family all dead and gone, his home in ruins, and himself a forgotten man. Time just flows differently there.”
Jim was shaking his head as Brie put her theory across.
“That thing we saw was nothing like Tinkerbell,” he pointed out. “If we're looking for fantasy creatures, the Interlopers are like demons. Or Morlocks.”
“No, I get that,” Brie said, becoming more animated. “But the Victorians prettified the way we see all our folklore! The term 'Fairie' once meant another world, a weird, scary place where our laws don't apply. It was only applied to cute little people with wings much later.”
“Some medieval scholars called them 'longaevi',” Gould put in. “It means 'the long-lived ones'. As Brie says, they were not originally seen as sweet-natured, but capricious and often destructive. Creatures to placate or avoid, for whom time works differently.”
Denny thought about the idea. If Gould and Brie were right, then over two centuries could pass in the human world, while much less than a human lifespan could pass in the Phantom Dimension. She tried to recall how old Blaisdell had been when he had vanished, but could only summon the vague idea that he had been middle-aged.
“George,” she said, leaning over the stranger, “can you tell me how old you are?”
The man gawped up at her, then gave a mirthless laugh.
“My dear young lady,” he said, again with a touch of aristocratic superiority, “I have not had occasion to celebrate my birthday for some time.”
Denny had to smile at that.
You may have been a reprobate, she thought, but you've got guts – they obviously didn't break you.
“You're thinking that Frankie has really only been over there for a few seconds?” Jim asked. “Weird notion. But if it's true–”
Denny nodded.
“It means she might not have moved far from the gateway on the other side. Or been moved. If someone went through, they could grab her back. They wouldn't be expecting that.”
Realization dawned on Jim's face. He shook his head emphatically.
“Oh, come on,” he protested, “you're not proposing that I actually go and look for her!”
Denny felt a surge of anger. Jim had fallen short of her expectations.
“No, I want to go,” she retorted. “But I need somebody with your background on my side. Think of it as rescuing a hostage from enemy territory,
Jim still looked doubtful.
“Okay, suppose you throw yourself through that – that hole in the air. How could you be sure you'll find your way back?”
“I could be secured with a tow rope,” said Denny. “You must have one in your car, or Gould's?”
“Well, yeah, there is one,” Jim began, clearly not convinced. “But it seems a bit crude as a way of exploration in another dimension.”
“Needs must
,” she replied. “Better a crude way than do nothing at all.”
Denny turned to George again.
“How did you escape?” she asked. “What did you do?”
George's eyes seemed to lose focus as he struggled to recall. His forehead corrugated in a frown.
“I – I can't remember clearly,” he said. “I was in their cursed burrow one minute, the next I was falling back into God's true creation.”
“Did they let you go?” Denny asked.
“Let him go?” put in Jim, incredulous. “Why would they?”
“No, no, she may be right!” exclaimed George. “I was a captive, then I was free. All else is a blur of pain and confusion. I simply remember the black globe, I knew it offered escape ...”
As George trailed off again, Jim stood up and stepped back from the table.
“That sounds fishy. Maybe he's not human, now,” he said. “Maybe they've changed him.”
Brie, alarmed, got up to cling to Jim, eyes wide with fear.
“No need to get paranoid, guys,” said Denny, moving closer to George and gripping the ragged shoulder of the man's coat. “Whatever they did to him, he's still a human being. One of us. We can't turn against each another. That's probably what they want. They seem to thrive on negative emotions in some way.”
Jim seemed set to argue, but was interrupted when Gould re-entered the kitchen from the old walled garden. He was damp from the rain, and looked frustrated.
“I can't get a signal,” he said. “Maybe one of you could–”
Then Gould paused, puzzled, and looked around the kitchen.
“Hang on – where's Matt?” he asked. “Didn't he come back here?”
“Maybe he met up with Marvin,” Jim suggested.
“Shouldn't they both be back by now?” Denny asked.
***
The keys were still in the Mercedes, though the engine had stopped. Feeling pleased with himself, Marvin got into the vehicle and slammed both front doors. He was quickly aware of the foul stench that had come from the corpse of the Interloper.
“Guess I can live with that,” he said, starting the engine, then twisting around to reverse up the driveway. But then he eased his foot off the gas and smiled to himself.
I could just drive into that city, whatever it's called, and get a bed for the night. Why take risks? I owe them nothing.
The thought tempted him for a couple of moments, but then he rejected it.
“I may be a selfish asshole,” he said firmly, “but I am not a monster.”
Besides, he thought, I can't abandon him–
Marvin suppressed the thought, squirming in discomfort. He revved the engine and then commenced reversing the big SUV, squinting into the darkness. He had to move very slowly, and toyed with the notion of turning around, but was not prepared to risk going off the track. He was concentrating so hard that the knock on a side window took him by surprise. In the gloom, peering through the rain-spattered glass, he could just make out Matt's leather jacket.
“Jesus Christ!” he shouted, stopping the car. “Matt, what the hell are you doing?”
“Sorry!” came the reply, as Matt lugged the door open and climbed inside.
“What's going on?” demanded Marvin. “I thought you were filming in the cellar?”
“That's finished,” the other man replied, staring out of the windshield. “Hey, I got an idea. Let's just go.”
Marvin stared for a moment, wondering if he really had heard Matt suggest they ditch the others. Matt's face, smiling brightly now, turned to face him.
“Yeah, I mean it, Marv. Just you and me, let's blow this joint. There are too many of those freak things around. I killed one just now, threw its corpse into the bushes. So, what do you say, big fella?”
Marvin felt a hand on his knee, and looked down to see slender, pale fingers kneading his plump thigh.
Oh God, no, this is too much.
“Matt,” he said, trying to sound composed. “This is hardly the time–”
“Aw come on, big guy,” said Matt, his tone playful. “We both know it. I could see how broken up you were when I was with Denny, that little surge of hope when we broke up.”
Matt's almost too-handsome face leaned closer in the dim light.
“I saw it all. I know just how you feel.”
Can't be happening, Marvin thought. But it is, oh God, I never believed–
“You never believed I could fall for a selfish old queen with a hairpiece and a big ol' belly like yours?” asked Matt, his tone more teasing now. “Oh ye of little faith.”
“What? Marvin exclaimed. “I don't understand. You said–”
He stopped, feeling a terrible chill run through him. He could see the collar of Matt's pale blue shirt, now, and it was stained with an irregular patch of black. The face that was looking into his was, he realized, a brilliant facsimile of Matt's. But it was a little too good-looking, devoid of any blemish or line. A kind of mask.
“Yeah,” said the Interloper, “actually Matt always thought you were a big joke. Guess the joke's on him now, though, huh? What's left of him.”
Oh, shit, shit, shit!
Marvin began to fumble at the fastening of his seat-belt. Matt’s hand suddenly gripped his flesh so hard that Marvin cried out in pain. The belt came free and he tried to open the driver's door, but the creature was fast and way too strong. It pinned him against his seat and straddled him. It gripped his face in long, inhumanly strong fingers.
“You don't want to run away with me after all!” wailed the Interloper. “Is that any way to treat a regular guy? Maybe I can change your mind.”
“Let me go!” Marvin screamed, all self-control gone. “I've done nothing wrong, I don't deserve this!”
“Oh, Marvin,” said the creature, shaking its head. “That's not how it works. You make us what we are. Don't you get that?”
It leaned closer, and he saw that what had been a well-defined mouth and chin had bulged out into a weird snout. The being nuzzled at this neck as he whimpered in terror.
“You make us what we are,” it repeated. “We are the captives of your wildest hopes, your darkest fears. And if you're kind of pretentious, so are we!”
“Leave me alone!” Marvin yelled, struggling in vain to free himself from the Interloper's grip.
“Can't do that,” replied the entity. “There's only two ways this can end. You get away and reveal a bit too much, or you don't. And as we've already got ourselves a fine, young specimen …”
Marvin felt sharp teeth bite into the side of his neck. A gush of warmth spread over his shoulder. With a tremendous effort, he shoved the creature away, and roared with pain as the Interloper tore away a chunk of his flesh while falling backwards. Marvin opened the car door and, clutching at his wound, fell out onto the driveway.
“Don't leave me, Marv! We've got a good thing going here!”
Even in his abject terror, Marvin still recognized lines from the fantasies he had rehearsed so often in his mind. The monster that was not Matt was, he dimly realized, picking ideas and phrases from his mind.
They're emotional vampires, he thought, staggering upright and starting to stumble towards Malpas Abbey. They feed on our emotions.
“Close, but no cigar!” the creature snarled, as it landed on his shoulders and bore him to the ground. “We don't feed on your feelings, we suffer from them. That's why we have to end you. All of you.”
Even if Marvin had had the presence of mind to ask what that meant, he was soon unable to say anything at all.
***
“Nobody's got a signal?” asked Gould.
Jim, Denny, and Brie all shook their heads. George looked on, clearly baffled as to why four people were staring forlornly at small, glowing rectangles.
“Could be the signal drops off at night,” Gould went on. “Maybe if we were nearer to the village.”
“What village?” Denny asked.
“You dozed off,” Brie explained. “We passed through on
e on the way.”
“Malpas Village is just a dozen houses and a church,” Jim explained. “I noticed a cell mast on the church tower. It's about half a mile away.”
“Okay,” said Brie, with a touch of her normal perkiness, “let's all go there! Go to the village, get help.”
“No!” Denny found herself standing between the others and the door, holding up a hand. “We don't leave anyone behind if we can help it. Jim, I need that rope.”
A predictable argument ensued, with Brie insisting on leaving and Jim tending to agree with her. Gould seemed undecided, almost furtive. But they all fell silent when George stood up and walked over to Denny.
“You are more courageous than the men here, lass,” he said. “Has manliness fallen out of favor in England? I see women wear breeches, now.”
Jim guffawed out loud, but Denny felt oddly moved.
“At least he gets it!” she shouted. “Are we going to try and help Frankie or just run away?”
“I'll help,” said Gould simply.
“We'll give it a go, and we'll all stick together,” added Jim. “Nobody goes off alone.”
***
In the village pub, two men drinking at a corner table received simultaneous text messages.
“Benson?” said the older man, looking at his phone.
The younger man nodded.
“Looks like Gould hasn't reported in on schedule.”
The two rose and, leaving their pints unfinished, went out into the rainy night. Behind them, a handful of locals watched them leave without staring, then began talking about the Abbey, and what might be going on there.
The two men got into an unmarked white van, then the older man took out his phone again. He held it midway between them before making the call.
“Control, what's up?”
“What is up,” came Benson's voice, “is that Gould has been out of touch for over two hours. You and Davenport get up there and reconnoiter. Do not intervene, merely check the lie of the land.”
“What if they're in trouble?” said Davenport.
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