and creak. The bulge inches this way and that, searching for a weak spot. Blocking it out, Little Renfield stares ahead until eventually the shape moves under the bed and falls silent.
Something is emerging from beneath the sheets: a child's hand and forearm. Terrified, Little Renfield jumps up, toppling his chair, and runs towards the intruder, shouting and kicking wildly. Before he can make contact the hand pulls back and vanishes. Slowing backing away, Renfield retrieves his chair and sits down again, fidgeting with the material of his nightgown.
Another hand is reaching out from closer to the head of the bed. It is joined by a third, then a forth. Soon there are more than twenty slender hands extending slowly into the room. Little Renfield grabs the bottle-cap chair and launches it at them. Acting as one, they retract and disappear.
More scratching and scuffling and the bulge below the floorboards rolls out from under the bed then back up outside the window shutter. Over the sound of the wind come three distinct raps: knock, knock, knock.
Little Renfield has been taunted enough. In one swift and decisive movement he paces bravely to the shutter and flings it open, revealing nothing but the dark blue of the night sky. Relieved, he bends down and rests his hands on his knees.
All at once the model begins to shake. Dozens of children are scaling the outside walls. They wear dirty long-johns and have wild hair and long fingernails and sharp teeth. Over the top they clamber, into the room, joining streams of other children from through the window and beneath the bed, hundreds of them. Little Renfield cowers, uselessly putting up a defence as they rush ceaselessly toward him. They claw and bite at his shivering body, his arms, his chest, his neck.
Unnoticed in the corner, the spider box flips open, as if the lid has been yanked by an invisible thread. From within a huge, hairy, searching limb appears: the leg of a spider, large from my perspective but immense within the confines of the model. Improbably the creature manages to squeeze its swollen abdomen through the gap and crawls towards the ever growing pile of children, its legs tapping and twitching. Little Renfield is buried, his screams no longer audible.
A flare of brilliant white blinds me before I am once again plunged into a void...
… Much, much later a single pin point of light appears, unique in the expanse. In time, a second light appears, orange tinged and wavering. It is warm and friendly, a presence reassuring enough to quell my fears. I try to lift my hand to my face but I cannot find it. No hand. No face. No body at all. Only two lights and nothingness.
Gradually – so, so gradually – I become aware that the expanse is not empty at all but filled by a vast and multicoloured array of stars. Constellations of every imaginable shape and size begin to reveal themselves. A whole universe around and within me. All of creation, all time, all of a piece.
One of the stars is significantly brighter than the others, like a marker or a waypoint. If I concentrate I can see it is becoming brighter still, slowly gathering strength... No, not gathering strength, but drawing closer.
If it is coming to meet me it has a long way to travel. Its progress is so slight it is barely discernible. More than a millennium passes before it has even doubled in size. I am content to wait. Having no body I cannot grow old, or fall ill, or die. In every direction stars are born and are extinguished, while solar systems swell and disperse: as if the universe is breathing.
Countless lifetimes go by. I begin to make out a shape in the approaching star. The object is not circular as I had thought, but humanoid. By the time it has completed a quarter of its journey I can see it is a naked woman, silvery skinned with straight black hair hanging over her shoulders. Halfway closer still and I see she is opening and closing her mouth, as if she is singing, although she is too far
Something is emerging from beneath the sheets: a child's hand and forearm. Terrified, Little Renfield jumps up, toppling his chair, and runs towards the intruder, shouting and kicking wildly. Before he can make contact the hand pulls back and vanishes. Slowing backing away, Renfield retrieves his chair and sits down again, fidgeting with the material of his nightgown.
Another hand is reaching out from closer to the head of the bed. It is joined by a third, then a forth. Soon there are more than twenty slender hands extending slowly into the room. Little Renfield grabs the bottle-cap chair and launches it at them. Acting as one, they retract and disappear.
More scratching and scuffling and the bulge below the floorboards rolls out from under the bed then back up outside the window shutter. Over the sound of the wind come three distinct raps: knock, knock, knock.
Little Renfield has been taunted enough. In one swift and decisive movement he paces bravely to the shutter and flings it open, revealing nothing but the dark blue of the night sky. Relieved, he bends down and rests his hands on his knees.
All at once the model begins to shake. Dozens of children are scaling the outside walls. They wear dirty long-johns and have wild hair and long fingernails and sharp teeth. Over the top they clamber, into the room, joining streams of other children from through the window and beneath the bed, hundreds of them. Little Renfield cowers, uselessly putting up a defence as they rush ceaselessly toward him. They claw and bite at his shivering body, his arms, his chest, his neck.
Unnoticed in the corner, the spider box flips open, as if the lid has been yanked by an invisible thread. From within a huge, hairy, searching limb appears: the leg of a spider, large from my perspective but immense within the confines of the model. Improbably the creature manages to squeeze its swollen abdomen through the gap and crawls towards the ever growing pile of children, its legs tapping and twitching. Little Renfield is buried, his screams no longer audible.
A flare of brilliant white blinds me before I am once again plunged into a void...
… Much, much later a single pin point of light appears, unique in the expanse. In time, a second light appears, orange tinged and wavering. It is warm and friendly, a presence reassuring enough to quell my fears. I try to lift my hand to my face but I cannot find it. No hand. No face. No body at all. Only two lights and nothingness.
Gradually – so, so gradually – I become aware that the expanse is not empty at all but filled by a vast and multicoloured array of stars. Constellations of every imaginable shape and size begin to reveal themselves. A whole universe around and within me. All of creation, all time, all of a piece.
One of the stars is significantly brighter than the others, like a marker or a waypoint. If I concentrate I can see it is becoming brighter still, slowly gathering strength... No, not gathering strength, but drawing closer.
If it is coming to meet me it has a long way to travel. Its progress is so slight it is barely discernible. More than a millennium passes before it has even doubled in size. I am content to wait. Having no body I cannot grow old, or fall ill, or die. In every direction stars are born and are extinguished, while solar systems swell and disperse: as if the universe is breathing.
Countless lifetimes go by. I begin to make out a shape in the approaching star. The object is not circular as I had thought, but humanoid. By the time it has completed a quarter of its journey I can see it is a naked woman, silvery skinned with straight black hair hanging over her shoulders. Halfway closer still and I see she is opening and closing her mouth, as if she is singing, although she is too far
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