MalContents (26 page)

The disturbance rose again shrilly, sounding something like monstrous cicadas. He looked around for the sound’s source but could not find it.

He wondered if Violet had any light source around with which to push back the alien night. He dropped to his knees and crawled across to her.

“Violet?” he whispered.

She groaned, and he nudged her. He couldn’t see her eyes well in the dimness so he didn’t know if she was awake until she spoke.

“Oh, Malcolm,” she said, rubbing her neck. “What are you doing, moving around. You need your rest.”

Something shrieked horribly right outside the tower.

“What in God’s name was that?” Malcolm said.

“I don’t know. I can’t stand the terrible noises at night. I should have taken you downstairs earlier, but I didn’t know if I should move you.”

Something screamed and something else laughed. Other voices moaned, groaned and murmured within that alien blackness as if there were a battalion of madmen outside. And joining with the other horrible sounds was the hissing of the tall demon.

“I can move,” Malcolm said. “But maybe we can find something I can use for a cane or crutch.”

“Down on the first level there might be something.”

“I can sneak down there. Do we have any light?”

“I have candles downstairs. You can lean on me for support.”

“No, you go on ahead. I’ll sit on the top step and work my way down on my backside.”

The noises outside had risen to a maddening cacophony. Malcolm now understood why Violet couldn’t tolerate being on the top floor at night; it was like listening to the tortured souls in Hell. And for all he knew, that’s what they were.

Malcolm shuddered and pushed the horrible thought aside as he followed Violet, who had gathered the sleeping bag and pillow and was now carrying them downstairs. Soon they were both on the second level.

Violet scrabbled around in the darkness and light appeared, supplied by a fat white candle.

Malcolm squinted and blinked, taking in the room. Except for some food, water and other supplies, the place was barren with no windows, just as Violet had said. The nightmare sounds from outside were more faint down here.

The woman looked beautiful in the candlelight. If it wasn’t for their situation, it would be almost romantic.

Malcolm still felt weak but the dizziness had subsided. “Can you light an extra candle? I want to go down and see if I can scrounge up a walking stick.”

“Let me go, please. You’re hurt.”

“What about the demon that guards you?”

“I heard him outside. Maybe he’s protecting the tower from whatever’s out there.”

“Okay, but call out if you need help and I’ll come down as fast as I can.”

She smiled fondly and her warmth did his heart good. When they were out of this mess, he would never leave her side again—if she would still have him.

Violet departed, candle in hand. The glow softened and vanished as she descended, her footfalls receding down the stone stairs.

Malcolm’s stomach snarled and he realized he was ravenous. He lifted the lid on a blue camping cooler. Inside he found low-grade lunch meat, half a bread loaf, a few hunks of cheese and other edibles. Malcolm made a quick meat and cheese sandwich and wolfed it down.

Satiated, he crawled over to the stairs and stared down into the darkness. It was quiet down there. All he could hear was the dreadful din coming from outside the tower.

Now that his stomach was full, his bladder demanded attention. He searched for something that suited the purpose and spied a filthy bucket near the base of the stairs going up to the third floor. Disgusted but unable to think of any other solution, he approached the receptacle, got on his knees and relieved himself into it, hoping all the while Violet didn’t choose this exact moment to return. After he had finished, he moved back to the stairs and listened again but heard nothing.

Worried, Malcolm began making his way down. He had made it halfway when he heard thumps and bumps coming from below, then a loud slam, followed by shrieks and hisses.

The shrieker was Violet.

Malcolm tumbled down the remaining steps to find himself amidst a pile of old junk which was illuminated by the candle which had been set on floor. The entrance door was wide open, revealing the night. Among the hideous noises pouring through the black opening, he heard the tall demon’s hiss and Violet’s terrified pleas.

Malcolm moved over to the candle and scooped melted wax from beneath the flame. He divided it into two equal portions and plugged the warm globs into his ears. Once they were well-stoppered, the loudest thing he could hear was his own pulse beating in his head

He scanned the room for a crutch. As if Violet had placed it there, propped next to the candle was a push broom with crushed bristles. He used the broom to pull himself to his feet. Then he tucked it under his arm and immediately moved out through the doorway, into the dark outside.

He could not see well out here and wondered if he should have brought the candle. He was about to go back inside when he noticed something in the distance: small electrical flashes, the same sort of flashes that had flared from the tall demon’s hands and feet when it had been chasing Heinrich and himself. He would not need the candle after all and instead would follow the creature’s electrical signature.

Though it was dark out here, his eyes had adjusted well enough so that he could make out the pale ground and the shrubbery which covered it.

He reckoned he could use the broom handle should he need a weapon against whatever was making the racket out here, but he spied no man or beast nearby.

Malcolm glanced back one last time but couldn’t find the tower in the darkness. Then he moved on, even though the broom was beginning to chafe the underside of his arm.

Malcolm felt certain that the demon was carrying Violet to the derelict house. For what purpose, he couldn’t and didn’t want to imagine.

But he’d find out soon enough.

His armpit ached from the constant friction there but it was a small thing compared to the worry and fear that he felt in this strange place. Back in the tower, when he had heard those awful noises for the first time but could see nothing, he had expected the outdoors to be teaming with strange creatures, things like Venice’s demons. But there was only stunted vegetation out here.

As he continued following the demon, he happened to glance down at the plants again. To his horror, he saw that the growths shook and vibrated and extended their flowers to the sky, the shivering blooms resembling open mouths raised in unholy song. The source of the horrible noises had been discovered at last. Though this was a sufficiently disturbing discovery, it was also a sort of relief for the sole thing he had to fear from these plants was their awful noise.

Onward he traveled with a constant throbbing in the bandaged stump of his ankle and with a steady sharp pain stabbing beneath his arm. But, repeatedly, he forced his attention away from his suffering body and focused instead on Violet and her monstrous abductor.

In the distance, the sparks rose into the air and Malcolm knew the demon was mounting the hill on its way to the crumbling house—as he had predicted.

It wouldn’t be long now.

But what then? Why had the demon taken Violet to the house in the first place? She had not mentioned it taking her there at any previous time. Was it going against Venice’s orders for its own obscure purposes?

He reached the hill, the plants shouting and cackling all around him, and then he began to climb.

The hill wasn’t steep or he might not have been able to carry on. Between his recent injury and the tension, stress and shock he had experienced, he was nearly ready to collapse into a useless heap.

As he crested the hill, the twisted dark shape of the house loomed over him.

Aching and worn, Malcolm moved toward the structure. Even here on the hill, he was surrounded by the hellish shrubbery.

Once he reached the house, he began walking alongside its front, looking for a door or some other entrance. Twice he fell to the ground, the pain and fatigue overwhelming him. But the repulsive plants so near his plugged ears filled him with the urge to rise again and continue on.

Finally, he came to a recess and within was a door. He fumbled for its handle and found it, cold and abrasive against his hand, a lever beneath his thumb. He pressed down, pushed in and the door swung open into darkness.

He stepped inside, wishing again he had gone back for the candle. He closed the door behind him.

The place smelled strange, a mixture of mold and something that had been dead for days. He pulled the wax from his ears and listened, finding that the walls here sufficed to block out the plants. Which was a good thing; he needed his ears wide open because his eyes were useless in the pitch black house. He stepped forward and the floor creaked beneath his weight.

Which way to go?

A cry from above.

Malcolm figured there must be a staircase nearby. He strained his eyes and was able to discern a faint light emanating from above. His body wanted rest but he ignored its needs because something terrible could be happening this very minute to the person he had come to save.

He moved along on foot and crutch. The broomstick bumped against something which turned out to be a step. He dropped to the staircase and moved up to the second step.

He rubbed at his sore armpit and winced at the pain and wetness there. Raising his fingers to his nose, he smelled his own sweat and blood. Too much blood. He did not need to lose any more. If he had been thinking ahead he would have brought along some water as well as the candle.

Malcolm was beginning to think he wasn’t good at this hero stuff. He pushed himself up the stairs with his hands and foot, resting his bottom on each step as he moved along. In this way, he was soon at the top where the faint glow had now grown stronger.

The monochrome light came from his left. As he sat there, he heard voices coming from that direction.

He also heard that unmistakable hissing.

Rising on his foot and his broom handle, he moved down the hall, attempting to make as little noise as possible, hoping he didn’t drop to the floor from exhaustion. He reached a door that was cracked open, spilling light into the hallway. He put his back against the adjoining wall and peeked inside the room.

In a dusty, wooden chair sat Violet, looking panicked and dazed. She was staring off into the room at something or someone beyond Malcolm’s scope of vision. Behind her, zigzagging lines embedded in the wall shined with weird light.

“He want to know what you do in tower,” a voice said in a hissing tone.

She responded: “I was imprisoned there by a man named Cyrus Venice.” Her voice shook, though Malcolm could tell she was trying to be brave.

Malcolm heard the hissing voice speak in an unfamiliar tongue. The demon was talking to a third person!

A croaking voice responded in the same language.

“He want to know why you prisoned.”

“Why are you asking me? You know Cyrus Venice better than I do.”

“This guy don’t trust me. Want to know from you.”

“How does he even know you’re translating my answers properly?”

“He know. Answer question.”

“I’m being held there until Venice completes a music composition. When we play the finalized version, he said he’d let me go because he wouldn’t need me anymore after that.”

The demon spoke again in the alien language.

Malcolm considered barging in and freeing Violet but so far they had left her unharmed, therefore he decided instead to reserve the element of surprise. Besides, he doubted he would be much good against the demon—the woman in the apartment hallway came to mind—let alone whoever else was in there.

“He want to see music.”

“It’s all back at the tower. My cello and the sheet music.”

The demon and the other talked some more.

“Okay. He say stay here till light come. We get music at tower.”

“Where will I stay?”

More talking.

“You stay in chair. I stay. Make sure you stay.”

“But what about Venice? Won’t you get in trouble for taking me from the tower?”

“I don’t work for him no more. Work for this new guy, much more powerful guy.”

Malcolm backed away from the door, sliding along the wall toward the stairs.

She would be safe until daybreak because the demon and his friend needed her help. And, he reckoned, he and Violet would both be better off if he didn’t make himself known until absolutely necessary.

He watched for someone to emerge from the room, but no one did. Maybe a second way out of that room existed for that other person the demon had been speaking to.

He didn’t like the idea of Violet spending even a short amount of time with the demon, but he also had to take into account his own condition; he’d be useless to her right now. Maybe once he got some rest, he’d feel stronger and more confident.

He slid down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. Upon reaching the bottom, he stood and positioned his crutch beneath his arm, ignoring the stabs of pain, and moved across the room until he bumped against some furniture. As before, it was still dark down here. But with his groping hand, he found the farthest edge of a cabinet or buffet. He sank down to the floor beyond it and leaned into the angle where the cabinet met the wall.