Collected Stories (2 page)

He who drains the wine jug to its bitter dregs sees strange visions, at least so it is said, but speaking for myself, although I've seen the world through many an empty bottle, I've yet to meet a pink elephant, but of course I'm still comparatively young, and all things come to him that waits. But I knew, and don't ask me how or why, that what stood behind the young man did not come out of a bottle, but it wasn't the kind of thing you usually met in a bar either. I'll tell you something else, I was pretty certain that I was the only person who saw it, because no one else paid it the least attention and they would have if. . . . Let me describe the Thing, because that is what it was - a Thing. Imagine something that has the shape of a man; a tall man at least six foot two, dressed in a long black robe that encased the entire figure from neck to feet, only the feet weren't too substantial, I could not be sure they were actually there; then imagine a dead white face; a face made of white wax, then give the face a pair of black gleaming eyes; eyes filled with a terrible hunger, that a thousand years of sated lusts will not satisfy, then crown the face with a mop of coarse hair and watch a pair of thin lips as they mouth silent obscenities, or whisper unfulfilled longings into the victim's ear, and you have a fiend that is begging someone to share its hell.

'What's the matter, honey,' the girl spoke and her pale beauty seemed to bear a faint resemblance to that dreadful face, 'you look as though you've seen a ghost.'

'The man at the bar,' my voice betrayed nothing and I marvelled that this was so, 'do you see anything unusual about him; the young one - there?' I pointed, and she turned with little interest for I suppose I was already beginning to bore her and a more promising client would soon draw her away. Then her face flushed for a moment, then turned paler than before, her eyes glazed with sudden fear, and one hand tightened its grip about the wine glass so that I found myself watching the whitened knuckles.

'It's Rodney!' she gasped the name in a strangled voice and for an instant her beauty was wiped away, so that I saw her as she would be when time had done its work; had taken the sheen from the pale skin and wrecked the firm muscles with cruel fingers. Then she jerked her head round and I looked at a frightened child, the cultivated mask ripped aside, and she was as naked as a sinful man on judgment day. I said: 'Do you know him?' A silly question, but I wasn't really interested in her problems, because the young man was taking a drink, at least I guessed he was for although his back was towards me, the Thing had moved to a position a few feet from our table, and for a while I could not understand why its mouth was open and its throat muscles working, then I suddenly realised that it was enjoying whatever the man was drinking. I know that must sound crazy, but may I never raise a glass again if it isn't true; the white face gleamed with the look of a dipso who is having his first drink for a long time, then the man at the bar turned, a full glass was in his hand so I guessed he'd ordered a refill, and he came towards our table so that for a while they stood side by side, the Thing and him, only I knew he did not know he was not alone. Then he suddenly saw my girl friend, the Thing's eyes lit up as well, and together they approached the table, an action that didn't make me feel happy, or, if I was to judge by her expression, the little lady either, for she looked as terrified as a rabbit at a stoat's convention.

'Don't leave me alone with him,' she pleaded, 'he's poison.'

I said nothing as he came up to the table and I could tell he'd seen a lot of tough American films, because he just grabbed a chair and sat down; the Thing stood behind him, its eyes fixed on the girl, while its lips kept moving, and I found myself trying to guess what it was saying.

The man ignored me, a fact that he would have regretted if I hadn't been so concerned with what he brought with him, and when he spoke to the girl it was with a slight Cockney accent that is so popular with pop singers.

'So I found you - up to your old tricks again, looking for suckers, and I see you've found one.'

He looked at me, but much more important the Thing did so as well, and I saw a gleam of speculative interest in its dreadful eyes, so that terror made me empty the sixth glass and make a beeline for the bar. The young man laughed, a high pitched whining sound, but I did not care, so long as the Thing stayed where it was he could laugh his head off. But I could not leave the bar, I had to stay and watch this macabre drama, and though I would not face the truth the tall black figure held a repellant fascination for me; I felt an urge to touch it, to hear it speak, even as a child might want to finger fire.

When I looked back the Thing had changed its position and stood behind my vacated chair where it was watching the girl and the man, and it seemed that it was taking part in the conversation, for the mouth was opening and closing so that I had the impression it was shouting instructions. More people came in and others left, all of them seeking the stimuli of alcohol for the going is tough along the narrow pathway to the grave, or maybe the seventh whiskey was turning sour on me. Perhaps my liver was at last giving up the fight, or more likely my brain was beginning to present its own film show, but I could distinctly see a row of tables standing in a neat row against the far wall, and seated round them was a number of figures dressed all in black, and wearing white masks. They sat perfectly still; their heads were turned inwards and I could only see the sexless profiles, and I felt an unexplainable dread that they might move, for I knew these were the eternal watchers; the dark ones who know neither anger nor pity.

The girl looked back over one white shoulder, and her blue eyes raked my face with burning intensity; a mute appeal for help, as though I were a lifeboat in a boiling sea, and she a lone swimmer at the end of her strength. There was a scraping of a chair and the young man sprang to his feet; the Thing moved back, its eyes blazing with an unholy joy. The girl rose quickly and ran towards me, and the drinkers drew back in alarm, so that I stood alone with the girl running her last few steps; only the watchers did not move. She clutched my arms and I saw the dark caverns of hell reflected in her eyes, and I wanted to tell her it would all pass, that suffering cannot last for ever - not even in hell, but there was not time. The gun in the young man's hand spoke instead, and the beautiful eyes blinked, then blazed forth their horror, the white shoulders quivered, the neck twisted, and she slumped to the floor.

When I looked up the young man was staring in astonishment at the huddled figure that lay at my feet, but the Thing was close behind him, its right arm was raised to the level of his, and its hand rested on the hand that held the gun. Then it drew back and I saw a look of peace on its face; the peace of a sated drug addict, the peace that would come to a vampire who has drunk his fill. The young man shook his head several times, then slowly, like a tired child stifling a yawn, he put the nozzle of the revolver into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

The room was a bedlam of screaming women and swearing men; they rushed back and fro like ants when a pick axe has been driven into their hill. I sank into a chair and listened to the waterfall that crashed about my ears and pondered on the suddenly revealed truth that man's lusts must go on multiplying so that eventually, surely there must be total darkness - or a wiping out - a new beginning.

At last I rose and made my way towards the door - towards those black figures who were now more real than before, and there suddenly came into my vision a little man with a pale wrinkled face and the knowledge of forbidden lore in his eyes. He beckoned with a long trembling finger, and I bent down so that his lips could approach my ear. His voice was old, so very old, and he spoke in a low husky whisper:

'Don't look behind, but you're being followed.'

With a single movement the watchers turned their heads, and the white masks were staring at me, the eyes black pools of darkness, and I knew I would never walk or drink alone again.

Together we left the room.

(1970)

They were kind to her in their own, cold way, but she was young and would ask questions, and Aunt Mabs sighed heavily, knowing the truth must be unveiled sooner or later. ‘Aunt, why can’t I leave the house?’

‘You aren’t well, child. Don’t keep bothering me.’

‘But I feel fine.’

‘Well, you aren’t fine, so be quiet.'

A little later.

‘Aunt, I see children pass the house twice a day. Where are they going?’

‘School.’

‘What’s school?’

The woman shook her head in exasperation, then quickly left the room.

That evening Uncle Carl came to her room, the lines on his lean face set into a determined expression. He put her dinner tray down on the all-purpose table, then sat down on the edge of the bed and watched her eat.

‘Caroline, you’ve been asking questions again.’

She was frightened when he spoke this way—and for good reason; she paused and looked at his stern face with wide open, fear-glazed eyes, and the man shuddered.

‘I only wanted to know.’

‘If you ask such questions again, I shall beat you. Be grateful that there are two people who are willing to feed and keep you in comfort. Give praise to Almighty Jehovah that He has in His great mercy, spared you the terror of His wrath. Seek not knowledge, revel in ignorance, for that is Jehovah’s gift to sinful man.’

‘All praise to Jehovah,’ she muttered the conventional phrase. ‘I promise to sin no more.’

‘Tis well.’ He rose slowly, a man worn and tired by a lifetime of fear. ‘I do not wish to hear of questions again.’ He walked to the door, then looked back, his hand on the door knob. ‘Do not make us regret what we have done.’

‘No, Uncle,’ she answered, grateful that he was leaving, her mind now a vast, trembling question.

Next day they moved her into a new room, well back from the street, and the window was veiled by a thick gauze curtain which was tacked to the window frame on all sides so she could not pull it aside. But Satan Atomo entered her heart and whispered that a small hole could be made in the centre; not large enough for the Aunt to detect, for she was somewhat shortsighted, but sufficient for one young eye to peep out—to see the small garden, and what lay beyond the far wall.

There was a house on the left, and a fairly large garden that ran obliquely to Uncle Carl’s; complete with a dark green lawn and bordered by white flower beds. Caroline liked this view better than the old one, for the street was only a mud-churned track, with the crop fields on the other side, and the ever-smoking bad lands in the far distance. A range of tall hills shut off whatever lay beyond on this side, and the scene was restful, at the same time exciting, for one could hope for something new to come over the hills, and Caroline lived on hope.

She had been in the new room three days when the young man appeared in the far garden. He was not the first young man she had seen, for many had passed along the street, but he was the first she had been able to study for any length of time. He erected a garden chair, then seated himself and stretched out his long legs, clearly determined to absorb as much of the sunlight as he could before moon rising. He was, she decided, a most handsome young man, and there was an unaccountable quickening of her heart beat when he stripped of his tunic and bared his torso. A man minus his clothes was a phenomenon she had never considered; in fact any human being undressed had been, to that moment, an impossibility. Aunt Mabs always made her bath in the dark, maintaining it was sinful to see even one’s own naked flesh, and Caroline jerked back from the window like a frightened bird, and took refuge on her bed.

It stood to reason that Jehovah must have noted this sinful act, and was without doubt preparing to bring down His wrath upon the not-to-be-thought-of young man, not to mention the equally evil girl who now trembled on her bed. She waited for the thunder clap, the bellow of divine rage, and was strangely disappointed when it did not come. The hours passed, then Aunt Mabs brought in her supper, glancing at the girl with her usual worried expression that deepened when she saw the white face and troubled eye.

‘What have you been up to?’

Caroline knew she should confess and risk a beating, but logic suggested that if Almighty Jehovah had withheld His hand, it would be blasphemous for Uncle Carl to wield his belt. So she said:

‘Nothing, Gracious Aunt, only I feel a little unwell.’

The woman grunted and there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

‘Then you must get to bed so soon as moonrising prayers are over. Pray for forgiveness, and thank Almighty Jehovah that he has spared you from his wrath.’

As Caroline muttered ‘Amen’, she wondered for one panic-stricken moment if Aunt Mabs knew, but on reflection decided she was only referring to the perpetual wrath that the Almighty only just restrained Himself from pouring down upon her own sinful person.

Aunt Mabs left the room to prepare herself for the nightly moonrising prayers, and Caroline quickly ate her yeast cutlet and nut roast, before moving fearfully towards the window, for it was necessary that everyone witness the moonrising so as to remember the sins of the forefathers.