Hungry Moon (26 page)

^{He didn't know how long he stood there, willing the light to come back. Eventually he inched, heel to toe, as far as the crest of the ridge. He was on bare rock now. The slope below him seemed quite gentle, at least at first. He was venturing gingerly downward when a flashlight beam glided over the rock at his feet, up his body, and blinded him.}

^{FORTY TWO}

^{When Diana saw Nick in the flashlight beam, at first she didn't believe what she was seeing. She'd come up on the moor because she needed to be alone, and now, when she least needed him, here was Nick. Then she realized how he was faltering in the stone bowl, how near he was to the brink of the cave. 'Nick, stop!' she cried.}

^{He was shading his eyes to try to see through the beam; now he smiled uncertainly, blinking. 'Diana? Is that you?' he said, and took another step forward.}

^{'It's me, yes. Don't move whatever you do.' She swung the beam to show him where he was heading, and the cave seemed to gape wider. 'Careful,' she cried, for the sight of the cave had made him stumble backward, so hastily that she thought he was going to lose his footing on the bare rock.}

^{He shook his head to clear it, closing and opening his eyes, and met her as she went round the stone bowl to him. When they put their arms around each other, it seemed inevitable, long delayed. It would have been the start of something immediate under more favourable circumstances, she thought, gazing at his round face that looked even less shaven than usual, at his broad mouth that was no longer sure of itself. He stared about as if waking up from sleepwalking. 'My God, we're above the town, aren't we,' he muttered. 'I don't know how I got here. It must have been your light.'}

^{'What must, Nick?'}

^{'The light I saw that brought me here.' His eyes were narrowing, wincing at the dark. 'Only it didn't look like yours. It wasn't that colour, wasn't any colour, come to think of it.'}

^{She sensed he had more to tell her, but she didn't want to learn it up here in the dark. 'Where's your car, Nick, on the street somewhere? Come on, we'll go back to my place.'}

^{She felt him begin to shiver. 'The car went off the road. I drove out of the woods and it was as dark as this. How can it be when it's - whatever time it is?' He raised his wrist into the flashlight beam and consulted his watch. 'That's just great, isn't it. It's stopped.'}

^{'They all have,' Diana said, steering him toward the path to Moonwell. 'I'll tell you what's been happening as soon as we're at my place.'}

^{That froze him. 'You know what's happening? I wish you'd tell me. There was something in the dark. Don't think I've gone mad, Diana, but it spoke to me.'}

^{'I don't think you have, Nick, but I'd really rather not talk about it until we're home.'}

^{His eyes turned bright and blank. 'I don't know what I've been thinking of, keeping you talking up here when we could be - ' He obviously didn't want to say 'safe.' 'Let's be off,' he said.}

^{When they came in sight of the lights of Moonwell, she felt Nick shudder, a suppressed sigh of relief. He squeezed her waist and then let go so that they could climb down the narrowing path. On the High Street he glanced nervously about at people gossiping obsessively in the shops and under the streetlamps. 'Good God,' he said softly.}

^{None of her windows was broken; no hostile messages waited beyond the front door. The low-timbered hall felt snug, a cranny out of the dark. The children's paintings sagged in the living room, which smelled of the flowers wilting in vases. She'd been replenishing the vases from her garden, her own unacknowledged ritual to stave off the dark.}

^{Nick drew the curtains without being asked when he'd carried mugs of her coffee into the living room. Still at the window, he said, 'Do you mind if I sit by you?'}

^{'I wish you would.'}

^{He sat by her on the settee and seemed not to know whether to touch her until she took pity on him, held his hand in both of hers. 'It's all right,' she murmured, not quite knowing what was.}

^{'Sorry. I'm not this awkward usually, but everything's got through to me, I didn't realize how much.'}

^{She rather liked him that way, less confident of himself than she imagined he'd been in the past with other women, except that he was trembling, reminding her of the dark and whatever was there. 'We're safe now,' she said as convincingly as she could, and put her arms round him. She did feel safe for the moment, felt drowsy and warm and comfortable as he stroked her hair. Then he took a determined breath and muttered, 'All right, tell me what's happening.'}

^{Perhaps because she'd been alone with the truth for so long, she felt unexpectedly tongue-tied. 'You didn't finish telling me what happened to you.'}

^{'Just that I got lost in the dark and somehow ended up at the cave. I feel as if I was lured there.' He was gazing at her for her reaction. 'You don't seem surprised.'}

^{'I believe you, Nick. What else can I say?'}

^{'Only what you think is happening, what this dark is. You tried to tell me something of the kind was imminent last time we spoke.'}

^{'I may have hinted at it. Is that what brought you here?' she said rather sadly, feeling responsible.}

^{'Diana, what brought me here was that suddenly nobody seemed to have heard of Moonwell. You tried to warn me about that, only you had to play it down so I'd believe you. It's part of the same thing as the dark.'}

^{'I think so.'}

^{'Go ahead, Diana, I can cope with it. Tell me what it is.'}

^{She gave him a resigned glance that made him smile uncertainly. 'I think it's whatever was in the cave, the thing Mann came here to destroy. It was too much for him. Maybe it even lured him here to let it out.'}

^{'You still haven't said what you think it is.'}

^{'Something that was here when the Romans were here, something to do with the moon. The story goes that the druids called it to help them. And maybe the dark is a kind of revenge for having been left down there in the cave all these centuries. Or it could be,' she said, remembering Delbert in the presbytery, 'a way of trying to reduce people to a primitive state.'}

^{'It did that to me all right, up there on the moor. I wish I thought we were both crazy, but I believe you, mostly. Damn little use that is to you now with me stuck here,' he said bitterly, and then rather plaintively, 'Maybe I'll be missed.'}

^{'Does anyone know you're here?'}

^{He grimaced. 'They'll probably have forgotten where I was asking about by the time they realize I'm missing.'}

^{'I'm afraid you're right, Nick. That's part of what's happening.'}

^{'And the things I thought were around me in the dark. . . .'He glanced uneasily at the window, but there was only the streetlamp beyond the low hedge. 'All right, Diana, what are we going to do?'}

^{The question jerked her back to full awareness, from feeling almost comfortable now that she was able at last to talk and be believed. What could she tell him? Whatever she had to do, she didn't see how he could help-she only hoped he wouldn't try to stop her. She was still wondering how to answer him when he said, 'Whatever it is, we'd better decide fast.'}

^{The change in his voice made her twist round, her pulse jumping even before she realized why he was staring at the window. Beyond the glass, one by one, the lamps were going out.}

^{FORTY THREE}

^{They were safe now, Andrew told himself. His father was safe. They were home in the light, and his father looked just like his father, except perhaps for something about his eyes. He was no longer grinning the grin that had made Andrew think of a dog's; in fact, every time their eyes met across the dinner table as they ate Miss Ingham's omelettes, he smiled at Andrew. Yet the smile troubled Andrew, made him think his father was telling him a secret he was too stupid to understand. At last Andrew thought he did, and bowed his head quickly over his plate so that his mother wouldn't realize. His father must be telling him they had to slip away to see Mr Mann.}

^{Perhaps his father had thought of an excuse to get them out of the house, and that was why he'd wolfed down his omelette as though he could scarcely taste it and looked as if he was still waiting to be fed. 'You made a meal of that all right,' Miss Ingham said. 'Have you room for another?'}

^{Andrew's mother intervened. 'I think that had better do when there's so little food in the house, and the shops for that matter. It's about time they organized the deliveries. Good heavens, you'd think they were scared of the dark.' She turned to Andrew's father and at the same time leaned away from him. 'What's that smell, by the way? Have you been getting something on you in the shop?'}

^{'Not as I know of.'}

^{'Well, it's horrid. The best place for you is a bath.'}

^{Andrew knew what she must mean, though he'd stopped noticing it once they were in the light - the smell of dark zoo places, places crawling with reptiles like the one he'd stepped on near the cave. Was it the smell of the dark? 'I can't smell anything, Miss Ingham, can you?' he blurted.}

^{'Maybe Miss Ingham's too polite to say.' His mother looked as if she wanted to knock him off his chair. 'Anyway, I'm the one who has to deal with smells in this house. Now I don't want to hear another word about it. It's a disgusting subject for the dinner table. I don't know what this family is coming to.'}

^{Miss Ingham smiled understandingly at her and cleared up after dinner, which only seemed to irritate Andrew's mother further. His father retreated to an armchair and gazed out at the three streetlamps that could be seen from the window. Andrew hovered between the rooms, getting in the way. He hoped his mother and Miss Ingham would be friends, because he'd had an idea: the teacher could ask Mr Mann to come here - he was supposed to like visiting people. Only if Andrew suggested that now, his mother was sure to lose her temper, but she might be in a better mood when they'd finished praying.}

^{'I'll lead prayers, shall I?' Miss Ingham said. Andrew knelt quickly by his father's chair, and his father slipped to his knees beside him; the glimpse from the edge of Andrew's eye made him think of something slithering off a rock. 'We thank You, Lord, for all Your promises,' Miss Ingham began, while Andrew thought that the only promise he wanted was for the dark to go away and let his father be himself. He squeezed his eyes tight and prayed for that fiercely inside his head while he mumbled in response to Miss Ingham, and then he risked opening his eyes in the hope that God might have answered his prayer. His praying hands clenched, his chin dug into his chest as if that could change what he'd seen. Only two of the lamps beyond the window were lit now.}

^{He shut his eyes so tightly that they stung, and tried to take his prayer back. Don't make the dark go away just yet if it's too hard or you're busy, he prayed, only don't put out any more light, please don't. ... He felt as if he'd made the lamp go out himself by looking to see if the dark had gone, by testing God when Miss Ingham had told the class you never should. I do believe in You, he prayed, I believe You can do anything, only don't let any more lights go out; I'll pray every night for ten minutes if You don't; I'll pray until I go to sleep. He kept his eyes shut as long as he could; then he sneaked them open a crack. He closed them at once, praying desperately. All three lamps had gone out, and the dark was pressing against the window.}

^{He bent low over his clasped hands as if that might hide him. He wished he could keep his eyes shut forever - at least the dark inside his eyelids was his own. Then his mother screamed, and all at once it seemed too dark in there. He forced them open so that he could see the grownups, who had stopped praying. But he couldn't see anything. The light in the room had failed too.}

^{'It's all right, Mrs Bevan. God is with us. Let's pray for guidance,' Miss Ingham murmured somewhere in the dark.}

^{'Where's the boy?' Andrew's mother cried. 'Get hold of my hand, Andrew. Be quick and don't fall over anything.'}

^{Andrew reached across darkness that felt like the mouth of the cave and found her hand, which shook as it groped for him. She grasped her wrist with her other hand to keep it still, but it flinched as his father spoke, his voice magnified by the stillness. 'Keep calm,' he said. 'I know what to do.'}

^{He was rising to his feet, Andrew told himself, not growing to a new height in the dark. Beyond the window were screams and cries of panic; the lights had failed in all the houses. Then Andrew realized that nevertheless he'd seen his father get up. Was his father glowing in the dark? No, the glow was seeping through the window and outlining the women and Andrew too, so faintly that it was hardly like seeing. 'Follow me,' his father said.}

^{Andrew's mother pulled the boy to her in case he tried to join him. 'We're safest here. Where are you going?' she demanded, her voice tight and stiff.}

^{'Can't you see?' Andrew's father strode along the hall as if he could see in the dark and opened the front door. 'Look if you don't believe me. Everyone's going. They know there's only one place to go now.'}

^{Eventually Andrew's mother went warily along the hall, her hand bruising Andrew's arm, ready to drag him back. Beyond the front garden he could just see the High Street, the houses dim as the shapes he'd glimpsed crawling up the cave, the windows like pieces of slate. The sight of the unlit houses and streets terrified him. The High Street was crowded with figures that were making their way toward the centre of Moonwell, where the glow was coming from.}

^{'It's a sign,' Miss Ingham whispered, though surely it must be the floodlights they used to light up the front of the hotel. When Andrew's mother saw people leaving the houses opposite and joining the crowd, she pulled Andrew toward the gate. 'Hurry up then if we're going. We don't want to be left behind in this.'}

^{Perhaps she didn't want to be left out of the singing in the town square, where everyone was heading. Andrew tried to believe that the hymn would keep them safe as he crept forward into the dark. The hymn spread back along the crowd to them, his mother tugging at his hand to make him join in. 'Nearer my God to Thee,' he sang as loudly as he could, as if that might blot out his sense of the lightless side streets, gaping like caves. Being carried along by the dim crowd made him nervous too, even though they must be heading for the hotel, where Mr Mann was. He'd stop being scared as soon as they were there, he promised himself.}

^{His father was loping beside him, his face turned up toward the glow. Andrew saw his teeth gleaming darkly, his lips drawn back as he bellowed the hymn. Somehow Andrew didn't find that reassuring, any more than the blurred heads bobbing all around and above him. At least the light was growing, and soon he could see the faces nearest him, some of which looked almost as fearful as he was. The crowd slowed as they neared the square, people at the rear shoving forward with impatience or nervousness toward the light. Andrew saw people ahead of him on the edge of the square look up and fall to their knees as they saw where the light was coming from.}

^{The kneeling people had to shuffle forward to let the rest of the crowd file around the edge of the square, and so minutes passed before Andrew saw what they were seeing. 'God save us,' Miss Ingham murmured as his mother began weeping. The teacher must mean that God had done so, Andrew thought, watching his father, who was gazing upward with an expression that seemed to mingle awe with a secret terror. His father's face filled with the light as he lifted Andrew up, his arms feeling stronger than they had when Andrew was little, and Andrew saw.}

^{It wasn't the floodlights. The big square lenses at the foot of the hotel were dark. For a moment Andrew thought the full moon had come up, though surely it shouldn't for days, and then he realized that the light was streaming out of Mr Mann's window, which was wide open. Mr Mann stood there, leaning on the sill. Andrew gasped, because it looked as if the light was streaming out of him.}

^{Mr Mann leaned forward as the hymn came to an end. At that distance Andrew couldn't make out his face; it looked blank as light, shining whitely. Mr Mann held out his hands as if he were cupping the light as it poured down into the square, and those who weren't already kneeling sank to their knees. As Andrew's father set him down, his mother cuffed the boy's head to make him bow it and stop staring. In a voice that seemed as close to Andrew as his parents were, Mr Mann said, 'We must pray now - pray for light.'}