Collected Stories (34 page)

 "Well, I'd better drive down to the village and telephone from there."

 Grantley coughed. A gentle, apologetic clearing of the throat.

 "I regret to say, sir - that will not be possible."

 Sheridan swung round and glared at the dark figure.

 "Indeed! Why not?"

 "Because - with respect, sir - we could not permit it. "

 The old man - the shaddy - moved into one doorway; his mouth was open, his long arms hung limply, but the stubby fingers were curved into menacing claws. At the same time the door leading to the back regions opened and Mrs Grantley, her beard quivering with frightful anticipation, entered and took up a position beside her husband.

 Sheridan Croxley turned his head from left to right, then bellowed his rage and defiance.

 "What the hell is going on here? I warn you, if that ugly old brute doesn't get out of my way, I'll knock him down."

 Grantley shook his head as though he deplored this aggressive statement, then said softly: "I can promise, he will not lay a hand on you, sir."

 Sheridan slowly approached the heavy, grotesque figure, and when he was within striking distance, shot out his massive fist, straight for the gaping mouth. Grandfather-Shaddy did not so much as flinch. His mouth opened even wider until his face was split in half by a great gaping, gum-lined hole - then the black tongue twisted and became a long, vicious whiplash, that flicked the threatening fist - then quickly withdrew. The mouth closed with a resounding snap and the shaddy began to chew with every sign of intense satisfaction. Sheridan roared with pain, then stepped back and stared at the raw gash that ran across his knuckles and up the back of his hand. In one place the bare bone glimmered softly like red-tinted ivory. The shaddy swallowed and growled some unintelligible words. Grantley translated.

 "My father wishes to compliment you on your flesh, sir. He says it's very tasty."

 With a roar of rage, Sheridan flung himself at the taunting figure; leaped across the intervening space with outstretched hands, motivated by an overwhelming urge to kill. Grantley tilted his head back and made a kind of subdued rumbling sound. Then when Sheridan's eyes came level with his own, he opened his mouth and - blew. It was not by any means a hard blow. A mere puff that might have extinguished a candle flame, but its effect on the big man was electrifying. He screamed and clasped shaking hands to his eyes, trying to claw away the burning agony that had come from a tainted breath. The voice of Grantley had not lost one iota of its respectful quality, as it spoke comforting words.

 "Your discomfort is only temporary, sir. Nothing in the least to worry about."

 Gradually Sheridan ceased to dance from one foot to the other; the time came when he was able to lower his hands and look, with red-rimmed eyes, at his tormentor.

 "What the hell are you? In the name of sanity - what - who are you?"

 Grantley parted his lips in a mirthless smile and looked thoughtfully over his victim's right shoulder. Caroline was watching Marvin. The handsome one… the dream-lover… the walker of the dark-ways… He was leaning against the wall staring aimlessly at the open door and it seemed as though nothing could ever disturb the quiet serenity of that beautiful face, or bring a flash of passion to the clear blue eyes. Then Grantley answered.

 "We are you, sir, as you would be - without your clothes." Then his expression changed and he became once again the attentive, even, solicitous butler. "May I suggest, sir, that you go to your room and lie down. This has been an upsetting experience for you. If you wish, my father can accompany you."

 "I'll see you damned," Sheridan roared. "Somehow, be you madmen, animals or monsters, I'll smash you. If you were wise you'd kill me."

 They all shook their heads. "We couldn't do that, sir," Grantley explained. "We need you."

 Sheridan rushed from the room and the sound of his heavy footsteps could be heard ascending the stairs. Caroline remained in her chair and watched Marvin who had now resumed his duties and was clearing the table. Once he threw her a smile-tinted glance and she was so happy she almost cried.

 Sheridan barricaded himself in their bedroom.

 Grantley and his father were polishing the dining room furniture - the former with effortless ease, the latter with much gum-baring glee - and Caroline was following Marvin round the house to a plot of cultivated ground.

 The shadmock - the designation was now firmly rooted in her mind - was carrying a spade and hoe and did not, despite an occasional plaintive whimper, acknowledge her presence, or bother to turn his head when she stumbled over a lump of concealed masonry and measured her length on the ground.

 The cultivated plot was about twenty feet square and stood out from its unkept surroundings like a sheet of clear water in an arid desert. It had been lovingly fashioned and meticulously tended and presented neat rows of piled earth that curved gracefully down to rounded valleys. Marvin laid the hoe and spade down, then removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Caroline watched him like a puppy waiting for a kind word - or at least an encouraging whistle - and when it was not forthcoming, dared to make her presence known by timidly touching his arm.

 "I want to help. Please let me help."

 He smiled politely. A mere matter of parted lips, creasing of mouth, but she was as grateful as Lazarus for a sip of water.

 "You are very kind, madam. If you would care to hoe the furrows, I would be greatly obliged. But, please do not tire yourself."

 She seized the hoe - an instrument that to date she had only seen in an ironmonger's window - and began to worry the loose earth that lay between the mounds. Marvin watched her with evident anxiety.

 "Be careful of the young shoots, madam. They are just germinating and a moment's carelessness could be fatal."

 "I'll be careful." She was so happy that he was at last talking to her, but fearful that this frail contact might wither away before it had time to grow. "I didn't know anything grew at this time of year."

 "My plants are all perennials, madam."

 Caroline peered at the nearest mound and saw for the first time, little white shoots that were just beginning to peek coyly above the black earth. White, seemingly soft, they could have been sprouting tulip plants or maybe baby leeks.

 "What are they?" she asked.

 "Corpoties, madam."

 "What on earth are they? A vegetable?"

 He smiled at her childish ignorance and shook his head.

 "Not quite, madam I suppose one could say they are a kind of meat-and-veg plant. They need a lot of careful attention. I use bone-manure in the early stages, then water them at regular intervals with a blood mixture. But of course the initial chopping up of the seed specimens is most important. If one chops too small, the result is a stringy and entirely inedible result. Too large," he shrugged and Caroline was delighted to see his face was alight with boyish enthusiasm, "means a soggy and flavourless plant. Are you keen on gardening, madam?"

 'Absolutely," Caroline exclaimed. "Please go on, I could listen to you for hours."

 Now his smile was wonderful to behold. All the icy reserve had gone and he was bubbling over with the joy of a stamp collector who has discovered an educated postman.

 "I say, I'm so glad. You see, Father and Mother, and of course Grandfather, are all hunters. They have no appreciation of the intense satisfaction that comes from planting, then reaping the fruits of the earth. Sometimes I become quite irritated with them and worry most awfully in case I lose my temper and do something dreadful. But, dash it all, the earth is so generous. You get so much more from it than you put in."

 "You're so right," Caroline agreed gushingly, grabbing his nearest arm between her two hands. "I expect you've got green fingers."

 He frowned and she trembled. Had she said the wrong thing.

 "No, I haven't. Only the long dead have green fingers. The ripe dead - the ready-for-planting dead."

 Her hands dropped from his arm and she shook her head in token denial, while her brain screamed its fear and grief. Because of his face, his beautiful exterior, she had been thinking of him as a normal, if rather shy boy, who could be transformed into a passionate lover. But now she knew he was just as much - perhaps more - a monster as his hideous elders, but - and this was the real horror - it did not make the slightest difference to her feelings towards him. His boyish enthusiasm would not be denied.

 "There have been three sets of new owners during the past fifteen years, but they were not all just right. They did not always keep and ripen in the way that is so important. And Father and Grandad are so rotten. They keep on about the essence which keeps us strong, and how the specimens must be drained, and no one will listen to me… and only give me the rubbish… the old, the sick… the ones that are almost dry…"

 At last Caroline reached the frontier where she moved out of the shadows and met reality face to face. She turned and ran back to the house and Marvin's young voice called after her.

 "Please don't go. I can't bear it when people go away, it makes me angry… y… y… y…"

 The last word ended in a kind of drawn out whistle. Not a full-lipped whistle, just a suggestion of liquid vowels; a hint of what might follow. Caroline ran even faster.

 Sheridan, at first, would not let her in. He shouted from behind the barricaded door: "You're on their side. Don't try to tell me any different. I saw you mooning over the young one and you did nothing to stop them. Nothing at all."

 "Please, Sheridan. Let me in. We've got to help each other. My God, if you only knew."

 "May I be of service, madam?"

 She stifled a scream as the soft voice spoke behind her - and there was Grantley, grave of face, respectful of demeanour, standing a few feet away.

 "The door…" She shrank back against the wall and allowed the first words that came to mind, to come tripping off her tongue. "The door… it's stuck."

 "Kindly permit me, madam"

 He placed one large hand on the left panel and after pausing for a moment, suddenly pushed. The door flew back and there was a resounding crash as a wardrobe went hurling back against the side wall. Caroline saw Sheridan sitting on the bed, his face a white mask of abject fear. Grantley bowed.

 "Will you forgive the intrusion, sir. But I have to inform you that Mrs Grantley will be yawning in half an hour. I trust that this will be convenient."

 Sheridan made a noise that was halfway between a scream and a shout and Grantley bowed again.

 "Thank you, sir. I am obliged."

 He departed, closing the door behind him and from somewhere along the landing they heard a muted growl - a low, impatient sound that could have been menacing or enquiring. Caroline ran to her husband and clasped his arm.

 "We must try to get away. Sheridan, listen to me, I am sane at this moment, but, God help me, if I see Marvin again, I will be helpless. Please do something."

 He shook her off and all but snarled his rage-fear, looking so much like one of
them
, Caroline covered her eyes and sank down on the bed. Her husband watched her for a few minutes, then his lips curled up into a sneer and he beat his fists on to the bedside cabinet.

 "I won't run. Do you hear me? I won't run from a set of degenerate madmen. I haven't got where I am by running. The entire set-up is one gigantic swindle. Grantley is not the first man to spit fire - acid - and the old man, not the last who will attach a length of wire to his tongue. Haven't you ever been to a fairground, for God's sake? But I won't be caught a second time. Once bitten…"

 Caroline raised her head and screamed at him.

 "Stop fooling yourself. They are monsters. MONSTERS. A different species - throwbacks - creatures we all know exist, but dare not think about. Try to remember and stop pretending you are not afraid. Remember the face in the crowd: the room you accidently entered: the howl you heard in the night: the thing that peeped round the corner - all the memories the mind chose to forget. Now - if you dare - say you do not believe."

 He sat down beside her and was suddenly a tired, middle-aged man, who had forgotten how to relax.

 "Perhaps you're right I wouldn't know. I have met so many monsters, I'd never be able to distinguish one from the other. But if what you say is true, what is the point of running? They must be everywhere. A vast freemasonry of tooth and claw, fur and fang. There can be no escape."

 As they sat together and watched the morning grow old, there was peace between them for the first time in four years. Despair flattened the hills of contention, filled in the pits of derision and left free the plains of tolerance.

 "I can't help myself," she whispered. "He… you know who I mean… has something that calls to me."

 They did not speak again until a quiet knock on the door brought horror back and a muffled cry to Caroline's lips. The door opened and Grantley entered.

 "Beg pardon, sir - madam. But Mrs Grantley is ready to yawn."

 Sheridan Croxley climbed to his feet and after one quick glance at the bearded face that looked over the butler's shoulder, backed to the window.

 "I warn you," he said quietly, "I will defend myself."

 "That would not be wise," said Grantley suavely. "We have no wish to cause you discomfort and in any case resistance is useless. Please try to understand, sir, we only wish to help you. Fulfil your potential."

 Mrs Grantley came into the room and never had she looked so grotesque. She walked with a strange stiff-legged gait; her eyes glittered and did not move, but stared at the, by now, terrified man with the cold intensity of a venomous snake. She strutted towards him and he made no move to defend himself, but became as still as a hypnotised rabbit; lower lip sagging, eyes bulging and face so white the erupted veins stood out like red streaks in polished marble. Then they were standing face to face, shoulders to shoulders, hips to hips, and they could have been lovers about to embrace. Then the maddy yawned.