"It's
gonna hurt us? "
"Come on." Alan took his
hand and led him to the front door, where the boy balked.
"I don't want to go out
there! That thing is out there!"
"That's exactly why we have
to leave, Todd." An afterimage of its arms crawled through Alan's memory,
squirming like a nest of worms. He didn't want to see it again. He didn't want
to think about what it was, or what it meant.
It did it. It made everyone
disappear. Somehow it did it and now it's setting up shop, taking over. That
was crazy, it had to be crazy, but what else could it be?
The world had turned into all those
nasty religious stories rolled into one: judgment and rapture and hell. You
worried about telling him about hell? Alan's father sneered. He already
knows, Alan. It's right outside.
Alan opened the front door. Todd
kept fighting him.
" No! " he screamed.
" I don't want to! "
Alan flinched, then leaned into
his son's face, hissing. "You want that thing to hear us? Are you trying
to get us killed?"
Todd started sobbing.
"Come on!"
The boy yanked free of Alan's grip
and spilled to the floor, scrabbling to get away. The lantern clattered and
rolled. Alan wanted to scream.
From the open door behind him, he
caught a glimpse of flickering blue.
35
He whirled. In the lantern light
he saw their front walk and the side of the garage; he could just make out the
edge of the lawn. Nothing there, he thought, but he didn't believe it
for a second.
Todd was still crying, nearly
hysterical, but he'd noticed Alan's sudden jump. "What?" The word
leaked out between hitching breaths. " Did you see it again? "
Alan picked up the lantern, his
fingers pinching the power knob. He didn't want to turn it off, but he had to
know.
"Daddy?" Todd was
regressing, his terror making him talk like a baby.
"It's okay." Alan's own
panic suddenly went cold. "Don't freak out, okay? I'm right here." If
that matters for anything. He flipped off the lantern, and they plunged
into darkness.
There were three of them outside.
Even this close, he couldn't make
out a definite outline, but they gave him a vaguely humanoid impression: legs,
a torso, possibly a head. Where there might have been a mass of writhing arms
before (or two arms, moving impossibly quickly), there was nothing now. If
they'd been people, they would've been victims of some congenital defect, born
without arms.
But they weren't people. The blurs
were too tall, too thin: their legs were too long for their frames or,
depending on the moment, too short. They might have been looking at Alan, or
they might have been facing the other way. It was impossible to tell because
they had no eyes . And he could see through them. In fact, he didn't feel
like he was looking at them at all. He was looking at his front yard at
midnight. There just happened to be a slight lessening of the darkness in three
places. Trying to focus on them, to make out their features, was like trying to
sculpt a handful of water.
Todd gave a long, low moan: a
horrifying sound that reflected the noise in Alan's head perfectly.
"Leave us alone," Alan
said.
No response. They were inscrutable
sphinxes, the tops of their heads nearly level with the garage roof.
"We didn't do anything to
you. Can't you just leave us alone?"
Todd went silent, listening.
"Did you—" Alan
hesitated. The question was pointless, but he had to ask it. "Did you make
everyone disappear?"
While he waited, stupidly, for
some kind of answer, Todd threw a shoe at one of them.
The blur didn't waver, or ripple
like a lake surface. It didn't do anything. The shoe sailed through it without
slowing and hit the walk with a dull scrape.
Then all three of the things turned
sideways—Alan didn't know how else to think of it—and vanished.
36
"Turn on the light,"
Todd begged. When Alan didn't respond, he used his best polite voice, the words
quivering. "Would you please turn on the light?"
But Alan was still searching the night,
trying to be sure they were really gone. He
gonna hurt us? "
"Come on." Alan took his
hand and led him to the front door, where the boy balked.
"I don't want to go out
there! That thing is out there!"
"That's exactly why we have
to leave, Todd." An afterimage of its arms crawled through Alan's memory,
squirming like a nest of worms. He didn't want to see it again. He didn't want
to think about what it was, or what it meant.
It did it. It made everyone
disappear. Somehow it did it and now it's setting up shop, taking over. That
was crazy, it had to be crazy, but what else could it be?
The world had turned into all those
nasty religious stories rolled into one: judgment and rapture and hell. You
worried about telling him about hell? Alan's father sneered. He already
knows, Alan. It's right outside.
Alan opened the front door. Todd
kept fighting him.
" No! " he screamed.
" I don't want to! "
Alan flinched, then leaned into
his son's face, hissing. "You want that thing to hear us? Are you trying
to get us killed?"
Todd started sobbing.
"Come on!"
The boy yanked free of Alan's grip
and spilled to the floor, scrabbling to get away. The lantern clattered and
rolled. Alan wanted to scream.
From the open door behind him, he
caught a glimpse of flickering blue.
35
He whirled. In the lantern light
he saw their front walk and the side of the garage; he could just make out the
edge of the lawn. Nothing there, he thought, but he didn't believe it
for a second.
Todd was still crying, nearly
hysterical, but he'd noticed Alan's sudden jump. "What?" The word
leaked out between hitching breaths. " Did you see it again? "
Alan picked up the lantern, his
fingers pinching the power knob. He didn't want to turn it off, but he had to
know.
"Daddy?" Todd was
regressing, his terror making him talk like a baby.
"It's okay." Alan's own
panic suddenly went cold. "Don't freak out, okay? I'm right here." If
that matters for anything. He flipped off the lantern, and they plunged
into darkness.
There were three of them outside.
Even this close, he couldn't make
out a definite outline, but they gave him a vaguely humanoid impression: legs,
a torso, possibly a head. Where there might have been a mass of writhing arms
before (or two arms, moving impossibly quickly), there was nothing now. If
they'd been people, they would've been victims of some congenital defect, born
without arms.
But they weren't people. The blurs
were too tall, too thin: their legs were too long for their frames or,
depending on the moment, too short. They might have been looking at Alan, or
they might have been facing the other way. It was impossible to tell because
they had no eyes . And he could see through them. In fact, he didn't feel
like he was looking at them at all. He was looking at his front yard at
midnight. There just happened to be a slight lessening of the darkness in three
places. Trying to focus on them, to make out their features, was like trying to
sculpt a handful of water.
Todd gave a long, low moan: a
horrifying sound that reflected the noise in Alan's head perfectly.
"Leave us alone," Alan
said.
No response. They were inscrutable
sphinxes, the tops of their heads nearly level with the garage roof.
"We didn't do anything to
you. Can't you just leave us alone?"
Todd went silent, listening.
"Did you—" Alan
hesitated. The question was pointless, but he had to ask it. "Did you make
everyone disappear?"
While he waited, stupidly, for
some kind of answer, Todd threw a shoe at one of them.
The blur didn't waver, or ripple
like a lake surface. It didn't do anything. The shoe sailed through it without
slowing and hit the walk with a dull scrape.
Then all three of the things turned
sideways—Alan didn't know how else to think of it—and vanished.
36
"Turn on the light,"
Todd begged. When Alan didn't respond, he used his best polite voice, the words
quivering. "Would you please turn on the light?"
But Alan was still searching the night,
trying to be sure they were really gone. He
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